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fushiguro-megloomy · 1 month ago

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Strawberry Wine

Pt 2. After the Distance

[part 1] pairing: modern au!viktor x artist!reader Tags: porn with plot, viktor is a tease (ツ), lots of buildup, smut, no use of y/n, afab!reader wc: 3.8k notes: It’s here :’) i went over this like 25 times and got a friend to read it to make sure it was good enough so don't let it flop yall asjhashg art from pinterest, dividers from chachachannah, cafekitsune & nicodefresas

The next couple of months were… interesting. While you thought you knew Viktor—at least as well as someone could after a few months—you were quickly discovering that beneath his easy charm and quick wit lay a patient, calculated man, with a streak of something far less innocent. Slick, greedy even. And that side of him was making it increasingly difficult to keep things under wraps.

You’d laid it down early on that this thing between you—whatever it was—would stay between the two of you. Not that you thought Jayce would care, necessarily. If anything, your reasons for secrecy stemmed entirely from your own reservations. You were both workaholics, after all. Your galleries were finally gaining more traction, and Viktor had his research and the lab. Not to mention you’d promised yourself long ago that your career would come first. No distractions, no derailments—especially not for a man.

And yet, your resolve was starting to crack.

Again, you were learning Viktor to be a slick man, one with nimble fingers, skilled not just in tinkering with tech but in unraveling you entirely. Fingers that found their way under the table at dinner, brushing lightly over your thigh and leaving you fumbling for words mid-response to one of Jayce’s questions. Fingers that pinched your ass when no one was looking, the sudden assault making you glare at him—only to catch the smug tilt of his mouth.

But it wasn’t all teasing. Those same fingers smoothed your hair back from your face in the aftermath, his cool, calloused thumb tracing over your kiss-swollen lips with a tenderness that left your heart beating recklessly. His touch was addictive, and you were a hopeless addict.

Of course, like any addict, withdrawals were inevitable.

The boys had been called away—a business deal overseas that was only supposed to last a weekend instead turning into a nine day ordeal. You’d kept yourself busy with work, trying to throw yourself into painting and coordinating for another upcoming gallery showing. But your thoughts had a nasty habit of drifting, especially every time Jayce would video call with a trip update. You smiled, nodding along as he happily recounted the details of their successful presentations and the eventual closing of the deal.

It wasn’t Jayce’s enthusiasm that distracted you—it was the figure in the background. Viktor, half out of frame, often hunched over a small workspace or absently flipping through pages of a notebook. His focus, sharp as ever, made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

Once, during one of these calls, Viktor looked up. His eyes flicked toward the camera, meeting yours for just a fraction of a second. It was nothing, really—just a glance. But it felt like a spark, sending heat crawling up your neck and pooling low in your stomach.

You tried to ignore it.

“...And then Viktor had the most insane suggestion about combining thermochemical—oh, speak of the devil!” Jayce’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

Viktor leaned into frame, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “I’m sure it wasn’t that insane,” he said smoothly, his voice making your chest tighten.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Jayce replied, rolling his eyes before glancing back at you. “Anyway, the good news is we’re wrapping up here. We should be flying back the day after tomorrow. You’ll finally get some peace and quiet without me bombarding you with updates!”

“Peace and quiet? Jayce, I’d hardly call your calls a disturbance,” you replied lightly, ignoring the sudden spike of anticipation at his words.

Viktor spoke up again, his voice smoother this time. “I’m sure it’ll be good to get back. Familiar surroundings and all that.” His eyes flicked to you briefly, and something in that gaze made your breath hitch. Jayce was oblivious, grinning and nodding along, but Viktor’s yellow gold eyes lingered just long enough to make your stomach twist.

“Yeah, definitely,” you said, forcing yourself to keep your tone even. “Safe travels when the time comes.”

“Thanks! Anyway, I’ll let you go. We’re calling it an early night over here,” Jayce said, stifling a yawn.

The call ended shortly after, leaving you staring at the blank screen. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, fingernails tapping anxiously against the edge of the desk.

The gallery buzzed with energy, the hum of conversation weaving through the air as you moved from piece to piece, guiding potential buyers with practiced ease. Your smile was poised, your tone professional as you answered their questions and described your work, but the sting of your bitten cuticles betrayed the nerves you kept buried under layers of polished charm.

Despite your best efforts, your thoughts occasionally wandered. Viktor and Jayce were due back tonight—late, you’d told yourself more than once. You’d have time to finish the showing, decompress, and slip into something casual. It was fine. You were fine.

Still, your mind conjured flashes of Viktor's teasing smirk, the low timbre of his voice in your ear, and—

“You’ve created such movement here,” a man’s voice broke into your thoughts, gesturing at a vibrant abstract piece nearby. “It feels alive.”

You shifted, regrounding yourself. “Thank you,” you said warmly, stepping closer. “That was the intention—a sense of fluidity and life, as if it’s always in motion.”

His smile was appreciative and you slid into explanation, gesturing with your hands to emphasize the piece’s details as you settled back into your element.

The man nodded thoughtfully, offering a few more comments before excusing himself to examine another painting. You exhaled quietly, straightening your shoulders as you turned your attention back to the gallery space.

The evening had gone smoothly so far, but then your gaze swept toward the entrance and the world seemed to narrow to a single point.

Viktor.

His posture was composed and confident as ever. The low, warm light caught the angled lines of his face, and his eyes were already fixed on you. Your pulse quickened as he began making his way across the room. He moved with deliberate grace, the tap of his cane almost rhythmic against the polished floor.

You swallowed, willing yourself to remain composed as he closed the distance between you. He looked every bit as devastating as you remembered—perhaps even more so after days of his absence.

When he reached you, he didn’t greet you with words right away. His eyes swept over you, lingering as though taking in every detail.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” you said, your voice carefully steady despite the racing of your pulse.

“Plans changed,” he replied smoothly. “We caught an earlier flight.”

“And Jayce?”

“Jetlag,” Viktor said with a shrug. “He went home. I thought I’d make better use of my time.”

His tone was calm, his words innocent enough, but the way his gaze dipped to your lips and then back to your eyes betrayed the true intent behind his presence.

“You didn’t have to come.”

His brow arched, and he tilted his head slightly. “And miss seeing you command a room like this? Never.”

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, but you quickly diverted the conversation, gesturing toward the artwork nearby. “Here for the paintings, then?”

“Here for you,” he corrected, his tone sending a shiver across your skin.

Before you could respond, a passing guest offered a polite nod, drawing your attention away just long enough for Viktor to step closer, wrapping an arm around you in what seemed like a polite, casual embrace.

To anyone watching, it was nothing out of the ordinary—a perfectly respectful greeting. But as his arm pressed against your back, his fingers slid lower, tracing a line down your spine. The movement was slow, deliberate, and his fingertips dipped just beneath the waistband of your skirt. You held your breath.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of control and amusement.

But before he fully stepped back, his lips brushed near your ear, his breath balmy against your skin. “I missed you,” he murmured. “Malá hvězda…”

Little Star—he’d first called you that in passing, after Jayce had teased you about becoming a celebrity in your field. It had been a lighthearted comment, a playful quip that Viktor had picked up on. But over time, it stuck and became something far more intimate.

As the evening wore on, you felt the weight of his gaze wherever you moved. Whether you were explaining a piece to a potential buyer or exchanging pleasantries with a collector, you were keenly aware of him in your peripherals. He never lingered too close, always giving you space to work, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

By the time the gallery emptied, you felt wrung out—by the crowd, by the evening, but mostly by him. The cab ride was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the driver’s radio. You sat beside Viktor, close but not touching, though the air between you felt suffocatingly warm. Every bump in the road jostled you, and every brush of his leg against yours set your nerves fraying.

You glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression was maddeningly calm, almost unreadable. He leaned back against the seat, one hand resting on the door, the other draped casually over his knee. But his eyes—his eyes betrayed him.

Dark and glinting, they flicked to you, and the corner of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of amusement at your visible tension.

The driver spoke up, asking Viktor something about the best route, and he replied smoothly in that light, accented voice that had been driving you mad all night. You caught his profile in the dim light—sharp lines and soft lips—and you had to look away, your nails digging into the edge of your seat.

“Are you always this restless?” he murmured suddenly, his tone pitched low enough for only you to hear.

You swallowed, the flush creeping up your neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His smirk was a flash of teeth, quick and dangerous. He shifted, his leg pressing more deliberately against yours, the subtle movement enough to make your pulse skip.

“I think you do,” he said, his voice almost teasing. He let his hand drop to the seat between you, his knuckles brushing your thigh. It sent a jolt through you.

You shot him a look, your jaw tightening as you leaned slightly closer, your voice a low hiss. “Do you ever get tired of your games?”

His gaze flicked to your lips before dragging slowly back to your eyes. “Not when I’m winning.”

Before you could reply, the cab took a sharp turn, throwing you slightly off balance. His hand caught your leg to steady you, firm and sure. He didn’t let go.

Instead, in the shadows of the backseat, his fingers slid upwards, the warmth of his palm scorching through the fabric of your stockings. You sucked in a breath, barely audible over the noise of the engine, but your heart raced.

His pinky finger grazed the edge of your underwear, teasing the barest edge of lace. The movement was deliberate, slow, and utterly torturous. He kept his eyes forward, his expression calm, as if nothing were happening.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you pressed your knees together instinctively, but his hand didn’t budge. His thumb stroked a slow, lazy line against your inner thigh, just shy of the place you needed him most, and it was all you could do not to squirm.

When the cab slowed at a red light, he leaned in, his breath brushing hot against your ear. “Careful, malá hvězda,” he whispered, his voice a dark, velvet tease. “We wouldn’t want the driver to notice, would we?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. He finally withdrew his hand, the loss both a relief and an ache.

The cab rolled to a stop in front of your apartment building, and you practically bolted out, desperate for the cool night air to calm your overheated skin. Viktor was right behind you, but you didn’t dare look back at him.

The elevator ride up felt like an eternity. Each passing floor seemed to stretch on longer than the last, the tension between you thickening with every second. Viktor didn’t help. He stood next to you, but the air around him seemed to thrum with barely contained desire. His once teasing touches were growing bolder, and his breath seemed to waver every time he ebbed closer, his body pressing into yours ever so slightly. The subtle shift in his posture was enough to let you know just how much he was also losing control, how much he wanted you.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and your apartment was only a few steps away. You barely made it to the door before he was there, crowding you against the frame. His fingers slipped from your arm to your waist, tugging you closer, pulling you in with an urgency that sent a shiver through your entire body.

The key turned in the lock, and you barely had time to step inside before Viktor followed, the door closing behind him with an almost predatory click. In one swift movement, he had you pressed against the wall, cane clacking to the floor and his lips on yours. There was no hesitation now—no games, no teasing.

His mouth was hot, claiming, and you couldn’t help but respond in tandem, body arching into his.

“Its been too long," he practically purred against your clavicle, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your core.

"Too long," you agreed, though the words came out hoarse, breaking into a soft whimper as his teeth nipped at your skin.

The sharp edge of his bite was quickly soothed by his tongue, a slow sweep that had your knees threatening to give way. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers skimming over your bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He groaned softly, his breath warm against your neck when his hips pressed into yours, a deliberate grind that stole the air from your lungs. Your hands weren't idle, either, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

Your fingertips dragged over the expanse of his chest, and the subtle hitch in his breath sent a rush of satisfaction through you. His lips never left your skin, trailing fiery kisses along the column of your throat as his fingers tugged your shirt up and over your head, discarding it without a second thought.

He took a moment to drink you in, his amber eyes dark with desire, before his hands were on you again, possessive and unyielding. With a sudden shift, his grip tightened around your waist, and before you could react, he spun you around. The cool press of the wall against your chest was sudden as he caged you in.

His fingers traced the curve of your back, then moved to the clasp of your bra, sliding it from your shoulders.

"Viktor," you breathed, your voice shaky with anticipation as his hands roamed over your now-bare skin, pinching your nipples and mapping every inch of you like he couldn't get enough.

Your hips moved instinctively, grinding back into the rigid buldge of his slacks seeking out friction. His low, guttural groan in response sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core, surely staining your panties. His touch, ever restless, slid down your sides and found its way to your thighs, the rough glide of his palms pulling your skirt up around your waist.

The cool air of the apartment prickled your skin as he moved and his fingers curled around the delicate fabric of your stockings. A sharp, audible tear filled the room as his impatience got the better of him, the fragile material giving way beneath his touch. The sound was quickly accompanied by a gasp from you, although it was too late to protest as his hand slid over the bare skin of your ass, his touch unapologetic.

“I'll buy you a new pair.”

His tone was sharp, yet quickly drowned out by the metallic clinking of his belt buckle. It was a wonder you'd made it this long, your head practically swimming, knees trembling as his slacks hit the floor. You wanted to see him, craning your neck in a pathetic attempt to catch a glimpse of the body you'd been craving for a week and a half, but he was quicker.

His grip found the nape of your neck, pushing your cheek back against the drywall while his other hand snaked its way between your legs. A mewl escaped you as those same slender fingers pulled the now sticky lace to the side, wasting no time proding your entrance before pushing two digits inside. Your eyes squeezed shut and you heard him exhale, clearly satisfied with the way your greedy walls practically sucked him in. His fingers flexed, curling a few times in a weak attempt to stretch you out and earning a few muffled whimpers from your shaky form.

“Please-” it was all you could manage, squirming under his hold, feeble hands reaching blindly for him.

He was certainly in no place to deny you, especially not as his cock grew angrier by the second, flushed and leaking with precum. When he retracted his fingers it was audible, a squelch that made his mouth water, but there was no time. His hand left your nape, moving to the base of your spine to coax you into a deeper arch and you eagerly obliged while he lined himself up.

That first languid roll of his hips was pure bliss, the slight burn as his cock stretched you out left you slack-jawed and all the time apart was suddenly forgotten, instantly fucked out of your brain. Viktor was no more immune, a whiney moan tumbling from his mouth as you clenched around him. It was clear neither of you would last very long when the energy quickly became feverish, all semblance of control lost with hips desperately rutting together as pleasure seared its way through every nerve in your body.

This time when you craned your neck towards him, he relented. His body pushed impossibly closer, chest flush against your back while a possessive hand caught your jaw, reeling you in for an open mouthed kiss. It was messy and unrestrained, his hips never slowing.

“I missed you-” It fell past your lips into his mouth before you could stop it.

There was a tiny stutter in his rhythm, almost unnoticeable as his brows pulled together in surprise. It was out of character for you to say such things, raw and unguarded, but tonight felt different— like the time apart had stripped away your defences.

His grip on your jaw tightened, firm but not cruel, just enough to remind you who was in control. A tiny smirk of satisfaction crept onto his mouth as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “I missed you.”

The sincerity of the moment cut through the heat just for a second before his lips were on yours again. This kiss felt deeper, more deliberate as his free hand skidded down your stomach before landing between your legs. You broke from the kiss with a shaky moan, head falling forward against the wall as he began smooth circles over your neglected clit. His lips trailed the crux of your jaw, down the back of your neck as his movements became rougher. He ignored the pain threatening his leg, breath heavy and uneven as he bit on the curve of your shoulder, his own wanton moans vibrating off your skin.

You could feel your orgasm creeping in, white hot and consuming in the pit of your stomach. The dual sensation of his hips grinding against yours and the quick motions of his wrist between your thighs had your vision blurring at the edges. As if he sensed it, he adjusted his angle, moving deeper and more intentional. His focus was now singular, chasing every reaction you gave him, determined to push you to your limits.

Your body contorted into his, a ragged cry escaping you as the tension coil in you tightened. He grunted lowly against your shoulder, his own voice taking on a wobble as his own orgasm loomed not far behind.

“Let go for me”

It was all you needed to tip over the edge, toes curling and your body going rigid in his grasp as pleasure rolled over you in unrelenting waves. The sounds spilling from your lips were downright shameless, and you were certain your neighbors would despise you for it.

Viktor wasn't far behind, his rhythm faltering as he chased his release. His hips stuttered against yours, a broken groan tearing from his throat as he came, your body greedily pulling him deeper and milking him for every last bit. His body slumped against yours, both of you trembling, a tangle of shaky limbs held upright only by the support of the wall.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of labored breathing before Viktor straightened up, gently slipping out of you. The absence of his touch left a lingering ache, but as you turned to face him, the sight of his disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat on his skin, and the smirk tugging at his lips had you smiling—soft, dazed, completely spent.

You laughed softly, a breathless sound, leaning against the wall for support. He chuckled in return, winded but fond, before stepping closer to cup your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze softening as he drew you into another kiss.

This one was different. Slower. Softer. As always. That was the first time you let him stay the night.

The next morning, you woke to a tangle of sheets and the soreness of a night well-spent. Viktor was still sleeping soundly beside you, his face half-buried in your comforter, dark lashes fanning against his cheek. He looked so peaceful that it made your chest ache. A sharp knock at the door pulled you from your leering. Groaning softly, you slipped out of bed, throwing on a robe and tying it hastily. The moment you swung the door open your heart nearly stopped.

“Morning,” Jayce greeted brightly, a fast-food bag in hand. Before you could say a word, he stepped inside as if he owned the place. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by. Thought I’d bring you breakfast.”

Your stomach flipped in panic as you quickly moved to block his path, though he was already surveying the room with his usual casual ease.

“Jayce, uh, now’s not really—”

He stopped mid-step, his brow furrowing as his gaze landed on the floor. His lips parted slightly, confusion flickering over his features.

“Is that… Viktor’s cane?”

©lilsworks 2024

Taglist: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @thatlittlered @itsjustbell @sseleniaa @theepitomeofswag @jupiteress @rattini @milwaukeeslush @catedunlapgodu @worldseer

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fushiguro-megloomy · 1 month ago

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strawberry wine

[part 2] pairing: modern au!viktor x artist!reader prompt: “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you” tags: you're jayces childhood bff, no use of y/n, alcohol, heavy kissing, drunk kissing, basically just a bunch of buildup towards a smutty fwb part two???, viktor being a menace wc: 4k notes: AU where nobody is sick or dying yay! also i think i managed to keep this pretty gn!reader but any future parts will be afab/fem art is from pinterest, dividers from chachachannah & webc00re

You never meant for things to get this far. You told yourself it was just a little fun, harmless and fleeting—nothing more. You had a career to focus on, friendships in the balance. But now, here you are, pacing the living room carpet thin, your cuticles raw from nervous chewing, and your thoughts spiraling into places you swore they’d never go.

It feels juvenile, almost laughable, like some smitten teenager waiting by the phone and sneaking kisses in shadowed corners. You were supposed to be above this, weren’t you? I mean, as a grown adult you should know how to keep it casual, uncomplicated.

But nothing about this is simple anymore. Not the friendship. Not the secrets. And certainly not the way your heart betrays you every time his name crosses your mind.

It definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Moving back to the city hadn’t been on the bingo card for this year, but here you were. Your life had been tucked away in the quiet of rural landscapes, where your art had room to breathe—endless skies, rolling hills, and the kind of solitude that made inspiration flow without any distractions. But your career had expanded, and with that expansion came the relentless pressure of galleries, art buyers, and a future that demanded more from you than that peaceful escape ever could.

So, the city had called you back. Concrete towers, crowded streets, the city offered more. Shows. Opportunities. Jayce. The only thing about this cold, steel jungle that still felt like home. Jayce—your childhood friend, your constant in a world that had never stopped changing. Thrown together since you were practically in diapers, he was the one piece of your old life that had somehow survived the years and distance between you two. And now, after what felt like an eternity, here he was, sprawled across your tiny couch, looking too comfortable for someone who was just supposed to be a guest. The apartment was a bit small, as city apartments tended to be—packed between towering neighbors—but Jayce’s presence was the only thing about it that felt remotely like home.

"You know," he said, half-lounging. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You didn’t look up from your canvas, your brush already dipping into the paints like second nature. “Who?”

“Viktor”

You paused, only long enough for your brush to hover midair before you flicked your gaze in his direction. “Ah, yes. The famous business partner.”

Jayce’s grin didn’t falter, but there was something softer behind it now. “Yeah, something like that. But seriously, he’s a good guy. Brilliant, actually. You two would get along.”

You didn’t reply at first. Instead, you let the brush finish its arc, eyes back on your work, moving with the rhythm of a familiar task. “mhm” you murmured, distracted by the way the strokes of paint were bleeding together. “If he’s anything like you, how bad can it be?”

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. His voice took on that soft tone he reserved for moments when he really wanted to get his point across. “I’m serious, okay? I want you two to meet. You both mean a lot to me, and I think you’ll really hit it off.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt a weight behind his words, pushing against you with silent pressure. “Yeah? I’m sure it’ll happen, then.”

Jayce’s eyes lit up, a flash of triumph in them, like he’d just won some small but important battle. “You’ll see. I’m telling you—when you meet him, you’ll click. I know it.”

You leaned back in your chair, releasing a slow exhale, the kind that said everything without saying anything at all. A nonchalant nod was all you offered, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of saying more. “Fine. Fine. I’ll meet him. But don’t make a whole thing out of it.”

Jayce chuckled, and there was an odd note of relief in the sound, like he’d just been granted some unspoken permission. “No big deal, I swear. But you’ll see. You two are more alike than you think.”

When you finally did meet Viktor, Jayce was practically vibrating, his energy as unsubtle as ever. It had been after one of your gallery openings, a night you’d half-dragged yourself through on fumes and politeness. Your heels had barely cleared the threshold of his apartment before the faintest twinge of suspicion began to creep in—something about the way he hovered, grinning like a man with a secret.

“You deserve a good meal after tonight,” Jayce had said, ushering you in with the kind of charm that usually preceded one of his schemes. “Thought you’d want to celebrate somewhere that doesn’t reek of overpriced wine and small talk.”

You rolled your eyes but let yourself be corralled, the promise of food outweighing the odd note in his voice. His large apartment, at least, was familiar territory: warm, cluttered with bits of tech and sentimental junk from years past, the faint scent of whatever candles he refused to admit he hoarded lingering in the air.

And then you heard it—the low murmur of another voice, sharp-edged and vaguely amused, drifting from the kitchen.

Jayce froze, his grin faltering for a split second before it reappeared, brighter than ever. “Oh, right,” he said, far too casually. “Viktor’s here.”

You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. “You conveniently forgot to mention that part.”

“Come on,” he pushed, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the source of the voice. “It’s no big deal. Just dinner. You’ll like him, I promise.”

And there he was, perched by the kitchen counter with a faintly perplexed look on his face. He was slimmer than you’d expected, pale and sharp-featured, with hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in days. His amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, narrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that had just been placed in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, his accent lilting and crisp, “so this is the infamous artist.”

You shot a glare at Jayce, who was already heading for the stove with the kind of forced cheer that made it painfully clear he’d orchestrated the whole thing. “You owe me for this,” you muttered under your breath, stepping further into the kitchen.

Viktor’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk appearing. “And here I thought I was being ambushed. Seems we’re both victims of his enthusiasm.”

Jayce turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, his expression utterly unrepentant. “You’ll thank me later.”

The dinner was simple but undeniably good—Jayce’s doing, of course. The man couldn’t let anyone step into his apartment without insisting they be properly fed, and tonight was no exception. Roast chicken, buttery vegetables with rice, warm bread that filled the space with its yeasty aroma—it was the kind of meal that made you feel at home even when you weren’t.

Conversation flowed easily around the table, mostly carried by Jayce, but Viktor wasn’t exactly quiet, either. He had a way of chiming in at just the right moment, his dry humor landing squarely between Jayce’s more exuberant anecdotes and your own occasional contributions.

“You mean to tell me,” Viktor said at one point, leaning back slightly in his chair, “that Jayce still hasn’t learned to cook rice without burning it? After all these years?”

Jayce, halfway through explaining some disastrous culinary attempt from his youth, turned to glare at him. “Excuse me, this rice was cooked perfectly.”

“It was fine,” you agreed, though the memory of a slightly crunchy bite or two made your lips twitch in amusement.

Viktor’s amber eyes sparkled as he gestured broadly. “Oh, fine! A glowing review, truly. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jayce groaned, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, raising his glass in a mock toast, “here I am. Invited to dinner. Again.”

Jayce just rolled his eyes and went back to his story, leaving you to glance at Viktor with a small smile. He caught it, of course, and gave a little shrug as if to say, what can you do? For all his sharp humor, he was easy to talk to, his wit balanced by an underlying warmth that kept him from coming off as too cutting.

Which was why you were only mildly surprised when the spoon incident happened.

Dinner was winding down, Jayce had disappeared into the kitchen to fuss over coffee, leaving you and Viktor to handle the cleanup.

He moved with a surprising ease, balancing a stack of plates in one hand, his cane steady in the other. It was a casual sort of competence, as though he’d long since adapted to whatever limitations life had handed him. You hadn’t thought much of it, impressed by how naturally he maneuvered, until the soft clatter of a spoon hitting the floor broke the quiet rhythm of tidying.

“Ah,” Viktor said, glancing down at the rogue utensil with a faint frown as he set down the plate stack. “Of course.”

You paused mid-step, glancing between him and the spoon. “Need a hand?”

He tilted his head, his expression a little too innocent. “If it’s not too much trouble. You know, the leg and all...”

“Oh, for—” Jayce’s voice floated from the kitchen, half-annoyed but not quite committed to intervening.

You sighed, setting down the napkins you’d been folding. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got it.”

But just as you crouched down, Viktor shifted. A casual tap of his cane sent the spoon skittering across the floor, its metallic clink faintly echoing as it landed farther away.

You froze, staring at the spoon in disbelief, then turned your gaze to him slowly. “You’re kidding.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. “What?”

“You just—”

“What?” he repeated, wider-eyed this time, his free hand gesturing vaguely toward his cane. “I’m handicapped.”

Jayce reappeared in the doorway, a coffee pot in hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face. “Viktor.”

“What?” Viktor said again, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I am!”

Jayce muttered something unintelligible as he poured coffee, his focus shifting between you and Viktor like he couldn’t decide which one of you deserved his scolding more. Meanwhile, you straightened, crossing your arms as a grin tugged at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you said, stepping across the room to retrieve the spoon—again.

“Very generous,” Viktor agreed, his tone breezy. “Honestly, it’s quite inspiring. Jayce, you should take notes.”

Jayce groaned, setting the coffee pot down with a little too much force. “You’re both ridiculous.”

But you were already laughing, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. As you returned the spoon to the table with a pointed look, Viktor gave you a small, almost triumphant smile. And maybe, you could see what Jayce meant when he’d said you’d get along.

The first time you realized you might feel more than just friendship for Viktor was when you noticed the way your sketches had started to change.

It had been weeks—maybe even a couple of months—since that dinner with Jayce, when you had awkwardly danced around each other, getting to know one another. The initial weirdness had faded into easy companionship, and you found yourself spending more time with Viktor than you expected. You hadn’t quite noticed it happening, but somewhere along the line, you’d become an unintentional trio. Jayce had been bursting with barely-contained glee at how easily the two of you seemed to get along, and it made your chest warm, knowing how much that mattered to him. It felt... right, this newfound ease between the three of you, a quiet sort of harmony that made you smile more than you expected.

But as the days passed, something shifted without you realizing it. You were at home one evening, flipping through your sketchbook, the soft pastel dust smudging the edges of the pages as your fingers moved. The forms you’d drawn were abstract models, capturing shapes and shadows in a fluid, organic way. It wasn’t anything new—nothing that stood out. But then, you stopped.

There, in the shadows of the page, you saw it.

The subtle arch of a jawline. The curve of lips that you knew too well. Even the moles, small and almost unremarkable, but there they were—on the page, right beneath your fingertips. You blinked and flipped to another sketch, only to see it again. A line here, a shadow there. It wasn’t him exactly, but it was.

To the untrained eye, maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious. Hell, maybe even to you on any other day, it might’ve gone unnoticed. But now, in the quiet of your studio, the shapes were almost unmistakable. The soft angle of his nose, the way his eyes looked when he was thinking too hard, the way his smile would pull up on one side when he was being particularly smug.

You frowned, setting the sketchbook down, your hands hovering above it as if it had betrayed you. Was this some kind of coincidence? Or was it something more, something you had been avoiding realizing? You’d never consciously set out to draw him, but there he was, tucked into the lines and curves of your art like an uninvited guest you hadn’t known you were entertaining.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Of course it was just... coincidence. But even as you tried to convince yourself, there was a small, unspoken truth sitting in your chest, heavy and undeniable, and the first time you realized Viktor might see you as more than just a friend was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it hit you all the same.

He mentioned a piece you’d shown him, his tone thoughtful. “You’ve been doing something different lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a change. It’s...” His gaze flickered to yours, then dropped back to the floor, but the brief flash in his eyes sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “...more. More than what you usually show.”

The words themselves were harmless, even complimentary, but it was the way they hung between you that made something inside you stir—something you couldn’t name, not yet. You didn’t think much of it at first, but the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary made your breath catch. The way the corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile, not teasing, but... fond.

It was a simple thing. A fleeting moment. And yet, it lingered in your mind as you retreated to your apartment, your thoughts whirling with the possibility that Viktor—your friend, the one you had so casually laughed and bantered with for months—might be seeing you differently, too.

The shift was subtle, but it was there. And it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Everything came to a boiling point one night at your apartment. You’d ventured into town earlier that day, mostly for a change of scenery, and happened upon a small farmers market. You couldn’t resist grabbing a few bottles of strawberry wine, its sweetness and fruity undertones practically calling your name. Jayce had scoffed at it when you got back, claiming it was too sugary to have any real punch. “There’s no way I’ll even get drunk off this,” he’d muttered with a dismissive wave.

An hour later, he was sprawled out on your pullout, snoring softly with a stupid grin plastered across his face. You and Viktor stood nearby, both trying—and failing—to suppress your amusement at how quickly Jayce had succumbed to the wine’s effects. For all his size, Jayce was a surprising lightweight.

“I swear, every time,” you said, laughing quietly.

Viktor, leaning against the doorway, gave a soft chuckle. “Some people just don’t know when to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at the slumbering man. “Guess we let him sleep it off.”

“Let him have his beauty rest,” Viktor teased, his voice light as he nodded toward the bottles. “We can always finish it ourselves.”

So you did, winding up on the roof with the cold night air around you. The worn-out couch up there had seen better days, but it was still enough to settle into and talk, a simple quiet comfort settling over you both. The soft glow of string lights and the silvered moonlight made the world feel like it was wrapped in a quiet hush despite the never ending sounds of the city. You both settled into the couch, the cushions sinking in the middle, which pushed you just a little closer to Viktor than you'd anticipated.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was easy, like you had spent years in it. You noticed how close you were sitting now—your thighs pressed together, and when you passed the bottle of wine, your fingers brushed his. A small spark of awareness ran through you each time, and you tried to ignore it, feeling your face warm despite the cool air.

The wine was sweet, fruity, and a little stronger than you expected, especially when you found yourself reaching for another sip and another, the soft buzz in your head gradually growing stronger.

By the time the bottle was halfway gone, you were both leaning more heavily into the couch, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how little wine was apparently needed to bring Jayce to the brink of passing out. You felt... lighter. Almost giddy, as if the laughter that came so easily was spilling out along with the alcohol. And Viktor, sitting just beside you, didn’t seem to be immune to it either. His face was flushed in the soft light, his lips curling into an easy smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning back and feeling the warmth of the couch soak into your bones, “I don’t do this enough. I’m so... wrapped up in work and life and... I just forget to relax.”

Viktor tilted his head, eyes slightly narrowed as he watched you. “Relaxing can be overrated,” he said with a smirk, the words a little slower than they’d been earlier. He took another drink from the bottle, his thumb brushing against the glass in an unconscious rhythm. When he passed it to you, your fingers brushed once again, and you lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

“Well, maybe for you,” you chuckled. “But, for me, it’s like... it's like a luxury, I guess. You know? I don’t remember the last time I just sat with someone and... and didn’t feel like I had to be somewhere or do something.”

“You eh–... don’t have to worry about that here,” Viktor said quietly, his voice light, with that usual teasing edge. But something was different in his tone, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the air seemed to shift, the quiet between you stretching into something almost… charged.

You took another sip, your hand a little unsteady now. The whole situation felt absurd—awkward, even, yet strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Your gaze drifted toward his lips without thinking. It was brief, but enough to send a flutter through your stomach, and suddenly, your mind couldn’t focus on anything but that soft, confident curve of his mouth. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was something else entirely, but you couldn’t seem to think straight anymore.

Viktor shifted closer again, and the couch beneath you groaned as it sank with the weight of it. The space between you closed, and you could feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours shoulder to shoulder, like the alcohol spreading through you, making your pulse quicken.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His presence was a solid thing beside you. His eyes were locked on yours, studying, but still so calm. You could feel the punch of his gaze on you, like it was seeping through your skin, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the wine now—you could feel it all over, heat blooming beneath your skin, making you fidget slightly.

“Sometimes… you get caught up in what you’re doing, and you forget about everything else,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way your nerves were tightening your chest. “I’ve been focused on my career and—god, I’ve probably been a little… I don’t know, closed off.” You laughed lightly, but it was nervous, unsure of where this was even coming from. But suddenly all your senses were barraged by him, his smell, his eyes.

“I just—I haven’t thought about it. Relationships, I mean. Not in a long time. I don’t know if I’m even ready for anything like that. Not now, not with everything I’m doing.” You trailed off, self-conscious, suddenly feeling like you were saying too much, rambling without stopping. The words seemed to just slip out of you, tumbling over each other.

You took another shaky breath, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to make yourself stop, but you couldn’t. It was like you were helpless.

“And, I mean, if anybody were to kiss me…” You faltered, realizing too late just how much you were giving away. Your pulse quickened, your thoughts jumbled as your mouth just kept moving. “I would want that person to be you.”

The air between you thickened, the silence stretching long and heavy. Your heart pounded in your chest, a nervous rhythm that drowned out everything else. You waited for him to say something, to break the tension that was suffocating you. But there was nothing. Just the weight of his gaze on you, steady and searching.

When you finally dared to glance at him Viktor's expression was unreadable. One thick eyebrow was cocked slightly, and his mouth hung open just enough to suggest he was about to say something, but didn't. He was so close but somehow the distance between you felt infinite.

You opened your mouth to say something, to fill the silence, but before you could speak, his hand moved, his fingers brushing against your jaw in the gentlest touch. The sudden warmth of his palm made your breath catch, and before you could even fully process it, he was pulling you in. His lips met yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters, as if the moment itself was delicate. But that softness didn't last, between the buzz of alcohol, the closeness, the heat between you—it all blurred together. The kiss deepened, quickly turning urgent, hungry. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the bottle slipped from your grasp, its clang against the concrete floor echoing in the quiet of the rooftop

You didn't care. You were too lost in the feeling of him against you, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of need. The kiss grew messier– clumsy, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. You could taste the faint sweetness of wine on him, the mix of flavors making everything feel dizzying overwhelming.

You found yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, as if trying to merge your bodies together, desperate for the contact, for whatever it was that had been building between you two for so long.

The next day was a harsh slap of hangover reality. Your head pounded, your mouth was dry, and every time you glanced at Viktor across the room, your stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

Jayce, of course, was none the wiser. He chatted away over breakfast like nothing had changed, blissfully unaware of the shift that had unraveled everything you thought you’d had under control. And you? You were wholly committed to keeping it that way. It was a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fleeting, drunken thing—something you could both quietly bury and move on from.

At least, that was the plan.

Until it happened again. And then again.

Now it feels like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter, until you’re not sure if you’re going to unravel completely or snap under the weight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But here you are. And you don’t know how to stop.

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