My writing is rather tame compared to many other works on here. I wouldn't say that it is completely fluff—mainly because I do depict intimacy—but I wouldn't consider it smut either. I do not write any kind of sexual scenes or illustrate explicit acts. However, there are times where I do write borderline softcore erotica.
If anything, my writing will contain suggestive themes and will earn a mature rating. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with the topic.
I tend to write from several fandoms, but l will have a primary focus on: Arcane, CoD, MASH, and Star Trek (TNG and DS9).
…
Father Francis John P. Mulcahy, MASH: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall
Captain John Price, Call of Duty: You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To
Viktor, Arcane: Feelings, It’s Been Too Long Since I Felt
Inspired by an Ella Fitzgerald & The Ink Spots song
Summary: When an old friend of his is transferred to the 4077th, Father Mulcahy must confront his past and reconsider his future.
Pairing: Father Mulcahy x Nurse!Reader
Rating: Mature
Expected Content: There are no sexual acts depicted in this work. However, these are the following disclaimers: intended female reader, a “healthy” amount of pining, potential sinning and breaking of vows, scandalous thoughts for a priest, suggestive material and religious imagery
Word Count: 2,614
Notes: I am unsure whether this was cleared in the show, but I am assuming that Francis is his given name while John is his confirmation name.
To @mash4077confessions, thank you for answering my question and helping me decide to finish this work.
To @i-shall-abide, I hope you enjoy this work and thank you for asking to be tagged.
———
Faint rays of sunlight swam in the murky skies, a dying sunset fading into ephemeral twilight. With it, the stars and their endless luster peered through the evening veil, a familiar stillness settling in time. Amidst this comforting silence was a man sequestered, dwelling in his solitude. At this hour, Father Mulcahy was in his bed, skimming through the book in his lap.
It was an old Bible he used to carry, the size of it fitting into most of the pockets he owned. Although he had taken great care of the book, its condition showed its true age and wear. From the covering alone, one could see how its color had faded into an ashen shade, its bindings in complete tatters. At some point, a few of the pages had fallen out of the shell, rendering the New Testament incomplete. Despite this, Father Mulcahy considered this his most precious possession—a gift he had received from an old friend.
Along with the Bible came a bookmark. Unlike the book itself, this little sliver of paper and card-stock maintained its original color, gleaming with a peaceful yet vibrant shade of blue. Though, what made it special to the Father were the words written on it, words written in that same delicate hand in ink,
“The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of our lives. Though they stumble, they will never fall, for the Lord holds them by the hand.”
- Psalm 37: 23-24
Underneath the dim glow of his lamp, Father Mulcahy sat still, reading those words again and again. Besides your choice of hymns, what captivated him most was the way you had written them. From the artistic curve of your letters to the hint of personality, he admired it all. With a careful hand, he closed the book and set it aside, flipping the switch of his lamp.
Yet, as the minutes spun into hours, the chaplain lay in his bed disturbed. As he tossed and turned, troubled with notions that disagreed with his piety, he found no semblance of respite—especially within his aching mind. This incessant hounding exhausted his conscience as it soon faded into the depths, memories he had long fought to suppress now resurfacing. It was as if he was caught in a sudden riptide, pulled into its merciless current until he inevitably sank. Still, he struggled and fought, flailing against the whims of his innermost desires.
Even as the temperature lowered to a comfortable chill, it felt as though his skin was ignited—ravaged by a heat with no comparable intensity. Underneath the linen sheets, Father began to sweat, his hands trembling at his sides. Temptation swallowed him whole, his mind turning into a feverish haze as his memories gnawed away at his resolve.
From the pleasure of your touch to the softness of your lips, it cultivated an unbearable want from deep within. Each imagined sensation stirred a yearning so incredibly sinful, consuming his flesh to the border of pain. Yet, Father Mulcahy resisted, barely fleeing from this latest bout of temptation.
Still, several of his days carried on with the same persistent problem, where he would lay awake at night suddenly ensnared by an unbearable urge.
However, the height of his plight only began when you arrived.
After reveille, it came as a surprise to the chaplain when he saw a jeep driving into camp, a pair of nurses sitting at the rear. At first, he thought nothing of it, assuming that they were transferring into the unit. He later made note to introduce himself to the women, hoping to gain another parishioner. Yet, as he turned to the direction of his tent, it was then he heard that laugh—a sweet yet sound that echoed in his mind.
For what felt like an eternity, Father Mulcahy remained still, debating on whether he should introduce himself. But, the way he had left you, after saying he was still planning for priesthood… the tears streaming down your cheeks, the pain in your voice as you called out to him, his train already departing—it pained him to remember.
Even now, he could still feel the slightest pang in his heart, an ounce of regret despite his love for his faith. But how he loved you, his little darling. You were the best thing to happen to him, a small-town girl falling for a passing missionary boy.
But the chance to see and talk to you again proved too much to pass, and so, he decided to introduce himself.
…
For the better part of the day, Father Mulcahy remained in his tent. In some capacity, he still performed his duties as a chaplain: taking the occasional confession and offering guidance to those in need. Besides your arrival, he would have considered it another day at camp, spent in the comfort of his tent. As he planned out his evening, he thought it best to see you during dinner. Yet, with an hour left before chow, he heard a knock at his door.
“Come in!”
He called from inside, placing down the book he had in his hand. As he turned in his seat with a pleasant smile, about to say something in greeting, he saw you. His expression then faltered, shifting into quiet disbelief.
Both of you were evidently stunned, lost for words as you stared at the other. You could only watch as his steady hand removed his hat, placing it on the desk beside him. Still, his entire attention remained on you, pleasantly perplexed.
“Francis..”
You uttered, your voice softening at the name as a small smile crept to your lips. Despite a decade having passed, the sound of it was a familiar comfort, reminding you of the affection you still carried from years before.
Meanwhile, Father Mulcahy only stared. To him, he thought of your voice as a wondrous sound, marveling at how it soothed the pains in his heart. For so long had he yearned to hear you say his name again, to hear that voice say anything to him at all.
Then, he said your name in return, a sound so quiet yet reverent.
Without delay, you threw your arms around him, burying your face into his chest as you breathed. There was a sense of urgency in your actions, hands grasping and clawing at his back, fearing you would lose him again. The thought of it made your embrace tighten, not wanting to let go of him so soon—not when you haven’t seen or felt him in so long.
“I thought I would never see you again..”
There was a noticeable break in your voice as you spoke, unable to contain the rush of relief that swelled in you. Soon, you felt his arms encircle your waist, pulling your body close to his as he rested his chin on your head. Despite appearing collected, Father Mulcahy was anything but, for this is only the beginning of his unraveling.
“I prayed that we would..”
…
As another peaceful night returned, Father Mulcahy found himself lying in his cot, his discipline strained. Like many times before, he awoke from a sudden pressure building in his core, stirring a carnal need he had no intention of fulfilling. Yet, as the minutes progressed into hours, his mind berated his already waning sanity.
Again, he turned on his side, his imagination threatening to consume him. Despite his efforts, he could hear your voice exalting in ecstasy—saying phrases he would never repeat in company. These fantasies only worsened as he memorized your touch, recalling the graze of your hand or the caress of your fingers. He now considered himself an utterly ruined man, one who wants and yearns.
In place of his devotion, what arose was desperation, fueled by a great corporeal need. Father Mulcahy knew that the human body could only endure abstinence for so long—and in his case, it’s been months—before he surrendered. Still, he was not about to be tempted, not when he had to face you in the morning.
Yet, as he remembered the scent of your lavender soap, flitting in the morning air, it led to an indulgent vision: his hands sliding across your wet skin, your hair clinging to your neck as the water poured over—a playful glint in your eyes as you tempted his hand lower.
That was enough to break Father Mulcahy.
…
The following morning…
After ten hours of rigorous work, you were about ready to drop on the nearest cot. The muscles in your legs were practically weak, aching with every step. Yet, you managed. As you made your way through camp, you thought of visiting Father Mulcahy, missing his company. With that, you pivoted to the direction of his tent, excitement brimming.
Once there, you happily knocked, waiting for his answer. It took him another beat to open the door and as he did, you saw a man in silent distress.
He was not himself that morning. From his disheveled appearance to his bothered conscience, you saw an expression you never thought the Father was capable of: guilt.
“Father, you alright?”
Instead of a greeting, you made your concern known. You noticed how his eyes had averted from your worried gaze, as if he was afraid you would see through his shame.
“I’m fine.”
Father Mulcahy hurriedly murmured, stepping aside so that you could enter. In his hand, you noticed his signature Panama hat, clasped almost too tightly at the brim. Instead of prying, you decided to take a seat on the edge of his cot.
Meanwhile, the man was anything but fine. For the last hour and a half, he was in constant prayer, kneeling on the floor and begging for the Lord’s forgiveness. What he had done in that cot, what he had envisioned and enjoyed—it was the unmaking of a man who lived by the cloth.
He stood still for a moment, keeping a respectful distance from you. Yet, despite himself, flashes of his fantasies began to resurface, testing his resolve.
“You look tired. Were you just at work?”
He asked in that same kind tone, trying his best to make polite conversation. Yet, as you sat on top of his linen sheets, the same ones where he came undone hours ago, he couldn’t help but shudder at the filth he had thought.
God Almighty…
“Yeah, my shift just ended. I thought I could lie down here and keep you company for a while. That okay with you, Father?”
“Oh! No, no! I don’t mind!”
You were surprised by the sudden burst of his reply, noticing a hint of nerves in the way he had reacted.
Yet, unbeknownst to you, the man was practically fraying at the seams—shedding every layer of discipline he had once earned. For the first time in his life as a priest, he was overwhelmed. He had experienced sensations he thought impossible, pleasures he would have considered fantastical. Yet, with the taste of carnality on his tongue, he developed a need—a demand for release.
Then, he looked away, setting his gaze on the door. His thoughts were becoming immoral, radical even. He was now acting against his own principles, and worse, his own vows.
Without needing an invitation, you decided to lie on his cot. At a glance, you noticed how his fingers fidgeted with his hat, flickering with the brim as he sat himself down. From his posture alone, you knew he was tense.
“You look like you need some rest too, Father. Come, lie down with me. We have enough space.”
Even with your delicate delivery, your words were more of a demand.
Before Father Mulcahy could object, you moved to the other side of the cot and gestured for him to come.
Without much of an argument, he decided to comply. Besides his own desire to join you, he learned many times before how difficult you were to reason with. So, he removed his glasses and boots, the cot dipping under his weight as he lay beside you.
“You know, if anyone were to see us, they would consider this improper.”
He reprimanded, though he kept his tone light. Despite his recent lapse, he was still a priest and he intended to maintain his vows, even if he was currently falling short on one.
“I hardly think you could be capable of anything improper, Father.”
You mused in a teasing lilt, turning your head on the side to see him. Though, before he could even make a retort, you cheekily added,
“Besides, if you wanted me, you would have never become a priest.”
A small snicker fell from your lips as you straightened your back. Yet, beside you, Father Mulcahy lay still.
It was a sentence that stung him deeply, both in truth and in slight offense. He knew what you were insinuating, how he had chosen his faith over you. Yet, it was not right for you to cast blame on his decision. He had explained this to you before, and sometimes, to himself.
Without thinking, Father Mulcahy muttered, unable to stop the words from forming in his mouth,
“I still want you.”
At his confession, silence fell, the weight of his words suffocating.
At the slightest tilt of your head, you caught a glimpse of the man, a broken expression written across his face. In his eyes, you saw his restraint beginning to fray, a tempest of emotion churning from within.
Then, with little distance to close, you moved to his side, pressing your head against his chest. You expected the man to make an excuse, a reason as to why you should keep a distance. Yet, he never said a word or pulled away.
So, you leaned in closer, faces an inch apart as he breathed against your skin. Gently, you brought your hand against the side of his face, cupping it as you brushed your lips against his. Softly, you tested him, wanting to see how far he was willing. Yet, before you could break this innocent kiss, you felt his arm circle around your waist, pulling you even closer.
As the kiss deepened, his other hand traveled down to your hip, resting his palm above it before squeezing. He was humming in delight, lost in a state of bliss as he tasted and savored you. With every rumble and hum he made, it traveled straight to your core, blossoming a heat that made you press your thighs. Your head was already spinning from excitement, your heart pounding in your ears.
Yet, reluctantly, you pulled away from the kiss, rasping,
“Fa-Father, I—“
“Don’t call me Father when I am about to sin.”
There was a sharp edge to his voice when he muttered, almost in warning. In that moment, he wanted nothing with his title, not to hear or be addressed by it. He only wanted to hear your voice say his name, again and again.
As he rested his forehead against yours, you saw a man torn between his desires and duties. Yet, with the taste of sin still fresh in his mind, you knew that the battle had been won.
Summary: After receiving an honorable discharge from the British military, Captain John Price travels to New York City for a week's vacation. Once there, he reacquaints himself with a mistress who he had shared several letters and nights with during the war (while remaining the picture of a dutiful husband).
Pairing: Captain John Price x Reader
Rating: Mature
Expected Content: This story is set in the early 1950s. There are descriptions of Price that may come off as ooc since beards were not common at that time. Content warning: age-gap (20s/40s), borderline softcore erotica (no mentions of genitalia and illustration of sex, but includes highly suggestive material), traditional family values typical of the time, passionate kissing and themes of infidelity
Word Count: 2,335
If you want to listen to something dramatic—something with a real, old Hollywood kind of feel—try listening to “You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To” by Cole Porter. Either way, you can never go wrong with Sinatra or Porter.
———
1950, New York City
Beneath the evening luster of starry skies and city lights, a stray autumn breeze swept through the crowded streets—a wayward moon hanging just above the iconic skyline. Amidst the bustle of Manhattan, where cars and passersby rarely dawdled, an older man with a trilby hat comes into view. From where he stood, the man had an undeniable presence—an allure that held the attention of many.
Yet, as women glanced and smiled his way, Price paid them no mind. He was only concerned with one matter, because only a block away—sequestered in some lonesome corner of a bar—was the woman of his very dreams. You.
Soon, the man caught sight of a familiar entrance, the warmth from the lobby spilling into the bitter night. As he entered the hotel, Price’s eyes wandered to the far end of the bar—a woman’s silhouette catching his immediate attention.
Even from across the room, surrounded by a sea of forgettable strangers, you drew him in—like a damn moth to an open flame. A mere glance his way was enough to make his heart flutter—and for a fleeting moment, as your gaze held his—it seemed as though time came to a complete stop.
You were as beautiful as the day he had left you, the glisten of hope in your eyes enough to thaw the aching cold ensnared in his still-beating heart. From the very moment he returned to his post, you were all he could ever think of—the only memory he could ever conjure. He had spent countless hours—in and out of the field—memorizing every little facet of you, a picture-perfect image forever embedded in his mind.
Now, as he dared himself to walk again, his footsteps widened in berth, carrying a sense of urgency. There was no need to appear modest now, not when you were sitting a mere feet away from him.
“Darling.” There was a rare crackle in his voice, almost as though addressing you alone was shaving off his discipline
Hell, if it wasn’t for the military drilling some sense of decorum, he would have been all over you by now.
“John.” Your honeyed lilt wafted through the senseless noise of the room, the bliss from this exchange obvious in your demeanor. In truth, you were never one to play coy or act unaffected in his presence—a rare quality that Price often admired.
With that, Price invited himself into the booth, sitting across from you while he took off his hat. His hair was combed in an immaculate coif, the sharpened features of his face slightly softened under the faint light from the bar. He was the picture of fitness, having only been discharged a week prior. Yet, you can tell how the war had affected him since you last met. Something weighed on him, both on his mind and soul. Despite this observation, Price carried on as though nothing had changed between you, as though you had not notice the dullness behind his eyes.
“How have you been, love?” The corner of his lips turned, a momentary smile betraying his usual stoic disposition.
Perhaps it was all in your mind..
In turn, you could only smile once you heard that familiar rasp in his voice—the way it almost softened whenever he spoke to you and only you.
“I have been faring well since we last met.” Emboldened—and perhaps no longer caring for the distance between you—you reached for his hand and grasped it: a simple action meant to convey the longing deep within your heart.
It earned you the first smile of the night from Price, his eyes momentarily leaving your gaze to peer down to your now joined hands. Then, he placed his other hand on top of yours,
“Don’t worry, love. I know.” He reassured you, already knowing just how much this reunion meant to you—to the both of you. He brought the top of your hand to his chapped lips, planting a soft kiss as if to show his own longing—albeit restrained.
“Shall we continue this in our room?” You asked, in which, Price could only nod and chuckle. How he must have thought you straightforward. Well, that or he could have thought you eager. Either way, you were swallowing your pride.
…
As the two of you walked, the silence hung with unbridled anticipation. What would transpire this evening? Would it differ from your previous meetings? If so, you helped that latter wouldn’t prove true.
Beside you, Price walked with an even and practice keel. His gait had matched with your shorter one, always having been mindful for your… shortcomings.
Once the both of you had reached the room, you pulled out a silver key from your purse. With a simple twist, the lock came undone and the two of you went inside. Price took off his overcoat and hanged it near the door while you sat on the edge of the couch. Already having anticipated this course of the evening, you had one of the waiters bring you a bottle of champagne to the room. It rested in a bucket of ice, two wine glasses sitting on either side—waiting to be used.
Seemingly impressed, Price raised an eyebrow in your direction before making a comment of how thoughtful you were. Then, he joined you on the couch and popped open the champagne, pouring your glass before his.
“What shall we toast to?” He asked while raising his glass,
“To your safe return.” You answered with a smile. The glasses joined with a quick clink before you took a drink of the bubbly beverage.
Meanwhile, Price could not help but watch as the champagne moistened your lips, a soft glisten coating those delicious petals. To this very moment, the man could still taste you on his tongue—how could he ever forget the single craving that drew him to a near frenzy?
Slowly, he took the glass of champagne away from your delicate hands and placed it on the table with his. Slightly surprised, you gawked at him with the sweetest pair of eyes he had ever seen, lips fully parted as if you were about to speak.
Yet, no such words ever left, as before you could even think of something to say, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. His gruff palm cupped the side of your face, the action so gingerly it nearly sent your mind into a tizzy. How the both of you longed for one another—it could have been considered criminal!
His tongue parted the seal between your lips—and without further thought—he had lifted you onto his lap. His hands were now grasping at your waist, the kiss growing more intense as time came into a blur.
It was only when you pulled away did he ever stop—and what a sight it was to see his woman flushed and panting for air. Your hair was a rightful mess, stray locks and strands scattered across your face while your lips remained reddened from the heated exchange.
Then, Price swept his hardened thumb across your bottom lip, almost as though he was savoring the feel of your soften skin. It was obvious in how he stated that he had missed you—truly and deeply. The separation had brought the two of you to your knees, aching for the next time of when you will meet again.
Like breath of passionate sin, Price uttered,
“I have missed you, petal. So very much.” He palmed at you slender back, trying his hardest to look for the zipper to undo your dress.
“God, I need you.”
Again, your lips crashed into his in another wave of passion, obsession to the taste of the other crawling nearer. Soon, clothes were unbuttoned and undone, later discarded onto the floor without a second thought.
His lips were now blazing a trail down your unblemished neck, empowered with a mission to leave as many marks across your pristine skin.
Your hands were now traveling down his chest, undoing the very last button until it was pried wide open. Without much effort, Price had brought you to the bed, his hulking figure pressing unto you as the breathless kiss continued with fervor. After fumbling with the buckle of his belt, your fingers finally sunk underneath his trousers, aching to grab hold of what lies beneath.
Soon, the two of you were joined underneath the sheets, bodies moving in a slow and sensual dance as the bed quietly creaks into obscurity.
…
A rivulet of light trickled in through the sheer curtains, illuminating the wondrous disarray of fallen sheets and pressed pillows. Yet, downstairs, the two of you looked somewhat refreshed from last night’s activities—almost as though the both of you have already recovered.
Sitting across from you, Price wore the same suit from the previous, albeit wrinkled. You, however, were wearing a newer dress, still looking quite occupied from last night.
While the man ate, you supposed now was a good time to ask what bothered you.
It was no secret that Price was a married man. Even if he was not wearing his wedding band, the slight tan on his ring finger was a good enough hint that the man was spoken for.
“Does Margaret know you’re in the States?”
You asked carefully, knowing full well that his wife’s name often sent him into a state. Mind you, Price would never once think to lay a hand on you—but the mention of his wife scorned him.
“No, she thinks I won’t be home until next week.”
He answered with a curt tone as if accentuating the period to finalize the topic. Yet, you pursued the subject. Now that the war was over, what was to be of your relationship? Surely it would never just be an affair.
“Will you ever leave her, John?”
You asked the single question that has long haunted the both of you. Of course, Price has considered leaving his wife for you—the mistress. Often has he entertained the idea of you being his wife, returning home from a long day’s work, only to find you making dinner. Yet, like a once religious man, the thought of abandoning the woman he has sworn to love and care is too much to bear.
“Petal, we have talked about this.”
Price urged for the matter to cease, a tinge of guilt staining the name he often called you. Rather than endearment, it sounded more as though he was cautioning you.
That was when you decided to tell him.
“I have news.” You began, gathering your courage to see through this dim revelation you must impart,
That sentence alone was enough to earn his wholehearted attention. From there, his once tense expression turned into worry,
“There’s a man from my old neighborhood who asked me to marry him. He already has my father's blessing.”
Your gaze sunk to the tablecloth in front of you, the fork in your hand toying with the egg yolk on your plate. It was no surprise you would have suitors. You were still in your early twenties, and unlike you, Price was nearing his late forties. The age difference was never a matter of discourse, but it did make a scene in some social circles.
Yet, what truly worried you was this whole affair. You have always wanted to have a family of your own and a husband who will love and tend to you. And for some time now, you have believed that that man would have been Price. Whether you were blinded by your youthful ignorance or by something else, you had no idea.
Meanwhile, Price looked disappointed but not fully surprised. He knew that this was bound to happen. You lived in Manhattan all by your lonesome, and without him, that would easily attract attention. It was not like he could just move here from England. He had a family to think of.
A dispirited sigh trickled from his chapped lips before he patted his mouth dry with a towel, eyes never once leaving your face,
“We both know that this day would come, love. It was only a matter of time.”
You could have scoffed at his blasé reaction. How could he sound so resigned? Would he not fight for you?
“You must know, John. I have no intention of marrying him. I have told you this a dozen times before, I only want you.”
You echoed your earlier sentiments clearly, a brief crack in your voice further emphasizing your sincerity. Yet, even if you wouldn’t want to acknowledge it, both of you knew that it was impossible.
Perhaps, this was the reason why your lover looked so burdened last night. He already knew that you would broach this topic now that he had been discharged.
Somehow, you had yourself believe that his trip here was to finally settle this whole affair and leave his horrid wife.
Instead, Price placed a tender hand atop yours, wanting to comfort your growing anguish. Still, what bothered you most was that no matter how insufferable his wife was and how miserable he would become, he could never bring himself to leave her. How devoted of a man he was, but to the wrong woman.
You could no longer stand being his mistress—the woman he only swears to love—only for him to return to his hag of a wife.
As much as it pains for you to decide, you knew that this affair must come to an end.
“Then I suppose… that’s the end of this.” You uttered—the first farewell of many to your lover.
Without even saying it, the both of you knew that whatever reality lies beyond these hotel walls, you both had one hell of an affair… a love that could have withstood the ages if only given a chance.
Author’s Note: This style of writing is not representative of my usual work. These are my notes for what I imagine is a modern portrayal of Viktor. In addition, it serves as an outline for future stories I may write that are set in this au. Below, you will find my thoughts and headcanons on the subject.
Expected Content: There are no sexual imagery depicted in this work. However, there are themes of obsession, unhealthy working habits, stalking, and quite possibly, a hint of yandere Viktor.
Pairing: There are multiple relationships mentioned/implied in this work. I will certainly explore my options, perhaps even create poly pairings. However, the main course includes: Viktor x reader, Jayce x Viktor, and Jayce x Mel.
———
Viktor Petrov
— AN OVERVIEW
When he received a scholarship and admittance to the California Institute of Technology (Caltech), Viktor traveled to the United States on a student visa. He is currently majoring in Engineering and Applied Science, with a minor in aerospace engineering.
Originally from the Czech Republic, Viktor is fluent in three languages: Czech, English, and Russian. He had never traveled outside Europe before, so his first months in the States were filled with homesickness. Luckily, there was a place a little ways away from campus that serves decent bramboráky and trdelník. It’s a bit overpriced, but it helped ease his heart when he missed home.
Everyone who knows Viktor swears he is a genius. One look at his GPA and any Asian mother would weep and wish her kid was like him (totally not based on personal experience).
Once he finishes his education at Caltech, Viktor will most likely look for a job at NASA. He aspires to specialize in robotics and work with other complicated machinery—especially if it is space-related.
Viktor lives a few miles away from campus. Jayce Talis, his charismatic roommate, is also a student at the university. He has the same major and classes as Viktor, so they are often together on and off campus.
— PERSONALITY
Viktor is an introvert, but he is not unfriendly. He will engage in class and interact with the other students, but he chooses to keep friendships minimal. It is his choice to be alone, not his lack of socialization. Well, at least that’s what he tells himself to sleep easier at night.
Naturally, Viktor has a rational and objective mind. When he speaks, it is very articulated and blunt, never withholding an ounce of sarcasm when allowed. Oftentimes, people view him as an insensitive or callous man—though it’s mainly because he keeps his emotions checked.
He has a strong work ethic. Viktor is the kind of student to work on a project five months earlier. Almost always, the man is seen in the library studying until midnight, replaying his recordings from the latest lecture to add to his notes.
Speaking of notes, Viktor is a stickler for notes. Even with his unreadable handwriting, it remains meticulous and detailed. He even draws diagrams! Because of this, many of his classmates would borrow his notes—only to learn that they could barely make out a word, let alone a phrase.
When Viktor feels especially sociable, he loves to engage others in spirited debates. He loves a good challenge, specifically if it tests his intellect and reasoning. Whatever the topic is—from scientific to philosophical—Viktor always has a stance. He has an aura of subtle confidence, self-assured in his ways but not to the point of egotism.
In simpler terms, Viktor has Type A tendencies with a 5w4 on the enneagram and an INTJ on the Myers-Briggs
— FLAWS
It is difficult for him to maintain a relationship—platonic or romantic. Oftentimes, Viktor believes it is implausible for someone to like him as a person. He has experienced rejection plenty of times before, so he feels it necessary to end a relationship before it blossoms, fearing that the other person already hates him or is only with him for undisclosed intentions. Although Viktor hates irrationality, he still has irrational fears based from past experiences.
If there is one flaw he is often in conflict with, it’s his discipline. He may be a genius, but Viktor still has trouble setting his limitations. It is an obsessive need that overtakes him—an inkling he cannot exactly ignore. If he feels compelled to work later into the night, he will. If he feels he needs ten shots of espresso, he will buy and drink it. If he feels he has a crush on a certain student, he most likely would… stalk them.
Oftentimes, if left unchecked, his ambitions would blind him. Due to his obsessive tendencies, Viktor would pour all his attention into work and research, neglecting his state of being. If he ever took a break, it was most likely because he was starving, parched, or needed to use the bathroom. Still, it could take days, even weeks, before he returns to sanity and society.
— RELATIONSHIPS
JAYCE TALIS: If they weren’t roommates, Viktor would have never befriended him. Everyone on campus knows Jayce—he is a literal social butterfly—always liked by most students and teachers. Still, Jayce remains a constant in his life. They have partnered on several projects and received stellar reviews. It is obvious that the two of them are great friends. Viktor would never admit it, but Jayce is one of the few people in his life that he actually likes and trusts.
PROFESSOR HEIMERDINGER: Even if the professor won’t say it, everyone knows that Viktor is his favorite. He goes out of his way to support him, always wanting to know what wonderful contraption he has built as of late.
MEL MEDARDA: Initially, only acquaintances, Viktor and Mel later became friends due to their relationship with Jayce. After hours, Mel would drop by the apartment and hang out with Jayce while also displaying an interest in Viktor and his studies. Their relationship is more akin to a sibling relationship, like an older sister and a kid brother.
READER: Another student in Caltech who takes the same classes as him. Within a matter of days, Viktor became infatuated with you. Every time you entered the lecture hall, you could see the man stiffen in his seat—blankly staring at you then embarrassingly looking away. It was sweet, knowing that you had caught his attention. Not many of your classmates could say the same thing. Viktor was quiet during class, only speaking unless spoken to or if he was keen on answering a question. Yet, it came as a surprise to you when you received a single rose on your doorstep—you never told anyone about your address.
— INTERESTS
Even as a kid, Viktor loved Star Trek. He dreamt about the plausibility of interstellar travel and the intricacies of warp drive. He spent nights imagining himself working in the engineering deck and tinkering with transporters. Almost single-handedly, the franchise inspired him to become an engineer—to work with the complexities of science and invent something anew. If he had to pick a character as his favorite, Viktor would select—without a doubt—Lieutenant Commander Data. His ongoing arc of seeking human connection in spite of his inability to understand human emotion—was what endeared Viktor. In many ways, he had the same troubles as the android. People viewed him differently because of his disability and brilliance. Like Data, their uniqueness was both a gift and a curse.
If he has no plans for the weekend, Viktor would spend his day playing chess against himself or Jayce. Naturally, they would take turns being white, often forgoing the use of a timer—unless they were feeling competitive that day—and play a few games while talking about life. If Viktor was playing white, he often opens with a pawn on e4 and then implements the first moves of the Spanish Opening (knight on f3 and bishop on b5). If Viktor was playing black, he would use the Tarrasch Variation of the French Defense, with 1. e4 e6, 2. d4 d5, 3. Nd2 c5. Although it is not exactly aggressive, Viktor focuses more on positional play.
(I am not a chess player, but I watched a few videos from GothamChess and live feeds from Magnus Carlsen and Hikaru Nakamura for research)
His taste in music varies on his mood. However, Viktor favors the classical and contemporary genres the most. He is especially fond of composers such as Tchaikovsky and Chopin, and jazz musicians such as Stan Getz and David Benoit. He does experiment with other genres, but faithfully, he returns to his favorites after a long day in the laboratory.
To those who followed me for my writing, I am sorry to disappoint. I have more pressing matters to discuss.
Ya’ll, I forgot this man’s birthday—I feel so guilty.
Like, I know he is an android who could most likely decimate me in one move, but he is so… babygirl. He is my original babygirl. This man walked so Viktor from Arcane could run. He literally defined my taste in men—it’s either scrawny nerds or burly military men, ain’t no in between—so, thank you Lieutenant Commander Data!
In addition, not only is Data the prime equilibrium of being both inexplicably hot and hyperactively adorable, the man can fuck. Literally the first episode we meet this man, he already explains that his positronic brain has programs in, and I quote, “multiple techniques, a broad variety of pleasuring”. Like, did I say that I love this man?
Anyway, here’s young Brent Spiner.
If you came here and read this, thank you for enduring an impromptu nadama post. Will I ever write about my beloved android? Perhaps. For now, I will return to my cave and continue the arduous process of writing—unless something else provokes me from my concentration.
Summary: When a series of innocent encounters with the cleaning lady led to a more intimate relationship, Viktor finds himself absolutely smitten.
Pairing: Viktor x cleaning lady!reader
Rating: Mature
Expected Content: There are no sexual acts depicted in this work. However, there is a passionate kissing scene.
Word count: 2,440
To @the-californicationist, thank you for your kind words and advice. I finally wrote something that I felt proud of sharing.
———
Even in his deepest moments of solitude, there was this undeniable feeling—a yearning that Viktor could never shake. It was this bothersome inkling, incessant in its demand and fervent in its inclination. Forever present in his lonesome existence and forever there to remind him of his growing need for companionship.
With each passing day, the notion remained. It festered like an ill-begotten wound, clawing into his flesh until it gnawed on his weary bones. Soon, his mind became a feverish haze, lost in a stream of consciousness that delved into the primal depths of his imagination.
For hours, Viktor sat. His gaze was turned towards the window, watching the silver light filter into his laboratory. His space was a mess, cluttered with various contraptions and inventions, the metal machinery glinting underneath the pearlescent glow. Somewhere, a faint yet constant hum filled the empty air, a noise that barely kept him from the brink of silence.
Within his hands was a small device, a partially constructed piece that kept his idle hands busy. Yet, despite his best efforts to keep his mind from conjuring visages of you, it was all met in vain.
For a brief moment, Viktor caught a faint whiff of your perfume—the delicate notes of lavender and vanilla flitting in the air until it swirled around him like a tender caress. Suddenly, memories of you rushed into his mind like a babbling brook. Every little detail came to him so vividly. The way you looked into his eyes with that sweet little smile. The lovely sound of your voice while you rambled on about your day. The feeling of your fingers running over his skin.
With a shuddering sigh, Viktor slumped into his chair and closed his eyes. He was fraying at the seam, practically unraveling from the mere thought of you. The moment he had gotten a taste, you became a craving for a man who never knew he was starved. You became his reckoning—the reason behind the fall of a brilliant scientist. If you were to ever disappear from his life, Viktor would be in absolute pieces. You became his everything.
It was a simple yet profound epiphany, one that dawned on him the night you slept in his arms. Your weary head was pressed against his firm chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. His slender arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him while the two of you lay on his bed.
Somehow, that night stirred something deep within him as he watched you. His gaze was tender, eyes tracing the features of your face and counting the moles and freckles along your skin. Viktor spent those blissful hours studying every little detail, committing them to memory.
“Viktor? What are you doing, it’s a quarter past midnight.”
Your voice was a delicate sound, one that complimented the peaceful stillness in his laboratory. Amidst the constant humming and thrumming, devoid of the usual clanging and thrashing, your voice was the perfect harmony that soothe his aching heart.
Within an instant, Viktor turned in his seat to meet your gaze. Even under the dim moonlight, the amber in his eyes were smoldering with emotion—something so raw and intense that it left you momentarily stunned. Before Viktor, no one had ever looked at you that way. It was as if you were the definite solution to a once insoluble equation.
For a fleeting second, nothing else mattered. Whatever words you were supposed to utter next had died on your tongue. In the absence of speech was the weight of unspoken meaning—sentiments that were never fully expressed but entirely felt. It lingered heavy in the air, begging for someone to bring it to attention.
Then, Viktor cleared his throat and looked away.
“I needed to finish some work.” He gestured to the device in his hand before placing it on his desk. He spoke in an even tone, belaying the inner turmoil stirring deep within his core. Somehow, a simple cleaning lady was turning him inside out.
Unlike his stoic delivery, what tumbled out of your trembling lips was a sheepish reply,
“Well, you should—uhm—call it a… night.” You suggested, your voice barely even an audible mumble.
You watched the corner of his lips twitch into a crooked smile, his voice sounding softer than when he last spoke. When Viktor met your gaze again, the heat behind his eyes softened—replaced with a promising warmth that made your stomach flutter.
“I suppose I could use the rest.”
Viktor made a small hum before he lifted himself from his chair. His movements were careful, using his cane to support his crippled leg. Even with the subtle hobble in his step, his stride remained purposeful. There was nothing that could stop him from walking towards you. Viktor was always determined to cross the distance, especially when it meant he could be with you in the end.
Soon, the two of you were walking down the hallway side by side. It was a long journey from his laboratory to the dormitory, navigating through several intersections and winding corridors. But, whenever Viktor had you with him, it made the ache in his leg a little more bearable.
You listened to the sound of your footsteps padding against the marble floor, noticing how the tip of his cane would make a soft clack at the same moment. It was an easy melody, one that filled the comfortable silence.
“How have you been?” Viktor finally spoke. His heart was racing—building a thundering rhythm he was sure you could hear.
It was an innocent question. One that either of you would ask on any given occasion. Viktor knew about the misgivings of your work, having witnessed some of it firsthand. Yet, he always loved to hear your recounts—rather, he loved to hear your voice when you did so.
“The usual.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the small smile that curved his lips. It was almost unusual to see him like this—content and at peace. Viktor was a man of relentless ambition. Yet, whenever you were with him, Viktor seemed to forget about his work. Instead, all he could focus on was you. You were what mattered most in that moment.
“The councilors had a gathering earlier. Had to clean after them…” You continued, relaying the events of your day while knowing how trivial it was to a distinguished scientist like him. Yet, unbeknownst to you, Viktor needed to hear something mundane. His mind was like a loom—constantly weaving equations and theorems. He needed to hear something unrelated to his work, something monotonous and ordinary.
“I missed you.” You remarked suddenly.
Within an instant, Viktor snapped his head to the side. He looked surprised, not expecting you to say something so bold. His lips were opening and closing, searching for the right words to say.
“I… I missed you too.” He mumbled a reply. But, beneath the twilight, you saw how his eyes gleamed with sincerity.
Then, the both of you stopped.
“How have you been, Viktor?” It was your turn to ask, and when you did, you saw how his lips curved into another smile.
“Restless—until you came.” It was an honest answer. Because throughout the day, his mind was nearing the brink of hysteria. You were driving him practically insane.
Then, the two of you continued to walk, rounding the corner to where his dormitory was.
It was only when you stood in front of his door did you meet his gaze again, noticing something swimming beneath the amber of his eyes. It was almost indiscernible—yet, it made your core blossom with warmth.
“Would you like some tea?” Viktor inquired as he opened the door, gesturing for you to enter.
“That would be lovely.” You smiled in reply before stepping inside.
A few of the curtains were still drawn from this morning, offering a faint pearlescent glow to an otherwise unlit apartment. He followed you from behind, closing the door until it made a click. Then, he made his way into the small kitchen, pulling the kettle from the shelves so he could boil some water.
Whenever the two of you had your little meetings, it always began with a good cup of tea. It became a tradition—something that Viktor looked forward too.
You ventured deeper into his room and took a deep breath, smelling something familiar. It was his scent—woody, musty, and with a delicate note of vanilla. It reminded you of an old book, where the pages were browning and the ink was fading.
His room reflected his simplicity, keeping to the basic necessities while staying true to his academic pursuits. You walked over to the side of his bed, your hand tracing over the grains of his wooden bookshelf. It displayed a few of his favorite collections, with titles written in his native tongue while others pertained to the sciences.
You undid the front buttons of your jacket, folding it over the backrest of his chair.
Meanwhile, Viktor watched you from the kitchen, his eyes following your gentle movements. While the kettle remained on the stovetop, boiling on low heat, he walked over to you.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, the sound of his cane mingling with the soft patter of his footsteps. Then, it came to a stop just a few paces behind you.
When you turned around, you saw his slender fingers undoing his necktie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. He gave you a knowing smile before glancing over to the bed.
“I could say the same about you.” You replied, the corners of your lips twitching into a cheeky grin. Even under the dim light, you could see the playful gleam in his eyes.
So, you kicked off your shoes and jumped into bed. Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, removing his loafers before he settling in beside you.
You lay your head on his chest, a finger tracing a gentle pattern over his skin. His nose was buried in your hair, an arm wrapped around your waist. Viktor pulled you closer to him until your bodies met, pressed impossibly close. Underneath the layers of clothing, you could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, stoking a fire deep within your core.
“I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” Viktor whispered, his lips grazing your forehead.
You tilted your head back, wanting to meet his gaze. You could see something simmering beneath the amber of his eyes—something so intense. His desire for you was humming deep within his bones, his fingers twitching as it yearned to touch you.
Slowly, you leaned in, closing the space between you by millimeters a second. Then, your lips brushed against his chapped ones, soft and testing, wanting to see whether he would pull away. When he didn’t, you fell deeper into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. The kiss deepened and you could feel the coolness of his fingers against your flushed cheek, hands moving to cup your face.
Viktor hummed in response, his eyes fluttering close as he melted into the kiss. Your head was spinning from the excitement, your heart pounding in your ears. It sent you into a blur of pure want, desperate to feel more of him. Your lips were moving in tandem with his, suddenly feeling something warm prod against your bottom lip. You made a quiet and pitchy sound, almost like a suppressed whine of surprise,
“Mm!”
Viktor hummed and continued his exploration, slipping into your mouth. You could feel his tongue gently moving inside, stirring something deep within your core that made you blush. It was becoming too much for you to handle, your head now dizzy from the sudden rush.
Your breathing became ragged, out of tune with your usual cadence. It was frantic and without pace, sucking in breaths whenever you could. It was only when Viktor broke the kiss did the both of you breathed again, panting heavily like a pair of dogs. Underneath the pale light, you could see his swollen lips glisten and parted while he took in a series of quick and sharp breaths.
“You make me feel things… I never thought possible.” Viktor muttered, his hands still cupping your face. His thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his touch light and tender.
There were no words to describe the feelings you had for him. It was profound, with no words or adjectives to do it justice.
“Viktor…” You whispered his name like it was a prayer, so soft yet reverent. Your voice was shaking, still trying to recover from the last kiss.
Without sparing another moment, his lips crashed into yours. He pulled you even closer, desperate to feel your body pressed against his while he poured his everything into one earth-shattering kiss.
In that moment, nothing else mattered—only you.
His blood was running hot with excitement, his heart blaring in his ears. Viktor felt like he was going insane. All the yearning, all the wanting, has now culminated into one fervent kiss—it was chaotic, overwhelming, like a maelstrom of emotions.
You were sinking into his kiss, completely and utterly ruined from the unrestrained passion he unleashed. You never expected to feel something so fierce from a man like Viktor. He was always controlled and immune to his impulses. Yet, when it came to you, he felt like a crazed man without reservations.
“Miláčku…” He muttered into the kiss, his voice strained and breathless.
You could hear something whistling, something sharp piercing into the quiet night. It took you longer than a minute to realize what it was, not exactly caring for whatever else was happening in the moment—except for Viktor.
Unlike you, the man heard nothing. His frantic movements remained that, fervent in his desire and consumed in the kiss. You muttered something incoherent, trying to catch his attention,
“Viktor… the kettle.”
He only hummed in response, not even stopping to hear you better,
“Viktor… kettle.” You mumbled again, a little louder this time.
His movements stuttered, as if he was beginning to realize that the kettle was indeed piping in the kitchen.
“Let it be.” He replied, his voice scratching deep in his throat. Before he could resume the kiss, you interjected with a more scolding tone,
“Viktor… we have neighbors…”
With a loud and reluctant sigh, Viktor conceded. He pulled away and gathered himself to stand.
Summary: When a series of innocent encounters with the cleaning lady led to a more intimate relationship, Viktor finds himself absolutely smitten.
Pairing: Viktor x cleaning lady!reader
Rating: Mature
Expected Content: There are no sexual acts depicted in this work. However, there is a passionate kissing scene.
Word count: 2,440
To @the-californicationist, thank you for your kind words and advice. I finally wrote something that I felt proud of sharing.
———
Even in his deepest moments of solitude, there was this undeniable feeling—a yearning that Viktor could never shake. It was this bothersome inkling, incessant in its demand and fervent in its inclination. Forever present in his lonesome existence and forever there to remind him of his growing need for companionship.
With each passing day, the notion remained. It festered like an ill-begotten wound, clawing into his flesh until it gnawed on his weary bones. Soon, his mind became a feverish haze, lost in a stream of consciousness that delved into the primal depths of his imagination.
For hours, Viktor sat. His gaze was turned towards the window, watching the silver light filter into his laboratory. His space was a mess, cluttered with various contraptions and inventions, the metal machinery glinting underneath the pearlescent glow. Somewhere, a faint yet constant hum filled the empty air, a noise that barely kept him from the brink of silence.
Within his hands was a small device, a partially constructed piece that kept his idle hands busy. Yet, despite his best efforts to keep his mind from conjuring visages of you, it was all met in vain.
For a brief moment, Viktor caught a faint whiff of your perfume—the delicate notes of lavender and vanilla flitting in the air until it swirled around him like a tender caress. Suddenly, memories of you rushed into his mind like a babbling brook. Every little detail came to him so vividly. The way you looked into his eyes with that sweet little smile. The lovely sound of your voice while you rambled on about your day. The feeling of your fingers running over his skin.
With a shuddering sigh, Viktor slumped into his chair and closed his eyes. He was fraying at the seam, practically unraveling from the mere thought of you. The moment he had gotten a taste, you became a craving for a man who never knew he was starved. You became his reckoning—the reason behind the fall of a brilliant scientist. If you were to ever disappear from his life, Viktor would be in absolute pieces. You became his everything.
It was a simple yet profound epiphany, one that dawned on him the night you slept in his arms. Your weary head was pressed against his firm chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. His slender arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him while the two of you lay on his bed.
Somehow, that night stirred something deep within him as he watched you. His gaze was tender, eyes tracing the features of your face and counting the moles and freckles along your skin. Viktor spent those blissful hours studying every little detail, committing them to memory.
“Viktor? What are you doing, it’s a quarter past midnight.”
Your voice was a delicate sound, one that complimented the peaceful stillness in his laboratory. Amidst the constant humming and thrumming, devoid of the usual clanging and thrashing, your voice was the perfect harmony that soothe his aching heart.
Within an instant, Viktor turned in his seat to meet your gaze. Even under the dim moonlight, the amber in his eyes were smoldering with emotion—something so raw and intense that it left you momentarily stunned. Before Viktor, no one had ever looked at you that way. It was as if you were the definite solution to a once insoluble equation.
For a fleeting second, nothing else mattered. Whatever words you were supposed to utter next had died on your tongue. In the absence of speech was the weight of unspoken meaning—sentiments that were never fully expressed but entirely felt. It lingered heavy in the air, begging for someone to bring it to attention.
Then, Viktor cleared his throat and looked away.
“I needed to finish some work.” He gestured to the device in his hand before placing it on his desk. He spoke in an even tone, belaying the inner turmoil stirring deep within his core. Somehow, a simple cleaning lady was turning him inside out.
Unlike his stoic delivery, what tumbled out of your trembling lips was a sheepish reply,
“Well, you should—uhm—call it a… night.” You suggested, your voice barely even an audible mumble.
You watched the corner of his lips twitch into a crooked smile, his voice sounding softer than when he last spoke. When Viktor met your gaze again, the heat behind his eyes softened—replaced with a promising warmth that made your stomach flutter.
“I suppose I could use the rest.”
Viktor made a small hum before he lifted himself from his chair. His movements were careful, using his cane to support his crippled leg. Even with the subtle hobble in his step, his stride remained purposeful. There was nothing that could stop him from walking towards you. Viktor was always determined to cross the distance, especially when it meant he could be with you in the end.
Soon, the two of you were walking down the hallway side by side. It was a long journey from his laboratory to the dormitory, navigating through several intersections and winding corridors. But, whenever Viktor had you with him, it made the ache in his leg a little more bearable.
You listened to the sound of your footsteps padding against the marble floor, noticing how the tip of his cane would make a soft clack at the same moment. It was an easy melody, one that filled the comfortable silence.
“How have you been?” Viktor finally spoke. His heart was racing—building a thundering rhythm he was sure you could hear.
It was an innocent question. One that either of you would ask on any given occasion. Viktor knew about the misgivings of your work, having witnessed some of it firsthand. Yet, he always loved to hear your recounts—rather, he loved to hear your voice when you did so.
“The usual.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the small smile that curved his lips. It was almost unusual to see him like this—content and at peace. Viktor was a man of relentless ambition. Yet, whenever you were with him, Viktor seemed to forget about his work. Instead, all he could focus on was you. You were what mattered most in that moment.
“The councilors had a gathering earlier. Had to clean after them…” You continued, relaying the events of your day while knowing how trivial it was to a distinguished scientist like him. Yet, unbeknownst to you, Viktor needed to hear something mundane. His mind was like a loom—constantly weaving equations and theorems. He needed to hear something unrelated to his work, something monotonous and ordinary.
“I missed you.” You remarked suddenly.
Within an instant, Viktor snapped his head to the side. He looked surprised, not expecting you to say something so bold. His lips were opening and closing, searching for the right words to say.
“I… I missed you too.” He mumbled a reply. But, beneath the twilight, you saw how his eyes gleamed with sincerity.
Then, the both of you stopped.
“How have you been, Viktor?” It was your turn to ask, and when you did, you saw how his lips curved into another smile.
“Restless—until you came.” It was an honest answer. Because throughout the day, his mind was nearing the brink of hysteria. You were driving him practically insane.
Then, the two of you continued to walk, rounding the corner to where his dormitory was.
It was only when you stood in front of his door did you meet his gaze again, noticing something swimming beneath the amber of his eyes. It was almost indiscernible—yet, it made your core blossom with warmth.
“Would you like some tea?” Viktor inquired as he opened the door, gesturing for you to enter.
“That would be lovely.” You smiled in reply before stepping inside.
A few of the curtains were still drawn from this morning, offering a faint pearlescent glow to an otherwise unlit apartment. He followed you from behind, closing the door until it made a click. Then, he made his way into the small kitchen, pulling the kettle from the shelves so he could boil some water.
Whenever the two of you had your little meetings, it always began with a good cup of tea. It became a tradition—something that Viktor looked forward too.
You ventured deeper into his room and took a deep breath, smelling something familiar. It was his scent—woody, musty, and with a delicate note of vanilla. It reminded you of an old book, where the pages were browning and the ink was fading.
His room reflected his simplicity, keeping to the basic necessities while staying true to his academic pursuits. You walked over to the side of his bed, your hand tracing over the grains of his wooden bookshelf. It displayed a few of his favorite collections, with titles written in his native tongue while others pertained to the sciences.
You undid the front buttons of your jacket, folding it over the backrest of his chair.
Meanwhile, Viktor watched you from the kitchen, his eyes following your gentle movements. While the kettle remained on the stovetop, boiling on low heat, he walked over to you.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, the sound of his cane mingling with the soft patter of his footsteps. Then, it came to a stop just a few paces behind you.
When you turned around, you saw his slender fingers undoing his necktie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. He gave you a knowing smile before glancing over to the bed.
“I could say the same about you.” You replied, the corners of your lips twitching into a cheeky grin. Even under the dim light, you could see the playful gleam in his eyes.
So, you kicked off your shoes and jumped into bed. Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, removing his loafers before he settling in beside you.
You lay your head on his chest, a finger tracing a gentle pattern over his skin. His nose was buried in your hair, an arm wrapped around your waist. Viktor pulled you closer to him until your bodies met, pressed impossibly close. Underneath the layers of clothing, you could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, stoking a fire deep within your core.
“I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” Viktor whispered, his lips grazing your forehead.
You tilted your head back, wanting to meet his gaze. You could see something simmering beneath the amber of his eyes—something so intense. His desire for you was humming deep within his bones, his fingers twitching as it yearned to touch you.
Slowly, you leaned in, closing the space between you by millimeters a second. Then, your lips brushed against his chapped ones, soft and testing, wanting to see whether he would pull away. When he didn’t, you fell deeper into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. The kiss deepened and you could feel the coolness of his fingers against your flushed cheek, hands moving to cup your face.
Viktor hummed in response, his eyes fluttering close as he melted into the kiss. Your head was spinning from the excitement, your heart pounding in your ears. It sent you into a blur of pure want, desperate to feel more of him. Your lips were moving in tandem with his, suddenly feeling something warm prod against your bottom lip. You made a quiet and pitchy sound, almost like a suppressed whine of surprise,
“Mm!”
Viktor hummed and continued his exploration, slipping into your mouth. You could feel his tongue gently moving inside, stirring something deep within your core that made you blush. It was becoming too much for you to handle, your head now dizzy from the sudden rush.
Your breathing became ragged, out of tune with your usual cadence. It was frantic and without pace, sucking in breaths whenever you could. It was only when Viktor broke the kiss did the both of you breathed again, panting heavily like a pair of dogs. Underneath the pale light, you could see his swollen lips glisten and parted while he took in a series of quick and sharp breaths.
“You make me feel things… I never thought possible.” Viktor muttered, his hands still cupping your face. His thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his touch light and tender.
There were no words to describe the feelings you had for him. It was profound, with no words or adjectives to do it justice.
“Viktor…” You whispered his name like it was a prayer, so soft yet reverent. Your voice was shaking, still trying to recover from the last kiss.
Without sparing another moment, his lips crashed into yours. He pulled you even closer, desperate to feel your body pressed against his while he poured his everything into one earth-shattering kiss.
In that moment, nothing else mattered—only you.
His blood was running hot with excitement, his heart blaring in his ears. Viktor felt like he was going insane. All the yearning, all the wanting, has now culminated into one fervent kiss—it was chaotic, overwhelming, like a maelstrom of emotions.
You were sinking into his kiss, completely and utterly ruined from the unrestrained passion he unleashed. You never expected to feel something so fierce from a man like Viktor. He was always controlled and immune to his impulses. Yet, when it came to you, he felt like a crazed man without reservations.
“Miláčku…” He muttered into the kiss, his voice strained and breathless.
You could hear something whistling, something sharp piercing into the quiet night. It took you longer than a minute to realize what it was, not exactly caring for whatever else was happening in the moment—except for Viktor.
Unlike you, the man heard nothing. His frantic movements remained that, fervent in his desire and consumed in the kiss. You muttered something incoherent, trying to catch his attention,
“Viktor… the kettle.”
He only hummed in response, not even stopping to hear you better,
“Viktor… kettle.” You mumbled again, a little louder this time.
His movements stuttered, as if he was beginning to realize that the kettle was indeed piping in the kitchen.
“Let it be.” He replied, his voice scratching deep in his throat. Before he could resume the kiss, you interjected with a more scolding tone,
“Viktor… we have neighbors…”
With a loud and reluctant sigh, Viktor conceded. He pulled away and gathered himself to stand.
