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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter One

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language.

Notes — Welcome to the Radio Silence universe! This chapter is mainly devoted to introducing Amelia as a character, but does have a bit of Lando in it too! Hope you love it.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2018

Amelia Brown stared at the new plaque on her dad’s office door.

Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren Racing.

She hated it.

Not because she wasn’t proud of him. Of course she was — her dad was brilliant, and he’d worked for years to get that title. It made sense. It was logical.

But the words looked wrong. Off-balance. Too sharp.

The old plaque had been there for years. Zak Brown, Executive Director of McLaren Technology Group. She knew the exact spacing of the letters, the way the light hit the brushed metal in the afternoon. She’d memorised it without meaning to. It had become part of the hallway, part of the routine. Safe.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers twitching at her sides.

It wasn’t just a new title. It was everything.

The MTC felt different now. The air had a new kind of buzz to it — louder, sharper. People looked at her differently, talked to her like she was someone else entirely. Like being the CEO’s daughter had changed her, too.

The rules had changed, and no one had told her what the new ones were.

—

Her father had been a Formula One fan for as long as she could remember.

V10 engines were her lullaby as a baby; the high-pitched scream of them a strange kind of comfort. Over time, the sound had settled into her nervous system, familiar and grounding.

By the time she was eight, she couldn’t fall asleep without it. Old races playing softly on the TV, the steady rhythm of the commentators’ voices, the roar of the engines, the tension winding through each lap.

One night, when she was ten, the power had gone out during a storm. No TV. No white noise. Just silence and the wind scraping at the windows.

She’d curled up in her bed, fists pressed tight against her ears, trying not to cry.

Then came footsteps in the hallway. Steady. Familiar.

Her dad’s voice followed, soft but certain. “Hey, kiddo. Got something for you.”

He stepped into her room with a dusty old laptop under one arm and a tangle of wires in the other.

Ten minutes later, her princess-themed bedroom was filled with the warm flicker of a grainy screen. The 2005 Japanese Grand Prix. One of her favourites.

She knew the race by heart. Raikkonen’s last-lap pass on Fisichella, the way Alonso danced through the field like he could see gaps before they even opened. She mouthed the commentators’ lines without realising, her breathing slowly syncing with the rhythm of the engine notes.

Her dad didn’t say anything. He just sat on the floor beside her bed, legs stretched out, back against the wall, holding the laptop steady for her to see.

Eight years later, Amelia thought about that night a lot.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what Formula One had meant to her dad before she was even born. But somewhere along the line, it had become more than just his dream. It had become theirs.

For Amelia, it wasn’t just a sport. It was everything.

Formula One was her special interest; the thing that clicked in her brain in a way nothing else ever had. The stats, the strategy, the evolution of car design, the sound of a perfectly timed downshift… it all made sense when so much of the world didn’t.

It gave her a framework, a rhythm, a language that felt natural.

While other kids played games she didn’t understand, she memorised engine configurations. While teachers scolded her for “zoning out,” she was mentally replaying the 2002 Brazilian Grand Prix, lap by lap.

She could list every World Champion from 1950 onward before she could properly tie her shoes. At recess, when the others were pretending to be superheroes or princesses, she was mapping out imaginary circuits in the dirt with a stick, narrating races in her head with full commentary — down to the tire strategies and pit stop windows.

She tried sharing her passion with her peers, once.

In third grade, she’d brought a die-cast model of a 1998 McLaren MP4/13 to class for sharing time. She’d practised what she was going to say all night, rehearsed the facts in front of the mirror until the words felt smooth. Recited the specs; V10 engine, Adrian Newey’s aerodynamic innovations, Mika Häkkinen’s championship run, over and over.

But when she stood in front of the class, the words tumbled out too fast, too detailed, too much. She was halfway through explaining the brake-steer controversy when a boy in the front row yawned so loudly it echoed, and someone in the back let out a snort-laugh that made her ears burn.

After that, she stopped trying.

Except with her dad.

With him, she never had to translate. She could go on about tire compounds or telemetry data or how ridiculous it was that certain drivers still didn’t know how to defend a corner, and he never told her to slow down or “talk normal.” He just nodded, asked questions, matched her pace.

They didn’t need eye contact or hugs or long emotional talks. They had race weekends. They had side-by-side silence on the couch, watching onboards and live timing feeds. They had post-race debriefs at the kitchen table over scrambled eggs, like it was the most natural thing in the world for an eight-year-old to have such strong opinions about power unit reliability.

It was how they communicated. Racing was their shared language.

Her mom didn’t get it; not really. The noise overwhelmed her. The rules confused her. She once referred to Sebastian Vettel as “the one with the baby face and the weird flag thing,” and Amelia had almost burst into flames on the spot.

But she tried.

She printed out colouring sheets of cars when Amelia was little, even though she could already draw them from memory. She learned to set the TV volume just right; high enough for Amelia to hear the engines clearly, low enough not to overwhelm her. She made snacks on race days and never once complained when qualifying ran late into the night.

Her mom didn’t understand the obsession. But she understood Amelia.

—

Amelia walked into her dad’s office and froze, staring at the shelf lined with trophies, framed photos, and mementos from his years in motorsport. It had been that way for months now, ever since he’d taken the CEO position at McLaren, and every time she had to look at it, her ears burned.

Because the items on the shelf were never in the right order.

The memorabilia was all haphazardly placed; drivers she didn’t like sitting too close to ones she admired. There were racing helmets, but the scale didn’t make sense; one was huge, another tiny, a third just slightly off-centre.

There were photos, too, of her dad with the team, with Fernando Alonso, with the McLaren execs, but none of them were lined up properly.

The shelf, she thought, should be perfect. But it wasn’t.

Reaching up, she slid the first photo frame to the right, just enough to make it parallel with the others. Then the helmet, she shifted it slightly, aligning it with the edge of the shelf.

One by one, she adjusted the frames, the objects, the odd little pieces of her dad’s world that had once felt like a steady part of her life.

She wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much today. Maybe it was the way everything felt out of sync.

When she reached the second shelf, she noticed a small figure of a car. A McLaren MP4/4. Her dad had given it to her when she was younger, one of the few gifts he’d ever picked out himself. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the model before she set it down exactly in the middle of the shelf, just below the first row of photos.

For a very brief moment, it was perfect.

Just a small fix. A temporary escape from the feeling that everything else was slipping out of her grasp.

“Wow. Looks much better.”

Amelia tensed at the sound of her dad’s voice from the doorway.

She hadn’t heard him come in. For a moment, she considered turning on her heel and leaving the room, pretending she hadn’t touched anything. But her dad was already smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t look upset. He never did; that was the problem. She could never tell how he was really feeling because his face always stayed the same. It was like his expressions were stuck, and no matter how hard she tried to figure it out, she couldn’t read him. It made it hard to know if he was happy, worried, or anything at all. Everything just felt... flat.

“You know,” he continued, stepping further into the room, his hands in his pockets, “I’ve never been great at this stuff. Never really noticed how... messy things can get in here. But I guess you’ve got a better eye for it than I do.”

Amelia couldn’t help but feel a small rush of pride.

She nodded quietly, her gaze flicking back to the shelf. There was a strange sense of uncertainty creeping in, though. “Is it still okay, though?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... Does it still... feel like yours?”

Her dad glanced at her, then back at the shelf, his smile fading just a little. “Yeah,” he said after a long beat. “It still feels like me. And it’s you, too, right? Made you feel better to change things up a bit?”

She just stared at him, unsure how to answer that.

He stepped closer, running a hand through his hair. "I know things feel... different now. I guess I'm still getting used to it, too," he admitted quietly. "But it’s still... McLaren. It's still our world, kiddo."

Amelia’s stomach clenched. She wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. She only nodded, her gaze travelling back to the perfectly aligned shelf.

Her dad placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing over her skin like a quiet reassurance. She made a small noise of discomfort. He paused, and then tightened his grip. So tight it might make a normal person wince. It just made Amelia let out a relieved breath of air, the pressure good, good, good.

It wasn’t that she hated touch, it was just that it had to be right, had to be just the right amount of force, of contact. Too light, and it felt like nothing at all. Too much, and she’d start to feel overwhelmed, like the weight of the world was pressing in. But this... this was perfect. His hand, firm on her shoulder, grounded her in a way nothing else could.

“Thanks for tidying up,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I think I might leave it just like this for a while. Feels... good.”

She nodded, the pressure of his hand still there, steady, and it was like she could finally breathe again.

—

The McLaren pit garages smelled of oil and rubber. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, and she could still hear them even through the noise-cancelling headphones on her ears. Amelia moved through the space quietly, sharp eyes scanning the flurry of engineers, tire changers, and data specialists working with practiced urgency. Her hands were clasped behind her back, fingers pressed tight against her palms, and her gaze flicked between the monitors, the car, and the teams as they hustled to prepare the MCL33 for its next session.

Her favourite part was always the data. The telemetry displayed on the screens had a rhythm, a language that felt like it belonged to her more than anyone else. The raw numbers, the graphs, the fine-tuned fluctuations of the car’s performance; it all made perfect sense. She knew what to look for.

Her feet carried her forward. She found herself standing near Fernando Alonso’s MCL33, just a few feet away. The car was a beautiful mess of carbon fiber, heat shields, and wires, and it was just sat there, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Before the season had even started, Amelia had memorised every part of it, from the aerodynamic tweaks to the engine specs.

One of the engineers noticed her as she lingered, her posture attentive, her expression unreadable beneath the headphones. Everyone knew who she was. Zac’s daughter. A genius, in a multitude of ways.

He approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her. He’d noticed how her eyes narrowed when too many voices clashed together at once, or how she shrunk when people got just that little bit too close.

"Hey, Amelia," he said, his voice calm, not wanting to intrude. She turned toward him, her face still slightly blank, but he could tell by the way her eyes focused on his that she had heard him. “You good?” he asked, motioning toward the telemetry screens just behind her.

Amelia nodded, then hesitated. Her hand hovered for a second before she slowly, cautiously pointed at the screen. Her voice, when it came, was quiet, careful. “I... I think the tire pressures on the front left might be a little too high for this circuit. The temperatures are different compared to last year.”

She didn’t look at the engineer as she spoke. Her eyes stayed fixed on the data, like if she focused hard enough, she could disappear into it. She knew she was right, she was almost always right when it came to this, but the memory of past times, of laughter or dismissal, tugged at the edge of her confidence. She didn’t want to make it sound like she thought she knew more than the team. She didn’t even have a degree.

The engineer just blinked. “I’ll pass it along,” he said, eventually.

Amelia gave a small nod, then quickly turned her focus back to the car, to the numbers flicking past on the monitors. She adjusted her posture slightly, shoulders curling inward, trying to take up less space.

As she focused on the intricate lines of the MCL33, another engineer approached her. He was holding a tablet with a telemetry feed of his own, and without speaking, he offered it to her. Amelia looked at the data for a long moment, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the figures and readouts. Then, her finger gently traced over the tablet’s screen, pointing to a particularly complex graph of the car’s acceleration over the course of a lap.

“Right there,” she said, her voice soft but clear, though it was a bit muffled by the headphones. "You need to adjust the mapping."

The engineer hummed, impressed but not surprised. “I’ll have the team look into it,” he said, before turning to relay her suggestion to the others.

Her dad was always there, of course, close, watching from a distance, his presence a quiet comfort. But Amelia didn’t need him right now. She just needed the machines, the numbers, and the freedom to study it all.

The engineers moved around her, respecting her space. Always careful not to brush against her, even though she was technically in their way.

When she finally did look up from the data screens, Fernando had stepped into the garage, just a few feet away, in his racing suit, helmet tucked under one arm. He glanced at her, then at the engineers who were quietly working around her.

He approached with a calm, easy presence that didn’t press too hard, didn’t demand anything. “Ah. How is the car feeling, pollita?” he asked, voice light but kind.

Amelia gave a small nod, gaze trained on the Spanish flag on the neck of his fireproofs.

Fernando smiled. Then he turned to the engineers, who were already passing along her observations.

“If she said it,” he said, tone warm and without a trace of doubt, “then yes—keep an eye on the turbo mapping. She is the smart one.”

—

She walked around the paddock often. The garages were fun —fascinating, even— but it could all very quickly become too much. The noise, the flashing lights, the overlapping voices, the sudden bursts of motion.

So she’d slip away. Not far. Just enough.

There was always a McLaren staff member trailing after her. Not hovering, not bothering, just keeping a quiet distance. Just far enough to give her the illusion of independence, a false sense of freedom she chose to believe in. She didn’t mind. As long as they didn’t try to talk, or worse, touch, she could almost ignore them entirely.

She wandered with a purpose that only made sense to her, eyes fixed ahead, headphones still on, the rest of the world muted and manageable. She liked it that way. The paddock, in the quiet bubble of her own world, was peaceful.

That’s when she spotted him.

Lewis Hamilton stood just outside the Mercedes hospitality suite, sunglasses perched on his nose. Roscoe was with him, tail wagging lazily, nose in something that probably smelled like food. Amelia stopped walking, blinked a few times, then changed direction.

Lewis noticed her before she got too close. He smiled, lowering his sunglasses slightly. “Hey, Amelia,” he said, crouching a little as Roscoe trotted forward to sniff her shoes. “Been a while. You good?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she crouched carefully, reaching a hand out to Roscoe but not touching him until the dog pressed his nose into her palm. Only then did she give a tiny nod.

Lewis waited, patient. He was always nice like that.

“How’s Roscoe?” she asked finally, her voice soft and low. One time, somebody told her that she spoke like she wasn’t sure she had permission to do so. Always quiet. Mumbling, if she could get away with it.

Lewis just smiled, warmth radiating in that easy way of his. She liked Lewis a lot. “He’s good. Living his best life. Had a spa day last week. He’s spoiled.”

Amelia looked at the bulldog again, and her tight jaw felt softer. “Good.”

There was a pause. She didn’t move, didn’t say much, but she didn’t walk away either.

“You ever want to walk him sometime, just ask,” Lewis offered, still crouched.

Amelia looked up, eyes wide, the corners of her mouth twitching in what might have been the start of a smile. She gave a small nod.

Then she stood, gave Roscoe one last pat, and turned to leave.

The McLaren staffer fell into step a few paces behind her, still pretending not to be watching too closely.

Amelia looked down at her hand. Grimaced.

Her chest tightened. The feeling started crawling up her skin.

“I need sanitiser,” she said, voice rushed and clipped, a little too loud, a little too sharp. Her hands hovered awkwardly in front of her like she didn’t want to touch anything, even herself.

The staffer blinked once, then immediately fished a small bottle from his pocket and offered it to her without a word.

Amelia snatched it quickly, not too fast, not rude, she told herself, and squeezed a dollop into her palm. She rubbed it in with fast, focused movements. Between every finger. Around every nail. Up her wrists. Twice.

Only when the last of it had dried, leaving that slightly tacky residue behind, did her shoulders drop. The tension in her jaw loosened. The hum in her head began to fade.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes. She turned back toward the paddock walkway, pressing her clean hands flat against the sides of her jeans, grounding herself in the texture.

—

The MTC’s glass corridors were quiet, filled with the soft echo of Amelia’s footsteps. She liked walking here early in the mornings, before the building filled with noise and movement. The lines were clean, the light was even, and everything had its place.

She turned a corner and nearly collided with someone moving fast; backwards, clumsily trying to zip up his hoodie while juggling an apple and his phone.

Lando Norris. FIA Formula 2 championship runner-up, member of the McLaren Young Driver Programme, widely considered one of the brightest rising stars in motorsport. She knew all of this about him.

He skidded to a stop when he saw her, eyes widening slightly. “Oh, hey. Sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Amelia stared at him for a beat, saying nothing.

“You’re late,” she said plainly.

Lando blinked, then gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Kinda running behind this morning. Slept through my alarm. Happens sometimes.”

She tilted her head, studying him like he was part of a data set, eyes narrowed into thin slits. “You’ll never get promoted if you’re always late.”

The words came out blunt, matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to be rude, just honest. Patterns mattered. Timings mattered. Discipline mattered. Racing was full of rules, and being late was not acceptable.

Lando laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh—do you really think I won’t get promoted?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She studied him, eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment but in analysis. She was already calculating, recalling his lap times, consistency, tyre management, race-craft under pressure. She’d watched his F2 season. Not just watched; studied it. He was aggressive under braking, a little rough on tyres mid-stint, but his spatial awareness was excellent, and his adaptability in changing conditions put him in the top percentile.

He was a good fit for McLaren, in her opinion.

“Are you fast?” She asked him, despite already knowing the answer.

Lando blinked. Let out a short, awkward laugh. “Yeah. I mean, I think so.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “Then you’ll be fine.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her stride quick and purposeful, the conversation already filed away in her mind, concluded.

Lando stood there for a second, caught off guard. Smart. Intense. Kind of pretty, too. But brutal. “Right,” he muttered to himself, watching her go. “Cool. Fast. Got it.”

—

Amelia sat cross-legged on her bed in her family home in England, the room quiet except for the electrical hum of her phone charger. Her mom was downstairs, making chilli for dinner, and her dad was still at the office.

She was scrolling through Twitter, quietly, methodically, as she did most evenings. She didn’t get involved much. A few retweets here and there. Articles, stats, insights. She had a good number of followers, mostly people who’d seen her on race broadcasts or encountered her race-day tweets.

But then, her thumb hovered. Lando Norris had tweeted earlier that day. She followed him, of course. She followed every McLaren adjacent account.

She clicked on his profile.

She knew him. Had obviously studied his race-craft.

She scrolled through his timeline, her eyes tracking his tweets one by one.

"Is it just me or does everyone have a friend who thinks they know how to cook but really just know how to burn toast? 😂"

Amelia blinked. She didn’t get it. Was that supposed to be funny? She wasn’t sure that incompetence was amusing.

She continued scrolling, her eyes scanning through the odd mix of jokes, memes, and race-day updates. None of it made any sense. She was used to tweets that were precise, purposeful — like her own. Her posts were methodical, always carefully planned, always factual. Data, analysis, insights. It was how she communicated with the world.

Another tweet.

“Just watched a documentary on the moon landing. Now I’m convinced I could be an astronaut. 😂”

Amelia frowned. There was no mention of racing, no insights into strategy, no talk of lap times or tire degradation. Just... this. She scrolled past it quickly, her thumb moving with a steady rhythm as she returned to her own timeline, where everything was neatly laid out, logical, and to the point.

Maybe she should talk to Lando about using his social media more usefully. After all, he already had such a large following. He could share insights, data, something valuable for his fans. He was a professional driver, for goodness' sake. It could be a way to connect with people, educate them, make them appreciate the intricacies of racing in the same way that she did.

She bit her lip, feeling a small knot form in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she could just tell him to change. That would be... strange. Maybe even rude.

Two hours later, Amelia sat at the dinner table, poking at her food absentmindedly. Her mom was talking about her day at work, but Amelia wasn’t really listening.

Her dad, always quick to pick up on when something wasn’t right, glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on in that head of yours, kiddo?”

Amelia hesitated for a moment, rolling the words around in her mouth. She wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much, but the thought of Lando’s Twitter kept circling in her mind, unresolved. “Lando Norris is a terrible tweeter. He needs a social media manager.”

Her dad stared at her for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Ah, that’s just Lando! Fans love him for it. He’s... unpredictable, keeps everyone guessing. People follow him because they like seeing the real him. Jokes and all.”

Amelia didn’t find anything about this situation funny.

She fiddled with her food, the tension in her chest tightening. Why did nobody seem as concerned about this as she was?

Lando was good. A good racer. A worthy driver.

Late. He was always late. He could fix that, though.

Fix, fix, fix.

She clenched her hands in her lap, staring at her plate, her thoughts spinning.

Her mom set her fork down, leaning forward slightly. “Amelia, is it really bothering you, honey?”

Amelia’s gaze snapped up, her eyes wide. “Yes! I don’t understand it. He could be doing so much more—he’s just... joking around all the time. He never posts about his telemetry or his tests. It’s such a waste!”

Her mom nodded patiently. “That’s what you would post about?” she asked, her tone gentle.

Amelia nodded, feeling her thoughts settle into place. “Yes. It’s all there, the numbers, the data. It shows his skills. It’s... more useful.”

Her dad hummed thoughtfully. “I could have a chat with him. Tell him to post more of his racing stats. They are impressive. But I won’t tell him to stop being himself. That’s working well for his image.”

Amelia wrung her hands together under the table, taking small, even breaths. It helped calm her, but the unease was still there.

“I think…” she started, her voice softer now, the edges of her frustration ebbing away. “He is a good racer.”

Her dad smiled at her, a little amused. “You care about his success, huh? Well, that’s sweet.”

Amelia nodded. Then she frowned. Sweet? Why was that sweet? She cared about the success of all the drivers in her dad’s team… not just Lando.

Her mom reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re not the only one who wants him to do well, honey. But maybe let him be him. It’s working for him in his own way, even if it’s not how you’d do it.”

Amelia hummed thoughtfully, picking up her fork. She liked chilli. It was comforting. Simple. Consistent.

She missed the look her parents shared — half concerned, half understanding.

—

Fernando would leave Formula One at the end of the 2018 season.

Amelia didn’t know how to feel about it, or if she should feel anything at all. The news came as a whisper first; just a passing comment she overheard in the MTC, a conversation between her dad and one of the engineers. At first, it didn’t seem real. Fernando had been a fixture of the sport for as long as she could remember. The idea of Formula One without him felt... wrong. He wasn’t just another driver; he was Fernando.

And then, one afternoon, her dad sat her down in his office and confirmed what she had been dreading.

Fernando was leaving.

She found herself pacing around the house, her mind spiralling as she thought about the future of F1 without him in it.

He’d always been so nice to her, letting her into his garage whenever she wanted, no questions asked. There was never any judgment in his eyes when she stared at data screens for hours or rambled on about telemetry. He just... let her be.

He had understood her in a way few people ever did.

She would miss him.

—

Lando Norris and Carlos Sainz. 2019 McLaren Driver Line-up.

She’d expected it. She knew it was coming. Fernando was leaving. So was Stoffel. She’d already processed that. But somehow, seeing it laid out in front of her, seeing it confirmed in black and white, made it feel much more real.

Her dad had sat her down earlier on in the month, his voice soft but steady. He’d said it was a new chapter for McLaren, a step in the right direction.

She put the phone down, the buzzing of it faint in her ears, and stared ahead. The news sat like a heavy weight in her chest. Lando and Carlos. McLaren’s new driver pairing.

—

iMessage — Lewis Hamilton & Amelia Brown

Amelia Brown

I would like to see a photo of Roscoe.

Lewis Hamilton

*insert photograph of Roscoe*

You doing okay, kiddo? Lots of changes happening over there at McLaren.

Amelia Brown

I am fine.

Lewis Hamilton

You're always welcome at Mercedes if you need a breather, yeah?

Toto thinks very highly of you.

Amelia Brown

Because I am so smart?

Lewis Hamilton

Exactly.

—

Amelia sat in the kitchen, scrolling through Twitter as she sipped her coffee. Her nineteenth birthday had come and gone, quietly, without much fanfare.

Her gaze drifted across the screen.

Lando had posted something that caught her attention.

"Why do I feel like I need a vacation, but I also can't leave my bed?"

Amelia blinked at the tweet, trying to make sense of it. She tilted her head, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard. She didn’t understand. Was he… hurt? Why couldn’t he leave his bed? He was supposed to be racing a Formula One car in a matter of months.

With a worried sigh, she typed out a simple response to his tweet.

What does this mean?

She hit send and waited.

A few minutes later, Lando replied.

It’s just one of those random thoughts. You know, like when you’re too comfortable but you also want to escape, but you don’t really? Classic conundrum lol

Amelia stared at the reply, processing it slowly.

She... still didn’t get it. Why would anyone want to leave a comfortable bed just to go somewhere else?

She frowned at the screen for a moment, her eyes scanning the thread, and then she noticed the replies.

“Lando is so sweet to explain it! 💕”

“Aw, he’s always so patient with everyone ❤️”

Amelia’s brows furrowed. Sweet? Patient? She didn’t understand. He was just explaining himself and his terrible analogy. Had nobody else been confused?

She stared at the replies for a moment longer, the confusion deepening. It felt like there was something she was missing.

She felt a small twist of discomfort, the kind she always got when emotions felt too complicated, too layered.

Amelia clicked away from the thread, unsure what to do with the strange tugging sensation that lingered in her chest.

—

That night, Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She glanced over at her mom, who was measuring her bedroom window. Amelia had asked for black-out blinds, now that the days were getting brighter again.

“When my chest gets tight— and I’m thinking about somebody, and then I see other people saying nice things about them... and it gets, um, uncomfortable— what does that mean?”

Her mom paused, turning to face her. “Well. It can be a lot of things, honey. Depends on the person. Maybe you’re feeling protective, or it could be jealousy. Sometimes, we can feel a lot of emotions physically, and they don’t always have to make sense.”

Amelia blinked, feeling something stir inside her that she couldn’t quite name. The word felt almost too big to say. “Jealousy?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mom nodded, sitting down next to her. “Jealousy isn’t always bad. It’s just a feeling. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Amelia’s mind spun. The word echoed in her head, uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

Jealousy.

Something about it seemed to fit.

NEXT CHAPTER

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drippingghoneyy · 4 months ago

Text

Making Some Progress -Viktor x Reader x Jayce

Summary: As Viktor's assistant, Viktor, Jayce and you have been working in a lab for many nights, pushing the boundaries of science and magic. The air thickens and the tension grows.

Genre/ Pairing: m/m/f, Jayvik x reader, dom!Viktor x sub! fem!Reader x switch!Jayce,

WARNINGS: mdni! nsfw, smut, pwp, poly sex, tension, teasing, dom!Viktor, sub! fem!Reader, switch! Jayce, lab sex, couch sex, threesome, handjob, voyeurism, praise kink, cuckolding, edging, dom/sub dynamics, piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), missionary, vag fingering, big dick Viktor, pet names, begging, friends-to-lovers, voice kink, obedience kink, stretching, nipple play, sharing, degradation, "Sir", overstimulation.. (lmk if I missed any!)

Word Count: 6.3k

Notes: This is my first writing…ever… So please give me any feedback! where could I do better? I thought there wasn't enough Jayvik smut, so I made my own…

If you find any spelling errors, no you didn't. If you don't like nsfw content, please don't read it!

You, as Viktor's devoted assistant, had been with them since the early days. The three of you had spent countless hours in this very lab, pushing the boundaries of science and magic.

The three of you have been set to work for many nights, the air crackling with anticipation. You could feel the tension building as you worked alongside Jayce, your fingers dancing over the delicate components, weaving the new configuration into the existing framework. All the while, Viktor hovered nearby, offering guidance and encouragement.

The hours ticked by, the lab lights flickering as the night grew old. The air grew thick with the scent of burnt metal and the faint ozone smell that accompanied powerful magical surges. You were acutely aware of Jayce's proximity, his arm occasionally brushing against yours as you both leaned in to examine the minutiae of your work. Each touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him, his eyes focused and intense.

You look over, studying Viktor as he works, his sharp features cast in shadow and light by the flickering screens. His hair, usually a wild mess of unruly curls, was now slightly slicked back with sweat. His eyes were a piercing amber, intense with concentration as he monitored the system's response. The lines on his face, a testament to countless nights of tireless research, had deepened, making him look both older and somehow more handsome.

The quiet stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. You couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. You knew how much pressure he put on himself to ensure their work was perfect.

“Viktor, are you quite alright?" You couldn't help but ask as you noticed his furrowed brow and the intense concentration that had taken over his features. The blueprints scattered on the table between you whispered of secrets and innovations that could revolutionize the world of Hextech. The warm glow of the pendant lights danced off the metal surfaces, casting a serene ambiance over the cluttered lab.

Viktor's head snapped up, his eyes focusing on you after a brief moment. "Ah, yes, Y/N," he replied, his voice a touch deeper than usual, gruff with exhaustion, as he tapped the tip of his metal cane against the floor. "Just ensuring that the calibration of this device is flawless."

The cane was an extension of him, a testament to his ingenuity, a tool that defied the limitations of his damaged leg. "Jayce, would you be so kind as to fetch me the calibration matrix?"

Jayce nodded with a smirk, his eyes glancing from the blueprints to you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "I've seen that look before," he said, his voice low. "Viktor's mind is racing."

You couldn't help the flush that crept up your neck. You'd caught the way Jayce had emphasized 'racing', his eyes holding yours for a beat too long. Was he referring to the thrill of discovery or something more?

The air grew thicker with each passing second, the unspoken tension between you and Viktor palpable. His gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity behind his eyes. Only for a second, and he glanced away.

No.

That was nothing more than acknowledgment.

He acknowledged me.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a gentle command that sent shivers down your spine, "I've noticed that you've been particularly attentive to my work lately. Is there something on your mind?"

He had been stressed, you knew. The deadlines for the Hextech project were approaching, and the weight of the world's expectations seemed to rest heavily on his shoulders. The lab was his sanctuary, but even here, the whispers of failure lurked in the shadows.

You took a deep breath. "I…I just want to help, sir," you replied. "You and Jayce are doing something incredible here, and I want to be a part of it."

Viktor smiles, glancing at the work displayed in front of you. "You are an invaluable asset, Y/N," he says, his voice soft and smooth as this praise falls. But there is more to our work than meets the eye." He pauses, his gaze falling back to you. He smiles once again before turning.

Jayce returned with the matrix, tossing it casually to Viktor. "Here you go, old man," he teased, the nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. The tension in the room lightened slightly, but the underlying current remained. Viktor caught the matrix with ease, his grip tightening around it.

"Thank you, Jayce," he said, his tone clipped. He turned to you, his gaze lingering on your flushed cheeks. "Y/N, would you be so kind as to assist me with these final adjustments?"

His request was not a question, but a gentle command. You nodded, stepping closer to him.

Viktor acknowledges your attentiveness and stresses the depth of their work. Despite Jayce's playful interruption, the atmosphere remains charged. You express your desire to help and assist Viktor with his task, moving closer to him at his request.

Together, you studied the complex matrix, your eyes darting over the numbers and symbols that danced before you. His scent, a blend of oil and metal, filled your nostrils as you leaned in closer, trying to make sense of the intricate calculations. Viktor's finger hovered over the paper, tracing a line of data that didn't quite add up. "Here," he said, his voice low and gruff with concentration. "This equation is incorrect."

Jayce sauntered over, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How did you catch that?" he asked, leaning over your shoulder.

Viktor's expression was one of mild annoyance at the interruption, but he replied evenly, "It's elementary, Jayce. The discrepancy in the power coefficients is glaringly obvious."

Jayce leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I'll leave the 'elementary' stuff to the professor," he quipped his tone teasing but his eyes gleaming with genuine respect for Viktor's intellect.

Viktor's gaze didn't waver from the matrix. "Your contributions are appreciated, Jayce, but my methods are my own," he replied, his voice firm. "Now, if you would be so kind as to rerun the simulation without the error, we might actually make some progress."

Jayce's smirk grew wider. "Alright, Viktor. Let's hope you're right," he said, sauntering back to his workstation. The room grew quiet again, filled only with the sound of the machines whirring and the occasional clank of metal on metal.

“But…what does it mean for us?" you said, abruptly, “If the equation runs correctly?”

Viktor's eyes snapped to yours, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to breathe. "It means," he began, his voice measured and deliberate, "that we've reached a new level of understanding." His hand hovered over the beginnings of the Hexcore as if he could feel the power surging within it, and then he looked at Jayce, a question in his eyes.

Jayce nodded, his smile widening slightly. "It means," he said, his voice low from across the room, "that the three of us have created something incredible together."

Viktor leaned closer to you and pointed at the matrix. "As I said, the mistake is here," he murmured, his finger landing precisely on the errant symbol. His proximity was intoxicating, and his confidence in his own abilities even more so. You nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept wandering.

"Tell me, what is wrong with this calculation? " His accent was heavy, and his speech was softer due to his proximity. Your heart raced as you swallowed hard. "It seems like there's a misplaced coefficient," you managed to reply, your voice a mere whisper. "It's affecting the output power of the device."

He nodded, his gaze flickering over to Jayce before returning to you. "Very good, Y/N," he said, his voice a warm caress. His hand slid gently down your side, his fingertips barely grazing your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Jayce," he called out, his voice now a command. "I must admit, Y/N has proven to be quite the asset. Her insights and diligence have not gone unnoticed."

Jayce paused in his work, looking over with a grin that was both proud and mischievous. "Yeah," he said, his eyes sparkling, "she's a natural. Who knew she had such a knack for this stuff?".

Viktor's smile grew, a hint of pride in his voice. "Indeed," he said, his eyes lingering on you. "I believe she deserves some… recognition for her efforts."

Your heart thundered in your chest as the implication of his words sank in. This wasn't just professional praise; it almost seemed like something more. You watched as Jayce's grin grew into a knowing smile, his eyes flicking between you and Viktor, and back down again. Collecting his work.

Viktor's hand reached out again, his metal-tipped fingers brushing against your bare arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "You have a keen eye for detail, Y/N," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "It's been invaluable in our work."

His eyes searched yours, and you felt the intensity of his gaze. The praise was a warm balm to your soul, a gentle reminder that you belonged here, in this lab, with these two brilliant minds.

"Thank you, Sir," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady as you felt the blush spread across your cheeks. His smile grew wider, there seemed to be a hint of something in his gaze.

It's soft, dark.

Jayce, ever the observant one, took a step closer. "You know, Viktor," he said, his voice casual but the glint in his eyes anything but, "I think Y/N is entitled to a bit more praise than that, " He winked at you, and you felt the heat in your cheeks rise even higher.

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to formulate a coherent response, but all that came out was a nervous giggle. "I…I just want to do a good job," you stuttered, trying to shrug off the sudden attention. "It's nothing special."

Viktor's gaze sharpened his grip on the calibration matrix tightening. "Is that all you wish for, Y/N?" he asked his accent now giving his voice a deep, velvety purr. "To simply…do your job?"

You looked up at him, the amber of his eyes piercing through the haze of your hectic mind. "N-no," you managed to reply, your voice trembling. "But I don't want to distract you from your work."

He stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against yours. "You are not a distraction," he said, his voice firm. "You are an essential component of our work. Without you, we would not be where we are." His hand reached out, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

Frozen.

He gives you a moment to pull away.

Thoughts going a million miles a minute.

Softly leaning into his touch, you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, for consent. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. Viktor's expression softened, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"If this is something you wish to explore," he began, his voice low, His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of hesitation. You swallowed, your heart racing.

Jayce stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Only if you're comfortable, Y/N," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "And if you're up for it, we're more than willing to give you what you need."

You took a deep breath, your body trembling with anticipation. The air between the three of you was charged with an unspoken understanding. "I…I want to," you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips..

Viktor's smile grew, his eyes lighting up. He stepped closer, his cane clicking sharply against the floor. "Excellent," he said, leaning down, capturing your mouth in a kiss, both gentle and possessive.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The metal of his cane dug into your side, but you didn't care. You were lost in the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the feel of his body against yours.

Jayce watched for a moment before moving in, his hands reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw. "Viktor's right," he murmured against your ear. "You're not just a distraction, you're a muse." He kissed you, his lips a stark contrast to Viktor's, insistent and demanding. You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.

As your kisses grew more passionate, you felt a thrill at the thought of being watched by the two of them, of being the center of their attention. Viktor stepped back, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you with Jayce. He nodded, a silent command, and Jayce's hands began to wander, slipping beneath your shirt to caress your breasts.

"Jayce," you whispered, breaking the kiss. "I…I want to watch you too."

Jayce chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "As you wish," he murmured, his hands moving to the fastenings of his clothes.

He stripped away his shirt, revealing the defined muscles of his chest. His eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. You watched, transfixed, as he took his cock in hand, stroking it slowly.

Viktor's gaze was intense as he watched Jayce, his desire clear. He reached out, his metal-tipped fingers tracing a line down Jayce's chest before wrapping around his erection. Jayce gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as Viktor began to stroke him in time with the rhythm of his movements.

"Now, my dear Y/N," Viktor said, his voice deep, he kissed Jayce, dominating the kiss with authority. "Let us see what awaits you, love."

He nods to Jayce, allowing him to pleasure himself freely before turning to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Strip, please" he ordered, his voice a low, velvety command that sent a shiver down your spine.

You complied, your trembling fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt, your eyes never leaving his. You felt Jayce's gaze on you, his eyes dark with desire as you revealed your body to them.

You stepped out of your shoes, your heart racing as you slid your pants down your legs, leaving you in only your underwear. Viktor's gaze was unyielding, his cane tapping impatiently against the floor as you stood before them, vulnerable and exposed.

"Everything, love" he murmured, his eyes raking over your form.

You took a deep breath, feeling the fabric of your bra and panties hugging your body. The set was black, the bra cups pushing your large breasts up. The panties were sheer, leaving little to the imagination, the lace tracing the contours of your ass cheeks. With trembling hands, you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

The act of undressing in front of them was a new experience, filled with a thrilling mix of excitement and vulnerability. You could feel their eyes on you, hungrily taking in every inch of your exposed skin, and it took all your resolve to keep your gaze from dropping to the floor. Instead, you focused on their faces: Jayce wore an expression of eager anticipation, while Viktor's demeanor was one of intense concentration.

Your breasts spilled free, the cool air of the lab causing your nipples to pebble under their heated gazes. The feeling of exposure was exhilarating, a thrill that sent your pulse racing and a blush creeping up your neck.

You couldn't find the words to express the emotions that bubbled within you, a potent mix of shyness and desire. You felt their eyes on you, Jayce's with a glint of mischief and Viktor's with a more intense, possessive hunger.

"Very good," Viktor murmured, stopping before you continued to your underwear, his eyes taking in every inch of your exposed flesh. He stepped closer, his cane tapping with each step. "Jayce, I believe it is time for us to show our appreciation."

Jayce grinned, his hand still moving leisurely up and down his length. "With pleasure," he said, stepping closer to you. His eyes never left your breasts as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to tease one of your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Viktor reached out, his hand sliding down your spine to cup your ass. His grip was firm, almost possessive. "You are exquisite, love," he said, his voice a soft growl. "So very beautiful." His thumb slid beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin. You squirmed, the anticipation of his touch making you wet.

As he felt the dampness, his eyes lit up with a predatory glint. "Ah," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You are quite eager for us." He turned to Jayce, his smile wide and triumphant. "It seems our little assistant is more than prepared for what we have planned."

Jayce chuckled, his eyes never leaving your exposed body. "Always eager to please, aren't you?" He leaned in, his mouth closing over your other nipple as he pinched the first, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger. The dual sensation was almost too much, your knees threatening to buckle.

Viktor's hand slipped into your panties, his fingers sliding through your folds to find your clit. He began to rub it with slow, deliberate strokes, his thumb pressing down firmly as he watched the pleasure build in your eyes. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So beautiful."

You moaned, your body responding to their touch, their dominance. Jayce's mouth left your breast, kissing a trail down to your navel, his tongue swirling around it before dipping lower, teasing the fabric of your panties.

With surprising gentleness, Jayce hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, his eyes holding yours. His touch was feather-light, but the promise of what was to come was anything but. He peeled them down slowly, inch by inch, before allowing you to step out of the wet pool of fabric.

Viktor's hand tightened around your waist, his voice a soft command in your ear. "Let's move this elsewhere, sweets," he said, his words a gentle rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He led you to the couch in the corner of the lab, the same couch where you had spent countless hours discussing theories and crunching numbers. But now, it felt different. It was a stage set for a different kind of exploration.

As you sat down, the plush fabric of the couch enveloped you. Viktor positioned himself in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is not proper to keep a lady standing," he murmured a hint of amusement in his voice. The couch was a stark contrast to the cold metal and gleaming technology that surrounded them, offering a semblance of intimacy in the harsh, brightly lit room.

Viktor knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours. He placed his cane aside, his hands sliding up your legs.

"Are you certain, Y/N?" he asked, his voice thick with need. You could see the desire in his eyes, the way his pupils had dilated. You nodded, your cheeks aflame.

"I am,"

You whispered, the heat of your words hanging in the air as you stared into Viktor's eyes. The intensity of his gaze made your knees wobble, but you held firm, the need to feel his touch again overwhelming any shred of doubt.

Viktor's smile grew, a predatory light sparkling in his eyes. "Good," he said, his voice a velvet caress. He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "You will not regret this decision, my sweet."

He slid his fingers through your folds, his touch gentle but insistent. You gasped as he found your clit, his thumb circling it with a precision that spoke of his mastery. His fingers slid lower, slipping inside you with ease. He began to move them in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the sound of your wetness mingling with the low, guttural noises that escaped your throat.

He watched you with a focused intensity, his eyes hooded and dark with desire. Every stroke was calculated, every touch designed to push you closer to the edge. Each thrust of his fingers was punctuated with a twirl of his thumb against your clit, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

Jayce's mouth found your neck, his teeth nipping gently as he sucked and licked. You arched your back, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

"Please..," you moaned, your voice a plea.

Viktor's smile grew darker, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He knew you were close, but he wasn't quite ready to let you fall. "Beg for it," he said, his voice a low command that sent another shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your breaths coming in short gasps. "P-please, Sir," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I need… I need more."

Viktor's eyes lit up with fierce joy at your words, the power dynamic between you two now crystal clear. "More?" he questioned, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against your swollen bud. "You wish to be pleasured more?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand. "I need… I need you to… please don't stop."

He chuckled a dark sound that sent a thrill through you. "As you wish," he murmured, "But you must be more specific, my dear. Tell me exactly what you want."

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with lust. "Your mouth," you panted. "I want your mouth… there."

Viktor's smile grew wider, his teeth flashing white in the dim light of the lab. He leaned in, so close to where I needed him. I could almost cry… "You wish for me to taste you?"

You nodded frantically, your eyes closing. "Yes," you breathed. "Please, sir. Taste me."

With a groan, he obeyed, his mouth replacing his thumb. He licked and sucked at your clit, his tongue delving into your wetness with a hunger that left no doubt as to his enjoyment. The sensation was exquisite, and you couldn't hold back the cries that spilled from your lips. Each stroke of his tongue sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body tightening around his fingers.

Jayce, ever the attentive lover, took advantage of your distraction, his mouth moving from your neck to capture one of your nipples, once again. He bit down gently, the slight pain mixing with the pleasure from Viktor's ministrations. Your moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet symphony of your desire.

This was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The combination of their expert hands, their knowing touches and kisses, was overwhelming. You had always craved this kind of connection, this kind of intimacy, but had never allowed yourself to indulge. Now, with the two most brilliant men you knew worshiping your body, you felt like you were floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Jayce's cock was hot and heavy in your hand, the veins pulsing with the beat of his heart. You leaned in, your breath hot against his skin. He watched you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths. You licked the tip, tasting the salty precum, and he groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily.

Viktor watched with a hunger that matched your own, his own hand still working your clit with a precision that was both thrilling and terrifying. "Take him in, love," he whispered, his voice a soft command. "Show him how much you crave his attention."

You took Jayce's cock in your mouth, feeling him grow even harder. You sucked gently, your tongue swirling around the head, tasting the saltiness of his precum. His eyes widened and his grip on your hair tightened, a silent plea for more.

You obeyed, taking him deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat. He groaned the sound melding with the wet sounds of your mouth working him.

Viktor watched, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Very good, love," he murmured, his own hand still working your clit with a maddening rhythm. "So eager to serve."

Jayce's whimpers grew louder, his hips thrusting slightly as he lost control. "Fuck, Y/N," he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. "That's so good."

Viktor's eyes never left yours, his gaze intense, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features. "Are you close, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul.

You nodded, the tension in your body coiling tighter with every second. "Yes, please..," you gasped, your own pleasure building.

"Mm," Viktor murmured, his eyes darkening with desire. "Come for us, sweet girl." His words were a command, a promise, and a challenge all rolled into one.

Their combined efforts pushed you over the edge, and you shattered into a million pieces, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your orgasm a symphony of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

As the last tremors of your climax subsided, Viktor leaned back, his eyes filled with pride. "So beautiful," he murmured, his thumb still gently stroking your clit. "Such a Good Girl for us, love."

You panted, your cheeks flushed with the aftermath of your release.

Viktor sat back on his heels, watching you with a look of pure satisfaction. "You are exquisite, my dear," he murmured, his thumb still ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "Your responsiveness is… enchanting."

Jayce had moved to the edge of the couch, his hand moving faster now, his eyes glued to the sight of your body. "Vik," he gasped out, his voice tight with need. "I'm not gonna last much longer."

Viktor chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to resonate through the room. He leaned back, watching as Jayce's hand moved faster and faster, his eyes glazed with lust. "Always so eager, Jayce," he murmured, his own fingers sliding down to trace the crevice of your ass, teasing you gently. "But do not come yet."

Jayce groaned, his eyes flickering between you and Viktor. He knew he was close, but the desire to please was stronger. He slowed his pace, his hand tightening around his shaft as he fought for control. You watched him, your own desire mirroring his, the need to give him the same pleasure he had given you.

Viktor stood, his movements graceful despite the cane. He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek. "Would you like to finish him, love?" he whispered, his voice a seductive invitation.

You nodded, eager to show your submission to both men. Jayce's eyes lit up with excitement, his grip on his cock faltering. Viktor's hand slipped away from your pussy, giving you room to move. You leaned over, taking Jayce in your mouth once again. You felt him quiver at the first touch of your tongue, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained. "Y/N, you're so…so good."

You took him deep, swirling your tongue around the head, feeling his cock pulse with every beat of his heart. Viktor's hand slid to the base of Jayce's shaft, his long fingers wrapping around him as he began to stroke in time with your movements. The room was filled with the sounds of wet sucking and skin on skin, the scent of arousal thick in the air.

Viktor's other hand reached out, tangling in your hair, guiding your movements. You could feel his dominance growing, his need to control the situation becoming more pronounced. You moaned around Jayce's cock, the sound vibrating through his shaft, making him groan even louder.

"Please, Sir," he breathed, his voice strained. "Can I… can I come?"

Viktor's eyes flicked to Jayce, his expression unreadable. With a regal nod, he said, "You may."

Jayce's breaths grew ragged, his hips bucking slightly as he approached the brink. "I'm…I'm gonna…"

Viktor's grip on your hair tightened. "Swallow," he ordered, his voice a dark, command.

Jayce's eyes rolled back in his head, his body tensing as he reached climax. You took his hot seed into your mouth, swallowing it eagerly. He groaned, his grip on your hair loosening as he slumped back against the couch, his chest heaving.

Viktor's gaze never left yours, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched the scene unfold. He leaned back, his gaze raking over your naked form with a possessive hunger.

"Your dedication to our work, and to us," he began, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through the very air, "has been nothing short of extraordinary." His hand reached out, stroking the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. "But now, it is my turn."

You nodded, your voice a mere whisper of agreement, the anticipation building within you like a coiled spring.

Viktor leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. "Stay," he said, the command in his voice unmistakable. Jayce nodded, his eyes still glued to the two of you, his own need palpable.

Viktor turned his attention back to you softly smiling, his hand sliding down your body, tracing the curves of your waist and the dip of your hips before settling on your ass. His eyes roamed over you with the intensity of a scientist studying a rare specimen. "Your beauty is truly mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice a warm caress in the cool lab air.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "Are you absolutely certain this is what you wish for?" His question was a final checkpoint, a gentle reminder of the control you held in this moment of shared vulnerability. You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper of agreement.

"I want this, sir," you murmured, the words leaving your lips with a sense of urgency that seemed to echo in the quiet lab. Your heart was racing, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Viktor's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he nodded, a look of determination crossing his features. "Very well, love," he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

Jayce watched with rapt attention, his own desire palpable. He leaned back, his hand still idly playing with himself, his eyes never leaving the two of you.

Viktor's hand slid down, his fingertips brushing against the slickness of your folds. He circled your entrance, teasing, before sliding two fingers inside you. You gasped, your body responding immediately to his touch.

You felt your walls tightening around him, your body begging for more. "Please," you gasped, your voice a needy plea. "I need… I need you to fuck me."

Viktor's eyes darkened at your words, his desire for you now impossible to hide. He withdrew his fingers, and for a moment, you felt a pang of loss. But it was quickly replaced by excitement as he stood, his own need now clear. He unbuckled his trousers, his cock springing free, long and hard. His cock that truly captured your attention. It was thick and long, a testament to his size despite his lean frame. The sight of him made your stomach clench with want.

"As you wish, my love," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But I must ensure you are adequately prepared for me." He stepped closer, his hand stroking himself slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Your body is so tight," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "But fear not, I will prepare you." He reached for a jar of lubricant, his movements deliberate and precise. He smeared it on his fingers before sliding them back inside you, stretching and preparing you for what was to come. The sensation was both thrilling and a little intimidating, but you knew you could trust him.

With a wicked smile, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "I am quite… substantial," he said, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "But I will take my time. I want to feel every inch of you, to hear every moan and gasp as I claim you."

Jayce's eyes grew darker, his own need mirroring the desire in your eyes. He watched as Viktor slid three fingers into you, his thumb pressing against your clit. The sound of your moan filled the room, mingling with the steady throb of the arcane machinery. Viktor's fingers moved in and out of you, his thumb working in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you writhing on the couch.

"Look at me," he ordered his voice a gentle command that sent a fresh wave of heat through your body. You obeyed, meeting his gaze as he continued to prepare you for his possession. His eyes never left yours as he withdrew his fingers, the lubricant glistening on them. He reached down, guiding his cock to your entrance, the head of his shaft nudging at your slick folds. You held your breath, the anticipation unbearable.

With a single, powerful thrust, he claimed you, his cock filling you to the hilt. You gasped, your eyes widening at the sudden, delicious fullness. The pain was a sweet agony that made your toes curl.

Your moans filled the lab, mingling with the steady thrum of the machinery. Viktor's eyes never left yours, watching as your pupils dilated with pleasure. "So tight, my love," he murmured, his voice a deep growl of satisfaction.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that had you clutching at the couch cushions. Each stroke sent a new wave of pleasure through your body, your muscles clenching around him, urging him deeper. The room spun around you, the only anchor the feel of his cock stretching you, filling you completely.

Jayce watched with a raptor's intensity, his hand moving faster as he stroked himself. "Vik," he breathed, his eyes locked on the two of you. "Let me see more."

Viktor's smile grew, his strokes becoming more deliberate. He reached down, his thumb brushing over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched up, your nails digging into the couch, your moans growing louder.

"Sir, please," you begged, the words slipping from your lips like a mantra.

Viktor chuckled, the sound dark and thrilling. "Your desire is intoxicating," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, his cock still buried deep within you and kissed you. It was a gentle, claiming kiss, one that seemed to reach down into the very core of your being.

The room around you faded away until there were only the two of you, locked in this dance of power and passion. You felt every inch of Viktor, his dominance enveloping you as surely as his cock filled you. His strokes grew faster, more demanding, and you could feel your orgasm building again, a sensation that seemed to coil tight in your belly.

Jayce's hand tightened in your hair, his other hand stroking his own cock as he watched. "So fucking hot," he murmured, the words barely audible over your moans. "Look at her, Vik. Look at how much she wants it."

Viktor's strokes grew more powerful, his hips slamming into you with an urgency that was both thrilling and overwhelming. You felt yourself slipping, losing yourself in the sensation, but Jayce was there, his hand on your cheek, turning your face to his. He kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you as you moaned around the sound of your own pleasure.

"I've got you," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm in the storm of sensation. "Just let go."

And you did. You let go, your body shattering around Viktor's cock, the sound of your climax echoing through the room. Viktor's eyes widened, his own release following swiftly behind, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms began to subside, the three of you lay tangled together on the couch, breathing heavily. Jayce's arms were wrapped around you both, holding you close as you both came down from the intense high of your shared pleasure. The room was still, save for the steady hum of the arcane machinery and the occasional clank of a loose gear.

Viktor was the first to break the silence, his voice a low rumble. "Your performance was… most satisfactory," he said, his hand stroking your back in a gentle, almost soothing manner. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or discomfort.

You couldn't help but smile at his formal choice of words, feeling a warm glow spread through you. "Thank you, Sir," you murmured, the endearment feeling natural on your tongue. You turned your head to look at Jayce, who was smiling down at you with an affectionate glint in his eyes.

Jayce leaned in to kiss you softly, his hand stroking your cheek. "You two are amazing together," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "I can't wait to see what we can all do together."

Viktor pulled out of you gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He helped you sit up, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "Indeed," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Our bond has grown stronger tonight."

The three of you dressed slowly, the mood in the lab now one of contentment and satisfaction. You couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that you had found your place among these two brilliant minds.

As you put your clothes back on, you noticed the way they both watched you, their eyes filled with something more than just lust. It was a look of possession, of claiming, but also of care and affection.

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