s4tvrn1z3d

[s4tvrn1z3d]

ଳ Nam-Gyu // Player 124 x You // Player!Reader ଳ

Headcanon ♥︎

• Nam-Gyu doesn’t trust anyone at first — especially not you. He notices you right away, just like he does with anyone he sees as a potential threat.

• He meets your kindness with sarcasm: “You think being nice is gonna keep you alive in here? Wake up.”

• He gives off a defensive, tough-guy vibe — always acting bigger and meaner than he really is, like he’s ready to fight at any moment. You quickly learn not to take his bark too personally.

• The only reason he starts to tolerate you: you held your own during Red Light, Green Light — no tears, no breakdown. That earns you a tiny sliver of respect.

• He won’t say it, but he watches out for you — during the food line fights. If someone tries to push you aside, he growls, “Try that again. See what happens.”

• He’s always grumbling: “This game’s a damn circus, people like you don’t last.” “You think you’re better than the rest of us?” But no matter what, he never stays away — he keeps finding his way back to your side.

• He argues with you constantly, especially when you try to play the “hero.” If you speak up to protect someone or share food, he snaps, “This isn’t a charity. Keep that up, and you’ll get yourself killed.”

• If anyone challenges you, he’s suddenly by your side — throwing punches or growling, “Back off. They’re with me.”

• You soon realize his anger is fueled by fear — not only for himself, but also for you, who he thinks can’t handle this place. Somehow, you’ve become his problem.

• His way of showing kindness is grunting a warning before a fight, throwing you a blanket without a word, or pulling you along when tensions flare at night.

• He’s suspicious and controlling, and sometimes crosses the line — but you can tell he’s trying to protect something the only way he knows: with fists, not feelings.

• He never said it, but somehow you became his — the one he stood up for when danger came and made sure you got fed, grumbling all the while.

• Vulnerability wasn’t his style. Instead, he showed it through warnings, eye rolls, and occasional sharp, “Don’t do anything stupid.” whenever you put yourself at risk to help others.

• If he had to choose between his life and yours, he’d hesitate. He’d hate it. He’d be furious that you’ve affected him so deeply.

• If he dies, you remember his last words: “Don’t die like an idiot. Make it count.” You take his jacket — it still smells like adrenaline and him — and wear it like armor. His voice echoes in your mind whenever you’re about to take a reckless risk. It’s what keeps you alive.

• If you die, he sees it but says nothing. He grows meaner — quieter, simmering rage — picks fights, trusts no one, and keeps watch. When someone steals your blanket, he beats them bloody. He keeps the number tag from your jacket in his pocket, never talks about it, but secretly stares at it before hiding it away.

• If Nam-Gyu wins, he doesn’t celebrate or indulge. The prize means nothing. He drinks cheap soju, stares at the wall, and tells himself he’s lucky — that your death made him tougher and selfish. But the silence haunts him, and when he sees someone with your hairstyle, he freezes, his heart pounding, before realizing it’s not you. He never talks about you. But if asked what changed him, he’d remember your laugh, stubbornness, and humanity. He wouldn’t admit it, but you’re why he kept going — not for money or revenge, but because someone like you deserved to be remembered.

NSFW Headcanons ♥︎:

• First time: it's messy. Desperate. Half-clothed in the dark, tucked away in some half-hidden corner of the dorm, breathing hard so you don't get caught.

• He's surprisingly good at reading your body — probably because he's spent so long studying people for survival. He watches the way your breath catches, where you're sensitive, what makes your knees go weak.

• It's rough, but never careless. He grips your hips tight, marks your throat with his mouth, and lets out low, strained groans that he tries to muffle into your shoulder.

• He doesn't say sweet things — he says raw, filty things, voice dark and breathless: “You feel that? That's mine now.”

• Possessive: not in a romantic way — in a survivalist way. You're his. No one touches you, no one talks to you sideways, or he's throwing punches before they finish their sentence.

• Rough sex is the norm. Wall pinning, biting, hair pulling — he's not gentle, but he pays attention. The minute he hears a sound he doesn't like (discomfort or hesitation), he slows. “Say something if I go too far. Don't play hero with me.”

• Risky places turn him on — there's always the chance of being caught, always adrenaline in your veins, always the heat of death looming nearby. It makes everything sharper.

• If you get mouthy? He loves it. He'll pin your wrists and smirk against your neck: “Big talk for someone already dripping.”

• He doesn't know how to handle aftercare. At first, he just grunts and pulls his pants back up. Eventually, he starts throwing his jacket over you after, or muttering: “You warm? Good.” This is his way of saying I care.

• He never sleeps right after sex. He sits up, staring into the dark, muscles tense, as if expecting the world to punish him for having something good — even for a moment.

[s4tvrn1z3d]

currently thinkin' 'bout thanos asking you to moan for his new song :3

minors dni, gn!reader, nsfw!

— you're sprawled out on his bed, scrolling on social media. meanwhile, he's trying to figure out what to add to the beat he's been working on for ages to make it sound less plain.

— greyish blue eyes linger on you for a moment, then return to the programming app he's got opened on his computer.. hmm..

bingo!

"can you moan for my song?"

— visibly caught off-guard by that question, you look up to see the sly smile on his face. "you want me to what?"

— oh, you remind him of a little puppy. the softly furrowed eyebrows, the head tilt, the innocence in your expression. he's not even religious, but "good god" is all his brain repeats as he looks at you. he barely processes the words that have left your mouth—the puffiness of your lips..

"yah, su-bong!"

"mm?"

— yeah, he's a goner already. bad idea. maybe he shouldn't have suggested that.

"moan for my song." aaaaaaaaaand, there it is again. he should just shut up at this point.

"sure. how do you want to do this?"

nevermind. he's definitely not shutting up anytime soon, now that you've agreed. fuck yeah! no comments from you, no weird looks—no convincing was needed to get you to say yes, either.

— breathy whines fill up the room, the air sticky with the sweat clinging to both your bodies. buried deep inside of you, each sharp thrust has your gummy walls fluttering around his cock, begging to be painted white with his cum.

— yes, most of this, if not all of it, is being recorded on the voice notes app on his phone.

all those "keep going"s, "mmf, right there"s, even the "'m gonna cum" that's muffled by the fluffy pillow your face is buried in, he's got 'em captured. and he WILL be adding those to his songs. for his next album? all of the songs are gonna have your sweet, melodic cries of pleasure in them—hell, he's even gonna have your face as the cover, will probably force you to do a photoshoot with him.

— it's safe to say he'll be sneaking in that moan you let out when you finally came, too. his own release following yours.

[s4tvrn1z3d]

Namgyu namgyu namgyu namgyu namgyu namgyu namgyu

CAT & MOUSE

namgyu x f!reader

Synopsis - It’s no secret to you of Namgyu’s obsession with you since the start of the games. Something about him rubbed you up in all the wrong ways, but why did being near him feel so right? You’re in denial, and when you draw the blue ball for Key’s and Knives, you feel sick seeing the red sweater clinging to his frame. Yet as you wait, to your surprise, Namgyu offers you one of his little coloured pills.

warnings: 18+, drug use, inappropriate dialogue, degrading, sexual themes, knife play (kinda?), mentions of blood, strong themes.

…

The blue ball dropped into your hand from the gum ball machine. You could only stare down at it, puzzled and questioning. Blue. Surely that had the to good. A swelling tightly laid in your throat and you could only swallow it down harshly, suppressing your raising anxiety which only heightened as your eyes caught Namgyu. He wore red. Fearless as he held himself high, no doubt high on whatever that cross necklace contained. Your stomach stirring at the idea that you were on opposing teams.

Namgyu hadn’t hid his feelings from you, whatever they were anyway. It wasn’t sweet either. More teasing, and humiliating for you. You mostly told him to fuck off, although you knew deep inside that you shared the same affection for him. Though you felt yours were more sincere. You couldn’t help but pity him 60% of the time. You clutched the ball tight to your chest as you tore your eyes away from him and moved to the blue side of the room. You couldn’t place your bets that you would be safe from him.

During the games reveal, you felt ill. You were a hider, which you recall you had been terrible at growing up. Your adrenaline had always got the better of you - being unable to stay in one place without the lingering sense that someone was about to find you. But this was life or death now - you realised, especially now as the red players revealed their weapons.

Your mouth falling open as heat pricked your skin with dread. Your first thought falling to the idea that you’d be dead soon, that you wouldn’t make it out of this. No way. And then you feel his eyes on you, burning into the side of your face and you can’t help but flicker your eyes toward him. A big shit eating grin spreads across his expression, waving the knife at you as if to say hello.

Your face burns, hot.

…

You sit alone.

Your eyes only burning into your hands as you fiddle with your fingers - interlacing them, then closing your fists tight only to outspread them again. All attempts to ease your nerves. You look to the timer, three minutes, before the game starts. So you drop your gaze again and breathe deep. Finding that calm state you know you have. You desperately needed to be straight minded for this. Your recklessness being your enemy here. And just as your shoulders relaxed,

“Look who picked the short straw.”

Your eyes snap open, staring down at bloody stained pumps.

Namgyu.

Your attempts at calming yourself simply crumbled apart in a second.

“Go away.” You whisper, refusing to look up at him.

You hear him tsk.

And within a second he squats down to catch your gaze. His eyes heavy lidded, yet dark and blown. Gaze like a viper, sharp and violent. Black greasy strands of hair cage his face gracefully. How could someone so cruel be so visually appealing? How could you even think that?

You return his stare, attempting to appear cold.

“Bad timing to act like a bitch, y/n.”

He says, mockingly, pointing the sharp end of the knife at you.

Your eyes fall to the knife’s edge and linger there. Wondering whether your demise is staring you right in the face. Namgyu follows your gaze to it and laughs once, breathy as though he had realised your thoughts.

“You think I’m gonna stick you with this, don’t you?”

You don’t reply, not wishing on giving him the idea. Your eyes simply snapped back to his, almost pleadingly.

His head tilts as you, smiling sideways, wolf like. Sucking in a breath, he brings the blunt end of the knife and rests his chin on it, childlike - wondering.

“I’ve thought about it.”

You feel sick as he says that. Stomach churning as any hopes you’d had for your immunity against him washed away.

“Namgyu-” You begin, but he only cuts you off.

“Thought about those pretty eyes fading away. Thought about whether you were a beggar or a fighter, too.”

His brings the knife to you again, simply resting the sharp end on your chest. You still, your breath caught as you worried a simple twitch would set him off.

“And I think,” He drawls out lowly, running the knife down your chest slowly and stopping at your lower stomach.

“You’re a beggar.”

You’d been too busy watching the knife to not notice he’d brought his face closer. So as you brought your head up, you were now just slightly nose to nose. His hot breath fanning your face.

You can’t help but scowl at him. Your worry turning into an anger you couldn’t suppress.

“You’ll never know.” You hiss, implying that you wouldn’t give him the slightest chance to find out. You’d hide and hide well. As long as that meant avoiding Namgyu during the game. You wouldn’t want to run into this drug crazed lunatic who you embarrassingly had a thing for.

A wide grin splits across his face, amused. His eyes softly trailing to your plush lips, as he hums softly.

“See that’s what I like about you. You’ve got — spunk. That’s why I’m gonna enjoy chasing you down.”

His eyes gleam with excitement as he looks back into your eyes.

“But to make sure you don’t kick the bucket before that - how ‘bout a little pick me up?”

He reaches into his collar and brings out the cross from his neck. Cradling it as though it were the most valuable thing he owned. He flicks it open, revealing at least 5 different coloured pills. He’s quick to take one for himself, popping it into his mouth like a candy.

“How about it?” He says, nodding toward it while chewing.

You’d dabbled in drugs in college, sure. But it wasn’t an every day thing for you, especially not in this scenario but you couldn’t help but consider your chances here. You knew whatever it was had raised his and Thanos’ survival rate in the past games.

And for once in your life, despite your strong facade, you felt helpless. Desperate. You can only stare silently at the pills in contemplation.

Namgyu grows bored of your silence quick, craning his head further down to catch your eyes.

“It’ll help.” He says.

“It’ll ease your nerves,” coaxing softly as his free hand smoothes it’s way onto your bouncing knee.

His mere touch sent your head spinning as your eyes closed, almost in comfort despite his threats. How sick. And you hate how he has this effect on you still in this terrible situation.

You weren’t sure whether Namgyu was actually set on harming you. The way he looks at you, the way he speaks. You can’t help but consider his threats are only a tease. And if that were the case, you still had the other red’s to worry about. You placed your bets and opened your eyes heavily.

You nod.

And he smiles.

“‘Atta girl.” He praises, flashing a toothy smile as he scoops out a pill with his index finger, offering it toward you.

You reach out to take it, but he’s quick to recoil his hand.

You can’t help but frown at him, confused as he squirms his way in between your legs to get closer. His elbows now resting on your knees. You eyes flicker to the timer.

One minute, twenty seconds.

Your jaw visibly clenches.

“I don’t have time for this.” You mutter.

Namgyu’s eyes are trained on your lips.

“Then open up. I wann’ feed it to ‘ya.”

Your heart batters against your chest now. You hadn’t ever succumb to him like this before. You truly hadn’t intended to. Yet it was only him who could manage to tear down your facade and see you for all your vulnerability. And most of all? It makes you sick to your stomach how much you don’t mind it.

Your lips twitch before you open your mouth slightly.

He copies you, but he slightly sticks out his tongue as though he is encouraging you to do the same and copy him.

You do.

Satisfied, he brings his index finger with the pill onto your tongue. His eyes stay trained on it, almost hypnotised by the sight with his mouth ajar. But he doesn’t move away, he simply uses his finger to push it up and down your tongue softly.

You can’t deny the rising heat between your legs then. So badly wanting to press your legs together, to ignore the feeling. But Namgyu was still wedged between them.

And you’re mortified as an unexpected hum of enjoyment comes from deep in your throat. As his eyes flicker up in surprise, a glistening boyish gaze beaming into yours.

“Yeah?” He peers up at you.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

You can’t even deny it because his fingers still sliding the drug up and down your tongue. But what you do notice is the softness creeping onto his expression. A vulnerability as his fascination with you takes over. And you decide to use it against him.

You close your mouth around his finger as you suck on it - straight down to the back of your throat and his expression only grows more desperate and turned on. He looks pathetic. And somehow you feel you’ve taken that power back.

You pull your head backward and his fingers comes out with a pop.

You gulp the pill.

Namgyu breathes out, shuddering. That sight burnt into his brain. He had truly been silenced. Only his tongue came out to wet his now dried lips. The knife slack in his grip.

You edged forward toward him, and he copied you - desperate, like a starved man. Clutching your knees as he brought himself upward to meet you halfway. Your noses now brushing.

You twist a hand into his vest tightly.

“You’re pathetic.” You whisper.

He frowns and before he can say anything, you shove him backward onto the floor. He falls onto his back with a thud and is quick to recover to ease a scene. He didn’t like appearing weak. Not at all.

You stand as he does. All he can do is glare.

Before he can get a word in, the guards call for the Red team to enter the arena.

You smile cockily at him and brush past.

His gaze follows you sharply, frowning.

“I’ll see you inside, y/n.” He shouts, pissed off.

You don’t dare to give him a second glance and as you enter the arena, the buzz from the drug slowly creeps in on you.

A giddy sensation almost - playful, as though you could take on the world. All your worry’s about the others players had gone, and all you could think about was the game of cat and mouse you were about to play with Namgyu.

…

Authors note: Hi guys, hope you enjoyed. This is actually my first time writing Namgyu but I loved it. Please please lmk if I should do a part two!

…

[s4tvrn1z3d]

our sweet criminal-menace-to-society-sleeping beauty ✨

[s4tvrn1z3d]

And he never did anything wrong in his life either!

[s4tvrn1z3d]

They definitely have a soft spot

[s4tvrn1z3d]

MY SWEET DARLING SHUJI

It's me again 😩 will you indulge me again?? Like a scenario where hanma realizes he's falling for you and how he deals with it (I'd imagine he wouldn't know how to handle it). I appreciate youu!! 💖

HIII dw i love getting requests. I did my best here, tbh i dont really know how he would DEAL with it but i just knew it'd be pretty random. BTW THIS IS PRETTY SHORTTT but i have a lot of projects ongoing

CALL THE 911, I THINK A GANGSTER JUST FELL IN LOVE- Hanma Shuji

For years now, you had known Hanma. Well, “known” was a strong word. You weren’t friends. You weren’t close. Hell, you weren’t even acquaintances. At best, you were just two people who happened to exist in the same city. But still, his presence was impossible to ignore. You were a rebellious girl, a troublemaker. You ran in the same streets he did, sometimes crossing paths with him in the tangled mess of Kabukicho’s underworld. A glance. A smirk. A shared laugh once, maybe twice. Nothing more, nothing less. Because at the end of the day, he was no one to you. Just another delinquent, just another street rat clawing his way through the filth of Tokyo’s underground. Just the Reaper of Kabukicho. A stray dog, like the rest of them.

—

Tonight was the autumn festival. The night was alive with color, lanterns swaying gently in the crisp autumn breeze, casting flickering shades of gold and red across the crowded festival grounds. The air smelled of grilled meat, soy sauce, and the sweet, burnt aroma of candied apples. Laughter mixed with the sound of taiko drums, the chaotic energy of the festival making the streets feel smaller, more cramped, more alive.

And Hanma? Hanma was fucking bored.

He walked through the crowd like a stray dog, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his loose pants, his sharp, lazy gaze scanning the sea of people with disinterest. He hadn’t even wanted to be here, but the idea of spending the night doing absolutely nothing had somehow seemed even worse. Besides, he was hungry, and he had exactly zero yen on him. So when he spotted you standing at one of the food stalls, dressed up like some old-school festival girl in a proper kimono, he saw an opportunity.

He smirked to himself, cracking his knuckles idly as he approached from behind, moving through the crowd like a shadow.

“Hey.” His voice, deep and smooth yet carrying that usual bored, detached tone, cut through the noise. You jumped. He watched with amusement as you turned sharply, your startled eyes widening before settling on him, a lanky, towering bastard who looked completely out of place amidst the festival-goers. His outfit? An absolute ‘fuck you’ to the entire concept of dressing appropriately. White t-shirt, simple pants, and flip-flops. Because why the hell would he care? He could’ve shown up in nothing but boxers and still not given a shit.

He barely acknowledged your reaction before his gaze dragged over your attire, eyes flicking up and down with something caught between amusement and mockery. “What the hell are you wearing? You look even more ridiculous than usual.” His words were calm, casual, and punctuated by that lazy smirk of his, like he was barely holding back laughter.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “It’s called being in the theme, Shuji.” The smirk dropped. His eyes darkened, and that lazy amusement in his face vanished in an instant, replaced by something sharper.

“You know, it’s pretty fucking rude to use my first name when we’re not even close.”

You grinned. "Okay then, Shuji." A sharp laugh burst out of him, an almost delighted glint flashing through his golden eyes before he clicked his tongue. “Shit, you really don’t give a fuck, huh?” He couldn’t say it didn’t amuse him. Ah, thank god you were a woman. Either way you’d already be in hell by now. Hanma leaned in slightly, towering over you with that ever-present smirk. His presence was suffocating, not in the romantic way, but in the way that made you feel like you had just cornered yourself into some kind of trap without even realizing it. He flicked a glance at the steaming food you had just bought, his stomach grumbling slightly. His lazy expression barely changed, but his intentions were clear. “Hey, buy me something.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m starving. Gimme some food.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why the hell would I do that?”

He shrugged, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “‘Cause I asked nicely.”

“That wasn’t nice.”

He grinned, the kind of grin that made it impossible to tell whether he was actually amused or just thinking about how easy it’d be to fuck with you for the rest of the night. Then, without warning, he snatched the stick of dango straight from your hands, popping one of the sweet, sticky rice balls into his mouth before you could even react. “Oh wow, thanks. You’re so generous.”

Your jaw dropped. “You asshole!”

“What? You weren’t gonna finish it anyway.” You were. You absolutely were. But Hanma just kept chewing, acting as if stealing food was the most normal, natural thing in the world.

“You know, you could just do the smart thing and buy me my own.” He tilted his head, watching your expression with something smug. “Or, I could just start robbing every single thing you try to eat tonight. Your choice.”

You clenched your jaw, debating whether smacking the damn stick out of his hand would be worth the risk of starting some kind of festival brawl, although that would be synonym of suicide. But then, an idea. “Fine,” you said sweetly, reaching into your sleeve. Hanma’s smirk grew as he watched you pull out your wallet. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” And then you threw a single, shiny five-yen coin at his chest. It bounced off uselessly, landing on the ground between his feet.

Hanma slowly looked down at the coin.

Then, back up at you. For a moment, you swore you saw something absolutely feral flicker behind his eyes.

Oh!

He laughed. Loud. The kind of laugh that turned a few festival-goers’ heads, that made people uneasy, as if they had just heard something they shouldn’t have. “You’ve got a fucking death wish, huh?”

You smiled sweetly. "Guess I do."

If Hanma was bored before, he sure as hell wasn’t now. The night was no longer about scamming free food or passing the time, it was about you. About seeing how far he could push you, how much of his shit you’d tolerate before snapping, how much trouble you’d let him drag you into before realizing it was a mistake. You were dumb enough to play along. Hanma didn’t just follow you around after that. Every time you stopped at a stall, he’d be right there, making some dry, sarcastic remark about whatever you were trying to buy. He stole food off your plate. He rummaged through your bag when you weren’t looking just to see what dumb shit you carried around. At one point, he "accidentally" bumped into some dude while pretending to be distracted, just to see if you’d stick around when things got messy. You did. Unfortunately. Dumbass.

He was the literal embodiment of chaos, and you had somehow ended up stuck with him for the rest of the festival. You weren’t entirely sure you minded.

Because as much as Hanma was an egoistic, reckless, adrenaline-junkie freak who got off on pushing people’s buttons…Something about the way he smirked at you, the way his sharp, violet eyes glinted with real amusement, real interest, made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you were more than just another distraction to him. Maybe tonight, you were his favorite one.

The game was still on.

Hanma had spent the last hour stealing bites of your food, making crude jokes, seeing how much shit he could pull before you either snapped or walked away. But you never did. Instead, you kept pushing back. Talking back. Challenging him in ways most people wouldn’t dare. It wasn’t that you didn’t know who he was, because you did. You knew his reputation, knew he wasn’t just some dumbass punk but an actual menace. And yet, you never flinched. He liked that.

But did he love it? Oh my god, did someone say ‘love’? That word? No. That wasn’t in the equation. Not yet.

That moment, that sick, twisted realization, came later.

It happened at one of those dumb festival game stalls. The kind where the prizes were cheap, colorful crap no one actually needed. Some stuffed animals, little plastic toys, a few random trinkets that looked like they’d break within a week. Hanma wasn’t paying much attention, until you picked up a mask. A demon mask. The kind with sharp fangs, hollowed-out eyes, painted red and black like something straight out of a nightmare. You put it on without hesitation, adjusting the strings behind your head before turning to face him. A slow, unsettling grin spread across his face. “Well, well. Didn’t know you had a thing for looking like a fucking psychopath.”

You tilted your head, voice slightly muffled behind the mask. “Funny. You don’t seem scared.”

His smirk widened. “You know me, sweetheart. Fear’s not really my thing.”

You stepped closer. Too close. Your face, or rather, the demon mask, was just inches from his, the hollow eyes staring him down like a challenge. And then, in the most calm, quiet voice, you said: “That’s the problem with you, Shuji. You think you don’t feel fear. But I bet you do. I bet there’s something out there that makes your heart race in a way you don’t like. You just haven’t met it yet.”

Hanma just stood there. Still smirking, still looking down at you with that usual amusement, but for the first time in a long time, he actually felt something flicker in his chest. Something weird. Because the way you said itn it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t some dumb joke or a casual taunt. It was a fact. A statement so solid and unshakable that for a split second, it felt like you weren’t just talking about him. You were predicting him. And he fucking hated it. Because for once, the thrill that rushed through him wasn’t from adrenaline. It wasn’t from a fight. It wasn’t from danger. It wasn’t from violence or chaos or watching someone squirm.

It was from you.

The way you stood there, unshaken. The way your voice was calm but sharp. The way you wore that demon mask like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you weren’t just wearing it, you were becoming it. It was hot. Not just hot. It was terrifyingly, addictively fascinating. For the first time in forever, Hanma felt like he had just lost a round of his own game. He liked it.

And that was the moment he knew.

That sick, twisted realization that hit him like a drug. He wanted more. More of this. More of you. More of whatever the hell had just happened in that split second, because if there was anyone out there who could actually fuck with his head, it was you. Hanma loved a good mindfuck.

Maybe he fell because you made him feel something he wasn’t supposed to. Something that almost felt like fear, but worse. Love was so much worse.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by your voice. “Shuji, you comin’ or no?”

He didn’t speak.

“Damn Shuji, you’re getting too soft!”

Oh oh, call 911. A gangster just fell in love.

Hanma fucking hated it. That weird, sinking feeling in his chest, the one that wasn’t excitement, wasn’t adrenaline, wasn’t the usual thrill of wrecking shit just to see what happens. It was soft. It was slow. It didn’t go away. Every time he looked at you, every time you smirked at him, talked back, threw his own chaos right back in his face, it crept up again. This fucked-up warmth that made his fingers twitch, made his usual cocky remarks feel forced, made him want to grab you by the jaw and shut you up with something reckless just to feel normal again. But he didn’t.

Instead, he laughed it off. Pretended it wasn’t there. Drowned it in fights, in cheap thrills, in anything that made his pulse race fast enough to confuse it for something else.

Because Hanma didn’t do soft. He didn’t do love. You were turning him into a goddamn liar.

[s4tvrn1z3d]

iloveshuji

warm  — shuji hanma

shuji feels a little special with you in his arms.

pairing: hanma shuji x fem! reader

note: this is extremely self-indulgent because i need it. thank you.

For someone whose entire life revolves around violence and brutality, Shuji was the only person you could cuddle to sleep.

If it were any other occasion, Shuji’s voice would be grating in your ears, so annoying that it would threaten to burst your eardrums and make a vein pop in your forehead because that was the point of your relationship. He enjoyed annoying you, he got off on the fact that he was the only one who could get on your nerves and yet make you crumble beneath him that same day. 

But as childish as he was, the tall man knew when to not cross a specific line with you. 

You dearly cherished your personal space, even more so your alone time after a long day of interacting with people and your boyfriend knew that. His golden eyes peeked from behind his glasses as you walked through the door with stiff shoulders, furrowed eyebrows and a deep frown on your face.You looked like you were one second away from crying. 

And yet he doesn’t say anything. He continues to observe as you take off your shoes in silence, eyes never daring to find his as he sits on the couch. The way your body moves deeply fascinates him, and he can’t pull his gaze away from you as you move in complete and almost worrying quiet.

“Welcome,” his first attempt to hear your voice ends up being a complete failure. You flash him a half-hearted smile as you walk past him and towards the bathroom. He hears the sound of the tap running and ten minutes later, you’re stepping out with no make-up and your hair pulled away from your face. 

He reaches for the remote control and starts to lower the volume, the gesture serving as proof that the man knows you like the back of his hand. 

When you still refuse to utter a word as you move through the kitchen to make yourself a snack, your boyfriend pushes himself off of the couch and starts to walk towards you. When you start to sense him getting closer, your shoulders stiffen up again and Shuji could’ve sworn he saw your jaw clench as he stood near the kitchen island. 

“Whatchu making?” 

You don’t want to start a fight, so you choose to respond. “Toast.”

“With?” 

He knows he’s pushing it. 

“Strawberry jam.” you respond quietly, hand tightly gripping the knife.

“Fuck yeah,” he leans forward on the kitchen island, his chin propped on the palm of his hand as he continues to analyze you. “You gonna have that by itself?”

Sighing deeply, you finally turn to face the man.“What do you mean?”

“Like…without a show or some shit?”

You hate that he has a point. Heaving out a deep sigh, you place your toast on a plate then your feet carry you towards the couch. You steal some of Shuji’s blankets, making a nest out of them while the tall man watches in amusement as you bury yourself beneath a pile of warm and fluffy fabric. 

Then you give him a stare.

That stare.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow. Whilst your boyfriend appreciated you in all of your states, your silence bringing out your cuddly side was his absolute favorite.

“Shuji.” Your tone is final, leaving no room for any playful banter he had been preparing. 

Slowly, he moves towards the couch and finally joins you under the pile of blankets. He doesn’t point out the way you throw yourself on top of him, or how he becomes your only source of warmth. Instead, his hand reaches towards the remote control and knows exactly what show to pick.

Criminal Minds.

You nuzzle your face against his neck when the episode starts with a person getting chased through the forest by the un-sub, and Shuji could’ve sworn he even heard a quiet hum. 

“I don’t get how this shit is comforting to you.” He says jokingly, one strong arm wrapped around your middle while the other pulls your legs on his lap. You shrug your shoulders, eyelids feeling heavy.

“I like the dynamic of the team.” 

Fifteen minutes into the episode, Shuji notices the way you had stopped reacting altogether. He peeks down, finding your eyes closed shut and your lips slightly parted as your breath slowed down. 

His eyes then landed on your hand, how it clutched the fabric of his shirt whilst your other hand sat gently on your lap. A peaceful look adorned your soft features, and the tension completely dissipated from your body. 

Shuji then remembers what you had told him when the two of you were much younger, much more naive. 

“I hate cuddling to sleep. The thought seems suffocating.”

A young Hanma teases you about it.“Does it?”

“Absolutely.” You make a face. “Sleeping is a me time. I don’t want to be touching someone when doing that.”

He doesn’t know if you remember this about yourself, or if he was an exception to the fact. All Shuji knew was that he would never take such thing for granted, not when you were the first person to ever make falling in love feel so easy. 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[s4tvrn1z3d]

You x Hanma Headcanons!

(I'm not good with fluffy stuff, so sorry if this sucks)

🚬You're lying in bed asleep or getting ready to and he'll send you a text saying "Get dressed. We're going out." No warning whatsoever.

🚬You think it'll be a romantic night, but nope! You're watching him try to pick the lock on a claw machine to get you a teddy bear.

🚬After the owner kicks you out, the two of you sit on a curb outside a convenience store, splitting ramen because neither of you had enough money for a second cup.

🚬Cannot drive the speed limit without his skin itching.

🚬He took you out on a late-night ride and was speeding the entire time.

🚬When he got pulled over, he said, "Is this a bad time to tell you that my license is suspended?"

🚬You suggested going bowling, thinking there was no way he could ruin a date at a bowling alley, right?

🚬He tried to show off his strength by throwing a ball down the alley and ended up hitting one of the TVs. (You're not allowed there anymore.)

🚬He has a habit of suggesting going out to eat, but in the middle of eating, he'll be like, "I'll pay you back later." You stop eating and stare at him. "I thought you were paying?"

🚬 The restaurant has both your pictures up labeled as diners and dashers.

🚬 Tried to do a backflip off a table to impress you, but the table toppled over and he cracked his back on the edge.

🚬 He doesn't hug you. He drapes himself over you, knowing full well how heavy he is.

🚬 Randomly puts you in a headlock to "Keep you on your toes."

🚬 If he kisses you, it'll be random. You never know when he'll do it, but when he does, he'll walk away like nothing happened.

🚬 Sticks his finger into your mouth whenever you yawn.

🚬 He'll lean in, making it look like he'll kiss you, but he'll belch in your face instead. (And it stinks)

🚬 Purposefully leaves doors wide open and pretends he can't hear you yelling at him to close the door.

🚬 Not a single picture of you in his camera roll is a good one. He knows damn well he could take better pictures, but he chooses not to.

🚬 Don't bother asking him to delete them either. "But you look so cute with a bedhead!" or "Who cares if you can see your double chin from this angle?"

🚬 Whenever you're trying to make a decision, he'll be in your ear saying, "Are you sure?" to fuck with you.

🚬 Makes those obnoxious biting sounds whenever you take a bite of food.

🚬 If you stuff your plate he'll shout "DAMN" loud asf and pull out his phone to take a picture.

🚬 He'll show up at your place with a boombox blasting music. Not to be romantic, just to be annoying.

🚬 He convinced you to skip school before. The day ended with your parents having to pick you up from the police station.  

🚬 Thrives off the fact that your parents hate him. When he picks you up, he'll shout, "Hi, Mr and Mrs. L/n! What wonderful weather we're having, right?" In the most sarcastic voice ever.

🚬 Bought you two matching lighters. (Even if you don't smoke.)

🚬If you say you want to try smoking, he'll tell you, "Pretty girls don't smoke."

🚬 If he sees you liking or commenting on another guy's post, he'll send you a screenshot saying, "Feeling friendly today, aren't we?"

🚬 Leans over to look at your phone screen and says stuff like "Who are we texting?"

🚬 If you're laughing at something on your phone, he'll be like "I wanna laugh too."

🚬Tell him you're going out with a guy friend, he'll be sarcastic asf about it. "Okay, have fun with your boyfriend!" "Want me to drop you off? I'll let him know that you're single."

🚬If another guy compliments you, he makes a show about it. "Wow. That was great. Maybe you should write her a poem next time!"

🚬Texts you in the middle of hangouts: "Hope you're having fun because I'm not…" "It's okay. I wouldn't wanna be around me either…"

[s4tvrn1z3d]

Random things he does that are hot (Hanma shuji)

(send req if u want hehe)

-if you are wearing jeans or pants, when they sag a little he’ll pull them up for you, pat your ass and leave like nothing happened (don’t lie that’s kinda hot)

-manspreading. That’s it. Everywhere,he’s so long he just can’t help it. And he does the thing where one hand is resting on his stomach and the other is holding a cigarette 🤭🫡

-eating a lot and wanting you to do the same. Idk there’s something about a man who just scarfs down food (he can scarf down something else too-) and he tells you to eat more too bc you’re too thin 🥺

-always be half hard when he’s with you. Help this is so Hanma, just hanging out with you is keeping him pretty much turned on. And he’s not even ashamed. Ask him and he’ll admit “yeah I’m hard, so what?” 🫠

-call you by a name no one else is allowed too. If you have an embarrassing middle name or nickname that you hide, trust he will find out and abuse it and get pissed when he hears someone else use it. (He’s hot when he’s angry)

-gets a vein on his forehead when he’s angry. That’s it. hehe

[s4tvrn1z3d]

hes so delicious looking

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

[s4tvrn1z3d]

if i dont get a suspiciously viktor-shaped present this instant

"happy birthday", feat. prototype! viktor.

summary: it's your birthday today, why not enjoy it sleeping with your partner?

word count: 360.

content warning: established relationship, reader has longish hair (enough to twirl it). and fluff! :p (and it might be a bit ooc im sorry for it

author notes: this one is a little birthday gift for a mutual ( @zerun0 ) bcs today is her bday and i wanted to do something! im sorry if its tiny, i needed to write it quickly :(. but anyway, hope u like it!! :DD ((and again im writing til 5AM oh fuck

behind the windows, the faint sunlight peeked from in-between dark curtains, making the room a only bit brighter, but enough to disturb viktor's sleep. he rolled to the side, yawning and rubbing his eyes, trying to pry away from his slumber.

he looked to the ceiling, blinking continuously, pupils still adapting to the light that now bathed the room, reflecting and projecting itself upon your sleeping form. and, janna, what an angelic sight.

first, he was just admiring you, he didn't want to wake you up early this morning, it was your birthday, you should decide things today. but he couldn't help it, his hands quickly found their way to your messed up hair, adjusting to it's typical placement, so it wouldn't bother you. soon he was playing with the ends of your hair, twirling it around his finger, amazed with how it curled against the metal.

“vik?”, when he heard your voice, he stopped his movements. you looked at him with tired eyes and furrowed eyebrows, it was uncommon for days to be this bright in zaun.

he let go of the hairlock he was toying with, placing the same cold, metallic hand over your cheek, caressing it, observing how your body relaxed and searched for more of his affection, “didn't think you would wake up this early, love. but, since you are already up –”, he got closer to you, kissing the top of your head, “happy birthday, my darling,” throwing a lopsided smile at you, now, kissing the cheek he wasn't holding.

“oh, thanks vik,” you placed your hand over his, warming a bit its cold exterior, “but may i make a wish now?”, he eyed you with curiosity, tilting his head to the side, making some grey strands fall over. you reached for them, smothering back to its place with your free hand, “what about just five minutes more, hm?” you playfully smiled at him, adjusting the blanket over you both, while hearing viktor's laugh being suppressed by his hand.

“quit laughing! i want to sleep!”, you said jokingly, trying to act as serious as possible.

“sure, anything you want, love. the day is yours.”

[s4tvrn1z3d]

so soft and tender, delicious

If your up for taking requests, can I request something with modern au viktor and reader where they’re fwb until viktor confesses to them, but reader doesn’t actually believe he likes her that way so they decide to take it slow?

'I need some time,' she said and proceeded to write it as a break from another angsty monstrosity she was trying to write. Anyway, Dear Anon, here is a little thing for you, I hope it meets expectations. Friends With Consequences

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut though not an unhinged kind, fwb dynamics into lovers, soft Viktor, AU university, AU modern era, emotional

word count: 2,8K

—

At first, it had been difficult. A drunken mistake, you told yourself. You also told yourself that it was never going to happen again, and you said the very same thing to your roommate. She nodded knowingly, giving you the kind of look that was the most annoying expression in the world—the look that screamed, “Yeah, sure,” in the most patronising way.

Viktor would walk you back to your room after the party, both of you too drunk to walk straight, so you supported each other’s weight, you waving his cane around dramatically. He clutched onto you, his hands cradling your waist from the side after his awkward stumbling and a deflective, theatrical, “Leave me, save yourself!”

You laughed and scrambled to help him up, whispering, “I leave no man behind.”

So there you were, clattering down the student dorm hallway, trying to make your way to your rooms, occasionally shushing each other, clasping hands over each other’s mouths and giggling. When you finally made it to your door, your laughter died into an awkward chuckle, then awkward silence, which you felt you had to fill. You talked about nothing. One nothing leading to another nothing, and Viktor just stared at your mouth, producing all those words.

Finally, he leaned in, and you felt your body stiffen. His face ghosted next to your cheek, his fingers wrapped around yours, still holding his cane. “I’m going to have to take this back,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath laced with alcohol tickling your neck. You shuddered and nodded, gulping a strange lump down your throat, bracing for his touch to leave you. Instead, it travelled up your wrist, your forearm, to your neck, tracing your hairline with a scared, delicate brush of his fingers.

His eyes were now glued to yours, your foreheads touching as he searched for protest. And when there was none, his other hand cradled your waist, his nose resting against yours, and his lips landed where you had been secretly wanting them for the longest time.

He tasted of whisky and chewing gum, and you couldn’t believe that he managed to sneak a gum somewhere between your decision to leave the party and coming here. You wondered if he had spat it out secretly into one of the trash bins, abandoned it on the floor as you walked, or straight up swallowed it. It had made you self consious about the taste of your own mouth.

At first, he was tender, almost timid, testing the waters. When your eyes fluttered shut and your hands travelled to brush through his hair, he let out a content moan, muffled by your mouth, and deepened the kiss. His tongue slowly coaxed itself inside, your teeth clacking against each other clumsily. His hands became bolder, cradling your ass, and you found yourself pushed against the door, kissed with a hot need.

You were just about to turn the doorknob blindly behind your back when Viktor pulled away, by an inch. He chuckled awkwardly. “Um, so… Sorry, I—”

“No, no,” you said quickly, placing your palms flat on his chest, a gesture of acknowledgement. “It’s all good.” You were relieved to find out that his heart was thundering equally hard to yours.

“You should get some sleep,” he smiled and straightened, visibly sobered up by what had just transpired.

You nodded obediently and allowed him a kiss on the cheek—fleeting, gentle—before he turned away and limped down the corridor toward his room.

“Holy shit,” you whispered into the darkness of your tiny space on the other side of the door, having no idea that Viktor whispered the same exact thing to himself once shielded from the oppressive light of the fluorescent bulbs buzzing in the hallways.

The second mistake was orchestrated better than the first one. By means of not being stupidly drunk. You sat crouched over the display of notes and books at the foot of Viktor’s bed, while he splayed himself casually, chewing on a pencil, reading an incredibly interesting passage from a biology book, judging by his frown. His brace and cane rested by the bed stand; his legs spread out on either side of you.

“I think I’m repelling knowledge at this point,” you groaned, mindfully moving his leg to meet the other before flopping by his side, careful not to touch him. You held the book above you, only to drop it on your face in resignation.

“We don’t have to go through everything today, you know,” Viktor said calmly, taking the occasion to study you without you seeing. He rolled to the side, propping his head on his hand, and you could feel the shift in the mattress, the book still shielding your eyes.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Viktor. I want to retire already.” Your whiny voice was muffled by the tome, making Viktor chuckle, and you could feel the tremble next to you.

“Always just so dramatic,” he mused, plucking the book from your face gently. He looked at you from under hooded eyelids, his mouth curled into a gentle smile. “Do you want to take a break?” he asked in a husky voice, and suddenly your cheeks went warm.

“I—” you hesitated, feeling the blood rush to your head as his hand rested on your stomach, and you cursed yourself for not eating earlier, expecting it to growl at any given moment. “What do you have in mind?”

“Hmm, I can think of something,” he murmured, his hand snaking up your side, pulling you toward him to melt you against his mouth. “Unless this is something you don’t want,” he stopped himself, words tickling your lips, and you found yourself almost whining.

“No, I… I do, I just…” Oh god, where were all the words when you needed them? Yes, I want this. Yes, that would be nice. Yes, please fuck me, I’ve been wanting it forever.

“It doesn’t have to be… finite. We can make it casual,” he offered weakly, and you weren’t sure which one of you was more disappointed about it—or if you had just imagined it.

You blinked a few times, searching his face for any clue. Nothing. “Are you… proposing a friends-with-benefits setup?”

“I suppose… If… that is something you would be comfortable with,” he said carefully, as if weighing the options himself as well. This was… not his initial idea, but he could roll with it, so to say.

“Are you aware that friends with benefits implies friends with consequences?” you deadpanned, having already played all the possible scenarios in your head. You fall in love in the process and live happily ever after. Viktor finds someone else, and you die miserably. You fall out over something, and your friendship is ruined. Any, as possible as all others.

He chuckled, startled. “Yes, yes. I am aware. But I believe we are both adult enough, no?”

In truth, he preferred friends with anything over just friends. Friends with handholding would be nice. Friends with dating would be even nicer. Friends with arguments—those had already happened, nothing he couldn’t handle. Friends with benefits, well, that was appealing. Friends with consequences? Yes, if the said consequences were having sex with you exclusively and being able to squeeze you lovingly until your pretty head popped off. Yes, he could roll with it.

“Okay. Okay. Do you want to shake on it?” You pulled your hand out awkwardly, and Viktor snorted to cover up his grin.

“Or we could just…” He leaned in to kiss you. Your hand, momentarily frozen in the air, finally relaxed to slide under his shirt, and he hummed in approval. “Kiss on it.”

And so, you rolled with it. In fact, you rolled so much around Viktor’s bed that you couldn’t count it anymore. You also gave him an odd blowjob in the library and had never heard anyone make sounds as obscenely hot as he did. His fingers tangled into your hair, his face all flushed, mouth agape—those moments embedded themselves into your memory instead of essential biology knowledge.

The first couple of times were awkward, but he was just so... patient. What ruined your relationship as study buddies had bloomed into something you never thought yourself capable of doing. Casual sex. That felt nice. And no guilt attached. You wondered if other people knew about this option. You wondered if it wouldn’t be the answer to ending wars and hunger.

Until. Until.

Until you saw her sitting with him in the library. Her lingering hands on his forearm, as she laughed too loudly for the library regulations and he shushed her playfully. Her fingers brushing hair away from his forehead and his awkward chuckle. The way he scratched the nape of his neck in embarrassment when she praised him.

So of course, you defaulted to what any adult would do. You retreated. Not entirely, but you retreated the part of yourself that was feeling all the awful, unspeakable things. You locked it, sealed it, so your meetings transformed into something... mechanical.

You would jump him in the corridor and drag him into your room when your roommate was away. You would knock on his door and undress automatically, your movements practised by now. And Viktor would frown, and he would try to ask, but you shut him up with your tongue.

And he didn’t have it in him to say no. All the coldness you oozed would disperse upon him kissing you, licking your ear, and wrapping his fingers around your throat. It would dissolve, and what would take its place was the touch that lingered. Your wanting hands on his hips as he fucked you, sweaty and panting, his face close to yours when he whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

And you allowed yourself to forget in those fleeting moments. You let the ugly feeling from your heart rest and regenerate, so it was strong again whenever Viktor tried to cradle you to his chest in the aftermath.

He could feel the wall between you two rise back up as soon as you stepped out of the bed and pulled your trousers on, hopping on one leg to slide into them faster. Whenever his mouth opened to ask a question you feared so dearly, you shut him up with a dismissive peck on the lips. And when the kiss broke, he found himself following the trace of your disappearing face.

But you forgot one important thing. Viktor wasn’t stupid.

So you expected nothing new when you received a casual text message: See me after class? :)

You cursed yourself for walking so fast, your utterly undignified trot refusing to slow down. You steadied your breath and opened the door, only to be slammed against it. Viktor’s mouth was on yours, skipping all of your usual courtesies. He rid you of your sweater, along with all the layers beneath it, and made impressively quick work of your bra. You almost snorted at seeing him waiting for you almost completely naked, save for his boxers.

“What’s the rush?” you chuckled, watching his hands tremble at the button of your jeans.

“You’ll see,” he smiled, offering you a helping hand to step out from the pool of your clothes.

When you were both equally naked, he walked you to the bed, using your shoulders to support himself, and sat down, with your thighs straddling his lap.

You were already in the space of forgetting. Your fingers travelled into his hair, your face pressing against his, breathing him in as you crushed his mouth with a kiss. You could feel his hips buck beneath you, his cock pressing against you, and you moaned at the contact.

You barely registered the sound of a condom being unwrapped, his hands fumbling to put it on without breaking your mouths apart. Once he was ready, he teased your entrance and looked you deep in the eyes. He stared into your soul as his cock entered you, and he observed your mouth opening, your brows furrowing at the first languid roll of his hips.

His arms pulled you close, caging you in, as he asked, “Lásko, why are you so distant?”

And it was a killing blow. Because Viktor wasn’t stupid, and he knew this was the only moment when you were truly present with him. This was the only moment he could probe you for answers. He would fuck the answer out of you if there was no other way.

“W-what?” you stuttered, your breath heavy. You tried to move, but you could only move as much as he allowed. “What do you mean?”

“You avoid me. You wouldn’t talk to me. Is that all you want? Just to fuck me?” His voice was so expectant that your hips jerked on top of him.

“Is that not what we’ve agreed on?” you spat, unintentionally. You immediately relented, seeing his wounded eyes. “I thought you wanted this,” you said weakly. You thought you had learned an important lesson on how not to get hurt. But you forgot how to not hurt someone when saving yourself.

“No. I want more.” His voice was barely a whisper. Viktor had also learned an important lesson—that benefits with no friends were bad. That if the consequence was losing your friendship, he wasn’t able to roll with it. And that just friends was better than something so impersonal. Unless you weren’t friends, but more.

“Get out,” you scoffed, trying to snake your hands between you and push him away, but his grip on you tightened.

“No. Stay. Please.” He stilled his movements, his cock twitching inside you, making you wince at the absurdity of the situation. “I want more,” he repeated, this time with more confidence.

You took a sharp breath through your nose, his eyes not leaving yours. “More of what? I’ve seen you with other people, Viktor. It’s fine—”

“Where have you seen me? With whom?” He looked… offended. As if it were unthinkable to even touch anyone else. As if he wanted more as much as you were pushing it away from your mind.

“I… the library… do we have to talk about this now?” You pushed your weight down onto him, his mouth releasing a surprised gasp, but he wouldn’t fold.

It clicked. He was fast; he’d get it immediately. The girl in the library, her grabby hands, her loud mouth yapping at him. It was then you started to pull away. Ridiculous, so utterly stupid and unnecessary. He laughed, despite himself. “That got you acting so weird? I have no idea who that girl was. I shrugged her off as soon as I got the chance.”

“Viktor, you don’t have to be delicate with me. It’s fine. Now, can we please, just—”

“No.” A strange wail escaped his throat, and you immediately stopped fidgeting. “No. I miss you. I want more… of this. And of you. I want all of you, to myself.” He was stumbling over his words, his focus split between his heart and his cock. But they both wanted the same thing—you. You tried to find any sign of his confession being phony. And you found none.

Viktor rested his forehead against your chin, his hands cradling your waist tightly. When his words failed him, he began to plead with his body.

He kneaded the flesh of your hips lovingly and rubbed his face into the crook of your neck. “Do you really think I could touch anyone else like this?” he murmured, his voice so honest it sliced straight to your heart, and then down to your core.

“Do you think I could fake this?” He pulled you into a kiss, so longing, so affectionate that you thought your lips were going to melt.

“Do you not feel loved?” He finally looked at you, his expression serious and determined.

“Viktor,” you whispered—to him, to yourself. Into the air, you hung his name between the two of you as your hand palmed his face, and he leaned into it with gratitude.

“Say if you don’t want this. I will stop,” he spoke into your skin, and all you wanted to do was pull him close and keep him to yourself. To make up for all the times you ran away, and all the times you had fucked him with no emotion.

“I want this. I want you,” you kissed him to seal your words on his mouth. He took them and swallowed them eagerly.

“I want to do this right. I want it to be slow and good,” he said against your lips timidly. You nodded and then chuckled, “I told you—consequences.”

“Hmm, I can roll with that,” he hummed and kissed you again.

[s4tvrn1z3d]

i think i just went to heaven

The Ugly Thing

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

word count: 4,9K

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

Cross-posted on AO3

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[s4tvrn1z3d]

i love my men sassy

“god, he’s just so…ugh fuck…you know?” you curse through gritted teeth, hands held before you in a choking motion.

jayce stares at you from across the room, brows furrowed in confused concern. “I-“

“it’s like he does it on purpose. he knows what he’s doing when he walks in all good morning lásko, how did you sleep?” you voice drops a few octaves as you imitate your lab partner. “it’s infuriating, i just want to grab him and shake him but i’m scared he’s gonna break.”

“hey, maybe-“ jayce unsuccessfully tries to pipe up again.

“and i get it, it’s not appropriate but it’s either gonna end with me kissing or choking him out next time because i can’t do it anymore.” your rant ends with a huff as you drop your head to the table on defeat.

“you can kiss or choke me, either way i don’t mind but please, do not be gentle” the accustomed accent floats through the room and you feel the weight of the universe crash down upon you at the realisation viktor had heard everything. “i will not break but i’m touched to know you are concerned.”

you feel a hand brush against your shoulder as he passes, the familiar patter of his footsteps and cane simultaneously calming and quickening your pulse. the heat of his body warms your bare arm as he leans over, lips now at the shell of your ear. “good morning lásko, how did you sleep?”

[s4tvrn1z3d]

Viktor save me... save me v... Viktor

the way u write for arcane x reader are so detailed and in-character, I'm giggling like a like a schoolgirl reading their relationships with the reader ❤️ (also agree that the "slightly pervy jayce" tag will forever be canon). can I also pls request more hcs for canonverse!Viktor x Reader? this time with them already in an established relationship. having viktor as a boyfriend would be the fluffiest thing ever...i would go the ends of the earth for this man

first of all, thank you lovie!!! love seeing other slighty pervy jayce truthers

canonverse!Viktor who enjoys having a pretty girlfriend. Not only do you put up with him, but you are also quite fond of his nonsense. You enjoy listening to his late-night ramblings where he manages to talk himself in circles, tripping over the knots his own accent creates. The late, sleep-deprived nights after working himself into hole are always interesting. He thinks of the oddest questions to ask you.

"Do you ever worry about one day falling through the floor?", you turn to look at him incredulously. His fingers twirled his pencil around as he stared intensely at whatever gibberish he had been writing down, until he stills. You could be convinced he stopped breathing with how shallowly his chest heaved. "What?", and he turns to you, eyes red-shot, expression slightly crazed, his hair flaring around the crown of his head like some spikey halo. "Well, kinetic-molecular theory states that matter is nothing but millions of tiny particles in a perpetual state of motion. That's why if you step of grass, it bends rather than stabbing you straight through your foot, the molecules aren't as densely packed. Granted, what I'm talking about is quantum tunneling, which is more about the energy necessary to break that barrier but..." He's cuts himself off after your hand moves over his chest, resting on top of his beating heart which thrummed far faster than your own pulse. "Vik?" "hm." "I think it's time we go to bed." And he tries to argue, but his words mean nothing as he allows you to gather his papers, stacking them neatly then placing them in the folders you labelled to help be more organized. "But, I really think it's possible. Very low chance of it happening-" "I know, dear, just barely possible. We've had this conversation before." You're already standing, taking his hand as you silently urge him to do the same. Of course, he numbly follows your lead, continuing to argue his point all the way back to your shared bedroom. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he knocks out.

canonverse! Viktor who keeps your apartment freezing. It's not even because he runs hot, it's because he's prone to nosebleeds if he overheats. To balance out the cold and the constantly running fan, there is a weighted comforter and at least one additional blanket on your beds at all times. This being said, his usual sleep attire is some sort of sweatpants or pajama bottoms and maybe a very blood stained, old t-shirt. Since he keeps the room so cold, he is no longer surprised to wake up to you half-way beneath him, head firmly rested on his chest and arms wrapped around his torso. It's a good way to start his day, knowing he should probably head out to the lab, he usually stays until you wake up.

canonverse!Viktor who is a morning guy only because the best parts of his days are his cup of coffee and his good morning kiss. After having to use his brain so much so often, he enjoys the simple mornings he has with you. He likes the domestic act of brushing his teeth with you, he likes seeing you with your morning hair and your wrinkled pajama shirt as you sit on the counter as he makes a quick breakfast on the stove, he likes watching you tie his ties every morning, meticulously picking out which one brough out his eyes the best or went with the color of his vest.

canonverse!Viktor who can handle his liquor...to a point. Whenever you two get invited to functions, that is always what he's relegated to bringing, the bottles. To his credit, he has standards when it comes to drinking, but he always manages to find the strongest stuff imaginable. At first, it's all fun and games watching Jayce make a fool of himself, but after a bit too much, nothing is funny anymore. That liquid courage turns his usual passive aggression into regular aggression. He's not creating problems, but he is definitely making them worse, and you have to take him home after he almost starts a fight.

canonverse!Viktor whose favorite dates with you are people watching. It's a simple activity where the both of you just get to relax, maybe pack some lunch, enjoy the sun, and pick up on random people's juicy conversations. He has one of the most lethal side eyes ever and you have a hard time keeping it together while you react to whatever is going on around you. The insane shit you hear usually becomes an inside joke between the two of you, saying it around Jayce before bursting into a fit of giggles as Jayce gets pouty because he hates being left out of the know. He thinks you two are making fun of him and is too scared to ask

canonverse!Viktor who, when he inevitably proposes, makes both your engagement and your wedding rings. He absolutely never removes either of them. After you two officially tie the knot, he keeps the engagement ring on a necklace and literally never takes off his wedding band. He made them with water resistant so he would never have a reason to take it off. Even before this, though, he always kept reminders of you with him. He keeps a picture of you at his desk, he wears ties you picked out for him, in his breast pocket he keeps a handkerchief you embroidered with your names. Though he complains when you do it, he loves when you leave kiss marks all over his face before work and wears them with pride in his lab.

just canonverse!Viktor who loves his pretty girlfriend very very much!!!

[s4tvrn1z3d]

FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

Tight Spaces

Jayce x Viktor x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k (EXACTLY 3.8k I will never achieve this again.)

Warning: slightly suggestive at the end, but that’s it

Ask:  is it ok if i request some poly jayce and viktor x reader? if you dont do poly just jayce is fine =] maybe the reader is an artist and they love drawing their crush(es) but because theyre a journalist they cant normally show off their art, but while at the lab one day, the other notices their sketchbook and asks to flip through it - and reader, forgetting that its a sketchbook and not a notebook for articles, says yes. after that, everythings up to you >=]

You’ve always been good with tight spaces. It’s part of what makes you one of Piltover’s most prolific reporters. You’re willing to go places that the majority of the prim n’ proper Piltover journalists wouldn’t dare. Which is partly because you grew up in a shabby neighborhood on the edges of the Undercity and partly because you were just a damn good reporter.

Growing up in the Undercity was integral for developing your reporter skills. You didn’t have many toys or trinkets to fill your time with, so you found alternative ways for filling your afternoons as a child. Alternative ways meaning snooping. Creeping around the Lanes and finding new hiding places. Unseen and unnoticed places where you could camp out for an afternoon. Your favorite spot had been a gap in the wall behind Vander’s old bar. You’d sit there for hours, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick while listening in on the dozens of conversations that felt infinitely more interesting than your life had at the time.

Your start in the Undercity also helped to endear you to a certain renowned inventor with similar origins. 

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