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daem1anne · 4 months ago

Note

request where viktorxfemale reader and reader is very shy and hides her face/closes her eyes all the time during sex, maybe when she is not having sex she is more braty/confident. like when she is covering her face viktor forces her to look at him.

Hi Anon! Here's your request:

Mind Holds The Key

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! soft dom Viktor, from warnings we could throw in light orgasm denial and many of my recent works have praise kink, it snuck its way to here as well :v

word count: 4K

author’s note: Title from My Body Is A Cage song (like, it perfectly depicts what Reader might be feeling).

artist on X

—

It happens every time.

You release a breath when his head dips into the crook of your neck—what a blessing. A moment of reprieve, in which teeth meet skin, and you can slide your hand from his back to shield your eyes.

Before he knows it, you come undone, and Viktor follows, searching for your gaze that’s nowhere to be found. Instead of the two big eyes he longs to see, all he gets are your knuckles—five little peepers acting as a barrier between you. It makes him feel lonely.

At first, he doesn’t quite catch it. Could be that you’re so overtaken with pleasure that your body acts on instinct, independent of your mind. Could be that you’re shy—though that hardly aligns with the way you carry yourself day to day. Could be that his bedroom face is outright hideous, but he fucks you so well you don’t have the heart to tell him. Could be plenty of things, some of which he doesn’t dare to entertain.

At first, he tries peacefully—gentle handholding, nuzzling, foreheads touching. But as soon as he stops you from covering your face, you simply close your eyes instead. Or, if he noses at you, you nose him back, and though he can’t see, he knows by the tickle of your eyelashes against his cheek that your lids are squeezed shut.

Until today.

The setup is nearly perfect—you straddling him, arms caged in by his, no space left between you to hide. Yet, just as your face starts to wrinkle in that beautiful way he adores, you find a way out. You dip your head into the small gap between you, leaving only the parting of your hair in his view.

So he stops.

Moreover, he untangles his arms from you completely, making you whine at the loss of contact and, worse, the loss of your impending orgasm as his hands still your hips. And maybe it isn’t entirely worth it, but at least now you’re looking at him. Your lips part at the sight.

There’s something vulnerable in the way he stares at you—wounded, raw. A flicker of fear flashes across your chest.

You cup his cheeks, your voice quick and searching. “Are you in pain?”

He exhales sharply, eyes darting down. “Am I so horrendous to look at?” His fingers twitch at your sides, but his grip remains loose, as if he’s suddenly unsure whether to hold you at all.

Your brows pinch together in disbelief. “Viktor… you are gorgeous. What are you talking about?”

Some of the lead in his stomach melts away at that. So, it isn’t his face. “Then why won’t you ever look at me?”

“I…” Shit. That didn’t take long. “I am…” You try to wiggle your way out of it, avoiding the weight of his scrutiny, but ultimately, you give up with a small, quiet, “… shy.”

A breathy chuckle escapes him, his shoulders shaking. “Lásko, you are many things, and shy is not one of them.” His mind flickers back to all the times you’ve been anything but—bratty, teasing, unafraid to push him.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I am a shy lover,” you whisper weakly, and at that, Viktor twitches inside you. His fingers flex against your wrists, his gaze heavy with thought.

Then, his eyebrows scrunch in curiosity, and he asks, almost stupidly, “Why?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. He watches you, waiting for an answer, and his voice softens when he adds, “What makes you embarrassed?”

You groan in frustration, covering your eyes again as if to hide from him. “I don’t know... It’s like... oh, having an autopsy, for lack of better words. An autopsy of the soul. I can’t stand it.”

Viktor pauses, his expression thoughtful, before he leans in, his voice low and inviting. “Would you be willing to… experiment?” The edge of a smirk plays at his lips.

You narrow your eyes, scepticism rising. “Does your experiment include torture?”

He hums, tilting his head in playful consideration. “Eh… maybe a little.” His hand moves to rest gently on your cheek, a soft brush of his thumb has you blushing. “Hopefully,” he murmurs, his touch tender, “it will get the key from here.” A finger is pressed to your forehead. “To unlock this.” His finger then moves to point directly at your heart.

At the sight of your questioning eyes, excitement surges through him. Another thing to unravel about you—how thrilling. He almost doesn’t want to leave the warmth you’ve enveloped him in, but the urge to explore and understand is stronger. So, with a small nudge of his hips, he says, “Up, up.”

A groan escapes him when you slide off and shimmy up against the headboard. You hug your knees, awaiting instructions, and Viktor—oh, his eyes glint the same way they do when he’s on the brink of something, just this time, love and affection seep through the scientific interest.

He nestles beside you, smiling at the hungry glances you steal toward his thighs. He presses a kiss to your neck, a caress to your calves, before whispering, “Relax. Open your legs for me.”

Like a rusty hinge, you part your thighs—barely enough to accommodate his palm. He nudges your knees further apart until one rests against his leg, the other sinking into the covers. A warm, flat palm runs up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and already, you shudder and squeeze your eyes shut.

“No, none of that,” Viktor chides, and the fingers that had caressed you come to wrap around your throat—a gentle touch, guiding. “If you stop looking, I stop touching. Do you understand?”

You nod timidly, and Viktor tsks. “Words?”

“I understand,” you murmur.

“Very well.” One last soft kiss, before his hand slides down your torso, back between your legs.

His touch is gentle at first, fingers teasing along your seam, inquisitive and exact. He finds your clit easily and you gasp at the first press, coaxing a grateful smile to Viktor’s lips. He watches your expressions shifting from the tremble of your lips to your brows pulling together with a serious face, studying and memorizing you. Three thoughtful fingers rub your pussy around, nudging the spot you want him at the most with each movement, and your stomach begins to coil with heat. Your thighs shift from idle rest to being spread apart with intent, and your hand braces against his stomach. His eyes remain on you, darkening with each broken gasp that escapes your lips.

This is truly horrendous. Pleasure knots in your chest, tangled with a fear that comes from an unknown place. There’s no hiding from him like this, and for a moment, you don’t even try. Your body freezes—caught between fight and flight—and you force yourself not to blink. Your eyes glaze over, breaths come in shallow gasps, and you don’t know if it’s the fear of losing his touch or of being seen like this.

“There you are,” he murmurs, and he means your gaze. You realise you’ve been looking at him, truly looking, and the thought makes your stomach twist.

It’s too much.

The closer you get, the heavier the shame coils in your chest. Like a hand gripping your throat, squeezing until every reaction feels unbearably raw, exposed. Your body betrays you—hips rolling into his touch, thighs twitching under his hand, voice catching in soft, needy sounds. And Viktor, he drinks it in with dark, fascinated eyes, his other hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, squeezing affectionately.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

But you do.

Because the heat rising isn’t just pleasure—it’s mortification, vulnerability crackling over your skin. It builds and builds, cresting unbearably high, and just as the wave is about to break, your hand shoots up, shielding your face in a blind, instinctive act of self-preservation.

The loss is instant.

Viktor’s hand retreats from between your legs, leaving you aching and throbbing. Your breath stutters, body jolting at the sudden lack of touch. It takes you a moment to realise why—why the bliss has been so abruptly stolen from you. And when you do, your stomach drops.

You peek through your fingers to find him watching you, expression unreadable but firm. His hand hovers over your lower belly, waiting. Viktor doesn’t speak. He simply watches you, patient and ready.

It’s your choice.

Slowly, hesitantly, your fingers slip from your face, down to your chest, over your ribs, clutching at the sheets instead. You force yourself to look at him.

Viktor smiles, pleased. He brings a hand back to your thigh, thumb stroking the inside in a slow, grounding motion. He leans in, lips ghosting over your cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers before giving back what he took away—and more.

Oh, and his hand comes right where you need it, sliding between your thick lips with ease, gathering your wetness with a slick sound as he pushes a finger inside you. He moves in and out slowly, adds another, and drinks in the sight of your mouth falling open, your eyes locked onto his.

Viktor tells himself this is not about him, that this is about you—about him holding your hand as you battle something unnecessary within yourself. And yet, he cannot help the way his hips rut into your thigh, the heavy press of his cock against your flesh. It is so very hot, this soul-baring unravelling of yours, that he almost allows you to close your eyes for a second too long.

A gentle tsk of his tongue brings you back, and to keep your hands from twitching, you clasp one against his cheek while the other rests at his waist.

You focus on the feeling, on the rhythm. You rock your hips to meet him, the heel of his palm catching your clit with each slide of his fingers, and the familiar pressure returns. Your eyes itch to go shut, the skin of your hand tingles, and you wonder if it’s contagious—if Viktor’s skin will prickle in goosebumps because of you. A strangled sound escapes you, discomfort bleeding into pleasure, and Viktor is there to guide you through it.

"Stay with me, almost there," he coos, brushing his nose against yours.

You press your foreheads together, cross your eyes to keep them fixed on his, and he is so grateful. Pride softens his face as he murmurs lovingly, "You are doing so well."

It’s almost easy like this. Something shifts.

The tension in your chest doesn’t vanish, but loosens, just enough for you to take a deeper breath. With Viktor’s forehead pressed to yours, his voice low and steady, his touch never faltering, the fear that once curled around being seen begins to unravel.

You blink up at him, chest rising and falling in quick succession, and when your lips part, your voice is barely there. “More.”

The word spills into his mouth, and Viktor drinks it all up. His breath hitches, a tremor runs through him, and for a brief moment, he closes his eyes, overcome by something he cannot name. When he looks at you again, it is with a hunger edged in devotion.

“Oh, lásko,” he breathes, and his fingers move with new purpose. His palm catches your clit just right, his rhythm unfaltering. “You are—ah—so good for me.”

Your body tightens in response. You can hear him now—not just his words, but the small, ruined sounds he makes when you clench around his fingers. He moans when you do, his hips pressing just a little harder into your thigh, like he cannot help himself.

“You feel—” He swallows a groan, his hand flexing at your waist. “So perfect like this. My girl.”

A fresh wave of pleasure crashes over you. You chase it without hesitation, without shame. Viktor sees it—feels it—the way you arch, the way your nails press into his skin. His praise comes unfiltered now, spoken through shaky breaths, his own pleasure evident in the rasp of his voice.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his fingers curling deep. “You are taking me so well. Stay with me, stay—”

You do. You do, because somehow, with him, it’s easier.

The tension coils tight, unbearably so, and your breath is gone from your lungs. He feels it—sees it—his free hand tightening around your neck, his forehead still pressed to yours. His lips part, his eyes burn into yours, and when you finally break, it is with him watching you, holding you, staring into your soul.

You shudder, a soft cry spilling from your lips, and Viktor groans—low and guttural—as he works you through it, whispering your name, a quiet thank you falling in between.

“And that’s a sight to behold,” he says finally, his voice rough with need. “Thank you, my love.”

You smile faintly, still feeling the aftershocks, but your playful side returns. “Sorry, did you think we are done now?” You curl your legs up, wrapping your arms around him, pressing a kiss just under his ear, feeling the heat of his skin against yours.

“Oh?” Viktor’s breath hitches as he feels the press of your lips on him. It seems that through being lost in your head, you missed all the pretty faces he makes. You run your finger up and down his length, watching how his body reacts to your touch, feeling the contrast between tenderness and the lingering ache of want.

You meet his gaze, your voice meant to be teasing but it’s a plea. “Would you be willing to experiment further?”

Viktor’s pulse quickens at your words, his body taut and ardent when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, and then he rolls over, trapping you beneath him. His lips find yours in a kiss that is deep, desperate, and full of hunger.

“Yes, yes, please,” he breathes against your mouth, his voice longing. He kisses you again and again, his lips trailing across your face, worshipping the skin beneath them as he murmurs praises, each one an attempt to convey what he's feeling, almost successful.

To see and to be seen—what a feeling, you think. What a tremendous thing it is to have your heart unlocked with the key his fingers plucked from your mind. Crushing.

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

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Hi darling, i love you idea so much to celebrate our boy, so here are my numbers 2, 3, 6, 10, 15, 16, 54, 55, 57, 87, 112, 127 Please give me the most Dominant and jealous Viktor ever uwu

Most dominant and jealous Viktor ever, huh? That would be the Machine Herald, then. Picked a few of these lines that fit the best. Double the word count because last one, best one 💖

Also I hear you asking, "What the everloving fuck do you mean by too many teeth?" This, my friends. This.

Tags/Warnings: 18+, MH!Viktor x AFAB Fem!Reader, exhibitionism, public sex, jealousy, possessive behavior, groping, gloved fingering, orgasm denial, Reader has an augmented arm

You hate the Chem-Barons.

Viktor hates the Chem-Barons.

But the Machine Herald? He tolerates them. Meets with them and their lackeys, even. Has to, because the success rate of his augmentations is exponentially higher when Shimmer is involved. He needs the medical grade variety, not what’s bought off the streets where it’s cut with impurities and improperly handled. He needs it from the source, and negotiates accordingly.

It’s none of your business. Typically, you don’t go. But as his notoriety has grown—the metal man on Emberflit Alley that can take away your suffering—safety has become precarious. Just yours. You’re nobody special; just a token from another life, and you don’t have a laser claw. All you have is your wits, your loyalty and a newly fitted arm that doesn’t do anything exciting, but at least you’re alive.

Now he takes you everywhere.

Him and his too many teeth, you can feel his sneer behind the mask when people look at you in the street; when they shape their lips to whistle, but think better of it. Has something to do with a metal whirr behind you that you can hear but not see with your gaze fixed forward, head held high.

He’s different now, this man with your long lost lover’s voice, but the jealousy stayed and he remembers what it felt like to love you. It’s made him possessive.

And, well…

You kind of like it.

It’s kind of fun, even, to see what he’ll do when one of the cronies escorting you in gives you the wrong kind of attention. The kind where their eyes linger in all the wrong places, and their hand trails down your arm when they think Viktor isn’t looking. He is, always. The mask just makes it hard to tell.

Hard to kiss you, too. But in the short time you’re waiting at the long, empty table, sat in his lap without a chair of your own, he lifts it enough to shove his strange tongue into your mouth. As you whimper and try to keep pace, he watches your face, your reactions. You can tell by the yellow light that brightens the darkness behind your closed eyes.

He snaps it down, shuts you out abruptly when a door clicks open and people start to file in—some with old augmentations, some with Viktor’s new ones. You know his work on sight.

He’s not done with you, though.

Low, dark synth in your ear says, “I don’t like people touching what’s mine,” and delight twists into your gut like the shrapnel that nearly missed your liver.

Your permission is a whispered, “Please,” spoken with kiss bitten lips, slick and puffy. The kind of please that says use me; do whatever you want.

Only part way through the meeting does he strike—a vigilance for lecherous eyes that are not his own. You can feel it too, the weight of being watched by someone at the table. The one who licks their split, sickly lips when your eyes pass over them, surely.

The hand that had a vice tight grip on your waist eases, and slips beneath the hem of your shirt. He’s not subtle like he used to be, but who would stop a soulless, metal monolith from doing what he pleases where it concerns his little fucktoy? Who would raise a word against him for reaching up to cup the warm swell of your breast, or acknowledge the apathy with which he claims what’s his?

They’re cowards, the lot of them.

Except for maybe Renata, who is terrifying and paying you no mind.

There’s a violent shift in the atmosphere. Literally. Someone draws a knife and shouting breaks out across the table, but his modulated voice is all you hear.

“Only I get to touch you like this,” he murmurs, tugging down the edge of your bra inside your shirt. He thumbs over your nipple, rolls it harshly between the cold, finely ridged metal of his mechanized hand. Only he can hear your breathing stutter, or feel the way you go ridgid to choke down a whine.

Your composure holds, though—spine straight, eyes fixed out the windows. Indifferent.

Perhaps that’s why he drops his hand out, and slips the other up your skirt instead.

Your eyes flare with a sick, thrilled terror as you clutch the hem down over his hand. He wouldn’t like if anyone truly saw you—your bare, soaked cunt—when he wrenches your panties aside. That’s just for him.

Discreetly, you open your legs just enough for the press of his fingers. It’s his human hand this time, warm through the leather glove with which he hides it. Two grainy fingers slip through your pussy and roughly push inside until his palm sits flush.

It takes everything you have not to make a sound, stretched so suddenly, sweet and burning. Is it mercy or torture that he doesn’t move? Just fills you nice and full so that anyone who looks too closely will see who you belong to. One or two must’ve caught on; they pointedly look the other way.

Viktor catches your quick scan of the room; flexes his fingers to draw your attention back. Whispers in a way that has always, always wrecked you, “Would they touch you the way I touch you? Fuck you the way I fuck you?”

Never.

You shake your stupid, besotted head.

“Mm, no, I didn’t think so,” he all but laughs, wicked thing. Not as soulless as he or anyone else wants to believe.

Perhaps a little heartless, though, the way he plays absently with your clit. Sweeps and rolls with his wet leather thumb until you’re trembling and your lungs are burning—suffocating on all those little noises held back. He has you clenching around him so quickly, clawing uselessly at the metal plates of his shoulder. And the closer you get, the less you care for subtly or dignity or proper conduct of any sort. You only want release. You’ll hide your face against his armored neck, gasping quietly as you can to hide what is obviously happening, if it means you can have it.

There’s just one little problem.

Right on the cusp, and you’re suddenly empty. Instead, his hand comes to rest heavy on your bare thigh, glove glistening. Your slick is like fine, gossamer webbing between his fingers. Only then do you realize the gravity of the situation—that he’s not finished, and you aren’t going to, because he grips you hard and murmurs:

“Only I get to see you come.”

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

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Viktor from Arcane… Gods, save me Viktor from Arcane…

He could fix me, I don’t care how or what he does, he could fix me.

Anyway please feel free to flood me with as many Viktor thoughts (or any other characters on my list) as possible. I need people to freak out about him with me.

#we’re gonna be limping both after I’m done with him

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

Text

a viktor drawing cause i love him sm :( i hope you guys like it ! ☹️💗

#my beloved

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

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Bestie. I know your requests are closed but I’m champagne drunk rn and I had to get this to you before the thought slips through the little wrinkles in my brain. So don’t answer until you want to answer.

party4u by charli xcx. Idk I’m always blasting charli but today something about this song just struck me. I feel like it could be either Viktor or the MC from Nothings New. Throwing a party for something seemingly random just in the hopes that the other would show up. The pining, the trying-hard-but-trying-not-to-be-noticeable-about-it. (Hope you walk into the party, cause I threw the party just for you)(called your digits but the phone kept ringin/wish I knew what you were thinking)

And then the blatant laying-bare-of-the-feelings ughhhhhhhh (if you saw my tears would you touch me? / kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?)(why you treating me like someone you never loved?)(all I’m thinking all I know is / that I hope you knock on my door)

Idk I just can’t stop thinking about it and I feel like only you could do something Viktor-related but also based on this song justice. You have this way of writing angst and feelings that I normally am afraid to explore (dread, anxiety, jealousy, anger, acknowledging the ugly parts of ourselves (like with The Ugly Thing)) in a way that is so delicious and makes me WANT to explore them.

Bestie, how do do you KNOW ME so well . Thank you for making a playground for me, seriously. I hope you can tell I loved this.

Come So Close That I Might See

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a freeform of what was requested. Implied, but not included in the plot: Jayce and Viktor score a grant for their further science developments, silly Viktor offers to throw a party instead of just grabbing beers. AU Modern Era if you squint (like, phones are mentioned). Contains a lot of fluids :v

word count: 4K

author's note: not me incorporating sex into the request by default and then checking with the requestee only when I got to the condom part :v I also spent a lot of time on forums to get the Czech phrases accurately and it made me giggle how many Czech people went to forewarn the person asking that love confessions in Czech are dead serious and if they have a Czech girlfriend they want to say it to they have to MEAN IT (as a cynical, brooding, judgmental Slavic cunt I wholeheartedly agree). Translations at the bottom and title is from Mazzy Star.

This gets pretty gross, both in terms of sentimentality and bodily fluids, you have been warned!

artist on X (I'm addicted)

—

Never before had he so much as brought his teeth close to his fingers—unless it was to take a bite of something meant precisely for eating—yet now he finds himself absentmindedly gnawing at a particularly stubborn cuticle while staring at the tiny grey tick next to his message, waiting for it to turn green, waiting for it to become three jumping dots. Radiating unease, Viktor sighs out a rattled breath and props his chin on the heel of his palm.

Jayce huffs in the background, stacking the freezer with water poured into plastic containers, hoping it will turn to ice before the first person complains about the heat. It’s one of those unbearably sticky days with no sun, the clouds trapping the air, refusing to let it move, offering no reprieve to the sweaty—until, inevitably, it all gives way to a raging storm by nightfall. Curtains billowing and thunder roaring, hurried window-shutting and water pouring in through the cracks—tonight’s entertainment is already set.

Viktor does little to help, and Jayce doesn’t mind. After all, Viktor’s offer had been a timid one, seeming to stumble out of his lips before his brain could fully calculate the potential disaster of inviting people over. Any excuse would have sufficed, yet scoring a grant was big enough occasion to keep Viktor from backing out.

So he sits with a book, his phone resting in the book’s mouth, dimming every three minutes before he taps the screen again, worried he might miss your reply. He still doesn’t know if this reckless idea will come back to bite him on the ass—if you don’t show up he will have to spend the evening smiling at strangers, pretending to be overjoyed about this opportunity while, in reality, his soul withers away.

“I’m sure she’ll come,” Jayce says finally, three bottles of rum balanced in one hand, his right arm wrapped around a bucket of melting ice that stains his dark blue T-shirt. “Mel will be here—she’ll drag her in.”

“That’s a joyous picture to anticipate, isn’t it?” Viktor hums as calmly as he can, yet his finger is gnawed raw, an ugly shade of red. He scrunches his eyebrows at it, deciding it’s about time to leave it alone. “My friend dragged in to see me by force?”

“Figuratively. I don’t think Mel is that strong,” Jayce teases, setting the dripping bucket on the table, bottles clinking inside. He crouches close to Viktor’s legs. “If not, we’ll try to have a good time anyway. We deserve it.”

Jayce pats his knee, and Viktor fixes his eyes on something in front of him that isn’t Jayce, saving himself from the feeling of being picked apart piece by piece, examined from the inside out. A dreadful sensation, if anyone were to ask him. Everyone around him, save for you, thinks they’ve mastered the skill.

“No promises,” he says, sucking in some of the stale air and setting the book aside, though the phone remains in his hand. He should shower really, wear something that makes him look effortlessly put together—something that invites touch and makes him hug-worthy. But the idea of meeting his reflection sits in his stomach like lead. Whatever all those people, with their prying eyes, fail to notice, he will see in the mirror. And worse—you will see it, too.

It’s so unbearably hot that he takes the coldest shower he can without wrenching the air from his lungs. Cold enough that stepping out into the bathroom’s warm embrace is almost a relief. A quick shave, hair left wet to milk out as much of this fresh feeling as possible, knowing grime will coat him head to toe as soon as the apartment fills with faces attached to sweaty bodies.

Each buzz of the door has his heart flipping in his chest, and he scowls every time the person Jayce greets with a sticky hug is not you. He tries not to look disappointed when guests pat his shoulder and offer their congratulations, tries very hard to be grateful for having friends in the first place—but part of him deeply regrets that his brain didn’t catch the reckless blurt of “Or let’s have a party?” in time.

He’s on his third rum and coke, and maybe that’s why his defences are lower when he goes to answer the door this time, Jayce busy in the kitchen. The door swings open, and he’s greeted by Mel’s perfect face—utterly unbothered by the heat, only her forehead covered in a satin-like sheen, as if designed to enhance her beauty rather than ruin it.

And behind Mel is you, far less heat-resistant, yet for Viktor, far more beautiful. Cheeks flushed a healthy red, shoulders sun-kissed, draped in barely-there straps of a barely-there blouse, and his heart drops all the way down to where his second heart is, beating for you and you alone.

Mel, dignified as always, only ghosts a kiss near his cheek and hands him a bottle of wine before stepping inside, ready to kiss Jayce properly. You linger awkwardly in the hallway, kicking off your shoes before Viktor can tell you not to.

“Hi,” you say stupidly, waving at him.

He waves back, puts his cane on the coat rag, arms spreading just enough—not quite an invitation, not quite begging, but close.

“Are you sure? I’m very gross.” You glance warily at his crisp white shirt, wondering how he’s managed to look so sharp while everyone else sports the look of a wet rag. Sleeves rolled up neatly, showing off the freckles on his taunt skin, veins poking out, swollen with the impossible temperature.

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, already pulling you in. He feels the opposite of minding.

You smell of fresh perfume mixed with sweat, and when his hand comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his lips barely brush against your skin, the wine bottle presses against the small of your back. Viktor hopes some of your sweat will sink into his shirt, making you stay with him a little while longer after you leave.

How many times you've been at it, you don't know. It's always on the verge of something serious—yet the closer it gets, the faster Viktor pulls away. The tension between you has lingered since the moment you met, but you have no idea when it settled into this uncomfortable friendship. So distancing yourself, for a while, seemed reasonable. Now, with him wrapped around you, you don't know if you'll find the strength to leave.

You breathe him in, and the uneasiness seeps out of you in an instant. You’re not even that hot anymore. Goosebumps rise on your skin where he touched, and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Congratulations,” you mumble into his chest, and he only hugs you tighter.

He plucks his cane from the empty coat hanger, hands you the bottle and leads you to the kitchen. Jayce pours you a drink, and the four of you sink into a conversation bordering on comfortable. How many times Jayce has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that the party was Viktor’s idea, only he knows.

The chatter eases into jokes and laughter at some point, and you can feel the alcohol warming your insides to match the heat outside. Air begins to stir as the predicted storm gathers, the kitchen growing more and more cramped. When a thunderclap cracks through the air, startling someone next to Mel, the contents of her glass spill onto your chest.

“Mel, do you have to? Always? When I’m wearing white?” You jump back instinctively, and Viktor’s fingers wrap around your elbow.

“Oh, darling,” she laughs, scrunching her brows in apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” And indeed, it’s a curse—you should never wear white around her.

“I’ll give you something,” Viktor says quickly, already on a mission.

“I can get it, you don’t have to come upstairs,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder and a smile. “If that’s okay,” you add, asking for permission to rummage through his closet alone.

He swallows and nods, searching for any good excuse to follow you—but at the moment, even his big brain can’t conjure one.

You drag yourself up the stairs, and the further you get from the noise, the more you realise how loud it was in the kitchen. It feels briefly odd, stepping into Viktor’s bedroom—you haven’t been here in such a long time. But as you cross the threshold, everything looks just as you remember. Maybe a few more notes scattered here and there.

You close the rattling window by his desk before the rain can soak into the papers, then move to his walk-in closet. As soon as you step inside, the scent of Viktor floods your senses, and despite yourself, you breathe in deeply.

Somehow, this feels safe. You run your fingers along his clothes, searching for your favourite T-shirt of his. But you linger unnecessarily long on his jumpers, bringing them close to your cheek and inhaling the scent of his washing powder. You’ve smelled this so many times, and it’s never enough, really.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you left the kitchen, but a voice knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“You alright?”

“Viktor.” You jump away, snagging a T-shirt in the process to make it look like that’s all you’ve been doing. “Shit, you scared me. Yes, I just—” you gesture to your chest, where a red stain from Mel’s wine blooms, “should probably clean off first.”

He nods, still lingering in the doorway, and you just stare at each other. Finally, Viktor speaks your name softly and props his cane by the wall. He means to say so much more than that, but he hopes you will see what he saw in the reflection today—and that you will understand.

And because you do, you reply with a warning.

“Viktor, no.” You shake your head and clutch his T-shirt by the collar in your fist. “How many times have we been at this?”

“Too many,” he breathes, closing the little distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands clasp around your hips, and Viktor rests his forehead against yours, whispering, “Too many. Make this the last one.”

“I’m—” you mutter, placing your palms on top of his. Scared is what you should say. Unsure would also fit. “Sticky,” you say instead.

He takes it as an invitation. In no time, your shirt is rolled up to your armpits, and even if you folded yourself in half and squeezed into his shelves, there would be no avoiding it. Viktor leans in and kisses your navel.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his hot breath mingling with your skin.

His tongue meets your stomach, and your spine stretches as you suck your belly in, only making the route for him longer. Timid at first, something inside him snaps when you moan and wrap your fingers into his hair. He presses his face into your belly, inhales deeply, and kisses with his mouth open until the sticky of Mel’s wine is exchanged for the sticky of his drool.

You tug him up by the hair, and he’s up immediately, pushing you further against the shelves, his torso flush against yours. Your stained shirt smears against his crisp white one.

“Viktor,” you mutter, stopping him from kissing you with a firm grip on his cheeks.

“What?” he asks, surprised. “Do you want me to stop?”

You take a shaky breath and burn your eyes into his, trying to dig out whatever courage you need to settle the needy thing thundering in your chest.

“Viktor,” you say again, buying yourself time. “If you’re messing with me again, I swear to God, I will eat your heart.”

“I’m not,” he says solemnly, a smile playing on his lips—possibly at the dramatics. But if he were being honest, he’d throw it away himself, the heart. It only causes trouble.

An ardent look lingers in his eye when he finally adds, “You can eat it anyway.”

You groan and wrench yourself away from him, suddenly feeling the suffocating heat striking back at you. He follows, leaning against the doorframe and watching as you pace up and down the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when you stop and sit on his bed.

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“I—” he hesitates. Takes a few wobbly steps toward you, and when the mattress dips beside you, your legs touch. His hand skims along your inner thigh, and he leans in to kiss your neck. At least he doesn’t look so well put together anymore—his hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed pink, his shirt stained and rumpled where it’s come untucked.

“I want to lick your stomach some more,” he murmurs. “And then kiss you properly. And then—” His lips reach your ear, whispering filth that has your toes curling.

Somewhere in the apartment, the wind forces a window open, knocking something over—possibly a plant pot—causing a startled yelp from at least three voices below. The sound carries up to the bedroom.

You snap your head toward the door. It’s still ajar.

Viktor’s hand slips from your thigh as you get up, and he almost whines, reaching out to stop you—until he sees you’re turning the lock. Then you face him, all serious and reverent.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him, your voice weak.

“I am aware.” He nods, extending his arms toward you.

You come to straddle his lap, and he wraps himself around you. Your fingers pull his hair back from his forehead, and the way he looks at you is just unbearable. He rocks you back and forth to the rhythm of the song playing downstairs.

“I ruined your shirt,” you hum, pressing your thumbs to his temples.

He closes his eyes and hums back, “Good. I hate this shirt.” Wraps himself tighter around you and yanks you over, your back bouncing against the bed with a faint pop.

“Sorry,” Viktor chuckles, embarrassed, and kisses your cheek sweetly.

And he keeps his promise. Rolling your shirt back up, he glides his lips down your chest, along your sternum, until he reaches your solar plexus. He sucks your skin between his lips, breathing in the scent of his own dried spit mixed with wine.

You squeal at the sensation, hooking your foot around his hip. He yanks it away, tossing it aside, his hands clasping around your ribs as he plants hickeys onto your belly. There are so many things Viktor wants to say, but his tongue is too busy.

He wants to thank whatever force shaped your stomach so that his nose can fit there entirely, breathing in whatever happens beneath your skin. He could also thank whoever nudged Mel’s hand into spilling wine over you. And he could thank you for all those mornings when he wakes up drenched in thoughts of you, staring at the ceiling, the vignette of your kind hands is the only thing that stops his shoulders from hulking sullen.

He runs his fingers over the grooves where your ribs erode into hollows, licking there as well. And he wants to lick lower, where your skin disappears under the waistband of your shorts, into the subterranean darkness between your thighs. He wants to feel the pulse of your second heart on his tongue, to see if it beats for him as strongly as his beats for you.

As soon as his lips unglue from your skin, fingers hooking into the material to slide your shorts down, you tug at his hair again—reminding him of your lips. And that’s fine, because all he wants is to kiss all of you tonight. So he obeys, raking his hands up your sides before cupping your face, finally sinking his tired tongue into your mouth.

And oh, he still tastes of rum when you suck yourself off him, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips. His lips are love-bitten and swollen, and yours are just hungry for his. Suddenly, you hate his fucking shirt too. You pull at his buttons, and he chuckles, undoing them so deftly with one hand that it leaves you embarrassed.

You prompt him further—tugging at fabric, pulling impatiently, whining whenever the material refuses to simply give in and vanish. Clothes are discarded onto the floor in a flurry of awkward shimmying and frantic kicks, until he hisses at the faint pain the hurried movement has caused him. There is a bit more grace in you when you pull your top over your head and get rid of your shorts.

Soon, his body full of tumbled bones is naked against yours, pliant and warm. And you wonder how, even in this unbearable heat, Viktor’s flesh never goes soft. It’s always tense, always sharp angles, even as he wraps himself around you in a brief reprieve of a hug. He breathes you in deeply, gulping down whatever scent he’s left on you, his cock pressing heavily against your core.

And he doesn’t even know anymore if he wants to fuck you stupid or just hold you until the sun bleeds red through his blinds.

And the worst part of this dilemma is that he has to momentarily part from you to reach for a condom on the nightstand—and even if it will take mere seconds, he cannot stand it.

He feels so scrutinised under your gaze when you watch his trembling hands. Your fingers come to pluck the little wrapped thing from him, pushing him back against the bed frame. You break the foil, holding it between your thumb and index finger, then lean in to kiss his weeping tip. His head lulls back, eyes fluttering shut as you unroll it down his length.

He already looks so fucked out that you waste no time—taking him in hand and sliding him inside with a slow, burning stretch. His palms hover over your hips, catching you, steadying you. Once he’s buried to the hilt, a certain calmness washes over him—finally, he is hugged from all sides. Your arm wrapped around his neck, your pussy wrapped around his cock, your fingers wrapped around his as you inspect the wound he inflicted on himself earlier.

“What happened here?” you ask, kissing his knuckles.

“I…” His breath hitches as you take his fingers into your mouth. “I got impatient.”

“What about?”

He gives you a pained look and buries his face in the crook of your neck, fingers toying at your lips.

“You,” he admits, stretching out your lower lip. “It feels dreadful to say, but I almost ate my hand waiting for you to reply.”

“Viktor,” you whisper, placing a hand on the back of his neck, running your fingers through his hair. You clench around him, and he gasps, pushing his nose further into your shoulder.

“Don’t torment me, please,” he breathes. “I know I deserve it for all the torment I’ve caused you, but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

“I don’t intend to,” you say softly, rolling your hips against his. He groans, arms tightening around you. “I already told you what happens if you’re fucking with me.”

And then—that smirk you love so dearly. From between his lips, his tongue flicks out to stroke over your skin, traveling up your neck to your ear, where he whispers, “I trust we are differentiating between the categories of fucking.”

Your hips roll again, and his smugness unravels into a deep, sonorous moan. You take it from him greedily, sealing your lips over his. You kiss him open-mouthed, and Viktor responds with a palm crawling toward your clit, gliding over the plane of your licked-clean belly. It finds its warm home, and this time it’s your head lulling back, your mouth moaning as he plucks your hand off his shoulder, entwining your fingers together.

You grind down into him, bracing yourself on your handholding, hearts beating fast and breaths growing hoarse. His cock slides in and out of you in time with your hips and when you look at him he’s all there, present, eyes fixed on you, the focus of his hand between your legs is unwavering. Big brain pays off in times like these when the ability to multitask is worth more than any healthy muscle. And Viktor does little to no work with those, only guiding his hips upward gently each time you come down to slap your ass against his thighs.

He's either learnt it all from years of observation and the half-truths exchange between you, the almost-kiss moments, the falling-asleep-together-by-accident moments, the I’d-rather-watch-crap-with-you-than-get-laid moments, when each of you chose the insufficient each other over another one night stand, or his cock was just made for you.

And you already suspect all those moments were worth it before you are completely certain. Before he twitches inside you hitting the sensitive spot that has you gasping for air and his fingers on your clit speed up, he does another thing. He looks at you longingly and his mouth parts and it’s barely a murmur, a secret gifted to you and only you, even though everyone knows already.

“Ma lásko,” Viktor rolls off his tongue. “Miluji tě,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles. “Byl jsem hloupý,” comes next, and even though you don’t understand, somehow—you do.

“Prosím, odpusť mi. Moc tě miluji,” he murmurs, offering his heart for you to devour if you so chose—but you only tighten your grasp around his fingers and press your lips to his forehead, hoping to do his native language justice when you repeat after him, “Miluji tě.”

This almost undoes him entirely, and to ruin him further, your cunt tightens by the second as you clench around his cock, creaming all over his fingers. But Viktor keeps up, thrusting his hips upward to meet yours, drinking in the sound of his own name falling from your lips as you spasm and tremble on top of him, squeezing his hand until his knuckles turn pale. He kisses you through it, moaning into your mouth as he feels himself teetering on the edge—until a thought invades him abruptly.

He pushes you gently onto your back and crawls on top awkwardly before you can complain about the sudden feeling of emptiness. Enters you again and fucks into you a few more times before pulling back out, sliding the condom off, and stroking himself until he paints your belly in hot white. Eyes hooded, you watch his face—flushed and sweaty, mouth hanging open beautifully, brows scrunched as he pumps the last drops of cum onto your skin. Then, he collapses beside you, kisses you gratefully, and runs his hand over your stomach, smearing his seed all the way up to your breasts and neck. It then spreads across your cheek, drying out like an egg white, tightening your skin before Viktor slides his wet fingers up into your hair.

A laugh, stupid and fucked-out, escapes you as you ask, “Are you going to lick me clean now?”

But Viktor says nothing—though you know he would if you asked. Instead, he wraps an arm around you, pressing your stomachs together with a wet slap, hooks a leg over your hip, and kisses your swollen lips. “Miluji tě,” he repeats, as if saying it during sex doesn’t count.

“Miluji tě,” you whisper back, and he chuckles at how awkward yet sweet it sounds from you. “And thank you for throwing this party.”

“It was only for you,” Viktor says, deciding that honesty is worth more than saving himself from embarrassment. And thankfully, you choose not to tease him further—since, at last, his heart is laid bare before you. You’ll eat it next time all right, just not the one that keeps him figuratively alive.

—

*ma lásko - my love *miluji tě - I love you *Byl jsem hloupý - I've been stupid *Prosím, odpusť mi - please, forgive me

#viktor speaking czech during sex does something to my brain

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

Text

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

#to read

1K notes · View notes

daem1anne · 4 months ago

Text

RPF

Summary:

She had sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica directly to her colleague's printer and that isn’t even the worst part. The worst part. Is that she sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica to the very person it was written about. The hot professor in her manuscript, the man who fucks the main character on practically every surface, is Viktor in everything but name. His accent, his hair and eye colour, even the cane. If it was possible to plagiarise a person then she had done just that.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader, Modern AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Professor Kink (kinda, reader isn't a student but viktor is a professor)

Word Count: 11,462

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He can’t know, she reasons, clutching tightly to her binder as she walks down the halls of the university. It’s early evening, so the walk is silent but for the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles. A few students with late classes will still be around, but other than that, the university is dead. She swallows nervously, heart racing in her chest as she rounds the final corner and comes face to face with Viktor’s office door. He asked to review the supply manifest for his class next semester, to review it in person which seemed very strange. The two of them have a largely friendly (albeit professional) relationship and if he just wanted a reason to talk he would have said so, which is what makes this situation so odd.

“This definitely could have been an email.” She mutters to herself, dithering in front of his door.

There must be a reason, and it can't be the one she is catastrophising about. Because he can’t know. She takes a few quick breaths in through her nose and wipes her sweaty palm on her skirt before reaching out and grabbing the doorknob. She inches the door open, peering around the frame. Viktor is sitting at his desk where she had been expecting him, the setting sun casts an orange light in through an open window and the gentle breeze tangles around the curtains. He’s in the middle of writing something, grading papers, she assumes. One of his hands rests against his head, twirling his hair around his fingers.

Her heart begins racing again, stomach churning. He can't know, she asserts and gains the confidence to clear her throat.

Viktor doesn't startle, he takes a second to finish his sentence before slowly inclining his head up in her direction. She half suspects that he knew she was there the whole time.

“Hi!” She says, a little too perky, “You wanted me?”

A smile crawls across his face, too self-satisfied for her liking, “Yes, I did. Thank you very much for coming.”

She steps into the room proper and holds her binder up with an awkward smile, “I’ve brought the manifest with me if you’d like to take a look?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” He stands from his desk and she clutches tightly to the binder. He’s wearing a burgundy sweater and the crisp white collar of his shirt is several buttons undone, tie hanging loose. A very appropriate outfit for lecturing, despite the way it makes her eyes dart briefly down to his barely exposed collarbone. Viktor rounds the desk, leaning on his cane before inclining his head towards the door, “Close the door, would you?”

“Yep, no worries!” She replies quickly, gently pushing it shut behind her and trying to ignore the churning anxiety she feels at being alone in a closed room with him. A ridiculous feeling, because they know each other, she would even dare to call him her friend if someone were to ask and finally, because he can’t know. There’s no reason for this to be anything other than a meeting, a work meeting. So she ignores the nervous patter of her heart and steps over to the desk, opening the binder to the relevant page and waiting for Viktor to make his way over to her.

It might just be her already hair-trigger nerves, but it feels like he stands a lot closer than is required. Her hands grip tight to the edge of the desk when his shoulder bumps against hers and she sucks a deep breath in through her nose. At this rate, he’s going to start wondering why she is behaving so strangely and that would likely be the death of her. She steadies herself, and gestures to the manifest on the desk, “Everything is all as you previously requested, I was worried about having trouble with one of the suppliers, but I managed to make it work, so no biggie there.”

Viktor hums and leans in closer to assess the manifest, running over the well-laid-out (if she may say so herself) spreadsheet with his pointer finger, “This does seem to be more than adequate.” He says evenly, tilting his head to meet her eyes, “And I appreciate your colour-coding.” Her cheeks flush and she feels immediately embarrassed at how flustered a compliment regarding her spreadsheet makes her. She chews on her lower lip a moment and then replies, “Thank you. Um, were there some changes you were looking to make, or am I free to go?” “I would like a moment to review it, if that is alright.” He inclines his head towards the chair usually reserved for guests to the office and says, “Have a seat, if you would like. I don't plan on being long.” “Oh, sure, thanks. I will.” She says quickly, stepping away from him and taking a slightly awkward seat in the chair. She gets that uncomfortable feeling again, that it is strange for him to want extra time to review a manifest that he just called ‘more than adequate’ and that it’s even stranger for her to wait around while he does so. But she is just being paranoid, and there is no reason for her to be, because he can’t-

“How are things at the administration office this time of year?” Viktor asks, still leaning over the desk.

She braves a look in his direction and then quickly regrets it when she takes stock of how well-fitted his trousers are. She swallows and looks at his bookshelf instead, “Quiet, mostly. I’ve already gotten through most of the admissions work for next semester, so work won’t really pick up again until the new students start arriving after break.” her eyes unwittingly dart back in his direction, he has most of his weight on his right elbow where it rests on the desk and his sweater has rucked up just enough that she can see half an inch of his white shirt where it tucks into his slacks. She looks away again, “How are things for you? Finals just wrapped, didn’t they?”

“Busy, a lot of grading to do, as I’m sure you can imagine.” it sounds like he is smirking when he says, “I haven’t had much of a break since that faculty party last week.”

Her heart kicks into high gear, the faculty party is the last thing she wants to talk about. The real reason that she worries he might know something he shouldn't, that he can't know, is because she said something very stupid at that damn party. Wringing her hands in her lap, she forces herself to give a polite laugh and replies, “I was surprised to see you there, you’re not usually so…sociable.”

Viktor hums quietly, pushing back up off the desk and turning around to face her. Her eyes dart down to his hand on the grip of his cane and then quickly back up to his face. The shift of his eyes is appraising, almost curious and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile when he responds, “That is quite hypocritical of you, as I recall, neither are you.”

She laughs a little, he’s right. She usually tries to avoid faculty parties, they’re loud and full of people she doesn’t know, but she had heard from some of the other professors that Viktor was planning to make an appearance and that swiftly changed her mind, “You’ve got me there.” She replies, standing from her chair and smoothing down her skirt. She swallows, “Well, I hope you’re able to get some rest over the break. You’re um- You’re an incredibly hard worker, you deserve it.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “Eh, I do what I can.” and then, more sincerely, “Thank you, though, you are very kind.”

Her toes suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room, “Oh, uh, well, I try to be.” her hands fidget at her sides a moment and then she adds, “If you’re finished reviewing the manifest, I can let you get back to your work for the evening.”

Viktor reaches behind himself, grabs her binder and snaps it shut, then he takes a deliberate step towards her and holds it out. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to grab it, clutching it tightly to her chest. Viktor is standing very close to her, she has to crane her head up to meet his eyes, “Th-Thank you.” she says quickly, already preparing to dash out into the hallway and catch her uneven breath, “Email me if you need anything else, okay?” “Before you go,” Viktor begins and she gets the sudden, disquieting feeling that she’s walked into some sort of trap, “I would be interested in eh picking your brain.” She laughs a little, “There’s not all that much to pick, unfortunately. That’s why some of us are working admin and not lecturing.” she shuffles her feet, aware that she’s laying the self-depreciation on a little too thick, “Sorry, how can I help?”

A slow smile crawls across Viktor’s face and he leans in just a bit closer, “Do you remember last month when I asked for the updated meeting timetable and you so kindly sent a copy directly to my printer?” he asks, voice low and even She has no idea where this is going, but her heart races at his close proximity regardless, “Yes, I do…” “Well…” he begins, voice quiet and even, “About an hour after that, something I had not requested came through on my printer. It was quite an inconvenience, I couldn’t print anything myself until the two hundred or so pages finished coming through.”

Her stomach drops like a rock, her hands grip white knuckle tight to the edges of her binder and her throat goes completely dry. Oh no. Oh nononononono.

“That’s um…That’s very strange…” She replies, trying to keep the nervous laugh building in her throat clamped behind her teeth, “Did something go wrong with your printer, maybe?”

He shakes his head, “No. No, I do not believe so. If anything, I presumed the error may have been on your end.”

The laugh escapes, a nervous little giggle that does her attempt at composure no favours, “My end?”

“Quite. The print order did come from your computer, after all.”

She isn't sure whether it would be a better idea to go sprinting out of the room right now or to try and find something heavy to knock Viktor out with first. He is right, of course. A month ago she did print him a copy of the meeting timetable and then an hour or so after that, she attempted to print the very thing he can’t know about. It comes back in a rush, remembering that when she first hit the print button, nothing happened, her printer didn't wake up. “Oh god…” She mutters, inching the binder up to hide the lower half of her face behind it, “I- I thought my printer wasn’t working, I didn’t realise.”

She had sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica directly to her colleague's printer and that isn’t even the worst part.

“I have some more supplementary questions if you wouldn't mind,” Viktor says casually, too casually.

She squeaks out a quiet little, “Okay.” and continues cowering behind her binder, preparing for the moment when he reveals this has all been an elaborate sting operation to get her disciplined by HR or fired.

“I didn’t realise it was yours at first.” Viktor clarifies, “You use a pseudonym. Truthfully, I assumed that it was a PDF you had downloaded and decided to print for better reading. A wise idea, by the by, much better for your eyes.” He hums quietly to himself and readjusts briefly into a more comfortable stance for his leg, “Incorrectly surmising that it was a piece of already published literature, I presumed there would be no harm in me reading it-” A shocked gasp escapes her at him admitting that he read it. There’s no way out now, she finds herself praying that he lost interest a few pages in and then threw it out and that maybe he only asked her here to complain about the quality of her writing. The corner of Viktor’s mouth curls at her shocked expression, and she quickly darts her eyes away, heaving a shaky breath.

“As I was saying,” Viktor continues, “I did not realise the work was yours for some time. At least not until I began noticing certain, shall we say, similarities.”

The worst part. Is that she sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica to the very person it was written about. The object of affection in her manuscript, the man who fucks the main character on practically every surface, Professor Novák, is Viktor in everything but name. His accent, his hair and eye colour, even the cane. ‘Similarities’ is putting it lightly, if it was possible to plagiarise a person then she had done just that.

At first, she hadn’t even realised she was doing it, she was just creating her vision of the ideal professor archetype and that just happened to be quite a bit like Viktor. It was harmless, nothing to be even slightly concerned about. Then the more she wrote, the more details she added, the more she rounded him out the more and more his features settled into a shape that looked exactly like Viktor.

She briefly considers the likelihood of survival if she dives from his third-story window, and then wonders if it might actually make things easier if she dies on impact. As she is mulling this over, Viktor walks back over to his desk and she feels like she can finally breathe, at least until he lowers himself into his seat and pulls a heavy stack of paper out from one of his drawers. She mutters a quiet, “Oh no…” under her breath when she realises that the stack of paper isher manuscript.

“Would you mind telling the class why Professor Novák walks with a cane?” Viktor asks, cocking his head to the side.

The mix of emotions she is filled with hearing that, a combination of arousal at him using his lecturer voice and complete and utter terror at this line of questioning, is discombobulating. She panics, she can feel sweat beading at the nape of her neck and she just manages to stammer out, “I write for a very specific audience of House MD fans.”

Viktor chuckles, “Not the most defensible argument, but I am willing to accept it.” He hums aloud, “The accent then, explain that.”

“Eastern European is in right now?” She defends weakly.

“No no no. You were hardly casting such a wide net.” Viktor picks the manuscript up in one hand and she realises with horror that he has it annotated. He flips deftly to a page marked with a blue tab, “Here on page seventy-two it’s specifically described as Czech.”

“You…” she collapses backwards into her chair, suddenly feeling like her legs can’t hold her weight any longer, “You read all the way to page seventy-two?”

He chuckles, “Oh, no no. I read the entire thing.”

She grips tightly to her binder, staring at Viktor with wide, blown-out eyes. Her whole body shakes with some horrific amalgamation of both dread and arousal. Clenching her thighs and shifting in her seat, she lets out a weak little breath, “You read it a month ago and you didn’t say anything?” another nervous laugh bubbles up and out of her, “And you acted so normal the whole time, I don’t-”

“I had dismissed it at first” Viktor clarifies, closing the manuscript and crossing his arms on the desk, “After all, what you write in your spare time is none of my business, even if you accidentally send it directly to my printer.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning forward just a little, “And then, last week at the faculty party, you said something very intriguing.”

This is the worst possible sequence of events. A scenario devised from her nightmares. She can’t even think of a single word to say, she just stares at him open-mouthed, hands clenched. She remembers exactly what she said that night, so innocuous, so easily defensible if not for the other mountain of evidence he has already provided. A few drinks deep, alcohol buzzing in her veins, she was watching Viktor speak with her chin in her palm, paying little attention to what he was actually saying, swaying side to side and just absorbing the way he gesticulated as he spoke. At some point, he asked her a question that she didn’t even hear and then, likely in jest, he sternly asked if she was paying attention and in her lust-drunk stupor she had replied: Yes, Professor.

“D-Did I?” she responds, playing dumb even though she knows it won't save her.

“Yes, you did. You called me Professor.” Viktor says slowly, and the way his accent wraps around that word has warmth building in her stomach, “Normally, that sort of thing could be dismissed as a joke, a little eh playful mockery towards a man who’d just used his ‘teacher voice’ at a party, but no. I remember the tone of your voice far too well and there was not an ounce of sarcasm in it. In fact, and this may be presumptive of me, but I do believe you nearly moaned it.” he smiles, and then whispers, “How was I supposed to interpret that? Especially after those two hundred pages of highly descriptive erotica I already read. It is not so much a hypothesis as it is a conclusion. Even the way you greeted me when you entered the room this evening, points towards only one possible outcome.” he says quietly, “You wanted me?” he parrots, sending an ice-cold chill down her spine.

She hadn't even realised she’d said it like that, why had she said it like that?

“You seem to be wondering the same thing as me, hm?” Viktor continues, rising up from his chair and resting his palms flat on the desk, “Why on earth did you decide to word it that way? Unless of course, you wanted me, to want you.”

She did, god she did. For some time she tried to convince herself that what she wrote in her book and her personal feelings were not entangled. Illogically she had spent months on end writing and rewriting scenes of Viktor in every sexual position imaginable and clung to the idea that it was all just for the book, that there wasn’t any sort of emotional reason for her to choose Viktor as her incredibly vivid inspiration. Maybe it was because she hadn’t dated in years and the idea of confronting a real person was terrifying, or because part of her always thought that she was beneath him somehow.

“Is that how it is, then?” Viktor breathes, grabbing his cane before rounding the desk and stepping towards her, “Do you want me to play the part of your professor, like in that book of yours?”

Her next exhale is shaky and wanton, her thighs press together in a fruitless attempt to calm the ache between them. She suddenly gets the sense that he has no plans of reporting her to HR. Her head tilts backwards to meet his gaze above her and she swallows thickly before whispering, “Would you be,” she cant believe this is happening, “opposed to that?”

“No. Not at all.” Viktor replies, reaching down and running his index finger along the cut of her jaw, a smile tugging at his lips when her breath hitches, “Do you think those fantasies of yours haven’t assimilated into my own? Do not be mistaken, I would not have pored over a novel’s worth of smut had I not found it so prepossessing.”

“Prepossessing?” She repeats timidly.

“Incredibly.” He responds, “You write very vividly.”

She mutters a quiet, “Thank you.” under her breath and musters up enough confidence to say, “That would be because my thoughts are very vivid too.”

He hums and he’s standing close enough that she can hear the sound rumble through his chest, “Are they, now?” He asks, gently grasping her chin in his hand and letting the pad of his thumb brush across her lower lip. She whimpers, inclining her head up towards him, desperate for him to touch her more.

“Allow me to be candid with you, for just a moment.” Viktor says, hand sliding away from her skin as he stands upright and takes a step backwards to lean against his desk, cane tucked into the crook of his elbow, “I do not usually do this. Intimacy between coworkers can be eh complicated-”

“W-We’re not technically coworkers.” She says quickly, “Different departments!”

Viktor chuckles, “There is no need to try and convince me, if that is what you are doing.” He looks her up and down, slowly, “I am already quite certain of what exactly I’d like from this encounter. I would just like to be sure that we are both on the same page, as it were. So, to be clear, if you change your mind at any time, you are free to leave and we maintain our professional relationship, no harm done.” He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and her eyes dart down to his bare forearms, “Do you understand?”

She nods, staring abashedly at his hands.

“Words, please.”

“Oh, sorry!” She exclaims, “Yes, I do, I’m good, I don’t uh-” she swallows, “I don’t want to leave.”

That smirk comes back and she feels it all the way down to her toes, “Good girl.”

Her breath catches in the back of her throat and her heart thumps hard and fast. She can feel herself growing wet already, the heat at the apex of her thighs is becoming unbearable and her professional work outfit feels tight and restrictive. Viktor notices, she sees his eyes dart down to her tightly pressed-together knees, to the way her chest swells with her heavy breath. She realises quickly that she likes being embarrassed like this and that her long drawn-out humiliation was practically foreplay. Then it hits her that Viktor already knew that, of course, he already knew that, he read two hundred pages littered with her own wants and desires, both subconscious and conscious. A little whine escapes her lips as she realises that he entered this encounter with ample ammunition and surely intends to make the most of it.

“Stand up for me,” Viktor says quickly and she practically leaps up out of the seat. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and then he adds, “Binder on the floor, please.”

She bends down just enough to drop it down onto the carpet, suddenly missing having an object to hold onto, realising she has no idea what to do with her shaky hands. Lacking something else to grab, she clutches to the fabric of her pencil skirt, bunching it up on either side of her thighs. She inhales sharply through her nose when Viktor takes a few slow steps towards her, stopping less than an arm's length away. At first, she tries to meet his gaze but quickly finds it too intimidating, too observant. So her eyes quickly dart back down to her toes, trying to find some way to slow her rapid breathing.

Then she feels something under her chin, slowly inclining her head back to meet his eyes again. It’s the handle of his cane. She lets out a whimpering little sound at that knowledge, thighs clenching and hands gripping tighter to the fabric of her skirt. She remembers this. Chapter Seven, page twelve. Viktor must see the gears turning in her brain, because a satisfied smile crosses his face, “Eyes on me, please.” He says quietly, slowly returning his cane to its place at his side.

“You paid attention,” she says in near disbelief, “To the book, I mean.”

He chuckles and she finds that she loves the sound of it, loves the easy, half-lidded set of his eyes and the almost boyish way his hair curls over his ears. Viktor takes another step forward and she has to tilt her head back even further to maintain their eye contact, “I did.” he replies easily, “I wanted to do this correctly and a little thorough research goes a long way, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” she answers, breathless and wanting. He must see it in her eyes, because his head tilts slightly and his free hand reaches out, sliding his fingers through the hair at her temple and then pressing tightly against the side of her head.

He slowly leans over her, close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. Her eyes dart from his own, down to his lips and then quickly between both of his moles. His head inclines downward enough that their noses are almost touching and she can feel her heart pounding through her entire body, her knees grow weak and her palms sweat. Viktor’s thumb slowly rubs a comforting circle over her temple and he whispers, “May I?”

It’s embarrassing how quick the rush of, “God yes, please Viktor, please.” comes bursting forth from her mouth, but luckily the senseless ramble is quickly cut off by his lips pressing against her own, slow but hungry. She melts into him, restless hands gripping tightly to his shoulders, mewling at the sensation of his hand in her hair and the addictive softness of his lips. The kiss is languid, slow and wet. There is little urgency to it, even though his hand slides around to the back of her head and holds her firmly in place, any desperation on Viktor’s part is exhibited in his thorough exploration of her mouth, more so than in his vigour.

His kisses are explorative, testing a bite to her lower lip, testing how she might react to him sucking on it instead. She practically hangs off him, gasping out little moans in between each re-connection of their lips. Viktor lets out a pleased little hum when her mouth opens beneath his and her nails dig tight into the fabric of his sweater when their tongues meet in a brief, tentative flick. She allows one of her hands to slide up from his shoulder and into his hair, it’s soft and she is very pleased to find he makes a very pretty sound when she tugs on it.

When he pulls back, Viktor is a vision with kiss swollen lips and wide eyes engulfed by the black of his pupil. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth and she watches enraptured at the bob of his throat when he swallows.

“Forgive me for the interruption.” He breathes, “But I believe now would be a prudent time for me to lock the door, yes?”

She nods loosely, unsure she can even manage words at this point and when Viktor turns to move over to the door, she spins around so she can continue watching him, bringing two disbelieving fingers up to her lips to convince herself that what happened had really just happened. The click of the lock sends an entirely new shiver down her spine and Viktor must see it on her face when he turns around because he looks incredibly self-satisfied. Her heart begins to race as he makes his way back over to her, desperate to be touched again, only for her to blink down at him dumbly when he walks past her and takes a seat in the abandoned chair in the middle of the room.

He tuts at her, leaning forward and resting an elbow on his knee, “There is no need to look so disappointed.” He says slowly, “I have many plans for you.”

She lets out a shaky breath and stammers out, “S-Such as?”

Viktor reclines back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, “I’d like to watch you touch yourself.”

Her breath hitches. Chapter Nine. Page Three. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, she feels lightheaded and cloudy. She swallows thickly and responds, “You…You would?”

“Yes.” Viktor confirms, hands lifting to loosen his tie some more, undoing enough buttons that she has a full view of his prominent collarbone, “If you would be willing to do that for me.”

“I would,” she replies after some time, willing, but timid and then because she has already gone this far, she adds a cautious little, “Professor”

Viktor moans at that, and the resulting zip up her spine at having said the right thing is addictive. His slouched posture in the chair makes her eyes widen, one of his arms flung over the side of the chair, the other gripping tightly to his thigh. She wants nothing more than to climb him, ride him, but she is aware there is a part she is playing and admittedly, the role had very much been written with her in mind. So she sucks in a nervous breath and averts her eyes to his bookcase as she begins unbuttoning her shirt. It’s difficult, her fingers shake on the buttons, but the way Viktor’s breath catches when the garment falls open and catches on her elbows has her desperate to continue. She is aware that her underwear is nothing to write home about, she had been anticipatinga slow, boring day at work, after all. Her bra is at least lacy even though it’s otherwise plain white (anything else would be visible through her shirt) and she almost wants to apologise for not offering a better show, but when her eyes cautiously dart back to Viktor she finds him watching with such rapt attention that she suddenly feels less inadequate.

His eyes are blown wide, his cheeks dusted with pink and she can see the way his chest shifts with his heavy breath. It’s enough that she manages to feel a little confident, even. Deciding not to divert her eyes back to the bookcase and to peer shyly in his direction instead. The bob of his throat is what catches her eyes at first, keeping her attention as she finishes the buttons on her shirt and allows it to fall to the floor. Then the tight dig of his blunt fingernails into the fabric of his slacks, that keeps her occupied through the process of unzipping her skirt and letting it join her shirt with a quiet rustle. It’s the vision of Viktor’s teeth biting down on his lower lip that gives her the confidence to reach around and unclasp her bra, and then the sound of her name leaving his mouth in a teetering whine that allows her to drop it entirely.

Viktor hums approvingly at the sight of her in nothing more than her underwear and sheer black stockings, “You are a vision.” He croons, eyes half-lidded and intense, “But I do believe I asked to watch you touch.”

She closes her eyes, nerves returning in a rush, but not strong enough to fight back the coiling heat of arousal, “Yes, Professor.”

At first, she is too self-conscious to even open her eyes, chewing on her lower lip as one of her hands slides up from her hip and over the soft weight of her breast. Viktor makes a sound, something between a gasp and a moan, she takes that to mean she is doing well and so gently squeezes her breast in her palm. When she finds the confidence to circle her thumb over her nipple, she releases a keening moan that she quickly tries to silence with her other palm. She is already so unbelievably, shamefully sensitive, that even that one tentative touch of her own hand has her legs shaking beneath her.

“Eyes on me, please.” Viktor says again and she grits out a whimper from between her teeth before doing as asked.

The sight of him, has her moaning again. One of his hands is now tightly pressed to his chin, his teeth chewing on one of his prominent knuckles. His other hand remains on his thigh, gripping somehow even more tightly than before. Most significantly, he’s uncrossed his legs, thighs hanging wide open and making the strain of his slacks blatantly obvious between them. Her head lolls to the side and her next moan is more wanton, liberating. She pinches her nipple between finger and thumb, rolling it between them and lets her other hand fall from her mouth and rest instead at the waistband of her stockings.

Viktor lets out a slow breath as her fingertips slowly edge down into her stockings and then further down into her conservative underwear. Black, not white. Maybe she would have put some effort into locating a matching set, if she had any inclination of this happening, though Viktor doesn't seem at all bothered by her mismatched undergarments. He hums, chewing on his knuckle some more as his eyes dart down to the shift of her hand inside her underwear and when she finally dares to run a finger up the length of her sex, her resounding whine has him biting down hard enough that she is sure it will leave a mark.

“Are you wet?” He asks, gaze shifting back up to her face.

She scrunches her eyes shut, embarrassed at the more than obvious answer to that question, “Uh, I-I” Her finger bumps against her clit and she loses her train of thought.

Viktor chuckles, “A more coherent response, please. If you can manage it.”

“I-I am.” she gulps a breath, feeling just how easily her finger slides between her folds, “very.”

It's hard for her to stay upright, every feather-light touch of a single finger has her suffering a full body shake. She's so wet that she can feel the gusset of both her underwear and stockings have been soaked through, clinging wetly to the back of her hand as she continues her tentative ministrations. She very nearly sobs when she adds a second finger and rubs a slow circle around her swollen clit, her legs quivering under her weight and hips stuttering out towards her hand.

"Look at you…" Viktor says breathlessly, hooded eyes darting between her hand between her thighs and the pinched expression on her face, "You're barely able to stand, aren't you?"

Her head lolls forward into a boneless nod, biting down on her lower lip as she slides her fingers backward to tease at her entrance, her insides fluttering at even the promise of penetration, "I'm sorry, I-"

"No no, do not apologise." Viktor insists, his voice thick and addictive, "It has been quite, hm, stimulating, observing the way your legs shake, but, I may have a suggestion to make this a little easier for you." He shoots her a smirk and pats his left thigh, “Take a seat.”

Chapter Five. Page Eleven. She gulps a breath, sliding her fingers out from beneath her stockings, shivering as they brush past her clit on the way up. Viktor regards her intently as she takes several shaky steps towards him, reclining further backward against his chair when she positions herself with his leg between her own, still a few inches away from contact. Then, without warning, Viktor takes her hand (the one that had just been down her stockings) and brings it to his mouth, opening his lips and taking her two slick-covered fingers inside. Chapter Seven. Page Fifteen. She moans at the warm wetness that is the inside of his mouth, whimpering at the feeling of his tongue sliding between both of her fingers, his head bobbing forward and then back just a little, encouraging her to fuck his mouth properly.

"F-Fuck…" She stammers, hips quivering, desperate for any sort of friction as she begins to slowly thrust her fingers in and out of Viktor's open mouth. He peers up at her, eyes hooded and releasing a moan that she can feel around her digits. She quickly grows more generous with her fingers, sliding them back out until barely her fingertips remain between his lips and then languidly pushing back in until they are hilted all the way to the final knuckle, deep enough that she can feel them at the back of his throat. Viktor moans again, and she curses under her breath at the sight of his red cheeks and the saliva accumulating at the corners of his mouth.

One of his hands slides up the side of her torso, coming to rest on her shoulder where it then presses down firm. Encouraging her to do as he asked earlier and take a seat. Her knees shake as she slowly lowers herself down, a gasp catching in the back of her throat the moment her aching clit presses down on his thigh, even through three layers of cloth. Viktor lets out a pleased sound around the intrusion of her fingers, lifting his leg just a little and grinding it up against her. She stutters out a moan, writhing impatiently on his thigh, so wanting that she spares only a brief thought for how her wetness must be ruining his slacks.

Viktor pulls back far enough that her fingers slip from his mouth with a perverse wet sound, he takes a few seconds to inhale some heavy, rasping breaths before grunting out the words, "That's it, good girl." and occupying himself with the side of her throat instead. She chokes on a whimper, grinding her hips desperately against his thigh, eyes nearly rolling back in her head with the white hot pleasure that lances through her. Her hands jump up to grip his shoulders, desperate for purchase as her legs shake under the relentless, rhythmless speed of her hips. All the while, Viktor is leaving wet and messy kisses the whole way down the length of her throat, sucking lavishly against the pulse point under her jaw before moving down to her shoulder where he bites. Her hips stutter at the feeling of his teeth, and then again at the soothing lathe of his tongue a moment after.

"God, Viktor!" She grits out from between her teeth when he sucks a purple mark on her collarbone and then his mouth moves down to capture one of her nipples between his lips and that makes her go nearly boneless against him. Her hips grind and rut and fuck almost without her permission and her head falls slack against his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his sweater as she feels her stomach coiling with an unbearable arousal. Having her head buried in his shoulder makes her take notice of just how good he smells and the endless grind of her clit against him is making her lose herself, unable to even think about being embarrassed anymore. Viktor nips at her breast and she mewls in response, moving faster, faster, her breath coming heavy, mind completely lost to the pleasure. The sounds escaping her mouth are unfettered and increasing with pitch and fervour with every passing second. Her pleasure is so intense that it nearly aches, she is so close but still so far and a grunt of frustration escapes her that she tries to hide by biting down on Viktor's sweater.

Then, his hands clamp down on her hips, tight enough to impede her writhing. She whimpers, lifting her head up from his shoulder and one of his hands instead moves to cup her cheek while the other works hard to keep her locked in place. Viktor tilts his head to the side and brushes his thumb across her cheekbone, "I apologise," He coos, kissing lightly against her collarbone, "but this is not how I wanted you to finish."

She whines, grinding against him as much as she can, which is no longer very much, "H-How, then?" she manages to force out between her rapid breaths.

"Do you recall the events of chapter six?” Viktor asks against the side of her throat, “I found them to be particularly enthralling.”

"God yes, so did I," She responds breathlessly.

He chuckles, pressing his lips to her jugular, “Would you like to get on the desk for me, then?”

"Yes"

Viktor leans back, tilting her chin to meet his eyes, "Yes, what?" He asks, a playful mirth shining in his eyes.

Her heart races behind her ribs and she forces herself to swallow before whispering, "yes, Professor."

Viktor sighs pleasantly, thumb tracing her well bitten lower lip, "Such a good girl." He breathes, pressing a quick kiss under her jaw and giving the side of her thigh a quick tap, "Up, please."

She does as asked, rising on her shaky legs and giggling shyly when she needs to rest a hand on his shoulder for balance. Once she is steady, Viktor takes that hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her knuckles.

"Stockings off, if you would be so kind.” he whispers against her skin.

"Oh! Yes, of course, sorry!" She kicks off her shoes and scrambles to roll the offending pantyhose down her legs without tearing a hole in them, struggling a little when they get down to her ankles and she has to stand on one foot to yank each side off, “Sorry.” she mumbles, shaking the last bit of the offending garment off her toes, “That part is always much sexier in writing.”

Viktor laughs warmly, “Do not worry. I appreciate the touch of realism.” he inclines his head towards the desk, “Up you go.”

She feels her cheeks flushing but does as asked, taking a few steps backwards and hoisting herself upwards so her legs are dangling off the desk. Viktor smiles and then slowly stands so that he can push his chair forward until it is right between her thighs. He rounds the chair and leans his cane up against the desk just beside her leg and then returns to his seat.

The anxiety comes back in a sudden rush at the sight of him settled in between the open invitation of her thighs, her breath races away from her and she struggles to catch it. Viktor's expression shifts, eyebrows pulling together in a concerned furrow.

"Are you alright?" He asks, rubbing a comforting hand on her knee that feels far more platonic than anything else has this evening.

She nods loosely, "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Just uh…overwhelmed?"

"Would you like to stop?"

"No!" She replies a bit too quickly and then let's out a nervous laugh before correcting, "I mean- No, I wouldn't. Thank you for asking, though."

He hums under his breath, "If you ever do need to stop or take a break, just let me know, alright?"

"I will, promise" She responds, managing what she hopes is a coy smile before adding, "So don't worry about me, do whatever you want to."

"Oh?" Viktor answers playfully, smirking up at her from between her legs, "I suppose I should pick up where I left off then, shouldn't I?" He inches in a little closer and she squeaks at the feeling of his lips pressing against the side of her knee and one of his hands sliding up and under, holding her leg slightly aloft. He hums against her skin, placing another kiss further up on her inner thigh and she grips tightly to the edge of the desk to ground herself somehow. A shocked little whine escapes her mouth when he nips gently at her thigh, and then a whimper follows as the feeling of his tongue lapping over the bite.

In between kisses, Viktor mumbles, “If would indulge me, I have some questions to ask.” against her skin.

“O-Okay.” She replies, a little too shocked at their positioning to really understand what is being asked of her.

He makes a pleased sort of sound, his next kiss so far up her thigh that she can feel his warm breath through her underwear, “When you were writing this scene, the one in chapter six.” another kiss, on the opposite leg, “Did you have to take breaks?”

Her mind is so addled at the feeling of his mouth so close to her sex that she doesn't even manage to catch his implication,“W-What like to eat? I try to, but sometimes I get distracted and forget.”

Viktor chuckles into her thigh, “No.” he begins, sucking gently on the skin there before continuing, “Did the process of writing that scene, of committing it to paper, ever fluster you so much that you had to leave your desk to relieve yourself?”

Another swirling of aroused humiliation begins in the pit of her stomach, her thighs quivering on either side of Viktor's shoulders as she tries to maintain composure, “Yes.” She admits, voice shaking, “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes or often?” Viktor insists, the hand under her leg sliding upward and toying with the leg of her underwear.

She curses under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, “Often.” She corrects.

"Good." He responds, his delicate finger running up and along the lacy hemline, gentle enough that she can just barely feel it, "Though I would prefer that I do not need to request clarification again." he bites at her innermost thigh, right at the join to her pelvis, "So please do try and be honest with your responses, yes?"

She nods loosely, still too overwhelmed to open her eyes, "O-Okay, I will, I promise."

"Good." Viktor answers, his voice low and utterly addictive, "Then allow me to ask my next question." He whispers and she feels his breath right at the apex of her thighs, "When you did this, when you took the time to…recuperate before returning to your writing. Was it him, Professor Novák,you were thinking about?”

Her hips stutter upward just a little and she bites down on her lower lip to silence a moan, “No.” She says unevenly.

“Who then?” He asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.

“V-Viktor you’re embarrassing me.” She stammers, her heart climbing its way up her throat, her sex growing shamefully wet with each of his meticulous, prodding insinuations.

He laughs fondly, palm rubbing a warm circle on her inner thigh, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, I just want to hear you say it, that's all.”

"You." She whispers.

Something a little bit like a whine escapes Viktor's mouth and his hands move to either side of her underwear, "Open your eyes for me." He breathes and then adds, "Please."

She does, slowly and nervously, still chewing away on her lower lip. Viktor peers up at her with something almost like reverence, his summer-gold eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. His throat bobs and he slowly starts tugging her underwear down over her hips, she lifts herself up for him as they slide down her thighs, her knees, her calves and then catch on her left ankle where Viktor seems content to leave them.

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel his hot breath directly on her wetness. She twitches and Viktor lets out a soft groan, peering up at her from beneath his eyelashes, "Tell me again." He croons, lifting one of her legs up over his shoulder, "Tell me who you were thinking about."

She releases a shaky breath, unable to pull her eyes from his despite her nerves begging her to, “You, always you. Every single time.”

"Fuck, zlato" Viktor hisses out between his teeth, sucking a mark on the inside of her thigh as his free hand inches up the other leg, gripping to the uppermost part of her thigh, his thumb inching so close to where she really wants it, "Such a good girl." He drawls, the words rolling around delectably on his tongue, "So good for me."

She shifts her arms, hands flat on the desk behind her, head lolling backward at the duel sensations of his mouth on her thigh and his thumb lingering so close to her sex. When she suddenly feels the warmth of his breath brush her wetness again she mumbles a sudden, "Please." and rolls her hips up towards him.

"Please, what?" He asks, still fully committed to his role even as she hears his voice losing it's even tone.

An utterly pathetic whine escapes her and her hips roll again, "Please, Viktor. Your mouth, please, I-" his hand slides up the join between her thigh and pelvis and she whimpers, "I've been good, please!"

Viktor's next moan is low and deep, all the way in the back of his throat and her head shoots up at the sudden eruptive pleasure of his tongue against her swollen clit, gasping at the sight of his head buried between her thighs. She curses under her breath as he draws slow circles around her clit, his tongue is so wet and warm and the uncombed tips of his hair tickle her inner thighs. Her arms shake beneath her and it takes every ounce of energy to not collapse backwards onto the desk, but she doesn't, she refuses to, because it's Viktor between her legs and she can't bear to stop looking at him.

Then, his second hand joins his mouth between her legs, one of those devious fingers teasing at her entrance and she feels her insides clench involuntarily in anticipation. Viktor grunts against her, sucking on her clit as his finger slides all the way inside in one fluid motion. Her eyes nearly roll back in her head, her hips cant up to meet his ministrations, the whole room filled with the slick sounds of his fingers and mouth, she knew she was wet, but god she is wet. She's lets out a rasping gasp when a second finger joins the first, the both of them curling up in just the right spot to have her seeing stars and then Viktor has the gall to look at her, his eyes blown wide, peering up at her over the curve of her belly. A third finger, then, as his eyes are still locked with hers. The stretch is addictive, she can feel tears beading in the corners of her eyes and her teeth are grit, breath huffing desperately in and out through her nose. Viktor moans against her and the vibrations of that have her quivering, the effort of holding herself up is starting to take toll, she can feel her stomach muscles burning with the strain, but she can't stop looking at him.

She yelps at the feeling of another finger sliding inside of her, the protrusion obvious but still so easy and not at all painful. Viktor pulls his mouth from her for just a moment, just long enough for him to praise, "That's four fingers, zlato." he pumps them in and out of her, slowly enough that she feels the gravity of it, "And I barely even had to work for it."

She's close now, fuck she's so close. Her arms finally give way behind her and she manages to catch herself before she hits the desk, shakily lowering herself down onto the wood. With her hands free, the both of them quickly jump up to grab at Viktor's hair, tangling in it, holding him firmly against her as she grinds her hips into his face, her mind utterly lost, the very concept of shame vanishing as all four of his fingers fuck her and his tongue works its magic on her over sensitive clit. He grunts when both her legs hook up behind him, her feet locking behind his head, "Fuck fuck, please, m'close, so close, fuck please." she pleads, her moans beginning to sound like desperate sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks with exertion.

Viktor takes the hint, fingers moving faster, lips locking around her clit and suckling ravenously as she shakes and grinds above him. His fingers crook up just the way she needs them to and her back arches up off the desk as the pleasure coiling in the belly snaps and shoots from her centre all the way out to her fingers, leaving her quivering and wrecked. Viktor slows, carefully removing his fingers and gently lapping at her with the flat of his tongue, at first even that feels like too much, her hips twitching with every swipe of his tongue, but after a little bit the feeling starts settling warm in her stomach and she regains the energy to unhook her feet and sit back up.

Viktor lifts his head up, resting it on her thigh and giving her an utterly salacious smile. His fingers take the place of his tongue, not touching her clit directly, but slowly sliding up and down the full length of her sex, "Do you think you have another in you?" He asks.

She assesses for a moment, considering how the fingers between her thighs feel. Good, she surmises, "Yes. I think so." and then, a little boldly, "Chapter nine, then? Since I'm already on the desk."

Viktor practically purrs, nipping gently at her thigh before rising from the chair, "Ah, like you read my mind." he says, smirking and wiping the bottom of his face with the back of his free hand. His fingers continue their slow movements against her sex and she slides her hand up the side of his neck around to the back of his head.

She tastes little more than herself when their lips meet, but Viktor hums a moan into her mouth that tastes far sweeter. Her tongue runs behind his upper row of teeth and then she sucks gently on the tip of his tongue when it ventures into her mouth in return, he grunts in response adjusting his weight to rest further forward on the desk all while his fingers continue stroking up and down the length of her. She bites a moan, pulling back from him and drowning in his lax, lust drunk expression for just a moment before jumping her hands down to the hem of his sweater and yanking it up as best she can.

"A little help?" She says, struggling to get it past his arms.

Viktor laughs good naturally, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before leaning backward and pulling the sweater up over his head on one swift motion. She reaches up and quickly undoes a few more buttons on his shirt, enough that she can see down to his sternum and becomes suddenly distracted by the expanse of skin that she pauses in her effort of undoing the rest, instead latching her lips to his exposed collarbone, sucking and kissing the length of it. Her lips travel upward, licking at the side of his throat when her hands return to their task, undoing the rest of his buttons and then shoving the shirt down off his shoulders. Viktor quickly yanks his tie up over his head and she shuffles forward just a little on the desk, wrapping her arms around his middle and tugging him up against her, relishing in the feeling of her breasts pressing against his bare skin, leaving a trail of hot kisses from the protrusion of his shoulder all the way up to his jaw. Viktor releases a shaky sigh, two of his fingers between her legs tentatively dipping into her, just to the first knuckle to test her sensitivity. When she doesn't immediately recoil he inches them in a little further, all the way, at the sound of her breathless moan.

"It seems as if you are ready for me, don't you think?" He says against the side of her throat, sucking a mark beneath her jaw.

She moans a little at even the thought of it, "Yes, please, I want you so badly."

Viktor coos at her, the hand between her legs moving instead to his belt, quickly working to undo it as his other hand cups her cheek, "Oh, I know you do, zlato. I read all about it."

She laughs despite herself, the sound is easy and bubbles right up and out of her. She covers his hand on her cheek with her own, leaning into the warmth of his palm, "Viktor?" she asks cheekily, "When you were reading my manuscript," she cocks her head to the side, "did you ever have to take breaks?"

His responding laugh is warm and not at all embarrassed, instead he raises their interlinked hands to his lips and places a kiss on the back of her knuckles, "Not during the first perusal." he replies evenly, "I did not quite realise the gravity of what I was reading at that point." he releases her hand, needing two to undo his trousers and inch them just far enough down his thighs, "Ah, the second time however, that is a different matter entirely."

She can't resist quickly darting her eyes downward, hissing a breath through her teeth at the sight of his hand wrapping loosely around the base of his cock. It looks almost painfully hard, flushed red and dripping. Her breath hitches when he nudges against her, just barely, a minuscule pressure against her sensitive clit that sends a quiver through her legs. Viktor hums, watching her intently as he moves his right hand to balance his weight on the desk, compensating for his right leg, she assumes. His left hand remains somewhere between their legs, but he's now leaning in so close that it's difficult for her to see what is happening down there anymore.

"Would you like to hear some more about my second reading?" He asks smoothly, slowly running his tip up and down her slit, lathering it in the accumulation of wetness between her thighs.

She whimpers, nodding her head, "Please."

He sighs, a wide and loose smile playing around his lips, "My second reading, was a great deal more eventful, because by then I had more than a suspicion of just who you were writing about." the head of his cock stills at her entrance, the heat of him, the promise of penetration has her biting down on her lower lip. Viktor's eyes are wide and dark, he leans down to nip at her throat and continues, "It became increasingly difficult to maintain focus, as you might imagine, when I realised that I was reading about you, on your knees, sucking my cock." he grunts, his cool demeanour betrayed for just a moment as his hips stutter forward.

She wriggles her hips, a breathless sigh escaping her throat, "Chapter four?"

"Yes." He responds lowly, hand on the desk gripping tight as he inches himself inside her, connecting his lips to hers so he can swallow the sound of her resounding moan before pulling back with a heavy breath, "I did not survive chapter four, at least, not at first."

She curses under her breath as he continues pushing in, a few more inches, but she is already so sensitive from her last orgasm that even that has her desperately panting, grasping wildly at his hair, his shoulders.

Viktor still mostly maintains his composure, despite the fucked out mess of his hair and the way it clings to his sweaty brow, "Chapter four would not be the last time that I put your writing aside and-" he slides in the rest of the way, a grunt escaping his teeth when his hips slot against her, "-fucked my hand to the mere thought of what you had written." He leans in, his golden eyes broiling, so close that their noses touch and their breaths intermingle, "You, zlato. Are an outstanding writer."

She moans into his mouth when his lips collide with hers, looping both of her arms around his shoulders and tugging him closer to her. Viktor's left hand grabs tightly to her hip, his tongue meeting hers in an utterly filthy writhe and his hips finally start to move. Despite the intensity of his tongue in her mouth, the pump of his hips still remains slow and methodical, a gasp escaping her lungs each time he sheathes himself back inside, his tip grinding against that perfect spot inside of her. The feeling of his bare shoulders beneath her grasping hands, and the hitches in his breath with each thrust keep her grounded, solidifying that it really is Viktor inside of her. She pulls her mouth from his, admiring the focus in his eyes, the intense furrow of his brow, his kiss bruised lips. The sun in the window behind her has well begun to set, painting him in shades of pink and orange, catching in his tangled hair and the beads of sweat on his forehead. He is unfairly beautiful. So she fully wraps herself around him, clinging tightly to his shoulders and encircling his waist with her shaky legs, encouraging him to move faster with a nudge of her heels.

"Ha, impatient?" Viktor manages to say in between panting breaths, his voice is raspy and deep, accent curling delicately around the word.

She whimpers, burying her head in his shoulder, licking at the skin there, "Want you to finish, need you to."

Viktor let's out a shaky sigh, and his hand slides from her hip to down between her legs, rubbing a quick circle around her swollen clit, "Not without you."

Even that slight touch has her gritting her teeth, breathing in hard through her nose, hips twitching. It's so much, it's too much, but somehow it isn't nearly enough, "I-I don't know if I-"

"You can. You will." He responds, his thrusts growing faster, his fingers on her clit applying just the right amount of pressure to have her hissing and gasping into his shoulder.

"F-Fuck!" She exclaims, the heat is nearly unbearable, her legs shake with each circle of his fingers and it's like all of her joints have locked around him, she couldn't be pried from him if he tried. His next thrust has her nearly sobbing, gasping aloud at the feeling of herself clenching down on him and the again at the moan he releases at the sensation.

Viktor bites a curse in Czech, all sharp consonants, the pump of his cock increasing in speed, gradually losing rhythm, "That's it." He grunts, "Such a good girl, zlato. You can do it, I know you can."

She feels his praise deep inside her, it makes her walls flutter, her legs tighten around him. She releases an aching moan against the side of his throat, kissing, biting and tonguing at his skin in equal measure. Barely coherent, she just needs her mouth on him, any way possible, "I-I'm close." she nearly sobs, burying her head in his shoulder.

"Look at me." He grunts, and then again, softer, "Please, look at me."

Her head feels heavy and her lower lashes are wet with tears of exertion, but she manages to loll her head back upward, biting back a whine at the luxurious way Viktor's golden eyes dart around her face. She rests a hand on the desk for balance, inhaling a shaky breath as she lifts her other hand to his cheek. He huffs a breath through his nose and leans into her palm, eyes fluttering closed and then reopening with a pointed intensity that she could drown in.

She feels his fingers slip down to her entrance, sliding quickly inside and then back out in the gap between his thrusts, before gliding back up to her clit, newly wet with her arousal and circling faster and faster. Her teeth grit, her jaw so tight that she can feel it in the base of her skull. She struggles to keep her eyes open, barely able to gulp down enough air to keep her brain functioning as her hips twitch and stutter with each touch of his fingers, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter with each of his thrusts.

A rising crescendo of moans starts forcing it's way out from behind her teeth and she sees Viktor's eyes blow even wider, his own breath going uneven, "Are you going to come for me?" he rasps

She barely manages a nod, whimpering as she teeters on the edge of her orgasm, hand on his cheek moving down to grip tightly at his shoulder for purchase, grinding her hips upward to meet his on each thrust, "F-Fuck, Viktor I-" she's cut off by a moan, struggling her way through a near incomprehensible sentence consisting nothing but curses and pleas of his name. It feels so good that it nearly hurts and with a few more desperate panting breaths and utterly wild writhes of her hips, she feels her climax taking over her body. She shakes, she quivers, her legs lock around him impossibly tight and somewhere amongst that she feels Viktor follow her, leaning his head in to cover her mouth with his own and swallow down her moans as he jerks against her, cock pulsing warmly deep within her sex.

Then she goes limp, head collapsing on his shoulder as she slowly starts catching her breath. Her body feels lethargic and weak, but incredibly good, warm and loose and soft. Remarkably, not at all sore - especially given the less than orthopaedic status of Viktor's desk. She lets out a little giggle into the side of his neck, feeling warm and affectionate.

Viktor laughs too, a warm chuckle that he follows with a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Are you ready for me to move, zlato?" he asks and she gives him a tired nod, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of her, even though he does it very carefully. She watches as he leans back from the desk and works on getting his trousers and underwear straightened.

"You don't have a sink in here?" She slurs, very tired.

"Ah, no." Viktor responds, almost sheepishly, "It is not ideal, but I will at least need my clothes back on so I can make a trip to the faculty bathroom across the hall and steal some towels."

He does an awkward sort of hop, adjusting his clothes but avoiding putting any weight on his right leg. She quickly realises that he probably overexerted it and either hadn't noticed or just trying his best to ignore it. She frowns, "Just hang out with me for a sec, don't go yet."

He smiles, "That is very kind of you, but there is little appropriate room for me to eh, 'hang out' as you put it."

"Wait, one second." She manages to shuffle herself to the side a little, tapping the free space on the desk with her hand, "Hop on up."

Viktor gives her a warm sort of look and takes her up on the offer, lifting himself up onto the desk and then letting his upper half lie flat. She does the same, laying back on the desk and staring up at the ceiling, an overjoyed smile tugs at her lips when his hand quickly finds hers, thumb tracing the back of her knuckles.

"Remind me to give you my number when we get back down." He says warmly, squeezing her hand once.

She turns her head and gives him a quizzical look, "I already have your number."

He levels his gaze with hers, smiling, "you have my business number."

"Oh…" she mutters, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"There is a lovely little cafe a few blocks away, I will have to show you sometime." his smile turns mischievous and he whispers, "You could always bring your laptop, if you intend on getting some more writing done."

She giggles and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, "So long as you promise to read it when I'm done," and then, because she suddenly feels hardly nervous at all, she winks playfully and adds, "Professor."

"You will not be able to call me that during office hours." Viktor answers with a telling flush on his cheekbones, "I like it too much."

She smiles warmly, "We should meet up outside of office hours more often, then." she chews her lower lip, "Not uh, not just for sex, I-I mean-"

Viktor reaches his hand out, running the backs of his knuckles down the length of her cheek, "I'll admit, I have done this all a bit out of order, but I would like to take you on a proper date sometime." his eyes crinkle when he smiles, "Maybe after I finish grading finals?"

"That sounds perfect." She replies, unable to stop smiling, "And then, after that…" she says coyly, shuffling a little closer to him, "We never made it to chapter Eleven, did we?"

"No." Viktor replies, eyes growing wide, "We did not."

#professor viktor makes me so horn knee

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

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credit: arkharrt on instagram

#my shayla my shayla

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

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HELLO POOKIE WOOKIE SMOOKIE 💕💕

I love your Viktor x reader fics so much, like genuinely you write him so in character it has me giggling and kicking my feet. This is like a weirdly obscure req but it’s been clawing away at my brain

I saw one fanart of an arcane x starwars AU and I LOST MY FUCKING MIND. Hear me out, evil sith Viktor being manipulated by Silco is a plotline I didn’t know I needed in my life…

I’m so open to hear any of your thoughts or takes on him, just general headcannons or a full fic if you so desire. But I have an idea for Viktor x Jedi! Reader OR assassin! Reader

It could either be that reader is a hired gun for the sith that he specifically employed to be a rat for the rebellion. (What if their double crossing him behind his back and feeding him false information that soils his plans??? Or plotting a mutiny???? AUGH)

Also another idea is friends(lovers?) to enemies to lovers, maybe they knew eachother when they where foundlings and when Viktor went to the dark side they separated, do what you will with that plotline.

Either way I think having a very smart/clever morally grey reader would be such a delicious dynamic.

Sorry I wrote you a whole novel, anyways I love your writing peace out girly 🤞🤞🤞

YOUR FALLEN ANGEL - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: you and Viktor have been as thick as thieves for as long as you can remember, metaphorically and literally. After being saved from the slave trade on Tatooine from two Jedi masters who felt incredible amounts of midichlorians in both of your blood. They train you in the ways of the force. But Viktor has always been passionate, and that became his downfall.

warnings: general descriptions of violence, the darker side of the Jedi’s mentioned, manipulation, desperation, morally grey reader, I'm low-key ripping off episodes I-III in this, Grammarly as my beta ADDITION: tried my best at GN smut, y'all are virgins so… it’s vanilla, oral (m and reader receiving), talks of fantasies, unsafe sex, creampie

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. I love Star Wars. I've loved this franchise ever since I was little, the last of the series (EP VII-IX) wasn't the best. They had good ideas but executed them poorly imo. Hopefully y'all like my little twist to it. Essentially I've stolen bits and pieces of Anakin x Padme for this to work.

Going from slaves to padawans was a massive shift in your life. You never thought you'd end up here, free.

Well, as free as can be as a Jedi in training. You remember reciting the code as a young child,

“There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony.”

You can understand the code— to a certain extent. Humans are not meant to be emotionless, it's physically impossible. Unlike our droid friends, we are unable to turn off our emotions. They’re with us from the day we’re born, and they’ll be with us till the day we die.

Viktor has always pushed the boundaries. His master, Obi-Wan Kenobi tries his best to negate him; very rarely does he succeed. Your own master, Mace Windu isn’t the biggest fan of your oldest and closest friend. You ignore him. Same with the other members of the Jedi Order.

Too passionate is what everyone says. Every so often Master Yoda will take you off to the side and regale the Sith Code like a mantra in his odd speaking habits. As if he’s trying to convince you— warn you about something that’ll never happen.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.”

Both creeds have their upsides and downsides. Their truths and incomprehensible impossibilities. But as the days go on, as you mature from Padawan to full fledge Jedi, you see a shift in Viktor.

It's so small it's barely even noticeable, but you know him better than you know yourself. And he's started changing ever since that slimy councillor has been around him.

Councillor Silco.

You're not a fan of any of the councillors, but Councillor Silco is the worst of the bunch. Full of lies and deceit. You can taste it whenever he gets too close. His predecessor Councillor Palpatine is even more horrendous.

You're not sure as to why Viktor can't.

It isn't until they've sunk their claws fully into Viktor do you see the truth.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You're not sure what happened. One second your Master is fighting Councillor Silco, the next Viktor has taken you down, a nasty slash on your waist, your Master is dead, and Viktor is helping the man who killed him.

A crack forms in your heart at the betrayal. You want to scream, cry, and sob inconsolably at the pain you're feeling. But there's not just pain there, there is also anger.

Hatred.

You look up at the duo and grit your teeth, your jaw painfully clenched. That's when Councillor Silco desperately reaches for his neck as he sputters.

He's choking on nothing, and you're the cause of it.

After a moment, he's let go. You feel a bit of horrified justification at your actions. He’s killed your Master, manipulated your friend, and taken what you hold most dear.

You don't feel sorry.

And that’s what scares you.

Viktor looks shocked, his eyes wide as he stares at you. Councillor Silco is trying to catch his breath, but he looks immensely satisfied.

“Looks like there is still hope for you yet.”

And with that, the two men leave; and one of them takes your heart with him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You rush to Obi-Wan and Yoda to tell them what has transpired. The death of Mace, the betrayal and secret mole in Councillor Silco, and the manipulation Viktor has been put under.

The two men look warily at one another at the last point. Your frustration boils over at their secrecy.

“What?!” You question. Your tone is sharp, angry. The two Master’s look to you in shock. You've never raised your voice, not since you became a student here at the temple. Yet here you are, your emotions guiding your actions.

The way of the Sith.

Yoda hums and Obi-Wan placates you, “My dear, you must control yourself. We’ve already lost one bright soul— we’d be crushed to lose another.”

And in that moment it hits you. They’re not going to save Viktor— they’re not even going to try! He’s already deemed a lost cause, a failure to the order. Not to you. Never to you.

You two promised you’d escape Tatooine and live long, happy lives together. You’re already halfway there.

You just need to save Viktor from himself.

And kill the people responsible for corrupting him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After that, you resign from the Order. They’re shocked, expectedly so. You and Viktor were their strongest Padawan, now their strongest Jedi. They’ve lost one to the dark.

They lost the other to their negligence.

Obi-Wan, Yoda, and the rest of the Jedi Council try their best to dissuade you. None of them succeed.

You know that they will control your actions as long as you are within their walls. So you leave, and you leave behind your green lightsaber.

You feel as if you’ve outgrown this one. Another kyber crystal is calling for you, you can feel it.

With that, you leave the one place you felt like was yours. All in the name of love.

You truly are a horrible Jedi.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It takes weeks of excavation, but you eventually find the crystal that’s been singing your name, calling for you, and begging you for a chance.

It’s beautiful.

Even more beautiful than your previous crystal. You’ve collected all the required components to re-build your saber, now you just need to actually build the damn thing.

You place all the pieces down and mediate. Letting the force run through you like a calm river, you subconsciously feel your saber being made. When you open your eyes, you hold back a soft gasp.

It’s wonderful. A beautiful steel handle with fine markings and it’s perfectly balanced. You ignite the saber and try not to cry. It’s purple.

Just like your Master’s.

With your resolved hardened and new saber in hand, you continue on your self-imposed quest to save Viktor.

And save him you will.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was shockingly easy to find them. After months of tracking, tracing, and pulling every move of stealth you know, you've finally done it.

You asked around, used some mind-tricks on unwilling citizens, and interrogated others in a way that’d make the Jedi ashamed of you.

Good thing you’re no Jedi.

Viktor and Silco are in the councillors building, in Silco’s private room. You casually make your way there, your black cloak billowing ominously.

Before anything else can happen, you slam the door open with the force and ignite your lightsaber.

Someone is going to die today, and it isn’t you.

The two men look shocked at your arrival. Instead of dawning your usual white and beige outfit, a green saber in hand, you wear more dark colours. Black, brown, and hints of beige encapsulate your figure, a purple saber replacing your old one.

There’s an angry look in your eye that the two men only saw once, and it almost caused Silco’s death.

Seems like you’re back to finish the job.

Before you can swing at Silco, Viktor protects him. His yellow saber gone. In place is now a red one.

You want to cry. His old saber matched his eyes perfectly. You always mentioned it every time you two trained together. Now it’s gone. He’s changed just as much as you have.

The fight is intense, brutal in all honesty. The sweet face Viktor used to have is gone. Now it’s even more sharp, and his eyes have an orange— almost red tint to them. The pure gold now gone as well.

The eyes of a Sith.

You slash each other, block, dodge, kick, scream, taunt. A violent dance of passion and contempt, with hints of underlying tension.

Lust.

The Jedi Masters were always worried the two of you would pursue a relationship, even though those temptations were strictly forbidden.

But who doesn't crave forbidden fruit?

Now, you both are free of said rules. It's just you two, in a world unfamiliar to you.

Your lightsabers are clashed together. Purple sparking off of red, as you two sneer at one another.

Viktor's canines are sharp as he scowls at you. It reminds you of a fearsome feline. His eyes are narrowed and he pushes against you relentlessly.

You're no better. You can feel your lips pulled back against your teeth as you snarl deep in your chest. The muscles in your neck pulsing as you fight back against the man you love.

A small twirl disengages your clash and you slam Viktor into the wall with the force, pining him down.

You turn your attention to Silco, who's just been sitting there enjoying the two of you trashing his office. You take your free hand not holding your lightsaber and cup it in the air, imitating a choke hold.

Silco goes flying into the air and stills, choking in place viciously. You can hear Viktor yelling at you but it's muffled. All you see is the man who took your best friend from you, and you're getting your vengeance.

You squeeze harder and Silco slams into your waiting palm, a slightly scared look on his face. You look deep into his eyes and enter his mind without consent.

Flashes of memories assault you. Plans, manipulations, grooming, betrayal. One conversation piques your interest. The grandest plan Councillor Silco and Palpatine have.

They call it Order 66.

You feel like vomiting. You hold in all your disgust and revulsion as you pull away from Silco’s mind— ensuring you have all the information you need to prove both of the councillor's guilt.

A glare is all Silco gets before his neck snaps like a twig in your grasp. Viktor’s shout of shock returns you back to your senses, and you drop Silco's body like a rag doll.

Viktor is still pinned to the wall, but he's no longer fighting it. He sits still, stunned. His mouth is lightly agape as he looks at you, his eyes wide and dark. There's a bulge in his pants.

You quirk an eyebrow and Viktor looks away in shame. But he's still that defiant boy you grew up with, and quickly whips his head back to look at you.

“Why did you kill him?! The Jedi are horrible, I just wanted to protect you— why did you kill him?!” His voice gets louder with each sentence, his accent sharp and his tone desperate.

The force hold on him disappears and Viktor slumps against the wall, defeated. You sit next to him.

“Because he lied and manipulated you. He took you from me. The Jedi weren't going to help you, so I did it myself.”

Viktor looks shocked, the orangey-red tint slowly dissipating in his eyes, their original golden hue shining through, “You— what? You went against the Jedi?”

A scoff escapes you against your will, “I left the Jedi Order.”

“When?!”

“The day you left.”

The silence between you is deafening. Viktor looks shocked, a violent blush is seen across his cheekbones and ears. He swallows deeply before asking, “That... That was months ago! Why?!”

You shrug, “Because you left. The Jedi weren't going to help, and I've always known they weren't the best. Taking children away from their families when they're babies, indoctrinating them into the Order, their silly rules. The Sith aren't any better either.”

Viktor now looks curious, he gazes at you deeply and you feel like coughing. He's always been so… incredibly handsome. Now, with his full focus on you, you can't help but recognize that.

“So I've come up with my own code.”

The man next to you smiles, a chuckle leaving his throat, it’s one of the sexiest things you've ever heard, “Tell me? You always used to complain about the code when we were Padawans. I had to make you stop talking so many times before a Master heard you.”

You sigh contently and rest your head in Viktor’s shoulder, the black leather of his outfit cooling your heated cheek,

“There must be both dark and light. I will do what I must to keep the balance, as the balance is what holds all life. There is no good without evil, but evil must not be allowed to flourish. There is passion, yet peace; serenity, yet emotion; chaos, yet order. I am a wielder of the flame; a champion of balance. I am a guardian of life. I am a Gray Jedi.”

Viktor looks at you and huffs, “A Grey Jedi? Really?”

You snort at his tone and lightly hit his chest, “I came up with the concept like a week ago, leave me alone.” The two of you laugh before a peaceful, comfortable silence envelops you two. You enjoy it immensely before ruining it, “Why did you leave?”

The shoulder you're leaning on stiffens, and for a second you think Viktor isn't going to answer, but he does, “I already told you, I just wanted to protect you. I was getting horrible nightmares— Visions about your death. I couldn't handle it. Silco told me he knew a way to prevent it, and I accepted whole heartedly. Without thinking of the consequences.”

You hum, “It was a trick you know? Silco and Palpatine placed those images in your head using the force. They wanted a strong Sith Lord, powerful in the force, to mock the downfall of the Jedi Order.”

“The downfall—?”

“Palpatine put chips in the clone’s heads, with a special order called “Order 66”, it’s meant to overtake the clone's will and eradicate any Jedi in the clone's path. Doesn't matter if they're a Master, a Padawan, or a Youngling.”

Viktor’s sharp inhale is all you need to know. He didn't know.

“And— and there's proof?”

You nod, slowly getting up and going over to Silco’s desk, inputting the password, and taking all the necessary documents and voice pads.

“We’ll anonymously submit these findings to the Council and the Jedi Order. They can deal with all this shit. They can help the clones. I’m done.”

Viktor slowly gets up as well and walks over to you, “And, what will we be doing?”

You surge forward kissing Viktor passionately. The beautiful man gasps, and you use that to your advantage to add tongue to the kiss.

You may not have much physical experience, but you do have experience in reading dirty novels and touching yourself secretly.

The kiss eventually breaks and Viktor looks shocked and pleased, “We’re going to Naboo, and you're going to fuck me. I've always wanted to go there and I've always wanted you.”

VIktor chokes as you take his hand, step over Silco’s body, and exit the office.

He never expected this. But he’s not complaining.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

There's an uproar at the Council and the Jedi Order. Palpatine is charged and executed for crimes against the Council and the Order. The Clones are healed and clear of any signs of the chip's potential betrayal.

The two of you don't know this though. You're too busy at Naboo, finally getting what you've always wanted.

Each other.

Your kisses are sloppy, passionate, and desperate. All of the emotions bottled up from your time at the Jedi Order overflowing and finally seeing the light of day.

Your garbs are removed quickly, the tunics, the pants, the tops, the boots. All that's left are your undergarments. You push Viktor onto the bed, and slowly crawl your way up towards him. His large bulge taunting you.

A small nod is all you get before your fingers hook into Viktor's undergarments and his cock springs free. Hard, leaking, and beautiful. Just like him.

You wrap your hand around the shaft and Viktor hisses in pleasure, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at you. His face is flushed, his lips are plump and red, and his long hair is a mess. Pieces of brown and blond hair stick to his forehead, and fan across his shoulder wonderfully. God. You could stare at him all day.

"Y'know..." You start slyly, your hand slowly pumping up and down. You remove your hand and lightly spit into it before pumping him again, the slide much smoother this time, "I would fantasize about this."

The groan that escapes Viktor is animalistic. Needy. He bites his lower lip as his lower abdomen clenches in excitement, "Really? Oh do continue."

You hum sarcastically, "Yup. I'd sneak in dirty books from the market and read them late into the night. I'd picture I was the main character and that you were the love interest. I'd touch myself almost every night to the filthy words on the page. Imagining it was you and me."

The tip of Viktor's cock enters your mouth and his back bows at the intense feeling. Your confession, the warmth of your mouth, the glint in your eyes. Viktor isn't sure he can survive this.

His hands fly to grasp your hair desperately as he gasps in pleasure. Moans and whimpers escape him-- alongside chopped up variations of your name.

This goes on for several minutes before the pitch in Viktor's voice heightens, and he's trying to pull your lips off his cock, "I'm going to cum! Wait! Not yet! Not until you--" A low groan escapes him when you shove your head down to the base of his cock, his brown curls tickling your nose. He cums straight down your throat.

He whimpers as you slowly pull off his cock, a self satisfied smirk on your lips. Viktor just lays there, panting.

"You asshole. I wanted to cum with you. Now I can't."

You can't help but giggle at Viktor's petulant tone, you crawl up his body kissing a trail as you go before plopping a sweet kiss on his plump lips, "You still can. Don't tell me you won't get hard again fingering me open to stuff me full of your cock?"

Viktor's eyes widen at your crude language before laughing himself, "Wow. You truly weren't lying about those filthy books." You take your undergarments off and Viktor just looks in awe at you. You're so gorgeous, he's the luckiest man in the galaxy.

He takes his time with you. Sucking hickey's into your neck, abusing your chest, appreciating your abdomen and waist, squeezing your hips and ass. He eventually makes his way to your hole, and he licks it. You buck up in shock and gasp. The feeling electric. He continues to lick, exploring as much as he can. Your moans get breathier and breathier at the assault, until the pulls away.

"Give me the lube on the side table."

You follow his order without question. Viktor pops open the cap and puts some lube on his fingers, before going back to eating you out. He slowly puts a finger inside as he continues to lick at you. This feels amazing, it's better than all your dirty books and fantasies combined.

Eventually three fingers are pumping in and out of you as you whine for something bigger.

And something bigger you get.

He's stretching you, filling you up to the brim. Even with all the preparation, all the lube, it still wasn't enough. Then Viktor pumps his hips, and it's game over.

All you can do is moan as Viktor's massive cock hits all your sensitive spots. The two of you engage in a passionate kiss as you moan into each other's mouths. You rub your sensitive bundle in tune with Viktor's thrusts, and before you know it. You're cumming.

All his foreplay really paid off. All you can see are stars clouding your vision as you enter nirvana. Viktor continues to pump his hips, desperate for his second orgasm. In a few minutes, he get's his release, and cums deep inside you.

He plops down, laying on top of you as he pants in exertion. You run one hand through his long hair as the other trails random shapes on his back. His cock shrinks a bit, maybe an inch or two and it pops out of your hole, his creampie following suit.

The two of you lay in bliss. You never though you'd get here, the Jedi forbidding it and the Sith manipulating your lovers mind.

But you're here now, and that's all that matters. The two of yo share one final kiss before sleep overtakes you. You're in each others arms, stuck together like glue. As it should be.

As it will be until the end of time.

Before the two of you fully fall asleep, you both say the three words you’ve always wanted to hear from one another ever since you were young.

“I love you.”

Y'all I don't know what happened. I saw this request, blacked out, and this is the result. If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, no you didn't and blame Grammarly. Idk if this is the vibe you're doing for dear requester bur tbus is what my mind came up with. Xoxo hope ya enjoyed it! ❤️

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

Text

listen, this ship is adorable and it’s a shame they’re basically considered a rarepair. won’t stop me from making an offering of smut, though!

(btw if you hop into my inbox whining about how ‘you can’t ship them ‘cause they’re like siblings’, i will fight you write more smut about them, so tread carefully c:<)

MINORS DNI

i come home to you (you come home to me) (mitsuri kanroji x kyojuro rengoku, demon slayer, rated: e)

“Are you sure this is okay, Rengoku-san?”

Mitsuri hovered over the flame hashira, knees braced against the bed on either side of his hips. Her weight had yet to settle over his lap regardless of how many times he had assured her he could withstand it, lip held between her teeth as she hurriedly looked him over for the third time.

“I’m certain, Mitsuri,” he reassured her, and she flushed at the sound of her name on his lips. She had wondered for a time if she would ever hear it again, and she quickly blinked back the tears that threatened to erupt at that thought. She had tried her hardest to keep from crying around Rengoku while he healed, though he had always seemed to know when she wanted to, his fingers reaching for hers and tangling together even when he was too weak to speak.

[Read on AO3]

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daem1anne · 4 months ago

Note

hihihihi i literally love ur writing smmmm like i actually need it sb. any time you post ik it’s gonna be peak literature 🙂‍↕️

anyhowwww, i wanted to request an arcane fic with a university au viktor x reader where viktor and reader are like academic rivals or wtv and they’re always bickering but viktor rlly wants to be her friend and doesn’t want to be rivals. sooo he tries like anything he can and as reader eventually warms up to him another guy comes along (maybe jayce or smth idk? or it can just be a random) and becomes their friend like almost instantly and viktor is JEALOUSSSS and envious and just ufhfhhffhhfghhf i need that sb.

it can be nsfw or sfw i literally do not care i just need that plot paired with your writing and ik it’s gonna be an absolute masterpiece.

Hey, love! You know what I'm gonna say, right? Sorry for the long wait. This will have 3 chapters, like for real, not like the other one that now is looking more like 5. I'm gonna say a few things got changed here, because I forgot the essence of the request while writing, but the general message is: Viktor is bad at flirting.

Tightrope - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit), frenemies/academic rivals to lovers, modern university AU

Ch.2. | Ch.3.

word count: 5,9K

tag: #tightrope

summary: You and Viktor are tethering the line between friendship and rivalry, Jayce being one amongst the few common factors you both acknowledge (of course more is there but for the smart people you are, you tend to be very stupid about things). Oh, and you have to do a project together.

author's note: I have a very poor name vocabulary sorry. Here's another Joe, this time he's a dude :v thank you @rennethen for beta reading and bearing through my shit with such grace. One trick pony here we go!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You squint as your eyes scan the list of projects for Heimerdinger’s class. And since the professor is just and fair, like a nice old man who has seen it all, you already know what to expect. But you check anyway.

He wouldn’t pair you—the almost top-of-the-class student, fighting desperately with your feet and elbows to stay there—with someone undeserving. This little annoying thing in the back of your head called hope still glows faintly, last embers about to die as you’ve read through almost all names known to you except for yours.

And as a bucket of cold water gets thrown over the ashen pieces of coal, you find it. And oh—

Of course. Next to it, your least favourite name. Of course, just… great. This is great. This is fine.

The last time you worked together, it ended with a lot of papercuts, pencils flying, and Jayce using notebooks and blackboards as shields—not to mention a tiny explosion because neither of you could agree on proportions.

So, like the responsible classmate you are, you make one final, desperate attempt to convince the nice little man to change your partner. For the sake of public safety and the well-being of everyone who steps foot on Academy grounds.

You are also nice and well-behaved, so even though the door to the classroom is open, you knock on the doorframe before disturbing the professor.

“Ah! I would lie if I said I wasn’t expecting you to show up. Please, come in!” he exclaims, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes in sheer existential pain. If he already knows what you want, you already know how this is going to go.

Still, you press forward, stepping inside and clasping your hands behind your back in what you hope is a diplomatic stance. “Professor, I was wondering if—by any chance, purely hypothetically—there’s a possibility to switch partners for the project?”

Heimerdinger folds his arms behind his back, looking up at you with the kind of patient amusement that makes you feel like a child asking for extra dessert before finishing dinner. “Ah, yes. I was almost certain you’d ask that,” he says, nodding sagely. “And before you say anything else, I do hope you won’t drop out of my class if I say no.”

You open your mouth, ready to assure him that you would never be so dramatic—except that’s exactly what you were about to say, just in different words.

Before you can recover, Heimerdinger raises a hand and continues. “This project is worth thirty percent of your final mark,” he states, his voice gentle but firm. “I am, of course, aware of the... tension between you and Viktor.” His moustache twitches slightly, betraying a hint of amusement. “However, I must ensure fairness in all assignments. There will be no one riding on someone else’s back in my class.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “Professor, with all due respect, we nearly set a classroom on fire last time—”

“The most beautiful diamonds,” he interjects, tilting his head with a knowing smile, “are shaped under pressure.”

You stare at him, jaw tight. He stares back, completely at ease.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“I—” you gulp on air, searching for words. Finally, a breath of surrender escapes you and you deflate completely, saying only, “Thank you for your time.”

Seeing your sagged chest and fingers grasping the edge of your notebook tightly, Heimerdinger offers you a consolation. “I know I seem ancient to you, child. But trust me when I say, I do remember what it’s like to be young, and a little bit of friendly rivalry can be transformed into something truly groundbreaking. Think Newton and Hooke! Tesla and Edison! Bohr and Einstein! All of them were in quandaries that led to further discoveries!”

While Heimerdinger lists off pairs of rival geniuses, completely different names surface in your mind, unspoken but undeniable. Verlaine and Rimbaud. Love and Cobain. Sid and Nancy. Bonnie and Clyde. You are convinced those are the dynamics that loom over you and Viktor—just without all the feelings, of course.

And if only you were just competitors, like Bohr and Einstein, things would be so much simpler.

From the very first meeting, Viktor had been cold and reserved, his sharp tongue laced with enough venom to wither anyone foolish enough to challenge him. But if there was one thing you had to do to stay afloat in this sea of STEM sausages, it was dare. And challenge.

You still remember that moment vividly. How you almost stumbled when Jayce introduced you—because gods, he was gorgeous. An angular face that looked carved from marble, warm amber eyes framed by a fall of auburn hair. A boy so unfairly pretty that, had you met him a few years earlier, you would have fallen hard.

Your eyes swept him from head to toe before you slipped your hand into his, and for a single, traitorous moment, something fluttered in your chest. A rush of warmth, unexpected and unfamiliar.

Then you blurted out your name with an embarrassing stutter—

And the magic shattered the second Viktor opened his sweet mouth.

"Charmed," he drawled, but the dryness in his voice suggested the opposite. His gaze flicked over you in a quick, assessing glance before he tilted his head towards Jayce. "Is she another one of your projects, or does she actually know what she’s doing?"

The warmth in your chest evaporated instantly, replaced by a sharp spike of irritation.

Oh. Oh. So that’s how this was going to go.

With a weak smile, you thank Professor Heimerdinger, and your mind is so out of it that you almost curtsy—which you hastily disguise as an awkward bow. Nearly stumbling over your own feet, you literally fall out of the classroom, colliding with something big and solid.

“Careful there! Hi, oh—” A surprised voice reaches your ears, followed by a strong arm steadying you. “Hi there. Hi, um. You alright?”

Either he’s a halfwit or completely smitten with you, because his articulation leaves much to be desired. Not that you're one to judge, given your current coordination.

“Hi, sorry. Just a small… miscalculation.” You smile sheepishly and extend your hand out of habit, instinctively introducing yourself to your unexpected saviour. After all, that’s how you met Jayce.

“I’m Joe,” he says in one breath, your much smaller hand completely disappearing in his massive palm. “It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckles, a blush blooming across his cheeks—so unabashed, his eyes glinting—and oh.

Nice, you catch yourself thinking in the most obscene, ludicrous way as you zero in on his chest, the tight team T-shirt clinging to it.

“Eh, it’s nice to meet you too.” You grin, nodding, and blink stupidly, batting your eyelashes, not entirely sure what’s happening.

Before you get a chance to unglue the dumbfounded smile from your face and actually say something more, Jayce’s voice rings through the corridor, your name echoing off the walls.

“There you are! Oops! Making new friends? Don’t mind her, this is her love language.”

Jayce—the oblivious Jayce, a man so naïve it would never cross his mind what he is doing to someone you literally just met thirty seconds ago. Mortification is too weak a word to describe what you feel inside.

“Jayce!” You smack his chest and shake your head in disbelief. “Don’t mind him, he’s an ass.”

And as if poor Joe doesn’t have enough on his plate already, another voice bombards him, and you’re certain he’s beginning to regret ever catching you.

“Hello. Are you a new face in Heimerdinger’s class?” Viktor asks, wearing that redundant smirk, his voice stretching into a deliberate, chewy, gross thing that makes you scowl. Just outright cruel.

“Heh, no, I just happened to catch your friend,” Joe answers without missing a beat. “And… I was hoping I could get her number.”

And that just. Does it.

You nod faster than you think, already reaching for his phone, clumping your number in there with sticky, shaky fingers and a stupid blush creeping up your neck. You avoid Jayce’s and Viktor’s eyes, but oh boy, you can feel both pairs drilling into you almost viscerally. Viktor’s especially—those fucking yellow embers burning right through you from under furrowed brows.

You flash Joe one last smile and a very awkward, very hurried, “Call me,” not knowing what has gotten into you. Then you let Jayce sweep you away toward your usual route to the cafeteria, while Viktor strolls behind, full of graceful disdain.

“So, I saw the tables, and…” Jayce clears his throat, chattering into your ear. “I’ve seen the pairs! We can share a lab, I’m paired with Sky!”

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh and pat his shoulder—a touch saying more than a thousand words. Words that say how much you can’t wait for another round of throwing objects at Viktor, while Jayce scrambles to catch anything that might hurt Sky.

“Oh, are you not happy about the distribution of projects?” Viktor asks, a small smile playing at his lips.

“The project is fine. The distribution… I’m sure you understand.” You throw him an acidic smirk, your eyes empty of any emotion save for one slow blink. Neural Interface for Prosthetics is actually an incredibly good project—Heimerdinger got you there, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Well, maybe you could be just a little more grateful had he paired you with Jayce or Sky.

“Eh, you will forgive me, but I do not.” Viktor pauses and looks at you—challenging you. And you really hate it, because it works. “I do not wish to have the project jeopardized by something silly, as the topic itself aligns with my interests.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual, Viktor. Can we please eat? I am about to eat one of you if we don’t go to the cafeteria right now,” you sigh, exasperated, and your stomach growls to support your claim.

“You can eat me!” Jayce lands face down between your bickering, and you just laugh, completely disarmed.

Once you finally sit down, Viktor simply opens a book next to his tray, ignoring both you and Jayce completely—obviously sulking about something. Jayce, on the other hand, takes massive bites of his sandwich, staring at you intensely, as if willing you to spill the tea. When that doesn’t work, he speaks.

“So… who’s the new guy?” he elbows you playfully and you can barely understand him with his mouth full. But his eyes say it all—he is dying to know.

"Jayce, you’re so transparent I almost can’t see you. Where are you, Jayce? Where did you go?" You wave your hands around dramatically. He almost chokes. Viktor scoffs, unimpressed, barely glancing up from his book as he stirs sweetmilk into his coffee.

Once the immediate hazard of death by choking is under control, Jayce flashes one of those earnest grins—one that practically screams what a good person he is, full of pure intentions. "Oh, shut up. He seems nice, and I’m curious."

"He’s just a guy, nothing more," you hum, taking a sip of your coffee. And even though you have no idea if that little encounter will go anywhere, you can’t resist adding a pin. "Yet."

Viktor looks like he is holding back a scoff, so he just turns the page in his book with a violent sweep.

"Well… do you like him?" Jayce presses, oblivious to the tension at the table. He’s just such a gossip girl.

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Are you alright? Why are you so interested?"

Jayce shrugs. "I don’t know, I always thought you’d end up with someone of equal… interests?" Intelligence is what he really means. But that would be cruel. Just because a guy plays rugby doesn’t mean he’s brain damaged. Surely.

"Oh please, I hate STEM bros." You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms with an air of finality, as if that settles the matter. You do hate STEM bros. They are full of themselves, have no respect for women and look down on you.

Jayce raises an eyebrow, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "Erm… you are a STEM bro."

Viktor finally looks up from his book, watching you with the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest as if mortally offended. "Jayce Talis! I am a lady! Not a bro!"

That is Viktor’s cue. “I don’t think that lack of testicles classifies you as a lady instantly,” he says in a deadpan voice.

And you don’t know what pushes your stupid mind to say it. Is it just muscle memory—your tongue snapping back whenever you talk to Viktor—or an actual intention to say something mean to him? You really don’t know. In one breath, you say, voice equally dead to his, “Of course not. If that were the case, you’d classify as a lady as well,” and watch the chaos unravel.

None of that happens, though. The underwhelming events carry on in painfully slow motion—Jayce’s eyes widening so much there’s a real threat they might never close again, while Viktor gulps his coffee with an agonisingly slow bob of his Adam’s apple. It’s only when he’s done that you realise he was fighting not to choke on it—because the next moment, he bursts into laughter, covering his face with his hand.

Jayce exhales the breath he was holding and laughs as well—you’re not sure if it’s at your joke or simply at the sight of Viktor laughing so openly, an event so rare it shouldn’t go uncherished. Despite yourself, you grin. Indeed, Viktor’s face—his eyes squeezed shut to the point of a tear slipping from beneath his long lashes, smile lines filling out his hollowed cheeks, his teeth bared in an uninhibited cackle—is a sight to behold.

The stupid thing in your chest stutters, as Viktor wheezes and lowers his hand to rest on yours. “Remind me to never cross you again. Merciless is an understatement,” he says, barely, with a really warm smile and you find yourself blushing again, for the second time in a mere hour. Because of two different boys.

And as any moment made of pure magic in the history of magical moments, this one doesn’t last either. It gets violently interrupted by a buzz of your phone on the table.

If you wanna take a stroll, I have a free period now :) We can meet by the fountain. Joe, in case you wonder who this is :)

And your blush deepens. You calculate options in your mind and soon decide on the what the hell one. “I’m gonna scram boys. See you in the lab after class?”

“Yes. Please bring the less… distracted version of yourself if you can,” Viktor states and all the warmth evaporates from him at once. Back to the usual version of himself—sharp wit, balancing on the verge of cutting.

As you mumble an absent, “I’ll do my best,” and wave them goodbye, Jayce returns to his sandwich and sighs knowingly.

“You know… wouldn’t kill you to be a little bit nicer,” Jayce says, leaning forward on his elbows. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of curiosity beneath it, like he’s prodding at something fragile just to see if it will break.

“This is me being nice,” Viktor replies in a neutral tone, lifting his coffee to his lips. The steam curls around his face as he takes a slow sip, his expression unmoving. He is being nice. He is trying to be nice. It’s just sometimes completely impossible to be nice to you when you get like this. Distracted. He scoffs to himself. It’s a strange friendship you have there, but it’s a friendship nevertheless—or so he likes to think.

Jayce studies him, his gaze sharp despite the lazy way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “No, that is just you being… well, you,” he says bluntly, tilting his head as if he’s considering whether to push further. “Being a dick is not a way to a lady’s heart.”

Viktor arches a brow, unimpressed. “Excuse me, but have we experienced the same scene? I was the one being offended and laughed it off like a gentleman, thank you.” He gestures vaguely with his cup, his fingers tightening just slightly around the ceramic.

Jayce narrows his eyes. “Then why are you so annoyed in the first place?”

“I am not annoyed,” Viktor states flatly, setting his coffee down with a little more force than necessary. He smooths his hands over his sweater as he rises from his seat, already turning away before Jayce can open his mouth again. “I am great. I am so great, in fact, that I will go and start working on that project. See you, Jayce.”

And then he just strides off, his cane tapping against the floor, leaving Jayce mid-sentence with his mouth open, eyes blinking slowly.

Of course, he is not annoyed. Maybe only slightly—and only because you’ve somehow managed to gain another distraction in your life right before you were about to start working on the biggest project of the year. And it’s just, well, fucking annoying.

***

When you glance at your watch, you yelp and press a hand to your forehead. “Fucking hell,” you mutter under your breath before breaking into a sprint toward the lab.

Viktor is going to kill you—especially since there’s no way to prove you were caught up in something important.

Because, well, you weren’t. It was Joe who took up all your time this afternoon. And he is… surprisingly nice. And smart.

You hadn’t expected that.

What started as a casual conversation somehow stretched into something far longer, the minutes slipping away unnoticed. He had opinions on films—actual opinions, not just generic statements about “liking action movies.” He had read some of the same books as you and even suggested a few you begrudgingly admitted sounded interesting. Sports came up, of course, but he spoke about them with a self-awareness that made it bearable. And when the conversation dipped into politics, he didn’t say anything that made you want to throw your coffee in his face. That alone was impressive.

It was… weirdly comfortable. Easy, even. Even when he lingered.

Joe’s gaze held onto you a second longer than necessary, like he was memorising the way you looked when you laughed. And when he hugged you goodbye, his arms stayed around you for just a breath too many. The slow way he untangled himself from you made it clear that if you hadn’t pulled away first, he wouldn’t have been the one to let go.

Shaking off the last remnants of Joe from your thoughts, you push through the heavy lab doors with a hurried stumble, your breath still uneven from the rush.

“Sorry, I’m late, guys—” The words die in your throat as you take in the empty room.

Only Viktor.

He stands at the workbench, sleeves pushed up, hands meticulously adjusting the placement of various tools and notes. At the sound of your voice, he pauses but doesn’t turn around immediately. The rhythmic ticking of the clock fills the silence, marking the seconds you take to process the situation.

No Jayce. No Sky. Just Viktor, and the sharp scent of metal and oil clinging to the air.

“Glad you could make it,” he remarks, finally turning his head just enough to glance at you. His voice is even, but something about it feels... off. You can’t tell if he’s irritated or merely stating a fact. Maybe both.

“Sorry,” you sigh, setting your things down with a thud. “I lost track of time.”

“With your new himbo.” It isn’t a question.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Yes. And his name is Joe, Viktor, not a new himbo.”

Viktor hums—a short, unimpressed sound—and resumes his work, carefully aligning a set of blueprints. Somehow, his silence feels louder than an argument.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, more to yourself than to him, or rather into the empty space between you and Viktor, which seems to be expanding with each passing second.

“And where are Jayce and Sky?”

“They managed to sketch out the roadmap for themselves in the time you spent with Joe and decided they needed the library for further planning,” Viktor replies flatly, still not looking at you. The way he deliberately keeps his gaze averted only emphasises how much has been accomplished in your presumably very long moment of indulgence. How nice.

“Alright, would you like me to crucify myself, or do you want the honours?” Impatience gets the better of you, and you fold your arms tightly across your chest.

At that, Viktor’s hands still over the workbench. His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction, though his gaze remains fixed on the floor, as if acknowledging you fully would be a waste of effort.

“I am merely stating a fact,” he says, his voice low, clipped. “This is more important than some affairs, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, really, Viktor?” You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “And here I thought thirty percent of my grade was worth sacrificing for some sloppy making out—but thank you so much for finally making me see the error of my ways.”

That makes him look.

And he is angry.

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing, gears visibly grinding in his mind as he weighs whether you’re just riling him up or—God forbid—whether you actually have made out with Joe.

His jaw tightens. “Just get to work already, will you?”

You say nothing, only flash him an acrid smile before reaching for your goggles on the workbench.

The two of you work in almost deafening silence, broken only by the occasional exchange of necessary questions and answers. You retrieve materials while Viktor arranges the workspace, and you scribble down the general plan on the blackboard, the tension in the air palpable.

Each time the chalk screeches against the surface, Viktor visibly winces, hissing under his breath and sinking his head between his shoulders in an exaggerated display of agony.

You roll your eyes but say nothing.

“Could you maybe try a little harder to make it less cacographic?” he mutters, irritation creeping into his voice.

The suddenness of it startles you just as you’re making another stroke, and the chalk lets out a bone-chilling whine against the board.

Viktor flinches violently, covering his ears. “For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, voice muffled behind his palms. “Let me do it.” He steps forward, reaching for the chalk without hesitation.

You anticipate the move, tucking your arm behind your back in defiance. A childish gesture, maybe, but if he’s going to be an ass about it, you’re not about to make it easy for him.

He doesn’t stop. He closes the distance between you in a few sharp steps, his expression taut with frustration. Before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist—tight, unrelenting. He pries your hand forward and gives a firm shake, forcing your fingers to unclench until the chalk drops neatly into his waiting palm.

A sharp twinge shoots up your arm. It’s not painful exactly, but it’s close enough to make you wince.

Snatching your hand back, you massage your wrist, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

For a brief second, something flickers across Viktor’s face—regret, maybe. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, buried beneath the same rigid composure he always wears like armour. He doesn’t apologise. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he turns to the board and begins writing, his tone stripped of anything resembling warmth.

“I want to wrap this up before tomorrow,” he says flatly, chalk gliding across the surface with sharp, efficient strokes. “And you are being thoroughly incompetent. I told you to bring yourself not distracted.”

You let out a sharp scoff. “Okay, I am so sorry I was late. I’ll stay longer and finish up whatever we don’t get done in time. But you are outdoing yourself in being a complete twat today.”

You don’t wait for a response. Instead, you march over to the workbench, hands immediately finding the prototype components. If you focus on the task, maybe you won’t be tempted to launch something at Viktor’s insufferable head.

“Oh please, I do not trust anything you do without supervision,” Viktor says, scribbling quietly on the board, somehow making a point out of it.

“Viktor, are you serious right now? We literally have the same grades,” you huff, leaning over the table to pick up the components you need. You do your best to tune him out—his bickering is only distracting, and you need to rewire the prototype from the previous project.

Overall, the task is simple enough. The device is built around an EEG-based neural interface—a system that reads electrical activity in the brain and translates it into signals that can control a mechanical limb. In practical terms, the user wears a headband fitted with electrodes that detect neural impulses associated with movement. These signals then travel through a processing unit, which refines the input before transmitting it to the prosthetic itself.

That’s the easy part. The rest, well.

The prototype you’re working on today is a refinement of an earlier model. The previous iteration had suffered from signal lag and inconsistent responsiveness—issues you’re hoping to correct by integrating a new set of circuits and refining the algorithm for noise reduction.

You grab the headband from the pile of equipment, turning it over in your hands. It should work just fine if you tweak the wiring to accommodate the new design. Without thinking too much about it, you start securing the circuits, fingers working on autopilot as you weave the delicate wires through the correct channels.

Or at least, you think they’re correct—until Viktor’s voice cuts through your focus again.

“Are you even listening to me? What are you doing?” His tone is sharp, irritated—like he’s already asked this more than once.

Your expression tightens as he strides over to the bench, clearly unimpressed. “I just rewired it. Nothing too complex,” you mutter, adjusting a loose wire before reaching for the power switch.

Viktor doesn’t look convinced. He picks up the headband, turning it over in his hands with a scrutinising gaze. “Nothing too complex,” he repeats dryly. “Yes, because neural interfaces are famously simple. I’d rather be sure. Show me.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, reaching over and flipping the switch.

The reaction is instant.

A sharp jolt cracks through the air, followed by a strangled, almost undignified yelp as Viktor jerks back, dropping the headband as if it has burned him. His entire body stiffens, fingers twitching violently for a brief second before he stumbles, gripping the workbench for support, blinking rapidly.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh—shit—Viktor—”

He exhales sharply, pressing a hand to his chest, his face twisted in a grimace. “Wonderful,” he grits out. “So that’s what you rewired.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, rushing to him, ignoring the sharpness of his tone. Your hands instinctively cup his face as you lean in. He blinks, startled, his mouth parting at the sudden concern—your brows furrowed, eyes searching his face for any sign of lingering pain, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he says flatly. “You’ve electrocuted me.” His hands move to seize your wrists, but you twist away before he can. Your palms return to his face, fingers framing him gently, and Viktor’s breath hitches.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, voice genuine. You are truly sorry, the worry overriding all the anger you had for him mere seconds ago. And Viktor has no idea how to react to this. He stands there, breath unsteady, before muttering, “I’m fine.”

You blink, straightening, and Viktor is almost ready to exhale in relief—until your hands shift again, this time pressing against his chest and back, cradling his heart between your palms. You stand beside him, hands firm but careful, instinct guiding you more than knowledge. You don’t even know if this is what you’re supposed to do for someone who’s been electrocuted, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

His heart thunders beneath your touch. The silence is so heavy you can hear yourself gulp on the lump in your throat. You don’t hate him that much, and you hope he knows it.

Finally, Viktor speaks, his breath still rattling. “Well, would you look at that. So there is kindness in your touch after all.” He tries to sound wicked, but there is no venom in his voice.

“Viktor, you bastard. When have I not been kind to you?” you respond playfully, your hands still pressed against him.

“Ah, well. When you implied my alleged castration is the first that comes to mind. But rest assured, my testicles are good and well. I’d show you, but I’m afraid someone has already filled this position in your life,” he trails off, slipping back into his seemingly unbothered attitude.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. Still, your fingers linger, as if trying to determine whether his heartbeat is elevated from the shock or something else entirely. Or is it always like this? You don’t dare to ask.

Viktor tilts his head, watching you. “What about?”

“Any of it. You make me fucking gag,” you scoff, finally sliding your hands off him.

“Not yet—but I could.”

You barely have time to register the shift before he catches your hand, his thumb pressing against your palm. A slight twitch makes your fingers curl around his.

“You could what?”

“Make you gag.” The words slip out just as a smirk blooms on his face, faster than he can think to stop either. He can’t tell if he regrets them immediately.

The figurative pin drops. A high-pitched whine rings in your ears. Viktor’s gaze is drilled into you, thumb still pressing into your palm.

Your eyes widen, but you don’t miss a beat. “Well, would you look at that. So there is kindness in you after all,” you murmur.

“Ah, for you. Only kindness, nothing else,” Viktor hums, his voice a low purr as his thumb idly circles the centre of your palm. His grip is loose enough that you could pull away, yet you don’t. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—something that makes your breath catch before you force yourself to scoff.

“Yeah, right.”

His smirk deepens. “When have I not been kind to you?”

“Like… ever?” You raise a brow, tilting your head as if you’re genuinely considering it. “You mock me. You think I’m outright stupid and don’t deserve my spot in class. You constantly correct me and fight me over solutions. You hate working with me, scoff at me, and laugh me out in front of Jayce. And Sky.”

Viktor clicks his tongue, his fingers squeezing yours ever so slightly. “Such is my love language.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Oh, forget it.” You finally try to pull your hand away, but Viktor doesn’t let go just yet, his grip tightening for half a second before he releases you—only for his cane to hook lightly around your wrist, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait.” His voice is softer now, coaxing. When you glance at him, there’s something else in his gaze, something warmer, but it’s masked beneath that ever-present air of a prank. “I almost died, you shouldn’t leave me.”

You gape at him. “Viktor—”

“Alright, alright! I surrender.” He chuckles, but there’s something breathless in it. His fingers twitch against his cane. “Wait. Please.”

The sudden plea stills you. Your heart stumbles over itself before you swallow and straighten your posture, crossing your arms in an attempt to shake the feeling off.

Viktor exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before returning his gaze to you. “I do not mock you or laugh you out. I simply jest—I do that with Jayce all the time. You should have noticed by now.”

You purse your lips, unimpressed.

“I do not correct you,” he continues, his voice lilting, as if this is all some grand performance. “I offer you my point of view. And I do not fight you—I simply enjoy some intellectual sparring. Not many can provide one that satisfies me.”

Your fingers twitch, nerves sparking beneath your skin at the way he says satisfies, but you ignore it. Instead, you level him with a flat stare.

“You’re just gaslighting me at this point, Viktor. At least give me a head start before you snap my neck with this thing one day.” You tap the end of his cane with a pointed look.

Viktor grins—slow, wicked. His weight shifts, allowing the cane to rest a little heavier against your wrist, his fingers curling just slightly around the handle.

“Oh, come now. That would be far too merciful.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate that it does.

“Are you going to be good to me now?” Viktor asks, his voice so low you barely hear it, but the weight of it settles deep in your chest.

He takes a step closer, and your breath catches when you feel it—his exhale, warm against your skin, ghosting over your lips. His fingers brush against your wrist, the same one he had seized not long ago. A touch that lingers.

“You have almost killed me, after all.” You watch his lips twisted in a smile you’ve never seen before. And it scares you for some reason.

“Stop this,” you say, firmer than you expected, yanking your hand away. You clutch it to your chest like a wound, like something fragile he might pry apart if given the chance.

Viktor tilts his head, eyes sharp with curiosity. “Why?”

Your throat tightens. “You know goddamn well why.” You take a step back, shaking your head, something bitter curling in your gut. “I am not your project, you dick.”

Viktor’s expression shifts—his smirk falters, lips parting slightly as if caught off guard. “Hey, that is not what I meant—”

But you don’t let him finish. You pivot on your heel, retreating towards the door, your pulse hammering in your ears. You need distance. The lab suddenly feels too small, the air too thick, charged with something neither of you were prepared for.

Behind you, Viktor’s voice follows, just a step behind. “Wait—”

You don’t.

The door swings shut behind you, and Viktor is left standing in the empty lab, staring after where you had just been.

A long exhale leaves him, and he runs a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath,

“Well, damn. That backfired.”

He frowns to himself, rolling his jaw as if trying to make sense of what just happened—of what he just did.

And for the first time in a long while, Viktor realises he doesn’t have a formula for this.

#LOVE ITTT OMG #viktor fav

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