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valaruakars · 2 years

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

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

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

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

You hate the Chem-Barons.

Viktor hates the Chem-Barons.

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

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

Now he takes you everywhere.

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

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

And, well…

You kind of like it.

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

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

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

He’s not done with you, though.

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

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

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

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

They’re cowards, the lot of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never.

You shake your stupid, besotted head.

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

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

There’s just one little problem.

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

“Only I get to see you come.”

#viktor arcane #mh!viktor #viktor x reader #mdni #arcane x reader #reader insert #my writing #don't mind me just letting my freak flag fly #another one that could've been a whole entire oneshot tbh #this idea has been rattling around in my brain for ages #2022 birthday prompts

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sylvie-fics · 2 years

Text

The MH Vik fic chapter that has smut

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word count: 5.6K

Rating: M, minors dni

Warnings: Nsfw, afab and fem identifying reader, attempted murder.

Authors note: Thank you to everyone who helped me get through this chapter. Thank you to everyone who thinks my fanfics are worth reading. Thank you to everyone who catches the cats the musical reference hidden somewhere in this fic.

The past couple of days have been less than ideal for both of you. Between answering the door for angry business-owners whose walls were destroyed and burning the daily letters from your former “investor” Jayce Talis, you hadn’t had much time to talk with Viktor. Of course, talk–meaning yell at him while helplessly pounding your fist on the kitchen table.

“Look, I can tell you’re upset.”

Upset couldn’t begin to describe your emotional state. You were raging, fuming, head-down sobbing onto the tablecloth. The new tablecloth– which he had still not realized was there.

For only a moment, you raised your head up to look at him. He seems… mildly concerned. Though, with his monotonous voice and stoic mask, it’s never easy to read into how he’s feeling.

“Upset? Oh– I’m losing my mind. What the hell do you expect me to do, Viktor?”

Viktor has never been great at communication, especially when it involves emotional labor. In his mind, not being required to fuck your investors was a fairly good deal. A great deal, even. In fact, Viktor was rather astounded that you had to do that to begin with. Despite your obviously useless ideas, you had quite a knack for design. Surely there was a non-sexual job market for that.

“Think of it like a job, all you have to do is work on your ideas, and then–”

You cut him off, nearly scream sobbing, “Are you serious right now!? Job?! Like–Consistent working?! I can’t fucking believe you. Who am I supposed to fuck for money now?”

“No, that's the point (Y/N), you don’t have to.”

It was at that point you threw your head back down onto the table, resuming your fist fight with it.

“Ack. I’m gonna grow my virginity back.”

He would tell you ‘(Y/N) that's not how that works’, but he was certain you already knew. Instead, he opted to reach into a drawer, and then slide a pot holder under your hand. The pounding was a bit quieter, at least.

Funny… he doesn't remember buying one of those.

Viktor found you to be unpredictable. Having known you for this long, he feels it would only be natural to have gained a deeper understanding of your inner workings. In the same sense one might know a friend's fears, or recognize their patterns of behavior. You… you were a special case. No matter how much he observed you, he had yet to understand your thought process– much less what goes on in your mind. Perhaps this lack of consistency was why he found you so… amusing.

“(Y/N), have you considered taking this as an opportunity to —”

“Don’t even try to give me advice right now!” You yelled, once again interrupting him.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do here.”

Viktor understands lobotomies have been unsuccessful in the past. He understands the moral implications of doing such a procedure. Sometimes, though. Sometimes he is willing to cast morals aside if it benefits the greater good. Could a lobotomy advance humankind, rather than setting it back? In most cases– no. Once again, he remembers you are a special case.

“… And I hope it’s so expired that it ruins the rest of your human body, and all those metal pieces too. Yeah. Doesn’t feel so good when it's you, huh?”

He’s sure whatever you’re ranting on about has something to do with how upset you are, and how you’re going to commit a violent act, and how you hope this affects him. He’s blocked it out– he’s been blocking out those rants for quite a time now.

“Uh-huh. (Y/N), you’re not a very logical person. The only reason you're here is because I find your stupidity so astoundingly entertaining that I’m willing to pay for your company. I’m well aware you won’t create anything of value, and if anything will waste time, money, and resources. You are perhaps the most useless creature I’ve had the misfortune of discovering. I am maybe 5 minutes away from welding your mouth shut. Stop complaining, shut the hell up, and go make your stupid bird outfits.”

Viktor finds you to be unpredictable. No matter how much he observed you, he had yet to understand your thought process. He did not understand why you were upset to begin with, but he especially does not understand why saying that as loud and angrily as he did made you look… like that. Red cheeks, red ears, and eyes that look almost longingly. It doesn’t make sense. He could maybe pass it off as you being embarrassed or upset.

Still, your eyes told a different story. Those weren’t embarrassed eyes that look away, refusing to meet the other person. Nor were they tear-filled eyes of sorrow. It was piercing, like you could see through the mask. Letting him know–no– reminding him that he was vulnerable. He doesn’t understand how eyes could show that. He doesn’t understand how that could make him feel… something.

You terrify him.

Things seemed to go better after that. While Viktor was still doubtful that bird eyewear would go anywhere, he had to admit you worked pretty damn hard on it. He’d always been told he was a workaholic, that he hyperfocused on his projects. Alas, it seems he had met his match.

He hadn’t really been keeping track of time. Minutes, hours, days. All he knew was that the two of you had been sitting back-to-back across the room from each other in his lab for a while. He may have seen the sun come and go a couple of times. Occasionally there was the sound of a pencil sharpening, paper crumpling, or an angry sigh.

But then… there was the sound of the pencil slamming against the table, the chair moving away from the table, and approaching footsteps.

“Ahah! Bird eyewear!”

It was a horrifying scene. Your face was contorted into some sort of sick smile, your eyes wide and bloodshot. Your entire body was shaking ever-so-slightly as you held the paper in front of Viktor. Your head snapped to the side, crazed laughter escaping from you uncontrollably.

“Tell me what you think, Viktor! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!”

He’s not sure critique is the way to go here. He just needs to remember how compliments work.

“The design is very human.” He states, factually.

“Human?” you ask quietly. “HUMAN?!” you yell frantically.

Viktor became rapidly aware that this was not the correct answer. Part of him has to wonder if this is what he looked like to others back in the day. Within a split second, you had grabbed onto his shoulders, and slammed your forehead against his mask. Presumably, you were attempting to shake him back and forth.

“HUMANITY means SUFFERING Viktor! SUFFERING! HUMANITY IS ONLY ABOUT SUFFERING. AHAH.”

You let go of him, only to rapidly tear apart your most recent design like a feral animal. Then turning, making it about three feet to your station before passing out and hitting the ground.

Viktor was in a daze. It’s just something about the way you grabbed him. The way your face was so close. The way you screamed about humanity and suffering. He’d never agreed with you so intensely before. In fact, he had rarely ever agreed with you on anything prior to this. The moment kept replaying in his head. Grab, come close, reject humanity. It made him feel something… different.

He wasn’t entirely proud of himself for leaving you on the floor. Still, he couldn’t be in there any longer. He was out the door and down the street in moments, repeating aloud to himself a personal mantra.

“Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think, don't think, don't think.”

It's all he could think about. The more he thought about it, the more it evolved– altering into a different situation entirely. The way you gently held him, kissed him, and offered to reject humanity with him. No, that's not right. You straddled him, ran your hands through his hair, and offered to reject humanity with him. No. you handed him a marriage certifi—

“Sir? Sir? Can I help you?… sir?”

Being a shopkeeper in a place with an already collapsing economy is difficult. Being a shopkeeper with extremely difficult customers who sometimes put holes in your walls? Awful. ‘Haven’t I suffered enough?’ shopkeeper asks himself day and night. ‘Is life so meaningless for me that I become a nameless character in the story of two insane people who consistently ruin my life?’.

Viktor had been standing at the front counter of that shop for a few minutes now, still repeating the occasional “Don’t think about it.”

‘Was this all my fault?’ the shopkeeper continues to ponder, still trying to nudge the giant cyborg man back into reality. ‘Could I have avoided all this by giving that blue orb to the idiot girl?’

Viktor, having momentarily regained his grip on reality, responded with a solemn, “I’m beyond help, aren't I?” To which he then left, still muttering his mantra.

“Everyone in this town is fucking crazy…” sighed the shopkeeper.

Things seemed to be tense after that. Viktor was sure his very… physical… reaction to that incident could be explained by a combined lack of sleep from the two of you. Still, he found that feeling persisting. In most cases, this feeling seemed to come to the forefront of his mind at completely awful times.

Having these feelings is not ideal. It’s distracting.

It seems like anything will send him out to town these days. So you think, anyway. One moment you’re talking to him, and the next he's gone– making up some excuse about needing some part or another. You don’t mind, It’s really been rather helpful. You send him a list of things you need around the house, and he's usually back within an hour or two. Still, you don’t understand what he’s been so antsy about.

Oh, what’s that phrase? Zaun is the firework stand of gossip.

Over a period of weeks, Viktor has been seen walking frantically up and down the streets whilst muttering to himself. No one has seen (Y/N). Word around the street is that she rejected him, and he went psycho. Some even speculate that she’s dead.

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.”

On that day in particular, he was not thinking about what you did in the lab today. How you couldn’t reach a tool that was on the other side of the table, and, rather than walking to the other side, you bent yourself over the table. He was not thinking about this. He simply was not.

But, if by some chance he was… he definitely was not altering the situation in his mind. Bending you over the table and holding your head down. Pressing into you, leaning over to whisper in your ear about who you belonged to.

The bell chimed.

“Sir, please, go have your crisis anywhere else. I’m trying to run a business here.”

The day after, he was not thinking about how you stood next to him– in between him and a wall. And you had said something about being bored and wanting to go ‘hang out’ somewhere ‘fun’. He told you he had to work– that you should go repaint another room or something.

But he was especially not thinking of how you ruffled his hair and called him boring. Furthermore, he definitely did not alter the situation to where you ran your hands through his hair and called him ‘boyfriend’. And how after that he slammed you against the wall and kissed all up and down your body while you called out his name over and over.

Oh, or the day after that when he wasn't thinking about how you fell asleep in the lab. You’d woken up while he was carrying you to bed, and said something about joining you. He responded that he was busy, but after he laid you down on the bed he stood in the doorway and… hesitated.

He couldn’t sleep that night. Nor did any work get done.

There came a day was different. You’d taken it upon yourself to go out and about after hearing the rumors of your untimely death, leaving Viktor to his own devices. This, of course, being a terrible idea.

He couldn’t stand it– having these feelings. He didn't understand what these feelings were. He didn’t understand why they only showed up when you started barging into his life. He’s been suffering with these…urges… for months, and they’d only gotten stronger. How is it one could go from being content in their solitude to suffering no matter the situation.

Yes… the only explanation was that you had an arcane ability, and used it to curse your victims with these awful feelings.

“But.. where is the evidence that she could possibly do that?” he sighed, completely oblivious to the door opening, and you walking in. “Perhaps if I simply castrate myself, I’ll never have to feel this emotion again.”

…

The room went silent for what seemed like hours. Viktor, unfortunately, became acutely aware of your presence in the room. Standing in front of the door, mouth in a straight line, clearly struggling to comprehend what you’d just walked in on.

“Do you wanna talk about this, Viktor?”

“Nope.” He said, attempting to push past you.

You blocked his exit.

“Hey– no– you’re not gonna hurt yourself, right? Life gets hard, but is castration really the answer here?”

“Move.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little extreme.”

He very easily could have overpowered you, just pushed past you and walked out. For whatever reason, though, he didn’t. He let you drag him to your workspace, while you said some nonsense about wanting to keep an eye on him for ‘safety’.

Bird eyewear is revolutionary. That's what you think, anyways. You're positive others will think the same once you show them this prototype. Your assistant seems to be a bit zoned out over there, but occasionally he listens to your commands. Pass the wrench, pass the screwdriver. So far, nothing he’s handed you has been the right tool– but that's alright. Progress is, in fact, being made. Kinda.

Viktor wishes he was dead right now. But then again– he thinks–you have the attention span of a fish, you’ve probably already forgotten about the conversation. He thinks you’re asking him to hand you things, but he’s not really sure.

In his head, he is creating a series of scenarios, and ranking them by likelihood of succeeding. Theories, if you will.

You once again ask him for the screwdriver.

He reaches over, grabs nothing, and then places his hand on yours.

This is not a screwdriver.

“You know, Viktor, I do worry about you.”

Maybe he could suppress his feelings even further, and eventually phase them out completely. Yes. This is a great idea. What are the complications here? Well– though he won’t admit it to himself, Viktor can be a bit possessive. Occasionally a bit jealous. What happens when you start going out and about with someone? Easy kill– unless you start seeing another Jayce Talis.

Oh, he hated Jayce Talis. Despised him.

“Hey. Viktor? Vik? You’re really squeezing my hand here.”

It’s not that he minds your former occupation. What he does mind is your number one so-called ‘investor’. He’s sure Talis was the one who convinced you that was the industry standard. Who knows how many people he did that to? Then, the audacity to show up and try to whisk you away like... Like he just thought he could do that?! Expected you to have no complaints, to just blindly follow.

“Viktoooor? Viiiiiiktor? Are you just ignoring me?”

But, what if one day you gained common sense? What does he do then? How can he reasonably expect to live up to expectations of someone who lives a humanly feasible lifestyle. No– you wouldn’t. You rejected humanity over bird eyewear not that long ago. You’re past the point of returning to ‘sane’. You might be better at hiding it to the general public, though.

“Dammit. Did you have some wire malfunction or something? Did you shut down? Am I gonna have to Mary Shelley you back to life? Remember? Mary Shelley? Anything? Vik?”

It’s not like he can stop you, he doesn’t want to take away your freedom. Maybe he could just… work on your critical thinking skills. Not standing outside in storms. That's a good starting point. Oh, but why does he even care? Why does it matter to him if you live or die? Why does it matter if you go out with other guys? Why does he find himself carrying you to bed when you’re passed out at a desk? Why does he imagine all these situations with you?

There you were, sitting beside him. Despite all the horrible things you must have heard about him, you still treated him like just another person. You don’t look at him with an air of fear or pity. How is it that he could go his entire life judged by the world with preconceived notions, and you just… ignored that?

Your eyes– how vulnerable they make him feel.

“This isn’t like you to–”

“Get out of my head.”

It was aggressive. You could barely squeak out a “huh?” before he’d pulled you closer to him, his grip on you tightening. You’re close to him. Extremely close.

Again, louder, more stern.

“Get out of my head!”

You hear it– the fear in his voice. He may pretend to be fighting with you, but he’s just fighting with himself. His voice is growing more and more distressed, the pacing increasingly frantic.

“What have you done to me? What curse have you put on me? I was so content, so productive before this. Before you. And now you infiltrate my mind with your strange words and food and decorations. Why? Why are you doing this?”

You’ve seen him reject his emotions for a long time. The way he pulls himself back from physical contact, or walks out the door from intrusive thoughts. You can’t help but wonder if he wants to suppress uncomfortable feelings– or if he just hates that those feelings are for you. Does he think lowly of you? Are you not worthy of those feelings?

“What is it that you want from me, Viktor?”

You couldn’t look at him. Something in you knew the answer. Something in you feared the answer.

“Just

…

you.”

How badly you wished you could hide behind a wall of your flirtatious quips. Been able to throw out a smooth line about love, or friends, or… anything. Confidence was your facade, the lie that kept you afloat. But in this moment of vulnerability, all you could feel was fear. Scared that someone could see you in conditions so true to yourself, and not be revolted. If only you knew… he felt the exact same.

“You already have me… but, you know that, don’t you Viktor?”

“Having and keeping, they’re two different things.”

Wasn’t love for the girls who lived reasonable lives? Who spoke kindly, and held themselves to high standards. The girls who made it out, living a life that would never make it in the history books.

“Then keep me.” you trailed off, your voice nearly inaudible, “There doesn’t have to be feelings involved… if that's what you want. Would that be better?”

He’s tense– you can see it in the way his shoulders are raised, his hands creating fists. Wouldn’t most men be happy to hear that? No feelings–no complications. It makes it easy to move on when they find those girls who made it out. Who are perfectly content to be dull housewives. Who are happy to live an unfulfilling life.

Viktor wouldn't want someone like that though… would he?

“Are feelings usually involved?”

“No, not for me. Not normally.”

Something is off, and he knows it. You aren’t yelling, or laughing, or making a life-or-death choice out of sheer spite and amusement. No. You were looking away, audibly breathing. If he looked close enough, he would notice how you shook ever so slightly. What were you trying to hide?

“Is this— like normal.”

“…”

Gently, he takes free hand, reaching it to the side of your face and guiding you to meet his eyes.

“(Y/n). Is this like normal?”

“...”

“Y/n”

“...”

“Please, just say something.”

“Things would be a lot easier that way. If it was… like normal.”

You’d tried so hard to hold back, but he sees the tears that fall down your face, hears the stressed laugh that escapes from your mouth. He can’t stand seeing you like this. He can’t stand that he was the one who made you like this.

Fear. Looking at you so despondent, wondering how many more poorly timed confessions he is from never seeing you again. It’s not like normal. Normal is walking down the street alone, working late nights alone, eating alone, sleeping alone. How quickly he’d forgotten all about that sense of normalcy. How much easier it would be if things were normal. How hard it would be to go back to normal now.

Viktor, he thinks, you’ve really gotten yourself into it this time.

His iron grip on your arm loosens, giving you a spare moment to wipe away your tears. When was the last time you cried over a guy? Shameful, the way you let yourself get to this point– daydreaming about a love that was never meant for you.

Between your sniffling and thoughts, you hadn’t paid any mind to the clinking sound of something being placed on the table. Or the arm that wrapped around your back. The hand that cupped your cheek.

His lips were so… soft.

Maybe, Maybe love could be this. Two inventors, working their lives away on inventions that might not outlive them. One, amalgamating himself into the cyborg-like creature he is. The other… well… doing whatever it is you do.

And right now, you were kissing him.

You were kissing Viktor?

It had happened so fast, far too quick for you to process initially. Though, once you did, you had no problem reciprocating– wrapping your arms around his neck and running a hand into his hair. You felt burning hot. Could it be the way he was deepening the kiss, pushing you back as he leaned further into you? His deep humming of contentedness as you complied with his need for affection. Or– perhaps it was the deadly laser beams firing from the hexclaw on his shoulder.

He pulls away, muttering a quick “sorry” before quickly undoing the pauldron holding the claw, and carelessly throwing it on the floor.

It was dark, only the dingy light of a nearby lamp to illuminate the lab. Despite this, you couldn't help but notice how his honey eyes seemed to glow. What a shame, to hide such a beautiful face behind a mask.

“Oh, Viktor…” you trailed off, enamored with the sight before you.

“Hm?”

“You do have a face!”

The two of you shared a short laugh–this time not of nervousness, but relief. Now that the fear of rejection had been completely thrown away, there wasn’t much to stop either of you. Viktor was hasty to stand up, grabbing and throwing you onto the worktable. He had tasted happiness for the first time, and now he needed more. As much as he could get. As much as you would give him.

In between the kisses he planted across your face, moving down to your neck, he sarcastically pointed out that the two of you had been over that so many times.

You couldn’t help but squirm as he began to get rougher with you. Hands on either side of your hips held you in place as his kisses became love bites. You’d be horribly bruised tomorrow if he kept this up. Of course, he had no intention of stopping. If anything, this was an assertion of dominance– showing everyone else who you belonged to.

Your breathy fuck was a command, one he was more than happy to oblige to. He pushed between your legs, allowing himself to grind against you as you sighed in frustration. God, you really need some relief, and soon.

His arms traveled up your hips, over your stomach, and to your arms– lifting them above your head. The way he towered over you was… exciting.

This was the first time in a long time he’d been so overtaken with emotion, and with no way to stop it. Each little lewd noise you made only encouraged him to keep going. His body rutted against yours, a sort of primal urge controlling his erotic movements.

He leaned over, pushing harder against you as he half-whispered into your ear.

“You don’t get to leave after this, (Y/N). If you ever find someone you consider more suitable, I will make sure they have a slow, tortuous death. I’ll tie you down and make you remember who you belong to. You know who you belong to. Say it.”

“Mmph- All yours, Viktor.”

That was all he needed. Viktor backed off of you, working away at what he could take off, throwing a look that implied for you to do the same.

“How do you want me?” you asked, pulling off your shirt.

“Just as you are.”

“Want me to make you feel good?”

“You already do.”

Obviously, you’re not going to get anywhere with this conversation.

“... yeah, I’m gonna suck your dick.”

He was a bit taken aback— but not complaining. He was sure by this point you’d realized that he was totally lost. It’s a bit easier to feign experience when you’re fully clothed and only engaging in sensual kissing. Not that he was particularly well versed in that field either…

He just hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was staring at your exposed chest.

You’re pretty damn sure this is the first pair of tits this man has seen in his life the way he’s looking at you. And, if that’s the case— then you were also certain the previous 10 minutes of pillow talk were all bark and no bite. This man’s a virgin, and he has no idea where to go from here.

You’re in control now.

Back in the days, you knew there were a couple universal truths when it came to sex. Egotistical men can only finish once. They talk themselves up, pretend they know what they're doing, and then completely disappoint you. Been there, seen it, done that.

You positioned yourself on your knees, reaching up to tie your hair back.

Virgin boys finish quick. They can’t help it– it's a learning experience. You tend to have more sympathy towards that. Usually, they’re pretty open and honest about it.

“Alright, let me see what i'm working with…”

But above and beyond, there's still one thing left over– and that is the thing that you never will guess. The thing that no human research could discover, but the slut herself knows, and will never confess.

“Ahah. Hey Viktor. What the fuck.”

Tall and scrawny guys. They’re easy to underestimate. From an outside view, one might think them average in every way. Every tall and scrawny boy, though, has a secret. What they lack in muscle, they make up for elsewhere.

The more he revealed, the more it became increasingly clear– Viktor was tall and scrawny.

Intimidatingly tall and scrawny.

Viktor worries he’s fucked up. You were rather seductive just a moment ago. Now, you’re on the floor making the world's most straight-lined face, eyes wide with an emotion he can’t quite decipher. He’s not sure what average is, maybe this was small? Maybe you were having second thoughts? He was already worried he’d disappoint you with his lack of experience, but now he’s going to disappoint you with a small dick too?

You seem to come to your senses after a moment, a sort of determined aura radiating off of you. It’s go time.

The instant you makes contact with it, he has to hold himself back. This new sensation in combination with the way you look up at him is nearly too much. You’re grazing your tongue along the underside with an intimate slowness, making sure not to overwhelm him upfront. You pull back only for a moment– placing a light kiss atop the tip. A string of precum jolts from him, which you lick from your lips. How curious, it tastes rather sweet.

A stunned “a-ah” sounds from this tower of a man– his hands looking for anything to hold on to, eventually finding a place on your head.

You place your mouth on him slightly, looking up for permission to continue. In response, him pushing you further onto his length. It was experimental. Starting slow, then with swiveling movements, then with tongue. Pick up the pace, repeat. You were surprised with how well he was holding up. Though, his sounds indicated a nearing climax.

He’s loud. Extremely loud. Loud enough that you’re sure everyone living in Emberflit Alley can hear him gasping for air and crying out. By tomorrow morning, the rumors will be flipped around. (Y/N) finally went crazy and killed Viktor– all those bruises were signs of a struggle, he didn't go down without a fight.

You're pushed off of him and onto the floor, a trail of his release streaming from your mouth to your stomach as you fall. Seeing you there, covered with him, completely submissive to him… it gives him a second wind.

Before you can process your fall, you're raised in the air again. Your back is against a wall, but you’re not quite standing. He’s holding you up, one hand gripped tight around your neck, the other supporting your waist.

“More…” he growls.

Who are you to deny? If it’s more he wants, it’s more he gets.

Adrenaline is coursing through his body. He uses his leg to part yours, placing himself at your entrance. He notices the way you adjust, making yourself easily ready for him. Fuck is the only thought he can manage.

Tomorrow, he can look back and regret this. But today, he can fuck you senseless.

You’re a bit more quiet than he is– but not silent. As he pushes himself in, he relishes in the melody that is your ‘hmmms’ and ‘mmphs’. Something about it only makes him more exhilarated. Sure, he had enjoyed when you were working on him– fuck, though, making you feel good was so much better.

He's pumping into you aggressively, taking delight in the way your nails grip into him. He’s sure you're drawing blood, he can feel it– but that doesn’t matter to him. The harder he fucks you, the more he can drill it into you– you belong to him, and him alone.

“Say it. Tell me who owns you.”

“Ah- you,” you choke out, “You, Viktor.”

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head– you might pass out at this rate.

“Again.”

“Only you, viktor. Fuck. No one else matters.”

And with one final thrust, he pushes himself deep inside you– locking eyes as his warmth fills your stomach. He stares for quite a while after, making sure to memorize every detail of you. Memorizing what you look like absolutely ruined by him.

“No one else matters.” he reinforces.

The world began to fade, your vision going black. Yes, this is what it feels like to die. Choked by a metal amalgamation, combined with 8 inches of internal impalement. Dying was so wonderful, so peaceful. Unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Or– maybe that was just an orgasm.

Vik, you did so great. I'm so proud of you, I think I’m really in love with you.

“Viksogudsproloyou”

“Eh?”

“Vproulov”

“O–okay?”

Dammit, he’s fucked out your final brain cell. No matter how many times he asks for clarification, you only respond with a sad attempt at a sentence. Viktor isn’t sure what to do. Meanwhile, you’re pissed as hell that this man can’t accept a compliment– you swear it's like he can't hear you.

With all the strength you can muster, you slap him across the face.

Viktor notices your arm raise about three inches in the air and then fall again. He’s confused on what you're attempting to accomplish there.

“(Y/N)?”

“Fuckyou”

“You did. Lets… I think you should go to bed.”

The rest of the night was a haze to you. You can remember groaning in pain as he pulled out. Then, you can remember yelling at him for throwing you in water much too cold for your liking. Kept saying something about “stop trying to drown yourself” every time you tried to take a nice, peaceful nap. He attempted to feed you… something? Whatever it was, it wasn’t very good. Too burnt.

As morning approached, you remembered those things in bits and pieces, slowly regaining your consciousness.

You remembered getting fucked out of your mind. You remembered a confession or two. What you did not remember… was who was laying beside you.

Viktor awoke to your shrill scream, followed by a pillow smothering him. You weren’t particularly strong, but you caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting a murder attempt so early in the day.

He was able to grab your wrists, throwing you off of him and onto your back.

“Who are you?!” you screamed, panic clear in your voice.

“(Y/N) you know me! Viktor! Stop trying to kill me woman!”

You seemed to calm down after that, a silly grin returning to your face as you sleepily responded,

“Viktor? Oh, you have such a cute face.”

Then snuggled back up to him, and immediately falling asleep.

Viktor, on the other hand, stayed up for hours after this– preparing for your next attack.

You really do terrify him.

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