#or just viktors fingers in general

[escyn]

[hook:line:sinker:caught] wip (id in alt)

[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….

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 phonetical 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’d already successfully 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. 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?” 

[spatialwave]

just one more.

➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own. 

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect. 

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city. 

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word. 

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like. 

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

[bluecookies02]

Can I request a Sub Viktor after he has his final transformation, the herald of machines, would he remain a sub or would he become a bit of a dom? ((you decide of course!))...maybe even though he changed his appearance, he still has feelings for the reader...maybe a little nfsw if possible

You're in luck because I already wrote something very similar to this!

here 🩵

now I can also expend on this a little when it comes to the general dynamic.

He would still crave for you to have most of the control. He's still affected by your words, just in a different way. Less physical. Even though the relationship was always deeply romantic, after his transformation it's so much more!

Since I do love to hc him not having the ability to feel his own body anymore, the dynamic would shift to him being a bit more 'dominant'.

But just in a sense where you'd be the one that recieves most of the pleasure now. It used to be him, cuz you did love to spoil him and break him apart more often than not, so when you can't do that anymore, it's quite a mournful feeling.

Sexual intimacy is still there, but not what you were used to, and it takes time to navigate. You just have to realize that you feeling good is now his only source of gratification. And you have to accept that.

So you do push your limits a little, just so that you can see him tremble from the state of you.

He'd still react to your touch. If you manhandle him, if you tease him or squeeze his neck. Those reactions are there because he gets nostalgic and he can almost dig out the feeling of those sensations from his memory.

He is less vocal and that's a pity. But he's trying his best to fill the holes in your relationship with other things. Romance, devotion, reassurance, compliments...He focuses real hard on his numbed out (or changed) emotions so that he can give you honest answers to your questions.

You still have him wrapped around your finger, that's an undeniable fact😌

*unrelated but I think he would decide to turn you last, out of his own selfish feelings. And I'm not even sure he would actually manage to do it alltogether. Maybe if and when you decide you want that. Hypocritical I guess bc nobody else got that choice💀*

[iiotic]

─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 ‎ viktor sfw alphabet

𖦹 ‎quick disclaimer: generally fluff, platonic/romantic mix, gn reader mentioned, kisses, not proff read

english is not my first language, so i apologize for any grammar mistakes.

masterlist | nav.

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Viktor isn't the most affectionate person that you'd meet. in fact he would be quite distant before getting to know you first, thinking that you don't deserve his time. However once he really gets to know you and start trusting you will he show his affection and appreciation through small acts of service.

B - Best friend (What are they like as a friend? How would the friendship start?)

Viktor is an amazing force to have on your team, however that might sound like. He's smart, loyal and trustworthy. I think that the friendship would develop a lot quicker if either A. you knew him since he was a child and still lived in zaun or B. you'd capture his attention and not the other way around.

as i said the friendship would start with Viktor being a little distant at first, but then he will start to appreciate you company and trust you a lot more. show him that you're trustworthy and really like him and he will warm up to you.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

In the beginning of the relationship Viktor was strictly against cuddles, it made him feel weak. However once you show him how good it feels, with him trusting you 100% he will change his opinion on cuddling. Viktor is slightly bony so hugging him wouldn't be the most comfortable thing, and yet it feels so warm and loving everytime you cuddle, you just can't complain!

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I think that he'd like to settle down, if it comes to s1 Viktor, however there might be a little controversy. Viktor spends time at his lab 24/7 so he wouldn't be at home with you all the time. The times he is at home he is way too tired, exhausted even to help you cook and clean.

However if there would be a situation where either you or Jayce convince him to take a weekly break, with you, at home. so that he could relax and do domestic things with you, he would 100% try to help you with chores. (if his leg wouldn't hurt so much this day)

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I don't think that Viktor would ever want to break up with their partner, he will fall in love with one person so hard that he'd want to live with them his entire life. would be truly heartbroken if you'd break up with him.

F - Fiancé (How to they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

he would want to get married but wouldn't like to rush things, you know? he'd need to know all about you, whether it would be your weird quirks or just the specific shade of your favourite colour. about 4/6 years i think before he could propose, then the wedding in a year or three.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they? Both physically and emotionally?)

he always touches you as if you were a porcelain doll that would break under his fingers if he squeezed too hard. with you? he's the most gentle person in the entire piltover.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it and what is it like?)

Viktor hugs are warm, gentle and loving. they always make you feel heard and the way he holds you speak volumes, the unspoken words that could come out of his mouth don't need to be spoken anymore. despite that hugs with Viktor aren't often, yet he likes hugging you.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

you'd probably have to say it first, he'd say it back to you. it really depends when you will start saying it, trust me he will say it back every single time.

J - Jealous (How jealous do they get? What are they like when they're jealous?)

Viktor doesn't like the feeling of jealousy, he doesn't want to feel this way. Viktor is very insecure about himself, his leg, his disease and there you were talking to another men who's bigger than him, that you could easily replace him with, it makes his blood boil.

yet, he trusts you. he trusts you to not do something stupid. he will stay quiet, occasionally glaring at the person but not trying to make himself known.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

he loves being kissed on his forehead and nose. something about them is so romantic, yet domestic that makes him melt every time. he loves to kiss you anywhere really, he doesn't have a preference.

when it comes to kissing Viktor on the mouth, making out with him the kisses would be slow, slightly sloppy yet romantic enough for the both of you.

L - Little Ones (How are they around children?)

he's neutral about kids, he wouldn't like to have any children himself yet for some reasons kids always seem to like him

M - Mornings (How are morning spent with them?)

the rare mornings where you wake up not to an cold empty side of the bed, but with your beloved Viktor are truly an moments worth remembering. If there's no rush, mornings are slow, cuddling in the bed with the sun trying to get it in the room with the curtains closed, a few kisses shared here and there. domestic things.

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

he sleeps a little stiff, cuddle him!! he's a little bony but its not usual for you to sleep together.

O - Openess (When will they start revealing things about themselves? Do they reveal things slowly over time or all at once?)

Viktor as i said before not once, not twice will be closed and distant at first yet once he starts trusting you more he might reveal a few of his traumas of his childhood, but you'd have to be deep into the relationship for that to happen. the moment would have to be right, almost fragile if you know what i mean.

P - Patience (How easily are they angered?)

he is not angered easily, quite the opposite actually. Viktor will be really patient with you and he'd like to recieve the same treatment from you in return. however if you'll insult his intelligence, work or make him feel bad because of his disability or diseases he will be mad. furious.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail or do they forget the minor things?)

when this man is in true love he will remember every single detail that you mention, even accidentally. i don't like when people say that he will forget about important events for you two because he is a workaholic, i dont think he would. he will know what your favourite subject was in middle school, your favourite shade of your favourite color (the very specific one), your favourite flower, what zodiac sign you are, whats your favourite type of cake, what's your favourite ice cream flavour, the food that makes you gag when you see it, your least favourite season. you name it and he will know it.

R - Remember (What's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

probably the moment he realized he loves you or your first kiss. i don't want to dwell on it, but i might make a one shot or a drabble based on it.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i hate when people say that he would need to be protected because he can't do shit himself, if you agree with this might as well block me. maybe he is disabled but he is totally capable of standing up for himself. when it comes to you? he will be protective, you're one of the few good things that happened in his life.

T - Try (How much effort do they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts and everyday tasks?)

listen, this man is tired so he won't put much efford into everyday tasks or such. But! he puts a lot of efford into the gifts or dates he organises for you two, might be so nervous that he forgets to give you the gift but praise him and give him his own kind of present and he will be over the moon if you know what i mean.

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he is a workaholic, overworking himself. sometimes forgets to do basic tasks like eating, drinking etc.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he doesn't care about how he looks, i mean he cares but not to the point of trying to dye his hair or something. dresses neatly, sometimes his hair is a little out of place but that's okay!!

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

if it would be really early into the relationship than absolutely not, but other than that. yes, yes he would.

X - Xtra (A random head cannon for them)

specific, hates jam.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like in a partner, or in general?)

someone who wouldn't support his dreams and ideas. someone sho would show absolutely 0 interest in his rambling. someone generally who is always negative and does not see anything good about anything.

Z - Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of theirs?)

snores, but like really quietly. wakes up late at night because of his nightmares sometimes.

© 2024 iiotic. — do not steal, translate or repost any of my content onto any other platform

[pinkthick]

A Nocturne in Melody

Pairing: Vampire!Viktor x Reader

Summary: Viktor chuckled, finally breaking into a smile. He pulled back slightly, looking at you with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “Well, someone’s confident,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Maybe I need to be less generous with my compliments if you’re going to be like this.”

Notes: So this takes place practically in part 3, but I decided to divide them. (You can read it even if you haven’t read the previous parts) This is probably my first smut that tends to be vanilla, but it focuses more on the emotional and intimate part—and I think that serves Viktor right. With all these being said, enjoy!🙏🏻

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI OR I’LL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS. 🗣️ and dw it doesn’t contain spoilers.

Masterlist: A Nocturne in Melody

Part 4

As you stepped into the apartment, the cold of the rain still clung to you both, water dripping from your clothes and leaving small puddles on the floor. You could barely close the door behind you before Viktor turned, pulling you close once more, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was hungry, almost desperate. His hand cupped your face gently, and yet there was an intensity to the way his fingers curled around you, as though he wanted to remember every sensation, every movement.

But as you shifted to meet his embrace, a sharp pain shot through your leg. You winced, instinctively pulling back, and Viktor’s eyes widened, immediately concerned.

“Oh—I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping back just enough to give you space, his face a mix of apology and worry. His gaze dropped to your leg, the worry clear in his expression.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, giving him a reassuring smile as you reached for him again. This time, you let your cane drop to the floor, letting it fall with a soft clatter as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back into the kiss. You felt the tension ease out of him as his arms found their way around your waist, drawing you closer until there was barely an inch between you. His lips met yours again, softer this time, a hint of hesitance, as if he was holding himself back.

You could feel the damp fabric of his shirt under your fingers as you reached up to loosen his tie, slowly, deliberately, untying the knot. Viktor’s breath hitched slightly as he watched you, his amber-red eyes darkened with a mix of nervousness and something deeper. He swallowed hard, looking almost shy as you let the tie slip from his collar and drop to the floor.

Since his transformation, this closeness had taken on a different meaning. There was an intensity in his touch now, a new strength in his embrace, and yet he seemed more hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between what you both had shared before and who he was now. Back then, you’d often taken the lead, knowing he’d tire easily or feel the effects of his illness. But now, there was a hesitance in him, a layer of shyness as though he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the power he held.

Your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, and he shivered slightly, his fingers instinctively tightening at your waist, as though grounding himself. His gaze flickered to yours, watching every move you made as if trying to read your thoughts. When you reached the last button, you paused, meeting his gaze, and he gave you a soft, almost bashful smile, a hint of color rising in his cheeks despite everything you’d shared in the past.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, a vulnerability in his expression that made your heart ache. It was Viktor, the same person you’d loved through years of struggle and uncertainty, yet now there was something in his eyes that was almost new — a hint of insecurity, a question that went unspoken.

You smiled, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you nodded. “We’ve got engaged after all.”

With a deep breath, Viktor’s lips met yours again, more assured this time. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, carefully sliding it down, his touch feather-light as if afraid to hurt you. You let the fabric fall, leaving your shoulders bare as the dress slipped down, pooling at your feet. Viktor’s gaze softened, his hands moving up to cradle your face, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek as continued to kiss you, his lips pressing to yours with a tenderness that took your breath away.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, a hint of uncertainty lingering. “I… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, reaching up to run a hand through his damp hair, the strands soft beneath your fingers. “I know this is going to be different, but I trust you.”

The words seemed to calm him, and he relaxed, leaning into your touch as his hands moved down, tracing over your arms, your sides, exploring each curve with a newfound confidence. His fingers were gentle, but there was a hint of firmness in his touch, a quiet strength that felt both familiar and new. He took his time, as though savoring every moment, every inch of you, his gaze warm and adoring as he held you close. You felt your breath quicken as his hands found their way to your hips, pulling you against him. There was something different about him, a quiet assurance in the way he moved, as though he was finally allowing himself to embrace this new part of himself. His fingers trailed along your spine, sending shivers through you, and he smiled, a bit shyly, at the way you reacted to his touch.

And then he leaned down, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he traced a path from your collarbone to your shoulder. You felt his fangs brush lightly against your skin, but he held back, his restraint evident, as if he was afraid to lose control.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his grip tightened, his hands pressing into your waist as if anchoring himself. There was a softness to his movements, a care that was almost reverent, and as you looked into his eyes, you could see the love and vulnerability reflected there. He guided you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He sat down, pulling you onto his lap, his hands steady as they found your waist again, holding you close. You felt his warmth, the steady beat of his heart against your chest, as he layed down with you.

Viktor’s fingers trailed up as he undid your bra, his touch warm and steady, and he leaned in to kiss you again, his lips soft and inviting. You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, and even now, he fidgeted slightly, his hands hovering as if unsure where to settle them. The lingering hint of rain hung in the air, mixing with his nervous laughter as he tried to settle his focus on you instead of his apprehensions.

He exhaled, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I just feel like I won’t actually excel in this,” he admitted, glancing down with a slight flush. “There are plenty of things I haven’t done before.”

“Viktor,” you said, feeling a smile tug at your mouth, “you’re thinking like a scientist when we’re having sex.”

He chuckled, his head dropping for a second before he met your gaze again, his red eyes warm, soft, and full of vulnerability. “Not sexy?”

“Not sexy,” you teased. “But if you’re that scared, then just let me guide you.”

He let out a shaky breath, the faintest laugh under his breath. “I feel like a virgin all over again.”

You chuckled as your hand rested lightly on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, steady and strong but with a quickening pulse just beneath the surface. He was healthier than he’d ever been, yet somehow he was shy, almost like the Viktor you’d known before everything changed.

“Then let me help,” you murmured, pressing closer. Your hand brushed his cheek, soft and slow, giving him a smile of encouragement as you closed the space between you. He looked nervous, yet he responded to your touch with a gentle hum, his fingers grazing along your back, unsure but eager to please. There was something endearing about his apprehension, something that reminded you of how tentative he could be despite his vampire strength.

He swallowed, his eyes half-lidded as he met your gaze. "I just...I want to get this right for you. Just tell me what to do."

You felt a smile tug at your lips as you let your fingers wander down his chest, feeling the tension there, the way his breath hitched with each of your movements. "You’re always so good for me, aren’t you?" A low, reluctant groan escaped him as you trailed your fingers further down, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric. You were met with a gaze full of both vulnerability and desire, something raw that Viktor rarely let himself show. He clutched your other hand as if seeking reassurance, his breathing uneven.

"I don’t...I don’t want to disappoint you."

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered softly, “You could never disappoint me, my good boy.” you couldn’t help but stroke him, just a little, feeling the way he reacted to your touch. His hips moved instinctively, thrusting forward slightly as he let out a low groan. His face flushed, his eyes narrowing with a mix of surprise and desire. His body betrayed him, moving on its own, and you could tell that it was all he could do to keep from losing control entirely.

“You’re not the only one who can’t keep their hands to themselves,” you whispered, your voice teasing, yet filled with affection. “You feel that, Viktor? You’re making me crazy.”

He felt pathetic. You weren’t even stroking him properly, just through his boxers. His breath caught in his throat as you continued to stroke him, the tension between you growing with every second.

Viktor's hands trembled just slightly as he caught yours, stopping your touch and looking down at you with that familiar gaze that held so much warmth, so much affection—and tonight, something even more intense, something raw. He was panting, trying to steady himself, and his voice came out low, barely above a whisper.

“Too much?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

He shook his head, his hand still holding yours gently but firmly, as if anchoring himself. “N—no,” he said, his breath hitching. “But tonight... tonight isn’t about me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, soft and full of warmth. There was something endearing about his determination, about how he wanted to give this to you, even if his own restraint was a challenge. It reminded you of everything that made him who he was—kind, selfless, always thinking of others first.

You relaxed against him, letting him guide you as he positioned your thighs, his touch reverent yet slightly hesitant, as if still uncertain of his own control. You raised an eyebrow, your voice teasing as you asked, “You were bolder outside, what happened?”

“Hush. You told me you’d let me work.” A flicker of a smile crossed his lips, and you could see the light in his eyes, a mix of amusement and anticipation. He had surprised himself outside, you knew, and now the closeness, the privacy, was letting his self-consciousness creep back in.

But he didn’t shy away. Viktor’s hand moved down, and he hooked his fingers into the fabric of your panties, tugging them off slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. Every movement felt deliberate, as if he wanted to savor this, to make it last.

As he guided your legs just a bit wider, positioning you carefully, he paused, glancing down at you with a touch of concern. “Pillow?” he asked. You nodded as Viktor’s hand moved to gently support your lower back, positioning a pillow under you with deliberate care. Even in this intimate moment, he remained gentle, ensuring you were comfortable, his attention solely on your needs. Fuck, you loved him. He gave you a reassuring smile before finally slipping off his boxers, his movements a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing over every detail as if he wanted to commit it to memory. His voice was soft but filled with emotion as he whispered, “You’re... so perfect. I don’t say this enough.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, his sincerity so evident in his gaze that it made your heart ache with affection. “You do say it enough.”

He shook his head as he settled over you, his touch became more confident, a slow, steady exploration that revealed his growing comfort in this new closeness. His hands slid over your skin, fingertips leaving a trail of warmth as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, then moved lower, his lips tracing the curve of your collarbone with a careful reverence that made you shiver.

For Viktor, this felt like uncharted territory, taking the lead, and yet, with each shared touch, you could feel him finding his footing, grounding himself in the connection you both shared. You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, pulling him closer, and he leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He paused, searching your eyes, as if needing that final reassurance. You offered him a smile, cupping his face, and he melted into you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deep. The moment he entered you, there was a sharp intake of breath from both of you—a shared gasp as you adjusted to each other, every sensation intensified by the tenderness of the moment. Viktor’s hand found yours on the sheets, his fingers lacing with yours as he pinned it down, a grounding connection that sent a thrill through you both.

“God—” he breathed, a shaky smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he settled into place, adjusting carefully as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. There was a vulnerability there, a glimmer of awe, as though he was still in disbelief that this was happening, that you were here together like this.

“Fuck,” you murmured back, a smile breaking through despite yourself. You could feel the depth of his emotions, the uncertainty giving way to a deep-seated trust. “Didn’t do this in a long time, huh?”

A soft, breathy laugh escaped him, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in response. “No,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Not... not like this.” He dipped his head, pressing his lips against your shoulder, and then gave an experimental thrust.

You moaned, and Viktor’s eyes widened slightly at the sound, his own breath hitching in response. That little flash of confidence crept back into his expression, and he leaned into it. He felt you fully relax around him and started out slow. He set a languorous pace, softly opening you and filling you up with his cock. You wrapped your arms around his back, feeling his muscles flex under his skin. The feeling of him was amazing, his weight above you, his pelvic bone softly grinding against your clit.

His gaze was intense, his red eyes searching yours as though he was committing every detail of you to memory. “Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice slightly unsteady but laced with that earnest desire to make this everything you needed.

You nodded, tightening your grip on his hand as you arched up to meet him, encouraging him with a whispered, “Yes. Perfect. Just... just like that.”

Viktor’s breath caught again at your words, and he gave another deep thrust. The awkwardness of before was melting away, replaced by a confident rhythm that felt like it belonged to both of you, a dance you shared. Then he shifted his angle, his eyes locked with yours, a small smirk forming as he tried to gauge your reaction.

“Oh God, yes.” The words escaped you, filled with more intensity than you’d meant to reveal, and Viktor’s smirk widened, a hint of cockiness he rarely showed.

“Right here?” he murmured, voice low, almost a whisper, but carrying an edge of satisfaction that made your heart race. His eyes sparkled with a mix of joy and surprise; he’d never been able to do this, and it seemed to fuel his confidence even more.

“Yes—" you gasped, "don’t stop, Viktor. Please.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He adjusted his stance slightly, focusing with the same intensity you’d seen him apply to his work in the lab. But this was different—this was for you, for both of you, and every small movement seemed to bring you both closer together. He lowered his hand to your stomach, his fingers splayed across your skin, feeling how he was sliding in and out of you. It was such a turn-on for both of you, each movement he made was a sweet, relentess tourture.

Your moans and his low groans were probably heard throughout the whole building, but the two of you could not give any damn at the moment. It was all so overwhelming—but you need more and he needs more.

As Viktor’s pace quickened, he held you close, every movement conveying the intensity of his emotions. His strength and confidence were new, almost foreign, but you could sense the tenderness beneath the roughness as he guided you, careful to hold you with an awareness of your limits. The familiar Viktor, who had always been so gentle and cautious, was still there, but now with a bolder edge.

He brought his lips close to your neck, and you felt the slight graze of his fangs, a reminder of how much he had changed—and yet, how much he was still the same. It sent a thrill through you, every nerve alight with the nearness of him, the weight of everything you had both been through together.

“V-Viktor,” you managed, your breath catching as he met your gaze. A flicker of warmth and wonder passed over his expression, and he leaned down to press his lips to the delicate skin of your neck. “I know, love,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “Come for me… my beautiful.”

The words wrapped around you, grounding you even as you felt yourself nearing the edge. Instinctively, your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to feel its softness. Viktor inhaled sharply, his reaction almost instant. The quiet, reserved Viktor you knew seemed to vanish as he let out a soft, breathless moan, his intensity deepening.

You focused on coming, you wanted to come for him, because you know that would send him to spiral to his orgasm.

And so, for a moment, you closed your eyes, just feeling. The feeling of him above you. His hand holding yours. His hand gripping your hips tightly, it would probably leave a mark. His lips on your neck. His breath by your ear. His growls and low moans. His clean sweat coating his and your skin. And his cock, continually and steadily pounding into you.

“That’s it, love. Please, come for me.” his words fell from his lips finally made you come. “Come on, beautiful.”

“Fuck. Viktor—” you cried out as you came. You gripped his arm firmly as he continued to push himself in and out of you, helping himself to orgasm. Not too long you could feel his cock twitch, his pace slowing down, and his hips stuttering in movements.

A low groan and a sharp “fuck” fell from Viktor’s lips. Your hands travel lower to his waist, holding him in place and this made him cum inside you. His cum fills you up, his warmth painting your walls as he whimpered. Fucking hell.

Both of you stopped moving, breathless and warm in each other's embrace, Viktor was still close, his forehead resting against yours as he steadied his breathing. His chest rose and fell against you, and he was clearly spent, you could feel that he was softing inside of you. There was something almost boyish in his expression—an awe that was both endearing and unguarded, showing how new this level of closeness was to him. Tiredly, he pulls out of you, some of his cum dripping out of you. But before it could mess the sheets, he dropped between your legs and licked up his dripping cum. He caught it with his tongue, cleaning you up. Then Viktor slid upward so his lips could meet yours.

He kissed you, his tongue meeting yours and you gently sucked on it, tasting him and yourself.

When the two of you broke the kiss, you opened your eyes and met his gaze. He blinked down at you, his eyes full of wonder, and brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your face. “You’re okay?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability slipping through despite his strength, as if he were still checking in, still hoping this had been as good for you as it had been for him.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound catching between your breaths, and pulled him close again for a soft, lingering kiss. “More than okay,” you murmured, and the sincerity in your words brought a fresh wave of emotion to his face. Viktor’s hands cradled your face as though you were something precious, and the way he looked at you in that moment felt like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

His fingers brushed over your cheek, and he shook his head with a small, disbelieving laugh, clearly overwhelmed. “I…I can hardly believe this,” he admitted quietly, his voice low and filled with a raw honesty that he rarely allowed himself to show. He hesitated, glancing down at the ring on your finger—a symbol he had once doubted he would ever be able to give you. “Just to think,” he murmured, his voice muffled yet brimming with a sense of awe, “we’re actually getting married.” He settled himself against you, laying his head under your chin, his body relaxed yet holding you as though he were anchoring himself to reality. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you wrapped your arms around him, savoring the comfort of having him close.

A pang of regret surged through you, and you closed your eyes, guilt flooding your chest. The words slipped out before you could hold them back, a quiet confession. “Viktor…I’m really sorry for earlier. I just… maybe I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Viktor pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression soft yet unreadable. He let out a small, sad chuckle, shaking his head gently. “No, I mean—I understand. Really, I do,” he said softly, and you could tell he meant it. There was no anger, no resentment, only a tender understanding that somehow made your heart ache more. “I’m also terrified of losing you, probably more than you realize. It’s…it’s strange, isn’t it? For so long, I worried about my own health, my own time…how it could slip away. But now, I see all the days ahead, and you’re in every single one of them. I don’t want that to change.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to the ring on your finger, and he swallowed, the vulnerability in his eyes bared fully to you. “If I can have even just some decades with you,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly as he looked at you, “then I’ll take them. I want them more than anything.” The rawness in his tone, the sheer honesty, was something you knew didn’t come easily to him.

You felt a tightness in your throat, a mixture of guilt and overwhelming love that left you speechless for a moment. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours again, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice softer than ever, “I want to have forever with you.”

He wanted forever, but you both knew that wasn’t a promise he could keep, not in the way either of you wished. The reality of it hung between you, a reminder of the time you’d never have enough of.

Your hand reached up to cradle his cheek, and you felt a small tremor beneath your fingers as he held himself there, vulnerable and open. “Viktor…” you started, but words seemed inadequate. How could you explain the doubts that had briefly overtaken you, the fear of holding him back, of being the one he might eventually outlive? You knew it sounded so foolish now, looking into his eyes and seeing only love and certainty.

“I love you so much,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “And I don’t know how to explain what I was thinking tonight. I just… I thought maybe it would be better for you, but—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice firmer this time, his hands coming up to hold your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Please, don’t think that. Don’t even consider it.” His thumb traced over your cheek as he shook his head. “You were never, and could never be, a burden to me. I don’t care if it means facing the inevitable someday. All I know is that I want every moment I can have with you. I want to build a life with you, however much time we get.”

His words washed over you, filling the cracks of doubt you had let grow, and you realized that he had given you exactly what you needed to hear. You hadn’t fully appreciated how deeply he had considered the same fears and still come to the same conclusion, that love was worth every risk.

Viktor’s gaze softened as he noticed the lingering conflict in your expression, the way you seemed caught between joy and guilt. “I just,” he began, his voice gentle as he tilted your chin up to look at him more closely, “you stayed with me, all those times I worried about my own limits… You didn’t leave when things were hardest, even when I didn’t know if I could give you a future. You deserve to feel the same kind of certainty, love.” He paused, the warmth in his eyes growing as he took a deep breath. “That’s why I chose to propose tonight. Not just because I finally could, but because I wanted you to know that it was never a question of ‘if’ but only ‘when.’ You’ve always been my future. Even when I couldn’t imagine living long enough to make it real, I knew it was with you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you felt yourself soften, the last remnants of your fears melting away in the warmth of his unwavering gaze. How could you have doubted him, even for a moment? Viktor’s love had been as steadfast as the way he looked at you now, and the reality of that truth finally broke through, leaving you without anything but gratitude and love in its place.

With a small laugh, you lifted your hand and you felt his hand move to your ring once again, his fingers brushing over it almost reverently. “I feel like an absolute idiot, you know that?” you said, smiling through the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I was so close to pushing you away when… when this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Viktor laughed softly, his own smile breaking through as he brushed his lips against your forehead. “Well, lucky for you,” he whispered, his tone light yet full of meaning, “I wouldn’t have let you.”

You chuckled through a shaky breath, still overwhelmed by the sheer warmth of his presence, the way he held you as though he could protect you from everything, including your own fears. The comfort in his touch, his words, his gaze—it was everything you needed and more. He started to press his lips against your neck, his mouth lingering just over your pulse. He could feel the rhythm of your heartbeat—steady, strong, warm against his lips. As he began to kiss the soft skin there, his mind was suddenly flooded with a wave of emotions, raw and unfiltered, emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel this deeply.

Is this…is this how you felt? When you knew that he might not live long enough to see a future with you, had you also felt this way? Had you also been this scared? This terrified of losing him? And if you had felt this—if you had felt even a fraction of this ache he was feeling now—how on earth had you managed to bear it?

He kissed you softly, as if trying to offer an apology he hadn’t known he owed you. His lips brushed over the spot where your pulse throbbed, and he let them linger, feeling the beat of your life under his mouth, grounding him in this moment. He wanted to mark you somehow, to leave a piece of himself with you, a reminder of this love that seemed as vast and endless as the night sky outside. So he kissed you there again, a little more firmly, his lips sucking gently against your skin as he decided to leave a hickey, a token of his love, his need, his presence.

And when he heard you whimper softly under his touch, felt the shiver that ran through you as he sucked on your skin, Viktor felt something break inside him—a fierce, overwhelming wave of love, yes, but also a deeper fear than he’d ever known. A fear he had never fully confronted until now.

How did you bear it, knowing that each day, each moment, could be the last? How did you manage to stay so strong, so unshakable, for him, never once letting him see the worry that must have gnawed at you? He remembered all the times you’d smiled for him, the reassuring words you’d offered whenever he grew too tired or too weak to keep going. You had always been there, unwavering, a source of light in the dark, guiding him forward even when he was ready to give up. And yet, he realized now, you must have felt this fear too—this same terrible, all-consuming fear that clawed at him now.

But you’d hidden it so well. You’d hidden it behind your laughter, your gentle smiles, your touch that had always reassured him when he needed it most. And now, knowing what you must have gone through, he felt a sudden rush of guilt. Had he ever thanked you properly? Had he ever truly understood what you’d given up, how much you’d sacrificed just to stay by his side? He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d taken you for granted, if he’d ever really grasped how strong you’d been, all while he’d been lost in his own struggle.

With a shaky breath, he pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching your face as if he could find the answers there, as if he could finally understand everything you had gone through for him. His gaze softened, filled with a tenderness that mirrored the depth of his gratitude and love. He brushed a hand over your cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin, grounding himself in the warmth of you.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper.

“I know I am.” And he scoffed and then you took his hand, lacing your fingers with his, giving him the same comforting squeeze he’d felt a thousand times before.

“Seriously?” he huffed, eyebrows raised, though the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Here I am, giving you a beautiful, heartfelt compliment, and that’s what you say?”

You grinned, barely able to hold back a laugh. “What can I say? You set the bar high. Just trying to keep up with all these compliments you keep giving me.”

Viktor gave you a look, narrowing his eyes like he was ready to play along with this newfound challenge. “Oh, is that right?” He leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, his voice dropping low, sending a shiver down your spine. “I guess I should stop then. Don’t want to make your ego any bigger than it already is.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Please, like you could resist.”

Viktor chuckled, finally breaking into a smile. He pulled back slightly, looking at you with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “Well, someone’s confident,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Maybe I need to be less generous with my compliments if you’re going to be like this.”

“Really?” you replied, matching his grin with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, really.” He leaned in close, a mischievous glint in his eye as he shifted to kiss you again. But before he could close the distance, you reached up, gently placing a hand against his chest to stop him. His brows knitted in slight confusion, but there was a playful gleam in your eyes that kept him from questioning it.

“Why don’t you put that mouth to work, huh?” you said, your tone challenging, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

A slow, delighted smile spread across Viktor’s face as he took in your words, clearly up for whatever you had in mind. “Is that a request?” he murmured, leaning in just a bit closer.

“More like a demand,” you replied, arching an eyebrow as you gave him a pointed look.

Viktor laughed softly, his gaze warm as he looked down at you. “Well, then,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Far be it from me to deny such a demand.”

[doctorho]

viktor doesn't... pay that much attention to appearances, his or anyone else's. not when it doesn't matter. sure, there's the 'wearing what they see as respectable clothes so they take you seriously' and the 'not going to the dinner table covered in oil stains', but beyond that? he doesn't really care, to be honest.

yes, he's aware that some people put a lot more thought into the way they look, and into what other people think about the way they look. he knows that's a thing. it just happens to be a thing he chooses not to personally get invonved in.

well, it had been.

he honestly hadn't even thought about it much, before. it had just been one of those things that other people did, one of those things he had never really understood. you know, one of those things that made him feel like maybe the rest of the world had had some secret meeting without him where they decided that yes, these are the rules, and no, we won't explain them, you just have to know.

one of those things.

and he had been fine not thinking about it! truly, he had been blissfully unaware of what the current beauty standards were and which traits were seen as good or bad on which year -

and then he'd met you, by some miracle. you know, viktor doesn't meet that many new people, these days, so it does genuinely feel like a miracle when you just... stumble into his life one day. and without even thinking about it, automatically, viktor's brain files you away as beautiful, and he treats that as a passing fact, the same way he treats the color of your eyes. it's just a categorizing trait; this person just is beautiful.

and then, later, when he learns that apparently not everyone thinks that, his brain disagrees, severly. like - are they blind? is this a joke? it's a bad joke, if so, and then he's mad for you.

because he remembers that, ah, right. some people are weird about appearances. they have their menial rules about it that change by the decade.

he's still mad for you, but mentally he's ended that argument with well they're all idiots. because clearly you are an awesome, incredible, beautiful human being and this shouldn't be an argument in the first place.

he tells you this, and then his heart breaks a little when you seem so used to hearing the opposite. when you seem to have accepted what those idiots were saying because you'd just...heard it so often.

when you seem to not-quite-believe that he could really see you as beautiful. that he could really, actually want you. like that.

and it's - it drives him up the wall that this is even a thing. that the negative things you've heard outweigh the positive ones, and apparently by a landslide. that he can't make you see yourself the way he sees you.

because, truly, he thinks you're so beautiful. like, are you kidding? viktor's been skin and bone his whole life, and you're so...soft. he knows it way before he ever touches you; he can see it, and he has a well enough functioning imagination. and he's been thinking about it a lot, lately. what you'd feel like under his fingers. against his body. he has theories about this.

he can tell you're soft, and warm, and sometimes when the sunlight hits you he genuinely thinks you look like you could be straight out of one of those expensive oil paintings people paid a lot of money to see just a glimpse of.

and - yes, okay, maybe some of this was just his hormones talking, but come on. he couldn't not want to touch you. that was just one of those facts of life - the sun rose every morning, and whenever viktor saw you, he had the urge to touch you. to be close to you. to prove to you how much he adored you.

and then when you let him? that - that felt like a miracle. truly and honestly. because - viktor had never considered himself to be especially lucky, just, like, in life in general, but this?

he had to have won some sort of cosmic lottery. to first be lucky enough to meet you and then to be able to do this. to get so close. to touch you like this, to see you like this. it is nothing short of a privilege and he takes it, happily and greedily. and he makes it his personal mission to let you know exactly what he thought about you, and exactly how little you should care about anyone else's opinion. except your own, of course, but only on those days your mind was being kind to you.

so he makes sure you know that he absolutely worships you. okay? you are his personal deity, and he is devoted. he lets you know, any way he knows how, and any opportunity he gets. given half a chance, he will be praising you, telling how gorgeous you are and how lucky he is to have you. telling you how good you look, how good you feel, how good you make him feel. he isn't shy - he tells you, in enough detail to make your cheeks heat up.

and when you're alone, and you have all the time in the world? he shows you, and he doesn't hold back. and then he reminds you, again and again and again.

and you know viktor isn't a liar. he doesn't care about things like this enough to lie about them. so when he tells you that he loves the way you look, the way you feel, the way you are, you believe him.

[tired-truffle]

Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k

Part 2/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

“You poor thing. Sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do. It's already been done.” - Ethel Cain

Masterlist

Nothing killed the mood like the growling of one’s stomach. When was the last time you ate? Yesterday morning? No, you hadn’t been able to stomach anything after Sky’s…had she died only two days ago? And her spirit, once trapped in the Hexcore, had you truly managed to free her? Your magic was greedy, it stood to reason it wouldn’t want to let her go - but you hadn’t the faintest idea how you could figure that out.

The cupboards were bare, not a single crumb or drop of water left in the house, and you had quickly run into a dilemma; Viktor wanted to venture out to find food, and more importantly water, but your body was weak and uncooperative. Your legs gave out as you tried to descend the stairs, landing on your backside as you slid the rest of the way down. Mortified, you’d tried to stand again, only for your knees to buckle and send you back to the floor. Viktor had fretted over you, descending the stairs behind you at an alarming rate, and you were sure that he would follow your path. But his new body was improved in coordination and stronger than yours. Once he’d ensured you were alright, your magic already at work to numb any pain, it became clear that neither of you felt comfortable leaving the other alone. But the dry, sandpaper-like feeling in your throat reminded you that water was essential for survival. Damn it.

“It’s too dangerous for you to go out there alone,” you insisted as he helped you sit up, his arm under your shoulder. “We don’t know enough about what I did to you, what if you get stuck out there? I won’t know where you are.”

“I’m aware of my capabilities, Milá. I will be back before you know it.” 

“You don’t know that,” you pressed, your voice hoarse from dehydration, “we’ve seen how unpredictable my magic is. It’s too much of a risk.” 

Viktor sighed, his metallic fingers gently squeezing your shoulder. "Milá, we don't have much choice. We can't both go in your condition, and we can't both stay here and wither away."

You knew he was right, but fear clouded your judgment. The memory of Sky's fate was still raw, a festering wound. Not to mention you’d almost lost Viktor as well.

"There has to be another way," you insisted, your voice rising. "We just need to think—"

In your agitation, you waved your hand and as you did, a shimmering distortion appeared in the air before you, coalescing into a large pitcher filled to the brim with clear, cool water. It hung there momentarily, suspended by some unseen force, before gently settling onto the floor between you and Viktor.

You both stared at it, mouths agape, minds struggling to process. The pitcher sat there, a perfect image of innocence and purity against the backdrop of dusk and muck. It was almost surreal, as if it had been plucked from the lab and dropped into this unexpected setting.

“Did I do that?” You inched towards the pitcher, suspicion wrinkling the skin around your eyes. 

“It wasn’t me,” Viktor offered unhelpfully, and you shot him an unimpressed glare.

With a hesitant and careful movement, you reached out to touch the pitcher, quickly retracting your hand as though it might bite when you hit the smooth surface.

Viktor’s eyes were full of sparkling curiosity as he observed the mysterious object. “There is only one way to ensure its safety.”

“Which is?” You’d barely gotten your question out before Viktor had snatched up the pitcher and brought it to his mouth. His throat bobbed as he swallowed down a generous amount of the clear liquid.

“Viktor!” you shouted, panic crashing through you and the web of your magic pulsing its concern - a few squeals had you glancing around for those damned sparks, but they remained elusive.

He chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to clear away any lingering droplets. “Human experimentation may be frowned upon, but it’s an exceptionally accurate test,” he remarked. “That and I was very thirsty.” 

“That’s not funny,” you hissed, snatching the pitcher from his hands and holding it close to your chest, your bottom lip jutted out in a childish pout. 

“It’s a little bit funny.” The corners of his mouth curved upward into a sly grin, causing a flicker of irritation to flare up within you.

“What if it’s poison? Just cause it looks like water doesn’t mean it is.” You sniffed the pitcher, the smell of the porcelain the only scent you caught. 

“Given that I’m still breathing, it’s safe to say that it’s at least not a fast-acting poison. I also trust you not to summon a jar of poison.” He gestured towards the pitcher. “You should drink, Milá. It is important for your recovery that you remain hydrated.” 

You were well aware of that, given how many times you’d burned yourself. And you were incredibly thirsty, your lips dry and cracking, your tongue feeling like it was made out of sand.

With a quick glance at Viktor, and then back to the pitcher, you lifted it to your lips and let the cool liquid flow down your throat. The refreshing taste brought relief to your parched mouth, and even if it turned out to be poison, you didn't care anymore.

When you finally lowered the pitcher, gasping for air, you noticed a secretive smile playing on Viktor’s lips.

"What?" you asked, copying his motion from earlier and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Nothing," he replied, reaching for the pitcher. "I'm just glad to see you looking more…alive."

You rolled your eyes, though that didn’t stop the affection that spread through your chest. As Viktor took his turn drinking, you felt a sudden pang in your stomach. Right, you were also starving. Water alone wouldn't sustain you for long.

Your stomach growled loudly, causing Viktor to pause mid-sip and raise an eyebrow. "I suppose water isn't quite enough, is it?"

Embarrassed, you shook your head. But you had an idea; if you could summon water, why wouldn’t you be able to do the same with food? Focusing on the space in front of you, you willed a plate of food to appear just as the pitcher had. You pictured a steaming bowl of stew, some crackers, and maybe even a slice of pie for dessert. Your brow furrowed with concentration, but nothing materialized.

"It's not working," you grumbled, your fists clenching - and swiftly unclenching when a spasm of pain made it through your numbing barrier and up your arm. 

Viktor set down the pitcher and scooted closer to you. "Perhaps we're approaching this the wrong way," he mused, his analytical mind already at work. "What were you thinking about when you conjured the water?"

You thought back to that moment, trying to recall your exact state of mind. "I was…scared. Worried about you going out alone. And I wanted there to be another way."

Viktor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And now?"

"Now I'm just hungry. And annoyed that it's not working."

Viktor chuckled, soft and patient. "Ah, there's our problem. Your magic responds to emotion, not just need. When you summoned the water, you were feeling protective, weren't you? You wanted to keep me safe."

You nodded slowly, beginning to see where he was going with this.

"So," Viktor continued, taking your hand in his, "let's try focusing on positive feelings. Think about how good it will feel to eat, how it will help us both recover."

You closed your eyes, letting Viktor's words wash over you. You thought about shared meals in the lab, and late-night snacks as you pestered him with questions that he never seemed to mind, the simple joy of eating with someone you cared about. As you concentrated on those memories, you felt a tingling sensation in your fingertips.

"Milá," Viktor's voice was soft and you leaned towards him instinctively. "Open your eyes."

You did, and there before you was a small feast: a tureen of fragrant soup, a loaf of crusty bread, and even a modest chocolate cake. Not exactly what you’d had in mind, but wonderful nonetheless. The sight and smell permeated the mildew of the old house, making it feel a little more alive and welcoming.

"It worked!" you exclaimed, reaching out to touch the bread, just to make sure it was real. The crust crackled under your fingers, still warm as if fresh from the oven.

"Remarkable." Viktor leaned in to examine the food more closely. "Your powers continue to astound me."

You couldn't help but beam at his praise, a warm flush creeping up your neck. But the growling of your stomach quickly reminded you of more pressing matters.

"We can study it later," you said, already tearing off a chunk of bread. "Right now, I'm starving."

Viktor helped himself to some soup, and you found yourself momentarily distracted by the way his thick eyebrows furrowed slightly as he blew on the broth to cool it down. But your hunger would not be ignored for long, and you were quickly brought back to the task at hand.

You ate in comfortable silence, at the bottom of the steps, not bothering to move to a more suitable location - there really wasn’t anywhere else anyway. As the food hit your stomach, you found your sour mood vanishing beneath the warmth that rose at the sight of Viktor, alive and sort of well, eating with you on the floor of his childhood home. 

“I can’t believe you've been calling me Darling all these years and I never even knew.” You broke the quiet as you polished off the last bites of your meal, lightly nudging his foot with yours. “Who even does that?”

He smiled wide and brimming with affection, and you thought you may swoon from the sweetness of it all. “A besotted fool.”

A rosy blush spread across your cheeks and over the tips of your ears.

“Though, I must admit that I got a little flustered and used the wrong conjugation,” he said with a sheepish grin, a light red tinge running up his neck. “It should be miláčku, if I am using it to address you. Miláček would be used when talking about someone.”

“Oh,” you thought on it for a moment. “Well, that’s not too bad.”

He cleared his throat, finding a keen interest in the corner of the ceiling. “It is also, ah, a male term of endearment.”

You stared at Viktor blankly for a moment. Then, like a dam bursting, laughter erupted from deep within your chest. It started as a giggle, then grew into a full-bodied guffaw that shook your entire frame. Tears sprang to your eyes as you gasped for air between peals of laughter.

The absurdity of it all hit you in waves. Here you were, sitting on the dusty stairs of a dilapidated house, having just conjured a meal out of thin air, learning that the man you'd been pining after for years had been calling you by a male pet name this entire time. The juxtaposition of the profound and the ridiculous was too much to bear.

You clutched your sides, your ribs aching. You tried to speak, to say something witty or clever, but every time you opened your mouth, another bout of giggles overtook you.

Viktor's face flushed an even deeper shade of red. "I panicked," he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. "But it could have been worse; my mother called broučku."

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you managed to collect yourself enough to ask, “What does that mean?”

He grinned, finally meeting your gaze. “Little beetle.”

You gasped, your eyes widening with delight. "Little beetle? That's adorable!" A matching grin spread across your face, imagining a tiny Viktor scampering about. "Oh, I can just picture your mom scooping you up and calling you her little broučku!"

Viktor's brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a mock pout. "I'm not a teeny insect, thank you very much. I'm a respected scientist and inventor."

You giggled at his indignation. "Even if you were the world's smallest bug, I'd still love you," you declared. "I'd build you a terrarium and everything. It would have little beakers and test tubes, maybe a tiny chalkboard for your calculations."

"Well, I suppose that wouldn't be so bad," he conceded, his metallic fingers drumming a gentle rhythm on his leg. "Though I must insist on proper ventilation.”

“Only the best for you, my little bug,” you crooned with saccharine sweetness.

Viktor's lips quirked into a smirk. "I’m shocked to find out that you could hold such feelings for an insect. I better not see you cavorting around with any of the spiders in this house. Some have particularly large backsides that I cannot compete with."

The mental image his words conjured was too much. You dissolved into another fit of giggles, imagining Viktor sizing himself up against a portly arachnid.

"I don't know," you managed between gasps, wiping tears from your eyes. "Those spiders are pretty tempting. All those legs, you know? Very sexy."

Viktor's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "Milá! How could you? Here I thought we had something special, and you're off fantasizing about eight-legged womanizers."

You leaned in close, your nose nearly brushing his. "What can I say? I like my men with an exoskeleton."

Viktor's laugh was rich and warm and you revelled in it. But as it subsided, a comfortable silence settled over you both. The mirth lingered in your eyes, softening into something warmer, more tender. You found yourself studying Viktor's face, tracing the lines of his jaw, noting how the fading light caught in his amber eyes.

“You can call me Miláček or miláčku,” you said. “I like both, even if they’re technically meant for men. It’s just my name, regardless of its meaning. I don’t think anything else would fit at this point.”

"I'm glad," he said, barely above a whisper. "Though I think I prefer miláčku. It suits you better."

His metallic hand reached out, hesitant at first, then gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The cool touch sent chills down your neck, but it wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it heightened your awareness of how close you were sitting, your knees almost touching.

“It seems silly now,” you leaned into his touch, “to let it go unsaid for so long.” 

His smile softened, and you scooted closer, knees knocking together, needing to be near him. “I didn’t want to burden you with my impending death more than I already had.”

You wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into his side. “You have never been a burden, Viktor.”

“Still,” he doubled down, “it didn’t seem fair of me to confess my feelings. I worried I’d only hurt you more in the end. You deserve to live a long and happy life with whomever you choose.” 

You paused, the slight crease of a frown tugging at your lips as you tilted your head upward. Your eyes followed his gaze towards the door, noticing the tension in his jaw as he deliberately avoided looking directly at you. “Do you blame yourself for this?” 

He pursed his thin lips, sighing as he looked towards his feet. “You were hurt during the explosion at the council that I attended, and then, to save me from my body’s failings, you endangered yourself, used the Hexcore and almost—“ he cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut. “Now, you’re stuck in the abandoned slums of the Undercity because I brought you here. I fail to see how that is not my fault.” 

With a flicker of playful familiarity, you mimicked a move he had frequently used on you. Gently, your fingers grasped his chin and turned his face to meet yours, a slight dip of your head allowing your eyes to meet his downcast gaze. You smiled almost shyly as you brushed your thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the cracked texture beneath your touch. “It was my decision to save you and the rest of the council from the explosion, just as it was my decision to absorb the Hexcore to save you. And it is still my decision to be here with you. I don’t care where we are, as long as we are together. Don’t think for one moment that I regret getting more time with you. Besides, it’s not like either of us could go back to Piltover looking like this.” 

His lips parted, staring at you as though you hung the sun and the moon and scattered the stars across the night sky. “I appreciate you attempting to absolve me of my guilt, but I had a part to play in all this too.” 

He held your right hand in his, palm up as he traced the now healed - thanks to the Shimmer - burn scarring your skin. It had been the consequences of the first time you’d tried to heal Viktor with the Hexcore.

“Maybe,” you said nonchalantly, “but I don’t blame you for it.” 

“No, you blame yourself, which I would argue is not an improvement.”

“Then we will both have to work on absolving ourselves of guilt. It happened, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.” Easier said than done, but it was a start, if nothing else. “All we can do now is move forward and try to do our best.” 

“Wise words from a woman who only moments ago was pouting over potentially poisoned water,” he teased, brushing his nose against yours. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little stunt. You owe me for the mini heart attack you gave me.”

Viktor grinned, promise glinting in his amber-hued gaze. “I’m sure I can figure out some way to make it up to you.”

Your heart fluttered at Viktor's suggestive tone, but exhaustion quickly dampened any amorous intentions. You settled for nestling closer, breathing in his familiar scent as your eyelids grew heavy.

The days that followed blended together in a haze of rest and recovery. You found yourself able to conjure food and water with increasing ease, though you couldn’t figure out how to choose what you got. One morning, you woke to find a steaming plate of eggs benedict waiting for you, complete with a delicate sprig of parsley on top.

You and Viktor fell into a comfortable routine. During the day, you’d talk softly about everything and nothing, exchanging tender kisses that left you breathless. At night, you curled up together on the hard floor, but you didn’t mind it so much as long as you weren’t alone.

Your strength returned gradually as you recovered, and you found yourself able to make the trip up and down the stairs. You were thankful that the bathroom was on the second floor, though it wasn’t ideal. The plumbing was no longer functional, but you’d made do with a bucket and tried not to dwell on the less-than-ideal situation.

The hallucinations persisted, though none quite as terrifying as that first night. Occasionally, you'd see Sky's ghost watching you from the corner of the room, hear Jayce’s laughter or whispers from the Hexcore. But they were fleeting, like echoes of a fading dream.

Your magic continued its mischievous streak. One afternoon, you sneezed and accidentally turned all the dust particles in the air into tiny butterflies. Another time, you laughed so hard at one of Viktor's dry jokes that you cracked the bedroom door.

But as you grew stronger, Viktor declined. His movements became slower, more laboured. Dark circles deepened under his eyes, and his skin took on a sickly pallor. You caught him wincing when he thought you weren't looking, his hand pressed against his chest as if to hold something in.

He tried to hide it, of course, brushing off your concerns with a smile and a quip. But you knew him too well to be fooled.

“Viktor,” you said one night as you lay together on the hard ground, your magic refusing to conjure up anything but food and water - incredibly frustrating when what you really wanted was a simple tube of lip balm. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what, exactly?” The words fell from his mouth with a practiced ease, but you weren't fooled by the casualness in his tone. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

You raised your hand off his chest, letting your magic poke and prod at the responding sparks that bounced off his metal skin. “The magic is fading, it’s not settling out. What I did was temporary, and the only way to do it again—“

“No,” he spoke over you, firm and tightening his grip around your waist. “I will not risk you like that.” 

“I will not let you die,” you countered. “Do you have an alternative?” 

His silence was answered enough. 

“Soraka said that if I pulled too much on the Hexcore her spell would unravel, but what if I only pull on it a little bit? I already fortified you, maybe it will only need some touch-ups.” 

He shook his head, and frustration rose like bile in your throat. “That is too dangerous. We don’t know the extent of the Hexcore’s influence; even a fraction of its power could be too great. And if it was fully unleashed, I fear the devastating effects it would have on you.” 

You flipped over, muscles tensing as you propped yourself up on an elbow and stared down at him with determined defiance. “And your death wouldn’t destroy me?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t finished. “I will not lose you, and I know you want to live too.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt on my behalf again.” He reached for your cheek, but you slapped his hand away, your lips pulled back and teeth barred in a feral snarl. 

“No,” you growled, your eyes alight with a fury that may not have been entirely your own. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You promised.” 

“Miláček—“

“You don’t get to call me that when you refuse to let me help, Viktor.” You pushed yourself up, your knees pressing into the floor. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, following you, eyes wide as he struggled to find the right words to say. “Please, lay back down, allow me to explain.”

“No!” you shouted, surprising even yourself. The word reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, a mix of anger and desperation making it sound distant and close all at once. The buzzing in your ears grew louder, drowning out any rational thoughts as a surge of rage pulsed through your body, pounding against your skull.

With a quick, fluid movement, you stood up from the ground, your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. In front of you, Viktor crouched low, his gaze level with yours. His hand extended towards you, palm open, as if trying to calm a wild creature. When had he gotten up?

And when had that scorch mark on the wall behind him gotten there? 

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded, voice thick with tears and aching desperation. You felt like a child throwing a temper tantrum, unable to comprehend anything outside of the agony that swirled inside, left without a proper outlet to express it. “Please, I can’t go through that again.” 

“I know, lásko,” he soothed in a velvety whisper. His fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer to him as if wanting to protect you from the world. You followed, mesmerized by the rich timbre of his voice and the warmth of his touch.

“You wish to help, and I don’t want to deny you this, but as you worry for me, so do I for you.” 

That made sense, didn’t it? It was a fair assertion, one you could understand despite the buzzing in your mind. Sinking back to your knees, all but crumpling into Viktor’s embrace, you swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape, pushing it past the Hexcore’s presence that sat lodged in your throat. “I have to try.” 

“We may discuss this more in the morning, but I make no promises. You are too precious to me, miláčku, if we are to do this, it must be safe for you.” 

And you would make no promises either, for you could already feel your hold on the Hexcore had loosened ever so slightly - enough for its power to start leaking out of its cage, like wisps of smoke escaping through cracks in a jar.

“Okay,” you agreed for now, hazy even as you settled against him. “I’m sorry,” you added, “I didn’t mean to shout earlier, I was just suddenly…loud, like everything else in my head.”

He brushed a kiss against your forehead, soft and tender. The gentle pressure lingered, a wordless promise etched into your skin. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. His fingers threaded through your hair, cool against your scalp.

Viktor's lips moved against your skin, not quite forming words. You felt the working of his throat as if he was trying to speak but couldn't find the right thing to say. Instead, he poured all his unspoken feelings into that single, lingering kiss.

Next Chapter

A/N: Sooooo turns out I've been using the Czech term for darling wrong, and I thought I should probably fix that. Special thank you to @veru-boom for helping me write it properly!

Let me know what you think so far! How do you feel about losing your mind 😅

Its probably gonna be a few days before I am able to update again, but wanted to get a bit more out!

Little broǔcku Viktor ❤️

[notquitebuckybarnes]

Open Roleplay Starter

(TW: mental breakdown, vague bit of self-harm and small description of suicidal thoughts)

Bucky sat in a dirty alleyway, shadows swallowing his form so he wasn't to be seen. Something that he wanted right now. No, he needed it. If nobody saw him — noticed him in general — then he couldn't do more damage at least. God, he wasn't even sure in which country he was right now. What he knew through was that his head hurt like someone had tried to split it open from the inside. He knew what that meant and feeled like he would vomit yet nothing came out. He lifted his right hand, fingers burying itself in his scalp. It had happened again. HYDRA. The trigger words. It didn't matter what Bucky did. He always hurt someone. Over and over again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping nonethelessly at the side of his face and dropped to the ground. He had brought Viktor Malric Finn and Callum and even another variant of himself that also had the trigger words. His titanium hand fisted the fabric of his dark combat pants. Viktor had given it to him so he would be 'proper equipped'. Yet another thing on the repeating list. How often would such things happen, would someone use this goddamn words? What if next time he wouldn't ''only'' abduct and imprison minors and variants, but kill again?

... Perhaps Steve had been good to leave. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if Bucky would just rot in some high security cell of some government. Or just would end it all together.

He couldn't hurt anyone then anymore. Not as the Winter Soldier, not as Bucky and not intentional or unintentionally. Never again.

Yeah, that sounded like a responsible idea.

((@ireallyliketacosokay and at everyone who wants or thinks about to join: Just do it!))

[galactic-magick]

Nights Like This: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You and Viktor get ready for bed together.

Warnings: none

Author's Note: Obsessed with Viktor and Arcane in general rn so I wrote this tooth-rotting fluff fic. Enjoy <3

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Viktor looks so serene, sitting there like that. Invested in his book, the dim light of the lamps in the living room reflecting on his skin like gold. He’s so beautiful, and you never tire of seeing his face no matter how long you’ve been together. You’ve memorized every mark, every scar, every crease. He’s your everything.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been in the doorway staring at him until he glances up and smiles his cheeky grin he reserves only for you.

“Care to join me?”

You nod, a huge smile stretching across your face as you rush over and snuggle into his side. You kiss his jaw and rest your head on his shoulder.

“How was your shower, darling?” Viktor asks, wrapping one arm around you and transferring his book to the other.

“Good. You going to be up much longer?”

“No,” he closes his book and sets it on the side table. “Just waiting for you, love.”

You give him one last squeeze and kiss before standing up, offering him your hand. He takes it, leaning on you for support as you both walk to the bedroom. Viktor would never let anyone else be his crutch, but he appreciates the closeness.

You rummage through the bathroom drawer while Viktor gets undressed, grabbing a bottle, towels, and soap. You then join him on the bed and help him take his back and leg braces off. Despite all the buckles and locks, the process is quite quick from the practice. Even though Viktor constantly told you that you don’t have to do this every night, you insisted on it so much that he doesn’t try to stop you anymore. You do this because you love him, not out of a feeling of obligation.

Opening the bottle of pain potion, you pour some into your palms and begin massaging it onto his back, handing him the bottle afterwards so he can use it on his leg. It’s a far from perfect fix, but it usually soothes the aching enough to help him fall asleep. He sighs in relief once you’ve spread it around and massaged every inch of his skin, leaning back onto you, his head colliding with your shoulder. You wrap your limbs around him and pull him in until there’s no space between you, kissing his temple.

“You’re too good to me, love,” he says softly.

“I’m good as you deserve, darling,” you assure him, moving up a hand to tangle your fingers through his soft hair. He hums at your touch, sinking further into your embrace.

“Hang on,” you say, gently pushing him away. You grab his braces and wipe them down with the soap and wet towels, then hang them up to dry overnight. You also turn off the lights in the room before returning to the bedside.

Viktor looks up at you in adoration, still failing to understand how someone could do so much for him without a second thought. Your love for him is constantly pouring out of you like an overflowing fountain, and he knows he’s powerless to stop it, not that he’d ever try. It’s taken him a long time to accept this type of love as his reality, the kind that’s unconditional and unwavering, but he finally has. He’s allowed his heart to be calm with you, be trusting.

You will always be the vision of perfection in Viktor’s eyes, the person no other living being could live up to in tranquility, character, and allure. He could never tire of listening to you or looking at you. You make him feel like the person so many others in his life told him he could never be.

You stand between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed, returning your fingers to his hair. His hands desperately cling to your hips, pulling you closer until his face is nuzzling your stomach. He looks up at you, melting under your soft gaze.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” you smile warmly, caressing his face a bit before sitting next to him.

You pull off the covers and wiggle under them, gently pulling on his arm for him to join you. He follows suit, instantly cuddling you close. He presses kisses to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, and finally locks your lips. When he can’t find the words to describe just how much you mean to him, he puts everything into his soft, affectionate touches. You understand every phrase, every sentence he says with each stroke of his hands on you, lulling you into peace and relaxation.

“Viktor…” your eyes are barely open, but you don’t want to stop looking at his handsome face. You brush a hand across his cheek.

“Shh, darling, you’ve more than earned your sleep,” he guides your head to his chest, feeling your breath on his bare skin.

Viktor is never the first to fall asleep, but he’s never minded that. He watches as your eyes shut and you mindlessly snuggle him in your slumber. He will never take nights like this for granted, nor you or your love.

He kisses the top of your head one last time before succumbing to his own fatigue.

“Goodnight, my love.”

[buryustogether]

-> i really fucked it up <-

jackie welles x reader (v)

wc: 6.6k

summary: jackie told you not to take this job. now you’re fucked in more ways than one.

warnings/tags: kidnapping, some mild torture, violence, blood, weapon use, swearing, established relationship, angst, couple fighting, smut, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, possesive jackie, almost a dash of yandere if you SqUiNt

author’s note: started working on this, had to go to the hospital. bon appetit. (spanish to english translations at the bottom.)

based on ‘i really fucked it up’ by girli

Jackie had told you that this was not a job you could do alone. He’d warned you from the very start, when you’d stepped into Vik’s clinic while he was getting his chrome repaired and presented the plan to him with nothing less than a flourish and confetti. Yet even with your tactics laid out, with every detail plotted and every possibility planned, he still said no.

You had told him he was starting to sound like his mother. “You worry too much,” you had said and taken a seat beside the chair as Viktor had tinkered with a cybernetic in your man’s forearm. “It’s going to be low-profile anyway. Arriving tonight in a tiny port just north of Pacifica, in neutral ground. No gangs to claim it. No one to hear about it but you and me.”

“And where did you hear about it?” Viktor had asked.

“Nowhere,” you’d replied. They had both given you identical looks of skepticism that made your skin crawl. “A fixer I met a few weeks back. He’s a choom. Hooked me up with a few good takes recently.”

Jackie had released a heavy exhale from deep within his belly. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from admiring the way his abs flexed beneath the fabric of his tank top as he breathed. “Still doesn’t sound like a good idea,” he told you as his hand was released and he flexed his fingers. He shook his palm out. “Just let it go, carino.”

You wished you had listened to him.

It must have been hours since the Maelstrom had caught you while loading crates of Kiroshi tech into your ride, eyes wide and lips parted in shock like a lizard in the Badlands stuck frozen in a pair of approaching headlights. It must have been hours since they had knocked you to the ground with a couple well-placed pistol whips that made your head spun, since they zip tied your wrists and ankles behind your back, manhandled you into the trunk of a Thornton, and brought down the butt of a shotgun against the surface of your temple.

There were no windows in your little makeshift cell, so you had no idea what time it could have been.

But it had to have been hours.

When you woke to a reality-splitting, teeth-gnashing, tech-glitching headache, you had discovered your captors had handcuffed you to a bathtub faucet over yourself so that you were forced to recline back in the tub to avoid your wrists snapping. The wall to make the bathroom private had long ago been torn down, giving you a generous view of the rest of the abandoned apartment the gang was using as a hideout. It was just as you had expected from cybercosis-pushing freaks like them; ratty couches and scattered drug bowls, pieces and bits of bloody tech littered across tables and countertops, a spotty television playing somewhere along the far wall. A number of them milled about, coming and going, kicking up feet or pacing with automatics clutched in hand. Your mind was far too much of a fuzzy static to even think of counting them.

If you were being completely honest, you had no idea why the Maelstrom had not killed you on the spot when they showed up to nab the Kiroshi tech and you’d already been there. You had seen them shoot to kill for worse. Hell, you’d once witnessed a junkie get his guts blown out over spitting too close to a Maelstrom’s shoe.

You didn’t know why you were here, why they hadn’t popped your head off with a simple squeeze of the trigger. You did know, however, that you needed to get out of here - before they suddenly got any ideas and started picking you apart for your chrome.

Pulling gently against the handcuffs around the faucet already digging bruises into your wrists, you sat up as much as you were able and sniffed. The air reeked of sitting water and mold. If you had to guess, you were probably still in Pacifica. The fact struck you as odd. Maelstrom’s turf bordered Watson to the north, not all the way down here in the high-as-hell land of the delusional wash up actors. Something was up.

You blinked against the black eye that was surely forming on your face and licked your cracked lips. Sweat beaded on your upper lip, and you wiped it off on your upper arm. No reason to give them any sign that you were actually incredibly nervous.

“Hey, toothpick,” you called to a Maelstrom reclined back in a couch within your vision. He was skinny as all get out, and the five red cybernetic eyes drilled into his face made him look like some kind of fucked up bobble head. “Can I get a little something to drink? No offense, but your service here sucks. I’ve been waiting for ages.”

The goon rolled his wrist to flip you off before settling back against the ratty cushions again.

“I’d really like to speak to your manager,” you went on, craning up in the filthy tub. You couldn’t imagine what you must have smelled like. “This is getting to be unacceptable.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you little bitch.”

“Make me, big boy.”

In less than a few moments’ time, the goon had gotten to his feet, crossed into the dilapidated bathroom, and brought down a chrome-d out fist against the planes of your face. Pain like fire and ice raced through your systems, throwing your head back and pulling a startled yelp from the back of your throat. Tendrils of fury and shock ebbed through your veins, but they couldn’t do much against the rocking, uncoordinated sensations now holding the reins to your world.

“You better learn to get that tongue under control before you lose it,” the goon said somewhere above you, and you felt him shove your face against the side of the grime-ridden tub. “The Voodoos don’t take too kindly to backtalkers.”

Attempting to keep the bile in your throat down, you blinked a few times against the haze clouding your vision. You felt a bit of hot, thick blood slowly trickling from your nostril. Was your nose broken? “The Voodoo Boys?” you asked through the thundering in your ears. “I didn’t even think you and them brushed dicks, with your hunting ground being up north.”

The goon’s boots crushed broken glass beneath his weight as he leaned back against the sink that looked ready to collapse with just a wrong look in its direction. “We don’t,” he said, then spat on the ground before pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. “Black magic fools have got a pretty price out for your head, baby. Turns out they don’t take too well to having their gun market shot up.”

You sniffed at the blood leaking from your nose.

Oh - yeah, you had done that. A few weeks back, you’d picked up a gig that required the need for a human trafficker to be taken out before he could make his business boom. Turns out, he’d been hiding in Voodoo territory. One thing had led to another, as they had the tendency to do, and the entire ordeal had ended with a dead trafficker, a bullet graze to your arm, and a small firearms market in Pacifica in hysterics trying to escape your gunfire.

Much as you despised this city sometimes, you had sworn an oath to yourself when you first began to pull dangerous stunts like this all those years ago. No matter what happened, you wouldn’t let an innocent person get caught in the crossfire.

It had been easy at first. Deal with business in back alleys where no one was around, and no one but those who deserved it got hurt. But things slowly got complicated. Jobs required public spaces and less room for error. Civilians got curious and peeked behind the curtain. Accidents happened.

There had been an instance that still stuck in your mind to this day, a young man who had been so absorbed in the music blaring from his headphones he hadn’t even heard you screaming at him to move as your target raised a pistol. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. You could still recall the smell of iron as you tied a tourniquet around the kid’s shoulder and called emergency services on your vision screen. He had cried. Begged you not to let him die. Apologized for getting in the way, anything and everything that came into his disoriented mind.

You never knew if he made it or not. The ambulance had whisked him away too quickly, and the shadows you’d been hiding in were too dark for the officers to spot you.

That day you shot up the Voodoo Boys’ gun market, no bystanders had been injured. You made sure of it.

But it seemed they still had not liked the bullet holes stuck in the walls.

“So what?” you finally said as the Maelstrom goon exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You going to trade with them or something?”

“Precisely,” he replied, then inhaled again and blew the smoke in your direction. The cloud of white made your eyes water, but you refused to let him see how the pain made you squirm. “Deal’s going down when the sun’s up, so I’d make my peace with whatever god, if I were you.” He grinned a sickly-looking smile, showing off the metal caps on his teeth that made him look like a mechanical demon of some kind. “I hear they like to play with their food before they eat.”

He left you in the tub, hands cuffed above your head and blood spilling from your nose, down your cheek, into the fabric of your collar. Everything in you ached, especially the place somewhere deep in your middle where you’d been kicked a number of times back at the docks. You wouldn’t doubt it if a rib had been cracked.

Christ, you were so fucking naive. Of course your new fixer had sent you right into a set up. Now that you thought about it, you had once seen a Maelstrom tattoo poke from his sleeve when he lifted his arm. He was going to profit from this circumstance, Kiroshi tech or ransom.

Turning your face so that the goons wouldn’t see the red lights that flooded over your optical units, you brought up your vision screen and attempted to call Jackie. Before the first ring even had a chance to begin, a message erupted across the screen.

OUTGOING CALL UNAVAILABLE.

Releasing a slow, pained breath, you shut your eyes and rested your throbbing head against the edge of the tub. They had told you not to do this, much less alone. Jackie had told you to drop it, because he’d been in this business longer than you, and he knew when lost causes were lost. Fuck, you should have listened to him. Why did you have to be like this? So gung-ho, so eager to impress even when you had no one to prove yourself to?

Deep down, you knew why. It was because you were a street rat. A kid who had been pawned for a few grams of drugs, a mutt that had been raised by the bouncers and madams and right hands of gang leaders your entire life. It was because the world had decided early on, before you could even speak up for yourself, that you were going to be a no one.

Then, in what had seemed like your first stroke of luck, you had met another no one.

Jackie had been running with the Valentinos when you first met him; he’s been nothing more than an errand boy then, some scrappy kid with a limp in his leg and his teeth bared when someone even glanced at him. You had been caught rifling through the side bag of some big shot Valentino’s motorbike and dragged by the hair to the guy who’d been left in charge while Daddy Val was out of town. Your punishment was to be death. Your executioner?

Jackie Welles.

A final test, they’d said as they handed him the gun and told him to take you out back, to see if he was really Valentino material.

You remembered the look in his eyes as you stared up at him, his barrel pressed to your forehead and tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for mercy. He’d looked so hesitant, so tentative to tighten his finger around the trigger and finish the job. You saw yourself reflected in his gaze; just some kid trying to make it by in the city, doing things that would stain your hands so irrevocably you wouldn’t recognize them when you looked down.

Jackie had not painted himself with your blood that day. Instead, he’d hauled you to your feet and raced with you away from that back alley, away from the Valentinos, away from the fate the universe had set for you both.

You had been inseparable ever since. First there came the friendship, the inside jokes shared over food copped from his mother’s kitchen and singing along to the radio while you helped him in his garage. Then came the something more, slowly at first, then unstoppable. The lingering touches while patching up after street fights, that first kiss shared on the roof, the feeling of his body on top of yours and your legs locked around his hips and the moans and cries and gasps swallowed up by the other.

You suddenly felt like a stupid little kid, frightened and wanting to run to him. You were V, for god’s sake, one of the most infamous mercenaries in Night City, but goddamnit, you wanted your boyfriend to hold you close and tell you that you were safe.

Fuck, you were pathetic.

You were sure if the Maelstrom had blocked your communication devices, they must have also found a way to disrupt the tracker in your head that only Jackie and Viktor had access to. You had no way of calling them, letting them know you needed them, crying out for help.

Your man wasn’t coming to save you.

No one was coming to save you.

Just like you insisted on doing this job alone, you would die alone.

It couldn’t have been earlier than five in the morning or so when the Maelstrom goon you’d spoken to before shoved your head against the tub to wake you.

“Wakey wakey, sunshine,” he said in that glitchy, fucked up voice of his. “Time for your field trip.”

You suppressed a groan as he unlocked your wrists from the tub faucet and you slumped down, your arms screaming in relief. You’d lost feeling in them maybe a few hours ago, after they’d been numb and tingly for too long before that to really know. But it was all too short-lived. The goon hauled you out of the tub and through the wrecked apartment toward the front door. There, another freak waited with a bandana wrapped in his hand.

“Get that shit away from me,” you said and squirmed when he began to pull it around your head. The first goon connected his fist with your neck, which had you reeling long enough for the blindfold to be tied snug over your eyes, and another to be tied over your mouth. Your teeth bit into the dirty fabric and a flood of disgusting tastes shot onto your tongue. You tried your best not to gag and puke then and there.

A hand grabbed the back of your head and brought you close to another face. Even through the flavorful rag in your mouth, you could still smell the rotten meat on his breath.

“Listen up and listen close, doll face,” he said against your ear. We’re goin’ to walk outside and you’re goin’ to sit tight and silent while we work this deal. No yellin’, no runnin’, no bullshit. You copy?”

You swallowed thick, then nodded.

“Good. Let’s move.”

Behind the blindfold you saw the faint flash of daylight as the front door opened and you were marched outside. The warm, salty air of Pacifica hit you like an obligated embrace. The smell made your nostrils twitch. Fuck, you missed the smell of the apartment you shared with Jackie, of the noodle bar outside the complex and the leather of his bike.

The Maelstrom goons were soon joined by a number of others, as told by their mumbled greetings and the footfalls that surrounded you. You walked for what seemed an eternity, tripping over concrete jutting up and overturned crates lying in your path only to be yanked up by your collar when you stumbled. You wouldn’t be surprised if they were actually walking you into the obstacles in your way.

After what could have been either ten minutes or fifty, you were yanked to a halt. If you listened close, you could hear the sound of the waves and a nearby highway. You were by the beach.

Your attention was pulled to somewhere in front of you when heavy, almost ground-shaking footfalls approached. You felt the grip on your collar tighten slightly.

“This is her?” asked a man in that heavy Jamaican accent the Voodoo Boys spoke in.

“Yeah, this is the one,” replied a Maelstrom somewhere to your right. “Scanned for facial recognition and everything. It’s her.”

Footsteps came closer. You were forced to take a step back when the goon holding you cowered slightly.

The Voodoo man said, much closer now, “You give her here.”

“Not until we see the eddies. Pop ‘em into my account, and then we’ll hand the chick over.”

There came a long, stifling few moments of quiet as you assumed the eddies were transferred between accounts. It was agonizing. You didn’t exactly like the Maelstrom, but you knew that compared to the Voodoo Boys, they’d been treating you like royalty. You felt yourself sweating, your palms growing sticky, and tried to come up with any kind of plan. There were way too many of them to make a run for it - plus, you were cuffed and blinded. It would be like shooting an eyeless street rat.

Your heart nearly exploded from your chest when a large, beefy hand wrapped around your upper arm. “Money is yours now,” said the Voodoo man as he gripped you right. “And girl is ours.”

The Maelstrom had just let go of your collar when, from somewhere to your left, there came a familiar holler. “You all are gon’na wish you’d never fuckin’ gotten out of bed today, hijos de perra.”

You jerked in your captor’s grip.

Jackie.

You heard the sounds of guns being raised and safeties being flipped off, but the gunfire reached them first before they’d even thought to pull their triggers. Blood spattered across your face and you ducked for cover beside what you felt to be a van, bringing your aching, screaming arms up over your head. Your nerves were all alight with panic, never sure whether the bullets spraying the tarmac nearby were from your captors or your savior. All about you, Maelstroms and Voodoos shouted and yelled, scrambling for some kind of order or direction. A grenade exploded close enough that you felt the heat through your clothes, and it drove you to your stomach and underneath the van. The smell of gasoline and concrete enveloped you, but you preferred it to the reek of blood and lead.

You didn’t bother removing your blindfold, because you knew that even if you did, you’d still be squeezing your eyes shut. Suddenly you were back to that moment all those years ago, on your knees over a dying young man trying to staunch the bleeding assure him everything would be fine.

And in this moment, you didn’t care that it might have made you weak or pathetic or small, but you were afraid. You wanted someone to tell you it would be alright, that you were going to be fine.

After what seemed an entire lifetime, the firefight fell to a now-deafening silence. You listened to distant footsteps against the ground, praying with everything you had in you that you would recognize them, that they belonged to the man you loved. A moment later, a string of Spanish curses rang out across the bloodied battleground.

“Hijos de puta! Eso es lo que obtienes cuando jodes con mi chica. Ardeos en el infierno, todos vosotros!”

“Welles,” said another man. “We even now?”

“Yeah, yeah, hombre, scram out’ta here. We’re even.”

Still beneath the van, you listened to the sound of cad doors slamming shut and tires screeching as vehicles peeled away from the scene. They were wise to book it so soon after the fight; NCPD would be swarming the place in a while, especially being so close to the highway. Had you been your real, sensible self, you would have crawled out, grabbed Jackie, and high tailed it. But you were too enveloped in the smell of gasoline and the feeling of blood that was not your own slowly drying on one side of your face.

“V?” called Jackie from somewhere nearby. His boots crunched against shattered glass. When he spoke again, his voice was more strained than it had been before. Fear danced on his tongue. “V!”

You finally forced yourself to reach up and tug the gag from your mouth. “Here,” you called in a shaky voice. “I’m here.”

Not even a moment later, hands were guiding you out from under the van and onto your own wobbly feet. The blindfold was gingerly pull over your head, and you winced as brightness like the second coming of Christ took over your world. Jackie gripped your shoulders so hard they ached, staring down at you with an intensity you knew would melt your soul if you met his eyes. So instead, you kept your gaze stuck on the chains around his neck, ashamed and frightened and so incredibly exhausted.

A long, long moment later, he exhaled a heavy sigh that sounded like it carried the weight of an entire world on it. “Come on, chica,” he said, placed a hand on the small of your back, and began to lead you toward his car where it had been parked on the empty side of the lot where the deal was supposed to take place. “Let’s get you out’ta here.”

The ride back to Little China was one of the worst you’d ever had; hell, you preferred being unconscious in the trunk of the Maelstroms’ van than this. At least then you hadn’t had to face the silent, seething wrath of your boyfriend.

Jackie said nothing as he drove, only kept one hand on the wheel of the car and the other on the stick shift between the two of you. His expression had darkened into one of fury, but it was the quiet kind, where his lowered brow and his slightly lifted jowl spoke for him. His shoulders had locked into a tense square and the grip he had on the front wheel had paled his knuckles.

You wished he would do something. You wished he would yell at you, scream and swear, tell you that you were an idiot for going after that shipment when he’d specifically told you not to. You wished he’d pull the car over and make you walk home. Fuck, a tiny part of you wished he would hit you.

But you knew he wouldn’t. Jackie Welles would never hurt a soul in his life that didn’t deserve it - not ever. In all the years you’d known him, he had never once raised a hand toward you, made you even think he would in his rare moments of anger and fury. Sometimes he yelled, sure. You’d once even seen him hurl a glass against the far wall. But he had always apologized for raising his voice. He’d apologized, and cleaned up the glass, and lie his head in your lap as you told him it was alright.

No, you knew he would never hurt you, even if his mind was gone and all that was left was a walking piece of muscle and chrome.

So you both sat in the poisoned silence, uttering not a word.

He took you to Vik’s place first. There, he stood with crossed arms and a stance that would have sent fucking Arasaka himself running while your ripper popped your nose back into place, repaired your chrome, overrode the bug the Maelstrom had installed in your head.

Then he took you home.

Jackie told you to undress once you arrived at your apartment with a single command that punctured a fresh hole in your lungs. “Strip,” he said, dropped his gun belt in your shared weapons vault, then disappeared into the bathroom.

You were not one to disobey in this state.

He helped you bathe, even took a rag and gently wiped away the blood that had spattered across your face, trickled down your nose and across your lips and chin. He extended your arms under the water to inspect bruises. He washed and cleaned scrapes. When you were finished, he brought you a fresh pair of night clothes, then helped you limp up and into bed.

You sat on the edge of the mattress, watching as he muttered quietly to himself in his mother tongue and stripped off his tank top. The muscles in his back flexed beneath his bronze, sun-kissed skin, but the sight didn’t invoke the same feeling it would have yesterday. Instead, all you felt was shame, and anger, and most of all, helpless.

When he kicked off his boots, still mumbling under his breath, you finally punctured the thick tension hanging over you.

“Will you please talk to me, Jack?” you said, gripping the comforter beneath yourself. “Please, say anything.”

“Oh, mujer,” he barked from across the room as he shook his head and faced away from you. “You don’t want me to talk to you right now. I ain’t got any words you’ll like.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes at him. “Hit me with ‘em,” you snapped in his direction. “I’m not some fucking kid, Jack. I can handle you telling me what a fuck-up I am, or that I need a babysitter or some shit.”

“You wan’na play this game with me, V?” Jackie stood from where he had been bending over to grab his boots and throw them in the corner, drawing himself to his full height that threatened to challenge the doorway behind him. “Fine. I was gon’na tell you that you ain’t got your fuckin’ head screwed on right, but it seems like maybe you know that already.”

“What made you just now notice?” you snipped, your voice dripping with an acid you hardly ever took up with him.

“I don’t know, maybe it was when you go and get yourself nabbed by the fuckin’ Maelstrom and I got’ta call in favors I’ve been savin’ to get your ass, because Dios forbid you get yourself into a situation that requires one goddamn gun to fix.”

You sniffed defensively and looked away, attempting to push down the lump that was forming in your throat. You hated when you fought with him. You hated it when you suddenly felt more alone than you ever had because the one person you would move heaven and hell for was looking at you with a disdain that tore into your heart. “Good to know you lost a few precious fuckin’ favors to come and get me.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You couldn’t take it any more, couldn’t take the way his eyes flashed and his teeth bared the way they did when he was angry enough to become part animal like this. Pressing a hand over your mouth to keep him from seeing your bottom lip quiver, you lay down in the bed and rolled over so that your back faced him. Your chest constricted and your throat squeezed as you tried to silence the cry that was crawling up your throat. You only half-succeeded. A small squeak escaped your mouth and a shudder racked your body.

You shut your eyes tight to the rest of the world, instead focusing inwards. The injuries on your face throbbed as you continued to pull a painful expression against your cries. Your rib wailed in agony. But most of all, your heart ached more terribly than you really ever recalled it doing.

Why hadn’t you listened to Jackie? Why hadn’t you put your damn ego aside for once in your fucking life and listened to someone else’s advice? You’d done it again; you had fucked around and found out the price of doing so came from your own pockets. Now you were dirt broke and still too proud to beg.

You pulled in a shuddering gasp and clutched at the pillow beneath your head. “I’m sorry,” you said, just loud enough so that he would hear you. “You were right. I shouldn’t have fucking gone. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”

For a long moment, the apartment was empty. You began to think that Jackie had left and you’d been too washed up in your own world to even notice. But then the floor creaked in that spot it did near the center of the apartment, and a moment later the bed dipped behind you.

“Aye. Come here, chica. Let me look at that pretty face.” Jackie wrapped his arms around you and, with a flex of the muscles in his biceps, hauled you up and over so that you were lying cradled against his bare front. Gone was his vicious, animalistic expression he’d worn just a few minutes ago, now replaced with that gentle look reserved for late nights and early mornings. He exhaled tiredly and used the callused pad of his thumb to wipe away the tear that had been trailing down your nose.

For a moment or two, neither of you said a thing. This kind of silence was different than the one that held the car captive. This was soft and peaceful, not at all laden with the kind of anger and hurt as before.

“I’m sorry for yelling, amor,” he said, his voice a soft husk. “I just…” He sighed again and shut his eyes before touching his forehead to yours. His nose nestled against your own. “I got freaked. Real scared. Like, out’ta my mind kind’a shit. I didn’t know where you were. Hell, had to scour that damn port to find one of those cyber freaks and make him tell me where you were.” There came another short pause. “We got dangerous lives, V. Things happen in this kind of work. But if somethin’ ever happened to you… I ain’t so sure I would be here in this world after you left it.”

A new, fresh wave of tears muddled your vision as you gently nudged his nose with yours. “I’m right here, Jack.” Despite the aching in your chest, you forced a tiny smile onto your lips. “You’re still stuck with me.”

Jackie let out a small, breathy chuckle that fanned across your face. “Guess I am, querida.”

Using what strength you had left in your bruised and battered body, you craned your neck up and gently, ever so softly, pressed your lips to his. His brow relaxed as you kissed him, his mouth at once moving against your own. You’d had years to practice this, get it right; and it was so, so right.

Jackie’s tongue gingerly swiped over yours, silently asking permission to be let in. You granted it through the smile trying to flood across your features. He always asked and asked and asked, even if he knew the answer would always be yes. It made your heart flutter and your belly flip. You opened your mouth to him and he shifted you closer so that his tongue could lay claim once more to your own, your swelling lips, your very senses.

The Maelstrom and the Voodoo Boys had been fucking idiots to think they could keep you, could own you.

You already belonged to Jackie fucking Welles; and he made sure everyone knew what was his.

As the kiss turned hungrier, more desperate to connect the two of you together again, your core began to ignite to life. When one of his hands settled on the upper plane of your thigh, you released a soft sigh and felt yourself begin to ache with need.

And you told him so.

“Jackie,” you breathed into his mouth, your arms wrapped around his bare shoulders. His ink played like magic beneath your fingers. “I need you. Please. Make me fucking forget they even touched me.”

In response, he captured your lips again, this time more feverish and starving-like. One large, labor-scarred hand kept you up and pressed against him while the other began to glide up over your sleep shorts and toward the waistband. You felt your cunt clench with the promise of what was rapidly approaching.

“Oh, my chica,” he whispered. “I’m gon’na make you forget your own damn name.”

His hand found its way inside your shorts through the waistband, long and thick fingers finding their home at the warm apex of your thighs. You released a small moan when his digits slowly inserted themselves between your legs, expertly sliding over your folds and back up again.

“Already wet for me, chica bonita?” he purred against the shell of your ear. His pointer finger slid between your slick folds, edging along the spot where knew your clit was begging for attention, before he swept it back down toward your entrance. “I barely even started to touch you.”

Words had left your vocabulary entirely, vanished into the dawn as the tip of his finger finally found your clit and began to rub slow, gentle circles around it. A shockwave of pleasure rolled through you like thunder, drawing a whimper from the back of your throat. You pressed your face deeper into your special spot on his shoulder, open-mouthed and already following his hand with your hips.

Jackie shushed you as he continued to draw circles around the bundle of nerves, planting kisses to your forehead and the surface of your temple. His fingers left your clit to travel down your center toward your entrance, where you could feel your arousal already leaking onto your thighs. He gathered some of it with his index finger, then teasingly began to dance around your needy pussy.

You moaned unabashedly, gripping his bicep as your hips bucked. “Fuck, Jackie,” you whined against his pec. “Don’t fucking tease me. Not today.”

“Heh. Sometimes I can’t help myself, especially with this pretty pussy that’s all mine.” Without much warning other than that, he slipped his finger into your cunt until he was sunken in to his top knuckle. A broken, gasping cry was wailed into his skin. He chuckled to himself and continued to kiss your head before slowly pulling his finger out and pushing it back in.

Christ above, you’d never get tired of this feeling. You swore you felt each and every callus, every tiny little line that made up his fingerprint, made him who he was. His finger stroked your walls so perfectly it was hard to believe your cunt wasn’t made for him specifically. Maybe it was. Maybe you were built for him, and him for you, because god almighty, was this a fucking match made in heaven.

Jackie slowly added a second finger to your hole, his palm brushing against your clit every time his hand brushed against your naval. “My poor pretty baby,” he cooed in a low, husky voice that made you clench around his fingers. “Can’t leave her alone for five minutes, can I?”

You’d die happy if you never left his sight again. Why on earth would you want to, when he was fucking you so good with just his fingers? Every nerve ending within you was alight with a heavy, shocking pleasure that felt like you were being electrocuted. You’d happily let him do just that; stick live wires to your skin, just as long as he was fucking you at the same time.

Your hips were bucking up into his hand now, your back arching in his lap and your nails leaving angry red indents in his shoulder. “Ah! God, Jackie, holy shit. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Slowly, you were beginning to feel that wonderful, familiar coil tightening inside of you. It was a wound-up spring only he could wind like this, in the way you would have gone mad without after knowing it for the first time. Your bucks became more frantic, your arousal sliding down your thighs and soaking your sleep shorts.

“Jackie! Jackie, oh fuck, I’m -“

His fingers slipped out of you completely. You actually let out a half-scream of frustration and alarm, your eyes flying open from their dazed state. He peered down at you with lust-blown pupils and an expression you could not place in the heat of the moment. Was he mad? So overtaken by the hard on pressing against your shoulder blades he himself was becoming lost to the world?

You got your answer when he leaned down close to your face, his lips just barely brushing yours when he spoke. “You know I love you too fuckin’ much to lose you, bebe,” he drawled. When your hips thrusted upward, searching for his hand, he grabbed your hip in a bruising grip. “Promise me you’ll never pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll let you cum.”

Oh, he was an animal. A sick one at that. But - weren’t you, as well?

“I promise,” you practically cried against him, your knuckles pale from how hard they gripped his shoulder. “I promise, Jackie, I promise.”

“Promise what?”

“I promise I’ll listen to you,” you babbled as tears of frustration formed in the corners of your eyes. “I promise I’ll never leave you again. I’m yours, Jackie. I belong to you.”

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out when he plunged his fingers back into your cunt and set a brutal, bruising pace. You went limp in his arms and he held you upright with one hand as he thrusted his digits in and out of your sopping pussy. That coil in your stomach wound, weeping joyfully to have been stretched more, and you came with a garbled cry of his name. He slowly withdrew his fingers and you felt your release slowly dripping from your abused entrance.

Jackie made sure you were looking at him when he brought your slick to his mouth and sucked it off his fingers.

If you thought you were tired before he had finger fucked you raw, you knew that space between sleep and consciousness now. Your eyelids threatened to shut for good as you tilted your head against your man’s shoulder and exhaled a shaky breath.

“I’ll be holding you to those promises,” Jackie said, then placed a sweet, gentle kiss at the space between your brows. “Rest, dulzura. I’ve got you.” He nestled his chin onto the top of your head and held you just a bit tighter. “Ain’t no one takin’ you from me again.”

translations:

carino - sweetheart

hijos de perra - sons of bitches

Hijos de puta! Eso es lo que obtienes cuando jodes con mi chica. Ardeos en el infierno, todos vosotros! - Motherfuckers! That’s what you get when you fuck with my girl. Burn in hell, all of you!

hombre - man

mujer - woman

Dios - God

chica - girl

amor - love

querida - dear

chica bonita - pretty girl

bebe - baby

dulzura - sweetness

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

I love the at a canes length story.

The power dynamic of him just reclined back watching his partner in their knees for him just does something yk?

Any ideas for him bossing around his partner like that? Or him being able to do what he want and they are not allowed to touch him, even if they beg? (All consensual ofc!!)

we’re all into our darling tease viktor, aren’t we? btw, i’m naming this drabble after my favourite am song.

cw: gn reader, smut, dirty talk, nipple play, i got too carried away and wrote a poetic filthy little thing.

word count: 700~

Normally you wouldn’t dare to complain about your lover’s hands — deliciously nimble, they never failed to tame you with the length of each cautiously curious finger, the callousness of them tortuous, yet professionally precise — just the right spoon of tar in a barrel of sweet honey. They were the hands of a pianist, attached to those lanky, just as much fitting for a musician arms — had your brain stupidly doomed whenever their defiant owner rolled up a ruffled sleeve just high enough to tease you with a sight of a pointy elbow or a weave of cerulean veins under the translucently pale skin. 

However, tonight — they became the hands of a jeweller, short nails the figurative tweezers gently piercing into each pretty bud of your nipples, restraining you with the unbearable thoroughness of Viktor’s most sensual touches — all lazy tugs and languid circles besieging the aureoles. Pure torment — nothing more and nothing less, increasingly intricate considering the utter complacency in the pair of amber eyes ogling your naked chest — not a single bead of sweat left unnoticed or unkissed away.

And this tactic — although insanely efficient — made you hiss numerous pleas into the softness of a dump pillow, back an impatient arch above the clinging to your sticky skin sheets. Because jewellers are impeccably methodical — most importantly, slow, and slow was never your pace of choice, despite all its charming offers of savouring. You wanted him now, invariably inside, shirtless, with spitslick lips and open against the curve of your shoulder mouth: fast, and deep, and eagerly frantic — something a pianist might allow, but a jeweller must strictly avoid. How truly devastating. 

Or, perhaps, not?

His tongue is an unexpected tool — it gently soothes the pinched nipple, dripping with generous, thick moist onto the awakened goosebumps — a welcomed diversity, most perfectly combined with the dexterity of his skilful digits, and you meet it with a string of breathless curses — grateful for the little mercy, yet still not nearly satisfied enough. 

The ‘no touching’ rule effortlessly slips your mind when Viktor’s mouth lingers there — wrapped around the relentlessly teased bud, sucking at it so gently you might just melt into this very bed. You impatiently clutch his tie, clumsily pulling him forward into a pathetic attempt of stealing an open-mouthed kiss, and Viktor instantly regrets he didn’t free his slender neck off it earlier, silently remorsing the missed opportunity of tying your wrists together. 

He sighs, reluctantly peeling his right palm off your covered in saliva chest, and it insistently nudges you off the tie and leads right back where your hands belong — nailed into the pillow right above your head. 

“Was I not clear enough when I kindly asked you to avoid touching me?” his voice is soft — raspy and gentle, not upset with you in the slightest — just genuinely curious, ludicrously polite for a man so eager to torture you. “Or, perhaps, patience is simply not one of your virtues?” 

He offers you a smile — a chaste one, oh that specific stretch of thin lips into an unbearably handsome line — worthy of whatever foreplay-durations he wishes for. 

Now it’s your turn to sigh. 

“It’s just that… I’m afraid you might not be done with me even until dawn,” you mumble sweetly, fingers already itchy to intertwine with his hair — and you wonder if he might be willing to consider this compromise. He simply arches a thick brow, humming with a playful half-turn of a head. 

“I was not aware we were in a rush,” he chuckles, and — oh heavens, finally! — hovers above your flushed face for a split second, picking a feature to award with a long-awaited kiss. 

You’re not surprised when his warm gaze drifts over your lips, evidently recalling the irresistible softness of them. No matter how much into denying it Viktor might be, he is a needy man in the very depth of his heart — and these rare occurrences might just be your favourite moments of his vulnerability. And when you’re almost ready to release an ardent tongue into the blissful heat of his mouth — your precious inventor smirks, cruelly changing his route. 

“Besides,” he whispers — cheeky, and so unbearably hot, brushing the tip of his sharp nose against your earshell. “You’re underestimating me. I intend to proceed until at least next noon.” 

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyways?

by perseph0ne_13

“Sorry,” Caitlyn breathes out, door clicking shut behind her. Vi doesn’t open her eyes, just listens to the way Caitlyn advances towards the tub carefully, gently, almost as if she were afraid to spook her. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“No worries,” Vi replies, voice barely above a murmur, fingers digging in so hard against the porcelain it begins to hurt. “I only waited six months, no big deal, cupcake.”

Caitlyn sighs, sits by the side of the tub, “Vi–”

“Save it,” Vi looks up at her, eyes suddenly feeling– heavy. She knows, though, any attempt at sleeping will be futile; she’s been restless in the absence of her salve.“I don’t wanna talk about it, right now.”

---- or, it's after ep6, and Vi is in the kirammansion, Caitlyn wants to take care of her, and... well, they're as complicated as they always have been.

Words: 3398, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Maddie is there for a second, Post-Episode: s02e06 The Message Hidden Within the Pattern (Arcane: League of Legends), Arcane Season 2 Spoilers, they deserve happiness, i dont know exactly when this takes place, sometime after 2x06 though, caitlyn and vi have NOT reconciled yet, Vi is tired, Vi Needs a Hug (League of Legends), theyre getting to their reconciliation though, but at least theyre reunited, i just wanted them to have an excuse to be tender and soft, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, caitlyn takes care of Vi, because Vi deserves it, she washes her hair thank you, Caitlyn is RIDDEN WITH GUILT, as she should be, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, no beta we die like Viktor

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[jaegerswife]

English is not my first language so don't be mean to me :)

The strains of a string quartet filled the main hall of Piltover Council. Crystal chandeliers lit up the space, reflecting the sparkle of attendees’ jewelry. The Progress Gala was not just a technology exhibition, it was a showcase for the city’s elite.

Meanwhile, a beautiful girl, bored by the banal conversations about business alliances and political promises, ventured out to explore inventions. Her sky-blue dress with gold embroidery caught the eye wherever she went, but she hardly noticed it. She wasn't looking for flattery, but something real. As she approached a less crowded corner, she saw a young man concentrating on his machine. His long, deft fingers worked with precision, while his expression reflected a mixture of determination and caution. Intrigued, she stopped in front of him.

“What does this machine do?” he asked, breaking the silence with a voice that had just the right tone of curiosity.

Viktor looked up, visibly surprised. The nobility rarely showed interest in anything that didn't sparkle or generate immediate benefits.

“It’s a stand-alone generator,” he replied, his tone reserved but confident. “It could supply power to districts without access.” She arched an eyebrow, studying the design.

“And will it work?” she asked, curious. Viktor He pressed his lips together, uncomfortable with the question. Not because he doubted his creation, but because he knew that perfection was an unattainable expectation in his field.

“If don’t do it now, will soon. Imperfection is inevitable in the first attempts.” She moves forward slowly, impressed by his sincerity. “Did you build it yourself?”

“With the help of my mentor and some patience,” he said, with a hint of dry humor that took her by surprise. She smiled, genuinely amused. There was something about his seriousness that intrigued her.

She introduced herself, with the confidence that only someone of her status could display. Viktor looked at her for a moment, recognizing the name. Her name was a symbol of power in Piltover, known for funding ambitious scientific projects as long as they benefit the elite.

“Viktor” she replied simply. Before she could say anything else, an older man, clearly her father, called out to her from across the room. “I have to go” she said, though her eyes remained fixed on him for a moment longer.

“I look forward to seeing your machine in action”. Viktor watched her go, feeling a mixture of fascination and bewilderment. There was something about her that seemed different, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, and it definitely appealed to him.

[avelera]

Predictions for Arcane 2.04 but I admit, I'm really hoping that the teaser shot of Jayce with the beard and the haggard expression isn't because they get stuck in the Hexcore for some period of time.

Like, from a writing perspective, I know it would make sense to trap Heimerdinger, Jayce, and Ekko in the Hexcore world for a few months. It allows matters with Caitlyn to escalate, it keeps Jayce from going to look for Mel, and in general allows the world to move forward into chaos without 3 of the people best armed to prevent it. Even the fact that in the picture, Jayce seems to be wearing the same outfit but torn and ragged kind of hints that his haggard appearance is from being trapped there, rather than wear and tear from the real world.

It would also allow an opportunity to show what "the land of heeby-jeebies" looks like on the other side, maybe escalate the capabilities of wild magic in this show to set up the ultimate threat the Hexcore poses.

But man... the angst-lover part of me kinda would rather see a Vi-like spiral from Jayce instead, like coming out and being unable to find or save Mel, dealing with the fallout of Viktor leaving him, watching helplessly as Cait rises to authoritarianism because he surrendered his Council seat. Like, I want Jayce to have as ragged and desperate of a post-divorce arc as Vi seems set up to get with her pit fighter stint, not for him to just be like... trapped and messed up by a time warp or something.

Fingers crossed until we see what the show has in store for us next!

[marjoch]

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

a jayvik au!

early updates on ao3 @ josmarch

CHAPTER THREE!!

Christmas came and went. Jayce spent the holiday home with Mel, who hosted her mother in town for two nights. Mel insisted on redecorating the guest bedroom just beforehand, so Jayce had been in charge of putting together the furniture, and therefore he was behind on his project.

It was harder to keep up with AIM while the festivities were going on, but Jayce did his best to sneak away in the evenings and continue the ongoing conversation with Tinkerman. Things went back to normal by Monday. While Mel was working late, Jayce was on AIM.

I hope your holiday season is going well. It has been hectic on my end, but I have missed our conversations. NY1972

Tinkerman was on the computer, because a message came through shortly after.

It’s been the same for me, and I have also missed our conversations. Do you have any New Year’s resolutions? Tinkerman

I hope I can achieve some of my goals this coming year. I have a lot of potential growth, if I utilize it. I’ve got a great opportunity that I can’t let slip through my fingers. As much as New York gets on my nerves, I am not going back to Seattle. What about you? NY1972

I find I have a hard time speaking my mind. It has always been easier to be passive, but I know I could lose my business if I don’t stand my ground. Tinkerman

Jayce read over the messages, and thought of what to say. He never had a problem with assertiveness — he was confident in his beliefs, and he would defend both those he cared for and himself the same.

I think I speak my mind too much. Maybe I can give you some of my ability, and you can say whatever you like, and I can keep quiet when it would benefit me. NY1972

Tell me how to make the trade, and I’m there. Tinkerman

The wording made Jayce ponder once more who this internet stranger was. Jayce decided to test the waters of their growing friendship, holding his breath as he typed and barely breathing after it was sent.

Would you want to meet? NY1972

On the other side of the screen, Viktor was at the computer in his living room. He immediately closed the chat window, staring at the now-blank computer background. He stood up and went to feed Rain, giving her pets in response to her rubbing up against his legs. Then he took a deep breath, went back to the computer, and logged back into AIM.

When are you free? Tinkerman

With effort, he was up again. He leaned on his cane as he looking through the bookshelf on the opposite wall, as if a new book would appear and stand out beyond the others.

The notification came through. He didn’t even sit down, peering down at the screen.

I could do tomorrow evening. 6pm? You pick the place. NY1972

Like it or not, Viktor’s stomach turned, and not in a negative way. He’d never felt like this before, and he certainly didn’t expect it over an internet stranger. He lowered himself back into his chair, thinking. Too much time had passed before he had a coherent response, but he figured it was better late than never.

6pm is great. There’s a local coffee shop I like, I’ll send you the address. Tinkerman

He followed up the message with the address to the coffee shop, and waited idly for a response. When he didn’t get an answer, he logged out of the chat and pushed down his feeling of disappointment. He spent the rest of the evening going over his research, constantly working despite his need for rest.

In the Upper West Side, Jayce was already in bed next to Mel, having sent his final message before she came in through the door. He felt bad being on the computer around her, and he was still trying to decide if it was a general respect for her presence or some sort of guilt for the feelings he couldn’t deny. He found it hard to sleep, so he poured himself extra coffee in the morning, rising before Mel had already left. He never saw her these days.

He had the news on in the morning, playing from the kitchen as he got dressed for work. He could faintly hear something about his father’s recent business successes in Seattle.

The address for the coffee shop Tinkerman chose was somewhere in Brooklyn. Jayce felt relieved, because it would ensure he could make it on time without worrying about crossing half of the city during rush hour. There was a second message waiting for him:

Heading to work early. I’m not sure if you got my message, but I’ll be there tonight. Bringing a red book so you know how to find me. Tinkerman

I’ll be there. NY1972

Viktor wouldn’t see the last message, because he was dutifully working away on his current project. He was stuck on the neuroscience aspect of it — he could make mobility devices all day every day, but if he didn’t know how to connect one’s brain to the structures, it was useless. At this point, he didn’t need more funding, he needed a better facility.

“Planning to take a break anytime soon?” came Sky’s voice from the office doorway. Viktor didn’t so much as look up.

“In a little bit,” he responded, oblivious to Sky’s concern.

“You’re not working at home again, are you?”

Viktor shrugged, still focused. Sky had grown used to his conversational indifference. When he was working, he was impossible to crack. “I can’t work tonight anyway, I’m going out.”

“Oh really?” Sky’s tone changed, curious. “Is it this man you’ve been talking to on instant messenger?”

“No,” said Viktor, too quickly. He realized his error and sighed, finally looking away from his work and turning to Sky. “Maybe.”

“Ooo, Viktor’s got a date,” said Sky in a sing-song voice.

“It’s just coffee, not a date,” said Viktor, rolling his eyes as he went back to his equations.

“Coffee in the evening? He must like you a lot.”

“He has a girlfriend, I’ve told you this.”

“So? Plenty of closeted gay men have girlfriends.”

“Thank you, Sky,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

She shrugged, still amused. “Alright then.” She turned and left the doorway, pulling the door almost-shut behind her, and going back to work at the counter.

Viktor continued to work steadfastly until closing time came. Sky was ready to leave at 5, but Viktor decided to hang back.

“The coffee shop is just a few minutes from here, I’ll just work until then.”

Sky sighed in exasperation. “Sounds like an excuse for you to fall asleep here again, ‘on accident’.” She used air quotes for emphasis. “You have to stop overworking yourself. It doesn’t do you any good.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, shaking his head. Sky left with that prompt, and Viktor returned to his desk until it was time for him to pull on his coat, grab the red book, and head down the street.

6pm came and went, and Viktor sat at a table in view of the window. He saw many faces come and go, and wondered if each entering patron may be NY1972. He found himself becoming anxious over different possible outcomes. But what did any of them matter? He was an internet stranger.

Jayce was on time, palms sweating more than he would admit. He looked through the big window in front of the coffee shop, eyes searching for the red book that signified the presence of Tinkerman. He found it: on the table of a brunette man who was all too familiar.

Taken by surprise at the sight of Viktor, Jayce made the controversial split-second decision to continue hiding his identity as NY1972. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to talk to Viktor, though.

Viktor had heard the bell on the front door ring. He looked up see none other than Jayce Talis, who seemed to be casually queueing to order. Viktor immediately opened his book and tried to hide behind, pretending to be interested in the pages. His act failed, because Jayce’s voice was close when he interrupted.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Jayce asked, hand on the back of the chair on the opposite side of Viktor’s table.

“Yes, actually—” began Viktor, but Jayce was already sitting down.

“I’ll just hang around until they get here.”

Viktor was annoyed. “I’m actually busy.”

“Busy reading a book?” Jayce said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” responded Viktor, still feigning interest in the book. He flipped the page as if to prove his point, not making eye contact with Jayce, who took the book out of his hands and closed it. Viktor was visibly frustrated, taking it back and flipping through the pages. “You made me lose my place,” he huffed.

“Do you regularly come read at coffee shops at 6pm?”

“Do you regularly bother people who don’t enjoy being in your presence? Or am I special in that regard?”

Jayce scoffed. “What is it about my presence that you dislike?”

Viktor closed the book, and made direct eye contact with Jayce.

“I think you think you’re better than me. Maybe you think you’re better than everyone else. You act as if you’re owed something, but you’re new in town. You’re out of your league, and it’s bringing the rest of us down.”

Both of them sat in silence after that: Jayce stunned by the accusations, and Viktor finished with his explanation. When the silence was broken, it was by Jayce. “Alright then,” he said, standing up. He pushed his chair back in on his side of the table. “Good night.”

Nothing else from either of them before Jayce turned and left. Viktor remained at the shop for another hour, expectantly waiting, and left when they started to close.

Upon getting home, Viktor started up the computer. There had to have been a valid reason why NY1972 wasn’t there. Disappointingly, there was nothing waiting his return.

In the Upper West Side, Jayce was intercepted by his girlfriend, who was intent on having a serious conversation. During the course of this conversation, Mel explained that her job was taking away from their relationship, and she was planning to campaign for re-election. When she suggested they put their romance on hold, Jayce felt a surprising lack of disappointment, instead filled by a sense of freedom.

The next morning, Viktor went to work without logging into his computer. He was determined to focus today, because he had a growing list of tasks to complete before his invention progressed. He must have seemed different despite his attempts, because Sky sighed when she saw him.

“How did it go?” she asked, with obviously low expectations.

“It didn’t go,’” Viktor was monotonous as he unlocked the front door. Sky pushed it open and held it for him.

“He didn’t show up?” Sky said, sighing. “I’m sorry, Viktor.”

“It’s not a big deal. He’s just a stranger on the internet.” No efforts could make Sky believe him.

“Maybe he got into a car accident,” she offered. “Or maybe he got sick, and his internet went down, and he couldn’t message you.” She got out the duster and started cleaning the shelves. “Maybe he’s super ugly, and was scared to meet you because you’re hot.”

“He doesn’t know what I look like.” Viktor shook his head. “I’m going to work.”

The work day flew by. He spent the entirety of his time tirelessly researching. Sky insisted on locking The Shop up herself to ensure he went home and rested. He let her have the keys for the night, just to get her off his case.

When he got home, he spent time with Rain, and ate his first meal of the day. He couldn’t resist the urge to check AIM, despite his persistent frustration about last night. There was a message awaiting him, much to his surprise.

I’m sorry about last night. I’ve caught some sort of illness, and I didn’t want to spread it to you. I should have let you know, and for that, I apologize. I hope you don’t hate me for my absence. NY1972

Viktor felt relief. While a message would have been nice, he had feared NY1972 was done speaking to him. He typed out a response.

It happens. I hope you are feeling better today. Tinkerman

Jayce sensed the tension in the short response, and did his best to make up for it by continuing the conversation.

How have you been? Hopefully you are doing better than I am. NY1972

I’m as healthy as I can be. I think my New Year’s resolution is coming to fruition early. Yesterday, I was able to say exactly what I meant, and it didn’t feel like I expected. I think I much prefer keeping my thoughts to myself. Tinkerman

Assertiveness is a double-edged sword. You are very level-headed, from what I have gathered. You shouldn’t feel bad, I’m sure whoever it was deserved it. NY1972

That made Viktor feel better about his exchange with Jayce last night. It was nice to have someone on his side for once. He appreciated Sky, but she was about all he had before this internet stranger.

I have work to finish, but I’m glad to hear from you. I must admit your absence caused me to wonder if you wanted to continue messaging. Tinkerman

Working late proves you are as dedicated as I have imagined. Best of luck, and let me know if you need anything. NY1972

Viktor logged out of AIM, then. He spent the rest of his night doing just as said, falling asleep at the dining room table with his work littered about the table. He dreamt of Jayce Talis again, except this time Jayce was on the other side of the computer screen. When he woke up to Rain purring and nudging his hand for her breakfast, he couldn’t put the thought out of his mind.