Jun 27
Sleepy Dialogue - Day 10
“Just five more minutes . . .”
Viktor x Reader
Word Count: 198
Prompts by @creativepromptsforwriting
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Ukraine
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from China
Sleepy Dialogue - Day 10
“Just five more minutes . . .”
Viktor x Reader
Word Count: 198
Prompts by @creativepromptsforwriting
The quiet request was actually what woke you up in the first place. Eyes scrunched, you peered aroun the room for any intruder, only to see nothing but your boyfriend in the bed right beside you. Every inch of him was bundled in blankets to keep out the cold, Piltover morning.
“Just let me sleep,” Vik’s voice pitched up in a desperate whine.
You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up out of you. He was dreaming about someone waking him up before the sun was even over the horizon. You scooched a little closer, hand venturing through the wall of blankets to touch him. “You can sleep for today, love,” you murmured. “Jace went home for the weekend, remember?”
“Yesss . . .” The word sounded more like a snake’s hiss than speech, barely more than a strange exhale as you soothed him back into a deeper slumber.
You kissed the duvet where you approximated that his head would be. Viktor needed the sleep, you rationalized your white lie. He’d been wrapped up in the research for days, meaning he’d been awake for even longer. If Jace came looking, you’d just chase him off. They both worked too much, anyway.
MY FAVORITE VIKTOR FIC ON AO3 ! ✷‿
i read some of these while listening to this
1. For Your Satisfaction by DogsInMyMind
꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡ summary:
Viktor has been leaving you high and dry with lingering touches and teasing words so it's about damn time you take the reins. Little do you know Viktor is more than ready to turn the tables when the time is right.
2. Battery Acid Blood; My Heart Beats For You by DogsInMyMind
꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡ summary:
“You love me that much?”
“No.” He answers plainly and your heart breaks a little. It’s silly and you shouldn't be upset that someone like him doesn’t love you. He continues, “I don’t have emotions as such anymore. I did once, but I can no longer. However, I do want you, crave you. I need you… So you can’t leave me, solnyshko. I won’t let you.”
WILL BE UPDATED SOON!
Spring will come
Original prompts by @ stmarchmm
Crossposted to AO3
Day 05: Collaring
Summary: You make a collar for both of your mates
Warnings: F/M, F/M/M, M/M (we get two sex scenes in this one, yay)
P in V sex, oral sex, handjobs, blowjobs, creampie, frotting, slight choking kink, kinda fluffy + a little bit of existential dread at the end maybe(?)
A/N: Thank you all for the patience fr fr. I'm even going to try and excuse myself, I'm just bad at organizing fic updates + irl life, sowwy
All replies, likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
Word count: 4.6k
Divider by @ saradika-graphics
“To my knowledge it is the Alpha’s role to provide their mates with gifts,” Viktor paused, looking at the intricate details engraved on his collar “Not the omega’s”.
The metaphorical weight of the collar struck him first, that is if he understood correctly what you were implicitly trying to tell him and Jayce. Any other piece of jewelry could have been passed off as a normal gift, even a ring could have been more subtle.
Then came the realization of the actual physical sensation of golden vines and flowery rivulets under his fingertips. Polished sheets of gold, smoothed out until the division between plaques was indistinguishable, making him ruminate around for the answer to the question you were quietly asking.
Your own silky ‘hmm’ broke the intimate hush previously hanging in the room, a product of Viktor’s acknowledgement.
The summer wind blew not-so-silently outside his residence, emphasizing every movement, every breath taken in the room. Even though the windows encasing the three of you were considerably big, barely any light filtered through the glass panes. Only the few stranding blotches of warm light managed to illuminate anything other than the carpeted floor.
The orange glimmer extended up to the feet of the bed, where Jayce kept fumbling while buckling his own collar, hoping neither you nor Viktor wouldn’t notice how hard it was for him to concentrate as he cast down his lingering gaze on you two.
A pace or two passed before you decided to simply chuckle in response to your Alpha’s comment, once more leaving the question pending in the air as you walked over to the vanity. Each step you took resonated in the room, not quite dissipating the tension, rather relishing in it.
For now, you limited yourself to grabbing a dusty mirror cast away in the far corner of the dressing table, left behind by its owner after one of his many escapades to Viktor’s home. Just like any other piece of paraphernalia in Piltover, the hand mirror too held many intricate engravings. Most of them were left meaningless after time had erased the symbolic connotation of its elements: stars, moons, and letters scattered around the silver handle and frame.
Yet, isn’t that the same reason why objects such as those are all the more valuable? Because its meaning can be lost if there is no one there to interpret it?
At least you thought so, that’s why you could not let any other person in charge of their collars. They were simply too personal to explain. Too precious to let other hands taint the materials.
Too intimate, said simply.
As soon as you brought the mirror over to your own face, you saw it: a blurry reflection of Viktor sitting still behind you, furrowed brows while deep in thought.
Viktor prided himself in saying he was discreet, a level-headed man that knew how to react according to the situation. Jayce and you, on the other hand, questioned if he had ever looked at himself in a mirror. His every thought might as well have been captioned as either his expressions or his body language would often betray the façade.
Then his eyes moved over to you, almost echoing the gears turning in his head.
Now all the nights you had insisted on staying back at the lab late at night made sense to him, along with your sudden disappearances in the middle of the day. If he had to be honest, it was the latter that had him on edge. Viktor tended to prepare for worst-case scenarios before thinking of other possible causes to your absences. Thinking the worst, even if highly unlikely for you to try and distance yourself from either him or Jayce willingly.
A few seconds passed before the pitter patter of your feet announced your presence as you made your way towards Viktor, your hand gracing the side of his face while you walked past his side and crouched right where his peripheral vision failed to see you.
There was a grace –Jayce insisted, even if you denied it– in which you walked around the space, commanding everyone’s attention at your every whim. Your Alpha, especially, loved the way you would pace around the wooden chair he usually sat on; how you held both their hearts in your hands.
You savored the silence still swaying in the room before finally deciding to dignify your mate’s inquiry with words rather than actions “Is it a sin to pamper my mates, now?” The mirror plopped on the palm of his hand, punctuating the cheek in your tone.
His hands were fast to clean the everpresent layer of dust obstructing the view, hoping to gain a better view of the collar currently draped across his neck. Your handiwork depicted a pattern of entwined snapdragon vines accentuated by tiny little pieces of diamond and other crystals he could only guess you had made yourself in the lab.
How much time could you possibly have invested in these pieces of art, he wondered.
Viktor turned his face lightly, letting the shimmering light of the afternoon hit the golden details easily lost to the untrained eye.
The collar that sat perfectly over his neck had obviously been made by expert hands, carefully covering the mating bites that Jayce and, of course, you, had given him just last night.
Every nook and cranny was proof of endless hours of intensive care to detail; even the leather had received special treatment, as noted by the way the edges had been softened so as to not hurt whomever was using the accessory, even with a bite as recently made as his.
Looking even closer, hidden below the golden pieces, were all of your initials written in delicate lettering; framed by various lamium galeobdolon buds, or yellow archangels, as Jayce preferred to call them.
They were the same flowers he had given you and the brown-haired Beta a couple of years back when you officially started courting.
Soft fingers traced the top of Viktor’s collar –slowly, desperately careful– until you reached his throat. Your velvety touch made a familiar heat reach his face, more so when he caught your attentive gaze already looking directly at his eyes through the mirror.
There he saw sin itself; a feline smile etched itself on your lips, just on the verge of it reaching your ears.
Your insistence on him being sat down while he received your gift made sense, too. His back was pressed tightly against your chest, letting him feel your omegan purr as you wrapped your arms around him.
Adding to that the way Jayce’s scent filled the air, Viktor swore he could die in peace right then and there, so long as he got to live in this moment forever and always.
Then your Beta’s scent also reached your nose, clearly just as interested in your attention as Viktor.
Jayce sat on the edge of Viktor’s bed, still trying to hook the metal prong into one of the leathery holes while failing miserably. And how could he not when he had such a view of his mates?
A part of him knew it was natural for packs to form. All denominations had a place in society, something about biology making sure the pups would be well cared for or something. Yet nothing could have possibly prepared him for the pull he felt towards the pair in front of him.
Something in the way you all met –clashing into each other’s lives and changing the entire course of his existence– made him believe in destiny. A force greater than any of you that had to make sure you ended up in the same place, at the same time. It had to be fate.
Only to be set in stone by you when you gifted him, and Viktor, these collars.
A step, then another inched closer and soon your shadow hovered over his entire figure, a caricature of how usually it’d be him towering over you. His hand was engulfed by yours as you, softly, pulled away from your Alpha’s grasp and into your Beta’s arms. You left just enough space for Jayce to be able to lean lightly on his forearm while you worked on fastening the buckle he had long forgotten about.
“I would be very offended if you weren’t as lost in a trance as you are right now” You hushed, playfully poking at his reddened face.
“Why?” He was fast to question, clearly thrown off by your remark.
“Any other packmate would take it as you refusing the bond, don’t you think?” He mumbled, trying to come up with excuses, none of which dared come out of his mouth when your lips were so close to his “You’re lucky I know you well enough to be sure you’re just… too hot and bothered from looking at Viktor and I to finish putting it on on your own”
“Might I present ‘excited’ as a replacement? I find ‘hot and bothered’… lacking” Viktor’s voice loomed from the chair behind you “I believe my suggestion is more faithful to what is happening with our Beta, if my eyes do not deceive me”
Jayce tried to close his legs, suddenly shy at Viktor’s obvious glance to his crotch, but you were fast to stop him with only your knee. “Yes, excited would be more accurate of a term, but it does sound ambiguous, doesn't it?” The audible gulp coming from under you gave you all the information you needed. Your Beta was getting off on your joined teasing.
“I’d rather say…” Your finger rubbed his skin as you hooked it under the collar, barely grazing the bite you put on his skin the night prior. “aroused”
Viktor’s weight was fast to appear beside Jayce, “Or, maybe, lustful?” His hands traversed over Jayce’s back –drawing circles over the tight muscles that kept flexing and contracting under his palm– taking their time to reach the front and undo the various buttons securing the white shirt over his body.
“Definetely lewd” Jayce’s subsequent whimper was like music to your ears.
“Bordering on pornographic, indeed” Viktor’s tongue slid down his neck, catching the droplets of sweat already forming at Jayce’s nape.
You inched even closer, Jayce’s robust shape almost overshadowed by yours in a rare display of submission on your Alpha’s behalf, who sat behind him; content with watching his mates have some fun while he observes. You did not miss the way Jayce’s length strained against your leg, nor the way Viktor kept moving his hand up and down your Beta’s sides, sometimes grazing your own skin all the while.
Jayce’s scent spiked then, an obvious response to your caresses. A pair of callused hands reached out to hug your waist, pulling you to his body. “Can the both of you stop teasing me and get on with it, please?”
You turned your face to meet your other mate’s, admittedly cute, pout of defeat. “Think he’s got enough?”
Viktor sighed playfully, “He did ask nicely”
“Then, I hope you won’t mind me getting him all by myself first”
“So long as you don’t mind a voyeur" Viktor gave a final lick to Jayce’s earlobe, making him shudder beneath you, where he lay tightly straddled between your legs.
Moving aside, Viktor let you push Jayce downwards until his back rested atop the distended comforter. As much as Jayce tried to hide it, he loved it when either of you took control over him. Maybe it was one of the only things he truly enjoyed out of being a Beta. A kindling of desire sparked inside him every opportunity his Omega and his Alpha vied for his attention, almost to the point of madness. At times like those he questioned how he could have ever dared to exist without them.
A kiss, then another fluttered over Jacye’s sensitive skin and some on top of his new acquisition, a thought that made him whine: your collar. Even with his eyes closed he could recognize those lips belonged to you, one of the protagonists of all his intimate fantasies.
The air became heavier, warmer, heavy with his panting. It was only a matter of time until his trousers became much too small for his growing desire.
As if on cue, you hand reached low, lower, and yet lower. Your fingers merely following the happy trail scattered over his lower belly, searching for his aching cock.
At last, your hand reached his heat, rubbing his swollen member over the strained layers of clothing still present between you. “That is no good, Beta. We need to get rid off this,” Your index hooked under the elastic, letting it slip in a silent ‘thack’ that did nothing but entice Jayce, hypnotized by every syllable that came out of your mouth “ –if we want to go further”
Quickly, faster than you had ever seen him act, Jayce elevated his hips –never even minding your own weight atop his lap– while removing the offending garments, almost ripping them off in the process.
“Careful, pup” Your Alpha spoke, elevating his already broken state “You don’t want to tear anything, hear me?”
“Yesss, a– Alpha” Jayce slurred his words, “ ‘nything y– you w’nt Alpha” By then his Beta cock had already made contact with your slippery folds, getting smeared in your slick with every involuntary movement made by his own buckling hips.
“In that case,” Viktor made eye contact with you, his golden gaze and crooked smile threatening you with a good time “Why don’t you show your Omega how grateful you are she claimed you as her mate?”
In less than a second you felt him, Jayce’s bulbous member intruding between your lower lips, battling for entrance through your tight ring of muscle. His lips searched for your scent gland, happy to find it swollen and puffy, in need of the attention he was very willing to give it.
“Relax, Omega, let your Beta thank you properly” Your Alpha positioned himself closer to Jayce, trapping him between you as his hands continued roaming his back. Had you not known any better, you’d think Viktor was only trying to ease him from his trance, maybe even helping him guide his cock to finally impale you on it.
Alas, you were able to read his every movement. You knew of the selfishness hidden under uncountable layers of worry for you and Jayce. He wanted to let you in on a fact he learned very well after many years of your companionship: you two were his.
His to please, his to savor, his to own.
That, and the terribly selfish desire to frot against Jayce’s back was enough for you to relax and let Jayce enter you with a brutish thrust powered by his own need for release.
The ‘pap pap pap’ of his sack hitting against your pussy lips engulfed you as your Beta helped you bounce up and down on his cock. The heat incremented with every inch he managed to fit inside you only to bottom out and start all over again. Your mind reeled at how much pleasure he gave you by accidentally hitting your G-spot with the sheer size of him.
Maybe you would have lasted more had Jayce not left your hips and started toying with your tits, softly pinching your nipples between his index and middle fingers. His thumbs, followed by his palms, enthusiastically kneaded your breasts.
You did not miss the way Viktor’s index finger hooked itself to Jayce’s collar, slightly choking him as he left your sweaty gland and turned his face to kiss the Alpha. Truly, there was no respite, not a second where you could breathe anything that wasn’t your joined arousal.
It was hard to pinpoint who came first; while Jayce obviously had the upper hand for a second –as he had the most resistance out of the three of you–, he had forgotten how you, too, were able to counter his onrush of thrusts against your poor G-spot.
“S’ not fair, y– you” He tried to stop you, momentarily separating his mouth from your mate, but you were fast to interrupt him.
“Shush, now, Beta” Your voice, he thought, was elevated by the onslaught of pleasure you kept giving him “If you want to thank me,” You tightened up your pussy, squishing him out of his cum every time he dared to stick his carnous member up to the hilt. “You’ll give me every little drop,” He tried protesting, he really did, but you sank down once more. His thick cock was left defenceless, oversensitive skin rubbing against your warm, wet walls.
“ –and that’s final”
You could feel the blood pumping through your veins, almost being able to sense a whole new heartbeat in the pulsations emanating from your swollen pussy out of pure reflex.
The quiet reigned anew, now accompanied by Viktor’s almost mute ‘shh shh’ in Jayce’s ear. He was just as –if not more– spent as you.
It was your Beta’s warm cum –now overflowing out of your swollen hole– that brought you back to reality. Your arms were now resting on his shoulders, your sweaty body draped atop of him too. Only Viktor was graced with complete rest, merely leaning on Jayce so he did not lose balance while still holding on to you for dear life.
It would not suffice, not yet. You wanted, no, needed to fuck Viktor as he was wearing your collar, too.
“What about you, Alpha?” You croaked, barely riding down your orgasm.
“I will be fine. It is enough seeing you both…” Viktor slowly separated from Jayce’s back, his cock reddened after only humping your Beta’s back for the last half an hour, not even being able to be inside him. “Enjoying yourselves. Pay no mind to me, I can– ”
“Nah” You clicked your tongue, already parting from your other mate.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I meant,” You held on to Jayce, lowering him until his side rested languidly on the sullied mattress, mentally checked out while still savoring your sweet scent in his tongue. “Is that all you can give me after such a generous gift?”
“Ah.” A smirk formed on his mouth “I see, my Omega wants her Alpha to grovel at her feet, too”
“It’s only natural, it is a proposal” Your right hand reached his face, rubbing his cheek before grabbing his collar and bringing him closer with little effort.
Inch by inch, his face neared your own, seemingly glowing with pride as he got pulled by the collar you had fastened around his neck. His breath mingled with yours, noses almost touching “I want to take my claim, Alpha”
“And you will, Omega, but if I may,” His hand reached for the little nub of sensitive skin peeking from beneath your bush, barely visible over Jayce’s soft member. “I would like to take this opportunity to pamper you”
You separated from your Beta, letting his member fall to his thigh, covered in your glistening juices and a few drops of his own cum. Viktor engraved that visual into his mind, even minding the small whimper that Jayce let out as soon as you left his lap. That memory would certainly become one of his recurring fantasies for years to come.
Your arms encased your body, laying freely next to your herculean mate. Jayce allowed himself to trace his fingertips over your naked body while you positioned yourself for your Alpha. Once more he wondered what would have happened if only he had met you and Viktor before, not because it was logically possible, but he liked to question why fate had kept you apart for so long if not for the sole reason of it being an untrustworthy ally.
Shivers kept running through you in the aftershock of your previous climax, leaving you tender under Viktor’s searing gaze. Beneath his tired eyelids lay the glaring eyes of a man committed to being yours, forever and always, as proven by the collar he so graciously ported.
How could you refuse such an offer?
You gave him a nod and his mouth made its way to your wet mound, his nose pushing past your lips as it graced your puffy clit.
Viktor’s hands were fast to tug at your legs, pulling them apart to give him ever more space where he needed it. His fingers dug into your plushy thighs as you buckled beneath his greedy treatment of your quim.
His tongue danced from down upwards, spreading your gulping folds that desperately tried to keep Jayce’s cum inside. A quiet, protestful ‘ghn’ escaped you when some of your Beta’s spend leaked from your abused hole. If you looked down at that moment you would have been able to see Viktor utterly lost admiring the sight before delving his tongue into the viscous mix of slick.
His tongue prodded at your entrance –easily making its way past your overstimulated ring of muscle– when a sudden movement made him leave your quim for an instant. He turned to see you, devastatingly submissive under his treatment of your hole.
If not you, then… He only needed to look down at his crotch, where Jayce’s hand –and him, still lost in a trance– clasped itself over Viktor’s bulbous knot.
“A– alpha’s gotta c’me too,” Jayce emphasized each slurred out word by tugging at Viktor’s cock “y’ can take care of ‘mega while I –ahh– t’ke care ‘f you…” As if on queue, Jayce lowered his head, pushing at Viktor’s hip, rolling him onto his side to give himself easier access.
“Wh– what?” Viktor mustered, in vain, as Jayce’s hot breath fell on his tip.
“Don’t st’p ‘n my b’half, Alpha” Your Beta opened his mouth, tongue dripping saliva over Viktor’s aching cock “C’ntinue with ‘mega, she c’n take it”. And so, Jayce sealed his lips around his mate’s girth.
A tug at Viktor’s collar brought his attention back to you. “Don’t think I’ll let you off without my thanks” Your hand brought his face to your pussy once more. “Will you be a good Alpha for me?”
Viktor’s eyes opened, astonished at the sass his own Omega presented to him. Still, the crooked smile in his mouth had not left him for even an instant. “A– ah– always, for you”
Passion born anew, his mouth went back for seconds. This time around Viktor took more time fondling your pretty clit with his tongue, circling it over and over, until you thought it would end up red. First one, then two fingers entered you, scissoring at your insides.
Both his middle and ring fingers slowly rubbed at your walls, like he didn’t know where your G-spot was –what a lie–, leaving you with no option but to clench at the intrusion. They kept probing and prodding until a small, round bundle of nerves made itself known –pulling sweet mewls out of you– forcing your back on an arch out of pure desperation.
His other hand made its way to the small of your back, just up your plush ass. Grabbing at your skin; ready to sink his nails if you kept fumbling out of his grasp, no matter if it your body was simply reaction to his feverish hunger.
Another finger followed the others –joining in on their effort to render you fucked out of your mind– as Jayce managed to fit more of Viktor into his mouth, his lips finally reaching the top of your Alpha’s knot.
A thought came into your mind, then. What kind of Omega were you to leave your Beta out of your little fuckfest? Your hands tugged at his glistening cock, still coated with your joined juices. “Ack– ‘mega, n’ nghh– st’p. I cn’t– ”
“You can –ah– give me another one” You didn’t even need lube, the cum covering it was enough to let your hand glide up and down his member as it came back to life.
The three of you came in spasms, sight going white. You could do nothing but grab at Viktor’s hair, embracing yourself as your poor clit cried in the form of a squirt. Jayce almost choked with an unexpected thrust from Viktor that forced his cum down the beta’s throat in thick beads of warm liquid.
Out of you, Viktor was the one to be rendered dumbstruck after his climax. He was barely able to pull away from your quim –still unloading drop after drop of saturated cum down the Beta’s throat– but when he managed to form words, and then actual sentences, he began profusely apologising to Jayce.
Not that your behemoth of a mate minded though; had Jayce been able to talk with Viktor’s cock nudged deep in his mouth, he would’ve assured him that was exactly his goal.
You let the excitement die down for a few minutes, letting your mates rest after such a display.
Your mind wandered to a few hours ago, when your Alpha had read your intentions quite brilliantly. You were, in fact, asking one of the most important questions a partner could ask.
Though, you guessed they had already answered the day prior, with them letting you bite their mating glands in a permanent manner, and then biting you too.
That had to account for something, didn’t it?
“Just to be clear,” Jayce started “You are officially… proposing?”
“You could say that, yes”
“Huh…”
“Only a ‘huh’ after all that?” You chuckled “Give me an actual response, will ya?”
You could feel his blush even if you could not meet his face “I– You already know the answer”
“Just wanna hear you say it” There, left in the open, lay the reason behind the many hours of pure artisanal handwork. A gift worth a million words, but only a few, in return, that mattered.
“Yes”
“Of course”
They answered in unison, the only words that mattered to you.
…
Bonus:
“Care to share what has got you quiet all of a sudden, Jayce-y?” Your voice broke him out of the trance he had been simmering in. An ominous mist dissipated from his head.
“N– no, it’s just that…” His eyes shimmered, not quite with tears threatening to cascade down his face, but full of things he had dared not say yet. “I really wish I could have met you sooner”
Viktor and you turned to look at each other. A grin of recognition appeared on his face, like he perfectly registered the unsaid, full of knowledge you didn’t quite catch at that time. “As much as I share your woe –and I do, I truly do– we must come to fathom that our meeting had to be at the right moment. Not a second sooner, nor later”
“Only a perfectly calculated instant could have brought us together? I took you for more of a romantic, Viktor. Always mentioning how we were meant to be–” You could have continued your rant going on about how you thought soulmates would find each other even if fate pulled them apart, however, something in his gaze seemed to tell a tale too complex.
A look too genuine to have spewed those words for the sake of it; like he meant each and every one of them.
Only a perfectly calculated instant could have brought us together.
His eyes were full of the tiredness of a traveller who had navigated through millions of galaxies, jumped over dimensions, overcame impossible feats, and gone over every possible alternative just to be there at that precise moment.
“Hmmm. I will concede just this once, Vitkor. You may be right, but– “ You pressed a kiss to his temple “Not even fate can stop us from finding ways to fall for you”
“Ah, you may also be correct”
Spring will come
Original prompts by @ stmarchmm
Crossposted to AO3
Day 03: Love confessions
Summary: Love confessions come in many ways
Warnings: None. Slight angst, but it's like 1% angst vs 99% fluff so...
Obligatory disclaimer: Crawling at a snails pace, but hereeee. Have some Jayce x reader x Viktor fluff
English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes teehee
Word count: 3.4k
Divider by @ saradika-graphics
…
You met Jayce long before he knew you existed.
His name was written on a board –in cursive writing, elegantly placed right at the center though not exactly more eye-catching than any other name– along with a hundred other last names the day your high school senior class visited the prestigious Academy of Piltover.
‘Talis’
The name resounded in your tongue like you had seen it elsewhere, but hadn’t made the connection yet.
‘Talis’
Like a forgotten lullaby, present somewhere in your mind, just out of reach.
‘Talis’
You kept sounding it out throughout the day, noting how natural it seemed to flow from your teeth.
The Talis weren’t a High House, quite the contrary. You knew the family of blacksmiths just from passing. They made the best mining equipment, or so you had heard from the adults during your time in Zaun while they recalled the days before the revolts started, even before Vander had opened The Last Drop.
His sponsor was Cassandra Kiramman, head of the department of security in Piltover. Her, you did know closely. She was a work colleague of sorts, often using the services your family provided; mainly importing metal, gunpowder and wood. People would consider her a close friend of your family.
That was enough for you to keep your mind on him at the beginning.
You arrived home, going through your list of pending things to tend to: homework, checking up on the exports Salo asked you to look into, councilman Hoskel’s shipment of whiskey… When you remembered the hammer your father used to take with him into the mines.
It had been expensive, you recalled him using up all his savings to get it. The quality was like no other, it may have even saved his life after one of the tunnels collapsed and he was the lone survivor after an accident. There was a gas leak in one of the deeper chambers that went unnoticed far too long; a single spark of a miner’s headlamp was enough to set it ablaze, causing an explosion that collapsed nearby tunnels. Rescue members noted that your father was found tucked thin under his Talis-brand hammer at the far corner of one of the debris-filled caverns.
Months passed after that school trip. You got accepted into the Academy, like it was even a question. You signed up for your classes, some obligatory, others out of pure curiosity.
Then you started seeing the Talis boy in the school hallways.
The first few days at the Academy had been brutal, you were not used to this level of academic standards with most of your days enjoying life –reading books, help out during your job hours at Enzo’s, finding things to do around Zaun, all that jazz– rather than being stuck neck-deep in assignments, models, and blueprints.
And yet, you noticed he shared some of our classes. Not all of them, with you two having different majors, but enough that you came to know him as a person.
A goody-two shoes that always raised his hand to answer the questions the professors asked, even when he didn’t know the answer just so other people felt less scared to participate too. Sometimes he even brought with him extra snacks to share with his friends.
One time, after your last class of the day was over, you saw him sitting on the stair steps. Talis was half hugging a friend who had failed the test, apparently. You paid him no mind as you walked next to the pair, looking for the school library. By the time you had finished up, the sky had faded from light orange to a star filled night. Ready to call it a day, all you needed to do was take the same stairs up and… Talis was still there.
He hadn’t left his friend for even a second, not until you heard said friend assure him they were fine –that they’d try harder next time, look up tutors, join a study group too, maybe– as you passed by them.
Little bits and pieces of his life made their way into your inner circle, Jayce being popular enough to expect to hear of him once or twice a week.
For half a semester he became the main topic of discussion after one of your friends admitted to having a crush on him. They went on a couple of dates, but nothing came of it; she mentioned it bothered her how friendly the fall out was. Like he genuinely cared for her, even if the spark just wasn’t there.
It would take a little more time for you to officially meet him. Only happening after Salo put you in charge of the Science plaza decoration for the Innovator’s Competition, which –as much of a great opportunity it was– heavily impacted the time you could dedicate to the project you were working on to submit at that same event.
The presentation was chaotic at best. By the time you arrived, hastily pulling out the contents of the box you brought with you, you had already accepted the fact that you might get disqualified for your tardiness. That was until Talis arrived at your side, offering help with a charming smile capable of turning night into morning.
It was his inherent drive to make things happen –even when everything else deemed otherwise– that made you consider letting him in, let him get to know you better.
After you started talking it became almost impossible to keep you apart. One conversation led to another, then you exchanged ideas.
Little by little his company became an important part of the day, and before you knew it, not one day passed by without you meeting after classes to discuss various topics; some important, most banal at best. Still, they all left a mark on you. During these conversations you got him to open up about his projects, his life goals, ambitions, whatever was going on in his mind.
He had many ideas on how to change the world.
Sometimes he was too naïve for his own good, other times you wondered how a genius of that caliber could be sitting in front of you, allowing you to listen to his hypothesis about the arcane, how magic could potentially be fused with science.
You asked him, once, why he bothered to give you the time of day, he scoffed "I should be the one asking you that. If anyone’s gonna change the world, it’s you, not me’. After that you started appreciating him even more.
If you had to be honest, maybe that was when you fell for him.
Years had to pass to get to know him deeply, fondly, even with all the barriers he put up. Sometimes his insecurities got the better of him, other times you just felt like giving up.
The time was not right yet. You still had much to do, much to think, much to learn.
The opportunity passed before you could do anything about it. He waited for you outside your class –like he always did– ready to go to the cafeteria, grab a bite or two and do some homework by your side.
You walked over to him, nervously fiddling with your fingers.
With your heat quickly approaching, you were about to ask him to spend it with you; a bold move considering you were just friends at the time. You saw him, casually leaning on the wall, not a care in the world.
You opened your mouth, words ready to spill from your lips, but it was like he had read your mind. Jayce was fast to close the space between you, almost whispering in your ear about a fact he had kept from you for a while now.
He was a Beta.
Like that would’ve changed your mind. You were ready to retort that you didn’t care, that it didn't change what you thought of him, but there was a shadow in his eyes that made you pause: doubt, fear, and worst of all, the genuine belief that you were committing a mistake, that you deserved an alpha.
You knew better than to try to convince Jayce otherwise.
Those fears had been ingrained deep in his mind since long ago, societal expectations that haunted him. The same ones that you ignored on the daily, but he just couldn’t –or just plain, wouldn’t– grasp the idea that you were fine with him not being an alpha.
He had to face the facts on his own, it was just not the right time to do so.
There was nothing you could say or do to sway his mind, so you did the next best thing: you asked for something of his. Just enough to let you hold on to him, to let him know you’d be there when he was ready. The next day he gave you his pillowcase.
Still intimate, just not like you would’ve wanted.
He thought he was fine with that arrangement, leaving you free to pursue a fit partner that could actually give you a mating bite. In his mind that had been his love confession to you: the freedom to choose what he thought was ‘right’.
That arrangement worked for a while, though anybody that knew you could see how paper thin your patience ran when your denominations were brought up.
Then Viktor stumbled into your life or, rather, he stumbled upon Jayce.
It was at the first trial following the explosion, when Jayce tried to defend the possibility of using science to understand –and eventually harness– magic. Admittedly, that first trial was a lost cause, with most of the council members being against the exploration of the arcane from the first place.
But even then, admiration had its limits. What was he willing to do? How far was he willing to go for your, and Jayce’s, vision?
Ever the clinical observer, Viktor made a mental ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ list. The bare minimum, he considered, before taking a decision that could forever alter the course of his dwindling life.
On the one hand, he could continue as usual; forgetting what he saw and leaving them to fend for themselves with dubious equations and rough ideas of a project bigger than themselves, which would have –most likely– led him to live the rest of his days as just another professor in the Academy, until his sickness ran its course and killed him for good.
Or, he could… take some bits and pieces of evidence material from Heimerdinger’s office, and go look at the Talis boy’s workshop. See what all the fuzz is about, maybe try to replicate his experiments. Some may have called that ‘stealing confiscated evidence’, but who were they to judge when they hadn’t seen what he had?
What surprised him the most about himself that night was that he was not one to meddle with Heimerdinger’s administrative affairs… usually, but something about this case entranced him. First he took a look at Jayce’s notebook, detailing his every hypothesis on Hextech and its uses, then he skimmed over your blueprints. He became familiar with your project and, therefore, your goals, aspirations and fears.
Viktor got to know you on a fundamental level before ever seeing your face.
As a student, as an innovator, and as a person.
Every single detail was of importance; from the delicate trace of your pencil on the paper that seemed to speak to him –telling him how dedicated you were to your craft– to the way your obsessive precision in each line drawn in your sketchbook made for some of the most intricate pieces of design he had ever witnessed.
Not for one second did he think he’d be exaggerating by saying your work would be studied for generations to come.
A few days passed before they found each other again, when Jayce was about to jump and Viktor stopped him in the nick of time.
Many years would pass before you got to know anything about what went down the night you, accidentally, broke into Viktor’s home in the Master’s Villa.
And, maybe, in a way that was Viktor’s declaration of love to Jayce. He kept his secret after only knowing him for less than a day.
The story you were told back then was that the Alpha found Jayce in the Kiramman’s workshop, where they would start working on the next step for Hextech.
What you did not know were the exact circumstances of how that happened.
Had it not been for him being at the right place at the right time, maybe Jayce would not be here.
For that you were eternally grateful, but there are times where Viktor wonders what would have happened to Jayce had he not found him at the Kiramman’s workshop.
What if he hadn’t taken a second more to look at the evidence the enforcers had taken?
What if he hadn’t seen that one notebook tucked away on the shelf?
What if he hadn’t decided he needed to know more after Talis’s trial?
The thought makes him shiver both in fear and disgust, yet the uneasiness lingers. Makes him wake up somewhat happy every morning, grateful with the knowledge that he has the both of you there; in his life, alive and well cared for.
A weight is lifted off of his chest whenever he remembers that luck favored him that day, that life had, indeed, led him to where he belonged.
That Jayce’s contagious enthusiasm led him in on a project that could –and would– change the world.
Brings him back to the time he found you, when a strange omega had –accidentally, you keep reminding him– broken into his home. A coincidence far too precise to be considered as such.
What are the odds an Omega in heat suddenly appears tucked in your room, or rather, a compatible possible mate, does? Surprisingly the odds are not zero.
That night both of you had awoken something in him. A part deep inside he thought was broken after years of ignoring it.
Like that could work when destiny is involved.
And he should’ve known it all would change as soon as he smelled your chamomile scent invading his space.
He should’ve known destiny had its sight on him when you crawled over to his aching body, not out of desperation, but out of curiosity.
Certainly, when his eyes and yours, exchanging astonished glances the following day, he should have at least suspected you would be a special person in his life.
You, the mysterious partner in crime who wanted to do something for Zaun –demolishing every single physical and emotional barrier he put up– came with an overzealous Beta, both of which turned his life upside down.
In the span of only a few days he was suddenly wrapped up with the both of you, defying the rules he had lived by for years on end, about to embark on a revolutionary project that was sure to bring out political conflict in all of Piltover.
The addition of Viktor into your life –and project, too– brought with it a whole new array of challenges. For starters, and unexpectedly for Jayce, you were not much of a team player. At least not before scouting your own teammates. You trusted Jayce’s judgement, but you could also acknowledge he, sometimes, tended to only see the good in people; not the full picture.
Admittedly, you were hard on Viktor the first month of working together, a situation only worsened by his dry –sometimes down-right mean– humor. Yes, his sarcasm was intimidating for many, almost as much as his intellect and his, admittedly, small tolerance for bullshit, but he always had the best intentions in mind.
Even with all the metaphorical distance you put between you at first, you got glimpses of the real Viktor. A fellow Zaunite, there to try and make his life turn for the best, nothing more, nothing less. Someone who had to build himself up from scratch.
Unlike you, he truly had no one else there to help him in case things went awry. No sponsors, no friends, no family.
That same loneliness turned him into one of the toughest, most caring, and determined people you could ever come to meet in your whole life.
Truly, at heart, he was the sweetest Alpha you would ever have the pleasure of meeting.
You yourself took your time to open up to him. You were very distrusting at first, the coincidences were far too many for you to not be suspicious, but then again, how could someone have been able to predict you’d be working along the same man whose house you broke into?
Had you met under any other set of circumstances, you would not have allowed yourself to trust him.
Then again, nothing ever went the usual way with you.
In a way, you declared your love for him only after you got to know his side of the story, after he had to go into emergency care after one of his lungs collapsed one day. When Jayce shouted your name in a way you hoped you’d never have to hear again.
Viktor’s voice came out jarred, like the force of his voice tore at his vocal cords. He had fallen over his desk and your Beta was there just in time to carry him to the school infirmary. There, he was hastily treated before being escorted to the nearest hospital. Urgent care, they’d declared.
‘Only family can come in’, they told you at the reception. The nurse was firm on that, not that she paid you any mind aside from a quick glance as she tended to other people’s emergencies. You were not the only ones there to check up on someone they loved.
Yet, that love felt too much. You did certainly feel something for him, you wouldn’t be there if you didn’t. But love felt heavy in your mouth, like you had betrayed Jayce by feeling the same thing for Viktor as you did for him.
You turned back, ready to walk out, when Jayce spoke “We are his packmates”.
And you saw it, –aside from the tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he saw Viktor, still unconscious on the hospital bed–. Jayce too, felt for him. Unlike you, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Emotions came easier, faster, clearer. It all made sense.
You shared feelings for him.
You admitted to yourself that fact one evening, as you continued working on your duties while keeping an eye on your ‘mate’. The sun hung low, a bright orange that burnt itself into your pupils as you tried making the most out of the dim light while you went through some papers.
“Why are you here?” He asked, like the thought of you being there had never in a million years crossed his mind.
“We assumed you’d like for someone to be there when you woke up” You omitted the part where the doctors told you it was more of an ‘if’ situation.
“I thought only family was allowed in here” He uttered, forcing you to look up from the task at hand. His eyes pierced yours, searching for the punchline. Ready to bark back after you admitted to this being a part of an elaborate joke, or something like that.
“It is” Yet, none of that happened.
“Ah”
You came to a silent understanding; the care was mutual. You no longer doubted him, he held no grudge against you.
A confession of sorts.
From then on, it came all at once.
One might assume Viktor would be a discreet lover, the one to write poems and leave fleeting touches that could rival the yearning seen in the olden paintings of eons ago where maidens and knights had to keep in secret their love affairs.
Another assumption could be that Jayce would be the one to make big displays of love, affection, admiration and anything in between with long winded speech in public places, playing music and attracting attention to him.
You came to learn that those assumptions would be wrong.
Jayce helped Viktor onto the settee, lowering him down until he could sit and unbuckle his mobility enhancer. You closed the door behind you, finally back at Viktor’s place after he was officially discharged at the hospital.
No words were exchanged for none were needed.
You simply fell onto the cushioned piece of furniture, squished between both your mates, and fell asleep to the sound of the tree branches slowly swaying to the rhythm of the autumn winds.
Yes, that was your love confession.
Day 2 of me cleaning up my drafts so I can write new stuff.
About this one, I frantically wrote part of it by hand during my work hours and then I was too lazy to type it up and translate it into English.
That was in March, and it's only coming out now.
The plot came about because when I joined the Arcane fandom and saw how many people were treating Viktor like a sex god, I didn't believe it, and neither did Reader.
Here we have mentions of MelVik, SkyVik, StebxViktor, ViktorxOC, MelJayVik, and obviously a lot of focus on g!Reader and Viktor. There's no smut, but at least there's a kiss.
viktor x gn!reader, no smut but not really fluffly either. 8k+ wc
The first time you heard it, you laughed.
The second time, you thought it was just a coincidence.
The third time? It was funny again.
But the fourth time, the joke lost its humor and curiosity began to arise.
There was no way that lame guy you always saw around campus could be the Sex God everyone was talking about.
However, both boys and girls swore it was true. Viktor was the best there was. Don't be fooled by his appearance — or his obvious limp. They said he never disappointed.
So you did the obvious.
You started investigating.
Very discreetly, of course.
Your first story was told by a freshman — a girl who met him after asking for help with private lessons. She swore that nothing happened until after the final exams. But as soon as the exams were over and she got top marks in all of them, she went to tell him the good news — and somehow ended up in his bed.
The next day, she had two things to celebrate: top marks on her exams — and the best sex of her life.
The real lesson of her story wasn't just the sex.
It was that Viktor was apparently a very good teacher. The kind who guided you step by step until you gave him exactly what he wanted — whether it was a perfect grade or an orgasm.
The second “victim” you heard about was a medical student on the swim team named Steb. Apparently, Viktor offered himself as a “practice patient” for medical students. One afternoon, during one of these sessions, Viktor was explaining his disability and at some point, he looked at Steb with a promise for later.
What Steb learned from this lesson was simple: a bad leg doesn't stop anyone from surfing waves of pure pleasure. Whether it was backstroke or freestyle, he never said, but an image was created in his mind.
The third account came from someone you wouldn't expect. Especially since she was your friend.
Sky Young.
She was your real bridge to him.
You met on a social project during your freshman year of college, something related to helping freshmen make friends and not feel so alone. In short, making the transition less difficult.
And honestly, it helped Sky a lot.
In addition to having you as a partner, both of you being newbies, she also received a senior mentor — none other than Viktor himself. You were there the day he showed up to give her a tour of campus. Even though he said it wouldn't take long, you were surprised at how quickly they returned.
Another note for your mental list: Viktor could be quick even when he had time.
Whatever happened between him and Sky didn't start right away that day. It happened later, after you both settled into campus life and the routine of college days. You and she still hung out together, and when Sky wasn't with you, she was with him. It was obvious she was interested in him, even if you couldn't quite understand why.
Then one day, Sky showed up different.
Not loud, nothing really dramatic—just glowing in a way that immediately caught your attention. Her smile lingered longer than usual, her shoulders are relaxed, her eyes bright with something she wasn’t saying yet. She dropped her bag by the chair and sat across from you, biting her lip like she was deciding whether to confess a secret.
You didn’t even pretend not to notice.
“Okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “What happened?”
She laughed softly, shaking her head, cheeks already coloring. “Nothing.”
You raised an eyebrow.
Sky sighed, leaning forward, lowering her voice even though there was no one close enough to overhear. “Fine. Something happened.”
You smiled. “Tell me everything.”
She hesitated just a second longer, then exhaled. “We… had sex.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. You blinked. “You and Viktor?”
She nodded, her smile turning shy, almost disbelieving. “Yeah.”
“And?” you pressed.
Sky’s expression shifted again, like she was searching for the right way to explain it. “It was—” she stopped, laughing under her breath, then tried again. “It was the best sex of my life.”
You stared at her, skeptical. “That’s a big statement.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I didn’t think I’d ever say that about anyone. I had doubts, okay? I thought people were exaggerating.” She glanced away, then back at you. “But they weren’t.”
“So… he’s really like that?” you asked. “Like everyone says?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. He’s attentive. He listens. It’s like he knows exactly what to do without making you feel stupid or rushed.” She paused, smiling to herself. “You don’t feel like just another person to him. Even if you know you probably are.”
That last part stuck with you.
Sky kept talking, filling the space with details—not explicit ones, just impressions, feelings, the way she described how sure she’d felt afterward. And with every word, your curiosity sharpened.
You wouldn't say you were dying to be with him.
But now, with the testimony of someone close to you—someone you trusted—all those rumors suddenly seemed much more real.
Naturally, the next step in your investigation was to confront the suspect himself. You have enough evidence to declare him guilty.
But, as if the universe was playing with you, Viktor disappeared the moment you decided to approach him and question him about it.
It was as if fate wanted him to be hunted down by you. While he was missing from your world, he was everywhere in everyone else's world. More and more people praised him — and somehow that only made it harder for you to forget about it.
And man, did you try.
Then came the day you ran into him by accident—and the embarrassment was so intense it practically sealed your fate. You were convinced you’d be the last person on campus Viktor would ever touch.
Here’s how it happened.
Finals week had turned the place into controlled chaos. Every table was occupied, every chair claimed, and the air buzzed with quiet desperation. You had managed to secure a spot by sheer stubbornness, barricading yourself in with towering stacks of books pulled from the shelves around you.
At some point, exhaustion won over dignity.
You were sitting on one of the stacks.
Not leaning. Not perching.
Fully seated, legs tucked in, using the pile like a makeshift chair while you flipped through notes balanced on your knees. It wasn’t graceful, but it worked—and more importantly, it kept anyone from stealing the books you still needed.
That’s when someone cleared their throat behind you.
You looked up.
Viktor stood there.
Leaning lightly on his ever-present cane, backpack slung over one shoulder, completely composed. He looked like someone who belonged anywhere he decided to be, including right behind you at the exact wrong moment.
You froze.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then his gaze shifted—not to your face, but downward, toward the shelf. Toward the stack of books you were currently sitting on.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, as if nothing about this situation was deeply unfortunate. “Could you pass me one of those books?”
Your brain stalled.
You followed his line of sight.
Straight to the book.
The book you were sitting on for God knows how long. There's definitely a mark from your butt there, mercilessly creasing the hardcover, along with some sweat stains.
The realization hit slowly, painfully, like watching a disaster in real time. Heat crawled up your neck as you processed the absurdity of it. There was absolutely no smooth way out of this.
“Oh—” you started, then stopped.“I was just—um—saving my spot,” you added, as if that explained anything.
You shifted, then immediately regretted it when the stack wobbled slightly beneath you. Viktor’s hand twitched, not quite reaching out, clearly deciding whether it would be rude to steady you.
“I—sorry,” you blurted out, already scrambling to stand. You moved too fast, knocking one book sideways, another sliding out of place. The soft thud of paper hitting the floor echoed far too loudly in the quiet library.
You stood there, mortified, holding the book he wanted like it had personally betrayed you. You handed him the book — embarrassingly warm from where you’d been sitting on it — without meeting his eyes.
“I—uh,” you blurted, because apparently things could always get worse. “I… kept it warm for you.”
There was a brief pause. Just long enough for you to fully register what you’d said.
Viktor blinked once. Then nodded, entirely serious. “Thanks.”
He reached out to take it, and you hoped you wouldn't shiver at the contact. When your fingers touched, you glanced up at him quickly.
There was something in his gaze, fixed on you.. A little bit of recognition in his expression—probably from seeing you around with Sky—but there was something else, too. His gaze lingered, sharp and focused, as if he were cataloging you. When your fingers brushed, a warm flush spread through your body.
Out of embarrassment.
Not out of desire.
Definitely not out of desire.
What did people even see in him? You still didn’t understand it. You told yourself that firmly, like a mantra, as if it might drown out the awareness of how close he was standing.
“Thanks,” he said again, way too calmly for your inner situation. The cursed book safely placed inside his backpack.
“No problem,” you replied, far too quickly.
He stepped back, the soft tap of his cane against the floor signaling his retreat. You stood there frozen, watching him walk away before you realized you were still doing it.
This whole interaction probably lasted thirty seconds. And yet you replayed it for hours.
You never sat on the books again.
The next time someone asked for a book from that shelf, you just left immediately.
After that, you hoped you wouldn’t hear from Viktor for a while.
Your first real interaction with him did absolutely nothing to further your investigation into his so-called talents.
What it did teach you was that he was unfailingly polite—and that you can dig your own grave without any help.
But as if merely thinking about Viktor summoned stories into existence, someone else came forward after the finals —someone you hadn’t expected at all.
Someone who showed you more than just his reputation in bed.
You ran into Mel Medarda by chance.
She’d been assigned as your senior when you first started college—just as Viktor had been assigned to Sky. Months later, as the semester wound down and your first year came to an end, Mel invited you to an end-of-term party. A farewell of sorts. A celebration. And an excuse to introduce you to other seniors now that you no longer needed her guidance.
When you arrived at the Medarda mansion, the party already seemed wild until you realized it could get much louder.
Mel greeted you with a warm hug, and suddenly you were back on the first day you’d met her. Like then, she gave you a tour—this time of her house. She took you to the garden, the kitchen, the living room full of people you haven't never see. The last stop was her room: a grand suite with a balcony overlooking the pool party below.
Leaning against it, she pointed out guests one by one, naming them and their courses. You two are fully alone up there, a world away of everybody. She’d mentioned earlier that this part of the house was private, reserved for only the closest people, and the thought warmed you.
So when someone called Mel from her bathroom, and that person was none other than Viktor himself, the shock almost knocked you off the balcony into the pool.
You could only see his head and his bare shoulders, but it didn't take much to figure out the rest. And the reason for it.
Mel chuckled softly as she understood the situation. She asked you to stay on the balcony—not that you could move anyway—and disappeared into the bedroom. Moments later, she returned with a towel and a set of men's clothes.
“I thought you’d already left,” she said as she handed everything to him. “I know how much you hate parties.”
Viktor accepted the clothes, glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“Your bed is far too comfortable to keep me awake,” he replied, resting his head briefly against the doorframe, his expression almost disarmingly innocent. “Besides, you wore me out.”
Mel laughed and nudged him playfully back toward the bathroom, his smile soft and boyish.
When she returned to your side, that smile still lingered on her face. The way she adjusted her hair, smoothed her clothes—whatever had happened between them clearly hadn’t ended quietly.
Another note added to your growing mental file: Viktor falls asleep when thoroughly exhausted—regardless of the time.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.
And he could flirt with just a few words.
He been charming was undeniable at this point. The number of people who had already fallen for it spoke for itself. But seeing it unfold in real time made everything feel sharper. More tangible. More real.
It felt voyeuristic to witness the exchange—but you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining them together in that very bed, only a few steps away.
After a moment, Mel composed herself and resumed pointing out guests. But after four names, she stopped.
You weren’t listening anymore.
“What?” Mel asked.
You looked at her, then at the bathroom door, your gaze bouncing between the two until she caught on. Mel responded with a simple gesture, like it was no big deal.
“Viktor comes here from time to time,” she said casually, as if the idea of them together wasn’t unusual—because it clearly wasn’t. “Shocked?”
You shrugged, playing it cool, as if you weren’t secretly conducting an investigation into this man’s sex life. As if now you didn’t already have two friends who’d been with him and still couldn’t pin down what kind of person he really was.
“I just thought it was weird that he was here,” you said, glancing toward the pool party below. “Doesn’t seem like his kind of scene.”
Mel laughed.
“Oh, absolutely not. Definitely not.” She clapped her hands, amused. “We had our own private party before this. He said he’d leave before everyone else showed up. I was so busy organizing everything, I didn’t even notice he was still around.”
You nodded, intrigued. “And him sleeping in your bed after that—is that normal too?”
With a mischievous smile, Mel shrugged. “Only if I tire him out enough. Which was definitely the case today. I may have taken out some stress on him.”
If you’d been paying closer attention earlier, you would’ve noticed the hickeys along his neck, the scratches on his arm. But the shock of seeing him there had eclipsed everything else—you’d only registered his presence, not the marks Mel had left behind.
Whatever expression crossed your face must have been telling, because Mel stepped closer, placing her hands on your shoulders and turning you toward her.
“Viktor might seem like a lot of things,” she said firmly, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “but fragile isn’t one of them. He even asks for those things sometimes.”
The bathroom door opened again, and Viktor slipped out quietly. He gave you both a small wave before leaving the room entirely.
Another note added for yourself: Viktor liked it rough. And judging by the way his limp was more pronounced than before, he didn’t mind being on the receiving end of it now and then.
You stayed on the balcony with Mel a little longer, the conversation drifting away from Viktor as he disappeared from sight. Still, he lingered stubbornly in your thoughts.
As more guests arrived, Mel slipped back into hostess mode again. Even with her permission to stay upstairs, you followed her down. She lingered near the door while you wandered through the house. It was huge. Packed. Too crowded for you to properly admire the decor.
Matching the faces to the names Mel had mentioned earlier, you slowly associated voices with the people. Even considered striking up a conversation with someone, just to pass the time. Maybe you should ask around casually, to see if anyone else had anything to say about Viktor.
Then you turned a corner.
And there he was.
In motion.
He was flirting with a guy, relaxed and effortless. A clear drink — probably just water — in one hand, his cane hooked casually over his elbow. His shoulder and head rested against the wall, posture loose, confident.
When he noticed you watching, he peeled himself away from the wall and said goodbye to the guy without hesitation. You didn’t even have time to look away.
He took a sip before speaking, “First time?”
His lips became so wet from just one sip that they seemed to glisten in the dim light of the party. You got distracted there for a second longer than you would have liked.
“What?”
He gestured vaguely around you, one hand lifting as if the entire place could be summarized in a single motion. “At Mel’s place,” he said. “I was just as lost my first time here.”
“Oh—yeah.” You nodded quickly, maybe a little too eagerly, as if speed could compensate for how obvious your relief was at having something neutral to talk about. “The house is huge.”
Viktor’s mouth curved, the hint of amusement appearing like it had been waiting for an excuse.
“Need a guide,” he asked lightly, “or will you manage on your own?”
“I thought you had left,” you said before thinking, the words slipping out too honest, too fast.
He didn’t seem offended. If anything, he looked more entertained.
“I was planning to,” he replied easily. “But I can spare a few minutes for you.”
You tilted your head, studying him now, suspicion fighting through the warmth creeping up your spine. “Should I be flattered by that?”
His smile widened just a fraction, eyes fixed on you. “I think the compliment is simply being in your presence.”
Heat rushed to your face instantly, sharp and undeniable. That escalated far too quickly, leaving you momentarily disoriented, scrambling for footing where there suddenly wasn’t any.
“Is that how it works?” you blurted, crossing your arms out of instinct. “Is that how you get all these people?”
For a split second, something shifted.
Viktor’s smile didn’t disappear but it sharpened, like a blade finally finding its edge. He took a slow step closer, then another, not invading your space but making you acutely aware of how little there was to spare.
“I knew it was you,” he said, voice lower now, circling slightly so you had to turn to keep him in sight.
“Knew what?” you asked, though your pulse had already betrayed you.
“The one who’s been investigating me,” he replied calmly, stopping just close enough that you could smell the shower he just took. The one after whatever he and Mel are up to. “The one so curious about my private life.”
You shook your head, a weak attempt at denial that even you didn’t believe. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Viktor sighed softly and rolled his eyes, not unkindly.
“No point pretending,” he said. “Sky told me she mentioned it to someone.” His gaze flicked to your face, reading you with ease. “And when I saw your reaction earlier—up in Mel’s room—I figured it out.”
You nodded, suddenly feeling smaller beneath his gaze. There was no reason to hide it anymore. And as you admitted it, something in Viktor’s expression lit up.
His cane slipped from his elbow to the floor with a soft clatter. He pointed upstairs, toward Mel’s room.
“So,” he said lightly, “shall we?”
You looked up, stunned. “What?”
“You’re clearly interested,” Viktor shrugged. “I figured you might want to see what it’s like in practice.” He stepped closer, the cane now resting between you. “Unless I’m wrong?”
You shook your head again, lying.
This investigation had started as disbelief—shock that someone like Viktor could live up to a reputation like that. The sheer number and variety of people who talked to you only fueled your curiosity. Nothing else.
You never thought about where it might lead.
You certainly never imagined Viktor would confront you—or offer himself so directly.
“I’m not interested,” you said, forcing the words to sound convincing.
He studied you for a moment. His head tilted to the side, unashamed to stare at you. Something crossed your face that made him step back.
But he also smiled.
“Sorry for assuming,” he said simply, pressing his cane against the floor as he turned away. “Enjoy the party. Let Mel know I’m gone.”
“Will do,” you said to his retreating back.
You assumed that both of you would put the whole investigation out of your minds. That speaking to Viktor directly—refusing his offer outright—would be enough to end your curiosity.
It wasn’t.
If anything, what he saw on your face that day only made him more determined. Your denial seemed to give him more ammunition.
If there used to be one story a week, now there were three. Worse still, people no longer just mentioned him in passing—they sought you out, eager to share their experiences. It was as if someone had started recommending you.
You tried not to dwell on it. You told yourself it was a coincidence. That you were imagining intentions where there were none.
But it didn't seem accidental.
One pattern stood out in all your observations: Viktor never stayed with the same person twice. Mel seemed to be the only exception — and you could understand why. So when he slept with Sky again, you were sure it was on purpose.
You and Sky were chatting about plans when Viktor crossed the campus walkway ahead of you. The sight of him alone was enough to make Sky flush, her hand flying up to hide her face.
The last time you’d seen that reaction was right after they’d slept together. Every other time she’d spotted him since, she’d been far more composed.
This was different.
You didn’t want to ask—but when Viktor glanced over his shoulder at you as he passed, you took the bait.
“What happened?”
Sky dropped her chin, eyes fixed on the ground.
“Viktor… he called me yesterday,” she admitted, tucking her hair behind her ear. “People say he doesn’t usually see someone more than once. But he did.” She smiled shyly. “I guess I made a good impression.”
You watched Viktor disappear into the distance.
“Definitely,” you said, narrowing your eyes when you caught the hint of a smile on his face. “It must have been quite the impression for him to call you again.”
Sky looked up at you, her shyness evaporating. “What do you mean? You think it actually means something?”
You nodded.
“Unfortunately,” you said quietly, “I do.”
And then—nothing.
After his second time with Sky, the stories stopped. No one came looking for you. You didn’t see him around campus. No whispers in the library. No eager freshmen cornering you with confessions. Even Sky fell silent.
It was as if Viktor had vanished again, slipping back into the shadows he’d come from—back to how things were before your obsession ever began.
You told yourself it was a relief. That you could finally breathe. That your life could return to normal.
But the silence didn't feel peaceful.
It felt like defeat.
And then, of course, you bumped into him.
You were climbing the back stairs of the library, your arms full of books, when the steady tap of a cane echoed above you. When you looked up, Viktor was already there, descending toward you.
The staircase was narrow. Too narrow for both of you to pass without stopping or bumping into each other.
He stopped a few steps above you, leaning lightly on his cane, one hand resting on the railing. His hair was slightly tousled, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. So careless that it seemed natural.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said softly, his eyes shining.
You shifted the books to your chest, holding them like a shield. “The campus isn't that big.”
He tilted his head. “Yes, it is.” His lips curved as if he had caught you lying. One more for the record.
Heat rose to your cheeks despite the cool air from the air conditioning. Two students squeezed past, forcing you closer to the railing. Viktor leaned just enough that the space between you seemed even smaller. You didn't think it was to help them pass.
“Have you heard any news about me lately?” he asked.
“No,” you admitted—and immediately regretted it. Every time there are books around you, you seem to get tongue-tied. “You've been keeping a low profile, I think.”
His gaze didn't waver, but it became a little more intense. Almost as if he hadn't expected such honesty. But he quickly recovered when you looked back, questioning his delay.
“Funny,” he muttered. “I was starting to think you'd given up.”
“What?” you replied, more sharply than you intended.
He walked forward, sharing the same step as you. His voice sounded like a whisper,“On knowing me.”
Determined to end this confrontation, you forced yourself to pass him. Before you had climbed high enough to escape his reach, his voice stopped you.
“You know where dorms 201 to 300 are, right?”
You turned around, confused. “What?”
He had already moved too, descending further down the stairs. With his body leaning to the side so he could still see you, the late afternoon light illuminated his profile, and, perhaps not for the first time, you saw what everyone else sees.
“All this investigation,” he said calmly, “and you never bothered to find out where I live.” He looked into your eyes. “Room 290.”
Unfortunately, you already knew that.
You didn't let it show. You shrugged. “Okay. So what?”
His smile was inviting. “If you want to end this,” he said, “I'll be waiting there tomorrow night.”
When you didn't answer, he turned away, taking another step down.
“But if you don't show up,” he added over his shoulder, “I’ll consider this finished. I won’t seek you out again.”
Your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it.
Room 290. Tomorrow.
You wanted to scoff. Roll your eyes. Tell him he was ridiculous. But your throat tightened and the words never came out.
Viktor didn't look back again. He continued down the stairs, unhurried, the rhythm of his cane echoing until it disappeared on the landing below and out of your sight.
The next 24 hours didn't come quickly enough.
In fact, it seemed as if you were stuck in a space-time where you couldn't get away from the conversation on the stairs.
You went to bed with Viktor’s words replaying in your head and woke up with them still there. Room 290. The number looped endlessly, echoing every time you blinked, every time you checked the clock.
You tried to distract yourself with routine—breakfast, classes, endless notes scribbled in the margins—but it was useless. Your professors’ voices faded into background noise, your pen tapping restlessly against the page.
At lunch, Sky talked about something—weekend plans, maybe—but you barely heard her. Every word slipped past you. All you could think about was him.
Waiting.
Or maybe not.
Because you weren’t even sure he meant it. Maybe it was just another trick. Another way to keep you wanting something you’d sworn you didn’t.
And yet—
That afternoon, when you walked past the dormitory building—something you did every other day—for the first time, your eyes actually noticed it, quickly turning to the wing that housed rooms 201 to 300.
The door will be just a door. The hallway was just a hallway.
Still, a warmth ran through your skin.
That night, you convinced yourself a dozen times that you wouldn't go. That you were above it. That Viktor was just a man.
And yet, when the sun set behind the campus buildings, painting the sky orange and violet, you found yourself in front of the mirror, smoothing your shirt for the third time in ten minutes.
You left your room and walked toward his with rehearsed nonchalance—until you passed other students in the hallway. Then you realized how many people had probably walked this same path before you. Although he hadn't said what would happen tonight, you were painfully aware of what could happen.
The hallway stretched ahead of you, long and sterile, lined with identical doors that blurred together under the dull yellow lights.
214. 226. 243.
The numbers passed one by one, and with each door your pace slowed, hesitation settling heavier in your chest. This wasn’t nerves exactly—it was the growing awareness that you could still turn back.
At 270, you adjusted your shirt again, smoothing fabric that didn’t really need it. At 280, you noticed your palms were damp, fingers curling reflexively to ground yourself.
The number gleamed softly in the yellow hallway light. Ordinary. Nothing special.
And then you stopped, precisely.
Room 290.
The brass numbers gleamed softly against the wood, ordinary and nothing special. Just another door. Just another room. And yet your chest ached as if it was burning.
For a moment, you stepped back. Regret crashed over you all at once, too overwhelming. You wanted your life boring again. Wanted this whole ridiculous curiosity to dissolve into something harmless you could laugh about later.
But your hand lifted anyway.
You knocked.
Once. Twice.
The sound echoed, then died. The hallway drowned it as if it had never happened at all. You stood there longer than necessary, listening harder than made sense, half-expecting the door to betray you with some sign of life.
Nothing.
No footsteps shifting inside. No murmur of movement. No click of a lock turning.
Relief washed over you before you could stop it—light, fleeting, almost dishonest. A soft exhale slipped past your lips, your shoulders loosening just a fraction. Maybe this was it. Maybe you’d been spared from yourself.
Then frustration followed.
He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? He’d promised.
You stood staring at the floor, caught up in the futile debate about whether to knock again or turn around and disappear, when the familiar sound of a cane echoed from across the hallway.
Your head lifted before you could stop yourself.
Viktor appeared around the corner, his attention focused on something in his pocket as he walked. He seemed distracted, a little disheveled. The same clothes as yesterday and a face that looked tired. For a second, he didn't even notice you.
It almost made you feel bad.
He slowed down and then stopped. The lights in the dormitory hallways are the kind that turn on as you walk through them. There could only be one reason the hallway was lit in his room area. His eyes lifted, sharp and alert, and fixed on you.
He froze.
Everything seemed to get smaller, the silence pressing in on you both as the realization set in. You were exactly where he said you would be. You had come.
“Oh,” he said softly, the word coming out before he could soften it. “I... I didn't really expect you to come.”
The admission hung there, raw and honest, and for a brief moment he didn't try to take it back.
Then he straightened up, rolling his shoulders slightly, as if remembering himself. He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, a crooked smile appearing on his lips.
“Not that I'm upset,” he added, now softer. “Just... surprised.”
He took a step toward you, then another, the measured tap of his cane steady against the floor. There was no rush in him, no attempt to close the distance too quickly, but each step still made your pulse pick up.
“Sorry for the wait,” he said. “I lost track of time.”
You nodded, because words had abandoned you entirely. Whatever exit you’d been considering vanished the moment he’d appeared. There was no pretending this hadn’t happened now.
Viktor reached the door, unlocked it, and paused.
He didn’t usher you in or crowd you. He simply held the door open, one hand resting lightly against the frame, leaving the choice visibly in your hands.
“After you,” he said quietly.
No teasing. No pressure.
You hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping inside.
The first thing you noticed was how cozy it looked. The space wasn't large, but it felt lived in—deliberately so. One wall was covered with bookshelves filled not only with textbooks but also with notebooks and loose papers tucked between the spines.
Against the opposite wall was the bed.
It faced the center of the room, impossible to ignore.
It was tidy but in a way that seemed lazy. As if he didn't put much effort into it, or perhaps it was lack of use. The table nearby looked much more used, disorganized in a way that suggested constancy rather than neglect.
There was a door to the bathroom, slightly ajar, and under the only window there was a small refrigerator humming softly, almost imperceptible unless you paid attention.
Viktor entered behind you.
The door closed with a soft, silent but definitive click, isolating the hallway and everything in it.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Viktor leaned back against the desk instead of approaching, crossing his arms loosely, as if giving you space to breathe—to reconsider, if you wanted to.
“Thanks for coming,” he said at last, quietly. "I truly appreciate."
You shifted your weight and found yourself drifting toward the window without quite deciding to do so. It felt safer to look anywhere but directly at him, Standing there made you uncomfortably aware that this wasn’t a space meant for lingering guests.
“So,” you said, , aiming for casual, though your voice came out tighter than you’d intended. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” Viktor echoed easily.
He made no move to reach you. Instead, his gaze lifted to yours, then dropped briefly to the floor, as if weighing where to begin.
“I suppose we should talk,” he said at last. “Finish this properly.”
You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Finish it.” After a beat, you added, “No… funny business, right?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in something close to amusement. He shrugged, casual. “No funny business. I promise.”
The quiet that followed felt smaller now, enclosed by the walls of the room. Somewhere outside the window, campus life carried on without catching both of you.
Then Viktor move forward, resting a hand on the back of the chair before pulling it out and sitting down, with no rush at all.
“I’ll be honest,” he said, settling into the seat. “I didn’t actually think you’d come.”
You stare at him, trying to decide whether that was deflection or sincerity.
“Not because I doubted you,” he added, glancing up. “Just… surprised.”
“I came,” you said, simply. “So we can end this. One way or another.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.
“Mind if I go first?” he asked. His tone wasn’t challenging—just careful.
You shrugged, folding your arms loosely, hoping it passed for indifference. “Go ahead.”
Viktor leaned until his elbows resting on his knees, attention sharpening in a way that made you feel distinctly seen. Not as if there were anything else for him to look at.
“I’ve been wondering,” he said, hesitating just enough to signal that the question mattered, “why you were so curious about my private life.”
The honesty of it caught you off guard. You let out a small laugh, more at yourself than at him.
“I guess,” you said slowly, “I just thought it was funny that everyone kept telling me you were some kind of sex god.”
His eyebrow arched, skeptical. “Is that what people call me?”
You rolled your eyes, despite yourself. “Apparently. I didn’t believe it at first. Then I kept hearing it.” You glanced at him briefly before looking away again. “From a lot of people.”
That seemed to hold his attention. You felt it, the way his focus didn’t waver.
“Mel. Sky. Others,” you continued, words coming easier now. “They’re all completely different. And yet somehow…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I just couldn’t picture someone like that actually being you.”
He leaned back, a low, thoughtful sound leaving his throat.
“So this is about my appearance?” he asked.
“No,” you said quickly. “Not exactly. It’s more that I couldn’t figure out a type. For you.”
Viktor tilted his head, fingers tapping lightly against his knee as he considered that.
“You mean you didn’t know what I look for in someone.”
“Exactly,” you said, a small shrug accompanying the admission. “It’s how you make an impression, even with so many people.”
A slow smile spread across his face—amused, but thoughtful rather than teasing.
“So it’s not just curiosity,” he said quietly. “It’s disbelief. On me. ”
“Maybe,” you admitted, lowering your gaze. Saying it out loud eased something tight in your chest. “A little.”
When you looked up again, there was no judgment in his expression. Just understanding. For the first time, the conversation felt honest—like neither of you was performing.
Viktor leaned back, letting the silence stretch. Then he tilted his head toward you.
“Your turn,” he said, voice casual but firm. “You’ve answered enough. What’s the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”
You blinked, then smiled. Curiosity won.
“Do you work alone?” you asked, half-teasing, half-serious.
He raised an eyebrow, a low laugh slipping out. “You make it sound like I’m part of some elaborate scheme.”
“No, not a scheme,” you said quickly. “More like… conspiracy theories.”
That earned you another quiet chuckle. Viktor leaned back slightly, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck—not nervous exactly, but thoughtful.
“Mostly, yes,” he said. “These days, I work alone.” After a pause, he added, almost casually, “But I’ve had a few threesomes in the past.”
Your interest sharpened. “With who?”
“My former lab partner,” he replied.
You leaned in just a little. “Who?”
“Jayce,” Viktor said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Jayce Talis. Engineering.”
Your mind filled in the gaps instantly.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of build that made people notice without trying. Sharp features softened by an easy, confident smile—the sort of person who never seemed out of place, no matter where he was. Jayce looked like someone everyone would expect to hear about in rumors.
It would’ve been far easier to believe he was the so-called sex god.
“You and Jayce,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “That must’ve been… something. I really can’t picture it.”
Viktor’s mouth curved, subtle but knowing. “You can ask Mel. That’s actually how I met her. She and Jayce were together for a while.”
You hesitated, then decided there was no point pretending you weren’t curious. “So… you both shared Mel? Or did she cheat on Jayce with you?”
He arched an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your bluntness.
“It’s called cuckolding,” he said evenly. “And it’s not my fault Jayce happens to enjoy it.”
The conversation died down shortly after that. You gained more information you didn't know you needed, and now you don't even know how to continue.
Viktor remained silent as he slowly got up and crossed the room toward the window, coming up beside you. The light outside had dimmed, and the campus was entering that quiet hour when everyone is in their respective rooms.
At least, most of them.
“You know,” he said, without looking at you, “most people don't ask questions about this kind of thing.”
You shifted your weight. “I imagine.”
“They've drawn their own conclusions.” He looked at you then, with an indecipherable expression. “It's up to me to confirm or deny.”
“And what do you usually do?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “It depends on what they want from me.”
He walked over to the bed, choosing it as his new place to sit. The mattress sank slightly under his weight.
“And you?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”
The question sounded heavier than any flirtation could have sounded.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. For the first time since all this had started, there was no clever answer waiting.
“I don't know,” you admitted. “I thought I did. But now...”
Viktor nodded, as if that were enough. As if uncertainty were an answer.
“Good,” he said softly. “Then we're finally on equal footing.”
You continued to look at each other despite the difference in position. He was comfortably seated on the bed, and you could have taken five steps and been out the door. Viktor seemed to notice your hesitation and gestured toward the door.
“You could leave if you wanted,” he said, as if the situation were normal and not charged with tension. “We could end it here.”
Your mouth went dry. You pointed to the mug forgotten on the windowsill, still holding a little water. He shrugged, and you drank without thinking about whether you were putting your lips where his had been.
The cold water bought you a moment—just enough time to think, to steady yourself, to decide what you were doing next.
Instead of leaving, you moved to sit beside him on the bed.
He shifted immediately, giving you more space than necessary, careful, deliberate. The fear of crossing boundaries seemed greater than any assumption.
“There was something I didn’t get,” you said finally, lifting your eyes to him again.
Viktor didn’t interrupt. He simply waited.
“All this,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you—the room, the stories that seemed to trail him everywhere. “The people. The rumors. The… rotation.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Rotation?”
“You knew what I meant.” You exhaled slowly. “Why so many? And why never the same one twice?”
His fingers stilled against the edge of the chair. Not tense—just attentive.
“You noticed that,” he said.
“It was kind of hard not to,” you replied dryly. Then, more quietly, “It felt intentional.”
Viktor leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling for a moment, as if he were organizing his thoughts instead of deflecting them.
“Maybe it was,” he said.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him, letting the silence stretch just enough to make the question feel earned.
“Mel doesn’t count, does she?”
That made him look back at you with the kind of attention that suggested he was recalibrating, adjusting to conversation instead of bracing against it. You went on before he could answer, unapologetic in your honesty.
“She’s stunning. Brilliant. Confident,” you said. “Anyone would be an idiot not to want more than one night with her.”
A quiet huff of amusement escaped him, brief and genuine. “I won’t argue with that.” But the smile faded just as quickly, replaced by something more thoughtful as you pressed on.
“But that’s the point,” you said, softer now. “You did repeat. More than once. And it didn’t turn into anything.”
Viktor’s expression shifted. He considered the thought carefully before answering, weighing how much truth to give.
“Because Mel knows exactly what she wants,” he said at last. “And she’s very clear about what she doesn’t.” He paused, watching your reaction. She doesn’t expect consistency to mean commitment. What we had was… defined.”
“So repeating isn’t the problem,” you said slowly, the realization settling in.
“No,” he agreed. “Expectation is.”
That landed heavier than you expected, sitting somewhere behind your ribs as you searched for the next question that had been circling your thoughts.
“And Sky?” you asked, your gaze sharpening. “You broke your own pattern there. You knew exactly what that would look like.”
This time, Viktor didn’t answer right away. Pondering something before turning to you.
“You think I did it to provoke you,” he said eventually.
You shrugged. “I think you’re very aware of how I would react.”
His lips curved, almost teasing but not quite. “You’re not wrong. But Sky wasn’t about you.” He exhaled quietly. “It was about comfort. Something familiar. She didn’t want more, and I didn’t have to pretend I could give it.”
“So you avoid repeating because people usually do want more,” you said carefully.
“Sometimes,” he replied. His gaze flicked back to you.“Often.”
You were quiet for a moment, letting that sink in, before asking the question that had been circling your mind since long before you’d ever knocked on his door.
“Why not just… date someone, then?” you asked. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”
Viktor let out a slow breath, furrowed eyebrows a little tense. “Easier for whom?”
“For you,” you said. “Or for them.”
He thought about that longer than you expected, eyes drifting briefly toward the floor before returning to yours.
“I’m not very good at permanence,” he said finally.
You frowned. “Because?”
“Because people like to be needed,” he answered, steady and open in a way that felt almost unfair. “And I don’t like being the thing someone builds their stability around.”
You hesitated, then said gently, “That sounds like fear.”
“Attachment?” he offered.
“Abandonment,” you corrected.
His jaw tightened just enough for you to notice. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe I’ve just learned that wanting too much from people usually ends badly.”
The room grew quieter after that, but it was still filled with something. You took a while to speak again, and at some point you realized that this no longer felt like an interrogation, but rather a confession.
“I think,” you said slowly, “that you're very good at keeping things light, so that no one can really pin anything on you.”
His gaze didn't waver.
“And does that bother you?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but stopped. The words didn't come out, not because you didn't have an answer, but because you weren't sure which answer was the real one. Whether it was yes, or whether it was the fact that you were still there, standing in his room, instead of leaving as you had planned.
The question hung between you, the kind that made it impossible to continue the conversation without an answer. You let your eyes wander, looking around the room again: the organized shelves, the messy desk, the bed that looked rarely used, despite everything you had heard about him. The space seemed controlled, real. Nothing there seemed temporary, but nothing seemed enough to stay.
“I think,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, “that you don't let people stay long enough to disappoint you.”
Viktor didn't respond immediately. His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze lowered for a brief moment, as if the thought had come closer than he expected. When he looked at you again, there was no irritation, but caution.
“And I think,” you continued, encouraged by his silence, “that your reputation... gives you an advantage. People arrive already expecting something specific. They don't ask questions. They don't stay long. You maintain control, and they get exactly what they came for.”
He let out a low sigh, something between a stifled laugh and an acknowledgment.
“That’s a very sharp observation,” he said softly. “Especially for someone who insists they’re not interested.”
You exhaled, a sound that nearly turned into a laugh too. “I never said I wasn’t interested. I said I didn’t know why.”
You swallowed. “Now I think… maybe you’re not as detached as you want people to believe.”
His eyes searched your face, and for a moment the confidence you’d seen everywhere else cracked, just barely. It was gone almost immediately, but not before you caught it.
“People assume I don’t care,” he said calmly. “It makes things simpler.”
“And do you?” you asked.
Viktor lifted his hand as if on instinct, then hesitated halfway, giving you time to pull back. When you didn’t, he let his fingers brush against your ear, the touch light and warm, grounding.
“This,” he said quietly, “is usually the moment when people expect me to make a move.”
You glanced at where his fingers rested, then back at his face. “Should I?”
Your heart raced as you decided to move closer, a decision made somewhere between one breath and the next, before your thoughts could interfere. The last bit of space between you closed a little more. His breath brushed your cheek, warm and steady, close enough that you could feel the change when he inhaled.
“This doesn't have to mean anything,” you murmured, the words barely louder than the hum of the room.
“No,” he agreed softly. “It doesn't.”
Still, neither of you closed the gap.
You could feel the tension vibrating beneath your skin, the awareness of how close he was, of how easy it would be to tilt your head just a little. Viktor didn't rush you. He didn't close the distance. He waited, his eyes locked on yours, as if giving you one last chance to back away.
You didn't take it.
When you kissed him, it was to explore. You'd heard a lot about how he was in bed, but you'd never heard anything about his kisses. His lips were warm—softer than you'd expected—and he responded after a moment, not deepening the kiss, not taking control, just matching yours. Time seemed to stand still.
His hand rose, hovering near your waist, close enough for you to feel the heat without the touch. It stayed there, restrained, as if he were controlling himself as deliberately as you were.
When you finally pulled away, it was only a few inches. Your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling. You could feel the echo of the kiss still lingering in the air, as if it hadn't yet decided whether it was over. Your eyes hadn't even opened yet.
For a moment, Viktor said nothing. Then he exhaled, a soft sound with a touch of amusement and something less controlled.
“That,” he said softly, “wasn't part of the investigation.”
You let out a soft laugh, your pulse still racing. “Us detectives would call fieldwork.”
His smile widened, genuine and a little undone, before he looked away as if grounding himself again.
“Then,” Viktor said, shifting his weight and standing from the bed, “we should probably stop here.”
You nodded and followed his lead, rising a moment later. The space between you felt different now—not charged in the same way as before, but fragile, like something newly exposed. Neither of you moved closer. Neither of you stepped away. He simply stood there, hands relaxed at his sides, watching you with a focus that felt heavier now that nothing immediate was happening.
You took a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“Thank you,” you said quietly. The words surprised you with their sincerity. Not just for the conversation—for the restraint. For not turning this into something easier than it should be.
Viktor inclined his head slightly, accepting it without deflection. He didn’t respond, but his eyes stayed on you as you crossed the room. When you reached the door, your hand lingered on the handle longer than necessary.
Behind you, the room was silent.
“Hey.”
You turned.
Viktor had leaned lightly against the window, mug in hand but his attention fully on you. His voice was even, careful.
“If you hadn’t come tonight,” he said, “I would’ve kept my word. I wouldn’t have looked for you.”
You searched his face, waiting to find the performance you’d learned to expect from him—and found none.
“And now?” you asked.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then a slow, unmistakable smile curved his mouth, softer than the ones you’d seen before.
“Now,” he said quietly, “I don’t think I’ll have to.”
Those were his final words to you.
You nodded once, unable to fight back a smile. You turned the doorknob and found the hallway that had frightened you so much on your way here. The light illuminated you the moment you appeared there, as if signaling a thought.
It wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
Swan song
Professor Viktor x TA Reader
[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ [PART 4]
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡
Summary: Your new relationship with Viktor blossoms throughout the depths of winter. With Christmas around the corner, time is ripe for affection and vulnerability.
Tags: Modern AU, NSFW, trans DILF professor Viktor, transmasc reader, fluff & tender lovin', age gap t4t relationship, fingering (reader receiving), penetrative sex, sub reader, soft dom Vik.
Word count: 13.2k
Notes: This has been in the works for well over a year now, and I've decided this time of year would be ideal to push through and finally finish this bad boy. I hope you guys enjoy, and happy holidays!
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT. MDNI.
Though there have been changes made, this is not something you’ll accept any compromise on. You will do your work right.
With the holidays around the corner, and finals in full swing, the pressure is growing. It’s only now, retrospectively, that you realize how easy you’d had it with Viktor, as opposed to most other TA’s at the U of P. Where others had been busy writing up assignments and exam papers almost by themselves, teaching most lectures on their own, you’d spent your days chewing on curiosity alongside Viktor, exploring, theorizing, discovering, basking in newfound affection.
The affection remains — everything else does not.
You spend your days staring into the blue light of your laptop screen to the point that you begin to wonder, distantly, if the UI of the university platform and Microsoft Word will be burned into the LCD or your retinas first. What isn’t spent staring at a screen, is spent staring at exam papers requiring grading, or cooking up sad, pathetic meals.
Viktor had kindly let you use his office at your leisure once finals had started to get racked in, and you have more than willingly taken him up on it. You would rather die than go to the library at this time of year.
The exam paper you’re currently working on right now, of a name you’re vaguely familiar with to the point that you can connect it to a half-blurred face, is… kicking your fucking ass, to put it simply.
They’d messed up the formulas. Badly. Had mixed up the digits in Morichi’s constant, and yet, at the very end, somehow ended up with the right answer.
How?
And more importantly, how should that be graded?
Viktor walks in just in time to witness a frustrated groan coming from your slouched, discouraged form.
“I do not miss that,” he half jokes as he shuts the door behind himself, and turns the key in the lock.
A habit that used to make you perk up with a tingle between your hips at first, but which you now know is just a result of his need for privacy, and not a non verbal entendre. Viktor likes to play it safe, in this regard, and would rather you don’t engage in much more than the occasional loaded touch or glance. Which you understand — and are trying to respect — although it comes as unnaturally as holding your breath.
Viktor settles his bag on his chair, tilting his head to pop something in his spine. A sound that would have had you worried, had you not heard it so often already. “I take it grading is going well?”
“Depends on your definition of that word. Definitely isn’t up to par with mine.”
Viktor chuckles, and you hear the velvet in his seat creak as he sits. “Your absence is palpable at the lab,” is his attempt at consolation — and not a bad one, at that.
“Yeah? What are you stuck on?”
“It is not urgent,” he cuts your fun short. “Unlike grading those finals. What are you struggling with?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Viktor huffs a laugh. “That does not answer my question.”
Fine. You’ll bite, even though it makes you feel like a child complaining to a parent about homework.
“Can’t figure out what the hell this person did to get their final result, and can’t believe they somehow got it right. Don’t even get me started on how to grade it.”
“Ah, I’m familiar. Come,” he says. It sends a shiver down your spine, god help you, it’s only been a week since you’ve last had each other. “Show me.”
You would fold instantly at just the beckoning of his tone. At his tender smile. But you’ve been getting just a hint better, at keeping the reins on yourself around him.
“Thank you, but I’ve got this. It’s my task.”
“Which is a recent change in responsibility,” he counters. “I will not think less of you for allowing me to help you — I did not enjoy this any more than you do. I am offering because I want to.”
And when he puts it like that, how can you refuse? He smiles at you with all the satisfaction of a cat in the afternoon sun when you get up and treck from your small, foldable desk to his wooden one, and hand him the exam paper.
“Thank you, Viktor.”
He does not look away, simply nods his head gently.
After scanning it for just a few moments, he extends his hand for your pen like a surgeon at the operating table. You let him have it, putting the grip right between his thumb and forefinger, and he gets to work.
Tapping it to the lithe curve of his bottom lip, you can tell his teeth part to chew it, before he seems to become aware of the fact that it’s yours, and that he shouldn’t. So it’s there that it stays, a sensual push at the powdery pink skin, cushioned at the cusp of his mouth like when his eyes are closed, his hands on your ass, his cheeks hollow. Tongue writhing at the heavy base your clit, his hum rippling through your body like a freshly rung church bell—
“They messed up on most everything,” he comments. Underlines multiple sections in red as he speaks. “Constant, equation, ah, even the math, right here. And here. Mm… I see, idiot’s luck. That is what cancelled it out. Alright. Three out of ten points for the correct final result — and nothing more.”
Well, that was embarrassing.
For you.
You hope he doesn’t notice that your thighs have drawn together, futile at satiating the hunger amidst them.
“It’s a matter of practice,” Viktor assures as though he’s read your mind. Yet, with a distinct pride, he slides the paper back to you, pocketing the pen out of habit, before he remembers to hand it over as well. “It will get easier, believe me.”
You can’t shake wanting to look at the back end of the pen like it’s a bone. You wonder how much you could taste of him, wonder how much of it would be metal — like that one time he refused to emerge from between your legs, held you as you wailed, kicked, and had pressed his face into your pussy until the cartilage in his nose had popped. He’d emerged, lips and chin smeared with red, more dripping from his right nostril, chuckling at himself. And you’d kissed him regardless.
Suppressing the memory, and the urge to chase it, feels like muzzling yourself.
“Thank you. Here’s hoping.” You sigh, and, taking his paper the way you would a pathetic participation trophy, you turn to make your way back to your desk.
“Wait.”
You can’t help the way you perk up at just his command.
“Mm?”
Viktor’s smile turns gentle, reluctant, and you can tell how he briefly fumbles for words.
“It has been a long week for the both of us,” he begins. “And I made goulash yesterday. Like the one you enjoyed last time. But more filling — I added more potatoes.”
God help you, for the giddy little chuckle you can’t keep. God help him, for brightening up at that alone.
“Is this your way of inviting me over, Professor Sidorov-Svoboda?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then it’s a yes. But,” you turn to the stack of papers on your table, “I’ll need to get through those, first.”
“You have the weekend,” Viktor reminds. “And my help, should you want it.”
“I don’t want to take up neither.”
Viktor’s lips part as if to argue, but within a beat, he lets it go, and just nods.
“Alright.” He sets both hands on the table to aid himself in standing. “Then I am heading home now. Call me when you are done, and I will heat up the goulash.” His voice lowers conspiratorially, and Viktor leans in like you are sharing a secret. And you are. “On second thought — bring some clothes, too, if you’d like to spend the night.”
Like that’s even a question.
“Yessir.”
Viktor shoulders his bag easily, and on the brush past you, he staggers. A warm hand comes to rest at the base of your nape, his pinky dips into your collar.
“Good luck.” A squeeze to the lithe muscle there, before he gingerly trails to your shoulder, then off your back. And with that, he is gone.
—
It smells savory, distinctly of paprika and spices as Viktor opens the apartment door for you.
He’s set his good foot steadily in the midst of the crack of the door, more out of reflex than good reason. Once he checks behind himself to make sure Persichka is not there, he gives you all the room you need.
“Hello. You are just on time, it’s steaming hot,” he tells you as he staggers into the kitchen without further fanfare. You know him enough to understand that as an invitation to follow, so you do.
The table is set for one. On the spot opposing yours, Viktor’s favored, the one facing the window, a crossword puzzle lays half finished. The ink still glistens on one of the words.
The ladle clangs gently as it scrapes the bottom of the pot, and Viktor pours a generous three of them into a bowl, before making his way back to the table and setting it down in front of you.
There is a palpable, genuine adoration shining from just his eyes, from the subdued smile that’s warmer than the near-boiling goulash in front of you. “I hope you’ll like it.”
“I already know I will. Thank you.”
“And, eh… how did the grading go?” He asks as he makes his way around the table to his seat. Viktor hooks his cane over the backrest of his chair, then shuffles it closer to the table to intertwine his fingers under his chin and gaze at you.
“Mmh.” It’s a challenge to muster up the patience to blow into the steaming spoonful you’ve just gathered because you’re starving — and it smells like heaven. But if just to make sparse conversation with Viktor, you’ll manage. “I’m just glad it’s over with.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to review?”
“No, I wasn’t sloppy,” you assure, and taste the spoonful. As delightful as it smelled, a warm hug to your tastebuds.
“I assumed as much. You took your time.”
“Aw,” you gulp down the spoonful in your mouth to smirk at him, “did you miss me?”
And though Viktor simply shakes his head like you’ve said a bad joke, his instep still nudges the bridge of your foot under the table. That’s answer enough.
He leaves you to your soup after that, though his foot does not retreat. Idly, he rolls his ankle as he smooths it up and down your lower calf, while he focuses back on the crossword puzzle.
The silence is tender, loving. When his leg grows tired, he simply crosses his ankles behind your heel, as if to hold you. There’s little harsh exhales that escape him as silent eurekas just the moment before he starts scribbling down a word, or going over the letters on another.
The hinges of the kitchen door screech though it’s nudged at just barely, and in she comes: nose first, tail last.
“Oh, hi there,” you greet just about at the same time as Viktor drops his hand off his lap and to his side, in nuzzling range.
The tablecloth catches on Persichka’s upright tail as she makes her way below the table, tiny claws clacking on the tiles, and a few seconds later, Viktor frowns, confused, and shifts to look below. Which is when you feel it. A paw, nudging your shin. Tapping it, almost.
“Oh, pusik, you want up? Come here.”
But she doesn’t.
Next to your foot is where she stays, and paws at you once more, before she pads up to your chair and tilts her chin up to lock you into her wide, beautiful eyes.
“Mm, forsaking me for the younger, prettier man, I see.” Viktor smiles at you from just his cheeks, before an entire, genuine grin shows. “And for good reason. You know how to help her up, yes?”
“Hand under her butt?”
“No, that only works for the couch, or the bed, where she can use her claws to climb. Pick her up. Gently. One hand under her chest — yes, like that — and the other under her rear.”
You scoop her up slowly. From this close, you can see the way her whiskers are bent up and towards her face on just one side, jostled and crinkled like she’s slept on them for a while. Persie sags into your hands like a doll, happy to have her weight off her own joints. Once you settle her into your lap, she starts purring with delight, and, sleepy as she is, hardly does any repositioning from the way you’ve gently laid her on her side. Tiny tusk-white claws poke through the fabric of your pants as she angles her paws to lay flat on the top of your knee and begins to knead.
It hurts just a little, but you’re happy to brave through it. Viktor notices, but he says nothing.
She grants you a brief reprieve when you start to eat again, lifting her little orange head to catch a whiff of whatever’s in your spoon, and it makes your heart clench to hear her sniffs. How short they are, appropriate for her tiny lungs, how her baby pink nose twitches just so.
“She’s a little congested,” Viktor tells you. “I took her to the vet last week, but they said it was normal, and should go away on its own.”
“Congested or not, she’s still the prettiest little baby.”
“Yes.” Viktor’s smile is somewhere between bashful and proud. He looks between her and you with just a flick of his lashes, before he squeezes his ankles around your calf in a hug, and nods. “She is.”
As you turn back to eating with one hand and petting Persie with the other, Viktor returns to his crossword puzzle. The silence is bliss.
It’s only by the time you’re scraping the bottom of the plate clean that Viktor snaps out of his near-finished puzzle, clearing his throat. There’s a reluctance to the way he clicks his pen and shifts in his seat, looking at your plate before he finally musters the courage to look at you.
“Well, actually, speaking of,” he tries for an unbothered tone, but the way he wrings his hands for a brief moment before he looks up at you betrays him. He taps the back end of his clicky pen to the paper, curls and uncurls his toes against your achilles heel with a pop. “This, uh, prompt,” he clarifies. “Gingerbread spice, eight letters — cinnamon. It reminded me that I have been meaning to ask, actually, how you would prefer to… proceed in regards to Christmas.”
You tilt your head and can’t help a chuckle. “How I’d like to proceed?”
“Yes. I’m… referring to the gift situation.”
You’d been hoping he’d ask that.
“Oh, uh, I’ve been thinking it might be sweet to get ou something. But — no pressure, if you, I mean, if you don’t have anything in mind for me, or if you feel like it might be too soon in our relationship to do that or, if this just generally isn’t something you do—”
“No, I would… it would be my pleasure. To exchange gifts with you. My, eh, second question is if you have… any plans for Christmas?”
Oh, sweet, sweet Viktor,
“I’d cancel ‘em right now if I had any.”
From across the table, pen gently balancing between his fingers, face downturned bashfully, Viktor grins like a child.
—
You have taken Persichka’s most prized spot.
You hadn’t intended to; it’d been fifteen minutes into some quiet little old romcom that Viktor had picked as background noise to him updating a Powerpoint presentation when your chin hit your collarbone.
You’re woken in part due to the impact, and in part to his quiet chuckle. Through a blurring vision, you see him clap the laptop shut, and put it away. A warm, dry hand hugs the nape of your neck, and slides upwards to cup your heavy skull in a caress that is steady, cradling.
You can’t help a shiver as you’re coaxed towards Viktor.
“Sweet boy.”
“Mm?”
“Lay your head down.” He places a pillow on his lap, and pats it gently. “Come here.”
“What time even—“ a yawn interrupts you, “—is it?”
“Just eight thirty. I would like to stay up a little longer, but you can nap.” You open your mouth to protest, to argue that eight thirty is outrageous (although you woke up at five this morning), but Viktor’s touch turns firm. “You should nap.”
“And you?”
“I have everything I could want right here.”
His blunt nails scratching at your scalp rolls down your spine into a soul-plucking wave of pleasure.
You don’t need to be told twice. As you lean in, Viktor catches your forehead in a soft kiss before he guides you down, down, until your cheek dips into the pillow on his thighs. From the roundest part at the back of your skull, Viktor trails his hand up the crest of it to the front of your hairline, finger pads massaging gently at the willing, starved skin of your scalp. He pets you like a puppy, and you curl up like one just the same, small and fetal as you draw your knees up.
“You worked so hard today,” he coos. “Rest.”
And like the obedient dog you’ve found yourself to be for him, you do. Unconsciousness comes to you sweetly, like you’d starved for it, and Viktor all but coaxes it into your head with his gentle strokes. And sleep laps at you for a long, blissful time.
You don’t know when he stops petting you; certainly not before you’re out. But as you’re blearing your eyes open what feels like ages later, Viktor’s thumb is still idly tracing through your hair, palm cupped around the side of your head as though he’s holding something as fragile as an infant.
The moment is ripe for admiring him, while your muscles are still not yet crying to be stretched, moved, awakened. He sits back on the cushions and stares at the screen of his phone with undivided focus, thick brows furrowed beautifully and eyes jumping quick, here, there, searching. Oh, he’s a vision to take in, even from below.
He stirs out of his focused trance when you turn your head to kiss his palm, and find with a near animalic delight that it smells like your skin, now.
“Oh, hello.” His fingers splay to stroke your cheek, his thumb strokes your lip.
And even from down here, you can see his gentle smile.
“Hi,” you swallow the dry taste in your mouth and kiss at his thumb, too. His hips stir. You pretend not to notice, and yawn again. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough for the movie to end,” Viktor checks his watch. “Two and a half hours.”
“Ugh, you should have woken me up. I missed the entire evening. I’m sorry.”
“You rested,” he corrects. “Which you needed. It was… eh, wonderful to have you here, like this. I did not mind a second of it.”
“What did you get up to while I was out?”
Viktor flips around to show you his phone screen: a stinging, violaring white to your eyes though the brightness is turned all the way down; squares and numbers. His beloved sudoku app.
“You did that for two and a half hours?”
“Oh, god forbid a man enjoys himself.”
“I can’t believe you call that enjoyment,” you joke.
“There are many ways I go about enjoyment.” And he pets your stomach as he says it.
It’s not an insinuation, nor an invitation, but a mere statement, and a chaste touch that goes with it. His hand settles on the middle of your stomach just where it sometimes hurts from laughing too hard, and it’s something genuine and innocent. You try, god help you, to take it as such. You know that his appetite, though grand, doesn’t match yours. You know you don’t want to overwhelm him, you know you want him to feel cherished first, desired second. He’s so much more to you than a svelte body and a sweet cunt, he’s everything, and yet—
Viktor peers down at you, from just the edge of his vision, feigning nonchalance, before his gaze follows the direction of his head — back to his phone.
“Viktor?”
“Yes?” His fingers curl atop your clothed stomach, he scratches you through the fabric gently. It trickles to your spine, electric. His smirk is haloed by the white light of the screen as his hand slides lower.
Not boldly, not taking, but exploring. Relishing. Greeting your skin anew. It’s barely when his palm strokes between your thigh and your hip that you spread, a testament to how well trained you are. It feels as though your body is pleading for him.
But he avoids it. He strokes you at the inside of your thigh, cups around where it goes meatiest, closest to when you’re starting to drool for him, before he cups back around, returns to your stomach.
“What… are you doing?” You ask, afraid of a misstep.
“Oh, would you like me to stop?”
Which is anything but a clarification.
You can’t help but gasp like a virgin when he all but starts petting you over your pants, at the front of your hips where you’d be fuzzy for him, if not for the fabric, petting the top of your cunt like it’s the top of your head.
“Fuck.” You say instead, and for lack of a better place for it, nestle your face into the scratch of wool at his abdomen. “Viktor, fuck. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
And then he palms you between your legs. Palms your cunt like you’ve given it to him, squeezes at the puffy meat of you through your pants like you’re a toy to be played with. Your thighs clench to keep him there — and you clench harder, cunt and all, when he tsks.
And because you take well to commands when they come from him and nobody else, you spread your legs as far as they’ll go. A defeat eagerly accepted, a defeat that tastes sweet, because it’s you that is the prize.
He smiles down at you like a merciful, loving deity. You feel inclined to pray, but he rewards you without the mere notion of it — because Viktor deals in loving, generous absolutes.
“Would you like me to take care of you?” He asks. You cant your hips up into his palm in offering. It’s just the fuzzy skin of your mound that reaches the deepest point in his palm.
“Yes.”
Wet and aching and hungry and swollen, too, is what your body screams, but you contain it just so. Viktor undoes your pants with one hand, quick and practiced, as though he intrinsically understands despite your silence.
And then, he cups your cunt like it’s a wound in need of soothing.
“Oh, you do,” he gasps in pure delight. “So eager, you must be aching. Let me.”
Like you’d even think to do anything else.
“Inside,” you plead, and the hand that isn’t sliding between the swells of your cunt pets your hair.
You can hear it. That slick, sticky click of your hole like swallowing with a parched throat, except Viktor’s knobby middle finger all but glides into you like you’re made of silk. It massages you on its way in, curving and molding to your raw and needy insides just as much as you mold to him.
“Fuck, Viktor, thank you,” you whisper to him in veneration. It feels as miraculous as the metamorphosis or water to wine, to feel a deep seated, aching itch pop into fizzling pleasure in his loving hands. “Thank you, thank you.”
Viktor chuckles at you, brushing his fingertips over the crown of your head one last time before he slides below where your skull weighs heaviest and lays on his thigh. He gathers you up closer to him like a babe, and pacifies your gasps with a glide of his tongue between your lips. You kiss back like you’d prefer to eat him instead, and he simply lets you like he knows you can’t help it, encourages you as he rocks his fingers into you with a new vigour.
The fullness he gives you with just his crooked middle and ring finger feels as vital as the fullness you get from food in your belly, or air in your lungs. You wonder, distantly, how you’ve gone your life without it, without Viktor sustaining this desperate, starving need until the first time he’d given you a part of himself.
“Can you take just one more?” He asks, and you nod desperately, like the glutton you are. Viktor kisses you again, just an ephemeral, tender little thing, before he lets you press your face into the crux of his neck.
His index crooks to do nothing but kiss at the ring of your cunt alongside his other two fingers, nudging closer each time his fingers cross back into the boundary of your innards. As if to whisper yield for me.
And then, like swallowing too plump a mouthful, it pops past where you’re tightest into the rest of you, and you are full.
It’s glorious.
“Oh, god,” you whisper, and he stops. It’s only when you peer downwards that you realize you’ve stopped him, legs squeezed together around his bony hand.
“You did it,” he tells you, hollow cheek pressing to your forehead like a cat. Viktor holds you for a long, loving moment, his ragged breath matching your own, as though fucking you open affects him just as much as it does you. “How is it?”
“Good,” you gasp. “So good.”
He rewards you with a stroke of his thumb over your hot cock when you coax your legs back apart for him.
It’s perfect.
“I want to make you see stars,” he mutters against the top of your head before he kisses your hair. His fingers fuck into your cunt down to the knuckle, your pussy kisses the bottom of his palm as though he’s feeding you out of it. “Make you nauseous with pleasure. Will you let me?”
“Please.”
Viktor lays your head back down on the bed of his thighs. That blessed, dangerous thing — his free, but equally potent left hand travels down your stomach in a thrilling promise, rumbling like a drumroll.
It slides beneath the hem of your undone pants. Cages your trembling cock between two fingers. And presses into your underbelly with the boniest, meanest part of his palm.
He meets it on the other side of your viscera with his fingertips. You most vulnerable, tender spot, caught between his hands.
Viktor makes it abundantly clear he is not a man of hyperbole. The front wall of your cunt is bullied into pleasure near-violently; your spine is but the cavity of resonance for the vibrating bass strings of pleasure that he plucks with the finesse of a born virtuoso.
How could your body do anything but sing for him?
“Viktor,” you chant and warn, all parts of your being splintering like he’s tearing you apart.
“Come,” he tells you. “I have you.”
You do see the stars he’d promised.
Your body is swallowing itself up and expanding all at once, melting into its atoms, floating apart, stardust unmade. Viktor lets you paint the inside of his palm in the evidence of your orgasm, strokes you even as your atoms start to vibrate and crackle, crying overload.
He only grants mercy when you moan a plea for it through your teeth. As he withdraws his fingers that hard, unforgiving heel of his palm lets up and pets you on your stomach as like he wants to make you purr.
“You’re shaking,” he mutters, not with a hint of amusement, but of happiness. Viktor’s hand travels up your stomach, chest, and neck to stroke the sweat from your forehead while you remember what it means to taste air, to see colour.
“Sorry,” you say anyway.
Viktor shakes his head.
“It’s beautiful.”
He simply marvels at it, at all of you, spectating the way your particles seem to lodge back into their respective spots with a delight that betrays his deep devotion for each and every one of them, for the exact way they’re aligned to form you. You bask in being known.
“Small kittens do this as well,” he suddenly tells you when the tremor of your legs feels more like an afterthought.
“What?”
“Their whole body shakes the first time they taste meat. They’re so delighted with the novelty of it, the texture, the taste that they just… cannot help it.”
Your laugh feels like it’s erupting straight from between your lungs.
“That’s the first thing you thought of?”
Suddenly bashful at the implication, at the fact that he has said something abnormal, Viktor visibly withdraws a hint as he clears his throat.
“…Yes. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind it,” you rush to assure. “Really. I’m actually kind of obsessed with the way your mind works. How… did you even know that?”
“Persichka,” he admits.
“You found her when she was that little?”
He nods. A fond, loving smile tugs at his lips, and you can’t help but share it.
“I had just completed my first year here as Heimerdinger’s assistant. I found her under a bush on campus one night in late May. Oh, the lungs on her, I think I heard her from the parking lot. The vet told me she must have been a week old at most, as one of her eyes had just opened, but she was worryingly small. Underweight, riddled with ear mites, and she had an infected eye.”
“Oh, poor baby. Was she the runt of the litter?”
“Most likely.” Viktor smiles with a bittersweet fondness, and swallows the softest, gentlest knot in his throat. “That first night I brought her home I just looked at her and thought… runts like us, we must stick together, no?”
You smile up at him, and understand, intrinsically, that you are part of that question. That Viktor has sniffed out something within your scent that rings decidedly familiar, something that mingles with the scent of his bed in a way that doesn’t make them smell any less like home.
So you answer him with a kiss, an eager teeth knocking sort of lip grind, as if to bite the word, the exclamation, within his mouth. Yes. Yes, we must.
He licks at your teeth and swallows your reply, and, within you, his still fingers nudge your spent insides.
“I would, eh,” he loses his train of ideas somewhere along the way, massaging you where you’re still open and vulnerable for him. In sync with your cunt, he gulps — not with greed, but anxious, distantly. He fingers you gently, albeit aimlessly, almost as though he’s fiddling with you, as he finds his courage. “Mh. I apologize. I’m trying to figure out a more elegant way to articulate myself.”
“If words fail, you can always just show me.”
“In that case, then,” he squeezes the whole handful of you, the front wall of your cunt, your mound, your clit, between his palm and his fingertips inside you, and it’s good enough to make you arch for him. “Do you feel it, how much give your flesh has?”
“Y-Yeah.”
You squirm at the loss, arching up into his fingers even as he pulls them out, sloppy and drooled on. Cold, slick strings of your own cum break and land on your cunt in a sore reminder of how disgustingly wet you are. Viktor lathers what is left of your cunt’s drippings onto your clit, before his soaked fingers part on either side of your pussy, and spread you open.
“Do you see how you ache for it?”
Between his fingertips, the bulk of your cock pulses, jerks against the unforgiving, unloving cold air of his apartment. Your plump folds are polished shiny with how you’ve been leaking.
“Look at how your cunt glistens.” Smushing your eager cock between his index and his middle finger, he makes it swell full and so embarrassingly obvious, especially as you pulse for it. “Look at how your cock twitches.”
You don’t get to dig for specifics, his thumb strums your aching, full, still orgasm-sore cock into a vibrating chord. Under his fingers, you’re reduced to something stupid, willing, and eager.
“You must understand,” he near growls, “why I want to be inside you so badly that it makes me hurt. Why I ache to break you in with more than just my fingers.”
“Fuck,” you shiver with the mere notion. “Do it. Fuck me, Viktor.”
“I will get my harness, then,” he continues, and the thumb at the front of your neck glides up over tense muscles to brush your cheek. Between your legs, his fingers scissor the pulsing opening of your cunt open. “I will get sizes and shapes of cock than you can choose from. And I will fuck you full of whichever one you want until my body gives.”
“Viktor, J-Jesus Christ,” you cry.
With that, his fingers shove back in, and the heel of his loving palm slaps against your tumescent cock. Your spine hums. It presses a gasp out of you, the sheer surprise of being full — so blissfully full on both ends, you come to realize when your tongue stops buzzing and registers the glide of his own against it. Against your teeth. A suckle on your lips.
And then, he retreats.
“Then please,” Viktor gasps out the first part, “let us take this to my bed? It would— I need… hah, the space.”
“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”
You rise before he does, pants still undone, and in some automated impulse, you stand before him with your forearm offered. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, of his hand hovering, before he palms your arm, and his fingers wrap. You hold steady for him while he pushes himself up with his cane too, and finally, stands so close his nose nudges yours.
“Such a gentleman,” he says it equal parts as praise and to poke fun. The air of his tone is tangy-sweet, and his nose nudges at the side of your face, under your jaw, like a cat nuzzling.
“For you, always, Viktor.”
He hums into it like a purr, all genuine this time. It’s tucked into your neck. He seals it with a kiss, and his hand drifts from your arm to your waist, your back, and finally to your ass for an indulgent squeeze.
“You will not need be anything except willing when I fuck you,” he promises. The hand at your ass lets go, pats at your waist. “Come.”
Oh, you’re gonna.
—
Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda — PhD in applied arcanism, professor of over two decades, sudoku and crossword puzzle addict — owns a boxful of colorful dildos. He lets you have at them with the pride of someone flaunting their trophy collection, lays back on his bed like a lazy cat, complacent in his playfulness, as he watches you dig through them. Squeeze at the shapes of the ones you like to assess firmness, marvel at the abstract shape of others, and nods when you settle for something just intimidating enough to tingle, but promising enough to drool: curved, gently bulbous at the tip, on the softer side of firm enough.
“Oh, yes,” he grins at you, “that one will satisfy.”
“Mm?” You can’t help a grin of your own as you climb and scale the mattress in the pursuit of his heat. Once you reach his side, Viktor’s head tilts to meet yours; he all but suckles on your sentence when you whisper it to his lips. “Speaking from experience?”
“Yes.” A kiss to the seam of your mouth, over before you can savor it. “Lots of it.”
With that, he begins to wiggle next to you — turns on his back to ease one leg into one of the hoops of his strapon harness. You can’t help but glance down his body as he does; first at the focused scowl on his gorgeous face, then the soft pudding jiggle of his tits, and finally, his cunt. Clothed, obscured — it drives you up the wall.
“Not gonna take those off?” Your fingertips dip under the elastic of his boxers — the last garment still on him; you’d made sure he lost everything else before he made it to his bed. Had supported his balance when you’d slipped his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, had held him against you possessively while you’d thumbed apart his slacks.
“No,” Viktor says, fastening the last of the belts. “I am naked enough. You are not.”
He unpeels you like packaged dessert. Deliberate and slow and appreciative, although the squeeze of his fingers and the press of his palms to revealed skin bares his desperation. He palms at you like he has tastebuds in his hands, roams skin and soaks up warmth with an unforgiving greed. Your shirt, your already undone pants, finally, finally—
“Oh, look at that,” he purrs, and pulls your boxers lower not to undress, but to reveal. They’re only halfway down your thighs when he stops, pulling at the fabric, and glides the knuckles of his middle and ring finger through the dark, viscous patch of slick. Your hips jolt, seeking, but finding nothing except a reprimand in the click of his tongue. He brings his hand between the two of you to marvel at the shine on his knobby fingers. “So desperate to be fucked, aren’t you?”
Your head lowers in shame.
“Fuck,” you mutter. “I, fuck. Y-yes, please. I need it.”
“Mmh.” Under you, he goes tense, all but vibrates. “You sound beautiful when you beg, shchenok. I’m tempted to let you, but — I’m feeling… merciful tonight. Come here.” He slides your boxers all the way down to your knee, smiles gently when you kick them the rest of the way, and offers his hand — middle and ring fingertips still shiny. You feel so inclined to suckle, but understand his meaning. The dildo.
The remnants of your slick smear on it when he grabs it, and once he undoes the clasp that holds the ring to his pelvis with just one deft hand, you feel yourself quiver from head to cunt. The view of sharp knuckles, sinew, tendons, mole-dotted skin all moving and bending and protruding under the fine mechanisms of his own body’s most virtuous tools entrances, so much so you find yourself drooling on both ends once the dildo is in place, secure.
“There. Spread and sit,” he instructs gently in spite of the words, paws at your hips like a well-fed cat on a pleasure-driven hunt. He intends not to kill, but to play.
Between your legs, the full tip of his cock nudges at the swollen, worked lips of your cunt. It lodges just barely against the entrance, a promise.
“Shit,” you mutter, biting on your own airy laugh. “It felt smaller in my hand.”
“It will be just right,” he coos. Tilts his hips to glide it up through your pussy until it kilters against the base of your clit, then back down. “Trust me.”
The silicone is slick and lukewarm with body heat when you reach to steady it. Amidst the center of your cunt it breaches, bulbous head makes a home for itself against the tight, hungry ring at the entrance.
Under you, his hips tilt. Tilt to sheathe, tilt to push, confident that your cunt will give, confident that you’ll take.
“Vikt—“ you warn. “Hah.”
“Shh,” he breathes, both hands petting down your flanks in comfort, palms settling at your pelvis. “Settle. Relax your muscles. Once the tip is in, it will be glorious.”
And you are nothing, if not blindly obedient when Viktor promises pleasure. The fattest part of the tip stretches you with a soft burn in spite of how you’re aching for it, it opens you up and buries itself against parts of your body that don’t have much give left to them. It presses, it pulls, and it hurts so delightfully, and then, oh, it pops. Pops into you, settles as a comfortable cuntful, just as Viktor’s promised. He moans alongside you as though it’s his very cock that you just fully sat on, pets your ribs and your hips when you catch your breath. The shaft of it is a tender, perfect stretch at your entrance, and the tip—
“A-ah, god.”
It drags against your front wall, scratches at an itch you did not know you’d ever had, and when it reaches just barely near the tipping point of stretching your pussy open on its way out, Viktor stops. Holds you there with both hands, and smiles at you.
“Good, yes?”
The smug bastard.
“Yeah, fuck you,” you gasp out. “So good.”
That makes him laugh, soft and genuine, before he pulls you back down on his pelvis, and the dildo is as delicious on its way up as it was on its way down.
“You know, I did not think I was able to cum without touching my cock for years — until I used this very dildo.” He’s not subtle in his intentions. Which is good, because you’re too slutbrained to pick up on subtleties when he fills you up so good, you doubt you’d ever feel hunger again. “Would you like to try?”
“Yes,” you cry.
“Good.” A pat to your thigh. “Then do not hold back.”
And you don’t intend to. When you raise yourself up off the cock again in a desperate arch, Viktor raises his hips up into you. It’s so full, so entirely vibrating, you feel as though you’re a church bell rung. On the next thrust, you meet him halfway, and you are both symbiotically brutal in it. Viktor drives into you with all the might his body can muster, and you use gravity to abuse your tender, sweetest spot in an unforgiving symphony. It’s all sparks and vibrations up your spine, hums and heartbeats of pleasure in the juiced flesh of your cunt. It’s sweat and plap plap plaps of cockbrained thrusts and pleas, it’s Viktor’s tits jiggling with each punch of pleasure into your cunt, it’s his thumbs on either side of your cock, spreading your lips apart for him to see you.
He gulps at the first sight of it. Tilts his head back like he’s been hit with the height of all highs and moans. “Good god,” Viktor mutters, “y-you are, just— beautiful. I want to be so deep inside you that it hurts.”
“You are, Vik,” you gasp out, “so fucking deep that I can f-feel you reshaping my insides. Molding them to you.”
Something about that makes him go haywire — like a starving feral beast presented with meat so fresh in its death it’s still warm. His eyes squeeze shut and he supports himself with one arm to bend at the hip and come up to mouth at you in a stupid, predatorial desperation. Viktor bites at whatever skin is within reach, and snaps his old spine into painful twists that pale in comparison to the pleasure you exchange. It’s raw. It’s savage. It’s everything.
Your cunt sounds obscene as the both of you pound it into pleasure between your bodies; your flesh bends willing, electric, hot. You wrap both arms around his head, to keep him close, to let him do nothing but devour.
A growl, desperate and hungry comes from him, and the sound of something popping, ripping. You don’t have the mind to worry for it, to even give a fuck, frankly, until the dildo slots into you wrong. Presses not against your sweet spot, only drives straight up and against your ass, and Viktor gasps, grasps for the harness.
“What—?”
“Oh, wonderful,” he bites sarcastically, voice still muffled against you. “Just wonderful.”
His hips falter, settle and you raise yourself up on your knees. The dildo follows you, instead of Viktor’s pelvis, stays inside you loosely the whole way.
“It ripped,” Viktor mutters, ashamed. “The harness. This— I’m sorry. This was not the first time. I stitched it up before, but it seems it did not hold. I,” he gulps down air for a beat, then looks up at you, worried. “I truly am sorry.”
“Oh my god.” You can’t help a laugh bubbling at the ridiculousness of the situation. “It’s okay,” you rush to assure, breathless. “Really. I just. Hah. Unexpected.”
Your shared chuckles intertwine; Viktor’s chest shaking with the vehemence of it feels like divinity imbued into flesh.
“I can use my hand,” Viktor offers a moment later. There is a glimpse that you always catch of yourself within him when his eagerness to please shines through. Something about it feels permeating and softening like butter on toast — you find your peak long forgotten, and your heart yearning to be as close to his as it can get. “If you’d prefer to continue.”
“No.” As you look down at sweet Viktor, honey amber looking up half-awkward and half-awed, you find that fucking him has well and truly drifted somewhere to the very back of your mind. “It’s… I don’t mind. Really. Would you be down to cuddle?”
Viktor smiles. Takes your hand and kisses your knuckles with adoration.
“If you don’t mind me sticky, yes.”
You cup at his face, dewy with sweat. “I made you sticky, Viktor.”
“Among many other things.” His hand reaches between your legs, grasps for the suction cup base of the dildo gently. “Allow me?”
“Yeah, just— gentle.”
“Always,” he promises. And he is. The buckles and material of his ripped harness clink while he pulls at the dildo slowly, easing it out of you with as much finesse as one can muster. “There,” he comforts when it pops out of you with a wet sound, stretching you just past the point of comfort. Viktor looks down at it for a beat, at the pearlescent, foamy string between the tip and your cunt, before he discards the dildo and ripped harness altogether.
“I will try to make a better job of sewing it,” he promises half-awkwardly. “Unless… you have one of your own?”
“Ah, uh,” you fumble. “I mean, I have one, but it’s… not very good. Uncomfortable. Plasticky. Been meaning to buy a new one, but I just didn’t really…”
“Have a proper reason?”
“Yes,” you breathe, relieved to be understood. “Not until…”
Viktor smiles up at you with a loving tenderness.
“I see. Come here,” he coos. “I could use your warmth.”
As if you could ever say no to him.
—
Hot oil sizzles when it meets diced onions. Around you, the fragrant steam imbues Viktor’s cozy little kitchen despite the cracked window. Persichka, belly full of kibble, sits lazily on the windowsill (you’d helped her up per her meowed request). She perks up only when beaten eggs start to blubber as they swallow up the sweet, translucent onions, watches you idly, in your stirring. Almost grimaces a little at the way pots and plates clang in your hurry to plate it up, and finally, yawns and stretches when you call out for Viktor.
“Mmyes…?” Comes a quiet reply from the bedroom.
“Breakfast,” you announce.
He will take a few minutes before he’s ready to face the world; that much you know. It will give you just enough time to toast yourself and him some bread, cut and plate some tomatoes and pickles for him.
By the time you are nearly done with it all, the door to his bedroom opens and shuts, and the clang of his cane as well as the plastic drag of his slippers makes itself known.
“Mmh,” he hums, an arm wrapping around you from behind, fingers splaying on your stomach. “It smells wonderful. I should keep you here every single night from now on.”
“Play your cards right, and I might just let you.”
A kiss between your shoulders. The warmth of his palm leaves you just as quickly as it’d found you; and he reaches above you for the cup cabinet.
You’re about to rush to flick on the coffee machine, but Viktor has a mind of his own. He then reaches for the opened jar of pickles and — to your utter horror — pours himself half a cup’s worth of pickle juice. Downs it groggily while you can do nothing but watch. Entranced. Terrified. Disgusted.
“Viktor. What is wrong with you?”
“Allow an old man his peculiar pleasures, will you not?”
You eye the empty cup, the dampness of the sweetened vinegar at the bottom. “Let’s eat before I change my mind.”
At that, Viktor chuckles, and stays right where he is, even as you turn away from the counter. He insists on a kiss, a chaste but vinegary little peck to the corner of your mouth, before you make your way to the table together. There, he eats quietly, blears through his lashes just enough to be able to see what exactly he’ll be putting in his mouth next. It’s only near the end of the meal that he perks up with the warmth and fullness in his belly, that he plays footsie with you under the table. That he fights your fork with his own in a clanky, clunky duel for the last piece of pickle — before he slices it in half as a peace offering.
“I was thinking,” he begins not soon after, “if you would like to help me decorate my Christmas tree sometime? It will not be time consuming — it’s hardly taller than Persichka. It is moreso… symbolic, rather than functional. I hope that’s alright.”
“I don’t mind symbolic, Vik,” you assure. “It’s your place.”
“Well, yes,” he admits, “but I can understand the appeal in a bigger tree. Something that can truly have gifts stacked below it. Something that smells of wintertime.” At that, he closes his eyes for a moment, dipping into a memory. He catches himself before he can go too far, startles himself out of it, and looks your way, nearly bashful. “Anyway. That is unfortunately out of the question. I don’t think I could carry a real tree up the stairs.”
“Hm. I could.” It comes out of you before you can dwell on it, but the way Viktor’s eyes widen; catlike, pouncing, delighted. “If you’d like?”
“If you’d be willing, I, eh, yes!” There’s a giddiness that threatens to bubble from his words. It’s infectious. “That would be wonderful. I have not had a real tree in—“ he stops to think for a moment, “in over a decade.”
Your foot strokes gently up the back of his calf, and Viktor grins like a child. It’s warm.
“I can drive out today,” you offer, but Viktor shakes his head.
“Next week,” he says. “I will have to dig up my old decorations. And today, if you would let me,I would like you all to myself, not a care in the world.”
“You have me, Viktor.”
From across the table, he reaches for your hands. Holds them gently, nuzzles them for a beat, before a tender kiss presses to your knuckles. “Sweet boy,” he mutters. “Thank you.”
—
It hits you mid stairwell that picking out and hauling a midsized tree up to Viktor’s apartment will be the easy part. The pine needles poking at your neck and cheek through the protective net, the sticky resin on your fingers — all trivial in the face of picking out a genuine, good present now that you have both decided it will be an exchange, not just a one-sided appreciation on your side. Daunting.
You ask him as much while you teamwork your way through maneuvering the tree into the stand. He shrugs first, assures you anything would be fine with a tender smile. It’s by the time he comes back with scissors to free the tree of its net, that you awkwardly try again.
“I’m serious,” you pause for a beat, unsure how to word it. “Anything you want, or need, let me know.”
“Underwear,” he finally relents. “Socks. I tend to misplace them.”
“Viktor.”
“Ideally functional,” he disregards your plea. “One hundred percent cotton, either of them. If you want to go a different route, I do not mind lingerie, and I will certainly wear it — but I am practical at heart.”
Lingerie. Holy fuck, the mere mental image of it makes your ears ring; the milky, sheer, near-blue hue of Viktor’s skin, contrasted by a rich, dark lace. Meat spilling only where he’s more than just bone; his tits, his cunt when he’s horny. His cock, nudging into sheer fabric when he’s hard, barely contained.
No. No. Focus.
Practicality. That gives a little less leeway for lavishness when it comes to presents — not like you are in a position to spend overmuch, but you want him to feel appreciated. Want to get him something nice.
A leather wallet? His current one looks more than a little battered — but then again, that could mean he does not wish to part with it in the first place. A fancy bookmark? A chain for his glasses? Decidedly unsexy, but, considering how he sometimes isplaces them… maybe?
“I can see you panicking,” he interrupts gently. “Relax. And, eh, before I forget, I meant to tell you my birthday is on the 29th.”
“What?!”
That must have been the reaction he’d been hunting for — Viktor laughs. Light and genuine and just a hint mean, you would have savored it if not for the panic blaring loud in your veins.
“I was playing with you,” he assures. “If you would be amenable, I would like to go out for dinner with you on my birthday.”
“I, hah, yes.” You have to catch your breath for a second. “Dinner sounds amazing. But, are you sure—”
“Yes. My only birthday wish is to have your company as we gorge ourselves at my favorite running sushi restaurant.”
“Alright. Wish happily granted. And, well, if you need any pointers on what to get me,” you offer. “I’m open to help, too.”
“Ah, you are very sweet, thank you.” Viktor’s smile turns coy, self satisfied, when he looks at you. “But I am all set in this regard.”
Bastard.
He sets the scissors into his back pocket to brace both hands on his cane as he moves to shakily kneel before the tree, waves you away when you offer to do it. Once he’s seated on his calves, Viktor retrieves the scissors once more, and cuts the netting all the way down, and with that, all the branches plop free, unbidden, unbridled. A glorious, full and fluffy thing, stubby for its size. It reaches barely past your heads, but its needles are lush, green, from ruffly bottom all the way to the rop.
“Look at that,” Viktor breathes, all hushed delight. Rushes to get up off the ground and does take the hand you put within his reach this time, and continues to hold on to you even after he’s back on his feet.
You can’t bring yourself to look at the tree that you’d already spent tens of minutes meticulously comparing to its twins; especially not when the world’s most beautiful man hangs onto your side and looks it up and down as though it is the eighth wonder of the world. Viktor’s eyes glitter with a rare, childlike spark, you feel him squeeze your arm like he wants you to go pop.
“Beautiful. Just as beautiful as I remember. Thank you,” he says, and his voice sounds a little worn, warbled, raw. When he finally looks at you, his waterline looks to be glistening wet for just a beat — not long enough to know, just long enough to guess. Viktor hides it with an enamored nuzzle against your cheek, a peck pressed to the still cold-kissed skin. “What have I done to deserve you?”
“You’ve done everything right.” You find yourself turning towards him to ease him into a hug, the kind that’s more you cradling him and him clinging to you, all fragile breaths and worn knuckles fisting the wool of your sweater. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“I’m so glad you offered.”
“Viktor, if you asked for the sun, I’d happily burn on my way to get it down for you.”
“Oh, you are wasting your talent for poetry as a scientist,” he breathes into your neck with a chuckle. “I do not want the sun — I am an old man.”
He almost follows you on your way out of the hug; only stops once you brush your hands up his back, up his neck, and to the very cusp of his jaw to hold him.
“I will figure something out,” you promise.
“You already gave me everything I could ever want,” he offers instead. Presses his nose into your palm like a cat that asks to be stroked, and inhales. “Mm. You smell wonderful…”
You pet his hair with your other hand as he does so, and realize, with a wince and a few tugged strands, why the scent clings to you. “Oh, uh, it’s the resin,” you say. “On my hands. Sorry, I’m… sticky.”
“No. I adore it,” he counters, and kisses at the dimple of your palm before he pulls away. “It reminds me of… simpler days. The way I would huddle together with my mother in the winter. Back when my father could pick me up like I weighed nothing. Stealing that terrible, terrible tacky candy off our Christmas tree. I could,” another indulgent whiff of your hands, “lick this off you and still not have enough of it.”
And with that, an idea is born.
You know exactly what to get him.
You don’t even particularly register his last sentence, not until he retreats from between your arms, ashamed at the lack of an answer, clearing his throat. You want to rush to assure, to play ball, but Viktor speaks before you can.
“Anyway. Would you like to stay to decorate the tree with me now?”
“Like that’s even a question. Of course.”
Viktor squeezes at your bicep one last, wistful time, before he lets go.
“Very well. I’ll bring the box.” He turns with a visible, decided pep in his step towards the door. Stops only once he’s almost there to spare you one last glance, laying out his trap: “ And — if you would like to stay for dinner afterward, I have lasagna in the oven.”
You have long stepped in it already. And you have been content with it for even longer. Viktor has you. You’ll let him have you, over and over.
“Trying to get me to spend the night?”
“Well, is it working?”
“Yes.” You walk up to kiss him one more time for good measure. “Yes, it is.”
—
Christmas dinner comes quicker than you expect. Between wrapping gifts for more than just Viktor, finishing up the last of your academic duties, it feels as though it’s barely minutes that pass until the day you find yourself standing in front of Viktor’s door, gift in one hand, pre-ordered cake in the other.
Viktor pulls a duck roast out the oven just about right after you step inside — somehow, his sense of timing remains an impeccable, wonderful mystery. It’s made to perfection; crispy outside, and a falling off the bone kind of tender within. The delight of good food mingles with the easy, slow conversation, and finally, with the salted caramel cake. From Viktor’s living room, the warm shine of the Christmas tree decorations haloes the entryway. You both bask in the sated, luxurious post-meal quiet, exchanging little more than soft, lingering touches of your hands.
You figure Viktor has done so much. Cooked, hosted, loved — that you reach for both of your plates without asking, stacking them up for carrying to the dishwasher.
“Wait.” He lays his hand atop your forearm to stop, then to squeeze you lovingly. “We can leave that for later. I’d like you to open my presents.”
“Now? Shouldn’t we leave those for tomorrow morning?”
“Oh, I often forget that is how it goes here,” he admits. “If you prefer it so — yes, sure. But in my family, we open them on the evening of the 24th.”
You can’t help a smile at the thought — Viktor, the incarnation of patience — eager. For you.
“I somehow feel like that’s a lie,” you decide to tease, and take the stack of plates with you on your way up. Viktor leans in his chair to open the dishwasher for you, and you begin to load it.
“I would never lie to you,” he protests.
“You would trick me, though.”
“That,” it catches him off guard, his smile turns mischievous, he relents, “yes, maybe. But not now.”
“Well, you’re in luck regardless,” you walk up next to his sitting form and lean down just enough to press a kiss to his forehead, before you unhook his cane off the backrest of his chair to offer it to him, “because I don’t feel like waiting either. I have one condition, though.”
Glancing up at you from so far down, he looks decidedly feline. His pupils blown wide in the candle light, the tips of his eyelashes kissing the bottom of his brows, the shadow between the soft mounds of his cupid’s bow. You feel inclined to cup his face, and so you do, even as he stands. And you know you should give him space as he rises, enough to stand comfortably, but everything within you screams at you to crowd into his space, to grasp at his waist. Viktor laughs at your hunger for him, braces you at the middle of your chest.
“Oh? And what might that be?” He asks, all coy.
“Can you open mine first?”
It surprises him for a beat, the earnesty of your request. But Viktor nods, lovestricken, and presses a kiss to the angle of your jaw.
“I would be delighted to.”
You brace a hand on the small of his back all the way to his living room, and Viktor is all smiles. Your heart feels like it’s going to either pop or melt — and you’re not sure which is worse. Under his Christmas tree, crowding around the fluffy queen of the household, all of three boxes await unpacking. Yours, a little more clumsily wrapped, with a bow on top, gold and cream paper. You take it with shaky hands, stopping to pet the top of Persie’s head before you make your way to the couch where he awaits, and your voice warbles as you hold it out to him.
“Merry Christmas, Viktor.” You can’t help but notice that your sweaty fingertips have already left their damp marks on the wrapping paper — so much for your gift looking pretty. God. “I hope you’ll like it. Sorry about the wrapping, I… tried my damndest.”
“You did a beautiful job of it,” is a generous compliment, coming from someone who wrapped your two presents so very meticulously that you feel bad for even looking at them the wrong way, tied lovingly with satined bows atop dark green wrapping paper. Viktor untacks the ruffly bow you’d stuck to your present, and, after an apology, rips at the wrapping as elegantly as he can. It still tears — you assure him it’s quite alright — and below it a nondescript cardboard box comes into view.
He sets it on his lap with a giddly little smirk, tugs it open with deft hands. Three smaller gifts lie within, all wrapped.
“Keep that one for last,” you instruct, pointing to the smallest box in the middle.
“Very well.” Socks are his first discovery; one pack of them 100% cotton as he’d asked, and another pair; thick, knitted. “Wool?” Viktor asks in disbelief. “They are very soft. Too soft.”
“It’s ‘cause they’re merino wool,” you explain. “Your feet were always cold when we got under the covers together, I figured — maybe these might help?”
“Perfect,” he praises. “Thank you. I adore merino.”
“I know you do.”
He goes for the next present within which — as promised — are 100% cotton boxers.
“You listen very well,” he remarks with a chuckle. “These are just right. I can’t wait to wear them.”
“Can’t wait to get to tear them off you when you do,” you try for a deliberately raunchy tone. Viktor rolls his eyes at you, but, despite it all, squeezes at your thigh. It feels like a promise.
“Now, for the last gift, yes?” He asks it as though it’s a celebration — and judging by the way his fingers flex and unflex with nerves before he finally grasps the box — it is. This one, he unwraps with such care, you can’t decide between swelling with emotion or swelling with blood at the sight of his fingertips, delicately pressing, gliding, pinching at the paper. It’s a breathless thirty seconds later that he’s left holding a velveted dark green cardboard box, adorned with a golden leaf.
Within it, a dark green glass bottle, with an oaken cap.
“Cologne?” Viktor asks.
“Yes. Try it.”
Before your tongue can tap against the back of your teeth on the t, he’s already uncapping the bottle to spritz some on his wrist. Viktor hardly manages to wait through the drydown, and presses his nose to his arm the moment his skin stops glistening with moisture. “Oh. Ohh, yes. Yes,” he hums, sniffs once, twice, thrice. Pauses for another beat, before he concludes, nose still flush to his wrist: “It smells predominantly wooden. Tree resin. Pine. I am picking up on something fruity? And something spiced, just so. Peppery? This is… mmh, divine."
“Bullseye on the notes, Viktor. I thought — when you couldn’t stop smelling me, smelling my hands, after I’d carried in the tree… the idea just hit me. I thought you might like to have a scent like that with you anywhere, anytime, in a bottle. This is the closest I could get. I… hope you like it.”
“Oh, you are just unbelievable,” Viktor points his voice on each of the syllables. “Come here. Chin up.”
Like the obedient dog you are, you obviously do — before you can even process why he’d request such a thing. Until the mist of the atomizer kisses your neck on both sides.
“I want to smell it on you for the rest of the night,” Viktor explains. “And you should be worried. I will only be able to keep my hands to myself for so long when you smell like this.”
With his thumb, he massages it into your neck. You fucking shiver.
“Gonna lick it off me?”
“Mm. Don’t tempt me.” With that, he sets your box to the side gently. “Thank you. You did beautifully. I hope you’ll like my gifts just as much.”
He insists on being the one to retrieve them, and ponders the contents of each one for a bit before he decides.
“You should have this one first,” he says. “It is more… proper.”
“Proper?”
“You will understand.”
Once he hands it to you, Viktor’s hands fold under his chin; he watches you like a hawk. A delighted hawk, but a bird of prey no less, drinking up the shake of your hands as you tear at the packaging, the clack of your throat when you gulp.
Before you, in a delicate velvet box, is a pen. Silver, hefty in weight — you suppose its entire mechanism must be made of metal — and its outside reads your name. Engraved. Doctor etched before it.
“Woah. Viktor, is… you had this is custom made?”
“Yes. You already live up to the title, but I wanted to show you my absolute certainty of you earning it. With your mind, your hunger for knowledge, your—“ he stops himself before he can spiral further. “What I am trying to say is that I wanted this to be tangible, practical proof that you will amount to greatness. That I already know so.”
“Oh, this is,” your voice warbles, “I… god, you’re amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
A kiss to your temple comes lovingly, tenderly.
“I’m glad you like it.” Comes his reply, before he strokes down your back adoringly. “Now, for my eh, less… proper present.”
You shake the box for laughs, but that tells you little. It’s on the lighter size, nothing clunks or thunks around in there significantly, but that about concludes what you’ve figured out.
The paper seems to cling to this box more ardently, the satin comes undone with less cooperation. It could be your giddiness, it could be the gift itself, demanding anticipation precede its grand reveal.
And grand, it is.
Leather is the first scent that hits you. It smells genuine, musky, animalic, and within the box, laid on pillowy paper, a black harness sits pretty. A strapon harness.
You take it out with both hands, spread it out to give yourself a better grasp of where and how exactly it’s supposed to sit, and oh. The leather is sewn meticulously, doubles where pressure would be felt most — above the ass, atop the plate on the mons. The metal components feel hardy, genuine, durable.
“Is this real leather?”
“And stainless steel,” Viktor adds. “Handmade.”
“Oh, get out.”
“Adjustable,” he continues. “So that it can fit either of us comfortably. Reinforced where it matters — and I would know where — malleable everywhere else.”
“Get out! Viktor, holy shit.” Guilt hits you in a wave that comes just after joy, and is almost strong enough to overpower it. “How much was this?”
He shakes his head and dismisses you with a flock of his wrist.
“At my age, you learn the true value of quality investments. My last strapon harness has lasted me decades. I hope this one will serve you equally well.”
“Serve us equally well,” you correct. “How… old was your harness?”
He frowns for a moment, racking his mind. “I’m not sure,” is what he settles on. But, sensing that the answer is unsatisfactory, Viktor offers: “If you would like specifics, I can check,”
“Check?” You laugh a little. “You keep a sex toy journal or what?”
“Something adjacent. I could… show you?”
Like that’s even a question.
—
The sex toy journal, you come to realize, is a shoe box. A half-full, not particularly heavy one, Viktor pulls it from below his bed and lets you hold on to it while he sits next to you on the mattress.
“I… you are one of a handful of people who have seen this,” he warns, retrieving it from you to put it on his lap.
You know what that means. I am vulnerable. Tread gently.
“I appreciate the trust,” you say.
And that is enough to steady his hands as he thumbs it open. Stacked as neatly as they can be within the box are polaroids. Not memories, not mementos — you understand, as you watch Viktor reluctantly flip through some, why he’d been nervous. They are equal parts treasure and secret, and Viktor picks up a stack to flip through like it’s nothing. He lets you sit beside him with a bated breath and watch.
The first one you see strikes you. It’s Viktor. Viktor’s body. A younger, firmer version of it, captured from collarbone to mouth. His lip mole, at the very top of the frame. His neck, despite the aged colours of the polaroid, is bruised vividly. At the corner of his lips, a smudge of lipstick. Had it been his own, wiped off his lips by by sucking and licking at tender skin, had it been someone else’s, fucking their tongue into his willing mouth?
Another one he flips past — the milky skin of his hips underneath dark red lace. His cock, a little smaller than the full erection you’ve grown used to suckling on, tents at the material no less.
Another one of the firm perk of his ass, slapped red. At the bottom of his cheeks, peeks out his cunt — raw with need, slick with desperation.
One of his bony shoulders and the rose of his nipples, covered in wax. Bruises on the soft, vulnerable skin below. Something in you aches both ways — to know you have treated them so gently because they are so very sensitive, to know someone else has not. To know Viktor liked it so much he immortalized it.
“Holy shit, Viktor,” you mutter. “You… used to be so…”
You can tell he fears the answer by the way he stops flipping through the polaroids, focus lost. Viktor prods, reluctant: “So…?”
“Wild, I guess.” You wonder, fearfully, if he still wants it the same way as he did then, and just hasn’t found the words to tell you. If he sees you unfit to deliver what all these other people have. Are you? “Do you still um… do you miss…?”
God, you’re terrified. Why are you scared?
“This sort of treatment?” Viktor fills in for you.
Reluctantly, you nod.
“Not often,” he begins, searching for the right words for just a beat. “I miss… youth and the hunger for rough treatment more than the treatment itself.”
“Alright. Just, putting it out there that if that hunger ever strikes again, I am open to… well, anything you want to try.”
“My appetite has shifted with age. There is nothing I would change about the gentleness we share. About the way I can wring you of pleasure, about your eagerness to do the same for me. But,” he pauses for anticipation, can’t stop a smile when you lean in (oh, the aforementioned eagerness; he has you figured out), “I will never turn down the opportunity to try something new with you.”
Not new for him, your subconscious chimes. But new for him with you. And that is what matters.
“We’re good at that,” you decide. “Experimenting.”
Viktor’s gaze turns distant for just a beat — he looks through you instead of into you, before he straightens up, shoulders rolling.
“Yes,” he says, voice fragile with a certain wistfulness, before he pets the curve of your back with his free hand, coming up all the way to the nape of your neck, where he lingers. “We will do what we do best.”
You wish you could kiss him, but something tells you now is far from the time. You simply sit still and let him have his fill of touching you, you lean into the hand he cups around your cheek, before he finally lets go. It’s silence for a stretch that seems to last eternally, but contains itself within a minute, before Viktor speaks up, himself again.
“Ah, here.” Between his thumb and index, he holds up a dated polaroid of himself, taken by foreign hands. He lays regally among the sheets of an unfamiliar bed, his hips armored in the very same harness that had torn under your brutal thrusts. At the centre of his pelvis, a cock. Bigger than the one you’d taken. Heavier. At his waist, a warm, tan hand. A leather bracelet at its wrist. “This very harness is exactly…” he stops to do the math in his head, “twenty-three years old.”
Just a little younger than you.
The mere notion of it tantalizes just as much as it terrifies. While you were busy learning how to walk, Viktor was sitting pretty for lewd polaroids. Viktor was getting spanked, choked, dripped wax on. Viktor was fucking other people, with the very same harness you’d slotted between your legs but once.
The vastness of his existence compared to yours becomes daunting — and you ache with the realization that, despite all the love and time you’ve shared, you are but a thread in the tapestry of his existence. And you will stay that, no matter your struggle against it, because you are late. Late to have been born, late to have found your way to him, late to have melted him in the warmth of your hands. He will enjoy it no less, but to him, you are but the swan song to his love life. To you, he is… everything.
“I hope… that you do not see me in a different light after this,” he speaks up, reluctant to the silence, the tension in your shoulders.
Oh, Viktor.
“It’s not that,” you rush to clarify. “Could never be that. I guess, I just… it just sort of hit me, that I was… a child, while you were…” you gesture vaguely at the box.
You can hear him swallow. Hear the rustle of the sheets while he shifts next to you, nervous.
“How does that make you feel?” He asks.
“Like there’s this… whole other you that I’ve missed out on. That I’ll never get to meet. I feel like I’m late to a really great party.”
“If you had asked me before I met you, I would have told you that the, eh, party was long over.”
You can tell he tries for a joke, a reassurance, but hearing that makes your heart break. Viktor, who has so much love left to give that he equal parts brims with it and trembles in the face of it, resigned. Sure and steadfast in his belief that affection was a delight long-gone reserved only for the bits and pieces he’d tucked away in the box under his bed. Fooling nobody but himself.
“Stop it,” he cuts in so suddenly you startle. “I can sense the pity. You know I—“
“I know. It wasn’t— Viktor, I wasn’t pitying you. I was just— the thought of you, passive and, and resigned, it…”
“Content,” he argues. But that is not what it’d sounded like. “Content to have it all in my past, and none in my present or future. Being alone is not as sad as you find it to be when you are young. It’s simple and quiet — and you grow to appreciate that with age.”
You don’t believe there is not a person in this world who contents with loneliness, regardless of age. But you know that, in desperation, you have lied to yourself about the gaping void of being alone to make it easier to swallow. And you understand Viktor has done the same. So you don’t press the issue.
Beside you, he fidgets. Fidgets with his fingers, rubbing at his knuckles, and you can’t help but feel sacrilegious — somehow tainting his silence — as you reach for both of them to hold in your own. But it lights him up, with surprise, with a fragile, soft joy, when you squeeze his hands to ask:
“And now?”
“You have changed many things,” he breathes after a beat. Brings your twined hands to his lips to nuzzle. “And I would have none of it any other way.”
That much, you can agree on.
hello everyone! Another poll, because I am perhaps the most indecisive writer to ever exist! For my next work (not the one that’s being voted on, but the one after that) which of the characters I write for (that I haven’t written for yet) would you like to see?
Character?
11th Doctor (Doctor Who)
Viktor (Arcane)
Ekko (Arcane)
Daemon Targaryen (HOTD)
Peter Parker (Any Universe) (Spiderverse)
Gregory House (House)
Kaz Brekker (SOC)
Other? (If there’s a character you want me to write for, ask in the notes!)
* = contains smut bold = fic, italics = misc. drabbles
back to all fandoms
⟢ MACHINE HERALD VIKTOR
you've almost convinced me i'm real* The Machine Herald’s emergence from its Hexcore cocoon marks the first cry of a new age. Yet, it will remain forever unknown to humanity how Viktor’s transformation to supersede human nature has one imperfection remaining. You.