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[oneshots-heaven]

The Man and The Book — Tom Hiddleston

When your favorite literature professor announced his former student would take over his lessons for a while, you had no idea in how trouble you would end up and what mystery his notebook brought.

Warning: NSFW - mature content 18+ (extended warning under the cut), legal age-gap relationship, teacher/student relationship, dirty talk/swearing, jealously, obsessiveness Pairing: Professor!Tom Hiddleston x Student!Reader

A/N: This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent real life. Do not read this if you’re feeling uncomfortable with the dynamic. Tom also isn’t famous in this one, and I’ve apparently lost any knowledge from my own literature course. 

extended warning: long dialogue-heavy scenes, unseen exhibitionism (oral sex), fingering (f-receiving), mild degradation (through written words/verbal), unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise talk, usage of ’sir’, spanking

“I need at least three more coffee’s before I can even stay awake,“ your roommate, Laney, groaned next to you, slurping on the iced coffee in her hand. “God, I’m never drinking again.“ 

You knew that was a lie. It was the same every Monday morning, Laney would complain about the weekend and still do the same the following weekend. It was an endless cycle for the entirety of your university time together now, and to be honest, you didn’t know how entertaining your Mondays would be if she wasn’t there to cry over stupid boys and missing coffee. 

Laney was your polar opposite, the missing piece to yourself. She was loud and independent, someone who knew exactly what they want. She did all the things you were too scared to try and was always the first to encourage you to try it too or to tell you not to do something. Sometimes she was everything you aspired to be, and through her, you surely became what you hoped to be—more confident in your choices and what you want. 

“You’ll be fine, that iced coffee will kick your brain enough.“ you assured her. 

“I wish,“ she sighed, dramatically. “But I don’t think that’s gonna be case today. Did you forget? Dr. Colb will introduce his substitute today. I heard it’s an old student of his, and that can only mean they’re going to bore us even more.“ 

You shook your head, hiding a chuckle. It was no secret that Laney had no interest nor true liking in Dr. Colb’s extra course about classic literature. She had primarily taken the course to spend more time with you and get enough credits for her score to graduate, however, classics bored her to the bone. 

You, on the other hand, loved Dr. Colb’s course. It was much more in depth than your main classic literature course as your professor was a profound critic as much as lover of them and interacted with the class, inviting you to discuss themes and topics deeper with each other, often making you see a play or novel in another light. He was your favorite professor, and Laney knew that which was maybe the only reason why she hadn’t quit just yet.

“It’s going to be fine,“ you said, once again, as you entered the smaller building of your university where Dr. Colb’s lecture hall was located. 

A few lessons ago, he announced his wife and himself would go on their long-awaited camping adventure to spend more time together and explore the world as they had always wished to do. Meanwhile, a substitute was going to take over his course to leave no one hanging and still get their credits, and although no one knew who this mysterious substitute was, Dr. Colb had praised them highly. Hearing Laney now say that it may be a former student of his intrigued you even more. You had to be someone truly special to be praised this highly by him, there was no other way. 

Laney and you sat down at your usual seats in the small lecture hall, no sight yet of Dr. Colb or his possible substitute. 

She leaned forward to you, pulling out her stuff from her bag, which consisted mainly of food that she would secretly snack throughout and the current read. “What do you think is the substitute going to look like? Female, or male?“ 

“I don’t know,“ you replied, thinking about the question for a second, “Maybe, a female. I could imagine that.“

“No matter what, if Colb likes her, I think she’s going to be boring and prude.“ 

You glanced at her warningly, to which she only shrugged. She was not one to hold back on her opinion. As the rest of the course rushed into the hall, you nervously drummed with your pencil on your notebook. Every passing second felt like torture to you, you just wanted to know who they were, and what was all about them. You were so focused in your daydream about them, until you heard Laney snort next to you, hiding a laughter behind the current reading. 

“You’re really into it, huh,“ she said, raising a brow. 

“I’m not,“ you argued. 

Before Laney could say anything else, the voices surrounding you died down as Dr. Colb entered the hall, however, without anyone else following. You didn’t seem to be the only one who was intrigued to find out who it is, everyone kept quiet, starring at Dr. Colb who couldn’t help but notice the bizarre behavior of his class. 

Putting down his old leather briefcase, he overlooked his class, squinting his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t seem to understand until his face lightened up, a devious grin on his lips. “I didn’t think you would be this excited to see me leave, but apparently, here we are.“ 

Unsure chuckles went through the hall, no one raised their voice to reply anything else to him. Laney next to you pushed herself further down her chair, still hiding a laughter behind the book. She may truly be the only one who wasn’t seriously invested in Dr. Colb’s lectures, rather seeing all of this as a good alternative for a soap opera—especially today. 

“Going by the looks of your faces, I guess I’d rather stop this torture now, and I gladly will.“ your professor said, leaning against his table at the front, clasping his hands. “As I told you a few weeks ago, I will be taking some time off for the rest of the semester, but as I don’t want any of you to miss any credits, I’ve managed to find a substitute for me to continue my lecture with you all.“ 

Laney’s hand leaped forward, stopping yours that drummed more and more intensely on your book as the nervousness grew. She shook her head slightly, now giving you a warning look, as if she was saying, ’Stop being so silly’. It was indeed silly of you to react that way, but you couldn’t help yourself because the reality was that you hoped Dr. Colb would write you a recommendation letter by the end of the semester. To know what sort of people he was impressed by helped immensely to know if that was even a good idea in the first place. 

Dr. Colb smiled. “Without further ado, I am happy to announce to you that one of my former students, whom I have asked to step in, was willing to do so. So may I introduce you to Mr Thomas Hiddleston.“ 

He made a gesture to the door, to which everyone’s gazes flew to as the door opened up again. Your heart fluttered uncontrolled, still nervous, as a tall grown man entered the lecture hall. The sight of him struck your breath as his gaze went through the astonishing hall. He was nothing like what you would have imagined your professor’s favorite student to look like, and yet, you understood it the second you saw him. 

He was the walking definition of well sorted. He was well dressed, looking sheer effortless in those dark trousers he wore that were a shade darker than his fitted sweater. Those clothes served him right, complimenting his long, caramel brown hair that curled in his neck. His beard was nicely shaved, causing you to wander off and wonder if he had shaved with a knife or not. 

A snap right in front of your eyes pulled you out of trance. 

Glancing over to Laney, the embarrassment shot right in your cheeks, making you feel overwhelmingly hot. “Dear God,“ she chuckled quietly. 

You gulped, turning your attention back to the front where he joined Dr. Colb, exchanging a firm looking handshake. 

“Tom, why don’t you take the lead and tell my class a bit about you? Given that you’ll be teaching them.“ Dr. Colb said loudly, turning with a grin to the class. 

He blew out a laughter, flashing a bright smile as he also turned to the class. 

“Hello everyone, first and foremost, and thank you, William, for introducing me so lovely. It’s a pleasure to be here with you all.“ he said, his voice determined, as if he had trained this before. “I know he says I’ll be teaching you, but let’s be honest, I am not a teacher and while I will try to give you somewhat of an education, we will rather be discussing the readings together. I want to hear your opinions and feelings toward the readings, share them, discuss them, and I hope you will still enjoy this course with me on board.“

You didn’t know what it was, but somehow you were convinced that you would enjoyed this course even more now.

The days flew past, and it was time for Dr. Colb’s course again with the only exception that it wasn’t taught by him anymore. Unlike last Monday, you had to make your way to the lecture hall without Laney on your side as this time as she had overestimated herself a little too much over the weekend, still laying in her bed, whining about her hangover.

Given that you didn’t have to stop for Laney’s weekly coffee order, you went straight ahead and entered the building earlier than usual, seeing the doors to the hall wide-open. You stopped in fron of them, looking around for anyone else from your course, however, no one was around. Were you too late instead of early? You glanced down to your wrist, checking the time on your watch. Class was in fifteen minutes—you were on time. 

In the firm belief that you weren’t late and simply no one else was there yet, you walked in, stopping almost dead in your tracks on the stairs on the way to your usual seat. You were, in fact, not alone. At the front leaning against Dr. Colb’s old wooden desk was Mr. Hiddleston, his attention fully turned to the book he held in his hands. From afar, you could make out that it was the current course read, however, his copy looked worn, as if he had read it a thousand times. 

The sudden frown made his face look hardened, yet so incredibly interesting. You wondered on which page he was, and what it was exactly that made him frown like that. Of course, you could ask him about it, feeling somewhat sure that he would be willing to answer that, however, as soon as you had caught yourself, you moved as swiftly and silently to your seat, not wanting to be noticed by him. 

But your idea was diminished as soon as you put down your bag, the weight of it making enough noise for him to be pulled out of his reading trance, glancing straight up to you. Your mouth fell open, wanting to say something quick as apology but it was left dry and unable to form any proper words. Why did the sight of him confuse you? Seeing him was peer pressure. 

“Hello,“ he said politely, putting the book in his hands aside as he pushed himself away from the desk to come closer to you. Taking a quick look at his own watch, he looked back at you, “A bit early, aren’t you?“ 

The polite tone remained, his voice sounded so calmly yet his question felt so confronting. No professor in your lifetime had ever questioned a student being too early. The difference, however, was that Mr. Hiddleston wasn’t a teacher. At least, not really. 

Finally letting go of your bag, you straightened yourself, thinking to yourself how embarrassing this was. “Yes, I… I usually go for coffee with my friend, but she’s sick today, so that spared me some time.“ 

He may wasn’t a true professor, and still you felt awfully punished right now with the way he eyed you for a brief moment, making you almost believe that you truly had done something wrong. Right until his expression slightly softened. “Well, I hope your friend has a speedy recovery. Yet, it’s my lucky day, I was actually hoping for someone to come in early today.“ 

“Why’s that?“ you questioned, slowly feeling more at ease in this sudden situation. 

“I was hoping to get some insight on the class, like, the last novels you have read. I must admit I feel like a new student here, while I’m suppose to do the teaching. Doesn’t give it the greatest look, does it?“ 

You gulped, feeling your heartbeat stuck in your throat, breathing cut short. You were so highly aware of him that it was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t him. This felt like sort of a game, his gaze was so intense, almost challenging yet ever so collected and reserved. Your forehead ceased as you tried to read him, to get something more out of this other than the spoken words. But no chance, this man was a multi-layered mystery to you. 

“I could help with that,“ you said, out of nowhere, surprising yourself with that answer. It was already too late to take it back, so you simply added the truth. “It’s my favorite class, actually.“ 

You shut your lips together to a shy smile, sealing them more likely to stop any more stupid words from coming out. His smiled back at you. “I would appreciate that, Miss—“ 

“Y/L/N,“ you replied. “Y/N Y/L/N.“ 

He nodded, still not daring to break the eye contact. “Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.“ 

The first time after your previous conversation you were unsure what to do to get him back to your offer. A part deep down in you was so eager for him to realize that you were being serious and hoping that he would take you up on your offer. 

Mr. Hiddleston had just ended the lecture for the day as your fellow students quickly packed up their stuff. You were down to your luck that Laney had to get going too, leaving you behind in your seats. As the room emptied out and silence took over the hall, he glanced up to the seating and noticed you standing there with no intention to go. You instantly felt thrown back to that first conversation. His eyes had the same thoughtful, ever searching gaze and the lovely, ever confusing smile. 

“Miss Y/L/N,“ he had said, pushing his hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans as he stepped closer to the seating area. “If you have the time, I’d love to come back to your offer. As you may noticed, I am not well prepared enough for this class.“ 

It became its own small lecture and slowly, it turned into a routine like getting coffee before class with Laney once had. While she set off to her swimming practice, you usually stayed behind until the entire room emptied out and sat down with Mr. Hiddleston to go over the course’s last readings, as well as your own notes that you brought along.

Whenever you sat together, he was attentive, listening to every word you said. He asked the right questions that proved his love for literature. Most often, he sat opposite to you, writing in his leather-bound notebook, while you discussed books that weren’t even on the course list. It felt like you were speaking your own language, and it grew important to you. Every meeting grew to more and a deeper importance. 

Just like on this day when he sat, once again, opposite to you on the massive wooden desk in the lecture hall. You laid down the course’s current read, your version completely notated as you had read it before, and glanced over to Mr. Hiddleston. A frown disturbed his usual friendly face as he wrote some notes with quick pace in his notebook. As if he caught you staring at him, he glanced up meeting your eyes, closing the notebook and putting it aside. 

Your eyes followed his movement, before you said, ever so casually or at least trying to sound like. “So, what do you do outside this hall, when you’re not trying to teach us something?“ 

The corners of his mouth turned upside, appearing amused. “Your usage of the word ’trying’ is truly charming.“ he said. 

You shrugged, trying to hide a big grin. “I’m only keeping you humble, Sir.“ 

His gaze flickered from your mouth, still trying not to break out into a bright smile, back to your eyes. “I’ve told you, it’s Tom outside of class.“ he reminded you, having heat instantly shot into your cheeks. He had asked to put the formality aside a week ago and you were still adjusting to calling him by his first name. It almost felt wrong not to call him properly, there was just this higher feeling of authority to him that you couldn’t quite shake. 

“I work at a theatre,“ he said. 

“So you’re an actor?“ you questioned, hoping to downplay your nervousness. 

As attentive as he was, it of course didn’t go past him. But he also was a gentleman and let it gracefully slip by. “On some days, yes.“ 

“And on the other days?“ you continued asking as you sat up in your chair, slightly adjusting your skirt in the same go. As you looked back up to him, you caught him watching you with a balled fist, seemingly distracted. 

“I write.“ he answered, short-pressed. 

“That sounds great,“ you replied, your voice hushed. 

Had he been watching you adjusting your skirt? Had he been watching you at all? Your curiosity knocked, teasingly, almost mockingly, on the door again. It had been haunting you for the last weeks, over and over again. There were these small, short moments where you did not know what they meant. Sweet nothings that you liked to interpret more into than you probably should. 

And then there was this god damned notebook he always carried around and sometimes wrote in it while you sat together, keeping you wondering what was written there. Notes on books? Notes on certain scenes, or was it his diary? There was this addictive eagerness wanting to know so much more about him, but it all felt like overstepping a very fine line. 

Losing this respectful time and space over your never-ending curiosity wasn’t in the cards. You wouldn’t let that happen, so it seemed like there was no other way but to suffocate all the noisy thoughts. 

“Will I see you next week?“ he asked, pulling you out of your trance, with a glance on the shiny watch on his wrist. 

“Yes, of course.“

Never before did a week feel like an entire century like it did right now. Time was passing by awfully slow while all you truly wanted was to see Tom again. The weekly meetings had become your favorite thing, the very one you always looked forward, the one that kept you going even through the most stressful weeks. It was peaceful, and electric at the same time, to spend time with him. 

You had tried to be patient for Monday to come around, you really did, until it was a late Friday evening and you couldn’t help yourself with the hundreds of thoughts swirling around your head. You had to see him, even if it was only for a sweet minute.

That was how you found yourself running towards the lecture hall. You knew that Tom had also taken over Dr. Colb’s beginner class that should’ve ended a few minutes ago. It was the only chance to catch hold of him until Monday morning. Quickly stepping up the stairs to the entrance of the pitched seating area, you glimpsed into the room before entering, finding it all empty. Were you already too late? 

Frustration boiled up as you came to face your silly defeat. God, what had ridden you? Obsession, foolish feelings? It was unlike you in every sense, and still, it seeded like poison in your veins. 

You walked closer the massive wooden desk as something certain fell into your view—his notebook, he left it there. Hesitatingly, your fingers brushed over the softened leather and tight cord around it, causing an itching in your fingers. All you could see was for what it stood for, an undeniable temptation that brought you once more to the fine line you shouldn’t cross. It would be an obvious breach of his privacy, yet it was so bitterly tempting. 

This wasn’t like you. Nothing that he made you do was like you, and it wasn’t even his fault. 

Against your better knowing, you picked the notebook up, unwrapped the cord around it and opened up a random page. Lines that are more than just words, you read, followed by various handpicked quotes from books—some you knew, some you didn’t. Your racing heartbeat slowed down, it was just as you had thought. He had written down his thoughts to his favorite literature. Nothing fearsome, nothing private. 

You turned the pages, finding more remarks and notations about books he had read, all thoughtfully written down like a window to his soul. This was beautiful, your hands brushed carefully over his neat handwriting, as you turned another page, eyes overflying the page until they stopped by the unmatched scribbles in-between. 

When she speaks, all I can think of is her mouth, that I cannot concentrate on what she is saying. I want to have a conversation with her, without being distracted by her sinful lips. I do not want my thoughts wandering off when my time with her is so rare, and yet I find myself longing for more than the hour we give ourselves. I find myself longing for more than just hearing words out of her mouth. How sinful would it be more to hear her pretty mouth moan? 

The cover of the notebook snapped close by a hushed movement, clutching it to your chest in the next. That wasn’t real. What you just had read wasn’t real, why would it be? You were hallucinating, there was no way— 

The pages flew open once again, fingers quickly turning the pages to the very one you had just closed, eyes skimming the page. 

I cannot allow myself to fall deeper in this rabbit hole but every time I see her, I feel helpless. Everything about her is testing me. 

You skimped further down the page, the handwriting getting messier with every other sentence. 

My patience is tested and I will prove myself to be what she expects me to be. I cannot let these thoughts slip, or else I will destroy what we have built. I will have nothing of her and I cannot live with any less than I have now. These needs fool my senses, I am aware of that, and yet I also catch myself wishing I could give in. 

With every line you read more, the tension inside you grew more. This was wrong, you shouldn’t be reading this, but much like his terror, you couldn’t stop and turned another page. 

To give in this addictive, sweet desire would be my downfall. I know I could never recover from it, so in my thoughts only, I will admit this need for her. In my thoughts only, I will know her deeper than our current superficial state. I will see her as often as I long for. I will unlock that shy smile of hers, remind her to live as freely as she desires. I will have her closer than I do now. I will hear those pathetic little moans out of her mouths. I will have her lying on this massive desk. I will give her anything she begs for.

A low breather escaped your lips as everything inside you coiled together, begging for a bittersweet release. There was no denying anymore, it laid out in front of you, obvious and brutally honest.

Steps resounded from Dr. Colb’s former office aside of the lecture hall, giving you a shriek that you almost drop the notebook to the ground. Quickly, you tied the cord around it again, putting it back where it laid. You couldn’t see him now, not after what you just had read. This was… it was all too much, all too surreal. Your feet found ground quicker than your thoughts, rushing out of the room before anyone could catch you there. 

“Are you okay?“ Laney asked you on Monday morning. “You’re so jittery, you’re making nervous, too.“

You slurped on your iced coffee, of which you thought would help you calm down, however, it rather pumped up your nervousness even more. “I’m fine,“ you said, trying to put a fake facade as you weren’t in the mood for your best friend’s questionary. “I just haven’t slept much over the weekend I think it’s catching up to me.“ 

That wasn’t even a lie. You had tossed and turned on Friday night, already having declined going out with Laney and your other friends. What you had done, specifically what you had read, weighted heavy in your chest. Not only was it a general breach of privacy, but you had invaded your professor’s most private thoughts, at least, that’s what they read like. You shouldn’t have read those, they were never for your eyes to see. 

But that wasn’t the worse thing of this situation at all, or why you laid awake all night along. It was the insane game it played with your mind. You knew one fact for sure: there was a high chance that his writing was about you. Even though doubts came up and in some moments, you believed that he was talking about someone else—he must be—you always reeled back to thinking, there can’t no other. 

Him sharing such a connection with someone else wasn’t in your accounts. Your meetings were born out of a coincidence, there couldn’t be another, or was there? 

But what ruined you most, and what had ruined your entire weekend because you couldn’t stop thinking about anything else, was how much you wanted those pages to become true. Deep, deep down, you knew you couldn’t deny the obvious truth. To have read such honest, yet filthy thoughts from him, to know that he had those, turned you on. 

It shouldn’t. He was your professor, didn’t matter if he was only the substitute or not, and you shouldn’t have such thoughts about him. But he shouldn’t either. 

As Monday morning came around, you knew you would be having to face him and to look at that wooden desk, knowing he wanted to have you—or worse, someone else—lying on there, perhaps with spread legs, willing to do anything his mind further calls him to. You had felt like throwing up, this complex and anxious excitement fully kicked your heart out of your chest. 

On Sunday night, you came to an conclusion and the only way to end this state of unknowing: you had to confront him, trigger his deepest thoughts to know if it was you he had written about. You wouldn’t confess to reading his notebook, you had to find another way, even if it meant being insanely brave and extremely stupid. 

Laney and you walked into the lecture hall, heading towards your usual seats, not daring a single glance downwards. Your plan was easy—settle down in the seat, trying not to die during the lecture, and then meet with him after class like always. Ok, if you were being honest, your plan was shit and you had no idea how to handle this situation, but not doing anything was also killing you. 

“Next time, I’ll grab another coffee for you, too.“ Laney said, pulling out her copy of the latest novel you discussed, nodding towards your already emptied cup. “You drowned that thing. You’re sure you’re ok?“ 

“Yes,“ I replied, sternly. “Now I’ll be feeling like you during this class. Completely pushed up by caffeine.“ 

She shrugged, her eyes following downward to where Mr. Hiddleston—Tom—should already be standing. “At least, you won’t be falling asleep. Honestly, it’d be a shame to fall asleep now that we have that eye candy as teacher. You were right, he’s cute.“ 

For a brief moment, you panicked. “I’ve never said he was cute.“ 

“You didn’t say it, but you were having heart eyes the first time we saw him.“ she argued, grinning. “So you were still right, I might even pay attention for once.“ 

The taste on your tongue turned bitter, hearing your best friend talking about him like that. The sudden poisonous jealously didn’t suit you well, you might had to suffocate it all. Laney just meant it casually, like she did with any other boy, she wasn’t a threat—to even think that for a second was pure insanity. This was torturous insanity and you had to end it. 

You just had to get through today’s class first. 

“Thank you guys, see to chapter twenty-four. We’ll see each other next Monday.“ Mr. Hiddleston ended the class on a high. It, or rather he, had been interesting enough to keep Laney awake for its entirety and even participate. A rare sight, unlike you had. You, instead, had been lost in thousand of thoughts, unable to look more than a few seconds into his direction as you couldn’t trust yourself to not completely lose it. 

Laney packed up her things and for a brief second, you thought about joining her this time. To get out of his way seemed like an easier option right now, but you would never know then. 

Your best friend looked back to you, waiting. “Go ahead, I have something to ask Mr. Hiddleston. I’ll meet you at lunch.“ you told her.

Nodding oblivious, she waved before leaving the hall with the others. Slowly, every seat emptied until there was no one left in the room other than Mr. Hiddleston and you, just like the last few weeks. Only then you dared to look at him for the first time today, catching him leaned against that damned desk, hands in his jeans pockets, smiling reservedly up at you. 

Now or never. 

You grabbed your things, pushing them carelessly into your bag, as you walked down the stairs. “Mr. Hiddleston,“ you breathed, the name almost getting stuck in your throat. 

He leaned his head to the side, eyeing you closely. “I’ve told you, it’s—“ 

“Tom outside class, I know.“ you said, chest heaving, “I’m not feeling my best. Can we—can we sit down in your office?“ 

His eyebrows furrowed, obvious worry written on his face. “Of course,“ he replied, gesturing you to go ahead to Dr. Colb’s old office. With every step, you doubted your intention, but there was still this fiery and desperate need to know the truth about it all. 

You stepped inside the office, putting your bag aside, while sitting down on one of the guest leather seats in front of another of Dr. Colb’s god damned wooden desk. It almost made you question if he was an antic lover or a freak. Or maybe it was just you, or the man who sat down opposite to you, who was the freak in question.

“Are you ok?“ he asked, concerned. “I’ve noticed that you weren’t able to concentrate much. You usually participate a lot more.“ 

“Yes, I’m fine,“ you quickly answered, hands balling to fists. “It’s just—there’s been a lot on my mind as of late, and I can’t quite shake it.“ 

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s quite a shame not to hear your voice during class.“ 

Your heart sank down in your chest. He sounded so casual, as if his words weren’t a direct indicate for you. You gulped, there was so little doubt left, you had to risk it all.

“Can I admit something to you?“ you asked him, drawing your words out carefully as his face slowly lightened up. You didn’t wait for his answer to further say, “Our talks after class have become my second favorite sort of class.“ 

His eyes laid so closely on you, you could almost feel it like a touch on your skin. His mouth twitched, “I look forward to our talks, too. Our exchange has been very helpful to me.“ 

His words kickstarted something unknown, indescribable in you. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself out of the chair, not in mind to stop yourself from walking around the desk. With wary gaze, he watched every step, not interfering, not speaking a word. Halting next to his chair, you glanced down to him, saying quietly, “I’m glad to be of assistance. Can I admit something else?“ 

The air was so thick, you didn’t even dare to breathe. 

“You may,“ he answered, sternly yet daring. 

Now or never, ever, kicked back in your head. You held onto his shoulder as you swung your leg over his, softly letting yourself down on his lap, straddling him. His mouth fell open in reaction and before he could further react, you exposed it all, overthrowing all your previous plans, “I have read pages in your notebook. I read things you wrote about someone, and if any of it is about me, I beg you to tell me the truth.“ 

He didn’t push you away, he didn’t touch you either. You sat there, leaving all of him underneath you, with your arms dangling off around his shoulders. His tensed gaze was still on you, and with every passing second, you knew you’d fucked up. 

His gaze turned hard. “When did you read it?“ 

He wouldn’t tell you the truth, you’d reach that fine line and crossed it with no way of ever returning. There was nothing to lose anymore, so you answered while looking away, “Last Friday. I came to see you and you weren’t there. You had left your notebook on the desk. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have done so.“ 

Grabbing the corners of the chair, you attempted to push yourself up, away from his lap, away from him, as an arm came around your waist, holding you right where you were. Widened eyes met his still steered ones. “What did you read, specifically?“

Your mouth dried up, almost unable to form an answer. “About how much you wanted someone. What you wanted to do to them, if you’d give in.“ 

The longer this conversation went on, the more your head spun. His touch was exhilarating, how he held you firmly flushed against him, how his large hand touched your lower back. The most touch that had ever happened between you, yet you wanted so much more.

“And you’re certain that those words are about you?“ he questioned. 

Disappointment hit your already bruised ego. Another hit wouldn’t hurt that bad, this was embarrassing enough. “No,“ you whispered, “that’s what I am trying to find out.“ 

He pressed his lips together, still not losing his grip on you. Instead his hand spread out on your back traveling lower, and lower, until his hand reached your ass. “Why would they be about you?“ he continued, sounding as if he was doubting his own words. 

“It doesn’t have to be. When I read it, a part of me just wished it was.“ 

You laid it out all bare. No more going back. And then salvation turned its favor to you. His other arm brushed your waist, slowing down to your hips to pull you even closer. Brushing with your clothed cunt over the noticeable bulge in his trousers, a soft moan escaped your lips. 

“Good, because they were.“ he breathed, leaning forward closing the distance as he placed his lips onto yours, freeing you from the torturous unknown. You gasped into the kiss, grabbing his neck to hold yourself closer. It set all of you on fire, this was unlike anything in your life before. It was embarrassing how needy you were for the slightest touch, but he didn’t seem to do any better. 

You earned a deep growl in return as your tongue met his, pushing you so high to need more. Simultaneously, you moved your hips impudently against his thick feeling bulge. “Don’t,“ he warned you. 

“Please,“ it sounded pathetic out of your mouth. “I want this. I want you.“ 

One of his hands slipped underneath your ass, his other arm wrapped around your waist, suddenly lifting you up onto the wooden desk. Chills overcame your body. His mouth was still so close to yours as he said in a hushed tone, “Don’t say such things.“

Your body clearly signaled how much you wanted this, the wetness in-between your thighs was undeniable. Your heart was screaming for more. Despite the moral fact that you shouldn’t be or wanted to be touched like that by your professor, every sight you controlled was bright green. “But I mean it.“ you answered firmly. “Don’t you want this, too?“

There was only millimeters in-between your mouths. “You’ve read how much I want this.“ he stated. “But that doesn’t mean we should.“ 

His moral compass was much stronger than yours. Unlike him, you didn’t care about whether this was morally right or wrong, you’d overstepped that line already. For you, there was no going back. If he turned you away now, you doubted that you could ever sit in his class again without feeling ashamed or remorseful.

You leaned slightly backwards, still against his tight embrace, and pulled his hand, that was still placed on your ass, to your breasts. Caressing them softly, you slowly dragged his hand down your body, letting him feel every inch of you until you reached the pulled up hem of your dress. Pushing his hand even further down your thigh, his fingertips brushed over the wet silky material of your panties. 

“You wrote you’ll give me anything I’ll beg for.“ you said. “So will you touch me if I beg?“ 

This was his fine line, you could see it in his face and hoped he wasn’t strong enough to resist crossing it. You had to decide for yourself to throw morals and any right or wrongs overboard, and if he wanted you, too, then he had to decide the same for himself.

The stilled touch of his hand on your sweet spot drove you crazy. “What exactly do you want?“ he questioned.

You dove closer to his lips, longing to feel them on yours again. “I want you to kiss me. To touch me,“ you pressed your hand against his, “right here. Please.“

The beg slipped so easily over your lips, you were hopelessly gone for him. This had turned into a fantasy since last Friday that haunted you, and now you were so close to turn it into reality. To have what he had written in his notebook, if he was willing to give you what you plead for. In return, that pretty little mouth of yours would moan as freely as he wished for.

You could feel his hot breath on your skin, and then you were sure, the line was crossed. He was a goner, too, and it made you feel so mighty. His head moved forward, connecting your lips together again, as if it was inevitable. Soft whimpers, sloppy and eager kisses mixed with each other, filling the silence in the office. His long, slender fingers tucked on your skimpy panty, pushing it aside, grazing your slicked cunt. Your hips bucked at the sudden touch, you hummed in willingness into the kiss. 

One finger held aside your panty as the other spread the wetness across your slit, crossing your clit dreadfully slow. “So needy,“ he mumbled, and with sudden, the arm around your waist pulled you forward to the edge of the wooden desk. “So godforsaken wet.“ 

His thumb brushed, once more, over your clit, locking a moan out of your mouth. His mouth twitched upwards in response, obviously likening your reaction to his touch. Tenderly, he let his thumb circle on your clit as two fingers briefly dipped into your cunt, dragging the wetness over your front. “Do you want me to touch you like this?“ 

You nodded repeatedly, lips pressed together. The soft touches were already turning you into a squirming mess, feeling on fire all over your body. “Use words,“ he ordered you, “or else I won’t touch you.“ 

“Yes, touch me. Please.“ 

“As you wish,“ he whispered back, two fingers pushing into your drenched entrance with ease, curling upwards in an instant. You gasped against his mouth, foreheads pressed against each other’s as your entire body bucked forward. Curled against your upper wall, he stroked just the right spot. 

“Oh god, yes, yes“ you panted, throwing your head back as his thumb flicked your clit up and downwards, his other two fingers curved slowly but firmly against your softest spot. The office filled with wet noises of your cunts clenching around his fingers, pumping in, and out, in, and out. You’d never felt this, never such an intensity. You wanted to come so bad. For him, because of him. 

Your legs shook, with every stroke of his fingers you neared your high. “Will you come for me, darling?“ Tom asked, as if he didn’t set your lower half on fire with every further touch. Your heart rate stammered, but you nodded bravely, almost fearing your undeniable incoming orgasm. “Then, let loose, darling, give me your all.“ 

It took one more firm stroke over your g-spot that turned it into explosion. You cried out his name, walls clenched around his fingers, as pleasure rippled through your body. His eyes watched you intensively in wonder, still holding you tight with one arm as you calmed down from the overwhelming waves of your orgasm. Pulling out his fingers, your cunt clenched around nothingness, wishing the fulness back. 

Your eyes fluttered open, seeing how he brought his slicked fingers to his mouth. “So sweet,“ he hummed, “just like I imagined.“ 

His eyes peeked up from the pages of the book, skipped a few rows of students sitting in front of him, glancing to the utter entrance where the door fell almost silently close. Telling like a sixth sense he knew where to look, knowing deep in his bones who had just entered his Friday beginner class. 

The searching, almost desperate gaze in his eyes softened as soon as they met yours from afar. Straightening your posture, you stood confidently in the corner, watching him intensely. He couldn’t help to stop the smile creeping up on his lips as he closed the book, further smiling to the up glancing eyes of a couple dozen students. 

“Let that be it for today’s class. Please finish up chapter thirteen by next week, we’ll go into deep analysis of the character’s relationship then. Have a good weekend, everyone.“ he announced to the class, without leaving you out of sight. 

His words echoed through the hall, the bodies of the students sacking slightly together in relief. The said few dozen of students packed up their things, stuffing the current read carelessly in their bags, and leaved in a hurried rush. Anyone sane would hurry out of a 5 P.M. literature class on a Friday afternoon and enjoy the incoming weekend as quickly as possible—anyone but you. 

The hall filled with mumbled, yet loud discussions about where to party next. The students passed by you, not betting a glance, until the last one rushed out of the hall and only he and you remained glued to where you were standing before. Only as the door slammed shut once again, you took a step forward, eyes still on him, while your hand hovered above the metal lock of the massive door. 

“Do you want me to turn the lock?“ 

The question weighted so heavy, as if the sky suddenly clouded up. He laid down the book on the wooden table, crossing his arms across his chest as he lifted his chin, almost in a provocative sense, “Will that be necessary?“ 

You gulped, ignoring the stumble of your heartbeat, hammering against your ribcage. “You tell me.“ 

There was this thrill that had been haunting you since you had left his office this past Monday. Both breathless, both aware of what had just happened and equally unable to truly understand. His hands had straightened the hem of your dress that he had pushed up minutes ago, yet his hands hadn’t moved away from your thigh. Once more, your face had been so close to give in to the sweetness of his lips again, but your heart was on the edge of exploding, beating so viciously out of control. 

“I must go,“ you had told him and pushed yourself of the wooden desk he had positioned you on. Before you left his office, you held in on the doorstep, glancing back to him, “Just so you know, I don’t regret any of this. If anything, I just want more.“ 

He hadn’t said anything back then, and now looking at him, you weren’t sure if he had felt the same. 

“No,“ it felt like a slap in the face. He broke the eye contact, glancing down to the floor as he continued, “Just come down here, please.“ 

As if the thrill had been nothing more than a candle light, it was blown out. This was not what you had been hoping for on your way here. The past few days equaled torture. You had come to confront him, earned your desired outcome, and had left the scene so rushed without knowing how he had left about it. You had told him before leaving that you felt no regret, which was still the case, but what about him? Did he regret the way how he let you closer to him? Did he regret the way you had kissed, the way how he had touched you, the way he had allowed your entire being to long for him? 

Every step down the pitched floors, you feared the possible incoming rejection. He first brought himself to look at you again as you had reached him, keeping some distance between the two of you. To anyone disturbing the scene, it would appear like a normal conversation between a professor and their student, even though you knew it was going to be far from it. And maybe from afar, he wouldn’t hear your little pathetic heart breaking. 

“It’s good to see you,“ he breathed, studying you closely, yet not daring to close the distance. “Are you well?“ 

“Yes,“ you replied, almost instantly, your voice breaking off by the end, “Why wouldn’t I be?“ 

A huffed chuckle left his mouth. “I’m glad to hear that,“ he said, “but that’s not what I meant. I am asking if you are still well after what has happened on Monday.“ 

A million different questions ran through your head. Tom was a clever man, he chose his words wisely, so what was he trying to achieve? To convince you that it all had been a foolish mistake?

“Yes,“ you answered once more, this time firmer. “Like I’ve told you on Monday, I didn’t regret it. And I still don’t.“

He inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. Apparently, he had hoped for a different answer. Before he could even open his mouth to argue, you beat him to it, “Do not try to tell me otherwise.“ 

The way he looked at you was belittling and that hurt even more than any words he could say to you. From your very first conversation, he had made you feel like an equal to him. There had never been a moment where you had felt less than him, until now. 

Now he was trying to paint you as naive. Like a child. 

“I am not trying to tell you otherwise, believe me.“ he stated as he glided a step closer to you, yet withheld himself from getting too close. “But have you ever truly given this a thought? That this isn’t supposed to be.“ 

All you knew in this moment was that you could either stand your ground or else this was nothing more than a losing game. There was nothing he could say to convince you differently. You wouldn’t let him turn this into something it clearly wasn’t. Whatever there was between you was genuine, it was pure and right. It was perhaps meant to happen. 

“It is not illegal—“

“I am your professor, Y/N, and you’re my student, for God’s sake. Illegal or not, this shouldn’t be, we shouldn’t be doing this.“ he immediately cut you off. 

“You’re not my professor, Dr. Colb is. You’re just you.“ you argued, your voice slipping into something more desperate, more pleading. “And I am me, I choose this.“ 

He straightened his back, his posture turned rigid. “I think this is clouding your incredibly clever mind, because if this was any different, you wouldn’t choose this.“ 

“But it isn’t,“ you hissed, overstepping in another literal sense once more a line, as your hands flew out to his shirt, pulling him dangerously close to you. Another desperate attempt to keep him from slipping away. “This is about you and me, about the choice we willingly, freely make. Or—“

Sudden tears pooled in the corners of your eyes before you fulfilled your sentence, “Or do you want me gone? Is that what this is about? You regret it, you regret me, and now you want me gone.“ 

As soon as you said those words out loud, you saw his off-brushing facade weakened. You felt him soften against your touch, all of it causing so hope that the fall might be too high. His hands, however, shot up, grasping your face in equal desperate longing. “No,“ he whispered, “I don’t regret you. I don’t regret any of this, either, and that is what scares me.“ 

You leaned into his hands, shaking your head, “Then stop trying to push me away. I know how risky this may be, but if you want me, have me.“ 

His lips came crashing down to yours in one swift motion, as he gave into the bittersweet desire. Humming out a moan, his tongue slipped into your mouth, meeting yours. You held onto his button-on, leaning fully against him as his hands wandered from your face down the sides of your body. Not only you were filled with eager desperation for more, he was too. Every touch, every kiss was begging for more. His fingers dig into the sides of your waist, just before he held you tight and lifted you up from the ground onto the desk. 

The very desk standing in the focal point of the lecture hall, with an unlocked door. 

His large hands slid down your waist to your upper thighs, hugging them with his grasp, driving you near the edge of insanity. “More,“ you begged in-between kisses, seeing his eyes spark hearing those words as his face hovered above yours. He had asked you to use words for what you want, you saw what it did to him. What power you could wield, just by asking for all the unruly things you fantasized about. 

Looking him right into the eyes, you whispered against his lips, “Strip me right here, on this desk.“ 

“Is that really what you want?“ 

Your gaze didn’t stray away from his, instead you nodded with an almost devilish grin. “Make me beg for even more.“ 

Within seconds, you felt his hands untie the heeled sandal you wore, pushing them off your feet, before he grazed over your naked legs. Every millimeter of your body he touched felt statically loaded. You bid your thanks to the good weather that you could blame your clothing choice on, although you had chosen the still modest skirt for very selfish reasons. 

The less barriers there were, the easier you’d hoped to get what you longed for. 

Tom’s fingers played with the skirt hem, pushed his thumbs underneath, slowly dragging them along the insides of your thighs. Other boys had touched you in the same way before, sometimes it did feel thrilling when they at least pretended to confidently know what they were doing. It didn’t feel pretend with Tom’s touch, it felt like every touch was a conscious choice by him. He meant his touch to be teasing, to edge you in every possible torturing sense. It was a game, and no game at the same time. 

His thumbs moved inwards, inching closer to your clothed heat. You’d chosen the pretty underwear that rotted in the back of your closet, the one you always claimed to be ’too expensive to just wear’. Maybe it had always been meant to be worn for only Tom to see. 

His large hands brushed up your skirt, pooling it at your hips, revealing said underwear. Thumbs still near your heat that begged to be touched, his palms lying flat on your upper thigh, gripping in your flesh. A sudden pull, a gasp erupting out of your mouth, and your lower body was aligned to his. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,“ he whispered, his lips hovering above yours. “I crave every glance I can steal at you, every second I get to hear your voice, every touch you allow me.“ 

His words reminded you of the entries in his journal. You may truly didn’t understand the extent his desire went, but you had a feeling that you and he were on the same page about the things you wanted. And right in this moment, you needed him to do something against the wetness between your thighs. 

As if he sensed your limited patience, he drew his thumbs harder, deeper against the inner things, brushing firmly over your slicked folds. “I long for your reaction to my touch,“ he said, circling one of his thumb upwards until it reached the most sensitive point. “To feel you so wet and desperate for it.“

Tom withdrew his thumbs from your entrance as his fingers trailered up to the seam of your underwear, hooking his fingers in the sides and pulled them down—slowly, painfully slow. You pushed yourself up on the massive wooden desk, lifting your ass to have him pull it completely away. You watched him attentively, how he balled your lace underwear in his fist and equally as slow took some steps back. Glancing up from your intimate area up to your eyes, you could swear his eyes were blazing with lust. 

His gaze was stern, focusing directly on you. “Open your legs for me, darling.“ 

You hadn’t even notice that, as he had left you bare, you had shifted your legs together. Not leaving him out of sight, you obeyed, leaning backwards on your elbows before—to torture him just as much—slowly putting aside one leg by other, til he had an unobscured view on your tripping cunt. 

He pushed his hands—one fist still balled around your underwear—in the pockets of his suit pants, drawing your attention there. Lifting his chin, he questioned, “Do you see what you do to me?“ 

You shifted on the desk, gaze switching between his eyes and the proof that this lust wasn’t one-sided. His pants tightened clearly around his crotch, like an invitation for even more fantasies in your head. As bare and revealing as now, you had never shown yourself to him and that feeling was thrilling, shooting shivers up your spine. Seeing the tiniest tease of what he could reveal to you drove you crazy. You hadn’t even gone as far as touching him as intimately as he touched you, and you were craving it. 

Eyes focused on him, you decided to be bold. In a swift movement, you pushed your legs together again, taking away his free view, and pushed yourself to the edge of the desk. He almost didn’t dare to breathe as you glided down onto your knees, kneeling in front of it. His eyes darkened with the overcoming rush. “Let me make up for it,“ you offered. 

Tom remained in his place a few feet away from you. His hesitation was obvious, just as much as desperation to set himself free from his own restrain. “If that is what you want, use words.“ 

Heat shot up in your cheeks, so far boldness went. You gulped, trying to ignore your sudden nervousness, “I want you to come closer to me.“ 

He stepped forward, leaving you almost face-to-face with his crotch. “Is that all you wish for, darling?“ he questioned, glancing down to you. 

Meeting his eyes, you shook your head, hesitating for a moment before answering what you felt and wished for at your deepest core, “I want to taste your cock, sir.“ 

“Good choice of name,“ he murmured, brushing your hair softly behind your ear. His thumb slid slowly from your ears along your jaw.

“I think so, too, sir.“ you grinned, overwhelmed by a rush of ecstatic confidence. You’d never been one for pet names, but calling him sirmade you feel bold. Almost just as bold as your next movement, as your hands moved up along the sides of his trousers, pulling him closer to you by his brown leather belt. Your heart was pumping wildly underneath your chest, in sweet anticipation of knowing what you were about to reveal, about to do. Let alone the thought of your lips wrapped around his cock, licking and teasing his sensitive tip, was getting you even wetter. 

His eyes were solely focused on you, electrifying your entire surrounding. You didn’t dare to break the eye contact as your fingers played around the steal buckle of his belt, undoing it within one swift movement, slowly pushing it aside with one hand as the other pulled down the trouser’s zipper. 

So close.

As you held in, you could feel his body tremble underneath your touch. “Is that okay?“ you questioned, sweetly, teasingly.

A deep, husked laughter rumbled through his throat. “You ask me if I’m okay with this?“ 

Your mouth curved upwards — time to turn this around. “Yes,“ you said, honest. “As much as you like my consent, I need yours, too. So tell me, what do you want, sir?“ 

He sighed, pressing his lips tight together, as he looked down on you, kneeling right in front of his restrained cock. 

So damn close. 

“Use words.“ 

His jaw went rig, hearing you command him seemed to drive him closer and closer to a dangerous edge of no return. His hands brushed your cheek, tipping your chin upwards in the next second, eyes laying heavy on you. “I want your sweet, but filthy mouth around my tip of my cock.“ he said, his raspy voice doing things to you. “I want your tongue flat against my entire length. I want to be deep down your throat, and feel you choke on it.“

He paused, almost to see if his needs scared you, but instead you smiled devilish up to him. “Can you do that for me, darling?“ 

“I’d do nothing rather for you.“ 

All of this was doing something to you, changing your usual ways. It felt so unnatural of the person people knew you as. Saying such filthy things, even wanting them, worse fulfilling them, was unlike you. At least, that was what people would say if they ever found out. You, however, never felt more in control of who you truly were as a person than now. Being with him, taking what you craved, that was the truth. That was what you, deep down, wanted the most. 

You glanced up, meeting his eyes as you placed your hands on each side of his jeans, pushing them down, just under his ass. The black briefs he wore clung well suited onto his thighs. One by one, you hooked your thumbs in the sides, pulling them torturously slow, not knowing who you wanted to pain more—him or yourself. Glancing back down just as the briefs slid over his hardened cock, it sprung free, revealing the glory you’d desired to see, to feel, to taste. 

Your hand clasped around the front of it, giving it a soft tuck. Tom winced, a sound mixing between pleasure and pain, before your hand glided down to the base. Leaning forward, you neared your mouth to the tip, pre-cum glistering on it. An unruly sigh left Tom’s mouth, eyes closing, as your warm mouth closed around his tip, swirling your tongue around it to lick it all clean. How big, how nice he felt in your mouth, just right. 

Pumping up and down around his base, you dove deeper, earning a husky hum in agreement from him. Wetness pooled in-between your legs that you squeezed together in response. “Good girl,“ he breathed out, as you laid your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, letting it glide slowly along. “Just like that, torture me. Play with me. Make me beg.“ 

His words of praise mixed with your heartbeat to the only sounds you could hear and feel in this very moment. All other focus laid on making him feel good. Making him feel more than good. You wanted him to never have felt better before. 

Bopping your head, up, down, closer, deeper, until you could feel the anticipation on your tongue. Until you could only hear him breathe heavier. Until your mouth pulled back to his sensitive tip, circling your tongue once more around it before you plopped his wetted cock out of your mouth. Spit was running down the sides of your mouth, you probably looked like an unholy mess, but you’d bet there was as much wilderness in your eyes as there was in his. 

His chest heaved as he starred down at you—his student, a lover, the reason for the filthiest thoughts he ever had—on your knees in front of him. Exposed in the middle of the lecture hall. 

“Go in the office,“ he ordered, almost unable to catch his own breath, as he stepped backwards. You rose to your feet, while your glance dropped from his to his still hardened, glistening cock. Your body shivered, lost in thought of all the possibilities. 

Without another word, you turned aside and walked the few steps to the small side-office, closely followed by him. Inside, your hand brushed against the large wooden desk when you heard the door lock behind him. Turning around, you noticed how he had clumsily tucked his cock back into his suit pants, leaving the zipper and belt undone.

“What now?“ you questioned, almost disappointed. 

“Lean forward on the desk,“ another order, a mischief grin on his lips unlike what you had seen from him before. He wasn’t holding back anymore—good. Not breaking the eye contact, you turned your head as you leaned down the heightened desk. 

“Like this?“ you asked, laying your hands flat. He hummed in response, stepping from the locked door behind you. The touch of his warm hands sent electric shocks through your body. Slowly, they brushed along the backsides of your thighs to the hem of your skirt. In one swift movement, he had pushed it up to your hips and exposed your bare ass to him. In indescribable speed, your heartbeat and thoughts raced against each other. 

As one of his hand held your hips in place, the other caressed one ass cheek in soft manner. “Has anyone ever laid their hands on you during sexual activities?“ 

“Once.“ 

“What did they do?“ 

You gulped at the question. “He spanked my ass.“ 

“Did you like it?“ 

You shook your head. “It had no effect on me. I wanted him to do it, but he feared to hurt me, so he didn’t hit hard enough.“ you explained. “Is that awful to say? That it wasn’t hard enough?“ 

“No,“ he stated with a firm voice, his hand caressed your lower back. “There is no shame in what you desire. Although it shouldn’t pain you, it should pleasure you.“ After a pause, he questioned, “Do you trust me?“ 

“Yes,“ was your only and immediate reaction. You didn’t know why you put so much trust in someone you, truthfully, barely knew. 

“Tell me immediately to stop if you feel hurt, do you hear me?“ 

“Yes,“ you could barely breathe out, pacing yourself for what was about to happen. You hadn’t like it before, it felt shameful to be spank by someone, although you had lusted for it. But feel the soft breeze of his hovering hand above your ass, you feared you might ended up liking it too much for your own good. 

As if the air cut through, his right hand landed on your ass. A pang of pleasure shot through your spine, mixing with the pain. “How did that feel, darling?“ he asked, speaking in hushed, thick tones. As your skin tingled in recovery, his touch softly soothed the pain. 

“More,“ you simply begged, unable to form any other words, too distracted by his hands brushing from your cheek to your slit.

“More?“ he echoed. A moan fell past your lips as his fingers finally met your needy ends, circling his thumb on your clit while he dipped one finger in your cunt. 

“Yes,“ you whined, to which he slid another finger past your entrance, moving them in deliciously slow stroke in and out. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the office. “Please, sir.“ 

You stay still, bracing yourself in longing need. Just as he brought his other hand down, he curved his fingers inside your cunt upwards, stroking them against your g-spot. Your jaw fell as you grasped the edges of the desk, moans locked out of your mouth. You feared to come all over his fingers just like that. The pain stung your skin, and before it had even the chance to sooth, his hand connected to your other cheek, adding to another deep stroke inside you. You bucked against his hand, pushing your ass closer to him. 

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill any second. You wanted to come, you needed to come. You didn’t even care anymore if it was around his cock, his fingers or emptiness. You needed all these loaded feelings to explode. 

His fingers filled you, but didn’t move, causing you to be unable to spasm into an orgasm. You needed more closeness, you needed him to wreck you fully. “Please,“ you whimpered, so embarrassingly needy. Your heart sprung into thousand pieces, as you begged with puffy eyes, “Please, Tom, fuck me.“ 

Hearing you say his name, and not another nickname, out loud seemed to do something to him. All of the sudden his fingers weren’t filling you anymore, leaving you to mourn the feeling of fullness. Instead he slid his hands gently over your arms, grabbing your wrists one by one to pull them down on your back, holding them securely there, and then there was salvation. 

He had given himself a few lazy strokes, although he was still so very hardened from your actions, from your moans, from the unruly sight of you being an utter mess. You let a low cry of his name as he pushed his length into you, stretching you out fully, and it felt better than you could’ve ever dreamed of. 

You gasped as he bottomed out to slam back in within seconds, “Fuck.“ 

The threatening tears from before were returning, now flowing unstoppable over your cheeks. This was how it was supposed to be, this was how sex should feel in your eyes—breath-robbing, lustful, driven by desire and need.

“You do so well, my darling,“ he murmured, even his voice sounded breathless. With one hand, he held yours steady behind your back, fucking in and out of your tripping cunt, as you felt his other hand drawing small circles on the sensitive nob of yours.  

You had tried to keep your mouth shut, knowing that the office wouldn’t shut out all the noise, but you couldn’t help but let loose. Hectic moans, gasps and agreeing hums filled the room. “What a good girl you are, letting me fuck your tight, little pussy,“ he said, edging you with every word. “You take me so well, almost as if you’ve never done anything else.“ 

“Tom,“ you whined, as he slammed into you, taking up the tempo to fuck you harder against the desk. “I—“, you stumbled upon your words, unable to think straight. 

He felt it, so he acted upon it, pressing harder down on your clit. Tilting even deeper, and with one grand movement, he tripped you over the edge. You clenched and pulsed around him, feeling the delicious fullness of his cock in your cunt. The only feeling you would always yearn after—to be so utterly and completely fucked out by a single orgasm. 

Coming back to your senses, you felt him letting go of your wrists and suddenly, you felt nothing but emptiness as he pulled out. Turning around to him, you saw him breathless and full in pain.

Kneeling down, once more, in front of him, you gave him the signal to go on. Wildered eyes starred with gaped mouth at you, while you opened up yours wide, sticking out your tongue. His large hand closed around his length, pumping it once, twice until there was only your name, followed by a hissed moan. You felt his hot seeds on your tongue, against your cheeks, on your nose, all of your face—totally marked up. 

Moving forward, you closed your mouth around his tip, sucking off every last drip before you swallowed it all down. His hand came around your chin, his thumb stroke gently across your cheek. Your eyes met his, and it was clear that you were as gone as he was. There was no coming back from this, you’d always want this.

[lokileaf]

Loki who always keeps a protective eye on you from across the room.

Loki who leaves fine, gift-wrapped dresses on your bed for you to find.

Loki who always walks on the street side of the sidewalk.

Loki who uses his seiðr to lower the temperature of your room when it’s too hot for you to sleep.

Loki who lives for eye contact.

Loki who leaves cold kisses across your shoulders.

Loki who weaves your hair into Asgardian-style braids.

Loki who lets you sleep on his shoulder on the subway after a long day.

Loki who grows his hair out because you said you liked it.

Loki who listens to Midgardian music because you love it.

Loki who sets your morning alarms for you when you forget.

Loki who buys the books you mention and leaves them for you to find.

Loki who wakes you up with his tongue between your thighs.

Loki who conjures a clone of himself after you mention a wet dream you had.

Loki who opens doors for you.

Loki who kisses your spine as you’re on all fours in front of him.

Loki who moans into your mouth when his hair is pulled.

Loki who manspreads because he sees how you look at him when he does.

Loki who likes to fuck you against the wall.

Loki who enters your dreams at night because he can’t get enough of you.

Loki who braids a strand of your hair into his.

Loki who teleports you to a different location at the first sign of danger.

Loki who struggles with the idea of taking you to Asgard.

Loki who shows up on your fire escape late at night.

Loki who whispers nasty things in your ear in public.

Loki who whisks you away to foreign countries for the weekend.

Loki who contemplates giving up his immortality because the thought of outliving you is too much.

[meownotgood]

forwards, beckon, rebound. / machine herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, angst, size difference, fingering, choking, dry humping, praise, russian terms of endearment, somewhat toxic relationship, mild augmentation kink, way too many emotions, mix of arcane + league lore / spoilers. word count: 16.2k

read on ao3

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Viktor enjoys making you feel helpless. 

Technically, it isn't enjoyment so much as it is a responsibility; you'll repeatedly show up at his secluded lab in the Undercity, and as he does with everyone who comes to his doorstep worn and destitute, he'll take it upon himself to give you what you need. You are like the rest of his endeavors — meticulously examined, ambitiously furthered. But unlike his various grandiose experiments and his pursuits for evolution, it isn't just his mind you occupy. 

There is some dusty, disregarded hole in his once-perfect mechanical heart, and if the hypothesis he's formed but doesn't want to acknowledge is correct, you are the most probable cause. Or perhaps, you'd be the cure. 

Carefully, with his usual amount of precision, Viktor pulls his leather glove from his hand. He allows his fingers to flex: scarred skin improved by intricately-crafted metal joints. He's positioned above you, large and imposing while he keeps you pinned beneath him. The firm, steel surface of his giant worktable feels cool against your bare back. The room itself is dim, worktable lit by an overhead lamp that burns when you happen to look directly at it. Thankfully, Viktor's armored form above you, encased in dark shadow, blocks out most of the light. 

The Hextech third arm on his back grasps your wrists unwaveringly, and keeps them in place above your head, utilizing an exorbitant display of strength. You can't move a muscle, not even if you tried. Lingering heat sears into your skin, radiating from the metal — from where the laser he's perfected could easily sever your wrists from the bone. 

What's more, you can hardly think. Your head is spinning; your heart pounds from between your ribs, fiercely yet uselessly. You can only stare at the glowing, emotionless eyes of Viktor's mask, and wait for him to decide what he plans to do with you. Gentle. With the way you're looking at him, you need him to be gentle, this time. 

He presses his palm to the center of your chest, where he can feel the erratic beat of your heart. Slowly, he begins to drag his hand down. It's a knowing, practiced motion — not as soft as it ought to be, considering his cold, purple-veined hand and calloused fingers. As his touch is brought down to your stomach, your waist, you shiver, and your body relaxes. Finally, fully. 

It doesn't take long for you to arch into his touches, just as he predicted, just as you always do. Your flesh loves to sing for him. 

This dance has been performed by the both of you numerous times beforehand. Viktor questions if you'll ever grow tired of it. Of the pirouetting, of revolving constantly around unspoken, trembling complications, just to return, to let your mind and your heart reel all over again. 

What he feels for you — what he has evaluated from you, because machines do not feel — is something unexplainable, foreign, futile. He knows this, this dynamic you've fostered; it hardly makes sense. You are allies with no common goals. You were friends, some disregarded years ago. Every other night, you stumble into his lab to interrupt his work, and he lets you. 

No, he indulges you. 

"You are quivering," Viktor hums, voice muffled and deepened by the mask's filter. A usual, matter-of-fact statement, but the edges of his tone sharpen in the wake of a held-back, dark chuckle. "You want me to touch you. Say it." 

The powerful, vastly-superior Machine Herald already has you right where he wants you. 

Slightly riddled with static, the way his thick accent curls around the words only serves to make you shudder more. Your breathing is choppy, your chest rapidly rising and falling. 

Not from fear, if Viktor had to guess. His scans of your heart rate would come across much differently if that was the case. This is from arousal. Clear, easily definable arousal. Just from his thick voice, his soft touch, and the imagery provided by his large body above yours. 

The sight of you is addictive. Addiction isn't a sensation built into his mechanical repertoire, but it's the best word he can think of to describe this. You are small when you're underneath him. So malleable, so fragile. So human. How abnormal. The compulsive surge that runs through his veins should not, according to all of his tests and conclusive research, be occurring. 

Viktor supposes this type of behavior would be more fitting of the past version of him. Presently, he doesn't have room to let time go to waste. His vision is all that matters. The old him, though, the Viktor you once knew would've given you whatever you desired without a second thought, even though he hardly deserved it. 

He was weak, once. For you, perhaps a part of him still is. 

You are intelligent, you always have been. He has cast away much of his past in pursuit of chasing a better, more important future, but still, he remembers each and every moment he shared with you quite vividly. They play in the background of his mind sometimes, persistent like a system error, recurrent like a late-night looping television program. 

Your inventions often kept pace with his. Your smile was bright, brighter than the pillars of light that shone from Piltover's grandest lighthouses. Starry-eyed and driven, you wanted to improve, as a person and as a scientist. You challenged him to push further right alongside you. 

Of course, you knew him better than most, but Viktor wonders: did you ever expect him to go this far? Did you ever plan on retreating back to Zaun with him, to fall further into madness together? 

By now, you must be smart enough to know he is different. What you might've had, a friendship or a partnership or something delightedly improbable, it is now nothing. Nothing more than another one of his shed weaknesses and old, discarded memories. 

Perfect machinery does not feel. Not even for you, no matter what it once felt. Scientifically, it can't. You should understand this relationship is not beneficial. He could and would gladly break you, it's what he built himself to do. And yet, as he's starting to realize, perhaps being broken by him is exactly what you want. 

"Please touch me," You're begging, as his palm caresses the all-too-human curve of your side. Your voice is warm, lustful. A sweet, familiar taste settles in the back of his throat, as you coo the old nickname you still reserve just for him. "I need you to, Vik." 

And just like always, because of you, because of his predisposed sense of responsibility, or perhaps because of an unrecognized fault in his complex machinery — Viktor gives in. 

He revels in your vulnerable, quivering limbs and your heavy, desperate gaze. The grip of his Hexclaw tightens on your wrists, your hands closing, fingers tensed. He drags his palm down your stomach slowly, carefully. His gentleness is calculated, but it is yours, all the same. 

Your legs spread for him on impulse when his hand reaches your thigh. He squeezes, before he brings his hand between them, allowing the end of his index finger to brush your clit; his touch is precise, with all the efficiency and learned confidence of a flawless, apathetic machine. He could make you fall apart for him so easily, every part of you perfectly attuned to his touch, and his touch alone. 

Yet, he's teasing you, careful and slight touches barely grazing where you're oh-so sensitive for him. Your thighs shake, and spread wider; your body is exposed to him, soft and sweat-soaked expanses of skin contrasting splendidly with his bulky, armored chassis of metal. Now, instead of his index, Viktor uses his thumb, providing more friction and a slightly firmer touch. You squirm, the pretty features of your face washed over in pleasure, before you breathe a small, satisfied whine. 

"That's it," He murmurs firmly. "To think this is all it takes to make you submit." 

Viktor allows his thumb to trace circles onto your swollen, needy clit, and your breath proceeds to hitch so deliciously for him. An action, and reaction. Repeated experiments make for predictable results. Hextech hand practically digging into your wrists, Viktor brings his free, metal hand to your cheek. Oddly tender, his cold palm cups your face. He isn't surprised at the response it gets out of you, your chest heaving with a deep, trembling sigh. Every part of your skin tingles, as you lean into his faux, steel touch. 

"Earlier, you wished to be defiant. Disobedient." Viktor scolds, his thumb flicking over your clit while his fingers brush your cunt, gathering your dripping slick on the digits. He takes his metal hand away from your cheek, and he presses it flat to the table, right beside your head. Your brows pinch disappointedly, clearly unsatisfied with his subtle form of punishment. 

"And now look at you. Wet and desperate." 

He's barely touched you, barely even begun with you, and you're already dripping. 

"I wasn't- I'm not disobedient," You're countering, although it's damn near impossible to keep your voice sounding steady when his persistent touch is toying with you. He's teasing, circling your clit agonizingly slowly, just to make you squirm. "I brought you everything you asked for. Like always." 

"Yes, and you did well," Viktor praises flatly. As though he's reading off a trained script, rather than watching the way your eyelids flutter as his knuckles brush your entrance. "Our current project will run smoothly now, utilizing the tech you acquired for us. But when I told you to wait, to bring the tech after I had finalized our plans, you did not listen." 

You admit simply, foolishly, "I missed you." 

Those words are familiar. You'll often tell him you missed him when he returns to the lab, home at last after finalizing a few affairs elsewhere. You said you missed his face the first time you saw it, your hands gently holding his cheeks, caressing metal and skin — despite how different he looks now. Despite the scars, the mechanical parts. 

He knows you missed him. In a soft, delicate way. In an indecent, desperate way. His form of longing is much, much different. When the mortal matter and fraying wires of his brain yearn to have your presence beside him, with him, under him, it is strong, it is carnivorous. It is encompassing. 

"You nearly comprised everything we've been working towards." Viktor's third arm tightens even more, making your wrists and arms go nearly numb. "There is only so much I can do to protect you. I disposed of the last enforcers to attempt tracking you down, but if you were to lead them here, you will not just be putting yourself at risk. You are threatening our entire vision with your recklessness." 

Carefully, his index finger finds your entrance: sensitive and wanting. He deliberately pulls his hand away when you whine, instead placing his palm back on your inner thigh. Your skin is soft to the touch. Your gaze stays steady on him, on the unflinching shape of his mask, your eyelids heavy, pupils blown with clear arousal. As though he encompasses all you need, anything you could possibly want, and everything that could devastate you. 

You are frustratingly beautiful. 

Viktor hums, the sound low, somewhat mechanical. He gently guides his hand over your neck, just how you like, until large, metal fingers are wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just tightly holding. Enough to ground you, to remind you of who you belong to. You let go of a sigh, your eyes growing heavier. Your heart is skipping, and with his hand around your throat, the subtle vibrations of your quick pulse shudder through his complex machinery. 

"Viktor-" You start, voice weak, barely there. "I'm-" 

"I know you want more." He squeezes your thigh, applies just enough pressure to your throat to make your mind go fuzzy. "Tell me what you have been waiting for me to give to you, what you desired so strongly that you ran to me, instead of following the plan. And perhaps, I'll let you have it." 

You tremble: a full-body, tingling shudder. Viktor — the Machine Herald — is so much larger, so much stronger than you. He's augmented himself to be significantly taller, significantly more imposing, and underneath him like this, you must look meager. Pathetic. Fully bare, your legs spread open for him. Giving yourself to him so easily. Your chest heaves, your mortal heart skipping and wavering at the sight of him above you, pinning you beneath his heavy, metal form. 

"Breathe, zayka," Viktor murmurs, his grip on your neck loosening up. "Your heart is racing. Focus on me." 

Taking in slower, deeper breaths, your mind quiets, your pulse calms. Stars and static thrum in the corners of your vision, your thoughts a knotted up blur. Viktor — his touch is all you can focus on — traces his fingers further up your thigh in approval. 

"There. Very good. You're alright." 

"Your fingers," You pant, "Please." 

Viktor scoffs, his tone mechanical and rough, "You can do better. Try again." 

Huffing, your head knocks the firm worktable when you toss it backward. 

"Bastard." Your hands clench and unclench, your wrists giving a poor attempt at struggling against their hold. To no avail, of course. "Are you at least going to let me touch you?" 

"No. Answer me. Do not make me repeat myself." 

You briefly gnaw on your bottom lip, your jaw tense, thighs shaky. "I need your fingers inside me, Vik. I've missed you, I need you, please. I'm going fucking crazy." 

Viktor's unmoving, glowing eyes examine you carefully. "That's it. That is much more sufficient. So exquisite, when you are begging. Take what you need, then." 

You're well aware he isn't the same man you once fell for, nor is he the soft-spoken, bright scientist you once knew. Rumors paint him as a maker, a monster, a machine. He is cold to the touch. He isn't supposed to feel, he removed such functions ages ago; they were useless to him. As were his failing lungs, his weak legs, his heart. A heart made from machinery never skips. It can't be blinded by love, or lust. It cannot be distracted by old, unkindled flames, in the same way you often are. You envy him, somewhat. 

But Gods, when it's just you and him in his lonely little corner of Zaun, and when you are at the pleasant mercy of his perfected touch, you swear, he feels more human than anything. Nothing else truly matters, because still, he is yours. 

Viktor's index finger slides inside you slowly, just barely stretching you around its thickness. You're wet enough that he could press it in easily, could have you melting and drooling over whatever you're given — but instead, he chooses to let the digit fill you languidly. The feeling is slight, enveloping and enthralling and familiar, yet not enough to make you feel full, at the same time. His fingers are long, dexterous. Pretty and scarred. 

You've watched him work on plenty of augments and automatons, hands tightly grasping a wrench to turn it, fingers carefully holding the ends of thin wires to thread them together. Each action swift, exact. 

With the same level of precision, Viktor presses his finger deep inside you, and crooks it upward to nudge it right against your sweetest spot — and you whimper, your whole body shivering, collapsing. 

"One is never enough to satisfy you," He asserts; he gently pumps his finger into you to a steady, easily manageable pace. "Isn't that right?" 

If his mask weren't there, you're sure you'd see him speaking through a slight grin, maniacal and crooked, impossibly him. Your heart pounds. You're doomed, you must be. 

In response, you nod your head fiercely. Another shaky moan tears through you as he works you on his slender digit. Pressing in, dragging out. Calculated and perfectly steady, like the continuous beats of a metronome. 

"Or," Viktor questions, "Should I have you come undone around just one?" 

"No," You snap quickly, although you're obviously in no position to be making demands. Your eyes flutter open, your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and frustration. He finds your desperation strangely satisfying. All for him. It's the same sort of hungry satisfaction that comes with working on an automation, striding closer and closer to a job well done. He adjusts, pushing your legs apart with his large knees when they tremble and threaten to close. 

"Give me two," You're pleading, "Please." 

Viktor hums, the sound low and vibrating. 

"Guiding you to your peak would prove trivial, even without the means of penetration. You are simple. Easy to unravel." His low, intimidating voice effortlessly sends goosebumps careening down your spine. "You could most likely be led to cum against my shoe or my thigh, from modest friction and my voice alone." 

"Viktor," You almost wince at how pathetic you sound. "Stop talking." 

Viktor eases his index finger as deep inside you as you can take, and heat surges across your form in thundering, breaking waves. "Why would I stop when you are enjoying it?" 

Oh, he knows you far too well. 

"Dammit, at least-" You exhale, trembling through a moan, and Viktor's Hextech arm holds onto your wrists impossibly tighter as your hips roll into his hand — desperate to feel more of him. It works, momentarily. Until he is using his free hand to firmly grip your waist: thick metal fingers digging into warm, pretty skin. He pushes you back against the worktable, holding you in place. 

You groan in frustration. "At least quit teasing me." 

"Such impatience. I am working you upwards, gradually conditioning you to take higher levels of stimuli. It will make the process as a whole much more pleasurable." 

"Gods if you weren't wearing that stupid mask, I would shut you up in no-" 

"I always satiate you, milaya," Viktor answers calmly, as he slowly drags his finger out, leaving you quivering and empty. The nickname he uses is tender, familiar. It reminds you of your once different life. Vividly, it forms blossoms in your chest, unfurling flowers and delicate petals. Tugging sweetly at your thudding heart, despite the cold artificiality of his manufactured tone. Milaya. His darling. 

Though, the Machine Herald does not covet. What he desires, he takes and makes his. 

"Interesting," He's muttering, seemingly mostly to himself. "Your neediness has greatly increased since the last time we convened. Normally, you are capable of controlling yourself. To a certain extent." 

He tsks, metal hand caressing slow, reassuring circles onto your waist, while his other palm dives back between your legs. His fingers drag over your cunt with an irrational sense of clumsiness, considering the motion is coming from him. He lets his fingertips search for nothing in particular, getting them slick with your arousal, nudging your clit carelessly with his knuckles until your back is arching, and your sighs are sharpening. 

"Sorry." You mumble a half-hearted apology, eyelids softly fluttering. 

"It was not a complaint." Viktor presses his fingertips close, dangerously closer. 

Your body needs him, needs what only he can give to you. His hands, his fingers inside you. Every inch of you screams for his touch. As though you are a solved puzzle, a piece of technology broken down to let him understand each individual part. Your thighs shake, and that's part A. Your chest heaves, your shoulders go tense. Significantly human responses. Components labeled B, C, D, V. Your lips quiver, before they mutter another breathless, desperate plea of his name. 

Predictable, and understandable. Yet, for certain, you are a delight to decipher. Those pieces and budding sensations come together as he thought they would, and they — and you, are primed to be bent at his will. 

You expect him to tease you further. When he falls silent, becoming more impossible to read than he already was, you feel your arms and your thighs tense with what must be anticipation. Surely, he can sense how eager you are. 

But Viktor doesn't falter, he does not hesitate. He guides his metal hand underneath your back, predicting its arch, and he presses two of his fingers, his middle and ring, to your drooling entrance. They slide into you with a filthy, wet noise; it's almost obscene how eagerly your cunt accepts them. How you plead with whiny utterances of yes, yes, your voice breaking, eyes closing. He eases them inside you slowly, fills you with them completely — until his scarred knuckles are nudging against you, and you're sobbing through a half-sigh, half-moan. 

He doesn't wait to hear you beg for more. You're given a calculated amount of time, just enough seconds to catch your breath and get used to the stretch of both digits inside you. He fucks you on his fingers, pumping them in and out to the tune of your broken whines and gasps for air. It's a gradual process. A coded, mastered technique well-baked into his mind, his heart, and his hardware. 

Of course, he's long since learned just how to make you fall apart. He has studied you, he's proceeded to subconsciously store your data in the most important vault in his mind. It is simply a matter of getting you there, of drawing out your pleas for him and your tremors and your pulses, to push you even further past your previous crescendos. 

You can always be louder. Finish harder. You deserve to. And when it comes to any and all of his endeavors, including this one, he is persistently, unquenchably ambitious. 

"Vik-" You're babbling, in a wavering voice he might logically, astutely label as precious. His quiet lab echoes with the whirr of various displays and devices. With your soft noises, echoing alongside the wet squelch his fingers make each time he presses them deeper. "Please, I just- I'm so- I want you so much-" 

"You have me," He answers rigidly. Prepared and intentional, his fingers move slower, drawing out your moans and your shudders of pleasure. "Or were you demanding more?" 

"I always want more with you." A faint, endearing pout forms on your features, the kind of look only he can draw from you. "Want- I want you to fuck me." 

It isn't anything of importance; just an aimless, desperate plea. The kind you might be expected to ask of him when you're in this state — your mind wandering, your body relaxed. You need fuel for your building fire, you need to hear him outline through words what he can't through actions. You cannot make him feel as you do, but Viktor is kind enough to let you play pretend. 

Though, for whatever strange, unrecognizable, illogical reason, he goes against the fixed line of actions he was previously adhering to, and he hesitates. He contemplates. He twitches, circuitry briefly inoperable, fuzzy and working against him. His center, his self-regulating core, hums with marginally more force than it did before. The hand he has pressed to your back trembles. It thrums with artificial, built-up heat, before he grips you much tighter. 

Fortunately, he rediscovers his composure as quickly as it waned. Viktor quirks his fingers into your sweet spot to make you cry out for him, and then he drags them half-way out — every moment agonizingly slow, so he can admire the way the digits glisten in the lamplight. 

"Filthy little thing." His voice is thick. His words are stern, making you picture how his jaw might be tightened. "I am already providing you everything you asked for, and yet still, you act greedy. Human desire is terribly intemperate." 

"As if-" You're squirming, sweating, your hair a mess, warm gaze and moon-wide pupils locked onto his obscured face. "As if you feel nothing from this." 

"I cannot feel. You are well aware of this reality. I suggest you do not continue to persuade yourself otherwise." 

"Bullshit." 

"In fact, I do feel nothing." Viktor brings his thumb to your clit on his next press in, rubbing it roughly, circling it precisely. "I am incapable of experiencing desire," His fingers crook and spread. "Nor enjoyment." They pump slowly, while they stretch you around their shape. "Or affection." 

"But you were worried about me- fuck- when I went off on that stupid mission," You're mumbling, barely able to speak through ragged gasps for breath, "You were fretting over my safety. You- hah, you stopped everything you were doing just to check on me, because you felt relieved, you felt happy when you saw me walk in, didn't you?" 

Did he? 

Hours earlier, you returned to his doorstep, and he knew it was you from the way you knocked; he put aside the small automaton he was working on, and hurried to meet you at the door. He gave you a quick once over — in this form, he is vastly larger and taller than you, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at him — but you assured him you hadn't been injured. When you fell against his armored chest in something of an embrace, he didn't push you away. Nor did he protest when you pulled his heavy, bulky shape on top of you as you fell back against the nearest surface, his additional sensors picking up your already increasing breathing and heart rate. 

He recalls your arms around him, hands tugging at his cape, removing sections of his armor, fingers threading through his hair. Soft lips pressing to cold steel — 

Viktor tenses. You are plenty capable on your own, capable enough that he rarely considers whether or not you'll return. You always do, after all. This mission was considerably riskier, though. Considerably more worrisome. 

If anything had happened to you, if he discovered you were injured or captured or worse, his subsequent reaction would be less than logical. His mental processes would malfunction, and he would lose the ability to think rationally. The stifling, unstoppable force that would build within him could be compared to something like rage, something like love. 

You swallow thickly, and the room swirls around you in a dizzy haze as Viktor slowly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you empty. 

He murmurs, "Look at me." 

It's a little difficult of a command to follow, with your head spinning and your eyes all heavy. Still, you force yourself to breathe deeply, to steady, in the wake of the sudden lack of attention. 

You look up, and his hand, fingers slick and filthy, momentarily moves to grasp your chin. He tilts you towards him, to make sure you're watching. Viktor reaches up, and he presses a mechanism on the side of his mask. It hisses, releasing air, small puffs of steam streaming from either side. 

He removes it tentatively. He tosses it aside with a bit less caution, causing it to clink, spin, and nearly fall when it hits the upper edge of the table. 

You're met with messy brown hair, scarred skin, and familiar moles. The entirety of his jaw is made of metal, reconstructed into intricately crafted steel that continues down his neck and underneath his armor. His skin is overly pale, to the point where you can notice deep eye bags, and the criss-crossings of several individual, purple-hued veins. His expression is stern and deadpan, his brows slightly creased. He takes you in, gaze flickering down for a moment, then back up — and searing eyes, dark purple pools and bright orange suns, finally meet your own. 

"Your legs," He's instructing; his voice, no longer filtered through the mask, sounds warmer, clearer, a little less deep. Despite everything, terribly familiar, and blissfully human. "Place them around me." 

Unable to stifle a smile, you lift your thighs, casually locking them around his back at the ankles. You rarely get to see his face, and it's impossible to keep your eyes off of him, nor can you stop your heart from pounding. Viktor returns your gaze, cold and unflinching. It's like he's examining you, regarding you with the same restrained interest as he'd have for the subjects of his experiments. 

"There you are," You're cooing, head tilting, "Vitya."

Viktor's expression finally shifts from his usual indifference, his brows scrunching up to form a slightly irritated scowl. 

"Defiant again. As expected." 

"You used to like it when I called you that. Am I not allowed to tease you now?" You're laughing, and your smaller frame, still pinned underneath him, shifts somewhat when he loosens his grasp on your wrists. A faint amount of mercy. You offer him one of those radiant smiles he can't stand — can't resist. "You can be such a hypocrite." 

"Open your mouth," Viktor sneers coldly, "So it can be put to better use." 

With a firm, metal hand, he holds the curve of your soft side, measuring your individual tremors, paying attention to the steady movement of your lungs. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your lips. Your breath hitches, and your mouth forms a line. You can't help but roll your eyes. 

"I can just leave, you know," You mutter, your voice still playful, yet noticeably a few volumes lower. "But I'm guessing you don't want me to." 

Funny. You seem to think you could escape from his grasp. 

"Open. Your. Mouth. Before I give in, and do something I shouldn't." 

"I'm not-" 

Your protest fizzles out into a surprised noise and a subsequent sigh; Viktor grabs you, he pulls you closer in tandem with surging forwards, and his mouth promptly crashes into yours. 

Finally. 

The kiss tastes sharp, like iron and ash, like something distinctly him when his tongue slowly brushes against yours. You allow your eyes to close — but Viktor hardly leaves you any room for air as he practically devours you. It's deep, enthralling, and clumsy. Needy, on your end, and hungry on his. The kind of kiss that possesses you, consumes you. Your mind is dizzy, your breath is gone, but you need to kiss him more than you need to breathe. 

You melt into him gently, naturally. Like you were always meant to. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek: a motion far too soft, far too important. 

When he pulls away, finally giving you some breathing room, your eyes immediately meet. Your chest is heaving, your heart warm and pounding to a tempo made just for him. His gaze is once again sharp, once again perfectly composed. 

You miss the softness of his lips already. "Vik." 

And he needs you, needs more of you. He's wanted to feel your lips against his for far longer than you or even he could have realized. Since those days when you were both young and stupid, when you vowed to achieve your dreams together. As though your gentle voice pleading his name is just tender enough to push him over a metaphorical edge, to flip some hidden switch in his complex mechanics — He kisses you again, again, again. 

All of this, it isn't meant for him. It is unfathomably human, from the way you breathe fervently against his mouth; stuttered breaths, quicker than his, heavier than his own could ever be. To the way he touches you, a half-machine's best imitation of intimacy. His still-human palm moves to brush your neck, then glides further to hold the back of your head. Your body is all awkward limbs and soft edges and smooth skin, but you fit underneath him oh-so perfectly. 

He can't stop. It doesn't seem real; Viktor imagines he must have fallen into a different reality, he's in a different body with a different, mortal heart. None of this makes an ounce of logical sense otherwise. Then again, when do you ever make sense? 

He can't focus on anything but your lips on his — because for a few fleeting moments, he isn't defined by metal and machinery; he is himself. He is a mess of muddled thoughts and imperfect touches. Your legs around his back pull his figure closer to yours, and you have him wondering what it might entail without any steel in the way. Just skin against skin. 

It'd be impossible for him to feel such a thing, when there's little skin left. His entire arm, his legs, his torso, his spine; they've since been replaced, improved upon. Is this the closest he'll ever get to you, to love? 

Waves upon waves of warmth wash over you, they drown you, they envelop you. Even once Viktor has finally pulled apart from you with one last soft kiss, you still aren't able to breathe. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so fiercely it almost hurts. 

He settles back above you, and as you calm again, he holds your gaze. His slender fingers move to trace the column of your throat, where they not-so-subtly seek out your pulse. It's racing for him. He looks remarkably composed now, compared to how disheveled you're sure you appear. 

Gently, he trails his hand upwards. His thumb swipes your kiss-swollen bottom lip. Your mouth parts instinctually, allowing him to carefully press the digit into your warm mouth, onto your wet tongue. 

"Do not leave," Viktor murmurs, an analytical edge already returning to his tone, in spite of what transpired between you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, brushing it over your bottom lip again, smearing your lips with your saliva. "Stay for tonight." 

"Are you asking? Or is that a demand?" Your breath on his skin is foggy and hot. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, his gaze regarding you inquisitively, you propose another question. Your hands clench, they briefly push against the unyielding grip of his Hexclaw. "Will you let my hands go now?" 

"Tsk. Only if you are capable of keeping them to yourself." 

"C'mon…" You hum disappointedly. He appears routinely unaffected by your pouting. So, you change your approach. 

You shuffle, trying to get more comfortable. The table beneath you feels especially firm. "What if I say please? Is that what you're looking for?" 

"Go ahead. It will not affect my decision." 

"Seriously? But I want to touch you. You're so pretty." 

Viktor hesitates, but only briefly. He senses the whirring in his chest, the usual hum of his augmented components. Substitutions where imperfect pieces should be, strength replacing frailty, mechanics coming to life once more as his mind becomes forcibly unclouded. His systems are working as usual again. All it took to experience a malfunction was your lips on his, and all he needed to do to rebuild his composure was pull away. And you are still a gasping, heavy-eyed mess. 

Still, there is something troubling him. The same illogical functions that've been prodding at his mind since the very beginning. Lingering errors. Faults in his perfected frame. When he looks at you now, he strongly senses the push and pull of those inaccuracies. 

If he allows you to touch him, each framework, every mechanism — Everything he's been carefully constructing might come crashing down. 

Would that be so bad? 

Pretty. How ridiculous. Viktor scoffs, his jaw tensing up, his next words arbitrary. "Most are afraid when they look at me." 

Perhaps they should be. Perhaps you should be. 

But you just smile, your expression growing soft as you tilt your head, and you answer in earnest: "I don't think I've ever been scared of you." 

Again, there goes his worthless, thrumming, obsolete heart. 

You should be afraid of a man who's designed himself to fit an image you no longer recognize. You shouldn't try to get so close to him, when his compulsive obsession to destroy and remake borders on a clear line of danger. This new chassis embodies perfection. It has long since relinquished any weaknesses, but if you detested him, he wouldn't blame you. Others are reluctant to embrace his vision, save for a select, fortunate few. You and him have history. History that would make seeing him like this rather difficult, he assumes. 

Usually, Viktor is able to keep any oversights from throwing him off course. He can't be distracted from achieving his goals. The people of Zaun need him. This new body poses no hindrances. Pain doesn't disrupt him; it can be turned out, like anything else. Pain of the body, and pain of the heart. 

You, though. Any thoughts he has of you start as small blips. Tiny, persistent sparks. They build overtime, burning brighter, hotter. Until he sees you, and you look just like how you did back then, so, so long ago. There are tired lines on your face, faint scars, and he knows they're his fault. All at once, his mind is threatening to become a mess of discordant, fraying parameters, of processes that are refusing to function in the manner they should. 

He wants to keep you far, far away; far from him, from this lab. Far from this terrible, awful place you both grew up in. If he could, he'd have you go somewhere so very distant, where you couldn't distract him — where you could be happy and free. You will see the sky, feel the sun's warmth, and breathe fresh, cool air. It'd be what's best for you. And he will continue to further his endeavors in evolution. Alone, as intended. 

But ultimately, no matter what he winds up doing to his mind or his body, he would think of you. Of holding you or unmaking you, sometimes he isn't sure which. If you were truly afraid, if you ran, he wouldn't follow on your heels. But along with you, you'd take a piece of himself, a faint trace he would never get back; for better, or for worse. 

Viktor listens to the sound of your breathing: steady, deep. His gaze studies you, but it lingers on your eyes for longer than intended. You are still looking up at him, smiling, sparkling like a sky full of stars. As though he is a sky filled with stars. 

Your breaths become heavier when he presses his palm to the center of your chest. He drags his touch down, down. You are more sensitive this time, he notes. You lean into him once his hand caresses your pelvis, your waist, and you loosen your legs from around his back to become more comfortable. His fingertips trail up your inner thigh, and you shudder, you shiver. 

He thinks of kissing you once more. A couple times more, maybe. Proper judgment tells him he should resist. The thought remains there, lingering and burning between you. 

"Viktor…" You murmur, your voice a bit broken, but he's hanging onto every word. "Touch me again." 

Pleasant sensory inputs glow within him; tingling veins, reverberating wires. Overwhelming heat fills his shoulders, the back of his neck, his head — the heat of machinery, the warmth of his soul. 

Viktor grabs your waist assertively, metal fingers digging into your hip. His gaze doesn't waver from yours as he guides your thighs to spread. Suddenly, he pushes himself against you, until you are hopelessly pressed between steel and metal. Between him, and the worktable. 

You feel his weight, you feel the intricate ridges of metal plates and hard edges, the artificial heat of his much larger body radiating against your bare skin. Now, you are completely pinned, practically chest to chest, pressed underneath the Machine Herald so closely it's enough to make your head spin. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. Perhaps he can hear it. Or maybe, he just knows your heart must be pounding for him, as it always does. 

Your limbs tremor with excitement. As his palm squeezes your thigh, you can't help but arch into his touch. Thin, skillful fingers press close and feel how wet you are — still so sensitive, already dripping out onto him. You aren't teased, you aren't even able to catch your breath, because two of his fingers are swiftly dipping inside you, giving you exactly what you need. 

It feels so right. Viktor reaches for your cheek. He encourages you to continue meeting his gaze when your eyes flutter and nearly close. 

Your gaze on his, you let his name leave your mouth in a series of sharp gasps, and desperate pleas. He fills you slowly, but wastes no time building a rhythm; his fingers pump into your sensitive cunt gently, then methodically. Satisfied, Viktor hums, and he carefully shifts his other arm down. He holds your back as it arches, further pressing you against himself. 

Now, the way he pleasures you is deliberate, it isn't enough, but Gods, you'll take anything he gives you. 

"That name," Viktor starts, speaking in a smooth, level tone, perfectly contrasting the airy huffs and whines you utter for him. The name he hoped to relinquish, his name. "It sounds best when you are pleading it." 

You smile through a soft moan. "It's my favorite. Such a sweet name." 

Precisely, determinedly, his fingers crook into the spot within you he knows all too well, and you crumble, you sob. 

"The tech you brought to me will accelerate the completion of our latest prototype," Viktor is explaining, matter-of-factly. As though the conversation is as simple as it is necessary. Like he doesn't have his large body shoved against you, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It just serves to excite you further, honestly. 

"I will install the heat core, and adjust its interior components accordingly. We could have its systems operational by tonight. However, I doubt I will be able to focus." 

You take a forced, deep breath. "Yeah? Because of me?" 

Obviously, he wants to say. You'll be here, staying in his lab, as you usually do after a tough afternoon or a previous sleepless night. He doesn't mind. Your chatter might occasionally be disruptive to his work, but your voice is nice, it is calming. Your presence itself might be a distraction, an interference that his mind tells him he should discard, but having you here is a nice change of pace, compared to the long, lonesome hours he's grown used to. He has never minded. 

Sleep is less of a necessity for him. Resting for a handful of hours a few times per week is usually enough to keep himself operational. The torn leather couch he keeps in his quarters is there just for you. He no longer needs to eat in the typical sense, although he still needs to recharge burned energy. He keeps stocked up on the foods he remembers to be your favorites. 

It's strange, out of everything he's forgotten, he still remembers such useless, trivial details. Each and every detail about you. 

Without you, this space — the adjustments he's made to accommodate your presence, the dip in the couch from where you always sleep, your articles of clothing strewn over the floor and the couch arms. His lab would feel so empty. 

His next words sound much gentler than usual. Warmer, more desperate. 

"Because your voice will not leave my mind. Begging for me. Breaking for me," Viktor murmurs. He nudges his fingers against your walls, testing, teasing you. "Pleading my name." 

Once more, he challenges your limits; his fingers slide into you deep, so deeply you can feel them everywhere. Nudging at your core, filling you perfectly. As if on queue, you whimper a broken plea of yes, and as your eyes flutter, you're cascading into a needy mess of pleasant, shaky gasps. You writhe, your pinned hands trembling, wishing for something to hold onto. Though, he keeps you in place underneath him, blissfully unrelenting. 

"Say it," Viktor demands, "My name. Tell me who it is you need." 

"Viktor," Your voice is light, clumsy and slurring slightly, but in the way you say his name, there's an unmistakable lilt of pure adoration. You need him, you need to feel him everywhere: his practiced touch, his soft skin, his steel-built anatomy. You want him to not have to leave you, to not need to choose between you and the Undercity's future. 

You feel completely, utterly dizzy. You want so much. You want his hands, flesh or metal, to study every intricate inch of you. You want him to stop holding back, you need the both of you to make up for the stupid amount of time you've lost — "I- hhah- I want…" 

With your eyes nearly shut, static and stars flickering at the edges of your vision, you hadn't noticed how close he'd become until Viktor's voice echoes warmly, right against the shell of your ear. 

"You want me to fuck you?" 

And holy shit, his tone is sultry, his accent is thick — you shiver so hard you're sure he's left feeling the aftershocks, your body still pressed up right against his, even through his layers of metal armor. Viktor doesn't stop the steady pace of his fingers, pumping and arching and working you so well. Nor does he quit speaking, simply because he knows this is what you want to hear. What you need to hear. 

"You are insatiable," He scolds, although there's little emotion in his level tone. Just an obvious, already-known sense of acknowledgement. His voice is a thousand times more intense when it is curling directly into your ear; "You wish for me to render you even more weak than you currently are, so you can be shown exactly who you belong to? Oh, and how I'd fuck you. How I would take you. I would make a mess of you, I'm sure. You'd be begging to be given all of me. To be used by me." 

It's merely theoretical, a set of fake promises and dirty words to put pleasant visualizations into your mind — calculated, like everything he pursues. And it works. Predictably, your entire body shudders with pure, forceful need. You pulse around his fingers, throbbing like a heartbeat. You sob, and try to twist to face him, although it's impossible, considering you're still tightly pinned beneath his figure. 

You want to see his face, he figures, so Viktor shifts up. He re-puts himself in the center of your vision, and you glance towards him, eyes flickering across his face; your gaze on his is practically teary-eyed. Desperate and eager, you find ways to plead without words. 

You want to let go. Of course you do — always forced to be strong, you need nothing more than to melt at the hands of the last person left in Zaun that you trust. Even if he is more machine than person. Even though he is not right for you. 

For a moment all too brief, Viktor wonders what it would be like to push those boundaries. To truly have you, beneath his hands and in his heart, to feel you resounding beside him like the echoes of a rippling, rolling wave. 

How would he take you? No, how would you want him? 

He formulates a few possible outcomes. Perhaps you'd want him hard and desperately. You need to be put in your place, to feel him as close as he could possibly be while he molds you to his shape. You want to be obedient. A good little subject. You want to be called good, very, very good for him while he pounds you into the table, or maybe while he leans back, glowing, masked eyes focused solely on you, your hands gripping his armored shoulders so you can bounce on his lap however you'd like. The Machine Herald's perfect little pawn. He wagers with such filthy actions and words, he could make you even louder than this. 

You'd be pinned underneath him, and instead of his fingers, he'd fill you with all of himself — carnal and raw. Warm and sweat-soaked. Yet still, your body pressed to his would be agonizingly tender. 

Or maybe you'd want him in a different way. In a much softer way. 

Tenderness has never been afforded to him, it's hardly a concept he knows, but perhaps it's what he once hoped for. With you, it's what he once pictured. 

Every touch would be slow, delicate. Your hands interlocked. Bodies pressed together, galaxies against galaxies. So close, they could be mistaken for the same shape. He would learn you truly, and honestly. Warm and gentle, you would touch him soft enough to make him human again. 

Your voice would beg for him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, against his form. Useless, perfect declarations of love. Viktor shudders. He imagines your hands, pretty and delicate, brushing the space between his shoulder and his steel spine. Feeling his scarred skin, alighting fiery sensations he assumed he'd long since lost. 

Compared to who he was before, he is much stronger. He must be strong, must be forged of grit and iron, he must not submit to worthless, human desires. But you make him oh-so weak. 

He isn't supposed to be weak. 

"Please," You're gasping. You are barely able to speak at this point, babbling sweetly between broken noises as he fucks you on his fingers; it's just enough to make you shut your eyes and imagine more. "Fuck- Vik- Oh, p-please…" 

Splintering, throbbing with mechanical heat, his inner workings surge with a sublime abundance of molten, unbridled energy. Burning, it's burning him up from the inside, melting him down and making him fragile. 

You've gone fuzzy beneath him — No, his vision is fuzzy. Your edges are blurred, your chest is heaving as his fingers barely leave you before pressing back in. His hand adjusts, allowing his thumb to brush your puffy clit on the next press in. When you whimper his name, as you've done countless times before, he swears he sees nothing but flickering, colorless static. 

Burning and heightening and building, he must be malfunctioning, experiencing crucial gaps in his design. This shouldn't be happening. He should not feel, and this isn't feeling, but there is something building inside of him, something with your name on it. 

No, no, your name is flickering through him, pounding against his mind like a drum, and he has to establish control. He has to fucking fix this. 

He needs to be closer, so much closer. He needs you in an unexplainable, all encompassing way. In a way that shouldn't be occurring. He doesn't want anything, he can't experience the sensation of wanting because it isn't meant to exist. 

Truthfully, he's past the point of no return, and you might be all that's left to hold him in place. Impossible. The only thing he's ever desired is progress, evolution. Improvement is what matters. Improving, fixing, augmenting. 

You are going to be the death of him. He needs to be pressed against you, holding you, in you, examining your inner workings, guiding you to reach your true potential — 

Something snaps. 

"Do you know," Viktor grasps your face, roughly tilting you in his direction. The newfound harshness to his tone is exhilarating. "How impossible it is to resist breaking you?" 

He laughs, the sound sharp, almost chilling; his smile is crooked, barely recognizable, showing off even more crooked teeth. His gaze holds your own until it practically burns into you. His body is hot. To the point of overheating. You feel the heated metal against your skin, pressing to your chest, your thighs, faint puffs of searing steam pouring out from gaps in the plating. 

The grip his Hexclaw has on your wrists is so tight it nearly hurts. But it's faltering, his hands are twitching. He seems to recognize he might be hurting you, and so he lifts off of you slightly, he forces himself to loosen his hold. 

There's a sound coming from him that echoes like grinding gears, like the hiss of burning filaments. Like something is crumbling. Fighting against itself. 

"It is all I have ever known, milaya." Viktor lets go of something akin to a sigh, although he has no need to breathe. He is utterly ruined — the poor excuse for a heart he once placed between his ribs is aching, shuddering with the anticipation of a touch, soaring with the softness that comes with a kiss. Is this what it feels like to be dizzy, to be lovesick? 

You shudder as his thumb rubs your clit, and he digs his metal fingers into your side, feeling the space just beneath your ribs. "You will soon understand," He murmurs, "And if you are incapable, I am still willing to teach you. To make you into so much more." 

There's a stirring in his chest at that, at the thought of completing you; a deep-rooted abnormality he can't quite pinpoint. Is it excitement? Guilt? Lust? 

You swallow. You're crumbling, as he sends tingles through your veins in the wake of more enthralling words. 

"You are mine. Your fundamental place is at my side." Viktor senses the building heat of his inner workings, a deep wave rolling up from his constructed spine to settle onto the back of his neck. Building, burning, breaking. "I cannot wait to unmake you." 

Pulling you apart would be delightful. 

Your pieces would be disassembled, separated by each individual, pretty, dizzying section, so you could be redone carefully, gently, with a sense of tenderness only he could manage. He wants to understand you. To know exactly what makes you tick, down to your most basic of functions. To be close. Indistinguishable, the both of you made from the same materials. If you were constructed in his image, your components marked by his influence, there would be no doubt who you belong to. 

Through breaking you and mending you, he wonders if he could find new ways to make you sing. You'd relax under each touch, shuddering and breathing his name as he completes your newfound enhancements. Gazes locking. Touches lingering. Metal soldering. Viktor trembles. Gods, how he wants you. 

Furthering your potential and heightening your pleasure both require similar sentiments. Trust, and vulnerability. Opening your chest to watch your heart pound for him is the same as measuring your hitching breaths, growing heavier the deeper and faster he presses his fingers into you. 

Because delicately pulling you apart just to put you back together is some metaphor for intimacy. Carving out a space for you within the confines of his fake heart is some synonym for tenderness. Holding onto his memories of you, replaying everything he can't quite forget to the point of near insanity — to the point where he attempted to forcibly remove you, by removing those emotions. Only to fail. Feeling these sensations for you when he shouldn't is some form of devotion. 

You shouldn't feel for him either, right? 

Having you there from the very beginning meant something; you were beside him when he only dreamed of becoming someone greater. When his ideas for evolution were just prototypes, when he first put the full extent of his weight onto both his legs. Didn't it mean the world to you too? 

You were equally misunderstood. By your peers, by the world. Just as you believed in him, he saw light in you, from the very start. He thinks you could burn bright enough to melt anyone who stands in your way. And now, years down the line, when he is seen as less than human, you only see him. Not what he's become. It's infuriating. It's unmistakably loving. 

You are panting. Getting close. Your bottom lip quivers, and your body tenses, each shudder more forceful than the last. His fingers echo a filthy, wet sound each time they pump into you, and your back is arching, you are simply begging to fall apart around him. For him, because of him. You deserve to. 

And you sing, voice trembling like plucked strings, "Just p-please. You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you- I've always trusted you. Vik, I need you. I'm yours. All yours." 

All his. 

Whatever he turns into, whatever becomes of his body, memories, and heart, you would still follow. No matter what his goal might be; to destroy this city for what it did to the both of you, or to work in unison to try and remake it. Or perhaps, he plans to become more. An example of perfection. A God. As if he isn't one already. 

The first time he touched you, when he felt the softness of your skin and heard the plea in your voice, and knew you were in his heart still, still, wasn't it akin to a prayer? 

Oh, he is going to unravel you. 

Viktor allows his grip on your wrists to finally, fully loosen; his Hexclaw presses flatly to the table, helping to support his weight. Relaxing, you exhale a deep breath, but you don't hesitate for long. Your arms waste no time wrapping around him, pulling him close. When you kiss him, a hand cradling his cheek like he is something breakable, and not a perfected piece of unstoppable machinery, the tender press of your lips to his feels undoubtedly inevitable. 

All he knows is since the day he pretended to forget about you, when he decided to become something more, his new heart beat steadily, his enhanced mind was clear. But his systems wouldn't stop buzzing. 

When he hardly knew where you were or what state you'd return to him in, the noise grew sharper. Fervently pulling, Hextech whirring, unsated electricity sizzling like fireworks underneath his skin. Having you in his arms once more only made the static form so thick, he thought his mental processes might completely go haywire. All he knows is that now, as he's kissing you, feeling your lips on his, your body against his own, and your hands tangling through his hair — for once, the static is silent. Blissfully silent. 

And he kisses you, harder than before. Softer than anything and everything. 

"Faster-" You're pleading brokenly against his mouth, between breathy kisses, your voice echoing through him, "More." 

Faster, harder, more. Whatever you desire, he's going to give it to you. Viktor mumbles, "Of course." 

Finally able to move, you hook one leg around his waist, you use it to drag him in even closer. You rock into his hand when his fingers spread and crook inside you, and you grab tight, messy fistfuls of his hair. His lips on yours, kissing you over and over, leave you little room to breathe. 

Once you've pulled away, you're gasping for air, and his gaze fixates on yours: examining, devouring. Viktor takes note of your every movement. How you grind into his fingers when his thumb teases your clit, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, brows pinched. How you fall back against the table when the sensations overwhelm you, eyes shut and limbs weak. Pulsing and tensing around him, so sensitive. So close to falling apart. 

Your arms wrap around him again, and he tries to keep the pace of his fingers steady, while you begin placing hurried kisses to his cheek, his neck. You kiss the side of his face, soft lips on soft skin. Then, your lips continue down, they press to his steel jaw. He tilts his head to let kisses fall over the expanse of metal that runs down his neck. Tingling phantom sensations curl into him and split him open. 

"Close," You're muttering, so quiet he nearly doesn't hear. You hold him as tight as you can manage. Your breath is warm on the side of his face, tickling his skin, making him feel even warmer within. 

"You are close?" He repeats for confirmation; his hand finds your side, and you grip his shoulders, hands brushing over thick plates of metal, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Your nails dig in, firm enough that he thinks the steel might chip. Viktor breathes a slight laugh, "You sound so sweet." 

"So- I'm getting so-" You swear, "Oh, f-fuck…" 

The only way he might quench what's come over him and steady his systems is by watching you come apart. Pleading his name, while you melt into a needy puddle of all the emotions and pleasant sensations he could never let himself have. Brought to your peak by his touch, his voice, because you are his, all his. 

Viktor's free hand traces up, cool steel carefully finding your collarbone, your neck. Then, his fingers are wrapping around. He squeezes your throat just barely, just how you like, enough to make you fall back with your arms sprawled above you. Your head is perfectly dizzy, as his fingers work you steadily, his thumb flicking your needy clit much faster. Pushing you closer, closer. 

Until it's far too much, and you are at his mercy, guided right to the edge of an exhilarating, electrifying precipice. 

"Let go. I have you," Viktor instructs, "Let yourself submit." 

Everything you've been building towards, all of his touches, all of this ecstasy, and how terribly you've missed him coalesces into this. Into a single, shuddering moment, waves upon waves of pleasure pushing you over the waterfall's edge. You're melting, cumming hard for him, your arms shaking, until he's removing his hand from your throat and giving you something to grab onto — delicate fingers laced with thick, strong, metal ones. Perfectly contrasting. 

Your vision goes white. Your body tenses and then goes limp, like you've been shut down. The high is forceful, before it becomes soft, ebbing over you with gradual warmth, his hand in yours enough to steady you. Heart pounding, you take quick, loud breaths. 

You can't help but feel disappointed when Viktor's hand releases yours to return to your waist. He holds you carefully, cold fingers brushing your skin reassuringly. Every touch feels deliciously raw, alight and sensitive. 

Your eyes open slowly. Viktor's hair is a mess in his face, likely caused by you. He seems flushed, if only slightly. His unflinching gaze flickers across your form, before it settles back on your eyes. 

"Breathe," He instructs carefully, gently. His hand grips your side a bit tighter; he's clearly affected by the way you sigh. You do your best to follow along, the aftershocks fading as your pulse slows, and as you start to calm. 

"There. Excellent, you have done so well," Viktor praises. He smiles slightly in satisfaction. "You have never been this breathless." 

Whatever words you could've formed in response don't come. They can't, not when his fingers are still inside you; not when Viktor is pressing them into your sensitive cunt just barely, squeezing your side as he delights in the way you whine. Pleasure, white-hot and familiar, surges through you fiercely. 

It's so much, it's so much, it's too much, he's already fucking you with his fingers, and before you can fully wind down, you're swiftly building towards another high. Your body needs this. You just aren't sure if you can take it. 

"Ah- shit," You murmur; reaching up, you tangle both hands in his hair, gripping tight for leverage. His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "I want- I need more. It feels so good, Vik," You're practically purring those last words, your whole body shuddering through another wave of ecstasy. "But I don't- I'm not sure if I-" 

"You can." Viktor interrupts, assured and composed. "You can cum for me as many times as I dictate." 

You're smirking now, obediently spreading your trembling thighs wide, while you roll your hips into his touch; his fingers are so thick, so impossibly, perfectly deep — "Hah- and you said I'm the insatiable one." 

"Yes. You are the most insatiable human I have ever known. And it would seem you are particularly insatiable with me." 

"You were once- Oh-" 

Your head falls back as Viktor nudges that sweet, tender spot inside you, and your body becomes limp once more. 

He takes the opportunity to bring the Hexarm's hand to your cheek. It's large enough to eclipse your face, the same way it was big and strong enough to easily pin both your wrists in its grasp. The heat radiating from the metal makes your eyes briefly flutter, before he trails it down to your throat. Perfectly responsive, your eyes grow heavy. He provides you with your favorite, much-needed pressure. 

You've watched him use this very same hand to solder metal and create machinery. The device could heat to a temperature a thousand times hotter than it is now, it's capable of firing off a single ray of concentrated energy potent enough to slice through steel. And he has that hand wrapped right around your neck. 

Fuck, that shouldn't excite you. It shouldn't have you quivering more and whimpering, shaking while you try your best to keep meeting his eyes, all because you so desperately want to hear him speak again. Praising you — You are doing so well for me, so pliant, so adorable. Or scolding you — Pathetic, aren't you? Quivering like a rabbit, and all it took was a little brush with danger. You are amusing. 

Whichever he prefers. Because Viktor is so much stronger, so much smarter, and it hardly matters what he chooses to say, when any and all of it still gets you off. 

Deep within your heart, you know he'd never hurt you. He would take away your pain if you asked it of him, so you wouldn't have to feel it again. His words can be sharp, simply because he wants to protect you. He wouldn't even attempt to put his hand on your throat like this if he didn't have complete, total control over the Hexclaw's laser. Carefully, he observes your every movement for any sign of discomfort, calculating and controlling each aspect of your pleasure — and it only serves to make your heart pound faster. 

Of course, he can tell when you start to truly shake. He knows every inch of you is melting with overstimulation, and he's going to give you more. 

"Take it. I know you are capable." His voice gives you goosebumps, while his fingers press into you shallowly, but the smallest movements are more than enough to make a mess of you. "There, perfect, you are performing excellently. Relax. Continue breathing deeply, nice and slow breaths. I will take care of you, love." 

Love. 

"Don't-" You choke, trying to keep your eyes on his despite the way your vision wavers and blurs; your reaction is immediate, predictable, and instantly satisfying. "Don't stop…" 

You're beautiful like this, when you're underneath him. Since his enhancements, compared to his new body, you are now much smaller. He had to learn to adjust to the touches you need, to be gentle. Like you once were with him. Your roles, reversed in such a crucial way. You are undoubtedly strong in your own right, but when it comes to him, you are as sensitive as you are receptive. He needed to study how to keep from holding you too tightly, how to regulate his temperature to not burn your skin underneath his hands. 

You are a pretty sculpture of quivering limbs and glistening skin. Your chest heaving, eyes fluttering. As beautiful as you were back then, before this. Before he lost the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, before feelings on their own became mere faded memories. His iron consequence, locking away his dying love. 

He gives you another. Three fingers press inside your dripping cunt, stretching you, filling you. A hand grips your side, his third lightly squeezing your throat — he works your pleasure for all it's worth, and has you gasping as he wrings out your aftershocks. 

Viktor's mouth can't help but twitch into the slightest smile. "Look at you. You are worthy of the world." 

He would give it all to you. 

The Machine Herald will have this city in his hands. His vision is moving fast and accomplishing much, so it is only a matter of time. If you wanted more, he'd just have to reach even further. Relinquishing his human emotions left him without the need to be happy, nor content. But you, your happiness, keeping you safe, seeing you smile. It is stupid, foolish, doesn't make sense; his mechanics stutter, until he thinks he is choking on his own contradictory tenderness. 

His body is betraying his mind. There is heat at his center, more than the normal amount emitted by his internal components. A very human, very filthy amount of heat. His skin underneath his armor is flushed and warm, his chest is aching from the weight of your heavy destruction. You are destroying him, and he can do nothing but allow it. 

"I missed you," You murmur earnestly, voice weak, close to shattering. Your eyes are closed. Why, why are those words making his hands and his limbs and his heart shudder? "I missed you so bad- don't stop, keep fucking me Viktor- don't, please don't stop talking…" 

Is that what you're imagining? 

So he doesn't stop. 

As you fall back against the table, Viktor removing the Hexclaw and letting go of your neck, he leans in to speak right against your ear. "I am proud of you, lubov. Infiltrating Piltover must not have been simple. You brought me more than I required, you did so with much efficiency. And you returned to me safely. Allow me to reward you. Fall apart for me, cum like I know you so desperately need to." 

Your body curls, your hands move to his shoulders and grip them impossibly tight in an attempt to keep yourself steady. "Vik- Viktor-" You're gasping, you're close, "Kiss me, please kiss me-" 

His hand holds your chin, the cool, rigid steel of his thumb swipes over your bottom lip; teasing you, making you whimper. Sliding further, into your mouth, until you're tasting the sharpness of metal. Until you're gently sucking, feeling the intricately crafted notches and joints on your tongue. When he pulls it out and kisses you hard, when his lips press to yours and your high-pitched moans become muffled on his mouth, you cum on his fingers hard enough to see the afterimage of stars. 

He's trailing kisses down your jaw while you pulse around him, your thighs shaking, your head tilting to let his mouth find your throat. In the wake of his soft kisses, his foggy breath, you melt, and fully succumb to your shuddering high. 

Working you back down is a slow, patient process. A kiss onto your neck for every gasp you take in, the feeling of gentle teeth once your body starts to fully relax. Everything you've wanted, everything you missed; far too tender for who he's become. 

There are faint marks on your neck by the time he pulls away. Signs he was there. Proof he is softer than he is meant to be. 

You could stop here. Instead, the next few moments happen in their own special space of reality. 

Away from this city, away from his lab. A different plane made for just the two of you. Your mind feels dizzy, heavy. Viktor meets your gaze, momentarily scanning your face, waiting to make sure you've calmed. 

He is all you can think of, all that has ever mattered. And even when he is right here, you miss him so, so much. 

You tremble from the end of your spine to the top of your shoulders when he carefully pulls his fingers from you. He brushes his palm from your thigh to your side in one steady, soothing motion. You can feel the scars on his palm, the slight hesitant tremor to his still-slick fingers. You're reaching up, palm pressing to his chest. You absently feel the various ridges of metal. Smooth to the touch, armor radiating the faintest flickers of heat. 

He glances down, watching your movement as your palm brushes further, further. Delicate fingertips trail the dips and outlines that continue down his stomach. Eventually, you reach as far as your arm will let you, your fingers drawing circles onto the rib-like sections of steel crossing just above his hips. As he glances back up to you, he finds your soft, pleading gaze to be already looking at him. As sweet as he's always remembered. 

Your breathing is heavy. "Vik," You're begging, "We shouldn't- I'm sorry. This is stupid. I know we should stop, but…" 

He is going to regret this. 

Before he can stop himself, before his mind and his systems can even be led to form a single rational thought, Viktor is pressing the palm of his Hexarm just above your head, flat to the table. He is leaning over you, he is finding your cheek with a soft hand and a gentle touch. He's pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours, and he knows you're right — you shouldn't continue. He shouldn't allow this. 

Machines do not feel. The Machine Herald feels nothing, and wants for nothing besides evolution. But Gods, you're kissing him like his lips are a drug, all you need after wanting to kiss him for so, so long. Since before you both became dim shells of what you once were. Your legs are wrapping around him, your fingers are brushing his face with such devastating tenderness, and Viktor believes he is feeling everything. 

He's reaching down between your gasps for breath that make gaps in your kisses, and he's deftly activating a set of small, circular mechanisms on either of his sides. The armor on his chest unlatches with a clicking noise, platings becoming loose, unaligned. 

The larger, more cumbersome sections of his armor, including his gauntlets, cape, and shoulder pieces have been discarded from the start, making the portion of chest armor come off as two simple halves. He has to pull away, sit up straight, and partially slide off of you to remove it all the way. Both pieces of armor hit the ground with a particularly heavy thud. 

Most of his body has been replaced. Underneath the metal armor, there's just more metal; sections of iron that've been fused to replace muscle and skin, alloyed parts that reinforce his thin frame. 

You have only seen him like this once. He was fixing some miscalibrated platings on his side, a wrench in one hand, the Hexclaw's laser busy welding a suitable replacement. Two thirds machine, and one part still human, he was definitely much different from what you remembered. Still, there were small sections of pale skin on his back, split where his spine had been reconstructed. And jagged scars, adorned by faint, dark moles. His messy hair still falls around his face just like you remember it. 

You wanted to touch — he says he can't feel, but would he sense your fingertips as they traced his scars, would he shudder as your hands felt his skin? If you kissed what remained of him, his hand and each of his fingers, his back and each of those pretty moles, his chest down to his stomach, could you alight new sensations in him? 

You've never wanted to touch him more than in this moment. 

The bottom portion of his armor comes off much easier, leaving just the thick sections that cover his thighs down to his legs, including the steel brace mechanism. You're only able to catch the faintest glimpse, before he's pulling you into another deep kiss — a kiss that burns with every moment lost, his body pressing you against the table and beneath him. Your arms wrap around him, palms trailing across his back. 

As they've always longed for, your fingertips feel the back of his neck: the ridges and hard edges of his spine, the solid base of the Hexarm, his soft skin. Viktor physically shudders. When one of your hands tangles in his hair while the other falls, landing upturned beside you, he kisses you harder, he absently finds your hand and holds it in his. Your fingers lace together. His hand feels so warm, still slightly larger than yours. His skin is scarred, your thumb brushing over calloused knuckles and thin, purple veins. Every touch is so tender, earnest, human, it's nearly unbearable. Your hand was meant to be in his. Even if it won't last. 

It's a strange sensation, when his body presses ever closer to your own. Metal leads down from his navel, across to his pelvis, trailing underneath the armor on his thighs as one smooth, solid construction. Partially welded into his skin, but seemingly designed to make some sections removable. It is warm like the rest of him, designed with faint ridges and indents. 

Your legs, locked around him at the ankles, encourage him to press ever-closer. He devours you, kissing you deeper than you thought possible. You sigh against his mouth, and hold on tightly to his hair. His body rocks against yours in an instinctual, clumsy motion. Close, pressing, grinding. Warm metal and those perfect little ridges grind between your legs, against your core, against your clit. And you practically jolt. 

Oh. You break away from the kiss to toss your head back with a breathy, pretty noise. Pleasure threads through you, thick and unrelenting. 

Viktor mumbles something that barely registers in your ringing ears: Should stop, you manage to make out. And then, Are you alright? 

"Yes, I just-" You mumble, panting hard, "Don't. Don't stop." 

So Viktor grasps your waist in a tight, yet careful grip. His eyes never leave yours, gaze burning with a fire you've never once seen. He guides you to press against him, grinds his body against yours until you're making a mess of the metal. Until the faint ridges are nudging your swollen clit just right, until the heat of the iron is burning through you, into you, and your slick arousal is glistening on the steel. 

Your mind and heart are racing. 

"Oh, fuck-" You're swearing, your words surely seeming broken; he finds your cheek, he tilts your head up towards him, and you can't decide if the gesture is tender, or possessive. "I need you, I really, really do." 

His body feels as though he just touched the surface of the sun, and Viktor hardly knows if the warmth is coming from his overloaded systems, or if it's surrounding him, heat drawn thickly from the friction between the two of you. Perhaps it's a mix of both. 

Either way, he is losing himself. It's all happening so terribly fast; when his body rolls against yours, and you whimper through a filthy utterance of his name, there is a clear, undeniable response. A tingling in his veins, an eager sensation that shoots from his back to his chest to his core, consuming everything like a wildfire, and threatening to envelop all of him. 

He doesn't even know what to do with this. How to silence these disruptions, how to get his stupid brain to stop picturing you shuddering beneath his form as he presses against you, presses inside you, and brands every inch of you with his own name — 

"Milaya," Viktor hums, and you swear, his tone sounds lighter, his voice sounds strained. "I have always needed you. I'm not- No, I want- I shouldn't…" 

Trailing off when you cry out, he swallows. His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he continues to guide you towards him. Sweat beads on your chest, your thighs. He instructs, partially shakily, "Keep looking at me. Please." 

You've rarely heard him stutter or falter, never seen him anywhere close to worked up. You hardly knew if he had the capacity to feel this way, even though he certainly wasn't built to, even though he definitely isn't supposed to. And isn't it all because of you? 

The way your gaze locks with his as he rhythmically rocks against you has your heart skipping beats. There's a slight softness to his cold eyes, to his expression, that you're sure no-one else has seen before. Not since back then. You are impossible to resist, and this definitely needs to stop, this is definitely too far — it's going even further when your hand reaches down, fingertips clumsily tracing the edges of the metal seared into his navel. 

He knows what you want. You're greedy, a glutton for punishment, a sweet, terrible fool. But if he's honest with himself, perhaps he is worse. You are pleading his name again, the sound echoing unendingly in his ears, and Viktor is removing the front-most section of the metal enhancement: a thin plate that forms a triangular shape from his hips, all the way down. 

When he presses against your form, the next sensation to bleed into you is much different. It's smooth, soft latex, shoving against you. The last layer remaining between you and him and — 

And you can feel him. Straining hard and heavy against his underclothes. Firm and warm as he rocks into you, grinding all of him onto your throbbing cunt. You aren't thinking, you can't think anymore. Not when Viktor is hard, and when your heartbeat is so damn loud in your ears, you couldn't possibly hear anything else. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, your chest pleasantly aching. Pleasure welds with emotion, walking the same shaky line, until your heart is unfurling with delicate petals that fill your throat sweetly, consuming you wholeheartedly, "I love you." 

If Viktor's mechanized heart was still capable of faltering from its pre-programmed rhythm, he's sure it would be fucking pounding. 

Every part of him is set alight. Burning, he feels smoke in his throat, and swears he tastes fire. He's overloading, practically overheating, like a fragile body trembling with need and want, like a system with too many programs open at once — and oh Gods, it just keeps opening more. His vision has long since gone blurry, and every sound in his ears is thick, as though he's been submerged in deep water. 

How long have you wanted to say those words? He thinks of quiet days spent with you in Piltover, the lingering glances and faint touches he tried his hardest to forget. 

How long has he needed to hear you say them? 

Honestly, he could cry, if he was at all still capable of crying. His mind is a mess. Heat is threading through his circuits, devotion and desire, a terrible softness; he's so soft inside, it hurts. It actually hurts, and he believed he taught himself how to forgo any pain. 

Electricity and faulty Hextech sizzle in his core, radiating, echoing. His damn foolish, worthless, synthetic heart. He needs to hold you, fuck you, break you. To encode this sensation into his head and his blood, because forgetting the way your voice strummed those words would be worse than admitting he is too weak to discard them. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

He doesn't deserve this. He was not built to love. Love should be thrown out, along with everything else. Love is a weakness. You may be fine with placing your heart on railway tracks, you might not think twice before putting yourself in danger, but if anything were to happen to you, he might be entirely consumed. 

With his mechanized existence, he could soon become immortal. This longing would surely stick with him after you're gone, an eternity of something he could never understand. Swallowing him whole, holding onto him tight. Endlessly painful. But right now, when he is here and stuck in a dream at the same time, when he is more of himself than he has ever been, and you are all that exists in his veins, could he ever manage to stop? 

You are so close to so much more. So close to ruining everything — just one last layer, one more touch. One movement, one press of his palms to your figure before he slides into you, one last massive, unfixable mistake. 

"Vik, please, please, I'm-" You can barely hold on anymore, as much as you've been trying to. You curl into him, grinding back against him hard; "I can't, I can't fucking- hhah- I'm so close-" 

Your bodies rock together desperately, beckoning and wanting more of what they shouldn't have. His heat radiates into your skin, and your breath fills the air in thick, heavy huffs. You're still so wet, and it makes every movement slick and simple. Your hands feel his back, his shoulders, his steel jaw, his face. Anywhere you can touch, you're making the most of it. 

Viktor finds your chin, he holds it delicately, and when he says your name, it feels personal; devastatingly so. Like he could make a home with the familiarity laced through each syllable. He breathes them like he did back then, coveting you so deeply. Muttering it as one final plea. 

If he can't fix this, perhaps you can reconstruct this part of him. Could you show him how to live again, could you instruct his mechanized heart, and finally teach it how to skip? 

"I have you," Viktor sighs, because he's sure you want to hear his words as much as he needs to say them. He doesn't require a working heart, when he can let all of himself echo through his still-human soul. "I love you." 

Your chest bruises with sparks in the wake of his gentle voice. Still somewhat robotic. Spoken as though each individual, inevitable word is one he is learning to speak. I. Love. You. 

Your legs and arms wrap around him, holding him as close to you as he could possibly get. Exhaling shakily, your whines are broken, your nails digging into his back. They'll leave red marks onto his pale skin; he hopes they do. His chest is pressed right up to yours. Viktor allows his forehead to rest just barely against your own, utterly tender, and he melts, as your thudding heartbeat echoes through him. Body to body, scarred skin on softer skin. Delicate limbs held around a partial chassis of firm, strong metal. 

Helpless. Perhaps for you, he is the helpless one. 

It doesn't matter; everything is crumbling away, and the both of you are thrown right back into reality, because you are falling apart for him at last. One last time. 

You shake, liquid hot pleasure drips over you like burning wax, and you're left at the mercy of your blistering, final high. Another few deep grinds into each other are all you need — the both of you throbbing, his jaw tensing, Hexclaw twitching, stiffening, and radiating a powerful amount of heat. His eyes flutter, the artificial glow behind them flickering like a dying lightbulb. You hold onto him tighter, and he lets go of a slight noise. A quiet, shaky, all too desperate moan. 

You stay rocking against one another even while you're cumming, even after your voice is sore from chanting Viktor's name so loudly, you briefly worry that anyone just outside of his lab might've heard you. 

Finally stopping, you only begin to relax once your whole body is entirely spent. 

You breathe slowly. In, and then out. Deep, calming breaths. Your heart pounds with force. The room refocuses around you, the harsh light of his various lamps burning into the back of your eyelids and making you see colorful spots. Viktor waits a few moments, before he shakily pushes up to prop himself above you. 

There's a hum of ambient, grinding metal coming from him. The hiss of steam. The echo of small shudders, and forceful gasps. Your vision is still fuzzy, your limbs incredibly weak, but you notice when he reaches for something; the thin metal plating, which he secures back onto himself. 

Once your eyes are completely clear and your heart is beating to a normal tune, you're finally able to focus on him above you. In barely any time, with a half-machine's perfected efficiency, Viktor has already regained every last aspect of his composure. 

"Stay. You require rest," He instructs matter-of-factly, his tone filled with his usual sternness. His gaze scans you up and down methodically. "I will supply you with a change of clothes." 

Right. Viktor's heart can't shudder like yours. Soft sensations have no need to linger. You'd almost forgotten. This is what you were always bound to return to: you, an ally. And he is just a machine. 

Through heavy, lovesick eyes, you admire the sight of him above you. His thin figure, enthralled in shadow, light reflecting off of the metal sections of his outline. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, a gesture you find particularly endearing and human. 

"Oh, don't worry," You hum casually, stretching your arms and legs out. Your voice is light, foggy and still weak. The table beneath you feels firm against your back, but with how lightweight your whole body feels, you couldn't care less. "I don't think I'm moving even if I wanted to." 

Viktor raises a brow just slightly. He taps your neck with a single smooth, metal finger. "And something needs to be done about these." 

Briefly, your expression shifts into confusion. You tilt your head, allowing his fingers to trail further, and they examine the base of your neck down to your collarbones; the marks he left on your skin are swiftly darkening, forming blotchy, pretty bruises. 

Realizing what he's getting at, you smile smugly. "Worried someone's gonna ask questions?" 

"Half of Zaun acknowledges you as my right hand. I am not worried. But they will ask. It could prove arduous." Viktor explains, his tone exceedingly controlled. "Come. Hold onto me." 

When you don't immediately move, he stares at you expectantly. So, despite your tiredness, you listen, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his middle loosely. Viktor lifts you with ease. His heavy boots clunk with each step, and he carries you just a few paces from the table, setting you down on your back, and onto the familiar, ripped-up leather couch. It shifts, accommodating your weight and his. Compared to the worktable, when your back hits the soft yet worn cushions, you feel like you're resting on clouds. 

Viktor shifts, starting to move away, but you keep your arms wrapped around him, and speak before he has the chance. 

"Vik…" You're purring, "Stay here." 

A brief look of contemplation crosses his face, categorized by the slightest pinch in his thick brows. You smile, and nearly wind up kissing him again. He doesn't attempt to pull apart from you when you drag him closer to yourself, your lips gently brushing his cheek. 

At first, he's overly stiff. His arm fits underneath your back to hold you out of mere obligation. In contrast, his metal arm is kept beside you, refusing to touch, steel-jointed fingers flexing absently. But once your hands trail up, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, before they run through his hair, he honestly, earnestly relaxes. 

Your body underneath him is comforting. Limbs entangled, your legs brushing steel and the rigid metal brace. His head leans gently into the crook of your neck, almost hesitantly, as though he isn't entirely sure where to place it. He can't help but fall against you, bodies pressed into one another naturally enough to form the same grave. If he ever came face to face with death, he would refuse to accept it, unless it was just like this. 

You let your tired eyes close. You allow yourself to focus on his warmth, on the weight of him, and you can almost pretend this is natural. That you are in the past, or perhaps residing in a much different future. You are both lovers, as you wished you would be; simple and uncomplicated, nothing more, resting together in the dizzying comfort of your afterglow. 

It'd be nice. Nicer than anything you've been afforded. The only problem is Viktor is all firm steel and hard edges. His metal hand shifts to hold your side, and his fingers are digging into your skin, gripping a bit too tight. His weight on yours is making it damn near difficult to breathe. And right now, he is very, very hot. 

You frown, your eyes fluttering open again. "You're overheating." 

"My internal temperature is regulated by a liquid cooling apparatus," Viktor murmurs, after a moment. "It seems to be malfunctioning." 

His voice is smooth, as it always is, but it sounds much warmer, much quieter, when it's spoken this close to your ear. You sigh softly, and shuffle a little under him, trying to get more comfortable. 

"Ah. That sounds concerning." 

"The device will adjust itself in time," Viktor clarifies. "If it does not, repairs will take a few minutes, at most." 

Your fingertips brush over his back. They feel the thick ridges of his spine, and the thin steel shape of the Hexclaw's base. It feels cool and lifeless under your palm. "This is cold, though." 

"It is inoperational. It stopped responding, I will need to reset it individually." 

"That so?" You huff in response, laughing a little. You hold onto him tighter, and lean your head into his shoulder. "Whatever. Just don't let go of me." 

He doesn't. You exhale a long, weak breath. Your hands tremble slightly, as they uselessly grip onto the sections of cold steel that frame his shoulders. Viktor stays perfectly still, and he allows you to hold onto him as tightly as you need to. This might be the last moment you'll have together. For a while, at least. He has much to attend to, after this. Some tasks he can work on at your side, with your assistance, preferably. Some missions he must complete alone. 

The next time you speak, your voice is so fragile, he thinks he should be holding it in his palms. Or else it'll break. 

"We shouldn't- or, I guess I shouldn't have said… you know." You shudder, shaking all over before you tense. You're holding him too close to allow him to see your face, but he can picture your expression: slightly playful, to attempt to hide your uncertainty. "Gods, I'm so stupid. But I meant it. And I just-" You laugh, "I'm sorry, Viktor. Maybe you were right. I've been way too reckless." 

Viktor has no need to ponder his answer. "I know. Don't apologize. You should be resting, our conversation can continue tomorrow." 

You breathe deeply, and he quietly murmurs, his voice echoing through your ears, "I love you, milaya." 

Fake. Expected. A ghost of choked-back emotions, of all-too tender moments already slated to become forgotten memories. But something is there, something that tells you he's trying. For now, you'll take it. It's more than enough. 

You are close to falling asleep; every one of your nerves, washed over by warm, inviting waves, enveloped in his persistent heat. As though he can sense your building exhaustion, Viktor rubs your back with slow, reassuring circles — as best he can manage, considering your shapes are pinned too close together. Your breathing evens out, and you relax into his touch. Your mind feels as heavy as your weary, weak limbs. 

Your love would be soft, he considers, distracted. Gentless personified, warm like your smile, like the radiant sun shining down on one's skin. Patient and alighting. Like being pulled by the wrists, wrested out of a rocky, dark sea — finally alive, and finally able to breathe. The still-human part of him feels in measures of softness. The mechanical part is much, much different. 

Heat is running through his veins. It's racing through his system, and he knows it isn't from any sort of malfunction. It burns. The taste of it is like sharp blood on his tongue, it spins in his head like the dizzy grinding of gears, sears through him with fraying wires and sizzling static. Pain and softness, forming a mix he might certainly call love, but might also swear to remove. 

There's a certain sharpness gnawing at him. A flickering, raw bruise, brutalizing him from between his ribs, regardless of his attempts to try and ignore it. Your efforts are failing. You are feeling, and that means you have failed. Even dying embers burn out the same as raging flames. 

You've drifted off, it would seem, your breathing slow, your body limp. So Viktor holds you just a bit tighter. 

For once, for the first time since he truly decided who he wanted to be and what he wanted to accomplish, he is lost. 

In the end, he is going to have to make a decision. One that will benefit his vision. Or one that will destroy him from the inside out. He must carve out these distractions, remove the sections of his heart that are faulty, or he must learn what it would mean to embrace them. 

It scares him, truly. Viktor, the Machine Herald, genuinely scared over something meant to be so trivial. Fretting over the one person he never wanted to lose, even though he was sure he'd already lost you. He wonders what his opposition would say, what those who view him as soulless might think, if they knew the truth. And if you knew? 

Just having to tell you, forcing himself to push you away, or coming face to face once more after he's altered his brain to completely forget you — No, the thought alone might be enough to seal his fate. 

He'll make up his mind before you wake. His head will become clearer, eventually. When your voice is gone from his ears, when your phantom touches tracing his skin have finally disappeared. Besides, this moment won't last, and he wants to savor what's left of it. 

Whatever happens next, wherever he takes this, he knows you will follow — to a different path, to a better future. Or to the ends of the earth. 

[miushu]

VIKTOR TWT LINKS

INCLUDES— fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, making out, groping, blowjob/throat fucking (?), hand job, body worship, grinding, breast/nipple play.

WARNINGS— 21 links, all of these videos are for afab readers/viewers, don't like don't read/watch, make sure to be logged into twt/x beforehand, if some of the links stop working please lmk !

when making out and groping turns into fingering with viktor

riding viktor after he gets home from the lab

he loves being able to suck on your boobies

you asked him to be a little bit rougher with you

he said he was tired so you did the work for him

sub!vik has never had such a foul mouth before

squirming on his fingers

viktor loves your lips wrapped around his cock

he can't leave his pretty girl unsatisfied

asking for his cum inside of you

feeling each others arousal

vik likes to spend a good amount of time on foreplay

rutting against his face like this

more of him loving your tits

keeping warm together

he knows if he takes his head out of the pillow he'll be a moaning mess

eating you out is always one of his favourite past times

he's embarrassed to show his red face

you're always so sexy whenever you get a new set

he knows it's a little pathetic jerking his cock while you grind against his fingers

you're already sticky with his pre

ffiolette

[madschiavelique]

𝐀 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐤 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary : you have always been an excellent student in the Academy, getting the best results and always being first in every class. but it all changes as soon as you see your name in the second place, the first being occupied by a certain Viktor. "Rivals? Yes, rivals, so be it, that is what you will be."

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 — 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬, 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 — 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 — 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 — 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 — 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 — 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗 — 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 — 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐬

✦．　𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

[rinstars]

「 ARTIFCE 」 ♡ PROLOGUE

PAIRING : Suna Rintarō x Reader.

GENRE : Angst. Band!AU

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Arranged Marriage. Enemies to Lovers. Intoxication. Drinking, drugs, cigarettes, sex. Basically typical band members in their 20s. A whole lot of other things I can't really say for the plot.

SYNOPSIS : When the career you've dreamt of your entire life is suddenly failing, your only way of salvation left is to team up with the most popular member and guitarist of Japan's top band and agree with an arranged marriage that shouldn't last you more than 3 years. But when one thing leads to another, getting out of your relationship without a broken heart suddenly seems impossible with the intricate web of deceit your beloved husband has woven for both of you.

NOTE : Did Risa really just return with a new painful angsty horrible gut wrenching Suna fic????? Yes I did :D How are all of u!!! Tell me what u think of this prologue. Love u all so much and I missed u!!!! <3

TAGLIST : OPEN

The glow of his freshly lit cigarette illuminates his mouth with the slightest orange hue. The smoke mixes with his warm breath that creates a burst of visible air in the cold winter breeze which swirls around both of you. There is a hard look in his eyes. Angry but scared. Restless but lonely. He reaches for his cigarette with shaking fingers—barely there but you could tell. His golden-green eyes seem so dull.

He pulls the stick away from his lips, lightly tapping it as you both watch the ashes fall to the damp concrete. "Put it down, YN," he whispers, jaw clenched tight from the panic you can see raging in his eyes.

Your lip trembles, eyes stinging with unshed tears. The cold air blows between both of you. What you tried to keep at bay spilling down your frosting cheeks. Shaking your head slightly, you bite your lip mustering a response as quietly as you can. "I almost forgot this thing existed."

"Well now that you know it's always been around, we can go back to just ignoring it like we always have because we don't fucking need this shit right now, YN" he grits his teeth almost angrily, brows furrowing like he's lost and doesn't know what to do. The tone of his voice makes you shut your eyes. Everything hurts. The urgency in his words is another crack to your breaking heart. He begs you again, "Please give it to me."

"Where has it been all this time?" You run your fingers over the surface as you ignore his pleas—worn out and dusty.

"Does it matter?" He replies, tone forcibly trying to be even as he attempts to play it cool. One look back at his face and it betrays his hardwork. His eyes is locked on your hands, feet tapping against the pavement anxiously. His face is dull. It lacks the color you are so used to seeing when you look at him. The only burst of pigment in his face being the thin stream of blood running down his temples.

"Of course it matters, Rin," you shake your head at him, voice croaking in both exhaustion and emotion.

He pushes himself up from his position on the wall, guitar case hanging losely on his shoulders. Looking at it, you wonder if this is the wrong time to do this. Today was supposed to be happy. It was supposed to be a celebration for all his success. This is anything but.

"Did you. . ." he begins carefully, taking a small step towards you. You immediately back out in reflex, afraid he'll take it away from you when it was so important that he never does. Hurt flashes in his eyes as he observes you stray away from his touch. Nevertheless, he continues. The question hanging on his tongue too important to swallow down. "Did you open it?"

Rintarō has always been this way. He has questions for things you don't have an answer for. Questions you're afraid to give an answer to. He likes knowing the truth from you. He expects it because you said it in your vows. Rintarō never asks you questions that he doesn't need to hear. Your opinion and answer always mattered the most to him. You loved that. You always felt so important even if it was sometimes a little too hard to respond.

Right now, you couldn't find a way around your lack of answer. It's a question you never want to even acknowledge. The desperate way he asked it makes things even worse. Acknowledging it, answering it, even listening to him ask that question with a slight tremble to his voice does nothing but confirms your worst fears.

"Yes," you exhale, and with that one word, you're certain you could see the strength get pulled out from beneath the man before you. His cigarette falls down with a quiet tumble, hair falling down his forehead as if it lost the will along with him. He throws his head back, a defeated laugh rumbling from his throat.

When he looks back down to connect your eyes, you see the fear in them. Almost as if he's seeing the ending to the story he never even got to finish. He swallows hardly before asking, "All of it?"

"I don't need to anymore," you shake your head sadly, wiping your mouth from your own blood which drips down from the small cut on your lip. Your tears mix in with it, turning the liquid runny. "The look on your face already tells me everything I need to know."

"YN, I fucking love you," his last attempt at salvation, voice broken and sad and so full of fear like you've never heard before. You understand how he feels. You fear for where this conversation will take you next as you clutch the one thing that ruined everything to your chest.

As you look at him and the pieces of your hearts you're certain you could hear and see beneath your feet, you're not sure what hurts more.

The inevitable end that looms upon both of you,

Or the fact that everything you think you knew about your husband is nothing but an artifice.

[heartemoij]

oh to be in a silk nightgown in front of a vanity removing my makeup while my partner lies in bed watching me lovingly

[artrihart]

Once upon a time in Konoha..

[yuli-the-bi]

《 totality 》

[story-kat]

Art by myuchiisu  (Twitter / IG)

Posted with Permission (reprint/edit and/or commercial use prohibited)

[maissafespace]

Fear.

Megumi Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Megumi went from high school delinquent to fratboy, he was lowkey with his escapades with women making him look somewhat decent, everything turns around when he ends up sleeping with the only girl he sat next to everyday in class.

Warnings: (Light) Angst, Friends with Benefits, Drunk Sex Mentioned, Fuckboy Megumi, Commitment Issues, Breeding Kink, Oral Sex, Jealousy, Toxicity, Rough Sex.

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Show some love to Megumi, I don't know how long it passed since I read a fic where reader doesn't cheat on him for Toji... instead of Megumi? like Megumi? The quiet ones are the freakiest, he got the body, he the pretty boy, he was the school delinquent and y'all still don't show him enough love. This story has an open ending, comment what you choose by the end ig XD

Masterlist - Masterpost

You and Megumi  met in class, you sat next to each other, chatting every morning and afternoon about whatever crossed your mind, even if he didn’t look like the talkative type, he was a great listener.

When he told you he was part of the biggest fraternity on campus during a conversation about the trashy parties that take place, you couldn’t actually believe it, he did not seem like the type of guy to party every week and all the things that came with it and the reputation.

But once you saw him across campus making his way into one of the girls' dorms like it was his own house, you knew he was exactly the type, he was just reserved about it. Your image of him didn’t change, he was still a great guy, when you asked him about all the fraternity matters he also revealed to you that he was in there thanks or because of his family’s past history in this college.

His father and his uncle were apparently both presidents during their time so it was just rightful of him to at least be part of it.

You would call him your friend to be honest, after half a year it was the minimum. His daily grumpiness or just little gestures made you always laugh and put you in a good mood, while his attractiveness was just a bonus to bless your eyes everyday. He was great at all the little games you’d play to kill time, it felt like a nice fresh breath of air.

Your heart had started to fasten a little after some time each time you saw him, even though it shouldn’t.

But the little rare smiles he’d give only to you when you said or did something couldn’t make it easier.

It was curiosity that brought you into a frat party, there were rumors you couldn’t just help but to settle with your own eyes.

When you arrived, the sight of bodies crushing each other, loud music, alcohol and smoke were everywhere, pretty much solidifying your imagination. There was the ping pong table, the ones doing body shots, those in the pool, little stripes of white powder on the table glass…

You felt a little bit out of place, till your eyes caught the silhouette of the man you saw almost everyday, relief washing you as you finally saw Megumi.

He was leaning on the counter, drink at hand as he just simply watched over everyone else. That’s how he saw your figure as well, a tiny black dress tightly hugging your figure, showing every curve, making his cock twitch in his pants at the sight, how many times since the beginning of the year had he thought about bending you over in the middle of class, filling your tight innocent cunt with his cum, it should be illegal.

There was something about you, maybe it was the fact he had not met you at a party and you were a regular person in his life, the little warmth he felt every time around you, just made you even more of a desire and happiness for him.

A drop of mischief filled him.

It’s no surprise that less than an hour later, you were in between the sheets of his bed, his cock rutting inside of you, while you cried and screamed his name and he groaned, making sure to mark anywhere on your body. The couple of drinks you had earlier might have added to the oversensitivity you two had, how the slight touch of his lips on your neck and nipples were so arousing to you.

You don’t remember the exact number of rounds, enough for you to hiss when coming out of bed and sneaking out early in the morning.

The next day, he woke up in his own empty bed. Eyebrows raised in confusion, did he want a morning round? Yes, he did. But as his eyes wandered around the room, the time on the clock made his naked figure jump out of the bed. He was late.

His hood up as the hangover was taking a toll on him, the light and the noise around was too much. But he expected that it was not his first time.

What he did not expect was you being completely unfazed when he sat down and greet him as the two of you fucking each other and that being the best sex of your life didn’t happen, instead you greeted him like you always did, with a smile and a coffee already on his side.

As the lecture went by he was getting frustrated, did that mean nothing more would happen? Did he ruin your friendship? Would he never have the privilege of pounding into you again?

“Listen-” He started but you shushed him down almost immediately.

“We’ll talk about it later.” You said, your eyes never leaving your laptop and the notes you were taking, but that had at least calmed him down… or made him even more anxious.

When the lecture ended, he waited for you to collect your things and walked you back to his fraternity home. You were just as nervous as him, you honestly didn’t remember much of the trip, you two were silent and a second later from your thoughts you were already entering the house.

“You’re the one from this morning!” Your attention was caught by the pink-haired guy sitting on the couch in the living room. You waved with a smile, you had met him in the morning while sneaking out, he was attempting to cook pancakes.

“Nice to see you again too! Did you follow my advice on the dough?” You said standing behind him on the couch.

“I did, they came out a lot fluffier, oh, Fushiguro! Is she a friend of yours?” He asked, Megumi nodded once, he was a bit annoyed that you were getting along with him, not even, he should be the only contact you have in this house.

“I’m Y/N L/N, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself this morning, I was kind of late and I had to go home first.” He shook your hand, while you awkwardly laughed a bit, a tiny grin coming onto his face, knowing the implications of said words.

“Yuji Itadori, and don’t worry about it.” Behind you, Megumi cleared his throat.

“We need to go discuss something, see you later Itadori.” He said, taking your hand and leading you upstairs. The grip on you was tight, almost like he felt you’d escape from him, or go somewhere he wouldn’t be able to reach you.

You entered the room far at the end of the hallway, by the measurements now that you were sober and actually taking your time to look around, it seemed like the master bedroom with catalog like furniture, minimalistic of black, white and gray. You entered before him, he locked the door behind you, sitting at the edge of his bed while he leaned on the door, silence overtook the room till he spoke up.

“So, are we going to act like we never had sex or what?” By the tone he seemed annoyed or tired, or both. Has this been eating him up so much?

You cleared your throat, the crudeness of his words taking you aback a bit. “Well, we could if you want or… I don’t know, this is not exactly my field.” You said scratching the back of your head, how will you tell him this?

He narrowed his eyes at you, not really getting it. “What do you mean?”

“That… like last night.. It was actually- my first time.” Your lips bit into a thin line as soon as those words came out, avoiding his eyes like the plague or whatever answer he may give you. You rested on your hands, your body leaning back a bit, fists trembling in nervousness.

“You said what?” Megumi was stunned, you? who moved naturally all night on him, you were a virgin? And he was the one who took it? So sloppily, roughly? With both of you with alcohol in your systems? It wasn’t a big deal for him but it must have felt shitty to have it like this or-

“Don’t mind it, I don’t. We can still be friends if that’s what you want.” Your words dying at the end. You were caught off guard, you didn’t hear him take a single step, but here he was tilting your chin up, inches only separating your lips, he’s blue eyes looking directly into yours.

You felt the pressing of his lips on yours, eyes closing to feel more of him, your hands going to his perfect jaw, while his body pushed yours to lie on his bed, your back touching the soft black sheets, pressing his chest onto yours and crotch to yours making you feel everything superficial of him.

“You want this to stop?” The shivers, the light moan that escaped your mouth, the lust in your eyes, he was intoxicating you more than anything, you’d never want this to stop.

With no answer other than your body reacting to his proximity, his fingers worked on your pants, taking them off along your panties, stumbling into your shoes, till your lower half was completely exposed to him. Tugging on the hem of his t.shirt he took it off, putting the situation even between you two.

Megumi’s knees hit the ground, kneeling in front of your pretty cunt, his arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady, his lean figure was not so lean anymore, feeling the strength behind him, your back could only arch, when his tongue touched you, started to savor you, his saliva mixing with your wetness, making his tongue movements echo in the room.

Your hand grabbed his hair, tugging on it making him hiss at the harsh pulls, his tongue pushing into your little tight hole. He was eating you out desperately, your other free hand gripped tight on the sheets till the knuckles became white, your mouth shut tight as you remembered you were not alone in this house and came on his tongue.

Your legs spasmed around him, while he kept swallowing and licking you clean of the juices you produced, he loved the way you tasted, he loved the way you were reacting to him, he loved the way you were melting into him. His cock was hurting at being tied back into his pants, wanting to feel you around him once again, not having had enough of you.

He put your legs down gently, going up to your face, kissing you deeply, making sure you were tasting yourself in him, the action was arousing, your hips grinding on each other to find more relief at the sensation building again in your lower stomachs.

Your hands trembled, shook uncontrollably, while untying the belt around his pants, he kicked his shoes off, lowering his pants and boxers. Now you could finally remember his length clearly, your breath hitching when he patted the pink tip of his cock on your sensitive clit, wetness loud and clear mixing with the precum, going up and down your folds, with his own heavy breath he watched you whining and moaning every time he was near your hole clenching around nothing, waiting for him to fill you.

He pushed the tip in, your pussy making it hard for him to go through, slipping in only thanks to the cum that it was being produced, pushing in till none of his cock was out, the tip kissing your cervix. You both breathed hard, he groaned feeling your walls squeezing around him, the warmth, all the heavenly sensations.

He took the moment for you to relax to take off the shirt blocking him from seeing the rest of you, only then when he could see your tits bounce with every thrust did he start to fuck you just like he did last night.

You kept your voice low, his fingers digging into your waist, the slapping of his balls on your ass, of your skin clapping, echoed in the room with his low grunts of satisfaction.

The feeling in your lower stomach coming up again, his hips moving sloppily, his teeth greeting as he spasmed through till your back arched impossibly more, eyes rolling back, with that feeling in your lower stomach unleashed while clamping down on him, milking him off his semen into you. Filling you completely.

There was a break and then you picked back up where you left… you don’t know how many times this was repeated, enough for your legs to ache and feel sore, your cum mixed together oozing out of you while he was spooning you under the sheets.

It felt like a dream, but like all dreams, there’s a moment they come to an end.

“I don’t do relationships.” Megumi’s tone was warm, but your body stiffened a bit. This was your call to reality, for your mind to remember that he was the friend you made through class, that you appreciate the company, the little games, the laughs and the same one who had probably half the campus’ girls at his feet.

You purposely replayed in your head the way he entered your own dorm building, knowing exactly where and who to go to, multiple times.

Your heart was breaking, there was a conflict going on, you liked him, you had fallen for him, but to which length?

“It’s fine.”

No, it wasn’t. But you forced yourself to say those words. Regardless of how it was going to be, you still wanted to have him smile and laugh, breaking that stoic facade only to you every day. You didn’t want to lose that friendship and contact and if it was to be occasional sex then so be it.

“Would you be into having this keep going and still be friends, no exclusivity?” His words hurt too damn much. Your eyes were shut making it look like you were going to sleep.

No exclusivity. What a great joke you put yourself through just for him, thinking that it will be worth getting your heart trampled over and over again. For him… while he probably felt nothing more than great pleasure at having one more toy to play with.

“Okay… I’m tired though, whatever it is, it’s okay.” He hummed and you could feel the light smile on his lips through his tone, he hugged you tighter and you wanted to damn him so much, to curse him out, scream, cry and get out of his arms; he did this so easily, holding you like it actually meant something, while not having had sex before, you knew how simple holding were different-

But you couldn’t do more than to melt in his arms with a single tear coming out of your eye.

It was the beginning of a spiral towards the low of lowest.

Your routine didn’t change other than the sex, he was in class, sat next to you, only little gestures changed, he looked at you in a softer way, light smiles, he played with your fingers and strands of hair.

Meaningless little gestures. You had to remind yourself.

This was a month or two into this friends with benefits thing,  you don’t exactly know if he did use the no exclusivity clause or not, meaning, if he slept with other people, but you tried not to think about it too much. You tried not to make it hurt too much.

You tried to think of the conversations late at night, between you two only, of all the times you passed time together, acting like lovers, giggling and laughing in your sheets, talking with his friends too, passing movie nights there with all of them, eating together as he held you every time with an arm around, like you had filled the role of his girlfriend.

This had made you happy enough to not doubt him as much, after all even in the eyes of his friends it seemed like you were the only one for him.

Making you fall in love with him more and more.  But-

“So, are you two dating now?” Yuuji was the one that put in question everything, how you wanted to smile and nod, and how much of a fool you would’ve looked while Megumi was already giving his answer.

“No, we are just friends. Stop saying nonsense.” While you tried to cover the sadness in the best way, with a normal goofy smile, lips bitten and fingers almost peeling each other off under the table, Yuuji looked at you skeptically.

Noticing the ways Megumi felt more anxious with his answer, caught off guard or mad. Even disgusted could fit, but a lot seemed to go through his mind at the exact moment the words spilled out, confusion, fear…

You cleared your throat, trying to keep the conversation with Yuuji going for lunch, talking about the professors, talking about anything that would not remotely touch this argument again.

Megumi left before you two, after Yuuji actually confronted you alone and said some words to help you, you left going to the library to pick up the few books you needed for your assignment and headed back to your own dorm.

You were surprised when you saw him entering, in all this time not once was spent in your dorm, it was always his, and not once you mentioned where or which was your room. With a heart pounding into your chest, you entered shortly after him, following him, till you saw him again, two floors below yours, knocking into a room, and the instant it opened he was hungrily kissing a blond girl, not straining himself to grab her ass and neck, walking them inside and kicking the door closed.

You didn’t realize how you were crying, till the tears spilling were soaking your shirt, a soft sigh escaping you with a chuckle and a broken smile. I’m a fool for even…

You walked back into your room, letting all your things fall on the desk, getting in your bed with your clothes still on, there was no room for anything more than self loathing.

I got myself into this… I accepted it, I said yes to no exclusivity, I said yes to just casual fucking and I’m here crying like I knew nothing and got cheated on.

The fact that you were laughing at your own stupidity was breaking you more, you dug your own grave, and now you were crying about it.

I’m so fucking dumb, I knew it already why am I crying?... I thought I could handle it… Can I go back before I met him, change seats last minute to never see his goddamn smile, for him to not make me fall in love with him…

Please… let me go back.

When you woke up, your eyes felt sore, red and puffy from your crying, you had completely missed your lesson and you were not planning on going out of this room any time soon. What you didn’t expect was the reason for your heartache to have filled your phone with texts and calls… all starting from yesterday night.

You wanted to throw your phone so badly after looking at the hour on each message… Did he do this before? Did he called you in to sleep at his after fucking someone else?

You breathed deeply. I have no right to be mad. Was the only thing you could repeat to feel some part of the pain alleviate, you don’t know which but you just hoped it worked.

You: Sorry, I’m going to be at my parents’ for the week.

You: Family issues XD

Gumi: Oh, all right. Take care, text me whenever, hope everything works well.

You: Have fun.

What kind of text was that? You were acting like a bitter girlfriend… and you were not. You barricaded yourself in your room for the week, from Monday to Friday night, trying to put yourself together, mourn your heart and come up with something to do.

By Friday evening you were slipping back into the tight black mini dress you had on that night, heels on and purse with only essentials and you were out of the dorm, going to the party Nobara texted you about. You’d use the condition too. If he could…

And he really could, when you entered the house the party was held in, your eyes almost automatically found him sitting at the kitchen counter, just like then, with a girl kissing him. You rolled your eyes, after the countless times you passed self loathing just the last week, nothing could actually offend or break you even more.

You ended up talking and passing your time with Yuta Okkotsu, chatting and laughing, he was a nice guy, there was a mysterious aura around him but he did nothing that didn’t feel genuine. The conversation was briefly interrupted by an arm around your shoulder. “And here I thought you were Pres’ girlfriend but you were just a new toy?”

“Ryomen… whose toy?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Pres? President of the frat, pretty… Fushiguro.”

“Oh… well no…” Your fingers grabbed his jaw, guiding him till he was facing another direction. “See… there’s your president and that’s his new toy. I’m not. Have fun.” You said taking Yuta’s hand, he was keeping in the laugh at seeing the unmoving Sukuna, he took the lead and after you downed your drink, the two of you started to walk upstairs, in the corner of your eyes you met his eyes, looking at you with something you’ve never seen in him.

You didn’t want to care about it now.

You wanted to care and feel drowned by the ecstasy Yuta was giving you, while kissing you, holding you, fucking into you, but  you didn’t know how to turn emotions completely off, because how could Megumi do this and not feel any shame or guilt?

When you woke up, Yuta made sure to accompany you home after breakfast and a well deserved shower from last night and maybe morning activities. There was an exchange of numbers thanks to you but he left with some words to you. “Heal first, don’t avoid the way it hurts, if you want to get closure from him and yourself and then call me, I’ll be happy to hold you a bit more while drinking vodka or something. All right?”

It felt stupid for you the way tears pooled in your eyes, lips trembling as much as he had to hug you and help you calm down, saying sweet things to you.

He kissed your forehead and let go of you as you walked up to your room.

Never thinking that you’d find Megumi there sat on your bed, your feet killing you had you taken them off in an instant, your purse somewhere thrown on the bed along with your phone and keys, your dress slipping off, substituted with a t-shirt. You sat crossed legs on the desk, in front of him.

“Who did you ask where I live?”

“Yuuji.”

You hummed, looking out the window… the  day was just starting and this was how, what a joke. “Building looks familiar to you, doesn’t it?”

His head snapped up to look at you, while you slowly turned to face him with a bored look. “So, what’s wrong? You look like a corpse.”

“I’ve been calling you all night, why didn’t you reply?” It seemed like he was trying to come up with questions right then and there.

“My phone died and I didn’t check it, my bad. Is that it? I have a shower to do and lectures to-”

“Did you sleep with him?” It was direct, his eyes were narrowed at you, shutting you up with your mouth parted, a chuckle of disbelief.

“That’s funny… yeah, I did, does it matter?” He had annoyance slapped over his face, as if he was actually talking to you or not, why were you behaving this way with him. “What do you mean if it matters? Don’t we have sex exactly for this?” He spat out.

“We do, that didn’t stop you from sleeping around too. Why is it different? You know Pres, Yuuji was right, you’re one selfish bastard.” Megumi stood up in a second, nearing the desk while you gulped down the knot of cries and sobs that were forming in your throat internally.

“It’s not different, I just… you don’t need anyone else to sleep with if-”

“If I have you…? but I don’t, that’s where you’re wrong. You made it clear the first time with the no “exclusivity” and a week ago with the “ew, you dating me it’s nonsense, we’re just friends”” Only now he could recognize the look in your eyes, a broken one, filled of hurt. “Gumi, what happened? Do you feel something for me? Or are you just a jealous possessive bastard?”

His jaw was clenching hardly. “I care about you.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t care about anybody but you.” Now the glassy look of your eyes was evident, him saying that he cared was honestly more hurtful than probably hearing him say that he didn’t give two shits about you. “I love you.”

His eyes widened, he felt a weight drop in his own stomach, seeing the pain, the way you were about to break, but your face held a smile, a weak one, trying to keep yourself together. “So I think this thing can’t keep going, you can go out and find all the no strings attached girls you want but I’m done having you treat me like I’m the one you love and three seconds later treat another girl the same way. It fucking hurts.”

Your head was throbbing in pain, you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, having that distraught look on his face you couldn’t comprehend. You were rubbing your eyes, you had cried enough and you had promised not to do it again. You got off the desk, walking around him till opening the door of your dorm.

“Please, just leave.” You asked, but he refused to move. You shut the door back aggressively. Your patience was wearing thin.

“If you really care about me like you just said, then leave!” You screamed at him. Going right in front of him, your hands on his chest but with no strength to push him.

“Do you want to know how it hurts? Tell me how you do it. Please. I don’t want to feel anything anymore.” You cried, there was no way you could do it. While being so close you just wanted to feel his arms around you and like he read your mind when he pulled you in a tight hug, his head on yours.

Holding you the closest ever, in intimacy, in feelings.

Could he make a sacrifice for the only girl he ever felt something for? Something so unnatural and foreign to him to act irrational? Could he commit to you when he now knew your feelings corresponded to what may be his? Could he surpass his own commitment issues?

There wasn’t a clear answer to his questions but the kiss on your lips, the fluttering in his body he didn’t know how to identify going all throughout his body, feeling him of excitement but unlike other times of a drop of guilt and weight that pulled him down.

Your hands were clenched in tight fists on the front of his chest. You were cursing at yourself for being so weak, but you couldn’t help but to excuse yourself for it being the last time.

His hand cupped your lower back under the t-shirt perfectly, the coldness of it making shivers fill your body, making the arch of your body go till your bodies were pressed hard against one another. Your arms going around his neck, deepening the kiss, while his hands kept roaming around your bare skin, with a much more gentle touch than he ever used with you.

There was no interruption when he lifted you up and then laid you back on your bed, his body lying between your legs which were wrapped around his waist, giving him no space to move.

Megumi softly unwrapped your arms, looking down at you with a flustered face, heavy breath at your disheveled form, he lifted off the piece of cloth covering you, leaving you in your soaking pair of panties. He could see the faint marks the guy of last night left on you, his heart was throbbing in pain at the sight, but he knew this is what he got for playing with you initially.

He took off his own, leaving the bulge in his pants more evident. He leaned back down, his lips trailing kisses all over, leaving new marks, harsher ones to make his own claim stronger than the previous.

You felt your panties being slipped off, once he was done with the hickeys he started to press kisses from your ankle, leaving red and pink marks on your inner thighs, till his tongue ran through your folds. Savoring you, loving seeing the way you squirmed at the sensitive and intimate touch. He hummed and moaned on you, stimulating, pleasing and teasing.

Megumi kissed your clit once before sitting back up, pulling down the pants holding tightly his growing and hardening bulge.

His cock tipped on your wet pussy, rubbing, collecting lube till slipping in fully.

A groan escaping his mouth at the feeling of your warm velvety walls clamping down on him, he stopped his hips sinking in, keeping himself back from immediately cumming.

He leaned down, pinning you down with his forearms, going back to your lips, making you feel your own taste on your tongue, he guided your arms back around you, making your nails dig on his skin, giving you permission to do it, to mark him as well, something you knew he was never comfortable with.

He wanted to have you claim him.

He thrusted with more ferociousness, your bed moving with his movements, hitting on the wall, echoing with skin slapping, and his loud moans of pleasure and pain at the deep scratches on his back and shoulders almost drawing out blood.

Your eyes were spilling out tears, your emotions were running all over the place, your heart throbbed and your mind couldn’t comprehend the fact that you were going to let him go after he showed you such love and affection. It was for the better in the end.

Droplets of water made you open your eyes in the slightest, seeing his expression, your heart stopped at him crying.

He was crying, he was being pressured with the same amount of feelings you were, did he have your same realization? Did he get how he’d let go of you now?

Your high approached sooner, moaning out, pulling away from the kiss, he kept his lips on your body, going down on your chest and neck, while your mouth was left agape as you came around him.

Not many seconds later his sloppy thrusts had him completely fill you, spilling thick ropes of cum into your womb.

The two of you were left heavy breathing, his body collapsed on yours, arms around one another, neither of you wanted to let go.

When he decided to finally back up and pull out, your heart started to beat faster, expecting to see him dress up and getting out, you were even more nervous when he only pulled up his underwear and walked in the bathroom. You noticed his fair skin with deep red marks, feeling for a second a bit of satisfaction in this.

When he came back, he started to wipe with a wet wipe, the seed that was oozing out of you, he was taking care of you instead of leaving you, he pulled you in him, getting the both of you under the sheets, spooning you, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

His lips pressed against the back of your head, you felt his heart pick up as well as his breathing getting heavier.

“I love you.”

He had his eyes shut but it didn’t stop him from feeling your body stiffening under his hold.

“Megumi-“

“I do. But I don’t know how to do this. I was scared and I said and did things that hurt you. I tried to keep at arm's length but I ended up falling for you too.”

“Don’t say this just to not let go of me.”

“Im not. It’s something that has been building up for some time, months, maybe even before we slept together at all. But I did not want to admit it, so I chose the path to keep you as close but not commit. And I’m sorry.

I didn’t sleep with anyone till that day Yuji commented on whether we were dating or not. I couldn’t believe it, I felt so ashamed after that I texted you, I wanted to hear from you even though I felt like I couldn’t face you.

I used girls just so I could drown the thought of having fallen for you, of the fear I felt.

I’m sorry.”

He tightened his hold around your bare skin, as he felt your sniffles, your body shaking lightly.

“I don’t fully trust you…” it was a sob, a plea, even if he confessed this all now, the doubts that had filled you, not only about him as a significant other but yourself, your own value, your security in yourself.

“I promise I will change for you, for myself and for us to work together. I will rebuild that trust, just give me a chance, be with me, let me earn your heart and forgiveness.”

Your head hurt, your heart did too, there was no answer once again, just the two of you falling asleep holding each other like lovers enjoying their last time.

Open Ending.

[enivlens]

Did a thing using only lines and shapes! >:^D I am the almighty geometric man!! Crona クロナ from Soul Eater ソウルイーター Commission Info: MrCattyWolf's Commission Prices Want to support me? Try donating to my Ko-Fi or Buy me a coffee !

[enivlens]

Kon

Wait, wrong manga This is so ollllddddd aahhhhggggggg ;_; Megumi Fushiguro 伏黒恵 from Jujutsu Kaisen / Sorcery Fight 呪術廻戦 Commission Info: MrCattyWolf's Commission Prices Want to support me? Try donating to my Ko-Fi or Buy me a coffee !

[saizhan-deactivated20250401]

ꐦ◣‸◢）伏黒恵❔❔𝗕𝗥𝗨𝗛彼女は何よりも最高です。 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎!!!! ★/☆...最も美しい男—彼！彼は

[irlchangeling]

oh, no!

part 10: kill your parents

cw: language, mentions of killing and drunkenness

taglist <3

bold cannot be tagged </3

@yamayoomi @sunasmuse @notendoplasm @d34d4n1w4i @moonlit-island @mariyeahh @starrysouya @onlyonew @bakugouswh0r3 @loveisa1324 @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @kodzuken-blog @lilith412426 @https-inarizaki @erinoikawa @kageyamas-whore @kuromikeiji @chantalkate16 @smolmika @tetsuanne @1achelois @beidouluvr @https-sen @rinniez @goob-4546 @miwatori @encrytpta @falling-through-pages @just-another-haikyuu-simp @iamapotat @navymacaroons

okay hi all, happy holidays!!! here’s an update as a gift,, let’s hope i can update a bit more regularly now that i’m on break from uni 😁 ty for reading!!

[irlchangeling]

silly tweets by ur hq bf: part 2

i was gonna post this tmr but i’m posting it today as a treat 😁🤞 again these are taken from twt (this is not part of my smau)

cw: language, kinda suggestive