holeh moleh sorry for going MIA yo🙏 i promise i’m not dead works just been kicking my asssssssssss so considering this a peace offering while i still juggle fantasising and money making 😜😜
~
w: a/b/o office au with könig!!!
sometimes i think about how he’d corner you in that cramped office as an unclaimed omega, the scent hitting first—vanilla, warm earth, something sharper underneath—and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe.
you’d probably be in shock, trying to find leverage but könig would reassure you, telling you: “it’s okay… hold onto me.” his hand would find your spine, rough and deliberate, guiding you closer, while the other tangled in your hair. maybe after, könig would tilt your head just so. your throat bare, pulse fluttering where he could feel it.
he wouldn’t kiss you… not yet. instead he’d breathe you in, lips brushing the edge of your skin like a warning, a claim. “that’s it. don’t fight it,” he’d rasp, his voice a vibration against you, his grip anchoring every trembling inch of your body to his. he’d do his best to be gentle but there’s no guarantee his office desk isn’t gonna break.
“I can’t believe they allowed my uniform suggestion for the maidens,” he joked around, his warmth surrounding you completely as he ogled your body in the outfit.
he knew your hips and thighs intimately, the way he’d stare when you cleaned the lounging rooms and mopped the floor. your uniform would ride up and he could finally get a peek at your skin.
“your body was made for me to worship and for me to devour.” the huskiness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, instead giving you chills. you never took him for a… perv. he’s a prince, he was always considerate and down to earth.
somehow this is the same prince in front of you, his cock throbbing without a doubt underneath all the luxurious royal wears. he ran his hands over your clothed breasts, feeling the silky fabric along with lace as it followed the plumpness of your tits.
“how can something so divine belong to a mere servant?” his voice was thick with lust as he kneaded your chest. you bit down on your lip as to avoid drawing attention to yourselves in the hallway.
in doing so, you were unable to protest and könig was quick to use it as an invitation to continue. his large hands found the strings keeping your uniform together.
you don’t remember how you ended up here, bent over on a polished wooden desk with könig’s huge cock pounding you from behind. you only remember bringing him a manila folder.
your skirt was bunched up messily by your waist and your black thong fallen around your ankles. könig’s tie was loose, his sweaty chest littered with hair, exposed.
“I have a cartel meeting in two days at 3pm, do you mind adding that to my schedule?” his voice was ragged but still composed as he murmured that message into your ear.
trembling, you clutched a black pen and his yearly planner book and messily jotted the information down whilst trying to take his fat cock over and over.
“that’s the wrong—,” his large hand came down onto your ass with a harsh slap, “—fucking day.” könig growled into your ear as you scheduled the meeting on the wrong date.
“I’m… I-I’m sorry sir…!” you moaned, crossing out the wrong info the best you could. your eyes rolled back, the pleasure bordering on pain. he thrust into you harder, shaking his desk as he grabbed your shoulders as leverage to impale you back onto his dick.
he continued to fuck you relentlessly until you were able to schedule his meeting on the right day and the right time. by the end of it, you were covered in marks, leaking his cum, and somehow lost your panties.
könig enjoys having sex with his sugar baby, but one particular night where he fucks you on top of a bed of his hard earned money… was the best night of his life. he challenged you to collect as much money as you could while he railed you.
“watching you spend my money turns me on, makes me want to force you to spend it so i can fuck you every night, my maus” he mumbles, thrusting into you with fervour as the money underneath the two of you crunches and crumpled from every movement.
you can feel the girth of his cock stretching you and the inked 100 dollar bills sticking to your sweaty skin but none collected in your hand, “you’re just a little slut who’ll do anything for a taste of this wealth.”
he rammed his big, rich cock into you harder and harder, enjoying the sight of watching you try and hold the money in your hands while he fucked you.
hmmm könig acting like an excited but desperate puppy, asking you “does that feel good? do you like it? tell me, is that the spot, my hase?” constantly because he has slight doubt. except he underestimates his size and already, his seemingly ‘slow’ pace is drilling into you so you’re unable to answer him.
now you’re being fucked dumb and you haven’t said anything, by his own knowledge of sex, he simply assumes he’s not pounding you good enough. his ‘slow’ pace becomes almost impossible to take when his thrusts begin to speed up and fuck you deeper.
still, könig is asking if that feels any better but you’re face first burying into the pillow, biting the sheets, given up on asking so you just end up taking his fat cock til you both cum. (aka til you feel like you’ve met death)
Warnings/Tags: 18+ work!! minors shoo flyyyyy - tin/machine/purple viktor, SLIGHT submissive viktor, submissive reader, exes trying to get back together (oof dont do that), suggestive innuendoes, attempted dirty talk, cussing, breeding mentions, erm no protection smh, kissing, smut with plot, f!reader implied but no use of feminie pronouns — tell me if I've missed anything!
< Part One
"Say something..." He muttered under his breath. Viktor was frustrated and trying to keep himself in control. He was a bit pent up, he wasn’t going to lie to himself about that. You were clearly being affected somewhat by this, which was making him struggle to maintain his usual persona.
His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps and saliva. His touch is both familiar and terrifying, a ghost of the past. You try to push him away, but his grip on your thigh is like iron, pinning you in place.
"Stop this, Viktor," you whisper, your voice trembling. He ignores your plea, his hand finding the button of your shirt and expertly undoing it. The cool air against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, but it's nothing compared to the burning sensation of his gaze as it roams over your body.
“You used to love it when I touched you like this,” he murmurs, his voice a low, deliberate growl that seems to crawl under your skin. His words linger in the air, weighted with nostalgia. “You’d arch your back, moan my name like it was the only thing you knew…”
His fingers trail up your arm, feather-light, as if testing your reaction. When you don’t pull away, he steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his scent intoxicating. The heat radiates from his body, and you hate how it makes your skin prickle with awareness.
Slowly, methodically, he pulls at the hem of your shirt, peeling it away to reveal the soft lace of your pastel pink bra. His eyes darken, their intensity almost feral, locking onto you like a predator cornering its prey.
He stares. And he stares long.
Viktor falls into a trance simply by just staring at your undergarment. He hasn't seen you like this in years yet he already seems dizzy and hazy. From all those years ago... you've definitely increased a little in cup size as your breasts fully molds into his hands. His eyes darken as he gazes down at you, lingering on the delicate lace of your bra. He reaches out a finger, tracing the outline of your breast, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.
"Such beautiful things," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "Hidden away from the world."
You couldn't voice your protests anymore as this intimacy between the two of you brings back vivid, sensual memories when you two lived together. Though he may have changed as a human and his morals, he hadn't changed the way his careful fingers intricately ran across your skin.
Viktor's fingers were warm despite looking like a machine. As he lowers himself to level with your tits, he inhales your scent. It was a slow and intimate inhale, your entire scent coating his senses. He looks up at you, amber honey eyes sparkling with intensity and need before taking your left, clothed nipple into his mouth.
A shiver courses through you when his mouth brushes against your nipple—just barely at first, a teasing caress. The contact sends an involuntary jolt through your body, your back arching before you can stop yourself. His low chuckle vibrates against your chest.
“Still so sensitive,” he remarks, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and possession. With his free hand, a thumb brushes over the peak of your right breast in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing another soft gasp from your lips. The touch is maddening, gentle enough to tease.
Viktor's mouth grows to salivate immensely, almost like a slobbering dog. His lips were shiny and smooth, his tongue moving in desperate fervor against the pink lace of your bra.
His lips part even more and he takes you into his mouth again, his tongue drawing more lazy patterns that leave your mind spinning. You let out a soft exhale, the sound barely escaping, muffled by the tension straining in your throat. He pulls back, his lips glistening as a thin strand of spit connects his tongue to the now dark pink, damp spot on your bra.
He admires the pert mound of your hardened nipple against the lace. Viktor leans down, his mouth closing over your tits again, suckling gently. His eager free hand gently twist and tug at your other nipple as well as running his palm over your flesh. He moans gently when he fondles your tits.
He pulls back, his eyes filled with a hunger that makes your blood run cold.
"Viktor wait—" you attempt to voice a protest but he's quick to ignore it just as fast as you spoke. He moves his hand to the clasp of your bra, his fingers fumbling with the delicate hooks.
"No... no, I'm not stopping." Finally, they snap open and he gently pulls the bra away, revealing your breasts fully. To him, they sat incredibly nicely for him.
You gasp, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and arousal. Viktor's eyes devour your body, taking in every curve, every inch of your skin. The sudden exposure left you vulnerable and exposed.
He reached out and cupped one of your breasts in his hand, the warmth of his palm engulfing the flesh. He gently massaged it, his touch sending more pleasure through you, your body arching towards him, "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So soft, so warm..."
Viktor leaned down and took your other breast in his mouth, gently sucking on your bare nipple. You exhaled harshly, your head thrown back in ecstasy. He moved his free hand lower, tracing the curve of your stomach. He hungrily laps up your nipple, causing him to pull you towards his mouth even more.
When he pulls back, Viktor stands up to his full height, pulling you to his metallic body, "Bed, now. On your back." He demanded you, desperately wanting to see you listen to him on your own will. Something you used to do.
Willingly, but also with a hint of hesitation, you climb into the safe confines of your bed. You lay against your soft sheets, eyeing him with a bit of anxiety.
He kneels between your legs without wasting a second, his eyes never leaving yours the moment you lay. He reached out and gently stroked your inner thigh. When his fingers brush between your legs, you gasp audibly, the sound loud in the thick silence between you. He circles his touch, the pressure maddeningly light. Tension coils low in your belly and you bite your lip, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of hearing your moans.
Unlike your bra, Viktor claws at your knee-height skirt. He was hungry to get them off, wanting access to you like his life depended on it. He couldn't wait any longer. Reaching out, he traced the delicate curve of your hip with a fingertip.
He reached for the hem of your skirt, his fingers brushing against your thigh. With a swift, practiced move, he slid the skirt down your legs, the soft fabric pooling at the edge of your bed. Your hands instinctively reached for him, but he held them captive, his grip firm yet gentle. He wanted to savour this moment, to prolong the anticipation, to watch the way your body arched and pleaded beneath him.
"Slower, Viktor... you're too fast." You mumbled, slightly sitting up as you look down at your now bare legs.
He chuckled a low. He moved lower, his eyes fixed on the delicate lace of your panties, the way they clung to your hips, outlining the curves of your body like second skin.
"Such gorgeous legs," he completely ignored your plea. With a single, decisive movement, he tugged them down, revealing the silken expanse of your inner thighs, the delicate folds of your cunt bathed in the soft light, "and a gorgeous... pussy."
You arched against him, a desperate plea etched on your face, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and ecstasy. He met your gaze, his eyes burning with a possessive hunger. Viktor reached out and gently stroked your inner thigh, the contact igniting a burning sensation between your legs.
"You're so wet for me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Always have been." You didn't even realise yourself the amount of arousal that pooled between your thighs. His metallic fingers traced the hairs that framed your cunt, his eyes sparkling amber and pink. He moved his hand lower, his fingers brushing against the entrance to your core.
You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for his hair before pulling away in realisation. You couldn't succumb fully, this was your ex.
However, he took that as the go ahead. Slowly, achingly slowly, he pushed a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, the intrusion sending a spark of shock and pleasure. You whimpered at the penetration of his finger, the feel of foreign skin inside you.
"So tight, so ready, I love it." he whispered, his voice rough with desire.
"Viktor..." you sighed out his name, resulting in a lip bite from him, his name slipping from your lips in a broken whisper.
Your legs were spread wide, an invitation he could not ignore. His gaze roamed over you, drinking in every curve, every glimmer of sweat that caught the soft flicker of light. Another finger of his plunged deeper inside your cunt with a confidence born of knowing your body already. The sound of your low moan filled the room, a quiet surrender that sent a shiver down his prosthetic spine.
"Pretty pussy..." His fingers began to move, finding a rhythm that felt instinctive. Each thrust of his fingers inside your hole was hungry, coaxing out a response from you. The subtle shivers that rippled across your skin, the way your thighs tensed and quivered under his touch.
"Nngh..." a huff of a whimper escaped your throat. He was entranced by you, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted as if to call his name but never quite did.
With excruciating slowness, he withdrew his fingers, relishing the way your body leaned into the absence. The sight of you flushed and trembling, was intoxicating. Viktor brought himself towards your face.
His head dipped low and he pressed his mouth to you, claiming you with a ferocity. His kiss was deep and consuming as he sought to imprint every part of you onto himself. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting you thoroughly, basking in the rawness of your arousal. His kisses trailed lower, moving to the hollow of your throat.
You closed your eyes, slowly submitting to his actions. Viktor descended between the valley's of your pert tits with warm and thirsty kisses.
Lower, lower, lower.
You felt the heat of his breath before his tongue made contact with the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tracing a wet, teasing path upward.
"Your pussy is so pretty," he repeated, "I've dreamed of this precious hole every night, used to come all over myself to the thought of it being presented to me like a feast."
He pressed his lips against your clit, his tongue swirling, craving the taste he longed for for years. He tasted the sweetness of your arousal, the salty tang of your sweat and it drove him wild. His movements shifted, his tongue alternating between slow, torturous circles and quick, darting strokes. Each change brought a new reaction from you—a gasp, a shudder, a keening whimper.
Viktor wanted to unravel you completely, wanting to prepare you for his aching cock.
He continued to worship you, his tongue a relentless instrument of pleasure, until he pulled back with a pant with his chin drenched in your wetness. He teased you, wanting you to cum on his cock.
He'd make you cum on his face another time.
He unclipped his navy blue cloak, revealing his veiny purple, shimmering cock. He was already leaking, the pearly pre-cum trailing underneath his length.
"Need you." Was all he said as he ground the tip of his erection against your prepared cunt. Viktor groaned, throwing his head back slightly, some of his chocolate locks slick against his forehead. He let out a soft sigh as he listened to the sounds of your wetness against his cock.
"Can I put it in?" Viktor's soft Czech accent managed to reach his whimpering words. But instead, he didn't wait for an answer.
With a growl, he thrust inside your cunt, filling you completely.
"Fuck!" You cried out. You hadn't slept with anyone in a few months so you were glad Viktor prepared you. He felt lengthier and you definitely weren't used to his 'new' cock. He buried his face in your hair, his own cries of pleasure mingling with yours.
He moved slowly at first, savouring the feel of you, the taste of you. He wanted to memorise the way your body responded to him. It had been a good few years without your touch. The way you gasped, the way your legs tightened around him, the way you whispered his name like a prayer.
Viktor's cock throbbed inside your cunt, probing beneath your lower abdomen, "I'm here... right here." He lifted the careful, purple, supernatural hand of his and pressed it against your bare skin where his dick reached from inside. He gazed at the tummy bulge, relishing the feel of his cock head rubbing right there.
"Aaah..." His pace quickened, his control unraveling as your movements matched his. The sound of his 'skin' slapping your skin, every thrust urged Viktor on. He tilted his head back, a moan escaping his lips, his hands finding your plush hips, then your hair. Viktor needed to bury himself as deep as he can get.
"You're so tight, it's driving me crazy," He buried his face against your neck, his breath hot and uneven as he whispered your name like a vow, “I want you to look me in the eyes while I’m inside you.”
You arched into him, desperate for more. You don't remember him being this talkative during sex. As you responded with only moans and whimpers, Viktor seemed to pick up the pace. He wants you to say something. He needs it.
"Can't you be a good little... whore and respond to your lover?" He moved with a primal rhythm, his hips grinding against yours with increasing thrusts, "I never want to stop fucking you."
Where did this talk come from? What had he learned all these years? Viktor's amber eyes glossed over with lust and shimmer, his forehead covered in a light layer of sweat as his eyebrows creased due to the immense pleasure.
"Oh God, Viktor..." You finally responded with something.
"I want to fuck you in every room of this house." His response back was even quicker and more pathetic. HIs words strung with an air of thirst. The air is thick with the smell of sex, so lewd, so sweaty. You clenched at the use of every cuss word that slipped through his pink lips, "S-So... warm."
You felt yourself nearing the edge, a wave of pleasure building within your lower abdomen. Viktor needily thrusted into your slick pussy, "I'm close..."
"Can I cum inside you? I need to cum inside you." He scans your face quickly, picking up on any facial expression or any answer before he bursts, as he does his best to hold back. You can feel his hips stutter, purposely not answering his question.
Viktor bites his lip, exhaling a harsh groan against your ear. You simply whine in response, "Cum Vik..."
His eyes, heavy-lidded and clouded with raw desire, fix on your every movement with an intensity in the way his gaze examines your own sweat covered face, hair strands sticking to your skin. Under the weight of his stare, you find yourself quivering, succumbing to the pleasure of his cock.
It’s almost too much, the power of his attention making your breath hitch as your fingers involuntarily press harder into his thighs, seeking some anchor against the overwhelming sensations.
The intensity of the moment overwhelms Viktor, his restraint unraveling as a deep groan escapes his lips, "I'm going to breed you so good."
His body moves on instinct, his hips lifting in a desperate response and coming back down against your pelvis, each thrust wild and uninhibited. His movements grow erratic, each surge of his hips filled with raw urgency.
As you hit your release with a loud whimper, you clench enthusiastically out of your own control. Your thighs gently spasming. A soft, broken cry escapes his lips, the sound filled with a vulnerability as he halts his hips against your own. When Viktor stills balls-deep inside your slick cunt, warm ropes of his cum fill you up.
In the throes of his release, he surrenders completely, collapsing with his full weight against you. His breath comes in shallow, trembling gasps. Viktor’s lips part and your name spills out in a soft, broken whimper.
His hips gently stutter, the aftershocks running wild through his thighs and his cum already leaking out your hole, "I love your body so much..."
Your breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps as you rest against him, your chest rising and falling in time with the frantic beat of your heart. The pads of your fingers trace the curve of his shoulder blades, the soft ridges of muscle beneath his supernatural skin.
"Did you remember us better? How good it felt, every night when we did this?" He pathetically asked you, puppy eyes staring up at you with fluttering eyelashes.
“When this all mattered?” You replied coolly, deliberately letting your voice remain detached, though it was harder than you wanted it to be. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words had affected you. But he didn’t look away, his gaze clinging to yours with a desperation that was almost unbearable.
"It always mattered."
Post Notes: wooow viktor 😋😍😍 im soooooooo gonna do more smut of him
Warnings/Tags: 16+ because its bit suggestive so shooooo - tin/machine viktor, SLIGHT submissive viktor, SLIGHT submissive reader (hopefully its pg enough), swtiching, exes, trying to get back together (oof dont do that), suggestive innuendoes, touchy feely mentions, f!reader implied but no use of feminine pronouns — tell me if I've missed anything!
Part Two >
It had been years since you last saw Viktor, yet the memory of your parting remained etched into your mind like a wound that refused to heal. You remembered the way his gaze had shifted, once warm and full of curiosity, now cold and unyielding. His obsession with the Glorious Evolution consumed him entirely, leaving little room for anything—or anyone—else in his life.
He spoke in absolutes, his words more like calculations than sentiments. You watched helplessly as the person you once knew vanished piece by piece, replaced by a man driven by a vision far beyond your grasp.
The day you walked away was devastating. You hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he might pause, might see the toll his ambition was taking on everything he once held dear. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Viktor had chosen his path and you had no choice but to choose yours.
In the years that followed, his name became a distant echo, carried to you only by the occasional whisper of rumours. Tales of the Machine Herald, a figure deemed a God, filtered through the shadows of the world. You heard of his relentless march toward perfection, but not once did he cross your path. Not once did you imagine he would.
Until tonight.
The moment you flicked on the light in your living room, your heart stopped, the air leaving your lungs in a rush.
Someone was there.
Seated in your armchair like they owned the place, their silhouette sharp against the glow of the lamp. You froze, instincts screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there rooted in place. For a moment, they said nothing and neither did you. The stillness stretched thin.
Then, their voice cut through the tension like a blade, calm and deliberate.
“We need to talk.”
Your chest rises and falls erratically, the sound of your ragged breathing filling the heavy silence around you. He stays where he is, his presence is unnervingly calm. The dim light catches the gleam of his golden eyes. It feels alive, almost predatory, as it fixes on you.
“Are you done gasping for air?” he asks after a long moment, his voice gripped with impatience. The words slice through the room as if your panic were little more than an inconvenience.
“What the hell—who are you? Get out!” you exclaim, your voice raw and trembling with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Your fists clench at your sides, your body tense and coiled, ready for a fight or flight you haven't yet decided on. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for something—an escape, a weapon, an explanation—anything that could make sense of the stranger sitting so calmly in your home.
The figure doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react to your outburst. Instead, he remained perfectly still.
“You know who I am,” he replies, his voice distorted by the rough mechanical overlay of the mask he wears. The silence stretches taut, heavy with tension, his lack of movement somehow more menacing than any action could be.
Then, with a faint whir and the soft ‘shing’ of metal, he shifts slightly. The purple artificial muscles in his left arm flex beneath the layers of metal, “And there’s no way I’m leaving until we’ve spoken."
He leans forward in the chair. You take a step back, your foot catching slightly on the edge of the rug, but you don’t dare look away from him. Another step, then another, the distance between them never feeling like enough.
You stumble slightly as your heel brushes against the wall, your retreat halted. You were trapped between the hard surface behind you and the immovable figure in front.
Yet he doesn’t rise. He doesn’t chase. He simply watches.
With a deliberate motion, he takes a step forward, and another, closing the space between you with ease. Panic rises in your chest, but before you can react, he’s there, leaning over you. His body is so close, trapping you between himself and the walls of your home.
“You’ve changed,” he remarks after a long pause as he regards you like an old friend. His eyes narrow slightly, taking in every detail of your appearance.
“You look… softer,” he adds, his tone flat and dismissive, as if this change in you is something that doesn’t sit right with him. You don't miss how mechanical his voice sounds.
“Who... are you?!” The words escape in a rush. Your voice shakes, betraying the fear that is starting to creep up your spine. Who is he? Why does he feel so familiar, and yet so... wrong?
There’s no trace of recognition, no warmth in the air, just cold steel and the distant hum of something supernatural beneath his skin.
His fingers graze your skin lightly before gently grasping your chin, the coldness of his touch like ice. His grip is firm but there’s an unsettling gentleness to it. He tilts your face upward, forcing you to look into his eyes.
You can feel the weight of his touch and yet, it feels like it’s not just physical. It’s invasive, as though he’s reaching inside, probing for something. Your neck feels exposed, your breath catching slightly as your body instinctively tenses.
There’s nothing soft, nothing human about his stare. It’s all too alienated, too distant. The faint hum of his prosthetic arm seems to vibrate through the air, a constant reminder that whatever—whoever—this is, it isn’t entirely human anymore.
He leans in slightly, his head tilting to one side, as if pondering the absence of recognition in your expression.
His mask doesn’t convey anything, “You really don’t recognise me?” His tone carries an edge of disbelief, as though it’s almost unthinkable that you wouldn’t. He shifts his weight slightly, but his grip doesn’t loosen, his fingers still lightly holding your chin.
“Take your mask off!” your voice firmer now, though it trembles with the intensity of your frustration. The metallic distortion of his voice only makes it worse, the mechanical overlay making everything feel distant. He’s not any person you could remember, not even close.
He raises an eyebrow at your demand, "Very well," he mutters, his voice still tinged with that mechanical rasp but there's an odd calmness in it now. He pulls it free and it’s as if a veil is lifted from the air.
What lies beneath the mask is a face you know all too well, yet so different from the last time you saw it. His features are gaunt, sharper than you remember, as if the years have carved something out of him.
His skin is pale, almost ghostly under the light. There’s no mistaking it. His eyes, though shinier, still carry a familiarity that hits you like a wave. It’s him. The man you once knew—his face, his expression, the very essence of the person he was, buried beneath the mask and the years.
For a moment, you just stare at him, speechless. He’s right in front of you now.
Real. Yet he feels like a ghost, like a shadow of the man you once knew.
"… What happened to you?"
It’s the first thing that comes to your mind and it seems to carry the weight of everything that’s changed, everything that has shifted between the two of you over the years.
You stare at him, your gaze traveling over the sharp angles of his face, the hardness in his eyes. This isn’t the person you once knew, the person you once trusted and once loved.
The question seems to amuse him, “What happened?” He echoes back to you, his voice ringing with that familiar accent of his. A humorless smile twists at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The smile is dull, "Piltover happened," he adds, as if the mere name of the city is enough to explain everything.
"What happened," he says again as a growl now, “is that Zaun was cast aside—ignored, neglected, abandoned.”
His words hit you. Zaun. That forgotten, broken city that had always been on the edges of Piltover’s gilded perfection. The place that had been swallowed up by the ambitions and the indifference of those who held power.
The place where everything was left to rot, "So I made the city better, myself." His voice is steady, but there’s a dangerous edge to it now.
“And now Piltover is afraid.”
Before you can even react, he reaches up with a swift, practiced motion, placing one hand on the wall beside your head. His fingers splayed wide, as though he owns the very space you’re standing in.
“And you?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, laced with taunting amusement. The question hangs in the air, thick with challenge, daring you to respond. “Are you afraid of me?”
It’s a question loaded with intent, the kind of question that isn’t meant to be answered, but to make you feel small. However there’s something else in his voice, something... hungry. His words aren’t just a challenge, they’re a test, a way for him to gauge whether or not you see the change in him.
There’s a part of you that wants to deny it, to pretend he’s still the person you once knew, but the truth is right in front of you. This is not the same Viktor.
“You’re not a person,” you’re not sure if he can hear the quiet desperation in your voice as you speak. But as his gaze locks with yours, the chilling look in his eyes seems to confirm what you fear most. Whatever humanity once existed in him is long gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.
He’s not a person. Not anymore.
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that isn’t obvious,” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain, “I’m as human as you, if not more so,” he rasps, his words cutting through the space between you with confidence.
There’s a hum in his voice, a certain finality in his tone. “I still have a soul—a heart. One that beats just for you.”
His claim is so absurd, so twisted. A heart that beats just for you? He sounds like he believes it, like he truly believes that his obsession, his transformation, was somehow a sacrifice made for you.
His hand on your chin tightens and you can’t help but flinch. Here he is, speaking of love and devotion as if those words still carry any meaning. As if you’re supposed to believe him.
“No, we parted years ago.” The statement feels heavier than you expected. His expression flickers, ever so slightly, the faintest crack in his demeanor. The bitter smirk that had curled his lips falters for just a second before settling back into place.
“We did,” he says, a blend of mockery and intimacy. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. The corner of his lips quirks into a sly, humorless smirk. “I always parted you… in bed, that is.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back the sharp retort you wanted to hurl at him.
He laughs again, this time his chuckle is dark and deep, “You remember that, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “You remember how I used to make you scream,” he says, the statement suggestive as it sounded.
His smile widened, the curve of his lips taking on an unsettling mix of nostalgia, “I’d drop to my knees for you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Anytime, anywhere… begging you to touch me, just where I needed you most.” His eyes burned into yours.
His hand finally released your chin, the absence of his grip almost startling. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers trailed down your neck in a slow motion, the touch lingering just enough to make your skin prickle. When his hand slid around your waist, the shift in contact was seamless.
“You didn’t just take my heart when you left me,” he continued, his voice softening into a purr that sent a shiver down your spine. “You broke it.” Viktor whispered. His lips quirked upward again, but this time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“You know why we split,” you say, your eyes narrowing as you force yourself to meet his gaze, despite the suffocating proximity.
"Always in the lab,” he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, but the growl lingers beneath the surface, ready to rise again. “Late into the night, always trying to find a new way to reach the Glorious Evolution.” His lips curl into a faint, humorless smirk, as though mocking himself as much as the memory of his relentless drive. “Always chasing perfection… and always losing sight of everything else.”
His fingers continue their slow, deliberate path down your body. His hand finally reaches the edge of your shirt, pausing there for the briefest of moments before grabbing it and lifting it slowly.
The fabric drags against your skin, exposing your chest inch by inch. His gaze flickers down, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
“You really are soft now,” he murmurs, "so soft."
You grimaced, "Stop it."
“Why?” He asks, his fingers moving even further down, sliding over the top of your thighs. “You don’t like it when I touch you?”
You instinctively swat his metal hand away but the moment your hand meets the hard, surface of his prosthetic, a sharp jolt of pain runs up your arm. You winced in result.
He grabs your wrist in a sudden, forceful motion, his fingers tightening with a painful grip, “Don’t do that.” He says, a warning tone in his voice. “Don’t swat at me like I’m some filthy little pest, when you used to kiss my hands like I was your god.”
"You're no God." You try to pull your wrist free, but his grip doesn’t budge.
“I’ve never stopped wanting you.” He says, leaning down to bury his face in the side of your neck. Viktor lets go of your wrists and instead pushes himself between your legs, pinning you to the wall with his body.
“I thought of you when I was supposed to sleep.” He purrs, his voice soft and rough in your ear. “I thought of you when I woke up.”
Then, with a deliberate movement, his body shifts closer, and you can feel the undeniable pressure of him grinding against you, pushing you harder into the wall. “I thought of you when I was desperate.”
Viktor's lips are close to your ear, his breath warm and unsteady as he speaks again, this time with a cruel twist. "You don’t even know, do you? How much I’ve ached for you." His words hang in the air.
“I thought of the way you looked back then.” He says, one of his hands trailing back down, grabbing your thigh and wrapping it around his waist. “When I still had you…”
He presses close to you, his hips pushed firmly against yours and his body close enough that you can feel the heat from his body against your skin. “How your skin used to taste…..”
“...You need to leave, Viktor.” You murmur. He leans in just a fraction closer, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no amusement there.
“Oh, I’ll go.” He says, his lips tracing a path over your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses over your skin.
“But not until we’ve caught up.” He lets go of your hair, one hand grabbing your thigh to keep your leg wrapped around his hip, while the other goes to your shirt, grabbing hold of the material once more.
“Maybe we should start with a little… reminiscing.”
Post Notes: lol i want to make another part but wioth smut oopsise!!!!!!!!!!!! viktor is eating my brain rn
Warning/Tags: angst, crying, Empire mentions, brief pet names (my love), kissing mentions — tell me if I've missed anything!
Crosshair.
He was handsome but his clothing of choice... really didn't suit him. But with quick inspection, there it was. A silver, clean-surfaced symbol of the Galactic Empire.
"Crosshair?" You met his eyes in an instance and he knew you had seen his attire.
"I know." He was blunt, his voice hoarse and low as his eyes scanned your face. You were so beautiful in his eyes, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.
If not for the way that your faces are bathed in moonlight, it might almost seem like any other night. That Crosshair is any other clone saying good-night to you. He's not any other clone, not anymore. But in this moment, it's easy to forget that.
That's the love of your life. He's standing in front of you but in the shadow of the Empire. As a rebel, it was the thing you vowed to take down. But to see your beloved on the other side was heartbreaking.
This wasn't a date.
You don't know if you're happy to see him.
The two of you remain still for a few moments. Crosshair stares down at you and tries to memorise your face, trying to engrave it into his memories. He wants to be able to carry this moment with you, despite how things have turned out.
To remember you as the girl he's fallen in love with.
Crosshair can't help but feel a tinge of sadness as he looks at you. He feels so close to you in this moment, more so than he has in a long time. But he knows that, ultimately, his path away from you is inevitable.
"I know..." he repeats in a more solemn tone, his head hanging low.
"I now live knowing the love of my life is a puppet." You murmured.
Crosshair takes a sharp exhale. He wants to deny that, trying to argue against your words. But he can't, not when you're right. He's been a puppet for the Empire. No matter what he says or does, he can't change the past.
"You're right," he whispers, not attempting to deny it. He sighs with a heavy chest. "But I still have my feelings," he says.
You like to think he still loves you, despite choosing a side that forces him to make your life difficult.
He steps forward and wraps his arms around you For a moment, in your embrace, he can pretend that nothing else exists. It's just you and him, together at last.
"But you... you're with them," you mumbled, "will you be leaving?"
"Yes." He stares at your eyes, glossy that shimmer in the moonlight. They're probably tears about to build up but he finds them so beautiful because they're your eyes.
There's a calmness and peace in him, a resignation to your fate. But with these few minutes you spend together, you almost forget how different you two are.
You lean forward in a cautious manner. With a gentle lean, you're tempted to plant a kiss on his lips. Just before he leaves. You've accepted what he's chosen but you're not leaving without a souvenir.
Crosshair tenses up as you move closer to him. He can tell what you're about to do, but he can't bear it. He's come too far, and he can't let himself waver.
He leans away from you, trying to stay strong. But he can see the disappointment in your eyes - he can see the sadness in your heart. He knows he let you down. But he has to be strong.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, rejecting your kiss. "But that's something I can't do."
Your lips purse into a tight line as you take a small step back, feeling embarrassed and ashamed.
Crosshair's heart is broken. He can't bear the thought of hurting you. But he knows he must. He knows that if he lets you believe any differently, if he lets you think that he has the same feelings as you, he'd be lying to you.
He looks at you again, fighting back the growing regret and guilt in his heart. "You should go—"
"—Please kiss me." You cut him off in desperation.
Crosshair stares at your face as you ask him. He wants nothing more than to comply, than to give in to your request.
But he simply cannot. His mind is in a whirl and his heart is filled with a multitude of emotions. He's spent so much time trying to hold back those feelings, to act as the soldier he needs to be. He can't turn back now, not after all he's done and all he's seen.
"I can't," he whispers. The conflict and sadness in him is palpable.
"It's the least... please?"
Crosshair is at a loss for words. He knows he can't possibly comply with your request.
But he can't help but feel a small pang of remorse. He sees the disappointment in your face, a sadness in your eyes that he himself cannot deny. He feels as if he's letting you down yet again.
He looks away from you, unable to face the shame he feels in that moment. He can barely force himself to speak the words. "I would kiss you but I can't."
"Can't or won't?" There was a hint of aggression behind your words but not enough to be irritated. You were more upset than angry at him.
Crosshair freezes at your question. His eyes narrow and his cheeks turn red as he processes what you're asking him.
He looks back at you and considers for a moment. Can't he let himself be happy once? Can't he let himself kiss you simply because he wants to? He loves you, goddamnit.
But he knows that it's wrong. That that life isn't meant for him, especially after the things he's done. To kiss you would be to ignore his own ideals, his moral compass. He can't betray himself.
"Both," he replies softly.
Your lips go tight as if every word you've uttered has just been trashed and disregarded. It was useless. You take a full step away from him.
Crosshair watches you with a heavy heart. He can see the disappointment in your expression as you pull away from him. He can feel his own guilt eating him up.
He is choosing not to kiss you, despite the feelings within his heart. He is choosing the path of a soldier and a path for the Empire.
"I am sorry," he whispers. "But it's the right thing to do."
"...Then I'd hope something good comes out of this." You gesture between the space between the two of you. Though in the heat of the moment, his hand reaches out to touch your cheek. His touch is so light, so feathery. It's the same hand that wraps around his rifle to pull the trigger.
His fingers linger on your face, a look of sadness in his eyes. In response, you rest your hand on top of his, feeling the warmth as you lean into it. This is what the both of you need.
Your touch brings Crosshair's heart to an ache.
He closes his eyes in that moment, savouring your touch for as long as he can. He wants to be able to hold onto this moment - to freeze it in time and remember it for as long as he can.
But time keeps moving forward, his heart breaking with every passing second.
He doesn't want to let you go. And yet, he knows it's the only choice he has.
You cup his cheek in return, the both of you standing with a hand on one another's cheek.
Crosshair feels your hand on his cheek, and he closes his eyes in that moment.
After everything that's happened, all the hardships and struggles of his life, this moment almost feels unreal. The soft touch of your hand against his face.
He opens his eyes once more and studies your face, committing each detail to memory. The moonlight falls upon your face. Your hair. Your eyes. His heart is racing and he can't bring himself to move away.
You're so beautiful.
"Please... for the last time." You beg. With all your heart, you beg just for the touch of his lips on your own.
Your words make his heart tighten.
What would be the right thing to do? What would be the just thing to do? He's been trying so hard to stay true to himself. To let himself kiss you in that moment... it would go against everything he believes in.
He struggles inside his own heart.
You watch him hesitate and so you sigh, leaning away from his touch as a sign. You've given up on one more intimate touch with him.
He wishes he could change things, to fix whatever he's done to hurt you.
But he can't. All he can do is look back at you, a tinge of regret in his eyes.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. To compensate, he takes a hold of your hand. It's the least he can do.
With the immediate warmth of his palm resting upon yours, you look down. What a pretty sight.
Crosshair looks down as well. He traces his fingers across your palm, trying to memorise every feeling, every sensation.
He can't believe that this is the last he shall hold your hand. That this is all the time the two of you can spend together.
When he looks back up at you, he sees the sadness in your eyes. He knows that you wanted more from this than he could give you. That you wished for this moment to be something different.
To be something more.
You can't help but let the building up of tears finally fall down your cheek. Crosshair holds your hand tighter, as if he hoped it might help to comfort you. It's a small gesture, but a part of him feels like he can never make up for everything he's done to you.
He takes a deep breath and looks straight into your eyes. His voice is soft but raspy, his expression pleading. "No, don't cry," he whispers.
"I can't..."
He tries his best to hold his feelings at bay, to prevent them from overwhelming him. But he just can't help but feel bad for you, for all the pain he's caused you.
"Why cry for me, though?" he mumbled, confused and angry with himself. You shouldn't have to cry, especially not for him.
"I have no power in this situation." You say through whimpers. Your voice has dropped in decibels, as if you're speaking under your breath.
He doesn't want you to suffer. But he knows that's all he can offer at this point. A few minutes of time to say goodbye.
A few moments to reflect on what could have been.
You unclip your pink flower pin, handing it in the palm of his hands, "Will I ever see you again?" You look up at him.
Crosshair stares at the flower pin you've given him, a slight smile on his face as he traces it with his fingers. He has no words in that moment, just a feeling of warmth at your gesture.
He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, absorbing your touch, "I want you to."
You can only nod at this point. You know your paths will part and the time spent not being with each other will last for many, many rotations on end.
"Be safe." You whisper, wiping your tears.
Crosshair wants to tell you the same, but he can only give you a tight smile. He can't find the words to reassure you, to make you believe that he will be safe.
Your eyes meet once more, and for a moment, it feels as if the world has stopped. He wants to hold onto this moment, to make it last as long as possible.
But he can't. He can't delay the inevitable. He has to let you go.
"Goodbye," he whispers.
"Goodbye, my love."
With those words, Crosshair feels something break within him. His heart hurts, and he can't hold back his own tears.
He doesn't try to hold it in anymore. He lets himself feel the pain of being unable to hold you, of letting you go. Crosshair meets your gaze one last time before he lets you go.
"Remember me."
You look at his golden orbs one last time before an announcement for curfew is rung throughout the streets. In a moment, all you can think about is 'what if?'
You let his hands go, the coldness replacing his warmth. And as hard as it is, you step away from him, exiting the alley he pulled you into.
Crosshair stares at you.
He can't believe that this is it, the moment where your paths diverge forever. But all must come to an end, he knows, no matter how many regrets he may have or how badly he wishes things could be different.
"I will remember you," he whispers.
"Always."
He has the best eyesight in the galaxy but cannot see the Empire for what it is.
Post-Notes: i hope u liked ittttt, i felt like it was rush a bit? idk but its somewhat messy oh well
