#viktor x reader part one

[sweetieviktor]

jealous! viktor x reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: viktor sees you talking with a friend and get jealous.

content warning: idk if it counts as a cw but jealousy?? also, i made with s1 viktor in mind!

author notes: heyyy, so sorry this one is little, im still trying to find motivation after the end of the series but i think it turned out cute! thank u for the request and hope u like it!! :)

» it was a common sight to see you walking up and down piltover’s academy, working or just chilling on lunch breaks, but every time viktor would approach you, you were already with someone. sometimes an unknown person, other times with a friend, laughing and joking, touching them in such a sweet way, side by side in the aisles.

» he looked at you both, blood boiling and shaky hands. if you looked at him, it was possible to see his lips forming a thin line, brows furrowing, his left eye almost twitching. oh, he was jealous.

» he felt angry at himself to feel like this, he didn't mean to be jealous at all, but he wanted to steal you away, just for a second, and be the one by your side, be the one you smiled to, the one you’ve been touching so sweetly.

» he wanted to reach for you, to interrupt your silly conversation about whatever you two have been talking about, he wanted to share his new discoveries with you, he wanted to be in their place so bad.

» but he couldn't complain, not when you waved a goodbye at your friend, and turned your body, recognizing viktor, eyes lighting up immediately, smiling from ear to ear.

“viktor!”, you shouted, voice echoing in the aisle while you walked to him, “i’ve been looking for you all day. you wouldn't believe what happened!”

he looked at you, expression softening, eyes shining, mimicking yours, his thin lips now turning into a little smile, “yeah? tell me."

» soon all the jealousy melted away, now, he is the one walking by your side.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

I love your work, could you please write a viktor x reader who takes care of him. like makes sure he eats, they make baked goods for him or make him go to bed in time. I think it would be cute

Heyo! Sure I can, even if it’s been a while since I wrote for Viktor (or anything) lmao

Caretaker!Reader

Viktor takes well enough care of himself, to his own standards

So we all know he can use a little more help and a little helping hand

I think Viktor is pretty independent so it takes a lot out of him to even be able to do this kind of intimate thing with you

If he does, it takes a lot of vulnerability as you would see him at his lowest

There have been times where he probably refused and would try and get out of any situation where you found out he needed help and to be taken care of

He doesn’t want to bother you or anything when he deems it able to be done by himself

It takes a while for him to be comfortable enough with you and your relationship to let himself be vulnerable in that way

As he has never done this kind of thing with anyone else before

But once it happens, trust me, you’re golden

I think he does like sweets and baked goods, so to have you bring him any on a whim and not because you have to, but because you care warms his heart absolutely

He often forgets to take care of himself and his basic needs, like eating and stuff like that for his experiments and research

So he relies on you for that a little bit once he knows you will always be there for him

He loves when you cook or bake for him and knowing it’s so he knows he’s taken care of makes each bite better than the last

At first when you attempted to get him on some sort of decent sleep schedule, he resisted

He went to bed whenever, or whenever his research was done or he passed out and often it was in the lab or at his desk or in the middle of his studying at the table

SOO you would often have to bring him to bed yourself

Once you wore him down enough, he acted like you won

You thought you did until you found out he was just waiting till you fell asleep and slipped out off bed, and slipped back in just before you woke up and pretended to wake up beside you

You had to scold him probably, or it was some sort of argument

He realized you just wanted him to be healthy, and for him to be well rested

Reluctantly, he began going to sleep with you and waking up beside you in the mornings

He found he actually did like this habit because sleeping beside you was surprisingly comforting

He loved hearing your breathing pattern as you fell asleep, and it helped him fall asleep to hear and feel your heart beating as you both snuggled to sleep

And he loved watching you wake up slowly in the mornings

It was all worth it

One thing he was very stubborn about you not doing was taking care of his leg I think

Probably because he feels as his sort of disability is a bother enough, he doesn’t want you to be burdened with it

He probably thinks that if you see that part of him, you’ll think he’s not worth it and leave

And that’s not the case

He only finds out on a particularly harsh day when it hurt so bad, and it was so sore all he could do was want to fall asleep and alleviate the pain by any means

You maybe kissed his leg, maybe rubbed out the pain, maybe helped him in any way

But as you did it, he loved the feeling and could only watch you do so and the warm feeling in his chest never left

So, on the hard days, he would drop subtle hints that he wanted to be taken care of

Like subtly saying “oh, it just hurts, I have no clue how to fix it…” and wait for you to offer to rub it

I feel he likes being babied a little bit, but not to much

He doesn’t like being treated as glass or like he is incompetent

But he does love being taken care of by you

Be it food, tending to him or showering or making sure he is fed and clean

He loves showering with you

He loves having you wash his hair and the feelings of your hand in it or feeling you lather the soap on him while he just gets to relax and close his eyes and know your there

And that he’s able to soak in all the love

Obviously he returns it all in his own way but

It’s just all the love you pour in

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[gaypirate420]

Kitty cuddles // Viktor.

S1!Viktor x gn!Vastaya!reader.

Summary: Viktor's emotional support cat-hybrid person.

Fluff.

Your fingers wrapped around a brush, dipping the tip on a little blob of paint on your palette, your eyes focused on the canvas ahead of you then it shifts to the sight you're trying to recreate, the wide window of your balcony. The day is beautiful, perfect clouds and the way the sun hits your plants is simply divine.

Behind you, a tired inventor was struggling. Viktor sighed and threw his body back into his chair, today is his break day but of course he's still working anyways. Your sensitive ears twitch, he's been whining and huffing and mumbling curse words for at least the last half hour, but he brushes off any concern from your part, as usual.

His golden gaze falls on you sitting on your stool, he smiled faintly as he saw your fluffy tail swinging around lazily, almost brushing the floor.

"I think you should lay down for a minute, love." You speak softly, suggesting the idea for the fourth time. Viktor looks down at his make-shift desk. His neck is starting to hurt, and his back and his leg-

The zaunite reaches for his cane and with a small whimper he stands up, his cane clanks for the next couple of steps until he reaches the couch. Your shiny eyes stared at him, making sure he wasn't feeling more than just tired.

A soft grunt leaves him as his body falls down on the couch, taking one of the cushions on his head and the other on the small of his back, shifting around until he is comfortable.

"I meant in our bed, beloved." You speak softly, he shakes his head, his tired eyes meet yours.

"I like seeing you paint, koťátko." Viktor whispers with a hint of a slur to his words. You smiled softly, continuing to place soft strokes on the canvas but you could feel his gaze on you, you would turn your head occasionally, his eyes getting more and more droopy each time you looked.

After cleaning your brush with a cloth and leaving your palette aside, you stood and walked towards the couch, the soft bean pads on your feet making your steps silent.

Viktor looked up at you, with a little pleading gaze. You smirked faintly, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his lips before laying down next to him.

"I wish I could keep you with me in the lab, koťátko." He whispers, his arms wrapping around your body, holding you close. Your body is naturally warm, it feels so comforting in his aching body.

"It would make the long nights much easier to endure." Viktor continued, your hand cupped his face being mindful of your sharp nails as you caressed his pale skin. His right hand moved, his fingers wandered up your spine to the back of your neck and finally resting on the base of your ears, where they began massaging softly.

You immediately react, your eyes close and you nuzzle your head against his cheek, rubbing softly your face against his, your ears twitching gently, you love when he massages your ears, he's so gentle, so careful, he knows how sensitive they are.

"Such a pretty one." He whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head which leads to a soft mewl from your part. Viktor enjoys this way too much, the weight of you on top of him, the warmth of your body and how your tail sways against his leg, your nose twitching against his cheek.

The Zaunite relaxes against you, feeling like he has a weighted warm and very fuzzy blanket on top of him.

And of course the cherry on top.

The soft vibration of your chest and purrrrr.

Vitkor smiles softly, his amber eyes stare at you, curled up by his side, purring softly. He envies you a little bit, you can fall asleep in minutes. He finds it adorable also.

"I love you so much, koťátko." He whispers softly, your ears twitch, letting him know you heard him loud and clear. He chuckles softly and closes his eyes, holding you close as he lets your soft noises and warmth lull him to sleep.

A/N:(Divider) I saw Lest and I too wanted to be a cat-person who's also a bad bitch and of course I had to throw Viktor into the mix. Probably a Vastaya will become my favorite reader to write but oh well. Hope you liked it! Send requests!

Viktor when Jayce asked to meet his partner:

[spxllcxstxr]

Being in an Established Relationship with Jayce and Viktor • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: I am desperate for more Jayce x Viktor x Reader content! Would I be able to request headcanons for what an established relationship with them would be like?? 🥺 -- @spatialwave

Warnings: gn!reader, first time writing arcane and jayvik so I hope it's all good!!

A.N: Andy (@spatialwave) has inspired me so much so PLEASE go read their beautiful writing! You need to understand I got this request LAST NIGHT, I just had to bang it out I was writing like a FIEND. I loved writing this so much, I hope to write more in the future!! Hope you enjoy!

•

Being in a relationship with Jayce and Viktor is like being a part of an old married couple that simultaneously bickers all the time and is just falling in love all over again every day

Jayce is like a ray of sunshine on a summer afternoon

He's clingy--but not overwhelmingly so. Jayce just has to have some sort of body part on either of you at all times (except in the lab unless he's feeling especially in love that day)

He loves putting his arms around your waist, chest pressed up against your back and lips ghosting over your neck. Jayce is a bit more subtle with Viktor, since your other partner prefers smaller touches, so their fingers are always tangled together. Some days Jayce will even sneak his hand into Vik's back pocket, making the slimmer boy light up red from the neck up

Jayce is also the type of boyfriend that will always have you two on his mind. He picks a flower from someone's garden to give it to you because "the vibrancy of its color reminded me of your eyes," or buys a little knick knack for Viktor because "I thought you would find it hilariously stupid" (Viktor will put it on his already cluttered desk at the lab because Jayce was right, it is stupidly funny)

Jayce will always get an A for effort because even if he can't remember how you like your coffee or tea, it's the thought that counts

Has bigass puppy dog eyes and he fucking knows how to use them against you two

All he has to do is look between you and Vik with those golden eyes are you're both putty in his hands

Speaking of being putty in hands, Jayce is the cuddler of the relationship

Which is good because he is also the space heater of the relationship too

Will basically have Viktor curled up on one side and you on the other. His face will be buried in Viktor's hair, placing sleepy kissed on his scalp. His fingers will rub circles on the small of your back. Jayce is the best pillow and blanket in all of Piltover AND Zaun

Viktor, on the other hand, is like the moon at midnight

He loves the both of you in a slightly different way than Jayce

While Jayce is more touchy and exuberant with his love, Vik is certainly more subtle, though that doesn't mean he loves you two any less

He is actually exceptionally smitten with you and Jayce. It's like his walls come crashing down whenever you two are with him. He could come back from having a disagreement about a project with Heimer, with his jaw clenched and brows furrowed, and then he'll spot you and Jayce in your shared apartment and it all melts away

Viktor isn't carrying the world on his shoulders with his partners around him. He knows that you guys will lift the hefty weight from his shoulders

While Viktor isn't as touchy ad you or Jayce, he shows his presence in other ways.

Viktor will always have at least one eye on you at all times. It's not that he doesn't trust you two (on the contrary, you two are the only people he trusts with his life), he just needs to know his lovers are ok

Jayce could be tinkering with something in the lab and 50% of Viktor's attention will be on him. Making sure he doesn't shock himself or mix the wrong chemicals together. And if that does ever happen, Viktor drops everything to help him. He masks his worry with wit, but the mask is transparent for you and Jayce

Viktor is also the one with the extreme attention to detail. Your coffee or tea is always right and always the right temperature in the morning. A scarf is always hanging on the coat rack near the front door on chilly days for you. Puts a bookmark in the book you're reading when you unexpectedly fall asleep reading on the couch

He is so big on being a gentleman. Will open doors for you two, pull out seats during a nice dinner. Also is the type to lift up your hand so he can kiss your knuckles (he knows this drives you wild and he struggles to hide a smirk at your heated face)

The three of you are witty and biting and funny in your own ways, quips are basically thrown around every hour of the day. The day isn't complete without someone rolling their eyes. Teasing knows no bounds--the apartment, the lab, a fancy dinner, in front of councilmen and women--doesn't matter

Every day you feel lucky to have these two as your partners, you really hit the jackpot with them. They're caring and attentive and loving in ways no one else is

And they feel the exact same way

•

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part one

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1k tags: mdni! semi-nsfw, fluffy, poly relationship, reader has a chronic illness, no use of y/n, not beta’d. notes:no summary bc it’s very short n sweet and mostly just some fluff!! will probably write a part 2 to this or use this fic as a base for future one shots hehe. reminder that my ask box is open! 🩵 credits: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune on tumblr!

part 2. ->

“No, no, this doesn’t make sense.”

The flickering flame of several candles lit up the darkened apartment as Jayce sat over a scattering of papers. His back hunched, eyes tired, stubble unshaved and fingers tracing over the writings on the parchments. Forever studying and analyzing ways to work with the hextech, to improve upon it and use it to help others. To help you, and Viktor.

“Sleep is good for the brain.” A tired voice spoke from behind him.

There was a quiet groan that erupted from deep within his chest, a reprieve from the chaos in his mind, as he rested back against the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. Your hand, a delicate touch, trailed over his bare shoulders as he worked late in only his nice pair of trousers that were gifted by the Kiramman family.

He hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since a meeting with Viktor and Heimerdinger earlier that day to go over progress of the hextech research. They had hit a roadblock, having advanced so far, yet still struggling to find ways for it to help the people, rather than just Piltover.

Hextech was more than a tool to better run the city and improve upon its trades within Runeterra. If only he could find a way to stabilize the crystal.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jayce,” you continued, arms now wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest pressed against the back of his head, hands palming against his muscled chest.

“I’m this close to a breakthrough,” the man sighed, finding comfort in your touch as he leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, sleep heavy in his head, “Progress Day is three months away, and what do we have to show for it? An unstabilized crystal?”

Jayce was worked up like this more often than not, the work with hextech had taken the forefront for years now. Recently it had begun to consume him, but you were the recipe to keeping him sane. 

You were his rock, as he said.

“Hexgates, airships, robots,” your posh accent chimed as your body moved and you’d managed to sneak your way onto Jayce’s lap — ultimately severing the line between him and his work. 

Your chests pressed together, faces only a few inches apart as you stared into those honey-coloured eyes.

“Why do you always get so down on yourself?” 

Jayce stared at you, strong calloused hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. He had no ambition to answer, knowing very well that he was his own worst critic and you were his biggest supporter. 

“You’ll get there,” you continued, head ducking as your lips pressed to his jaw. The roughage of his stubble prickly against your lips as you kissed, trailing from under his chin to underneath his ear, “now, I haven’t had a chance to have you in over a week. I think I’m rather deserving.”

That roused a chuckle from him, a toothy grin on his lips as he allowed himself to relax under your touch. 

“I want to do this for you,” he murmured, head lulling back as you kissed down his neck, “something to help.”

“I know,” you soothed, one hand palmed at his chest as you pulled back, a finger touching his chin and tilting his face back to you, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Jayce’s eyes opened, and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Beautiful and glowing.

Your sickness was well-hidden, a struggle you dealt with behind closed doors. Pain that erupted through your veins, left your muscles weak and skin burning. It came in flares — aches so painful it left you bedridden for weeks.

Once an Academy all-star, now confined to your apartment. You were thankful for Jayce and Viktor, the two most important individuals in your life.

“Now come to bed. I can’t remember the last time you’d managed to stay up later than Viktor,” you smiled, shifting off of his lap. Two quick breaths blew out the candles, and you’d managed to pull Jayce along behind you like a lovesick puppy.

You dropped the robe that had covered your body, revealing your half-naked body save for the underwear that hugged the curves of your hips. The mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled in next to a sleeping Viktor, who had retired to bed with you a few hours earlier.

He rolled onto his side toward you, a slender arm wrapped over your waist and bony fingers pressing into the skin of your hip. You pressed yourself against his frail chest, face buried as you inhaled his scent and Jayce slipped under the blankets on the other side of him.

“Finally wrangled him?” Viktor hummed, half-asleep, as both yours and Jayce’s warmth kept him tired.

“You’ve let him beat you again. You’re losing your drive for all-nighters full of bright ideas,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

“I’ve long lost that spark,” Viktor mumbled, burying his face in your hair and sighing as he felt Jayce’s hands slide along his bare skin, “I’m a tired old man now. I can live with that.”

Jayce snorted, “I do it for the both of us then,” he murmured into his lover’s ear, breath warm and tickling his skin. A shaky breath trembled out from Viktor’s lips, tensing his arms around you.

You were quick to join in on the fun, lips attached to the base of Viktor’s throat as you left a trail of feather light kisses along his skin. One hand reaching down between his legs and into the briefs he wore.

“Can’t a man get rest?” he breathed out, squirming between you two. 

“No,” Jayce huffed, lips pressed to Viktor’s shoulders as he assaulted him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses to his skin, teeth and lips dragging against him.

“Sorry, love,” you whispered, licking a line on his neck before suckling on the skin, “I may have riled him up in the kitchen.”

“How awful,” he sighed, though, there was nothing Viktor enjoyed more than having two lips and two pairs of hands traversing his body. 

He melted into the touch as the three of you consumed each other. Hands traveling over skin, lips connected, tongues lapping at each other and clothes ripped from bodies.

The three of you were the embodiment of love. On the worst days, there were no thoughts of giving up. You were each other’s ambition.

[deathbxnny]

Loved your writing of arcane characters saying things they regret during an argument. Would you be willing to do a version with Jayce, Viktor and Silco? I apologize if you don't prefer to write about these characters, you can ignore this

Arcane men saying things they'll regret during an argument. | Viktor, Jayce, Silco x Gn!Reader

Oh, I absolutely am willing to do that, Anon!! These are going to be pretty irredeemable, though, so there is not going to be a part two to this... anyways, enjoy!!<3

Content: Season 2 spoilers!!, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, break ups, swearing, gaslighting, toxic behavior, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

"This... isn't you anymore, Viktor. A-And I refuse to keep lying to myself like this either!" You hissed out one night, unable to keep it in any longer. You were losing your mind in this compound of his, unable to understand how seemingly no one was able to recognize how wrong everything was. People who were "healed" by him weren't the same after. They turned into robotic and uncanny husks of their old selves.

A terrifying sight that unnerved you deeply. And only you here.

The nail in the coffin was perhaps the skeptical appearance of Councilor Salo. Never in your life had you ever seen him give a damn about anyone but himself. He lived a life of riches and materialism, far from the selfless and minimalistic lifestyle found here. But after your boyfriend healed him of his inability to walk, he suddenly preached the same ideals that everyone else did.

Peace, love, and community.

Those were the important pillars of this idyllic place Viktor had created, and yet you couldn't see past the clear red flags that weaved themselves in their white attire. You were never much of a genius like he was, but it didn't take much brainpower to understand that this was not a great place to be in. No matter how hard he attempted to convince you of that.

"... I'm sorry you feel that way. But I'm afraid I can not follow your reasoning for this claim. I am myself... just someone greater. More meaningful. Isn't that beautiful?" His voice was so gentle and patient in comparison to yours. Something that wasn't unusual to him. But the way he used that tone now made you sick. "Terrifying is a better word, actually... Why can't you see that this is just wrong? You're not healing anyone-" "-But I am. Look around you. Is that not enough for you to finally believe me, my love? I want to create a better world... one in which we can live freely together." Your mind spun, his words ringing in your head dangerously. And you hated every second of it.

This isn't the man you loved anymore. He must have died that fateful day when the sky fell from above, and he covered you with his body to save you. His last act of kindness as your boyfriend and lover before he perished and left behind whoever he was. And you'd be damned if the last good memory got tainted too.

"No. I will not let you play with my mind anymore. I've had enough." You pushed past him, wanting to finally escape this borderline cult. Originally, you had only followed after him because you couldn't bear being without him. Jayce was right, though. He really was different now.

"Hm... it seems like I was right about you after all." You stopped in your tracks yet didn't dare face him. "You truly are not worth saving... you can't grasp the beauty of what I have made. I suppose everyone's claims for your low intelligence were, unfortunately, right. What a shame." How could a devil have such a soothing, loving voice? Why did the monster that now lurked in your shadow have to have your lovers face? The cruelty was too much to bear.

Who would have thought that you'd finally leave him for good after all the years you've taken care of him? This moment felt so surreal and yet ironically freeing as well. The end was near. "Did you... ever even love me?" You asked aimlessly, but didn't wait to hear his answer.

Perhaps if you had, however, you would've seen that sudden spark of surprise in his eyes, as you slipped out of his fingers for good at last.

》JAYCE

You had looked everywhere for him. And after also asking everyone under the sun if they had seen your boyfriend, you had eventually determined that he must've somehow gone missing. Worried sick, it pained you knowing that there wasn't much you could do either, considering that everyone was too busy getting ready for a borderline war and Caitlyn became unreachable as a result. Yet just as you began to lose hope, your dear lover finally returned... but he wasn't the same.

He didn't look the same, nor did he act the same, in fact. He looked so different that it even visibly startled you when you found him rummaging through his once shared laboratory. You had just returned from another wrap around the building in hopes of finding it, and whilst you'd consider yourself lucky this time around, all you now felt was genuine dread.

"Jayce...? What happened to you? I looked for you everywhere and-" You stilled at the intense look he gave you, his face flinching for a moment, as though his mind couldn't comprehend your image. Glancing over at his peculiar weapon of choice, you felt unnerved at how even that looked uncanny. The entire situation was unnerving you deeply, to say the least. "You... You shouldn't be here." He finally muttered, his voice deeper and colder than it ever was. Jayce always had such a fun and warm voice. If you didn't know any better, you would've questioned who he was a while ago.

"Hey... tell me where you were, okay?" You said, trying a more gentle approach as you neared him, eyes focused on his clearly injured leg. Had he been kidnapped? You doubted it. So what made him end up like this? Nothing you could come with explained his appearance. His hair and beard were way longer than they should have gotten in the short span of time he was gone, too.

Reaching down carefully, you tried to inspect his leg, but he seemed less receptive to the idea. Or so you assumed, after he shoved you away roughly and held the hammer to your face at impressive speed. His eyes were glossy, as though he wasn't entirely all there. He was reliving a terrifying moment in his mind, unaware of the horror you were going through. Never could you have ever thought of ending up in this position with him. "Jayce! What the hell are you doing-?" "-Get away! I know what you are... you've been sent by him too, weren't you?" You let out a shriek when he swung the hammer at you, only giving you a fraction of a second to jump out of the way.

Falling onto your behind, you quickly crawled backward and away from him, tears welling up in your eyes. Your scream seemed to at least wake him up, though, as he finally lowered his weapon and blinked at you in surprise. "Fucks sake! What is wrong with you?" You yelled out, yet as fast as his face softened, it hardened again. "... Sorry... I need to leave." Quickly making his way past you, he only barely escaped your presence before you grabbed onto the fabric of his pants. "Why? Where are you going? Why can't you tell me anything?"

The look in his eyes made you shrink away. This wasn't your Jayce anymore. "... The future of everyone in Piltover hinges on me being there on time. Now, make yourself useful for once and get out of my way." Shaking you off harshly, he left you crying on the cold floor of the once lively laboratory, not once looking back.

》SILCO

When you first met Silco, you were both still leading simple lives in the last drop with his brother and all of your other friends in Zaun. The lanes were harsh and, at times, cruel, yet you fought through the agony of it all together. Years down the line later, you find yourself still reminiscing on those heavenly days, particularly those of your lover who had turned for the worst in the time being. And the question of why you didn't listen to Vander's warnings came to mind again then. Perhaps you were just too used to excusing everything his brother did, especially after he had attempted to drown him so horrifically, which left him permanently injured.

But even so... why didn't you just listen? Why did it take so many years for you to finally throw the towel and leave for good? Finally realise that the man you loved was a monster? A disgusting and evil monster who was willing to use the plight of others for his own gain. And for what? Money? Fame? Power? It was all an ego trip you had far more than enough of. Zaun was his playground, and an escape was impossible. You'd be, however damned if you didn't at least try to anyways. Even if just in Vander's honor as a long-awaited apology.

Pushing past the crowd in the stuffy, full Last drop, you finally reached his office upstairs. Not caring about formalities anymore, you knocked and opened the door without awaiting a reply. If death met you behind it, then so be it. "Ah, darling, in a hurry today, aren't you?" "We need to talk. Alone." Short and straight to the point. Raising a brow, he shared a look with Jinx, who was just done giving him his daily "medicine". Oh, how you hated your lover's dearest creation. Shimmer. The exact thing that had ruined your lives for good. But you pushed away your disdain for the task at hand.

Giving Jinx a dismissive wave of his hand, you waited for her to be gone for good before taking a breath to speak. But Silco beat you to it. Always so painfully perceptive. "The answer is no, if you're here asking to leave. I refuse to let you go, dear. You have no one else but me after all. You wouldn't survive on your own." He always underestimated you, so this wasn't an all to surprising response. And if you were just a couple of months younger, you would have maybe agreed and backed off. But you were sick of his games.

"I didn't come here to ask for permission, Silco. I'm here to say goodbye." The slightest, softest crack at the last word gave you away horribly. You certainly didn't expect your feelings for the man to betray you, but even that won't stop you now. Said man just hummed in response as he stood up to face the window. His hands calmly lit a cigar, very much unbothered. But you knew that your sentence had gotten to him anyway with how his hand shook ever so slightly. Out of anger, most likely.

"So you think you can do whatever you want? Leave after you've spent so many years at my side? Your hands aren't as clean as you think they are, darling. Even yours are a bright violet." A reference to the shimmer vials on his desk. He knew how much you hated it, so this felt like a jab. A jab at the deep guilt you felt every day for enabling the death of all of your friends indirectly. If only you had stopped him from the start... then maybe you wouldn't have to feel the dread that ruined you from the inside anymore.

"I've accepted my flaws and sins a long time ago. I may not be better than you... but sometimes, in order to end the cycle, you have to walk away and leave some things behind." You suddenly felt so content, his cold and terrible words not reaching you anymore. You were so close to leaving. So close to leaving Zaun and Piltover like you've always dreamed. But Silco just scoffed in disbelief.

"Hah, don't give me that self-righteous shit... I've been there for you for so many years, dear. I've taken care of you, fed you, and loved you to my best ability for so long. The least you could do is be grateful for my kindness." "So you think I'm a burden?" The silence was deafening, but it was enough to confirm your long-standing suspicions. He had lost his love for you a long time ago. Perhaps the side that loved you so purely drowned in the river with him.

"... Goodbye. I hope one day you can walk away too." You turned and began walking out then, suddenly realising that it's finally over. Shoving your hands into the pocket of your coat, you felt the ticket for the skyship you had to take. "Don't you dare leave. Don't you dare it-" All bark and no bite as usual. There was no stopping you now, and he knew it. He was letting you go after all. You could just hope that one day he'd listen to your words and end the cycle, too.

What a shame that you won't be there at his side to see it, however... maybe in another life then.

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Shall we dance? - Viktor x reader

Hi there! With the second season of Arcane on the horizon, I’m excited to start writing for some of its characters. I hope you enjoy this one! ❤️

Words: ~1500 TW: none

"Can you dance?"

Your voice echoed in the lab, making Viktor look up at you with a confused look. He would lie if he said he didn't expect you to say something. Not when you stared at him in the past thirty minutes, your eyebrows slightly furrowed just like they do when something was on your mind.

"Pardon?" he said, his eyes scanning your face. He did hear your question very clearly, but he hoped that maybe you would let it go, feeling too exhausted to deal with you right now.

He never understood why Jayce wanted an assistant. He never asked you to do anything anyway. You just stood there with them, sometimes doing some of his paperwork. But today was one of those days he found himself alone with you, as Jayce was at yet another meeting.

"Can you dance?" you repeated, this time slower, making sure every word got to him.

His expression was unamused, and he looked about as tired as ever: dark circles under his eyes, messy hair from him likely running his hand through it in frustration, and the way he was slumped in his chair like he was about ready to pass out at any moment.

“I don’t dance.” He said dully.

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you could do it," you said, gesturing at his leg.

“No, I can’t.” He said in a tone that clearly told you to drop the subject. You just stood there silent for a moment, your eyes still fixed on his leg. He sighed, relieved that maybe now he could continue his work in silence.

"Have you tried?"

Dammit.

“What part of ‘no I can’t’ are you not understanding?” he snapped, “Why are you fixating on my leg?

"Have. You. Tried?" you ask again, your tone more persistent.

“Of course, I’ve tried.” He said with an obvious annoyance in his voice. He didn’t enjoy talking about this subject. “How exactly do you expect me to dance if I can barely walk in the first place?” he huffed, waving a dismissive hand at his own leg.

You lean back, your eyes scanning him once again. He knew that face - the sign that those little wires in your head are connecting, another light bulb glowing brightly.

"Have you ever danced with anyone?" He placed the pen on the table, a bit harsher than he would've wanted. His eyes locked with yours, not sure what answer you would like to hear from him. "I mean... it's easier to dance with someone than alone."

“No, I haven’t danced with anyone. It’s rather difficult to find someone who wants to dance with someone who can barely stand up without a cane."

"I would."

He was stunned for a moment, his eyes widening at your answer. “You-... Why?” What possible reason would compel you to want to dance with him of all people? You didn’t even like him or at least you acted like this.

"Because I think you might enjoy it," you said, getting up and walking to the phonograph Jayce brought in the lab at some point. His eyes followed you around, a confused look on his face as you looked at some vinyls, trying to pick one.

He turned back to his work as if that would make you disappear... forever, preferably. Your steps approaching him made his heart skip a beat, his brain fogging as your warm hand briefly touched his, snatching the pen he was holding.

"Up," you commanded him, met with a groan of annoyance.

"I'm not getting up," he said as you tugged on his hand slightly. "I have work to do."

"You worked enough."

He hated how fast you answered him like you already knew every word he was going to say.

He sighed as he raised himself from the chair, leaning against the desk as he looked down at you. "Are you happy?"

"Very much so." you smiled, his face slightly heating up at the sight. You placed his other hand on your waist, as you grabbed his shoulder tightly. "Lean onto me," you said and pulled him closer, feeling a bit taken aback by the fact that he was heavier than he looked. "I got you."

He let out a scoff but begrudgingly followed your instructions. “This is stupid…” he mumbled as he leaned closer.

"Well, it is with this attitude of yours! Try to be more positive about it!" you encouraged. "Now, we'll start with the right one, alright?"

He gave you an annoyed look as you continued being overly chipper. He hated how much you were enjoying this. “Right… and how exactly do you expect me to move my right leg without my cane?” he grumbled, waving towards his cane sitting on the desk. You looked at him for a moment, the same look from earlier appearing on your face, as you realised you've mistaken his healthy leg.

"Just... Just lean on me, alright? Pretend I'm your cane."

He stood there for a moment, hesitant. It wasn't that he didn't trust you could hold him as you proved yourself to be more than capable of supporting his weight. He felt vulnerable. He didn't really like depending on someone else, so now, having to trust you completely was a bit overwhelming. You looked up at him, a bit worried at his sudden stiffness. "Hey... If you want to stop..."

“No…” he said, a bit too quickly than he intended. It was obvious that he was trying to avoid your gaze. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, his hand on your waist tightening slightly. He could feel his heart thump in his chest as he looked down at his feet, refusing to meet your eyes. “Let’s keep going…” he finally mumbled after a moment.

You smiled at his words. "Just follow my lead."

With slow steps, he mirrored you, as the music echoed in the lab. Your hands were firm against him, making sure you were not letting him fall, your eyes scanning his body for every sign that he might want to stop. But he didn't.

He didn't want to stop. The more he moved, the more the tension in his shoulders began to ease up.

He hated to admit it, but you were right. It was easier to move with a partner. And having you hold onto him, making sure he could follow your steps… it was something akin to freedom. He didn’t have to worry about keeping himself from collapsing because you wouldn’t let him fall.

That feeling scared him as much as fascinated him.

"See?" you said. "I knew you could dance." you encouraged him, a wide smile on your face.

You looked up to notice a small smile on his lips, a hint of pride in his eyes as he heard your praise.

“Don’t get a big head about it.” he mumbled, “This is still stupid...”

You chuckled as you swayed around the desk. "But you like it," you said, your voice a bit lower.

Oh, how much he wanted to argue with you. "No, I don’t. It’s stupid. It’s pointless." But the way his heartbeat in his chest made it difficult to focus. And he hated how he didn’t want you to let go anytime soon.

"You are such a pain in the ass sometimes, you knew that?" you chuckled, as you moved your eyes back to the ground, making sure you don't step on his legs.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He let out a quiet wince of pain as his leg twitched. It seemed his body was reminding him that he was, in fact, not made to dance, as much as he hated to admit it. “Okay, yes, I’ve had enough.” he said through gritted teeth, “My leg is protesting…”

You slowly helped him sit back in his chair, your hand lingering for just a few moments on his shoulder again. "Hurts too much?" you asked, a hint of worry on your face.

"Ah, it's nothing really..." he said, already used to the pain he was supposed to endure more often than he liked to admit. A feeling of guilt passed through you, thinking that maybe you shouldn't have insisted.

"I'm sorry..." you said, as you leaned against the desk. "I just wanted to help you relax a bit, that's all..."

He looked up at you, his hand slightly squeezing your arm in reassurance. “You don’t have to apologize. You were right. That was…” He hesitated for a moment on his next words. “…That was nice…” he finally whispered.

A smile appeared on your face at his words. "Next time we'll paint. Maybe this activity will be less... dangerous."

“Paint? Really?” he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “That’s the next one on your list of things to do to get me to relax?”

You wanted to talk, but as you looked at the clock on your wrist, your eyes widening slightly as you realised you were late for a meeting. Quickly you made your way to the door. "Well... I have some other things in plan..." you smirked as you leaned against the door. "But we'll take it slow," you left him alone in the lab, a faint blush on his cheeks.

He sat there completely dumbfounded, staring at the door for who knows how long, intrigued by your words.

Suddenly, the idea of Jayce having an assistant didn't sound so bad anymore...

[sheloveschai]

observation (18+)

soft dom! viktor x fem! reader

the ambitious zaunite has seen many things in his lifetime. though, he still (and undoubtedly) believes you are one of the most ethereal beings to have graced his sights, but especially so when you have your mouth stuffed full.

nsfw, oral fixation, boot humping, voyerism, sub reader

“you are much more docile like this.”

a muffled whine rips through the quiet atmosphere of the room as the inventors fingers press down on the back of your tongue; near the entrance of your throat. saliva pools around his fingers and he watches with keen interest at how your tongue flexes, and writhes under the offending appendages.

“close,” the man states simply, biting back a soft smile at how you immediately obey, lips wrapping around his knuckles.

from his seating position in the cushioned chair, he believes this sight may have been his own personal slice of heaven.

you’re currently poised prettily on your knees between his spread legs; head tilted up and eyes locked on his- back straighten to perfection at his approval. one hand rests by your lap on the floor while the other grips around a part his intricate leg brace.

viktor’s not a lover who yearns at depriving you of touch. punishments like such are rare (there typically never being a need for them). if anything he encourages your wandering hands to roam.

he is a man of science after all- observing is what he does best. he wishes to witness you for what you really are- your thoughts, opinions, reactions.

and that’s exactly how you ended up in this predicament.

his gaze remains unwavering at the slight gag he pulls from you. fingers brushing once more against the back of your throat after he’s satisfied with his determination of just how much you can take.

“you are doing so well.”

the natural purr his accented voice seems to carry is like melted honey to your ears. its velvety timbre vibrates through your body all the way down to your core. slick beginning to soak through the middle of your underwear.

your thighs clench and unclench in some sort of desperate attempt of relieving yourself of this ache- a move that doesn’t go unnoticed by viktor.

a subtle, sly smile graces his features as he watches you unashamedly tuck your free hand between your legs and under your clothing. saliva begins to drip down your chin as you moan around his fingers, tongue working tirelessly as your fingers press against your needy clit.

“pl..ease!” you cry out, eyes finally fluttering shut. your legs press tightly together to provide some sort of friction as you rub your swollen bud- a finger just barely pressing into your entrance.

he huffs out a quiet laugh, amusement written over his face. “open your eyes, zayka,” he murmurs lowly as his thumb on his free hand reaches out to trace over your bottom lip, mesmerized at the strand of saliva that keeps you two strung together as he pulls it away.

you listen well and your eyes fly open at the feeling of something hard pushed up against the back of your hand currently pressed against your cunt.

viktor had adjusted his good leg to where his foot was placed now between your spread thighs. the metal working of the tip of his boot caught the low lights in the room causing it to practically sparkle.

he didn’t push you to stop your ministrations, nor did he remove his fingers from your sopping mouth. he merely looked down at you, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and hazel eyes that shone in sensuality, and allure.

you, on the other hand, knew exactly what he wanted.

you’re quick to pull your hand away from your needy pussy and press yourself down onto the worn leather. your hips are in touch with your want and immediately begin to roll themselves. back and forth, up and down. your clit catches deliciously on the cool metal which warrants a gurgled moan from your now parted lips.

viktor tilts his head with a gentle look, as if he found this whole situation endearing.

your arousal began to seep onto the man’s boot, the slip allowing you to glide more effortlessly. both your hands reach out to take ahold of viktor’s leg and use it as leverage as your desperation rose.

a hand intertwined with yours atop his knee as tensions began to heighten- coils beginning to tighten in your lower abdomen.

“don’t fight it,” viktor whispers, his words almost syrupy. “just let it happen.”

it’s when his fingers finally exit your mouth and go to cradle the back of your head- ever so slightly tugging it back to look at your glistening, desirous expression- does that rope finally snap within you.

your orgasm doesn’t wash over you. it comes crashing down.

it take’s a few shushes and gentle murmurs to bring you down from that stagnant high. your clit, raw and sensitive, urges you to pull away from all stimulation, but instead you sag, nearly bonelessly, against viktor as he presses whispers of kisses into your sweaty hairline, continuing to caress your hair back in a loving manner.

“such a good, willing girl you are.”

[visbacktatto]

viktor x assistant!reader

you were always too worried about viktor. you couldn't help it, not when he seemed so passionate about ruining himself for the sake of his research on hextech. someone had to take care of him, if not himself, you.

in the beginning it was difficult, when jayce brought you to the lab viktor gave you a studying look, sizing you up, deciding almost immediately they didn't need help, not yours, not from anyone.

but jayce had it known it was a non negotiable decision, he was getting more and more busy with the council work and viktor was surely exhausting himself with the research, he needed the help and you would be perfect for the part.

and you were, actually, slowly you proved your worth, being quite a genius on tech yourself, it wasn't hard to figure out the little instabilities with the hextech and help with the infinite calculations that came with the job.

and so, viktor started warming up to you, he started with asking for help in little things, like correcting an equation he couldn't seem to crack, checking some new invention that was malfunctioning every time he tried to start it, and every time he had to hide his surprised expression when you actually solved the problem.

so he started respecting you, and then, actually talking to you, letting you know a thing or two about him. how he liked his coffee, how organized he was with the notes on the notebook that he usually showed no one but now he's showing you, how passionate he actually was about giving people access to magic, about providing real change and comfort to the people in need and how far he was willing to go for it.

and you didn't even realize you were falling in love with him until one of those late, late nights in the laboratory, just the two of you working on some new tool together.

viktor was sleepy, clearly, you could see it in his tired eyes, but he was too stubborn to leave the work unfinished, leaned on a desk, being swallowed by the infinite papers with prototypes, he didn't even feel it when he fell asleep, his head resting on the cold surface above his notebook.

but you noticed.

it wasn't rare for him to sleep in the lab, he'd told you that before, you'd seen him early in the morning when you came to start working and he was already there. but it was the first time you saw it happening.

and he looked so beautiful, exhausted, the bags under his eyes profound, but undeniably beautiful. almost ethereal in that brief moment his body relaxed.

and you don't know why, but you reached his hair, your fingers featherlight when they brushed the brown strands, a surprisingly smooth sensation, his hair was soft.

and, yet unconsciously, he leaned into your hand, making you give into your sudden impulse and actually caress his scalp, gentle, caring.

later, when he woke up, he thought it was just a dream.

and from that day on you felt your heart beating fast almost whenever you were together. sitting side by side discussing something, his breath close to your face, his hand brushing yours when reaching for a pen, his knee touching yours under the desk when he was too focused on a new invention to move away, to keep his distant and cool demeanor, he was warmer now.

you continued doing little things for him, bringing him food when he forgot to eat and brushing it off as “i just bought too much for myself, do you want some?”, of course he knows you did it on purpose but he wouldn't point it. besides, he almost found it... endearing.

and on a particularly quiet night in the lab, the only sounds being of viktor's pen on paper and the soft hum of the machines surrounding you, you fell asleep there, for the first time.

the thing is, you were sat beside him, studying some pieces of a tool you've broken down to fix, and the moment you fell asleep your head was drooping to the side.

viktor thought it would give you a sore neck lately. of course it was the only reason he brought you closer to rest on his shoulder... it's not like he felt like he needed you close and couldn't resist seeing you so unapologetically adorable by his side... of course not.

he continued writing, but he was unfocused, the gentle weight of you resting on him occupying his thoughts. he didn't realize he was even moving before he brought you a little closer, his hand securing your waist, all in the name of making sure you were comfortable, he justified to himself.

you stirred, slowly waking up, your senses registering his scent before your eyes opened, he smelled good, like coffee, faint perfume and something indistinctly him. then you felt his hand resting on your waist, his warmth seeping through your clothes. and you could swear your face was warming up.

you opened your eyes, confirming your suspicion, you were resting on him, god you felt so embarrassed. “viktor? i'm sorry, i-” you mumbled sleepily, but he quickly brushed it off with a “no need to apologize, it's okay, you are tired”, his hand dropping from your waist out of surprise to see you awake, “maybe you should wrap it up for the day” he suggests.

you nod, slowly distancing your body from his, and he almost misses it. “maybe i should” you murmur, rubbing your eyes with your hand, trying to shake half of that sleepy haze away.

and you don't even notice that viktor is watching you. his eyes focused on your face, your cheeks looking a bit puffy, cute, even if he'd never mention it. his hand moved without his intent, holding your wrist, “you're feeling well?” he asked, sounding gentle, his accent thick, making your sleepiness almost dissipate by how fast he put your heart to race.

and he was feeling it, by holding your wrist he could feel your pulse picking up. not that he would mention.

“i'm fine i just... couldn't sleep tonight and i got a bit exhausted, i guess” you answered honestly, trying to not focus on his hold on your wrist.

he finally noticed he was holding your wrist so he dropped it. a little embarrassed himself by his actions. why was he acting like that? and before he could think it through he offered, “you can... continue, to sleep here... if it helps” what meant sleeping on him. but he didn't bring himself to say it out loud.

you looked at him a bit confused, and you were confused. what did he mean by that? sleeping in the lab? that was always uncomfortable, even if you couldn't seem to get some real sleep in your bedroom.

but before you could question further he gently pulled you closer, giving you the chance to put some distance between you again if you wanted to. he rested your head on his shoulder again, not saying anything about it, though.

you didn't know what to say either, your heart beating on your ears, loud, so loud that you could bet viktor was hearing it too.

and just when you thought you couldn't get more flustered, he searched for your wrist again, looking right at your eyes, searching for consent. that you understood the meaning. and you just nodded.

he entwined your fingers, a small, faint smile resting on his lips.

and you smiled too, and everything seemed right in the world in that stolen moment of peace.

[whoreforsexymen]

This might be kind a kind of crazy request but hear me out, but feel free to ignore if your uncomfortable. So it's Jace Talis x reader SFW but it aludes to smut. Basicaly jayce wants to gets freaky with his girl or guy or whatever, but Jayce want to watch victor get freaky with the reader, Jayce's partner. I don't want to see any smut, but I just want to see the conversation go down between Jayce and Victor, of Jayce asking Victor if we would like to smash his partner and watch them lol.

Your wish is my command, darling. Sit back and let Mommy do her thing 🤍 (Also, tagging this as NSFW since it uses strong language, and heavily eludes to is directly about cucking.)

Jayce asking you to cuck him w/ Viktor | Flash

Pairings: Jayce Talis x Reader x Viktor

Pronouns: None used for Reader. Can be read as GN!!

Rating: NSFW, 18+ MDNI !!!!!

Word Count: 447

Tags: Cuckholding, Implied M/M (if you squint), Heavy implications of sex (duh), maybe slight OOC Jayce (also, if you squint), slight Sub!Jayce (if you REALLY REALLY SQUINT)

Notes: I have yet to watch S2 because I already can’t handle the heartbreak I know is waiting around the corner for me. So this is written with S1 Viktor and Jayce!!

Also, my first request!!! EEEE!! I hope you like it!! I wrote this so fast cause I was so excited and had nothing else to do hehehe xo

I ALSO KNOW YOU ASKED FOR THE CONVO TO BE BETWEEN VIKTOR AND JAYCE— WHICH ILL DO SOON, TOO, AS A PART 2!! But I liked this idea better ansjdkdkskkkkk for now!!

“…What?” You ask, bewildered.

“I know— I know it’s a weird request. But. I don’t know. I just think it would be hot to watch you… y’know… get fucked by someone else. And— I mean. It’s not like there’s anyone I trust more than Viktor—“ Jayce spoke quickly, a hint of embarrassment lacing his words as he let out a nervous chuckle, his fidgeting betraying his best efforts to exude a calm facade.

He swallowed tightly, his nerves making him feel exposed and helpless, like a child left alone in the dark.

“So. Let me get this straight. I just want to make sure I’m hearing you right. You want Me— And— Viktor, to fuck… While you watch?” You ask plainly.

Jayce swallowed once more, his nerves spiraling as he struggled to hold himself together.

“That is what I said… yes.” He mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. The idea itself doesn’t catch you off guard—not really. In fact, it stirs something exciting within you. It’s a little unconventional, sure, but you’re not opposed to exploring what could lie ahead for your sex life with Jayce. You might enjoy letting him take the lead most of the time, but there’s something about the way he’s dancing around this topic in particular— too nervous to be bold—that sparks a fire in your gut.

“Hmm.” You hum softly, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Is it just because you wanna see your boyfriend naked~?” You tease, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you look up at him, your gaze heavy with playfulness, smoldering as always.

Jayce stammers harder than before.

“I- wh- No. Pfft. It’s just- I just-..” He can’t even continue his stammering before you kiss him. It was a soft and chaste one, yet needy in its own way, and above all—understanding.

After several long seconds, once you sense his nerves start to settle, you slowly pull away, the tension lingering in the space between you.

“We can do that.” You say softly, giving him one extra peck to the lips.

“Really?” He queries, unsure of if you’re being truthful.

You emit a gentle chuckle.

“Yes, my love… I’m open to it.” You explain, running your hands along his chest… Over his vest… and down the length of his tie. You felt him shudder beneath your wandering hands.

“Why don’t you ask Viktor, and if he’s open to it, we can try… let’s see… tonight, hmm?” You ask, leaning in and nibbling his ear ever so teasingly.

After a long pause, Jayce finally speaks again, his voice quieter now, as if weighing his words more carefully.

“I already asked him. He said yes.”

[savi0rr]

Sweet Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Wife! Reader

In which, Viktor’s sweet wife came to visit him. But only at night, not to be seen by anyone.

a/n: this is like….a part to my other one I think idk

୨───୨୧───୧

୨───୨୧───୧

“I can’t believe you sneaked in,” Viktor scolded, his voice a blend of exasperation and underlying relief as you stood within the confines of the dimly lit lab. Shadows flickered and danced around the cluttered workbench, creating an atmosphere that felt both secretive and intimate. You could sense the weight of his words, yet a playful smile tugged at your lips, fueled by a mischievous spark. “Dear, could you truly blame me? I’d sneak into anywhere just to see you,” you replied, your voice light and teasing, tilting your head in a manner that conveyed a hint of innocence.

Viktor let out a resigned sigh, his shoulders visibly slumping as he leaned his weight onto his crutch. The familiar crunch of metal against the cold floor resonated in the stillness of the lab, accentuating the solitude of the space. You caught sight of the flickering fluorescent bulbs, their dim light illuminating the weariness etched on his face, a testament to long hours spent lost in his work.

Eager to alleviate his discomfort, you brightened, your fingers gently resting on his shoulders, feeling the tension beneath them. “What did I tell you about standing for too long?” you chided softly, a mixture of concern and affection coloring your tone as you guided him toward the chair. With a blend of reluctance and grace, Viktor finally set his crutch aside, his gaze lifting to meet yours. The warmth of your presence seemed to draw his attention, and his eyes wandered to the gleam of your wedding ring, a small yet brilliant beacon sparkling in the dim light, catching his focus like a moth to a flame.

You noticed his fascination, and a playful smirk danced on your lips. “My husband made it for me,” you said, positioning yourself in front of him, your heart swelling with pride at the thought of his craftsmanship and love.

Viktor responded with a deadpan expression, though the corners of his lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. “Lucky man he is,” he muttered, turning his chair slightly as he moved closer to the desk, the scent of various chemicals mingling with the warmth of shared moments stolen in this sanctuary of intellect and passion.

Pouting softly, you leaned against the desk, feeling the coolness of the polished surface against your skin, grounding you in this moment. “Don’t be like that, dear,” you teased lightly, infusing your voice with a playful lilt. Setting your book bag down with a soft thud, you began rummaging through it, your fingers dancing over the contents in search of a little surprise you had carefully tucked away.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, curiosity flaring in his gaze as he leaned in closer, intrigued yet cautious. “I’m not sure if I want to know what you’re about to pull out…” he said, a hint of wariness threading through his voice, curiosity mixing with anticipation.

You giggled softly, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through you as you finally produced a small container from your bag. Viktor’s interest piqued; his eyes darted from the container to you, anticipation bubbling in the air between you. “Don’t give me that look,” you huffed playfully, lifting the lid with a flourish to reveal your surprise—a delicate slice of cake, its layers rich and inviting, a masterpiece of indulgence adorned with swirls of cream and colorful sprinkles.

“I know we were both busy on the day we were meant to go on that date…” you murmured, your cheeks warming with a soft blush as you recalled the moment. “I just happened to pass by our favorite bakery, and I couldn’t resist picking this up,” you added, your voice tender as you shot him a wink overflowing with mischief, the kind that made your heart flutter.

Viktor’s expression transformed, a softness washing over him as warmth spread across his pale cheeks. He watched you, his heart swelling with affection, the moment a sweet balm to his weary spirit. “Then I wonder if this cake will taste just as sweet as you,” he mused, the words lingering in the air like a beloved melody, wrapped in a teasing charm.

Suddenly, a beautiful silence enveloped you both, your heart began to race at his flirtatious remark. “V-Viktor!” you stammered, eyes wide and captivated as he decisively took a bite of the cake. The playful smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips suggested he enjoyed this moment far too much. “You taste better,” he shrugged nonchalantly, throwing a hint of challenge your way, leaving you both flustered and charmed by the sweet exchange between you.

—

edit: ik i just posted this, but im going to back and change a few things about it because i feel like i over did it and made it….a lot loving than i would expect from Viktor? Is it just me? Idk but pls let me know if i should change it or just leave😭

[unoislazy]

Take A Break

Viktor x Reader (Part One)

Viktor doesn’t want you to be like him. You’re taking a break and you’re gonna like it.

A/N: Gonna let y'all in on a secret, this is a revamp of a very old fanfic i wrote years ago when arcane first came out. It's on an old account of mine on a different platform, not gonna mention which one, but it's still up if you can find it.

You were committed.

Committed to helping out Viktor in any way that you could. You were just an apprentice in the academy, technically you weren’t even supposed to be near Viktor when it came specifically to rankings, you should’ve been focusing on lesser issues.

But with Viktor it was different. You always admired his want to help people, the way he put his all into every project that he believed would benefit the people of the Undercity.

He saw in you the same passion to help, so he kept you around. He very quickly learned he also just enjoyed your company which made you the perfect lab partner when his original one, Jayce Talis, was no longer able to help as often. The two of you very quickly became good friends, great friends even. It is to be expected for two people who get along that also spend almost every waking hour of every single day together.

The ideas he held for the potential of HexTech and how it could help the people always warmed your heart. It gave you a new spark of inspiration every time he would rattle on about some new idea he had.

Because of these ideas, you wanted to put your all into helping him achieve his goal, even if that meant spending countless hours in the lab overnight. It became a habit of yours, unbeknownst to Viktor, as far as he was aware you just got to the lab really early in the morning and just left very late at night. It wasn’t until one day, he walked into the lab extremely early in the morning, having come up with an idea and wanting to test it out, and found you fast asleep on leaning against your workbench.

The soft clink of Viktor’s cane echoed throughout the room as he made his way over to you. He looked around at all the things you had written down, all the work you had accomplished, as well as the mess that your failed attempts had made. Once he finally got close enough to you, he had noticed the slightest bit of drool that had begun to collect atop your hand that you had resting under your face to give yourself some sort of cushion. He let out a soft chuckle at this before clearing his throat rather loudly.

This attempt to wake you didn’t work, so he tried again. Once that was also met with a fail, he tried once more, this time making sure to tap you on the shoulder with a bit of force. This finally managed to wake you as you shot up from your seat, almost falling back onto the floor from the sheer force you rose with.

“You know, sleeping in the lab… it isn’t exactly advised.” Viktor said in a teasing manner as you looked around frantically before your eyes landed on him. You sighed with relief, calming down as you finally figured out who it was that woke you.

“Viktor, it’s just you.” You said, a hand over your heart as you tried to almost manually lower your heart rate back to normal. The scare he gave you was almost enough to make you think you had entered cardiac arrest. He chuckled at your reaction before taking a seat on the stool next to you, his cane still in hand as he spoke,

“You’ve been busy I see. Find anything new?” He asked, interested in your developments. You sighed, this time not out of relief but instead out of disappointment.

“Nothing yet. I can’t seem to figure out exactly how these runes work. They just don’t make any sense. It's like learning a new language without a dictionary to go off of.” You said as you rested your head on your hand once again, now noticing the drool that you quickly wiped off.

“I see well, there's no sense in returning to it right away.” He said as his eyes drifted from you, down to the pile of papers that had been spread across your desk. Some of them were his, a lot of them were yours. He could easily tell they were yours by the random doodles you would have littered across the margins of your pages. Before meeting you he would’ve thought such a thing would be a waste of space, since then however, he finds it an endearing quirk of yours that he looks forward to seeing when he goes back to look over both of your notes.

“What? But I know there is a way to fix this. I just need to,” You began to explain, eager to finish the work you started only to be interrupted by a sigh from the thin man.

“Can’t believe I am the one saying this, you are overworking yourself.” He said, his face fairly blank of emotion as he spoke to you.

“I can’t believe you just said that either.” You said, your eyes widening slightly as you met his gaze. If anyone had room to talk about overworking oneself, it certainly was not Mr. HexTech number 2.

“Something new every day I suppose. As I said, sleeping in the lab is not advised.” He said with a shrug, one of his hands leaning on his crutch as he leaned a bit more forward, knowing you would still object.

“You’ve done it.” You, as he knew you would, objected.

“Well eh, I’m not exactly the best rule follower…” He retorted with a bit of strain towards the end of his sentence.

“So why should I be?” You asked.

“Because you need a break.” He responded in a lighthearted yet still somehow stern way. He was serious but he wasn’t mad, he knew better than anyone that it was hard for such a committed worker to finally take time to prioritize themself. Half the time he only took breaks because Heimerdinger told him to.

“But you-”

“Ah, no. This is not about me.” He interrupted again, holding a hand up to signal you to stop talking.

“But I-”

“A break.” He said, leaning forward.

“But-”

“A. Break.” He repeated, almost as if he was telling you to drop it, which in a very obvious way he was. You sighed once again, realizing you weren't going to win such an argument.

“Fine, yes I’ll take a break.” You finally agreed. You rolled your eyes before turning back to your desk, and resting back in the position you had once been in. You head of your hand and your eyes facing the ungodly amount of work you still had yet to finish.

“Good, now come with me.” He spoke quickly, getting up from his chair as if he had somewhere to be.

“What, why? Where are we going?” You questioned, propping yourself up as you watched the pale man walk around your desk towards the door before stopping to turn back and look at you.

“We are going to take a break.”

Confused by his words you felt you had no other choice but to get up and follow the strange yet intelligent man. Everything he did confused you, you could never confidently predict what he was going to do next, every time you thought you could he would just add another option to the board. Knowing better than to question him at this point, you stood up from your desk, taking a moment to stretch your limbs which had been held in the same position for hours.

In the process you hadn’t realized Viktor’s eyes had remained on you, taking in as much of your body as he could see whether he realized it or not. You then caught him staring and looked down at yourself, confused as to what he was looking at. Did you have some paper stuck to you?

“What?” You asked him, looking down at yourself before looking back up at him trying to figure out what exactly he could’ve been looking at. He seemed surprised, not just by your question, but also by the fact that he had been staring in the first place. It was a habit he had, but when directed at you it felt different for him… he didn’t know why but he wasn’t going to bother exploring that area of the unknown just yet.

“Nothing, follow me.” He responded quickly before turning back towards the door and hurriedly walking out.

You followed him out of the lab, closing the door behind you, and making your way into the very intricately decorated hallways of the academy. It was a place you prided yourself on being able to work at, they didn’t just accept anyone through their doors so the fact you made it this far, even just to be an apprentice, was something you would never let yourself forget.

Even so, sometimes just being an apprentice did sometimes diminish your excitement about working in such an extravagantly intelligent place. You wanted to do things, you wanted to make a difference, you wanted to help people, and oftentimes being stuck in the role of an apprentice didn’t guarantee much of anything.

That’s why you were so eager to help out Viktor. He saw potential in you and worked upon it, he gave you things to do and actually valued your opinion when working on projects. He made you feel seen more than anyone else in the academy had at this point.

You hadn’t noticed him looking over his shoulder at you once again, watching as your eyes traced the design of each pillar that littered the hallway before smiling a little to himself.

“This way.” He spoke up, grabbing your attention quickly as he turned down a hallway and towards the main doors leading out of the academy.

“Where are we going?” You asked, now walking alongside him.

“You will see.”

“Do you ever give any straight answers?”

“You’ve been around me this long and still don’t know the answer to that?” He teased back with a smile on his face, it caused you to laugh slightly as you rolled your eyes.

“So that’s a strong no.” You laughed to which he shrugged.

Before long he brought you to a place that was rather secluded, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. It was, for lack of a better term, a hole in the wall outlooking the water that sat between Piltover and Zaun. It was quite nice as the sun glittered across the water giving it a twinkle that you could really only see from certain angles. It was only then did you realize how long you had fallen asleep in the lab, it was already midday.

Viktor took a seat on the ledge, looking to you to join him, which you did. You were a bit hesitant at first as the drop was quite a far one, but eventually you made your way and sat down properly. There was still enough distance between you and Viktor that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you both looked out at the view.

“How did you find this place?” You asked, looking over to him as he leaned against the wall next to him. There was a certain look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place, almost melancholic, maybe even nostalgic as he looked out at the water.

He shrugged a bit before dragging his eyes away from the water to look at you.

“I’ve always known about it. I come to relax or think, which Is part of what I think you need right now.” He said with a smile as he leaned back on the ledge a bit with his arms behind him.

You nodded before looking back out at the view before you.

You both stayed quiet for a little, just enjoying each other's company as you listened to the sounds around you. You thought it would’ve been awkward to just sit in silence with him but you were actually surprisingly really comfortable with it. You couldn’t help but wonder why he even bothered bringing you out here, if anything wouldn’t it be more important to just get you back to work as quickly as possible. So you asked,

“Hey Viktor?” You began, to which the man responded with a gentle hum, letting you know he was listening even if he wasn’t looking in your direction.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“So you can have a break.”

You sighed and shook your head knowing he was so straightforward that you had to spell things out for him sometimes.

“Yeah, I know that part but… why? Why let me have a break when this work is so important to you?”

His eyes left the scene before him before looking back towards you. A new emotion behind them that you couldn’t quite place, but it looked much more lively than the melancholic look he had before.

“Jeopardizing people you care about is not worth the sake of a project.”

His words seemed to almost float in the air for a moment before sinking in as you looked at him. He was serious about what he had said but it seemed like he hadn’t intended to say something so heavy hitting, but Viktor wasn’t exactly a sugar coater. He didn’t like to dance around the edge of things, if he had something on his mind he would say it.

But he saw your reaction and realized that maybe this once he should dial back his full passion towards everything.

“Eh, and besides, what good would it do me if my assistant was falling asleep on my all the time.” He joked a bit as he nudged you with his elbow. You smiled at him a bit, appreciating his words before looking down once again.

“This is nice.” You said quietly with a smile, now looking down at your hands which we’re responding on your lap.

“Perhaps this means you will take a break more often?” He asks, leaning a bit forward as he looks towards you.

“Perhaps it does.” You said, your smile remaining.

[thesecondhandwoman]

(SPOILERS FOR ACT THREE)

HOLDING ON TO HER

Sevika x f!reader

Summary: It had been a few days after the fight that commenced between Noxus and Viktor’s creations, and only a few days after everyone had experienced the Arcane. Sevika was still traumatized from the experience, and desperately needed comfort. Specifically your comfort.

Sevika could feel the weight of the world bearing down on her. The words she told herself every day, the ones she used to push through the chaos of life, weren’t working anymore. Her mind was a battlefield, a storm of memories that she couldn’t fight off—memories of that moment when the arcane had taken over, when she had lost control of her own body, and when she felt her very soul pulled in every direction by something greater than herself.

The recent battle had left scars on her mind, ones that she couldn’t shake no matter how much time passed. The way her limbs had moved of their own accord, the feeling of her body betraying her, as if she were nothing more than a vessel for something dark and otherworldly. It made her sick to her stomach. Her thoughts were constantly tangled with those memories. She couldn’t stop replaying the way the arcane had twisted her body, forced her to fight against her will, made her want to fight against her own nature. But it hadn’t just been the physical invasion. The worst part was the helplessness—the suffocating sensation of being trapped in her own skin, of not being able to escape the dark, searing touch that had commanded her every move.

And now, she was here. Alone in their shared apartment in Zaun, the light from the flickering street lamps casting long shadows across the room. The smell of iron, old grease, and gunpowder that clung to her skin was still there, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, her body ached from the fight, but it was her mind that was the true battlefront. She hadn’t even been able to fully comprehend what happened when those things—Viktor’s disgusting creations—had touched her, her mind still fragmented from the sheer chaos.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, as though she could hold all the parts of her that were broken into one piece. Every breath was a reminder of the weight she carried inside, a weight that had only grown heavier since the fight that commenced only a few days ago.

“Sevika?” A soft voice broke through the fog in her mind.

You stood in the doorway, your figure framed by the dim glow of the hallway light. Your eyes were soft with concern, and Sevika could see the way you moved cautiously toward her, not wanting to disturb her but knowing that she needed you. She felt a pang in her chest at the sight of you. You had always been a source of comfort for her, even before everything with Viktor. But now, in this moment of darkness, she felt undeserving of your kindness, your warmth.

You knelt down in front of her, gently taking her hands into your own. The touch was grounding, a lifeline thrown to her in a sea of uncertainty. You didn’t speak at first. You didn’t need to. The silence was heavy, but in it, you offered her the thing she needed most—presence. Your unwavering presence.

“I’m sorry,” Sevika whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking as she squeezed your hands tightly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t get rid of it. The memories. The way it felt to not be in control. The way they… they touched me, forced me to be something I’m not.”

You shook your head, your thumbs gently brushing the backs of her hands. “You don’t have to apologize, Sevika. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

She closed her eyes, trying to push the images away, but they flooded back in an instant. The way her body had been jerked and twisted by forces beyond her understanding. The gnawing feeling that she wasn’t her own person anymore, that she wasn’t Sevika—that she was just an extension of the arcane, a puppet on invisible strings. And when they had tried to make her feel normal, to want to be free, it had felt like a mockery.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” Sevika choked out, her voice barely audible. “I hate it. I hate feeling weak. I’ve never felt weaker in my life. They… they made me want things I can’t have, things I’m not supposed to have. I didn’t even know how to fight it, and even with them gone, they still feel like they are there.”

You leaned forward, your forehead gently pressing against hers, and for a moment, everything in the room felt still. The pain in her chest didn’t disappear, but your warmth was a soothing balm. You didn’t say anything for a long time, just holding her in the silence, letting her feel you there.

She needed you, more than she ever had before, but she didn’t know how to ask for it.

“I know,” you whispered softly, your fingers now caressing her cheek with the gentleness only you could offer. “I know, Sev. I’ve been there. I felt it too… I know what it’s like when the arcane takes control. When it feels like you’re losing yourself. But you’re not weak. Not to me. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Her breath hitched at your words, and she could feel the pressure in her chest lift ever so slightly. She wanted to argue, to tell you that you didn’t understand, that she didn’t deserve to be held, to be comforted. But something in the way you looked at her—something in the warmth of your hands on her skin—stopped her.

Your thumb brushed over the tear that had fallen down her cheek, your gaze never wavering from hers. “You’re not alone, Sevika. I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

She felt herself break, the dam she had carefully built over the years cracking open. The weight of everything—the trauma, the guilt, the terror—came flooding out in hot, silent tears. You didn’t let go of her hands, didn’t pull away. You stayed with her as she cried, your embrace comforting and steadfast.

As the sobs began to wrack her body, you wrapped your arms around her tightly, pressing her face into the crook of your neck. “It’s okay to feel like this, Sevika. It’s okay to need someone, especially now. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time.”

The way your arms enveloped her, the way you kissed her forehead softly, telling her that she was safe with you, slowly started to ease the storm inside her heart.

“I was so scared, Y/N,” Sevika whispered, her voice muffled against your skin. “I was so scared of what they were trying to make. Of what they made me feel. I don’t know how to fix myself after all of that.”

You pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. “You’re not broken, Sev. You’re healing. And we’ll heal together. One step at a time.”

And with that promise, she believed you. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sevika let herself lean into the love and safety you offered her. The trauma of the arcane wouldn’t disappear overnight, but she knew, deep down, that with you by her side, she didn’t have to face it alone.

You kissed her gently, a soft press of your lips to hers that spoke more than words ever could. It was a promise, a reassurance, that no matter what darkness she faced, she’d never have to fight it alone.

Sevika finally let herself rest in your arms, the world outside no longer so cold. She was safe here. With you.

[inkedtae]

the underground ⇾ bgc. [M] | PART I

⎡ In a city fuelled by greed and ambition, secrets are a currency. Yet here you are, gambling yours away on a captivating smile.⎤

PART II ➡︎

⌁ pairing; boxer!chan x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; boxing au, s2l, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 14.4k

⌁ summary; You’re just a runner. So why the hell are you straddling the lap of an undefeated boxer, massaging his chest and whispering secrets you have no right knowing? Oh, yeah— ‘cause he’s hot.

⌁ warnings; dark themes: mentions and depictions of graphic gang activity, abduction, possession and distribution of drugs, addictions, use of deadly weapons, violence, blood, gore, and death threats, explicit sex: dom!chan, sub!reader, daddy kink, size kink, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasm, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, handjob, thigh riding, spanking, face slapping (m. receiving), rimming, fingering, edging, manhandling, gun play, anal play, cum play, spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ i want to give special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for being so patient with me and reading this monster of a fic over! 💕 and @awrkives for the most amazing banner! 💗

❥ and happy birthday to my channie! here's to another year of unhinged love letters. 🐺🖤

❥ okay so i'm moving this fully to tumblr as well as it being available on ao3 HOWEVER the entire fic is over the character limit for tumblr post so this one-shot has been divided into two parts. both parts are uploaded.

!! the following story contains mature themes, including mentions and graphic depictions of racketeering, gang activity, weapons, drugs, violence, blood, gore, and death threats. please do not read nor interact if these themes cause you discomfort !!

Dusk is a medley of tangerine and indigo. Peachy rays of the sun shine between drifting clouds. A quartered shadow of the moon makes a premature appearance. You breathe in the early October air, eyes fluttering shut with the exhale. Clutching onto the balcony’s rickety railing, the rusted metal so cold on your bare hands, you fill your lungs again, taking deep, slow breaths.

The world stops spinning. The muffled music, once pounding against your temples, fades away. Body steady, you sip on the fresh air and swallow away your nausea.

I can do this, you tell yourself. Just one last drop off. I hand it over and leave.

They probably won’t even recognise you. You let your hair grow past your shoulders and dyed it strawberry blonde. You changed your style, trading your baby pink and blue matching sets for muted mixtures of red and black. Fishnets, little gym shorts, a graphic KISS babydoll tee and an oversized, knock-off fur coat you nicked from a local bodega weeks ago, you transformed yourself into someone new.

You turn back to the glass doors now. Catching your reflection, you cringe at the smudged eyeliner and runny nose. You wipe your hands under your eyes and above your lip, sniffling your worries away. You fix your jacket, reapply your dark red lipstick, and frame your hair around your face.

“I can do this,” you mutter as you slide open the door and step back into the party.

You spot Vince by the DJ, Danni and Andrea lingering nearby. Your heart drops to your stomach. They once told you they hated Day-1 parties, yet here they are, taking shots of gin and robbing the entertainment of their equipment. They once told you they loved you too, that they would never leave you behind. All at once, the three of them turned their backs on you, forever haunting your every waking moment.

You push between bodies. Tonight is not about ghosts. You have a debt to settle.

“Name?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Vik.”

Viktor crosses his arms over his chest. “Think this a joke?”

You fight off a smirk. “Nah, that’s not what I think a joke looks like.”

He grits his teeth, tossing you a vulgar gesture before moving aside. “Bitch,” he hisses in your ear as you walk into the master bedroom.

Red lights, smoke, needles. Two topless women dance to the muffled music, bottles in hand. Three Day-1s watch, one with his hand on his crotch. The bed shakes by them, two junkies bouncing on it like children as another Day-1 makes out with their friend.

By the window, two more members stare out to the street.

Exit compromised.

Gagging erupts from the en-suite, coaxing your curiosity. Another topless woman hunches over the toilet. Horny Day-1 members crowd around the entrance, trousers around their ankles as they watch.

You redirect your attention to the table on the far right. Reggie, point-man of tonight’s drop off, sits facing the door. He flashes a toothy grin, racking his gaze over your curves.

Hands remaining by your side, you fight against the instinct to wrap your coat tighter around yourself.

Reggie calls you over with the curl of two fingers, puffing his cigarette smoke out through his nostrils. 

“Name?”

“Vinny sent me.”

The three men sitting around him exchange glances.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Reggie, dressed in a blood speckled undershirt and baggy cargos, sits up in his seat. “Is that what I asked?” He looks around his fellow members, drily chuckling with them before repeating, “Name!”

The rules for runners are very simple; there’s only one— Never state your name. It creates a trail and binds you to an affliction. Rival gangs won’t work with a spy, and your name will be the first they spill if caught. You’re simply a messenger, no different than the guy that delivers the same-day Amazon order, distributing grams of coke and meth instead of a Roomba.

Honour gangs, like Day-1, are tricky, however. They have a second rule:

“Never lie,” Vinny warned.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Figure it out.”

You shift your weight. His insistence on your name, knowing you will risk your safety, is simply a test of will and grit. You purse your lips, flirting your eyes over his all too arrogant, lanky frame, and reply, “Bitch.”

Reggie raises a brow. He stands, reaching a hand behind him.

“That’s what everyone calls me,” you quickly add, then you shoot him a wink. “Fat bitch, if you’re nasty.”

The room stiffens. Even the gags from the bathroom cease. You keep your attention tunnelled on Reggie. You watch as he fixes his shirt over his gun, holding your breath when he rounds the table.

Nearly an arms length away, a smile finally settles on his old face. “Where the hell did Vinny find you?”

You force yourself to return that same easy grin and peel back the lining of your coat. “Be sure to ask him that the next time you see him. I’m on a tight schedule.”

Reggie gestures for his members. You pull out the wrapped bags of crystal and pass them out, ignoring the way his eyes devour your frame.

“Are you handling the cash too, princess?”

You try not to cringe at the pet name. Licking your lips, you keep your features soft and peer at him from your lashes. “Not tonight. Vinny said you know where the drop point is.”

He hums. 

You pull your coat back around your body, resisting the urge to recoil under his glutinous gaze. He looks no younger than forty-five, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes not doing him any favours. Vinny warned you Reggie might get handsy. Under any other circumstance, you would have kicked him in the balls and spat on his face by now. But you’re in Day-1 territory and don’t have a gang of your own for support.

Reggie reaches his hand out. You take a step back.

Before the thrill of your resistance can poison his stare, you flash him a coy smile and playfully whine, “I’m working tonight.”

He nods towards the door, laughing to himself. “Go on then, princess.”

You turn your back to him, unable to force down a gag. Though you’re eager to escape, you keep your steps steady and even. You stride towards the door, knock thrice and shift your weight to make a show of your boredom while waiting for Viktor to respond.

A relieved breath topples out of you once the door shuts. You lean on your knees, shakily trying to catch your breath.

Viktor carefully scans your hunched frame. “You good?” He whispers, voice is strained, carefully void of emotion.

You nod, standing back to your full height.

Hazel eyes lock on you from the bottom of the stairs. Vince furrows his brows. Danni follows his gaze, Andrea already staring, lips moving.

Shit.

They can’t know it’s you, right? From the way Vince merely narrows his eyes, he must simply suspect something.

You turn to face Viktor.

He tosses you a cautious look, muttering, “I can’t help you.”

You know this, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Just tell me if they’re still looking.”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Viktor keeps his features neutral, posture stiff with his hands clasped before him. “They still got a hit on you, yeah?”

You nod.

“You packing?”

“You know I’m not,” you snap.

Non-members are not permitted entrance if carrying a firearm. You left yours with Vinny before running. Shoving your hands in your pockets, all you feel is your phone, lipstick, and switchblade.

“On the move,” he warns.

“Give me your gun.”

Viktor casts you a sidelong glare. “I can’t.”

You sneak a peek over your shoulder to find Vince halfway up the stairs. You see Danni reaching into her pocket, catching the glare of the lights against a blade. They’re in no rush, but if they make it to the landing before you can secure a proper weapon, you’ll be out of options.

“Do you have a knife?” you ask, taking a step back.

Viktor stiffens.

Shit, are they close?

“Last room down the hall,” Viktor mumbles.

You know you shouldn’t have, but fear triggers adrenaline and soon overwhelms your nerves. Panic binds to your bones, snapping tense muscles into action. You bolt— alone, alarmed. Pushing between drunks, jumping over junkies, you hurry to the farthest room and slam the door. It doesn’t have a lock so you tuck a chair under the handle. Rummaging through drawers, digging through the closet, lifting the mattress, you look for a knife, a gun, anything other than a three-inch switchblade to defend yourself.

The door trembles from the pounding of their fists.

“Come on out!” Vince shouts.

“It must be her! She’s always fucking hiding!” Andrea adds. “Get the fuck out here! Have the balls to face what you did, bitch!”

You find yourself warped in a memory—

“No one wants your boyfriend, Danni,” you shouted. “He came onto me.”

Her open palm landed on your cheek.

Tears gathered in your eyes, face stinging. You stumbled back.

“You’re a lying bitch,” she spat. “At least have the decency to face what you did.”

You blink out of your thoughts, dropping the mattress.

Dresser, closet , bed— Where else could a weapon be? You scan the room, heart hammering with every forceful knock of the door.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Reggie asks, voice muffled.

Your attention settles on the window in front of you. You hurry towards it to find the fire escape.

“Viktor, you sneaky fuck,” you whisper through a relieved chuckle. He wasn’t directing you to a weapon but rather an exit.

You quickly push it up, catching rumblings of orders to blow the door open. Up and out, you jump, sparing a second to shut the window behind you. It might be counter-productive to waste precious time on a window but you know that concealing your exits always gives you a head start.

Rushing down the stairs, you don’t look back upon hearing the loud blast of metal on wood. You just catch their commotion over the heavy bass of the music.

Jumping the final steps, you run.

The Underground sits on the corner of Bank and Third Avenue, tucked under a row of red-bricked townhouses. You lean against the wall, stowing yourself away in the alley to catch your breath. Sirens whirl down the street, casting red and blue lights over your sweaty face. A man of very little wealth stumbles by, clothes torn and stained, waving a sign that reads, JESUS LOVES YOU.

You roll your eyes, wondering where the fuck Jesus was when your parents failed you, when the bank repossessed all you had and when the system passed you from house to house.

The thick stench of sewage and rotten trash suddenly sets in, blighting your next inhale. Leaning over, you succumb to a gagging fit. Thankfully, only bile and saliva gather. You cough and spit it out, then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. An annoyed sigh escapes you at the realisation that you fucked up your lipstick yet again.

“Just some drunken slut.”

You carefully redirect your attention to the far end of the alley. Two men stand a couple of inches apart. One of them wears a grey tracksuit, glaring at you under the light of the backdoor. He has a towel resting around his neck, just over a thin gold chain. Perhaps in his mid-twenties, his relatively handsome twists with contempt. The other one wears an oversized jersey and low-riding jeans. Though dressed like a boxing fan, you can tell by his rigid posture he’s anything but. No one who gambles their mortgage away on Underground matches stands that straight.

And then you catch it, in the glimpse of the light, the flash of his badge nearly slipping out of his pocket. You wish you were surprised, but you know all too well that it’s dirty cops like this legitimising gang activity.

He pulls his pants up, and continues to pace. “Is he gonna throw it or not?”

“He won’t,” Tracksuit replies, looking over his shoulder.

The dirty cop curses.

“You know how Bahng is,” Tracksuit explains. “He’s too prideful. He won’t ruin an undefeated streak for a few thousand.”

“It’s five hundred thousand, Mickey. Did you tell him that? Does he know?”

Mickey nods, readjusting the towel behind his neck. “And I’m telling you he doesn’t think it’s worth it.”

A shiver dances along your spine at the way the cop’s face hardens. Sinister desperation gleams in his gaze and he pulls out a long knife. In a single motion, he shoves Mickey against the wall and presses the blade against his throat.

Mickey chokes back a scream, throwing his hands up in surrender. “W-whoa, Andy! C-Come on, man.”

Andy bears his teeth, quietly laughing to himself. “Do you think this is a fucking joke? Do you know how fucked I am if he wins this match? Day-1s, Ravens, Siphons— they’re all after me, Mick. I have a family— a fucking career.”

“That’s not my pr—”

“Problem?” Andy finishes, his laughter becoming more manic. “You think it’s not your problem? What do you think I told them when I promised that Bahng would lose?”

Mickey’s face drains of colour.

“I told’em Mick with the little dick can fix it for us.”

Tears gather in Mickey’s eyes. He swallows thickly before shakily asking, “Wh-Why would you s-s-say th-at?”

“Come on, everyone knows you have a small—”

“You know what I mean!” He shouts.

Andy applies pressure with his knife. You catch a trail of blood running down Mickey’s throat.

“L-Look,” Mickey starts, screwing his eyes shut, lips quivering. “He’s hard-headed. The only way he’s not w-winning this ma-tch is if s-someone gets to h-him bef-ore he makes it to the r-ring.”

Andy smiles.

“He takes the long way ‘round. He likes the attention, c-can’t resist it, you know?” Mickey continues. “He goes thr-ough the back h-hall to circle the a-arena and enters the c-crowd from the fr-ont.” He takes a second to swallow before continuing, “It-It would be a real sh-shame if someone g-g-got to him before he can m-make it.”

You watch Andy nod.

“What did you do?”

You jump, hand already grappling for your switchblade as you turn to face your assailant.

Vinny glares back at you.

Giving him a shove, you clench your jaw and hiss, “Don’t do that!”

He corrects his stance, hands in his pockets, then spares a look over his shoulder. “Day-1s are blowing my phone up about some blonde bitch. Did you lock yourself in Tatiana’s room?”

You look back to the other end of the alley. Only flies circle under the backdoor’s light.

“Hey!” Vinny hisses, forcing your attention back to him. “Are you listening?”

“It wasn’t me,” you lie.

He deadpans. “You’re the only bitch I know who has a score to settle with Vince.”

You avert your gaze.

“What happened?” He repeats. This time his voice is less accusatory.

You’ve known Alvin “Vinny” Tucker since you were sixteen. He lived in the apartment above yours and later became your foster brother. You dropped out of high school together a couple months later to sell bootleg Marvel movies on Sixth Street. He really wanted to see Madonna in concert and promised you a front row seat with him if you helped. He was recruited by the Sixers around the time your foster mom came to collect you off the street and force you back to school. He told her where you were, you later found out, to spare you the violence the Sixers had in store for you. He never said it was a debt, though you did feel like you owed him something.

Things changed when Vince set a hit on you. Your description and name were on the radar of every gang, the reward being the acquisition of new territory. The left port is the most sought after piece of land, currently managed by Vince’s father, Vincent Jones Senior. Anyone able to deliver you back to your ex-friends alive suddenly has access to the docks and a monopoly on shipments.

With nowhere else to go, you turned to Vinny. He called Viktor, cashing in a favour, and got to work. The dyed hair, new wardrobe, change of address, it was all done in a matter of hours. And all you had to do was run, hand over the rocks and not attract attention— the goal was simple.

“So how the fuck did you manage to screw that up too?”

“I told you that it wasn’t me!”

“Say that again and I will lose my shit.”

“They can’t prove it was me, okay? Tell Day-1 Vince is paranoid. Run them my old description. Tell them he’s desperate. Let him clean that mess up himself,” you reply, rubbing your temples. “It’s not that fucking hard, Vin.”

You could use a hot bath right now. All you want to do is scrub off the stench of the alley and chaos of the night. For someone who swears he doesn’t want you, Vince took one look in your eyes and knew it was you. He always acted strange but you just thought he was being friendly. It wasn’t until he was rubbing your thigh between shots and rounds of cards that you realised he wanted more than friendship.

You cringe at the memory, pulling your coat tighter around your body, and push past Vinny.

He grabs your arm, yanking you back to face him. “Not that hard? Jesus, you’d think there isn’t a bounty on your head,” he hisses. “You need to be more careful, alright? This is my life too!”

Guilt gathers bile at the base of your throat. You let out a shaky breath, redirecting your gaze to the floor. “I-I know,” you mumble. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—”

Vinny grasps onto your biceps, lowering himself to meet your remorseful gaze. “You can’t panic like that,” he reminds, cutting you off. “The guilty don’t run. You know this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You hate the shakiness of your voice, the admittance of guilt. It’s fucking Vince and Danni and Andrea, the same fucking people that swore they were there for you. It’s their fault everything is falling apart. You’ve known Danni for five years, Andrea for three and both of them just believed Vince when he told them that you were hitting on him, even going as far as kissing him. Had they always suspected you to be a conniving whore, the type of malicious bitch that would risk five years of friendship, of real connection over some guy?

And you were too nice to him— a mistake that now could cost your life.

Vinny releases you with a defeated sigh, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Let me walk you home,” he offers, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

You nod and hug your coat tighter against your body.

He nods towards the entrance of The Underground. “After the match,” he promises. “Sixers have a bet to place.”

Bracing yourself, you follow him down the steps. “Against Bahng?”

“Boxing fan?” he half-jokingly asks, tossing you a confused look over his shoulder.

You shrug your reply.

The main hall smells of sweat and beer. One side holds five queues for refreshments and ticketing, while the other fosters chaos. Men clutching cash and shouting names crowd around the betting stands. Security struggles to keep them in line. Loud rap music plays over the looped announcement of tonight’s opponents — AIDEN MATTHEWS VERSUS CHRISTOPHER BAHNG. You watch their names flash over the screens, pictures of both boxers on either side of the doors. While Aiden is actively fit, muscles and abs on display, Christopher is the embodiment of perfect physique. Muscles defined, shoulders broad, chest puffed out, abs tight and chiselled, he stands with the grace of Adonis himself. Tall, confident, he leers over spectators through the screen with a cold-cutting glare.

Your knees almost buckle.

“It is the clash of titans! Reigning champion, Aiden Matthews, against the undefeated, the unstoppable, the undeniable, Christopher Bahng,” the announcer enthuses over the intercom before urging the audience to lock in their bets.

The only titan you see is Christopher, trailing your gaze up and down his televised body.

“You’re drooling,” Vinny teases.

You turn to cast him a sidelong glare to find he’s no longer by your side. His red beanie bobs in the crowd, through the doors and further into the arena.

“Vinny!” you call, trying to push your way through.

The crowd pushes back, almost throwing you against the wall. You curse under your breath, realising you might have to wait until the match starts to navigate through the arena.

Isn’t there a back hall that circles around, though? You recall Mickey’s words, scanning the crowd for that red beanie again. It still sits atop Vinny’s head by the ring on the other side of the arena. You look for a nearby door or access-point, finding a guarded door to his far left. If you can find the entrance on your end, you can skip through the large crowd and get to him easily.

You survey your surroundings. Another security guard stands before a door to your right. Pushing through the gamblers again and again, you force your way towards him.

“Authorised personnel only,” he gruffly informs.

“I-um—”

“You need to move, miss.” he cuts you off with a pointed look.

“I’m here to see Bahng,” you lie, letting your jacket drop off one of your shoulders.

He raises a brow. “Who commissioned you?”

“Mickey,” you reply before you can stop yourself.

There is much honour among gangs, this Vinny always makes sure you know. He always warns you against dishonesty, especially to certain gang members, since you have no affiliation of your own. But it’s just so easy when you have the right information and you like the way lies just happen to roll off your tongue, effortless and oh-so convincing.

The guard nods, much to your concealed surprise. “Just his type,” you swear you hear him grumble as he opens the door for you.

Hiding a smile, you make your way in without another word.

The back hall is dimly lit. The click of the door echos. Medleys of muffled bass and roaring fans only just seep through and bounce off the brick walls. You adjust your jacket on your shoulders and follow the turns of the hall.

DING!

You jolt, cinching a yelp at the base of your throat. Hastily, you dig into your pocket for your phone.

Vinny: where r u?

You: be there soon

“Lost?”

You look up at the sound of an Australian accent. To your left is an open door of a dressing room, casting a bright spotlight on you amidst the dark hallway. You put your phone away and take quick note of the bodies around the room. Mickey stands by some weights in the corner, eyes narrowing. A handful of medical professionals assess their equipment, rummaging through their kits and looking over clipboards just across from him. By the punching bag, right in front of a wall of mirrors, a couple of men, one with long, icy blonde hair and the other a short midnight black, evaluate your presence.

And there, in the centre of it all, stands Christopher Bahng. Jawline sharp, nose large and lips plush, those big brown eyes soften. You recall the way they were once glaring at his opponent on the screen, wondering what the hell it is about you that makes him opt for a gentler approach. Wrapping boxing tape around his hand, he approaches you.

“Can I help you find something, darling?”

The pet name sounds so casual, so natural, you wouldn’t have guessed that you just met. Your posture relaxes, coat falling off your frame, held up only by your arms. There is a softness in his deep voice that nurtures something forgotten deep within your soul. You feel it- whatever it is- sprout roots in your gut.

Searching his eyes, the cursed word escapes within a breath— “You.”

He smirks.

Does this happen often? Does everyone simply fawn over him?

He smells of leather and vanilla, towering over you. His minty breath fans your face. He rubs his thumb under your lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick from your chin.

You lean into his touch.

“You’re early!” Mickey shouts from his place in the back. “Sister Maria knows you’re needed after the match.”

Sister Maria can fuck herself, you think. She has tried and failed to recruit you one too many times. Though, if you had known that her clientele was anything like Bahng, you might have reconsidered.

Looking at him now, you can confirm that those screens barely did him any justice. He’s big. It’s no wonder he’s undefeated, the sheer size of him dominating enough. He barely even has a scratch on him, just a couple of cuts on his perfect cheekbones and a bruise that is well on its way to being fully healed, along his jaw. You resist the urge to trace the length of his shoulders, or the ridges of his abs all while leaning in to kiss his wounds away.

Instead, you swallow thickly and nod, “Yes, I-I just got confused.”

Bahng curls a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay, darling,” he smiles.

You bite back a moan. God, when did you get this pathetic? So what if he’s hot, and sweet, and beautiful, and huge, and—

“You can wait in here for me,” he nods back into his dressing room. “I won’t be too long.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. He flashes a cocky grin, knowingly gazing down at you. He really is prideful, a bit arrogant too, but you’re not quite sure it’s misplaced. Undefeated in the ring, the only chance anyone has at beating him is by planning an ambush before a match .

Shit.

Your eyes flicker to Mickey. He’s going to kill him. In a matter of minutes, Bahng and his team will circle the arena to enter the ring and get intercepted. And for what? A fucking paycheque?

You shift your weight.

“No!” you shout, starling the room.

All eyes snap to you.

What? You mentally scold. I can’t just shout ‘No’ and expect the entire fucking shit-show to be called off.

Bahng raises his brows. A smile plays on his lips and he lets a chuckle slip. “That needy?” he teases.

Fuck, he’s insufferable… You need to ride him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you force yourself to concede, “Mhm.” You grasp the waistband of his crimson silk shorts and tug him closer. He lets you, pressing himself against your stomach.

A trembling breath slips.

He holds back a chuckle.

Say something, your mind shouts.

“Fuck me.”

Not that!

He cups your face. The way you instantly melt into his hands is truly pitiful, your chest raging with humiliation. But then his lips meet yours and those roots that grew deep in your gut begin to blossom up through your rib cage and around your lungs. Absolute serenity blinds whatever contempt took purchase in your chest. You try to grapple onto that anger, that disdain, finding this sudden light feeling much too foreign.

But just as his lips cradle yours, this incomparable feeling of pure contentment soothes your panicked instincts. And it’s as though those roots, those branches that sprouted around your lungs, bloom petals of… Acceptance? Approval?

The feeling of his hands trailing down your spine ground you back to him. You wrap your arms around his neck. Cheek by cheek, he cups your rear and squeezes, pushing your hips up into his.

You moan, the muffled sound so frail. His tongue slips through and, for a boxer, he doesn’t put up much of a fight. He lets you take the lead, following your tongue round and round until you release another fraught groan.

And then he’s torn away.

Mickey stands between the two of you. He shoots you a nasty look before pushing Bahng back into the room. You can tell Bahng allows the meek force of his coach to overtake him, lazily stepping back.

The ease of his movements is not what arrests your thoughts, however. It’s the mess of red lipstick around his mouth, of which he makes no effort to remove.

“… and I’ll say it again!” Mickey shouts, his voice finally registering. “No sex before a match!”

You blink your attention off Bahng as Mickey moves to shut the door in your face.

“Let her in,” Bahng orders.

Mickey turns to give him a look. “She’s a distraction.”

You catch Bahng walking towards the weights along the back brick-exposed wall, effectively ignoring Mickey’s protests. “Don’t make me come over there, Mick,” he playfully warns, taking a seat on an inclined workout bench, “Let my girl in.”

You’re in the midst of wondering whether he’s merely his coach, a friend, or both when his final words set in. You hold onto the door frame to keep from falling over. His girl? You’d turn yourself in, confronting Vince, just to hear those words in that Australian accent again.

“You commissioned her for me, didn’t you?”

Right, you think to yourself as you will strength back to your legs. You’re his sex worker. This is nothing personal.

You roll your shoulders back and adjust your stance, channelling bored seduction, as Mickey begrudgingly opens the door.

Bahng calls you over with a nod. He has heavy weights in each hand, curling slow reps.

You lick your lips and force one foot before the other. But his biceps are flushed, flexing with every lift. You can’t help gawking, bouncing your attention from arm to arm, and almost run into one of his men.

“Jacket,” Midnight-hair says, positioning himself between you and Bahng with an outstretched hand.

While there isn’t anything of value left in your jacket, you know that if they find the lining is removable, your cover will be blown. You cannot deny them it either, especially if you want to get close enough to warn Bahng.

So you slowly peel the jacket off, sticking out your chest in hopes of distracting Midnight-hair. He keeps his eyes trained on you, gaze hardening as if he is struggling to commit to his choice. From the corner of your eye, you see Icy-hair push himself off the wall to carefully watch. If they refuse to get lost in your show, you’ll have to switch gears. In one swift motion, you whip the jacket off and roll it to a ball.

Midnight-hair glares. He unfolds the jacket as soon as he takes it– a detail you should have anticipated. Rummaging through your pockets, he announces, “Switchblade, lipstick, phon—”

You freeze.

Though it is quick, occurring in a blink of an eye, you know he sees it, cutting himself off at the realisation.

The lining flaps open.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi—

“Hang it by the door, Seungmin,” Bahng orders.

You meet his gaze. That easy playfulness that once danced within it, now dims into calculated intrigue. You spare a quick glance at Mickey. A relieved breath escapes at the sight of him muttering into his phone, alone in the corner.

Looking back at Bahng, you finally see it. There, sprayed on the back wall in black and silver paint, is a three pointed crown. In the middle, drawn with jagged, lazy lines, are three letters— SKZ.

Of all the fucking gangs.

Stray Kids, speculated to have immigrated from Australia or Korea, have slashed their way to the top of the city’s food chain. The chambering of a round— chk chk boom — shoot first and ask questions later. It’s how they’re known. Notorious for money laundering, drug trafficking, vandalism, extortion, arson, street racing, they’ve swept the city up from the coast to the police department. You’ve witnessed gangs fall silent at their mention, caught the way they would take hold of their weapon.

While there have been whispers about the members, the leader remains faceless. Vinny once informed you that no organisation can become this connected without someone calling the shots. At the time, you wondered if that was the most terrifying thing about them— how unknown they really are.

Staring at Bahng now, white canines on display behind a wicked grin, you realise that his leader’s anonymity is futile compared to the intimidation of their members. It’s their silent power, the ease in which they can rattle bones with a single look, perhaps even crack them with a single blow. You are not sure who Christopher Bahng is to Stray Kids— the muscle, the brains, some money pawn as they infiltrate the underground boxing scene, but you know he is dangerous.

Arousal dampens your shorts.

“Take a seat, darling,” he purrs.

He’s lethal, and your lies are unravelling. If you are going to make it out of here alive, you must reassess your information. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with wavering courage, and move towards Bahng.

Step.

Mickey is a rat.

Step.

This is Stray Kids territory.

Step.

Bahng knows you are not a sex worker.

Step.

Exits are compromised, Icy-hair now standing at the door.

Step.

Your life is now in the hands of an unrivalled boxer.

Bahng nods down to his lap. You carefully straddle it when it dawns on you— His life is in your hands too.

Half-hard, his cock pokes at the clothed apex of your thighs. Your lips quiver as you try to fight back a pathetic whine.

“My pecs tend to ache after working out,” Bahng sighs, continuing his reps. “Won’t you be a doll and massage them for me?”

You don’t need to be told twice, shifting yourself closer.

His jaw sets at the gesture.

Pecs of pure muscle, big and tight, you take a moment to gawk. They extend beyond the span of your palms, pale skin flushed under your touch. He’s sweaty but cold, nipples hard. You hold his gaze and kneed the heel of your hands into his chest. Again and again, you apply gentle pressure, watching as his brows furrow, large nose scrunches and full lips curl into a pleased sneer.

He hisses between breathless gasps. You resist the urge to catch another kiss at the sound.

“How does that feel?” you ask in a whisper.

Bahng sets his weights down. You notice Seungmin straightening his stance in the corner of your eye. Though your hands start to tremble, you continue massaging, knowing sudden movements might trigger a bullet.

Hands on your waist, he pulls you closer into him. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t do much massaging in your… line of work?”

You mentally curse. He knows you’re a runner.

“This is not the body part most people want massaged.” You try but cannot keep your lip from slightly curving, the thought of servicing him on your knees all too captivating.

He presses his fingers into your skin and parts his lips. You can tell from the force of his grip and shape of his mouth what he’s about to ask.

Sparing a quick glance at Mickey, you find he is still tied to his phone, muttering quietly into the receiver.

But then he catches your eye.

“Who—”

You throw your body over Bahng’s, exaggerating the force with a whip of your hair and a loud, erotic yelp to cut him off. You wrap your arms around his neck, press your lips to his ears and whisper, “Mickey is a traitor.”

While he originally hugged your waist to keep you from falling, Bahng now stiffens.

“Alright, whore,” Mickey shouts. “Get the fuck out!”

You spot him stomping towards you through the mirror. The collided image of your body intertwined with Bahng’s then overwhelms your attention. You have never felt small a single moment in your life, yet in his arms, you are minuscule. Your body relaxes into his, despite the chaos that ensues around you.

“…a fucking distraction, Chris,” Mickey argues. “You can fuck her after the fight.”

Chris. You like the sound of that, can see yourself moaning it as you bounce on his cock. You clench at the thought.

“Go back to your little corner, Mick,” Chris nods. “Don’t interrupt us again.”

“You want to win, don’t you?”

You can’t hold back your scoff. You can see the room stiffen at the sound through the mirrors. Peeling yourself from Chris’s strong frame, you fake a string staggered cough. The physicians ignore you, Mickey dismisses you, but Chris and his other friends remain observing, analysing.

“I’ve fucked plenty o’bitches before a match,” Chris confesses, flashing a smile so dazzling you almost abandon the jealousy that plagues your chest. “I always win.”

Mickey looks between your tangled bodies. His jaw sets, throat bobs. He wipes his face with the towel around his neck and forces a smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but it’s the thin scab on his neck that leaves you queasy.

Chris’s legs bounce beneath you, beckoning your attention. You grip onto his shoulder to maintain your balance as you meet his gaze. Wetness pools at the sight of his mischievous eyes. He peers at you under his brows, quirking one at your enamoured silence.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

What if you just kissed him again? How would he let it go? Knowing you lied and now leveraging information, would he be outraged if you closed the distance between you and played with his tongue? You know he enjoyed himself from the grip he had on your ass alone, not to mention the bulge pressing against your stomach.

You lean forward, leaving one of your hands rested on his shoulder, and brush your nose against his. He remains still, letting his gaze fall to watch your lips. While oh-so tempting, you don’t press them to his. Instead, you knead into his pectoral muscles deeper with your other hand, pushing into his skin with the heel of your palm. You’ve made sure to angle your head towards the mirror to gauge the distance of the other bodies in the room— particularly Mickey’s. Back in his “little corner,” he resumes his phone call.

Chris’s soft groan redirects your gaze to his features, contorted in relieved pleasure. Is he really tense or is it simply your touch?

Seungmin clears his throat from his place in front of the mirrors.

Chris shoots him a warning stare before offering you a softer version of one too. “Tell me what you know, runner,” he orders, voice quiet but full of command.

“I know he came to you with an offer to fix the fight,” you reply, keeping an eye on Mickey’s pacing frame. “I know you declined.”

His hands find a comfortable place on your thighs, and begin to glide up and down, soft and slow. Calloused, bandaged in boxer’s tape, they somehow provide tender care. You relax into him once again, resting your forehead against his.

“I know Mickey sold you out. I know he cut a deal to save himself and they’re coming for you.”

“Who?”

You nudge his nose with a shake of your head.

A ghost of a smile hovers over his plump lips at the gesture. He breathes half a chuckle and presses his fingers into the fat of your thighs, between the diamonds of your fishnets.

“You don’t know?” he practically coos. “Did you happen to catch a name, little one?”

Your attempts at pressing your legs together are pathetic. Instead of subtly easing your clenching desire, you squeeze his sides with your knees. Blood rushes to your face, heating your cheeks.

Chris lets that smug smile settle on his lips, tonguing his cheek. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “You like it when I call you that?”

“I like it when you talk to me like that,” you stupidly confess. You switch sides before he can reply, turning away from the mirrors to face Mickey’s corner, and kneed his other pec with just as much pressure, perhaps adding a bit more to combat your embarrassment.

He allows you, leaning back and watching.

He’s so patient, you fondly think, avoiding his gaze. Won’t he let you suck him before his fight? Even allowing you a little taste would suffice. Swallowing, you cannot stop thinking how empty your throat is, how wonderfully agonising it would be to try to accommodate him.

You spare a sidelong glance at Mickey, snapping yourself out your lustful yearning long enough to ensure you aren’t being overheard. When you find he is tapping away on his phone, you press your lips to Chris’s ear and whisper, “Andy.”

Chris continues rubbing your legs, asking, “What do you know about him?”

“I think he’s a cop.”

“You think?”

“He never said it.”

“So how do you know?”

You force your hips to remain still even as goosebumps rise in the wake of his risky touch, inching closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

“His posture, he said something about his career being on the line, and I think I saw a badge. I just–” you pause to swallow the excess saliva gathering in your mouth. He’s barely even touched you and you’re already drooling. “I just connected the dots.”

Chris hums.

You lean back to get a better look at his face. His features are compressed in thought, brows knitted and eyes uncertain. Your hand has a mind of its own, abandoning its task on his chest to comb your fingers through his dark hair. Leisurely, he meets your gaze, even leans into your touch. You graze his scalp with your long nails, soft and slow.

You have had sexual partners. You have allowed your lust to cloud your judgement, tossed back drinks and spread your legs quite a few times between parties and side-jobs. But you have never been able to hold someone down, however. You have never been able to consistently see the same person over and over or even call them yours.

Here is Christopher Bahng— undefeated boxing champion, the best The Underground has seen. Sitting beneath you, erection pushing against your clothed crotch, he contently sighs. His hands move up to your hips, rubbing, soothing, adoring the shape of your curves and rolls. And his gaze gleams with admiration, bouncing around your features as if looking for a flaw.

You allow yourself to forget the world, the distant chants of fans and gamblers alike eager for the show to start. You forget the bounty on your head, your ex-friends, Vinny, Viktor, Seungmin lingering around the door with Icy-hair, Mickey texting in his sad little corner. You forget who’s territory this is and the title of the man sitting under you. You allow yourself to isolate this tender moment and pretend that Christopher Bahng is yours.

Your man, your protector, your love. He’d crush skulls between his fist and snap spines over his knee. He’d make sure you’d never have to run again. He’d make sure you’d never have to fear for your life. He’d hold you when you’re tired, and carry you to bed when you’re too lazy to make the trip yourself.

You wonder what that’s like— Love. You remember your mother once said something about it when you asked about your father.

“Love is a lie men created to seduce women,” she said while heating the bottom of her spoon. “Any man telling you otherwise is just desperate to fuck you.”

You mentally roll your eyes. You also remember instantly regretting your mention of it. You were about eight years old when she shared that nugget of knowledge. She then wrapped the conversation up by telling you the heroin she was preparing was her “special medicine” and you shouldn’t, under any circumstance, touch it when she passes out.

If that’s not motherly instincts, you’re not sure what is.

“How can I trust you?” Chris asks, lulling you out of your thoughts.

You make sure Mickey is still preoccupied with his phone before joking, “The word of a whore isn’t worth much anymore, is it?”

He cracks half a smile before leaning his head away from your touch. You take the hint, retracting your hand from his hair.

“You’re not a whore,” he states, voice gruff but quiet.

You swallow thickly. “I could be.”

“Yeah?” He quirks a brow. “Tell me what you’d do right now if you could.”

You wonder how honest you should be. Vinny always said that lying would get you killed, but you have an audience. Looking over your shoulder, you find Seungmin alone by the door. Icy-hair must have left when you let your delusions engulf you earlier. The physicians are desperately trying to look busy, sneaking glances at your proximity with their client. Everyone, save for Mickey who seems the most peeved by your presence, is already uncomfortable by your position on his lap.

How dangerous could the truth really be?

Meeting Chris’s playful stare again, you rest your hands on his tight abs and let a shy smile tug on your lips. “I would ride your thigh,” you confess. When he raises his brows, a surprised smirk gracing his lips, you explain, “They’re just so big and strong. I’m just curious to know what it would feel like on my clit.”

The transparent vulgarity of your confession dries your throat. Your chest heats, humiliation trembling your fingers. You part your lips, wishing you can take it back. But your voice fails you, as if standing firm with your statements.

“Interesting,” he muses. “Do it.”

You clear your throat, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“You want me to trust your word?” he asks.

He lets his hands fall to his sides. Your legs suddenly feel so cold.

“In—” you cut yourself off, taking another quick look around the room. “In front of everyone?”

He shrugs. “You told me you would do it.”

You projected two outcomes the moment they discovered you’re a runner and you decided to exchange information for your life.

One — You get laughed at and kicked out of the establishment.

Two — Chk chk boom.

You might have hoped that Chris considered fucking you before discarding you to the streets, wishful for a good orgasm or two. But you did not expect him to order you to grind on his leg in front of his team.

“Match starts in five,” Mickey announces.

While you turn to acknowledge the warning, Chris keeps his attention on you.

“It starts when I say so,” he replies.

Mickey grumbles profanities under his breath before turning back to his phone. You start to wonder what the fuck has held his focus all night when Chris cups your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“I’m beginning to lose my patience, darling,” he warns. “You’re either telling the truth or you’re not.”

You lick your lips. Of all the things you thought your life would depend on, you did not think it would be an orgasm.

Inhaling deeply, you adjust your stance and straddle his thigh. Your lips tremble at the sheer strength of his leg, so tense and taut under your wet shorts. You couldn’t have been more thankful for laundry day and the lack of clean panties available. With nothing but your tiny gym shorts between your crotch and his leg, you can feel every mighty muscle.

You notice movement in the mirror from the corner of your eye. One glance and you find Seungmin has turned to face the door. How often has Chris played with a whore in front of his friends? You clench your jaw as envy pesters your heart. What the fuck did those other girls have that you don’t? Why did he pick them? Why—

“Look at me.”

You obey, meeting his pacifying gaze. He curls your hair behind your ears, the gesture gentle and genuine.

You suck in your bottom lip, eyes wide as jealousy transforms into wonder. He may have picked others before you, but he chose to let you in now. He had a chance to turn you away and he fought to have you in this specific position, all to himself. And maybe he wants others to know that. Or maybe he really does have a fucked up way of verifying his sources. What matters is this time, it is you. And you’ll be damned if you don’t take advantage of that.

Hands on his stomach, fingers sliding between the ridges of his abs, you thrust. The first jut of friction is tentative. Hiccups of pleasure spark from your bundle of nerves and you wobble over his leg. Chris grabs your waist simply to steady you, and retracts once you regain your balance.

You continue, jaw dropping at the constant surge of satisfaction. Wetness gathers and stains your shorts, making the glide of your hips all the more effortless. One look in his eyes, and you know Chris feels it too. However, that wicked smile of his does not overwhelm his features until you moan.

Strained, frail, the sound cuts over the ruckus of the physicians. The room falls silent as you ground yourself hard against his thigh and release another fraught moan of pure enjoyment. Your hands travel higher on his chest, and you lean forward into him, keen to gain more leverage to arch your back.

Chris catches onto your intentions, his attention all too consumed by the curves of your rear. He grabs your waistband and pulls on it, tightening the fabric to sharpen the friction of the thrusts.

“Fuck!” Your voice breaks from bliss, orgasm already festering in the base of your gut.

It’s all too hot. Face, arms, legs, your skin burns, blood racing, nerves jittering. You need everything off. You need his skin on yours, his body engulfing you with more pleasure, more attention.

Lips quivering, breaths shaky, you sit back. You continue to chase your high while grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off. Your hips don’t miss a beat as you reach back to unclasp your lace bra in a few simple manoeuvres and toss it aside as well.

Chris lowly groans. His eyes flicker between each bouncing breast, hands finally finding their rightful place on your backside. He digs his fingers into the fat of your cheeks and helps you with your final few thrusts.

“Can you go a little faster for me?”

You enthusiastically oblige.

A powerful smack, landing on your left cheek, triggers your most erotic moan, voice laden with submission. He issues another on your right and you whine this time, squeaky and breathless.

Chris leans forward so your breasts bounce against his face. He doesn’t bury his face between them however, eager to watch your face eventually contort in ecstasy.

“Good girl,” he praises. “That’s right, keep looking at me.”

Twisting and turning, your arousal gathers.

“You’re doing so well, riding my thigh just like you promised, yeah?”

His voice is condescending, almost making a mockery of your whimpering. He even momentarily mirrors your rounded eyes and slightly pouty lips, looking up at you tauntingly. So why does it fuel your desire, motivate your hips?

You nod, despite your humiliation, voice whiny as you confess, “I’d do it again too.”

A growl of approval resonates from his chest and into yours. He kneads your cheeks, letting a deep groan of his own escape and collide with yours.

“That’s my good girl,” he affirms. “Don’t stop, darling. You’re almost there.”

Your toes curl, tight in your platform boots. Your eyes roll back, twitching when you throw your head back. Your jaw drops, a loud, shattered moan escaping. You cum between sporadically clenching, pathetically gyrating on his firm thigh.

Chris holds you still, mumbling quiet affirmations between your breasts. He presses wet kisses on each one, pulling you back into him. Draping your arms around his shoulders, you fall limp against him. He moans from his smothered place in the valley of your breasts and rubs soothing circles around your backside.

Head foggy, chest heaving, you let your eyes flutter shut. You know you won’t be staying here for long, either meeting the barrel of his gun or the side of the street. There’s no harm in soaking in this moment then, is there? You pretend he is your boyfriend, issuing tender aftercare as you attempt to collect your sanity. You don’t have to try so hard to keep up the delusion with the way he delicately wraps you in a warm hug and comforts your hammering heart with his lips. He peppers kisses up your collarbone, neck, then jaw before meeting the shell of your ear.

“You know you’re really pretty when you’re cumming,” he teases. “Does your right eye always twitch like that? Or was that just for me?”

You open your eyes, squinting against the brightness of the room. Nuzzling the bridge of your nose under his jawline, you whisper, “Do you really need more convincing, Chris?”

You like the way his name rolls off your tongue.

The widening grin on his face tells you he likes it too. “I might,” he replies.

You tell yourself that it just slips, but you’re only lying again. You just want him to know. You want him to imagine you when he jerks off later, when he pounds that traitor to a bloody pulp, when he’s standing in the ring and winning his fight. You want him to be thankful for your presence tonight. You want him to repeat it over and over, to tell his friends about you.

So, shifting back enough to whisper in his ear, you offer your name.

Chris moves back to meet your gaze. He scans your features, his own a blanket of neutrality.

The weight of your action does not settle upon your shoulders until his eyes meet yours again, and you realise you cannot decipher them. Swallowing thickly, you blink back tears. How could you say that? Vinny just warned you against being this reckless. Your new image is tied to him too. You’ve been running around town, disturbing drugs on his behalf or Viktor’s. And you just offer your name, for what? A second of appreciation from a pretty face?

It’s my life too, Vinny’s voice quietly returns. He reminded you of that not even half an hour ago. Why the fuck would you tell some Stray Kids member your darkest secret? Why would you gamble the lives of your only remaining friends?

“I’m—”

Chris cuts you off with a shake of his head. So, you swallow your words.

He reaches for your shirt and helps you put it on. You don’t have the courage to tell him he forgot your bra. He then gestures for you to stand, and fixes your ruined shorts so they’re not riding up anymore. You watch as he studies the damp spot and clenches his jaw to force back a smile.

“Seungmin,” he calls, standing up and towering over you again.

You wonder how tall he is but know better than to ask now.

Seungmin reports to Chris’s side. Chris nods to your fur coat, “Grab it and escort her to the stands.”

“You’r—”

“Now,” he reaffirms, cutting you off again.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you accept your coat and follow Seungmin out. You shouldn’t have, but you sneak a glance at the mirror eager to catch his reflection one last time.

Chris’s features harden as he faces Mickey. His fists clench.

Mickey stiffens, all previous irritation dissolving into fear.

The door shuts.

Waves of painted faces and torsos, endless banners, and flashing lights— the arena succumbs to insanity. Roars of chants echo upon the ring announcer’s behest. The thick stench of sweat and spilled beer is what overwhelms you, however. Scrunching your nose in disgust, you try to swallow your nausea.

You wonder how anyone here can stand it, turning back to take a final look at Seungmin. He stands at the doorway, arms crossed, gaze lingering around your rear. His ears flame a hot pink at the realisation he’d been caught.

A lazy smirk plays on your lips. He didn’t get a good enough look before?

Seungmin mutters something to the security guard stationed at the door then hurries back into the hall. You wonder if the guard is a Stray Kids member too. Is the ring announcer? What about the employees behind the stands? Or do they simply work for the gang?

“Runner!” Vinny’s voice cuts through the crowd. You turn at the call of your position, finding him standing on his seat and waving you over.

A relieved smile spreads across your lips. He meets you halfway as you push between rowdy spectators. He takes your hand firmly in his and leads you back to your seats.

“Where the hell were you?” He asks over the commotion.

“It’s complicated.”

Vinny’s face darkens with scepticism. “What the fuck did—”

“Who did you bet on?”

He clenches his jaw. “Matthews,” he practically screams.

So the Sixers are in on it too. You wonder if the gangs are onto Chris, knowing he might be affiliated with Stray Kids, and are working together to bring them down.

“Change it.”

“The bell rings in less than a minute,” Vinny shouts before looking over his shoulder to the front doors. He meets your gaze, uncertainty flooding those cerulean eyes, and mouths, It’s fixed.

You shake your head.

Vinny rolls his eyes shut, teeth grinding. He swallows his anger, knowing he cannot hurl insults right now with such an audience. Unlike you, he knows better than to call attention to himself. Exhaling sharply, he harshly holds your gaze and parts his lips.

Profanities? Threats? You expect both, bracing yourself with a clench of your fists.

But Vinny merely shakes his head in disappointment. He pulls out his phone and begins dialling. While waiting for someone to pick up, he yells, “If I die, I’m going to kill you!”

You suppress a smile and stifle the urge to respond with a joke. You fear you might have reached his limit. You’ve dragged him into your dark vortex of despair, endangering his life again and again. You should reach out to him now, pull him into a tight hug and offer endless apologies. You should have taken the chance he gave you when he called your foster mom, and stayed off the streets. You should have finished high school, applied for colleges outside of the wretched city of Crimson Heights, and never looked back. Instead, you continue to test his patience. 

Side-jobs were simply more lucrative. You have a talent for blending in too, a permanent look of indifference plastered on your face. No one ever suspects some girl, twirling a joint between her fingers, to be running or organising hits on corner stores and local diners.

The first time you held a gun, power ignited through your veins. You carried the weight of life within a bullet, finger teasing the trigger. The first time you pointed it at some store clerk, black ski mask over your face and tongue swirling around a pink lollipop, you felt that stone cold power of metal and powder snake along your spine and caress the nape of your neck.

You rolled your shoulders back, angled your head and smirked.

The clerk soiled himself, hands up in surrender.

You pressed the barrel to his head anyway, boring your wild eyes into his fearful ones.

“Well, this is awkward for you, isn’t it?” you giggled before cocking your gun.

The memory lures a smile. While you didn’t shoot him, provided he was very cooperative, it was fun toying with him.

The lights begin to whirl around the arena, snapping you out of your thoughts. Vinny hangs up the phone, and though the crowd is deafening, you can still hear his heavy, nervous breaths beside you.

All lights converge in the centre of the boxing ring. The cheers increase, crowd buzzing with anticipation. A tall, slender man dressed in a clean, glittering suit enters and takes his place in the middle of the ring. He holds a hand up and waves, encouraging excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to The Underground!” He shouts into the microphone. Cameras capture his perfect white smile, projecting the image on the large screens hanging over the ring.

“My name is Jackson Wylder and I will be your ring master this evening. Now, I have an important question for you tonight.” He scans the audience, displays a look of curiosity and asks, “Are you ready to rumble?”

The cheers surge.

“I said,” he starts before darting around the ring, “ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?”

You clap your hands over your ears at the thundering roars of the fans. A group of manic men jump behind you, almost pushing you off your seat and onto the spectators in front of you.

Vinny links his arm with yours and pulls you into his side. You turn to give him a thankful look, but he avoids your gaze.

“Tonight, we have a clash of titans!” Jackson continues, turning to point to his left. “In this corner, weighing in at 210 pounds and hailing from our very own, Crimson Heights, give it up for the man who’s always up for a fight— the skilled and tenacious, Aiden Matthews!”

Aiden emerges from a dark hall closest to his corner. He wears a blue silk robe and white gloves, bouncing on his toes as he makes his way through the unruly crowd. They holler at him, either tossing praises or insults, and bump their hands against his fists. He waves his arms up to encourage their hectic energy then finally enters the ring. His coach unfolds a chair and then helps him out of his robe.

Jackson shakes Aiden’s hand. He mutters a few words before returning to the centre of the ring.

“And in the opposite corner, we have a fighter who needs no introduction—” Jackson starts again. A childish smile plays on his lips, like he’s a fan, himself. “A crowd favourite, a sensation, and the undefeated champion who makes every match feel like a blockbuster!” He’s giddy, practically giggling his words. “Standing tall at a staggering 6 feet 9 inches and weighing in at an impressive 215 pounds, please put your hands together for the man who’s taken the boxing world by storm, Christopher ‘The Phantom’ Bahng!”

The roars bellow deep from the crowd as they cheer and chant, “Bahng! Bahng! Bahng!”

Everyone, even Jackson, turns to the front door, waiting for Chris to emerge.

You swallow thickly.

The lights then shift to the other end of the arena.

Your heart already falters at his height. He’s still almost a foot taller than you in your thick platforms. You stand to see him, legs almost giving out when you spot his large figure appear through the back door. But it’s the mess of red lipstick still smeared on his lips, the blood speckled like freckles on his cheeks, and the dark patch on the leg of his shorts that wrings your soul. He didn’t even give you a chance to be grateful that he trusted you, slaughtering your sanity with such a dishevelled look.

Decorated in you, he enters the ring and shakes the hand of a bashful Jackson. No one seems fazed by his appearance. Jealousy pangs your chest at the thought of him being drenched in his past whores, the admittance of his pre-match rituals returning to you.

One look from Vinny might indicate otherwise. He glares at your smudged lipstick.

You roll your eyes and lean into him, too breathless and trembling to fight off his wrath.

“Tonight,” Jackson smiles, raising his hand to redirect the crowd’s attention. “Tonight, we’re in for a spectacular display of skill, heart, and,” he shoots the fans a little wink, “perhaps a bit of humour—because let’s face it, if you can’t have fun while throwing punches, what’s the point?!”

He takes a moment to laugh at his own joke.

You keep your eyes on Chris. Mickey does not unfold his chair and take his robe. Instead a shorter, just as muscled, man does. He gives Chris a weary look, of which Chris ignores, and squirts some water in his mouth.

You force yourself not to focus on the droplets that drip from his pouted, stained lips.

“This is not just a fight, folks,” Jackson informs with a raise of his brows. “No, no! This is a showdown!”

He lets the crowd go crazy before continuing, “Aiden Matthews is ready to prove that he’s a force to be reckoned with, but Christopher Bahng,” he turns to his favourite star and grins, “has captured the hearts of fans everywhere. Can Aiden dethrone the giant, or will Bahng continue his reign of dominance?”

You suck in a shaky breath and blow it out. You fill your lungs of tainted sweat-slick air, fighting the urge to gag, and release it once more. Looking around the arena, you swallow the growing lump in your throat. All these fans have come to watch Chris win, and have no idea that he almost died.

“So, buckle up, ladies and gents! Keep your drinks close, your snacks handy, and your eyes glued to the ring! It’s time to witness boxing history unfold right before our eyes!” Jackson’s eyes twinkle with astonishment and wonder. He holds his arms out and turns in a slow circle. “Are you ready for this showdown?” He asks as if truly probing for a personal answer.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!”

Mouth guards in, both fighters stand.

Aiden, while built and tall in his own right, looks like an ant compared to Chris. He pounds his fists together and grunts to assert his dominance. He bounces on his toes and shoots Chris his most menacing glare.

Chris flashes a lazy smile. He rolls his shoulders back and holds his fists up. He peers over his gloves at Aiden like a predator stalking its prey.

The bell rings.

“And here we go, folks! Round 1 is officially underway! Aiden Matthews is looking to prove himself against the undefeated giant, Christopher Bahng!” Jackson comments ringside.

Aiden cautiously circles the ring with Chris. He maintains a safe distance, the heat of his gaze wavering under Chris’s relaxed stance. Testing the waters, he tries his luck with a quick jab.

Chris has the height advantage, however, effortlessly leaning back to dodge. The punch barely grazes the air before him.

Aiden narrows his eyes.

“Ooo,” Jackson hisses. “So close!”

The crowd laughs, almost as one, before splitting between chants for each boxer.

Aiden, eager to recover, steps in quickly, unleashing a flurry of body shots aimed at Chris’s midsection.

You hold your breath and tighten your grip on Vinny’s arm.

But, Chris doesn't flinch. His arms, long and strong, keep Aiden at bay with precise blocks. The controlled ease of Chris’s movements highlight Aiden’s childish, tantrum-like fighting style. You can’t help wondering how the fuck Aiden made it this far. Perhaps other boxers can’t track the chaotic jabs as well as Chris does. Maybe they didn’t even try.

“Matthews is coming in hot, throwing quick combos, but Bahng is as cool as ice—deflecting every shot with ease!”

Chris, ever patient, waits for an opening. He keeps his elbows tucked in, movements minimal, letting Aiden expend energy. He evades each punch with swift swerves of his head, taking small steps back. Even hunched, crouched inwards, his frame still looms large over Aiden.

The majority of the crowd now chants Chris’s name, flooding the arena with jittery admiration.

Like a trigger, fast and smooth, Chris snaps forward with a sharp jab. The blow lands against Aiden’s guard, but the sheer strength of it forces him back.

“Bahng with the first real strike of the night!” Jackson shouts.

Aiden’s eyes widen. He finally feels the power, you realise, and his gaze floods with fear.

Jackson tosses the crowd a giddy look and gushes,“That jab was like a freight train!”

The crowd clamours with laughter in agreement.

You catch a ghost of a smile hovering over Chris’s lips. Is it insane that you find him even more attractive when he’s menacingly playful? An image of his face inches from yours, that same impression of a smile unable to settle on his lips, surfaces. Those feline eyes, teasing, daring, coaxing you to ride him.

You bite your lip and refocus your attention on the match.

Aiden resets and presses on. He bobs and weaves to avoid Chris’s long reach. Ducking low, he slips inside Chris’s defence to unleash a rapid combination of punches to the torso and a hook aimed at the chin.

Chris blocks the body blows then, all too calmly for someone being beat up, rolls with the hook, avoiding the brunt of it. That sinister smirk settles, oh so cunningly, curving the corners of his lips. Without delay, Chris counters with an uppercut from the right, the snap of his arms swift and steady.

Aiden only just manages to block it in time, but the impact leaves him rattled. He stumbles back with a loud grunt. Wheezing and regaining his footing, his eyes betray him, glowing with newfound respect for his towering opponent.

In awe, Jackson remarks, “Bahng is a mountain of patience—waiting for just the right moment to strike! Matthews is going to have to dig deep if he’s going to find a way in!”

You glance at the final seconds of the first round, glowing red above the ring. Less than thirty seconds remain.

Aiden, perhaps knowing he has to make a statement, launches a last-ditch effort. He levels a heavy left hook aimed at Chris’s side, almost mirroring the speed Chris recently displayed.

But Chris, as if seeing it in slow motion, smoothly side steps.

You gasp with the crowd.

He counters with a punishing fist aimed at Aiden’s temple. The punch connects cleanly, the crowd choking on their cheers. The thick sound echoes between the staggered shouts, twisting your stomach with unease.

Aiden stumbles towards the ropes, using their stability to keep himself standing.

The bell rings before Chris can issue another attack.

Jackson steps back into the ring. He eyes Aiden with wide eyes before sharing a look with the audience. “What a way to end the first round!” He laughs. “Bahng’s precision is something to behold, and Aiden Matthews has already felt the sting of that power! Can I get…”

The rest of his words fade as you fixate your attention on the boxers. Aiden returns to his corner with a shuffle of his feet. He’s drenched in sweat, face red and eyes tired. His coach wipes his face then squeezes some water into his mouth.

Chris leisurely walks to his seat. He wipes nose with his arm as he sits. Composed, unbothered, he stares his opponent down.

Aiden shifts in place.

You can’t help but do the same.

You’ve been wanting to leave since the fourth round.

You thought it was over when Chris landed an uppercut so sharp, you swear you heard Aiden’s jaw shatter. You watched as his eyes rolled back and he met the floor with a loud, echoing thump. Aiden’s team flinched, leering over the ropes only to be scolded by the referee.

Chris’s eyes gleamed with something ominous, standing over Aiden’s limp body. He tilted his head and tongued his cheek, lips heavy with the impression of a smirk. He doesn’t merely look proud, but gratified. You wondered at the time if he loves the splitting sound of a bone breaking just as much as you love the chambering click of a loaded gun.

But the crowd remained in the arena. Vinny gave you a reassuring look as if silently telling you it won’t be much longer, and the fifth round commenced.

Jackson returns ringside now, two more rounds later, announcing after the signal of the bell, “Round seven, folks, and this has been an all-out war! Aiden Matthews has been relentless, but Christopher Bahng’s defence is like a fortress!”

The crowd roars as Aiden and Chris step toward the centre of the ring again. Aiden, slick with sweat, jabs at the air, his face tense and determined. Chris, towering over him with his eyes ever so calm and calculating, bounces lightly on his feet.

As the audience resumes their chants for Chris, Aiden charges forward. He jabs with considerable speed and aggression. His punches are fast but painstakingly desperate. It’s almost embarrassing to witness, and you’re not even a fighter.

One glance at Chris and you catch his mask of cool flicker with hushed notions of pity, as if feeling sorry for his opponent. You scan his fighting stance, devouring his toned body with your eyes. His skin gleams with sweat and blotches of forming bruises. His left cheek holds a patch of purple; right brow split.

You swallow thickly, watching his muscles twist as he effortlessly weaves. He slips left, right, then ducks under an all too wide hook.

“Stay still, you fucker!” Aiden orders through gritted teeth, the microphones hovering over the ring catching every spit-splattered syllable.

Chris faintly smiles, eyes locking on Aiden's. He moves just enough to miss another jab by mere inches, dancing around the ring like he has all the time in the world. He then jumps high, resembling a kangaroo, once, twice, only to circle the ring again.

The buzzing energy of the crowd grows, their cheers building as if Chris’s little gesture is any indication of a shift in the round.

The screens cut to Jackson. He swallows thickly as his eyes track Chris’s movements then comments,“Matthews is giving it everything he’s got, but Bahng…” he takes a moment to let out a whistle, “Bahng is like a ghost out there! Just out of reach!”

Aiden presses harder, frustration creeping in as he tries to close the distance. He throws heavy hooks and uppercuts.

You almost scoff, wondering why he hasn’t learned yet. His efforts are useless against someone as skilled as Chris. Truly a phantom in the ring, Chris’s footwork is flawless, always just a step ahead, and he barely reacts.

He then ever so slightly adjusts his stance, leaving an opening wide for Aiden to pounce.

You furrow your brows.

Jackson voices his concern too, narrowing his eyes. “Is Bahng showing weakness?” He asks as if he cannot believe it himself. Then his eyes widen. “Matthews sees it—he’s going for it!”

Aiden lunges forward, hurling all his power into a swift right hook toward the exposed side.

However, as steady as his opponent commits to the punch, Chris sidesteps with speed that rivals lightning, and counters with a sharp left jab that snaps Aiden’s head back.

You stand again with Vinny, both gasping with the crowd. A hand flies to your mouth as you watch Aiden stagger back.

“OH!” Jackson beams, “Bahng saw that coming from a mile away!”

Chris is relentless. He moves in smoothly, landing a quick, precise combination—jab, cross, uppercut—that sends Aiden stumbling backward.

Aiden’s guard falters.

Chris steps forward. He drives a thunderous right hook straight into Aiden’s gut.

Aiden gasps for air, the force buckling.

Chris, collected and focused, steps back, allowing Aiden a moment to gather himself.

Your eyes widen at the pacifying gesture, wondering what he has to gain by giving his opponent a chance to strike again.

All thoughts cease within seconds as Chris feints an attack. It draws Aiden’s guard up high only for Chris to slip low and deliver a devastating body blow, placed perfectly under the ribs.

Aiden groans, dropping to a knee. The air is completely knocked out of him.

The referee stands over his kneeling frame, counting, “One!”

The crowd erupts with excitement, some jumping as they cheer for Chris, while others remain shackled in disbelief as Aiden tries to regain his strength.

“Two.”

Jackson is rocking in place, jittery with joy as he enthuses,“Bahng is not just beating Matthews—he’s outthinking him! Every move is a step ahead, like he’s reading Aiden’s mind!”

“Three.”

Aiden is wobbly, but pulls himself back to his feet. He shakes his head, attempting to refocus. You suppose that Jackson’s comment must have struck a cord because Aiden looks as though he is done thinking. He lunges again, impulsive and messy.

Chris is undeterred by the chaos Aiden becomes, this time feinting a right cross.

Aiden’s guard flies to the right. Then, Chris pivots and delivers a clean left hook to his temple.

“What a move!”Jackson praises. “Bahng’s precision is surgical!”

Aiden collapses against the ropes.

Chris steps back, watching, waiting.

The stillness of Aiden’s muscular frame worries the referee. He steps in, leaning by Aiden’s side to get a better look.

The camera pans over his swollen, bloody face. You cringe.

The referee stands back to his full height to wave his arms, calling, “It’s over! It’s over!”

The crowd explodes into catastrophic cheers upon the referee’s decree.

Chris raises his gloves in triumph and pride. While he is well within his right to gloat, and perhaps has done so before based on the fact that you know he likes to show off, he remains composed. The only emotion hinting towards elation is in the lightness of his gaze as he looks around the arena at his fans. He nods to them, lips finally curving into a smile.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was shy.

Jackson returns to the centre of the ring. He gestures his hands towards Chris, encouraging the howls of the crowd. “Christopher Bahng has done it again!” He says, smiling fondly at Chris. “Not just with power, not just with speed, but with pure brilliance in this ring. He’s shown everyone why he’s the undefeated champion!”

You don’t get a chance to revel at the sight of Chris stiffening as Jackson holds his arms out wide for a hug. Vinny tugs on your arm instead, nodding his head towards the exit. You keep your arms linked and stay close as he pushes between the manic crowd for you.

“Explain yourself,” Vinny orders the moment you’re back on the street.

You look over your shoulder at the entrance of the arena, then whisper, “Not here.”

Vinny rolls his eyes but starts walking towards your apartment. After three blocks of silence, he says, “Talk.”

“I was looking for yo—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he seethes, cutting you off. “How the fuck did you know Matthews would lose? It’s been fixed for the last week.”

“Just listen to me,” you plead, raising your voice. “When I was waiting for you in the alley, I heard some things.”

Vinny shoots you a nervous look.

You continue, “One of those things was that there were back halls that go around the entire arena. I really was looking for you in there, Vinny. You left me to fend for myself and those people were hard to squeeze through. So, I found one of the doors. And— listen, I know you’re gonna be mad at me, but I really thought it would be easier this way.”

His face falls into disappointment. “You lied.”

“I lied,” you confess, avoiding his gaze as you continue down the street. “I told the guy at the door that Chris—”

“You call him Chris?” Vinny interrupts, voice heavy with astonishment.

“Well—”

Vinny cuts you off with your name and a shake of his head. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he humorlessly chuckles. “No one but his inner circle calls him Chris. What the fuck did you do?”

“I told the guy at the door that I was his prostitute. It was only supposed to get me in so I could find you.”

“You didn’t,” Vinny says. Upon the guilty look in your eyes, he closes his own and sighs, “You fucked him?”

“Not exactly,” you hesitantly correct. “He’s really hot, okay? And he was really nice to me, and I don’t know if you know this,” you sarcastically start. “But not many people have been lately.”

Vinny offers you a vulgar gesture.

You roll your eyes. “I just told him what I heard and he needed convincing.”

“You fucked him,” Vinny concludes.

“Do you think I would be able to walk right now if I did?”

You try not to laugh as Vinny’s features coil in disgust. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that it doesn’t matter now. Chris is fine, the Sixers didn’t lose a dime and you can finally get that bath you have been craving earlier this evening.

However, the shriek of tires pierce through the silent night instead.

Vinny reaches for his gun, pushing you behind him. You go to grab your own only to remember you don’t have one. The switchblade will have to do if running is not an option.

A black van speeds down the street, darting past you to swerve onto the sidewalk and block your path. Seungmin jumps out of the passenger seat. Icy-hair and another tall, dark haired man, whose features remarkably resemble that of a fox, emerge from the back.

Vinny cocks his gun.

“Wait,” you shout, stepping between them. You hold your hands up, giving Vinny your most reassuring look. “I know them,” you explain.

Looking amongst the intruders, Vinny furrows his brows and asks, “How?”

“They’re Chris’s friends,” you reply, quietly adding, “I think.”

Vinny glares. “You think?”

“Walk away,” a deep voice orders.

Icy-hair steps forward with a gun of his own. However, he is not aiming it at Vinny.

You deadpan. “Did he tell you to do this? God, is he always this dramatic?”

“Tell me about it,” Seungmin mutters, then nods towards the van. “Get in.”

Turning to Vinny, you offer him a small, assuring smile. “I’m fine, Vin. Just go.”

Vinny scoffs, narrowing his eyes in disbelief at you. “He has a gun to your head.”

“Chris is an egoistic, attention-seeker,” you dismiss. “If they wanted to shoot me, they would have done so already.”

“How can you be sure?” Vinny shouts.

Chk chk boom, you think. Your brains would have already been splattered on the sidewalk.

Nodding behind him, you repeat, “Go. I’ll call you later.”

Vinny shakes his head, clenching his jaw and directing his frustrated gaze to the ground. As if wrestling his intuition, he resentfully lowers and uncocks his gun. He takes another look around at the men, swallowing thickly.

You wonder if they know he’s trying to memorise their faces. You wonder if they care.

“If you die,” Vinny says, voice wavering. “I will kill you.”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips. “Good.”

He breaths a baffled chuckle, gives you one final look, then forces himself to walk away

You turn to face the others, or at least you’re in the process of turning.

A black bag slips over your head. Arms pulled back, hands bound, you attempt to struggle against their grip. Too slow, your squirming does not distract them. Someone hooks their arms under your shoulders, another scoops up your legs. Heart pounding, you release a searing scream, attempting to wrangle your way out of their grasp. You kick and try to flail your arms, grunting as you fight against their hold. The three men look strong, but they are nothing compared to Chris. You doubt only two of them can maintain their grip this well when you feel another set of hands, then another.

Vinny shouts your name.

Your body is tossed into the back. You land with a loud groan, cursing at the impact of the pain.

He shouts your name again, the hard stomp of his feet echoing in the street.

A bullet sounds.

No, no, no—

“No!” You desperately scream. “Vinny!”

Tears gather in your eyes. This is all your fault. It goes beyond sticking your nose in business you had no right knowing. Since that day he found you back on the streets, hustling scammers out of their well-stolen money, you have dragged Vinny into your hole of reckless misfortune. You asked him to bail you out of one too many fuck-ups, forcing him to further implicate himself in your thoughtless schemes, often against the advice and support of his gang. He has risked his reputation, relationships, money, his good fucking sense, all in the name of childhood friendship.

And how do you repay him?

With a bullet.

Lip quivering, you ask between sobs, “Did you shoot him?”

You never deserved kindness. You never deserved freedom. You never even deserved compassion.

You are a tornado of vile anguish, a chaotic force of impulse and betrayal. You are a waste of space, your very existence is a curse set upon your parents. You should have known as much when the universe tore them away. You are not worthy of connections— all your friends withering in the wake of your misfortune.

What compelled you to believe that Chris would be any different? He might have been devastatingly beautiful and the look in his eyes might have continuously hinted at something tragically scarred. His kisses might have breathed new life into your soul, hands might have cradled every nightmare to rest. But he is still a victim of your calamity. You should have known a good feeling never lasts.

The back door slides shut. The engine revs, jolting the van into motion.

“Did you fucking shoot him?” You cry, voice breaking as a sob overwhelms you. “Vinny!”

Please forgive me, you want to scream.

“Shut up!” Someone shouts over you. You move to kick the speaker only for someone to grab hold of your ankles and bind them together too.

“He shot at us.” The same speaker clarifies. “And he has terrible aim for a self-appointed hero.”

Relief washes over you, ice-cold upon your trembling bones. You lean back, embracing the pain of the awkward position of your hands under you.

“He told us to knock her out,” Seungmin says, voice slightly distant. He must have returned to his place in the front seat.

“He did?” Icy-hair’s deep voice replies.

“I don’t think so,” someone else adds.

You lay limp amongst the shuffling of movements, ignoring their argument, too lost in thought to care. Though Vinny is alive, it does not alter the epiphany that has just dawned upon you— You inevitably ruin anyone foolish enough to come too close.

The edge of the bag lifts and a damp cloth presses against your mouth.

You embrace the darkness.

PART II ➡︎

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other reader. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[spatialwave]

.........can I request a smutty part 2 of the jayvik x reader fic 🥺

"my ambition" - part two

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1.8k tags: mdni! smut (very explicit and shameless), polyamory, threesome, unprotected sex, dirty talking, doggy style, face riding, vaginal sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, minor aftercare, no use of y/n. notes: i was in the middle of writing it when this ask came in. you read my mind, lol. i may have rushed it and idk if i love it lots but i tried!! ahhh!! credit: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune <- part 1 | part 3 ->

Two mouths left traces over your body—one tender and soft, the other eager and full of energy. Jayce and Viktor had woven themselves deep into your life, leaving a last imprint on your soul. Those two were everything you could ask for, gentle when you sought comfort and tough when you begged more.

“God,” you trembled as your legs spread, Jayce’s lips trailing down your skin until his tongue met with your folds. Your thighs squeezed on either side of his head, and your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth, but the attempt to muffle your sounds didn’t last.

You were leaned back against Viktor, nestled between his legs and resting on his chest. Slender fingers toyed with your breasts, pinching at your nipples in tandem with the way Jayce sucked on your clit. Slow and monotonous, making sure that they could savour the sickly sweet sounds that came from your parted lips.

They loved to torture you. Slow and steady until you were a writhing mess.

“Too much?” Viktor asked, the accent thick on his tongue as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“No,” you lied, squirming your hips, but Jayce’s hands kept you pinned to the bed.

His amber eyes flickered up, watching the way you wriggled from his touch. Lapping at your cunt and tasting the sweet juices that dripped down his chin.

A heat stirred in his belly as he watched Viktor’s experienced hands cradle the swell of your breasts, massaging them and twisting your nipples with his index and thumbs. One of his hands pulled from your hips, meeting where his mouth had been and easily slipping two fingers inside you—wet and inviting. 

“Good,” Viktor praised, kissing at your neck. His teeth nipped at your skin, licking where he left tiny bruises, “tell Jayce how well he’s doing.”

You were breathless, your walls clenching around the two digits that plunged in and out of your aching heat. “Good, you feel so good,” you croaked, head tilted to the side as Viktor’s warm breath sent shivers down your spine, tickling your skin, “don’t stop—“

“You heard her, Jayce,” Viktor’s spoke, his voice deep in his throat, “don’t stop.”

Your eager lover pulled back from between your legs and continued to finger you with little remorse for your sensitivity, while Viktor’s finger replaced his tongue on your clit. You could see the lustful look in his eyes, how your wetness brought a shine to his stubble-covered chin. His eyes bored into yours, half-lidded, as his fingers curled just right.

Your head tilted back to rest on Viktor’s shoulder, a cry escaping your lips as your cunt was stretched by the fingers inside you. He kept a gentle rhythm over your swollen clit, whispering sweet nothing's in your ear as both men kept you pleased.

Jayce leaned forward, unable to keep himself from crashing his lips against Viktor’s, the sound of their wet kiss loud in your ear and making you twitch. The man behind you moaned, tasting you on the other’s lips, tongues dancing and sliding together. Savouring the taste and loving each other as much as they loved you.

Tired eyes flickered to them, head tilting to watch the display of passion as a lazy smile sprawled across your lips. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jayce noticed your gaze–utterly fucked out from his fingers.

“Look at her. So fucking beautiful,” he breathed as he pulled away from Viktor, a string is spit connecting their lips. Jayce stopped the rhythmic movements of his fingers, and you whined at the sudden emptiness when he pulled away, but you were unable to make any more sounds when the two digits were pushed between your lips, “taste.”

Viktor shuddered, his cheeks burning red as he watched the way you licked and sucked at Jayce’s fingers until they were clean. His erection was hard against your lower back, aching for some form of stimulation. Anything.

You sucked on the two fingers like it was a show, your tongue wrapping around the length as you took them in fully–easily. Knowing very well that the sight of you was enough to rouse excitement from them both.

“Fuck,” Jayce hissed as he pulled his fingers from your mouth, his cock upright and twitching in anticipation, “On your hands and knees. Now.”

You were slow to obey, which he hadn’t appreciated. A pair of rough hands grabbed at your hips and were quick to lift them up once you had settled into the position.

Meanwhile, Viktor, as gentle as ever, pushed a hand through your hair so it was out of your face. He wore a lopsided smile, looking at you so lovingly, a drastic difference from the way Jayce handled you–and you were so fucking lucky to have both.

“Go on,” Viktor cooed at you knowingly, and you did exactly what he was urging.

Fingers tightened in your hair as your hand flattened against the sheets beneath you, and you dipped down. Your other hand gently held the base of his cock as your tongue licked at the tip where a bead of pre-cum had rested.

Viktor’s eyes rolled back at the mere sight of you.

Jayce’s hands grazed over the globes of your ass, squeezing at the flesh as he pressed against your soaked entrance, teasing. You closed your eyes, focused on wrapping your lips around Viktor’s erection and taking it deep in your throat, swallowing around him with ease.

“You’re hungry for it, aren’t you? So fucking easy for me,” Jayce groaned the vulgar words, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and his fingers squeezed your ass hard enough to leave reddened marks in their wake.

A rugged hum vibrated from your chest, hips shifting as he set up a quick tempo of thrusts that he hadn’t given you any time to prepare for.

“Fuck,” you squealed, Viktor’s cock leaving your lips with a ‘pop’.

His cock pierced deep inside you, rough enough that your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and Viktor leaned forward from the pillows to pepper kisses on your cheeks. A distraction from the waves of pain and pleasure that coursed through your body as you were stretched, a feeling he knew very well.

Jayce groaned, his eyes focused downward and watching the way your cunt tightened around him. Sliding in and out in a quick rhythm that left you white-knuckling the bedsheets beneath your bouncing breasts.

“A perfect little cunt,” he moaned, a hand tight on your hip and the other pushing his hair back as he watched in admiration as you focused your attention on Viktor once more with the little energy you had left. Your head bobbed up and down, swallowing around him as your tongue massaged the underside of his cock–a perfect view for Jayce as he watched the way Viktor’s face twisted in pleasure, an arm resting over his eyes and rosy cheeks.

Both men moaned together, orgasms ramping up quickly.

Viktor gasped, fingers tight in your hair and causing you to whine, “stop–” he warned, teetering on the edge of release sooner than he’d like.

“Let her,” Jayce grunted, whining after a particularly rough snap of his hips, “I’m so fucking close.”

A few beats later, they moaned your name together, the sound sweet to your ears. Swelling your chest with pride and stroking your ego far too much.

Viktor couldn’t stop from bucking deep into your throat, muttering out a quiet apology as he came, honey eyes peeking from under his arm as you swallowed with practiced ease. You pulled away, panting as Jayce thrust inside you one final time, hips jerking as your squeezing cunt milked him.

“You did good,” Viktor murmured under his breath, smiling against your lips as you mewled when Jayce pulled his cock from you. He cupped your cheek, pulling back as his thumb brushed against your cheek, “you can finish now.”

Jayce acted on those words–always having been the one with enough energy to put you two to shame.

He shifted until he was laying on his back beneath you, arms wrapping around your thighs from behind and guiding you with a strong hand on your lower stomach until you were upright. You gasped when his lips connected with your cum-filled cunt, tongue swiping out to flick at your sensitive clit.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered.

Viktor leaned back against the pillows, watching with tired eyes and a lazy smirk. Much too tired to participate, but more than happy to watch Jayce make a mess of you.

“Jayce,” you whined, your hips rocking as your eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue tasted every inch of you. The pressure of his face against your swollen cunt was all you needed to feel the heat beginning to coil in your abdomen. A high you’d been chasing all night.

Both of his hands trailed along the tops of your thighs, nails raking against your skin. He wanted to do everything for you, to let you feel the pleasure you’d so lovingly provided them with.

His tongue delved deep inside you, and his nose brushed at your clit simultaneously; after a few more rolls of your hips at the perfect angle… you were there.

You cried out his name, your voice cracking as your body shuddered, and you chased the high by gripping your hands in his hair and grinding against him like he was nothing more than just a toy for your pleasure. Jayce kept up with your needs, his chin pushing up so he could fuck you better with his tongue, easing you through the orgasm that had you gasping for air.

You whined as you fell forward when the orgasm reached its height, hips violently twitching as you forced yourself away from Jayce’s mouth and crawled into Viktor’s inviting arms and laid atop him. A whimpering mess that was calmed by gentle caresses and fingers trailing up and down your spine.

A low chuckle bubbled up from Jayce’s chest as he wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand, moving until he was collapsed onto the pillows next to you both. 

“I’m spent,” he groaned, pulling the blankets over the three of you.

“You’re spent?” you sighed, “I’m the one who’s going to be sore for a week.”

“And yet, you are the one who begged us all night for this,” Viktor chimed in, a curious look in his eyes as he watched you. The fingers that were on your spine had found your hair, twirling it in his fingers, “I’m joking. Mostly.”

A giggle left your lips as you looked between your lovers, two sets of amber eyes that always made you shy.

“I know. I’m the worst, aren’t I?” You mumbled, sleep creeping up as you felt Jayce roll onto his side and toss an arm over your waist, his face pressed against Viktor’s shoulder as he fell asleep almost instantly.

“Mhm,” Viktor hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head, “terribly so.”