Going to be filthy and depraved for a second, just hear me out.
imagine Viktor creates “experiments” to test your limits (nsfw)
content: dom!viktor x sub!fem!reader, vibrator, light restraints, pre established consent, overstimulation, multiple orgasms
Namely, you walk into the lab one day and are greeted with a vibrator strapped to one of the lab chairs. He instructs you to sit, lining its length against yourself under your skirt. Cool to the touch, even through your underwear, sending a shiver down your back. He wraps a couple restraints delicately around your wrists and waist to help with monitoring, the act almost reverent. A few other tools are present as well purely to collect baseline data. Heart rate, oxygen saturation, body temperature, blood pressure—the usual.
“Today, we will be testing the brain and body’s ability to multitask.”
And that's all Viktor preps you with before handing you one of his frequently-cited source books from his research, directing you to flip to the first section beyond the contents.
“You may begin reading. Out loud, please.” His gaze remains controlled but just below the surface, you recognize it—that look. One of incipient heat and desire—contained, but there. One you have gotten used to seeing when introduced to new research ideas he intends to make you the subject of. You begin reading.
“The phenomenon of self-sustaining energetic fields has long been considered unattainable without continuous external input. Yet recent observations suggest the possibility of constructing localized energy matrices capable of maintaining stability through harmonic feedback loops. The foundation of this theory lies in resonance—”
Halfway through the first paragraph, you feel it. The vibrator jolting to life beneath you making your breath catch and speech falter as a pulse of pleasure ripples through you.
But just as quick as it began, it stops.
“Please, continue.” He gently commands.
Your eyes trace over a sleek, black remote resting in his hand that you hadn't noticed before. You proceed.
“—a principle wherein energy, when properly attuned to the material lattice of a conduit, can perpetuate its own motion—”
You pick up from where you left off. Yet your reading comes off a bit distracted now, seeing as you know what's coming.
And it does. For even longer the second time.
“Without notable—” you clear your throat as the sensation hits you, “mm—decay.”
The words of the book fall to a halt as you adjust your hips, lining your clit more closely with the vibrations. The adjustment pushes a breathy moan from your throat.
“Do not stop reading.” He reminds you sternly. But there is no bite to it, only calculation.
You bring your focus back to the book in your hand, reading more until the buzzing finally pauses. The emptiness, while a bit frustrating, allows you a moment to collect your bearings before resuming. The task required takes effort but is manageable, you deem.
Until you realize the vibrator had only been on the lowest setting.
Forty-five minutes later, Viktor has now worked you up to the vibrator’s highest intensity. Your thighs clench and hips jerk as the vibrator presses insistently against your swollen bundle through now soaked underwear. Complimented by half-jointed words forced from your lips as you try to keep reading. You rut against the chair just slightly in a lapse of self control—which, of course, he notices.
“For accurate results, you must remain still.”
Viktor, notepad in hand, catalogues every observation. Starting with your physiological reactions: heart rate increase, body temperature increase, slight perspiration, skin flushing, involuntary muscle spasms, labored respiration, sufficient physical stimulation present, indications of arousal present.
And then noting your efficacy while reading: minimal stuttering until increase in stimuli, reason to believe comprehension of text lowers as vibrations increase, physical stimulation while executing task diminishes performance.
Both variables were on a steady unravel, but an experiment is not complete until all data has been collected. So, it is no surprise to you when Viktor, a man of science, makes you continue.
And this time, it doesn't stop.
He ensures the vibrator stays running at the highest setting, unwavering, as you continue reading—well, if you could even call what you were doing reading. Each word was interrupted by either a swallowed moan or hitch in your breath as you try your best to get through the page.
Not only that, but your body was refusing to maintain posture as well, the book starting to slip from your hold as you attempt to keep yourself upright. But the relentless buzzing has you writhing, your clit burning, and your neglected heat weeping through your ruined underwear on to the chair beneath you.
“I can’t, please—” you brace the book in your lap, hands still gripping the pages against the hard cover as you plead through shallow pants. The muscles in your thighs shake and your throbbing core pathetically contracts around nothing.
“You must hold out as long as you can.” His tone is near clinical despite the sight in front of him being anything but.
You swallow.
“The, uh, principal challenge remains containment. When unregulated, these energies tend to dissipate chaotically—”
You choke as another jolt goes through you.
“—compromising both the medium and surrounding environment—ah, Viktor—"
You regurgitate more words from the page, not caring to understand what they meant as your clit continues to be abused.
And despite Viktor's controlled demeanor, the image of you like this was affecting him. There were small tells.
His pupils were blown wide, and his breathing was a bit heavier than before—but the most obvious giveaway was that his legs were now crossed. An attempt to hide his own growing arousal, stretching taut against his trousers. And for the sake of keeping with the scientific method during the trial, the subject cannot be distracted by such implications.
But god was it the most arousing thing he’d thought of yet.
The air was heady with a mix of heat and the scent of messy need dripping from where you were fighting a losing battle on the lab chair.
Then, without warning, you start to come. Hard.
The book drops to the floor with a muffled thud as you go limp from overwhelm. You convulse and moan, hanging forward as you try to lift your hips from the buzzing against your overstimulated core. A few tears run down your face as you whimper and beg, not sure if you wanted it to stop or keep going. Luckily, the restraints had already decided for you.
Through blurred vision, you see Viktor jot down his remaining observations before speaking.
"I did not say the experiment had concluded—yet, you came anyway. Interesting." He mused, sardonic but somehow not unkind.
Before you could muster the energy to respond, a second orgasm tears through you. What consciousness you have left goes blank from violent, searing pleasure bordering on pain. Muscles seize, breaths turning ragged. And your heat still clenches desperately as if being filled would help.
Viktor appraises you. Wanton and overtaken with pleasure; still grinding yourself against the humming vibrator weakly. How beautiful you looked entirely fucked out from his creation.
you've almost convinced me i'm real
─── machine herald viktor / reader
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.
CONTENT: 18+ robot kink. dark content pls read tags carefully <3 sub afab reader, viktor's pov, set in the commune (reader is a follower), apex form viktor, this is a character study first and foremost!!, exhibitionism, size kink, pussy inspection, pussy slapping, viktor's staff = sex toy, no penetrative sex, very much dubcon (power imbalance), strong religious themes/cults duh, slight gore/body decomposition imagery, stalking (viktor watches you All The Time), blood/wounds from his claw mentioned, sadomasochism, much overstimulation, manhandling. 2.5k wc.
MEL'S NOTE: pls read tags!!! realistically this machine guy would not be fucking, but allow me some creative liberties i promise it's worth it. this is kinda experimental + heavy on the character study, so it may not be some people's cup of tea! title from touch by daft punk. dark viktor was requested by @liliesdiary, hope you enjoy angel <3
‹‹ KINKTOBER 2025 | GENERAL M.LIST | READ ON AO3
Worship is fickle. Bound by the universe to corrode under a mountain of time no matter how bright the birth; weakening day by day until reverence is helpless but to baulk like a great oak felled by man.
This is at least what Viktor believed to be true before. In a past life so far removed from the one he’s leading now that the vague memory poses no more than a mere itch under his augmented skin.
Currently, he occupies his astral body, observing the glowing forms of his followers that litter the infinite space as he methodically picks through the cluster of collective consciousness. Muted, is how Viktor would describe it. A tempestuous sea quelled by Viktor himself. Every boat rocked by anguish and hardship ensured to capsize, swallowed up by the strange quiet beneath the waves. As such, it is not difficult for Viktor to skirt between the placid minds. Dipping his fingers into each as though enjoying a ripe fruit, the flesh parting easily for him, the juices sliding down his wrist while he listens, then, a new seed carefully tucked into the mess he leaves behind before drifting to the next.
Reassurance that the Glorious Evolution will truly end humanity’s suffering. Their suffering. It will bring forth a world they couldn’t dream of.
Answer to a vacillating prayer. Their trust does not go unnoticed. Their mistrust is a human flaw, they will soon see.
Memories romanticised of their life before Him. Return and be greeted with suffering beyond comprehension. Desolation in its purest form.
One by one, Viktor snuffs out his commune’s flames, protecting the path to his glorious evolution, free from the roaring inferno of old humanity.
A spark protests.
Stronger than he would like. Brighter, too. Radiating onto the minds encircling its light.
A closer examination.
Healed mind and body, yet cynicism prevails. Defiance. Openly.
A decision.
Hands smothering the mind. The Glorious Evolution is coming. You will transcend the emotions that plague you. It is only a matter of time.
A burn.
Resistance to Viktor’s potential. Humanity’s potential.
Credence lent to an alternative route.
Enough.
Intrigue.
A corner of the page folded. A reminder.
ꕤ
Viktor understands that each day, the sun will rise and set on Zaun. He understands that his followers’ life debts are impossible to repay. He understands that he is to be the harbinger of the new world.
Viktor does not understand why you resist.
It is why he has been watching you since you burnt him—it is why he watches you now.
Beside the bonfire convulsing in the centre of the commune, you kneel; body bowing into the flames like a disintegrating sheet of paper, hands clasped as though lost in prayer. Viktor knows you are not. Through his connection to you, no hallowed whispers plead for recognition, nor does acute devotion blanket his mind. Complete silence through the bond. Disturbed only by crackling—moisture and sap boiling, evaporating, and forcing its escape from within the burning logs.
Viktor does not wish to access your mind to learn why you resist.
Viktor does not understand why.
ꕤ
Strangely, you waste away most of your days in the commune’s greenhouse, fingering the flora and fauna as though it is your first time seeing such feats of nature. Perhaps when you joined the commune, it was. Afterall, life in Zaun cannot thrive under pollution. Yours especially, Viktor comes to discover—your flower wilting sickeningly further per diem.
A revered brush of your skin on waxy leaves as though it will heal you.
A deep inhale, clean air rushing to fill your lungs.
A bite. A taste. A bright petal melting on your tongue.
These actions have existed countless times before today, and they will continue to exist until he transcends this body hindering his vision, until he metamorphoses you and all his followers for good. Yet there is a quality to your time in the greenhouse that is pure and untouched and inconceivable to ignore.
Viktor abandons his will to try.
ꕤ
Viktor’s emergence from the Hexcore’s cocoon marks the first cry of a new age. Laid out before him, splayed like a carcass for is perusement, is the path he must forge to drive humanity to his glorious evolution. Never has this path appeared as promised as in this moment.
Possibilities branch off the path in unsettled veins, and Viktor will sever these poor imitations with his power. His machine. His mind.
A spark.
A flame.
A burn, its strength demanding Viktor’s recognition.
It will never be known to humanity how Viktor’s transformation into the Machine Herald has one imperfection remaining.
You.
ꕤ
Worship is a sickness if one’s body and mind are at war.
And it is clearer to none than the Machine Herald, how this internal waging war will be your undoing. Dregs of doubt tear your consciousness from your body with every shockwave that skims along your skin like a pebble barely breaking the water’s surface. It is only a matter of time before the stone drops, splintering the surface you carefully protect, because nothing betrays the mind like the body.
And the Herald notices how your body betrays you.
Knees and shoulders dig into the dirt. Breasts too. Face pressed against the root of a plant. Bare. Utterly bare. Eyes straining to catch the Herald’s behind its mask. Cunt fluttering in the clean, warm air. Arousal dripping from your slit. Metal prongs pierce the skin near your spine and droplets of blood bead around the Herald’s gold-tipped claw like sap from the wound of a tree.
It doesn’t require much to evoke responses from you; the Herald understands—just as alkali metals react with cool water. The barest touch ignites such vigorous explosions. When a glowing digit trails down your folds, the Hexcore’s violet light reflecting on your wetness, you keen and your back arches like a threatened cat’s. The Herald notes this response. A second digit spreads your cunt. When its claw depresses you harder into the loose ground, a glob of sticky arousal slides down to your clit and you moan. A soft sound. One that falls from your lips only to be severed seconds after meeting the air.
Would you join the roots tangled beneath the dirt, the Herald wonders, if held down long enough for your mortal form to decompose. For your skin to discolour and blister. For your tissue to liquify and melt from your bones. For the insects and ground to swallow you up. Would you rise up into the neighbouring plants and bloom anew in the sun?
The Herald’s finger runs the length of your cunt as it decides what to do with you; the Herald’s finger is the length of your cunt—and then some. Its claw splays the width of your back. And it must crouch to be level with you, as mountainous as the Herald’s new form is. You squirm under the weight of the claw but you cannot move far.
The Herald notices that he does not want you to move at all.
Undriven by an emotion as inconsequential as pleasure, the Herald suspects this pull to toy with you, to inspect you, must be universal. A gravity in its own right. A force of attraction between two objects of mass. And you clearly wield a mass larger than yourself to be trapping the Herald in this way, it is sure.
It is gravity that compels the Herald to track the dilation of your iris, your gaze wading through thick fog in search of a subject to focus on among the vegetation. You are quiet.
Gravity that compels the Herald to crawl a bloody red line from the border of your ribcage to the dip of your waist. You cry out.
Gravity that compels the Herald to rest the cool metal of his staff in the seat of your cunt. When it pulses in want, the staff shifts as though alive.
One hand now free, the Herald reaches up and grasps the bowing stalk of a leaf the size of your head, drawing it down, down, down, until its waxen edge brushes the sensitive skin behind your knee. You twitch, toes curling towards the ball of your foot like a dead spider. The leaf starts its procession up your body—whispering against the inside of your thigh, through the wetness escaping on either side of the staff, across your quivering hole. The Herald lifts its claw, just for a moment, and the leaf traverses up and over each bump of your spine as though it were a living, breathing mountain range. When the plant reaches your nape, its underside is tinged with messy swipes of ichor from the wounds along your back.
The Herald doesn’t utter a word, though it could. You produce enough noise alone—floating whimpers that reach the Herald before being snuffed from existence as though simply figments of its machine mind. A cleaved gasp, when the Herald releases the leaf and it flies upwards, swaying as though rocked by a strong gust of wind. Then, a pained, torn off keen when its claw is placed back atop you. The Herald considers you.
Gravity.
Even the Herald cannot erase gravity.
Keeping its staff tucked in the folds of your cunt, the Herald slides it upwards. As each ridge catches your clit, your lips drop open, and every haggard breath scatters loose dirt and petals. You whine and you whine and you whine. Akin to something the Herald may have recognised once—may have even experienced before. Now, it is simply one more fatal human flaw on the Herald’s unending list.
After what must be a briefer stretch of time than it appears given the multitude of your sounds contained within, the staff’s pommel fits into the dip of your fluttering pussy. With concentration, the scent of your arousal tangles with clean earth and florals. The Herald draws back the staff, a string of connecting wetness lengthening until it snaps, and the pommel swings back into your cunt like a pendulum. You light up, and the air ignites with you. A tiny, shaken wail to pair with your quivering thighs—spread so wide your pelvis will meet the ground if forced down any farther. You cunt clenches around the shape of the pommel as though to coax it inside you.
The Herald does it again.
Slap. Wail.
Slap. Gasp. Wail.
Gasp. Slap. Wail. Gasp. Gasp. Gasp.
Breath fights to enter your lungs. Breath fights to leave your lungs. The imposing weight of the Herald’s gold-tipped claw makes every effort pitiful. Still, you try.
The Glorious Evolution will eradicate the mercy your body holds your mind to. You will surpass humans, just like the Herald. Your mass will change. Perhaps your gravity will too. And if it changes for the worse—if it ensnares the Herald tighter in your web, you will be stamped out, as simple as removing a variable from the equation.
Strangely though, the Herald’s observations all point in one direction: you enjoy being human. Even threatened by the whims of your body’s continuous functioning, even being hurt and held because you are weak. You are human in both body and mind.
On the next slap you come.
Your fingernails scrabble in the dirt for purchase beside your anguished face, and you veer away from the Herald as though on instinct, trembling in the vulnerable throes of his making. Unable to do anything but succumb to the heat pulsing in your core, each individual heartbeat sends a new wave to drown you. The Herald watches you twitch, and tries to decide if you are experiencing pleasure or pain—its aftermath nearly too similar to discern.
Eventually, your eyes slide shut and your body sags into the ground. A hair’s breadth from the dirt, your wet cunt teases the earth—a steady string of leaking arousal darkens a fine patch.
Once again, it is gravity that fits the Herald’s claw around your hips—the prongs digging into your soft, fleshy womb. You’re lifted up, body hinging from the claw until you’re suspended like a carcass, toes trying and failing to brush the ground in your panic. And it is gravity that acts upon you now as you tits sway when you wriggle. Your arms dangle uselessly in the air. Your fingers twitch, searching for something to hold onto.
It’s so easy.
Your human form poses no peril to the Herald, and it is featherweight for the potency of the Hexcore. Quiet tears run up your forehead and into your hair.
The Herald barely holds the staff as it lets gravity fulfill its purpose, the pommel slipping over the wet mound of your cunt and into the warm air. Slowly, ever so slowly, the body of the staff glides past your slit and bumps your clit with every notch. You sob, now—expression shuttering at the sharp bursts of sensation, pussy pulsing as it’s accosted by ridge, crag, and vein of the polished wood.
In his clutches, your hips jerk, just barely. As though aware you cannot escape despite your body’s insistence on accomplishing the feat. You rupture into heaving sobs, each lined with a helpless moan. When the Herald reaches the crown of its staff, the ascent begins, and you are subject to relearn the humps of its length as pleasure creeps back up your body. It moves the staff quicker by a degree barely noticeable to an outside spectator. But to you—to you, it’s like being consumed by the flame. Your cries never stood a chance. They get swallowed up by your hiccuped moans, a new medley bursting forth with every brush of your clit.
It’s lucky really, if such a belief is founded in truth, for the divot of your slit to keep the staff on its track—you are so wet that the entire length gleams in the viridescent light refracting throughout the greenhouse.
The Herald lets the pleasure build, your suspended body spasming with no stable surface to ground it, lets it crest, limbs locking tight, cunt tightening around the staff, and lets it crash over you once more. Your legs kick out, bending at the knee as you unconsciously curl inwards as much as you can—hinging at the claws around your waist while your orgasm wracks through you.
The Herald doesn’t stop the steady ascent of the staff, letting every new stimulation of your clit drive you through its swell until it becomes too much, too soon. Yet you still whine, still flinch, and still gasp—still release these tiny noises of arousal—while fractured inhales betray you for the countless time since the Herald found you in here.
Your human body must break—as all human bodies do.
The staff’s pommel rides over the mound of your cunt and fits itself into the seat of it. Dragging it back and forth, the Herald listens to your rasping breaths. Then, the staff begins to slide back along your slit and over your abused clit, aided by gravity. The Herald intends to ascertain the number of times your body will let it draw forth this climax, and only once you are well and truly broken will it change you. Transform you. End your suffering. For the Glorious Evolution is arriving and you shall thank the Herald for it in rebirth.
Thus, worship is this, the Herald decides.
Total surrender.
‹‹ KINKTOBER 2025 | GENERAL M.LIST | READ ON AO3
if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging !! thanks for reading 🤓 <3
CW- slight jayce jealousy, viktors part has light degradation and uses the word 'whore' once toward reader, inspecting body briefly. animalistic (?) jayce (but verbally so sweet)
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Viktor would dominate you verbally and give you the illusion of physical domination. He loves having you on your stomach, laying over top of you to fuck you deeply. He is able to put his weight on you and distribute the rest on his good leg and forearms. You both know you could probably flip Viktor over but to position, the pressure of his weight, he feeling of his breath, deep rumbles coming from his chest as he whispers sweet and dirty things to you.
"Oh sweet girl... taking me so well. You look so sweet like this, all squished into the mattress..."
But he loves to get a little mean as well...
"Look at that face... such a little whore for me and Jayce aren't you?"
He would growl and pant as he puts more force, letting gravity help him fuck into your harder. All you can do is desperately angle your hips back to give him better access.
Even when you are on top, riding viktor he still maintains control and makes you feel weak and vulnerable to him. He keeps your legs spread wide, staring at and admiring your hole taking him greedily. He will degrade and embarrass you if you cover your face or hide yourself.
"Can't even follow these simple instructions love? I said i want to see everything. You know how I love to inspect every inch."
He makes you feel like a bug under a microscope. Prodding, pinching, spreading every part of you wide, wanting to see how you react and learn your body. Studying it like a map. This alone is enough to make you vulnerable and pliable, submitting to him with ease.
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Jayce however, will dominate you physically in every way possible. He is capable of manhandling you and tossing you around. He will bend you into every position, fucking you like he needed it to survive.
Hes a bit animalistic when he gets into it. Growling, marking your skin with bites, and generally just fucking you with so much raw power. However, unlike Viktor, it is quite hard for him to be mean to you verbally.
"Ohhhh my sweet sweet darling. You look so perfect taking me like this. Fuck... I'm sorry I'm being so rough. You know I can't help it right?"
He whines these words so sweetly as he pounds into your like an animal. He loves putting you into positions he knows Viktor can't do. He will fuck you while standing, he'll do doggy for hours, he will even hold you in his arms, a leg draped over either arm, while he pounds into you.
"Fuck. Ohhhh you are so tight. You fit me perfectly don't you honey~"
He loves watching your face contort as he fucks you in different ways. He wants to see how many different sounds he can force out of your pretty little mouth.
I don’t really have any specific requests but I was wondering if you would make more dom!victor x trans masc reader😭 I love him sm and your other fics had me DROOLING
thank you so much anon!! I’m so SO sorry this took so long! My mind was overtaken by marvel characters🙏 but we are back and better than ever🫡
My Masterlist🌱
Viktor x transmasc!reader
small synopsis: viktor has eyes for jayce’s assistant🙂↕️🙏
18+ drabble MDNI (1k)
You had been working in the lab for a few weeks, and you had mostly settled in nicely. Your official title was ‘Jayce’s assistant’, but you worked with Viktor nearly as much, if not more than Jayce himself. He was hardly ever in the lab these days- that gave Viktor free use over you, right?
Viktor often caught himself looking at you. And not in the usual methodical way he would stare at others- no, this was something different. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it was adoring.. maybe admiring. He’d catch himself staring at the way your legs fit into your pants just right, or how your button down left so much to the imagination. It was a little embarrassing, truly. He normally would be much more composed in the lab, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Was it his fault you looked so lovely to touch?
It was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to hide his erections in the lab, especially with how often you were around. He wanted to avoid you- he truly did. But you were so sweet to the eye, and your voice? Something to be dreamt of. You always were a respectful little thing, many sir’s and ma’am’s floating through the air at any given time. The first time you called him sir he may have choked on his own spit, his cock quickly acting of its own volition. Luckily you hadn’t noticed, opting to grab him a glass of water instead. You were a saint- Jayce’s saint.
He would often wave you over when he didn’t even need your help, simply wanting you near. He’d smile to himself whenever you put your hand on the back of his chair, leaning over to read what he was working on, so sweet and eager to help. It truly was only a matter of time before his fingers would slip into your belt loop, pulling you towards him in a manner that was certainly less than professional.
It was the end of the day and everyone else had gone home- he had asked you to stay late with him, unabashedly preying on your kindness. When he yanked you closer by your belt loop, his other hand quickly moved to your tie, pulling your head down to be level with his own. He gazed into your eyes for a moment, admiring how wide your eyes were, a smirk blooming on his face.
“Always so eager to help.” He tuts, pulling you a little closer as the hand on your belt loop shifts to your thigh, rubbing mindlessly. But it was anything but mindless, truly. He had fantasized about seducing you in the lab since the day he saw you. Rubbing his cock raw to the thought of you bent over one of the desks in the lab, or fingering himself while he thought about how good you looked when you bent over. “Will you help me once again, assistant?” He mused softly as he looked at you with a fire in his eyes.
When he saw how you nodded instantly he chuckled, grabbing his cane and using the handle to tuck behind your knee, making your leg buckle slightly. You understood the message, slowly lowering yourself onto your knees as you looked up at him with wide eyes, your breath shaky. “Viktor-“ you start to say, but he quickly cups your chin, leaning down and pulling you into a deep kiss. When he pulls away, he sets his cane on the desk and leans back in his chair.
“Good boy’s only speak when spoken to.” He says lightly, letting his fingers slip into your hair. “And you are a good boy. Correct?”
Your breath hitched as you gazed up at him, quickly nodding as you sat back on your legs. “Yes sir.” You said faintly, your body almost trembling from anticipation.
Viktor hums and before you realize, his foot is on your chest, pushing you down further. “As handsome as you are.. I do believe you look better beneath me.” He chuckles to himself when he sees you gulp, admiring how wide your eyes were as you gazed up at him expectantly. “I have one assignment for you, and one alone.” He says quietly as he reaches to undo the front of his pants. “Bring me pleasure- however you see fit. Use your.. creative talents.” He murmurs with a faint smirk as he pulled his cock from his pants, letting out a soft sigh as he lets his foot fall away from your chest.
You gently scooted closer, your hand tentatively reaching out to skim over his cock, making him shiver. It didn’t take long for you to become addicted to the shape of him, admiring the ruddy tip and the veins that ran along every which way. Within a minute your mouth was on him, teasing at his slit where he leaked pre cum. While his persona began to falter, his smirk did not. His hand slipping around your head, keeping himself grounded as well as keeping you steady. He never took his eyes off of you, admiring how sweetly you looked at his cock.
He couldn’t help but buck his hips up a little every now and then, his smirk growing when he sees how your eyes flutter, or when he hears a little noise of surprise. And he certainly doesn’t miss your hips rocking back and forth, begging for some kind of attention. He slid his foot in between your legs, giving you a little something to ride- just to keep you occupied. Your lips wrapped around his head sent a shiver down his spine, pressing your head down a little, silently begging for more while maintaining his dignity. He knew Jayce would most likely check the security footage in the morning when he came in to find the lab a wreck- and he would finally get the message.
“I think it is safe to say you are my assistant now.” He muses.
It's funny how Viktor RADIATES Dom energy and Jayce looks and acts exactly like a guy who still hasn't figured out that he needs to be put on his knees and pegged and therefore doesn't know how to ask for it
SERIOUSLY THOUGH. Jayce very much gives me “wants so many things but struggles to ask for them” vibes. And especially considering the society he grew up in, where the value of a “house” is based on what they can give to the world. But like… his mind is always running so fast, and often what he needs is to just be mindless for a few hours. To entrust himself and his body to someone and just let all of it go.
And chu buddy, does Viktor give off those dom vibes. Just the way he was always depicted as so slow and precise, calm and collected when working on a project (even a dangerous one).
Like… looooook at himmmmm
I just KNOW he can have even the strongest of men begging for it.
They're are no jayvik fics where its not "top jayce, bottom viktor" smut. I was soft slow mlm t4t dom viktor where thy just have fun banter while sleep deprived from working all night.
