synopsis: viktor stole something quite private of yours, but he needed to! for his own use…
pairing: viktor x gn!reader
tags: masturbation, viktor is a freak, viktor is obsessed with reader
a/n: a drabble because i need to get back into writing i miss you guys :[ more sevika fics on the way i swear im working through requests!
viktor “accidentally” snagged some of your underwear when staying the night at your house, and now treats it like a prized possession. he hides it in his nightstand, folded neatly and hidden away from the outside world. the night when he brought them home, he couldn’t stop staring at them. just knowing they touched your perfect skin, rubbed against areas he’d die to see…it made his already wrecked nervous system even more jittery.
viktor tried to hold off, he really did. if you found out that he took them in the first place you’d be pissed, but taking them and using them to get off? you’d probably be furious. but just thinking of you yelling at him, eyebrows furrowed and your usually upturned lips pursed into a snarl, made his cock throb.
so he did it. he grabbed your underwear from his nightstand and flopped onto his bed. he just looked at them for a minute, deciding if he really needed to. but alas, the aching feeling between his legs got the best of him. he brought your underwear up to his nose, and took a deep breath in. exhaling with a loud groan and a smirk, he did it again. over and over. until he couldn’t wait any longer and had to dig his hands into his boxers to stroke at his dick. all he could think about was how good you smelled, your scent like a drug to him. seeping into his brain, blowing his pupils wide and filling up all his thoughts. more than you already do. eventually he wrapped his cock in your underwear, pulling the fabric up and down over the sensitive member and pretending it’s really you. of course when he starts to come he makes sure it lands all over the underwear, just like he would do if it was really you with him.
The room breathed. A collective, ragged exhale that fogged the already hazy air, thick with the scent of fresh cum and sweat and the particular sweetness of female release. The carpet was a swamp—white puddles overlapping, merging, creating a topography of pleasure so extensive that the Room of Requirement had quietly transfigured the underlay into something waterproof. The candles floating overhead had dimmed to a deep amber, casting everything in gold and shadow, and someone had conjured cushions at some point—scattered around the circle like afterthoughts, already stained.
Blaise wiped his fingers on his destroyed sweats—a futile gesture, given that the fabric was more cum than cotton at this point—and settled back into his spot. His dark eyes swept the circle with the satisfied, proprietary air of a man who'd just proven something important. Granger sat beside him, still trembling, her hand still in Draco's, her thighs still slick with her own release, her expression caught between shellshocked and starving.
Behind you, Viktor's chest rumbled. Not a moan—not arousal. A low, amused sound, barely audible, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured in Russian. Too quiet for the circle. Private. Just for Petr.
"Те теперь делают разведение?" Viktor asked, the words warm against your temple. Are they doing breedings now? His hand gestured vaguely at Cedric and Astoria—still joined, still leaking, the evidence of his breeding pooling beneath them on the carpet. "Это сейчас такие задания?" Are those the dares now?
Petr, pressed against your right side, glanced at Viktor. His dark eyes flicked to Cedric and Astoria. To the cum dripping out of her. To the dazed, satisfied, full expression on her face. He shrugged—one shoulder, casual, Bulgarian—but the corner of his mouth curved.
"Если да," Petr murmured back, his voice low enough that only Viktor and you could hear, "то надеюсь, мы сможем осеменить Y/N. А Драко и Блейз — Грейнджер." If so, hopefully we can breed Y/N. And Draco and Blaise can breed Granger.
Viktor's cock throbbed inside you. A single, violent pulse that made you gasp and clench around him. His arms tightened on your waist, his breath hitching against your neck, and you felt his jaw clench as the image Petr's words painted settled into his brain. You. Full of their cum. Bred. Swollen. Theirs.
You looked back at him over your shoulder. Met his dark eyes—blown pupils, gold flecks burning, the expression of a man who'd just been handed his deepest fantasy by his best friend in a whispered Russian exchange. Then at Petr, whose innocent shrug belied the heat in his eyes.
"Да," you whispered. Yes. You'd been learning Bulgarian. Both languages. For them.
Both men went rigid. Viktor's cock swelled inside you—half-hard to fully rigid in a single devastating pulse. Petr's hand on your thigh tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, his breath catching audibly. The word—yes—in their language, from your lips, carrying the weight of everything it implied.
"Боже мой," Petr breathed. My God.
Viktor didn't say anything. He just pressed his lips to the back of your neck and held you tighter. His cock throbbed inside you—already leaking precum, already ready, the potion and the conversation and the permission combining into something that made his entire body vibrate with want.
Across the circle, Blaise's voice cut through your private moment.
"Daphne," Blaise said. "Truth or Dare?"
Daphne's eyebrow rose. Measured. Evaluating. She looked at him—looked at his destroyed sweats, at the cum still dripping through the fabric, at Granger trembling beside him—and something sharp moved behind her eyes.
"Truth," she said.
Blaise leaned forward. His voice dropped—low, intimate, pitched to carry across the silent circle without shouting. "You and Astoria. You said you share everything."
"I did." Daphne's voice was steady. Unflinching. The truth spell shimmering around her.
"Cedric just came inside your sister," Blaise said. "Pumped her full. She asked him to. She begged for it." He paused. Let the words settle. "How did that make you feel?"
The circle went still. Daphne's composure didn't crack—her face remained a perfect, aristocratic mask—but her hand, resting on her knee, curled into a fist. A tiny tell. The only tell.
The truth spell pressed.
"Happy," Daphne said. The word came out clear. Certain. "Happy for her. She looked beautiful. She looked free." Her fist uncurled. Her hand found Astoria's knee beside her—Astoria still impaled on Cedric's cock across the circle, still trembling with aftershocks—and squeezed. "She got what she needed. That's all I've ever wanted for her."
"And for you?" Blaise pressed. His dark eyes were knowing. Piercing.
Daphne's eyes found his. Held. The truth spell didn't need to press this time—she opened the door herself. Kicked it open with the Greengrass bluntness that she usually kept sheathed behind her composure.
"I want him to breed me too."
The words landed in the circle like a detonation. Every head snapped toward Daphne. Cedric—who'd been lazily pressing kisses to Astoria's shoulder while his cock softened inside her—went absolutely rigid. His golden eyes found Daphne across the circle and locked there, something feral and barely contained flickering behind them.
Daphne didn't flinch. Didn't look away. The truth spell had hold of her now and she was done fighting it.
"I watched him cum inside her," Daphne continued, each word precise. Deliberate. The confession of someone who'd been calculating the angles all night and had finally arrived at her conclusion. "Watched him pump her full. Watched her beg for it. Watched her face when she felt him taking root inside her." Her jaw tightened. "And I thought—I want that. I want what she got. I want Cedric to breed me the way he bred her."
Astoria had turned her head, still impaled on Cedric's cock, watching her sister with soft, fierce, luminous pride. Her hand found Daphne's across the carpet and squeezed.
"I want what Tori got," Daphne said quietly. "Not instead of her. With her. I want us both full of him. I want us both round with his children. I want to share that with her the way we share everything."
She pressed her hand against her own stomach. Flat. Toned. Empty. The gesture was unmistakable—a mirror of Astoria's earlier posture, a mirror of Granger's, the same unconscious claim on a future that hadn't been conceived yet.
"I want to be bred, Cedric."
The silence that followed was so complete that you could hear the candles dripping. Wax hitting the floor in soft, rhythmic plops. Could hear the wet sound of cum still leaking from Astoria around Cedric's cock. Could hear Viktor's heartbeat against your back—hammering, racing—synced with yours and Petr's.
Behind you, Viktor leaned close to Petr's ear. His Russian was barely a breath.
"Осеменение." Breeding. A single word, loaded with everything—hunger, intent, the image Petr had painted moments ago now crystallizing into something real and urgent.
Petr's hand found your thigh under the cover of the circle's stunned silence. Squeezed. His fingers slid higher—higher—until his thumb pressed against your clit through the fabric of your thong. You bit your lip to keep from gasping. His lips found your ear.
"Искам да те напълня," he breathed. I want to fill you up. "Both of us. Until you're dripping. Until it takes."
Your pussy clenched around Viktor's cock so hard that he hissed—his hips jerking upward involuntarily, his hands gripping your waist. The thought—the image—Petr's cum and Viktor's cum mixing inside you, filling you, breeding you—
Yes, you thought. Yes. Please. Now. Tonight.
Across the circle, Cedric lifted Astoria off his cock. Gently. Carefully. Set her on the cushion beside him with a kiss to her temple and a murmured "stay." Astoria obeyed, sprawling on her back, legs falling open, Cedric's cum immediately pouring out of her in thick, white streams. She watched him stand with dazed, satisfied eyes.
Cedric crossed the circle to Daphne. His cock jutted from his hips—still slick with Astoria's arousal and his own cum, already hardening again at the sound of Daphne's confession. He stopped in front of her and looked down at her.
Up close, the effect was devastating. Golden skin. Quidditch-toned body. Those Hufflepuff-gold eyes burning with something that went beyond lust.
"You want me to breed you," Cedric said. Not a question. A confirmation. His voice was low. Rough. Barely controlled.
"I do," Daphne confirmed. Her dark eyes didn't waver. Didn't drop. She looked up at him with the steady, unflinching certainty of someone who'd weighed every variable and arrived at her answer. "The way you did her. I want that."
Cedric's jaw clenched. His cock—fully hard again now, flushed and straining—jumped against her stomach, leaving a smear of precum and Astoria's arousal on her shirt. His hands found her waist. Pulled her against him.
"And Astoria?" he asked. Glancing back at where she lay, cum-drunk and glowing, watching them with soft, eager eyes.
"Part of this," Daphne said immediately. "Part of us. We share everything. If you breed me, you breed her. If you breed her, you breed me. Both of us. Together."
From across the circle, Astoria made a soft sound. Not jealous. Not possessive. Relieved. The sound of someone who'd been worried she'd have to share and just learned she wouldn't have to.
"Both of you," Cedric repeated. His golden eyes moved between the sisters—dark-haired, pale-skinned, devastating in their unified want. "Mine. Both of you."
"Both of us," Daphne confirmed.
Cedric kissed her.
Not gentle. Not tentative. He kissed Daphne Greengrass the way a storm hits a coastline—with overwhelming, devastating force. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue swept inside, and his hands slid from her waist to her hips, pulling her against him. His cock pressed between them—hot, hard, leaving smears of cum and precum on her shirt—and Daphne moaned into his mouth. The sound was raw. Unguarded.
When they broke apart, Cedric's golden eyes were burning. His hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. Her bra followed—black lace, elegant, immediately discarded. Her breasts spilled free—fuller than Astoria's, round and heavy, pale, the nipples dark and tight.
"Skirt," Cedric said.
Daphne unzipped it herself. Let it fall. Stepped out of it. She stood before him in nothing—her pussy bare, swollen, glistening, her arousal so thick that it had run down her inner thighs.
Astoria had crawled closer. Still dripping cum, still trembling from her own breeding, she positioned herself beside her sister. Took Daphne's hand. Laced their fingers together.
"He's good," Astoria whispered. A conspiratorial sister-to-sister confidence. "He fills you up so much you can feel it in your throat."
"Tori—" Daphne's composure flickered. A smile—genuine, warm, real—broke through the aristocratic mask.
"I'm serious. You're going to scream."
Cedric settled between Daphne's thighs. His cock—still slick from Astoria, still hard from the potion and the truth of Daphne's confession—pressed against her entrance. The head nudged her swollen folds. She was soaked—wet enough that he slid against her without penetrating, his cock gliding through her slit, the friction making them both gasp.
"Ready?" Cedric asked. His golden eyes held hers. Steady. Certain.
"Ready," Daphne confirmed.
He thrust in.
One stroke. Full length. His cock buried itself to the hilt in Daphne's pussy and the sound that came out of her was a scream. Loud, raw, uncontrolled—punched out of her by the sudden stretch, the sudden fullness, the sudden realization that Astoria hadn't been exaggerating.
"CEDRIC—"
His name. Torn from her chest like something she'd been holding back for months.
He didn't give her time to adjust. Didn't let her acclimate. He pulled back—nearly all the way out—and slammed back in. Hard. His hips met hers with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, and Daphne's body jolted—breasts bouncing, teeth rattling, hands fisting in the carpet beside Astoria's.
Again. Again. Cedric fucked her with the brutal, athletic precision of a Quidditch player—each thrust full-force, full-depth, his cock hitting her cervix with every stroke. His hands gripped her thighs, pushed them back toward her chest, opening her wider, changing the angle so that every stroke dragged along her front wall.
"Fuck—oh—oh god—" Daphne's vocabulary was disintegrating. Each thrust punched a new sound out of her—gasps and moans and half-formed words that dissolved before they could become sentences. Her head thrashed on the cushion. Her hands gripped Astoria's on one side and the carpet on the other. Her back arched—then flattened—then arched again, her body unable to decide whether to chase the pleasure or escape it.
Astoria watched her sister get fucked with an expression of fierce, possessive pride. One hand held Daphne's. The other had drifted between her own thighs—fingering herself lazily, stirring Cedric's cum inside her, adding her own arousal to the mixture already leaking out.
"That's it," Astoria murmured to her sister. "Feel him. Feel how deep he goes."
"*Deep—oh god—he's so—Tori, he's so *deep—"
"Wait until he cums," Astoria whispered, her dark eyes bright. "Wait until you feel it. The heat. The volume. You're going to feel him flooding you."
Daphne sobbed. The words—her sister narrating what was about to happen, what she'd already experienced, what was coming—hit her cum kink like a drug. Her pussy clenched around Cedric's pistoning cock, pulling him deeper, demanding.
"I'm going to cum inside you," Cedric told her. His voice was fractured. Wrecked. His thrusts becoming shorter, sharper, more desperate. "I'm going to breed you, Daphne. Fill you up. Pump you full the way you asked."
"Yes—please—Cedric—"
"Tell me. Tell everyone."
"I WANT HIM TO CUM INSIDE ME!" The words ripped from Daphne's throat—raw, desperate, honest. "I want Cedric to breed me—fill me—pump me so full I can't hold it—"
Cedric buried himself to the hilt and came.
The first rope hit her cervix like a firehose. Hot. Thick. Massive. Daphne's eyes went impossibly wide—her mouth forming a perfect O—and she came with him. Her pussy clamped down on his spurting cock in violent, rhythmic contractions, milking him, pulling him deeper, demanding every drop.
You could see it happening. Could see Cedric's cock pulsing inside her—each pulse visible in the rhythmic clench of his abs, the jerking of his hips. Rope after rope pumping into Daphne's cunt, filling her, flooding her. The volume was staggering—potion-enhanced, building on his earlier load inside Astoria, producing more than should have been physically possible. Cum filled her pussy. Filled it past capacity. The overflow started immediately—thick, white, leaking out around his shaft, running down her thighs, pooling on the cushion beneath her.
"I can feel it—" Daphne gasped, her hand pressing against her stomach. "Oh god—I can feel you—there's so MUCH—you're still—you're still cumming—"
He was. Cedric's cock pulsed and pulsed and pulsed—each pulse sending another thick rope into her already-flooded pussy. His hips made tiny, involuntary thrusts, each one grinding his cock against her cervix, pushing his cum deeper. His face was contorted—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, every muscle straining as his body gave Daphne everything it had.
Astoria watched her sister's face—watched the wonder, the awe, the overwhelming fullness—with tears in her own eyes. She leaned over and pressed her lips to Daphne's cheek. Kissed the tears away.
"Good?" Astoria whispered.
"So good—" Daphne sobbed. "*Tori—he's—I can feel him—he's so deep—he's still—I'm so *full—"
"Both of us now," Astoria murmured against her sister's skin. "Both of us full of him. Just like we share everything."
Cedric finally stilled. His cock gave one last, weak pulse—the final drop squeezed into Daphne's flooded pussy—and he collapsed forward, catching himself on his elbows above her. His face hovered over hers. Golden skin, sheened with sweat, those Hufflepuff eyes soft now. Tender.
He looked down at her. At her tear-streaked face. At her hand pressing against her stomach—where his cum was pooling, settling, taking.
"You're mine now," he said quietly. "Both of you."
"Both of us," Daphne confirmed. Then, with a ghost of her usual composure returning—the faintest Greengrass smirk: "You're going to need to keep up, Diggory. Two of us. Regular breedings. That's a lot of cum."
He pulled out slowly. The moment his cock cleared her entrance, cum poured from Daphne's pussy—thick, white, copious—a flood matching Astoria's, rushing out of her well-fucked cunt and dripping onto the cushion, the carpet, joining the growing lake of pleasure beneath them. The sight of it—the sheer volume, the way it kept coming, thick rope after thick rope—made several people in the circle inhale sharply.
Behind you, Viktor's cock jumped inside you. His lips found your ear again. Russian. Private. Hungry.
"Виждаш ли?" he breathed. See? "Zat is what I vant to do to you. Both of us. Petr and me. Fill you until you overflow. Until you are dripping us for days."
Petr's thumb pressed harder on your clit through your thong. You could feel his cock against your hip—rigid, straining, leaving a wet spot on his sweats that grew with each passing second.
"Ще те сремем," Petr whispered against your other ear. We're going to breed you. "Tonight. As many times as it takes. Until our cum is the only thing you can feel inside you."
Your pussy clamped down on Viktor's cock. Hard. Your cum kink—already screaming from the visual of Cedric breeding both Greengrass sisters—detonated. You came. Silently, violently, your whole body locking up between your two lovers, your pussy milking Viktor's cock in rapid, desperate pulses. He groaned against your neck—his hips jerking upward into you—and came too. Hard. Pumping rope after rope of hot cum into your pussy, his load mixing with the arousal already flooding your cunt.
Petr held you both. His arms wrapped around your waist from the side, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his cock grinding against your hip through his sweats. He hadn't cum—he was saving. Waiting. The promise in his whisper hung in the air between the three of you like a vow.
Tonight. He was going to breed you tonight.
Across the circle, the game resumed its rhythm. Daphne was reassembling herself with characteristic precision—sitting up, smoothing her hair, though her thighs were still soaked and her pussy was still leaking Cedric's cum. Astoria had curled against her side, both of them glowing, both of them full.
"My turn to ask," Daphne said. Her voice was steadier now. Almost normal. Only the faintest tremor betrayed what had just happened. She scanned the circle. Her dark eyes landed on Fleur—silver-haired, cum-streaked, watching with those ancient, knowing eyes.
"Fleur," Daphne said. "Truth or Dare?"
"Dare," Fleur said immediately. Her accent wrapped around the word like honey.
Daphne's smile turned sharp. The Greengrass sharpness—calculating, surgical, devastating. She glanced at Theo and Harry—still tangled, still murmuring to each other, still lost in their private world. Then back to Fleur.
"I dare you to use that Veela magic of yours," Daphne said. "I want you to pick one person in this circle and turn it on them. Full force. Whatever that means. And we all get to watch what happens."
The circle ignited. Every head turned toward Fleur. Every eye widened.
Veela magic was legendary—and not the diluted, background radiation that Fleur had been passively emitting all night. Full Veela magic was something else entirely. It was compulsion. It was rewriting someone's nervous system in real time. It was pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, delivered without a single touch.
Fleur's smile was slow. Predatory. Ancient. For a moment—just a moment—the beautiful Beauxbatons champion disappeared, and something else looked out through her eyes. Something old. Something powerful. Something that remembered what it felt like to lure sailors onto rocks.
She stood. The room's temperature shifted—several degrees warmer, the air thickening, growing heavy and sweet with a scent that wasn't there before. Jasmine. Ocean salt. Something electric.
She looked around the circle. Considering. Her silver eyes touched each person—lingered on Viktor, too anchored to you and Petr; on Draco, too wrecked, too spent; on the twins, too chaotic, too defended by their own bond.
Her gaze landed on Cedric.
Golden boy. Hufflepuff. The one who'd just bred both Greengrass sisters. The one who'd confessed—under truth spell—to wanting to be overwhelmed. To wanting to be taken.
"Cedric," Fleur said. His name came out like a song. "Look at me."
Cedric looked. He had no choice—not because of any spell, but because Fleur Delacour had locked eyes with him and the rest of the room had simply ceased to exist. Daphne's cum was still leaking from his softening cock. He stood in the center of the circle, naked, golden, devastated from breeding two women in succession, and he looked at Fleur like she was the sun.
"Mon beau garçon," Fleur murmured. She stepped toward him. Each step deliberate, hip-swaying, her body moving with a fluidity that wasn't entirely human. "You 'ave been so good tonight. So generous. So thorough." Another step. Close now. "You filled Astoria. You filled Daphne. You gave zem exactly what zey needed."
Her finger touched his jaw. Traced down. Down his throat. Over his collarbone. The touch was barely there—a whisper of contact—but Cedric jerked like he'd been struck. His cock—spent, sensitive—swelled violently. Going from soft to half-hard in a single pulse that made him gasp.
"But you 'ave not been filled yourself," Fleur whispered. "Nobody 'as taken care of you, 'ave zey?"
"No—" Cedric's voice was wrecked. The word torn from him.
Fleur leaned in. Her lips brushed his ear. Her silver hair fell around them both—and the Veela magic pulsed. A wave of it, radiating outward from her body, hitting Cedric like a physical force. Every nerve ending in his body lit up. His skin flushed. His muscles trembled. His cock went from half-hard to fully rigid in a single, painful pulse.
"Zen let me take care of you," Fleur breathed.
She kissed his neck. One kiss. Just one—lips pressed to the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, tongue darting out to taste his sweat—and the Veela magic flooded through the point of contact. Directly into his bloodstream. Directly into his nervous system.
Cedric screamed.
Not a moan. Not a groan. A scream—raw, loud, devastating. His whole body convulsed. His cock—hard, flushed, straining—jerked upward against his stomach and he came. Hard. Without being touched. His cock pulsed and spat, thick white ropes arcing through the air and splattering across Fleur's silver hair, her shoulder, her collarbone. The first rope hit her cheek. The second her chest. He kept cumming—pulse after pulse driven by the Veela magic rewriting his nerve endings, forcing pleasure through his body like electricity through copper wire.
But Fleur didn't stop.
She kissed his neck again. Lower. Another pulse of magic. Cedric screamed again—his body convulsing, his cock still hard, still throbbing—and came again. A second orgasm immediately following the first. His cock jerked and spasmed, pumping more cum into the air, thinner streams now but still substantial, his body caught in a loop of pleasure that he couldn't escape, couldn't control.
"Fleur—please—I can't—"
"Shh," Fleur murmured against his throat. "Laisse-moi prendre soin de toi."
Her hand traced down his chest—leaving trails of silver light on his skin—and found his cock. Wrapped around it. The magic flooded through the contact—into his shaft, into his balls, into every nerve ending he possessed—and Cedric's third orgasm was so intense that his knees buckled. He would have collapsed if Fleur hadn't caught him—her Veela strength deceptive beneath that slender frame—holding him upright while his cock pulsed weakly in her hand, the last thin streams of cum running over her fingers.
"Enough—" Cedric sobbed. Actual tears streaming down his golden face. "Fleur—please—"
Fleur pulled back. The magic receded like a tide—slowly, gently, leaving Cedric gasping and trembling in its wake. She looked at him with those ancient silver eyes and smiled. Soft. Almost tender.
She raised her cum-covered hand to her lips. Licked one finger clean. Tasted him with genuine appreciation.
"Zat," she said quietly, "is what Veela magic feels like when we try."
Cedric stared at her. Tears on his face. Cock softening in Fleur's grip. Body trembling with aftershocks. His expression was beyond wrecked—it was transcendent.
Both Greengrass sisters were staring. Daphne's composure had cracked again—not from her own pleasure this time, but from watching Cedric get destroyed by someone else. Her dark eyes were bright. Hungry. Jealous.
"That's mine," Daphne said flatly. "That cock is mine now. And Astoria's."
Fleur's smile widened. She released Cedric's spent cock—gently, carefully—and stepped back. "Of course. I was merely… borrowing."
"Fleur," Viktor prompted from behind you, his chest rumbling against your back, his Russian conversation with Petr still burning in his mind. "Your turn to ask."
Fleur was still standing over Cedric—satisfied, glowing, her Veela magic settling back beneath her skin. She looked around the circle with heavy-lidded silver eyes.
Her gaze landed on the Weasley twins. Fred and George—sprawled against each other, sweats destroyed, watching Fleur's display with identical expressions of stunned, aroused awe.
"Fred," Fleur said. "George. Truth or Dare?"
"Dare," they said simultaneously.
Fleur's smile turned incandescent. She looked at Daphne—a silent communication—then back to the twins.
"I dare both of you," Fleur said, "to make Granger cum. Togezer. Fred inside her. George on her clit. Ze same way you did to Astoria."
The circle perked up. Granger—who'd been sitting quietly between Draco and Blaise, still processing her earlier orgasm, still pressing her thighs together—went rigid.
"What—" she started.
"You heard the dare," Blaise murmured beside her. His dark eyes were hungry. "Lie back, baby."
"I—Blaise—" Granger's voice was thin. Flustered. "I've never—he's too—"
"We'll be gentle," Fred said, already moving toward her. His grin was warm beneath the mischief. "Mostly."
"Lie back, Granger," George agreed, flanking her other side. "We're professionals."
"You're joke shop proprietors—"
"Same thing."
They descended on her with practiced twin efficiency. Fred between her thighs—stripping off her soaked panties, positioning his cock at her entrance, the head pressing against her slick folds. George beside her—his mouth finding her nipple through her ruined shirt, sucking it to a hard peak while his hand slid down her stomach toward her clit.
Fred pushed in. Granger sobbed—the stretch, the fullness, the sensation of being filled for the first time by something thicker than fingers—and her hands flew to his shoulders. His hips started moving. Slow at first, letting her adjust, then faster, deeper, the curved head of his cock finding her front wall with devastating precision.
George's mouth replaced his hand on her clit. His tongue found the swollen bud and worked it in rapid, focused flicks—matching Fred's rhythm, coordinating with the same effortless twin synchronization that had destroyed Astoria and Daphne.
The dual assault was overwhelming. Granger's body didn't know which sensation to chase—the deep, rhythmic fullness of Fred's cock, or the sharp, electric precision of George's tongue. She oscillated between them, hips rolling, back arching, sounds pouring from her mouth that she didn't know she could make.
"Oh—oh—please—I can't—it's too much—"
"It's not too much," Fred murmured against her ear, his hips never faltering. "You can take it."
"Cum for us," George added, his breath hot against her clit. "Give it to us."
Draco watched from his spot. His cock was out—hard again, the potion relentless—and his hand was wrapped around it, stroking in time with Fred's thrusts. His grey eyes were fixed on Granger's face—on the pleasure contorting her features, on the sounds she was making, on the way her body was responding to two men who weren't him.
Blaise watched beside Draco. His hand was on his own cock—still inside his destroyed sweats, palming himself through the wet fabric. His dark eyes tracked every movement of the twins' bodies, analyzing their technique with professional appreciation.
"She's close," Blaise observed. His voice was calm. Clinical. "Another thirty seconds."
He was right. Granger's thighs started trembling—rapid, involuntary contractions that signaled approaching orgasm. Her breathing became erratic. Her hands fisted in Fred's hair, in George's, in the carpet.
"I'm—I'm going to—"
"Cum," Fred said. "Now."
She came with a scream. Her pussy clamped down on Fred's cock so hard that he yelled—his rhythm breaking, his hips slamming forward—and he came with her. Buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing, pumping rope after rope of hot cum into her cunt. George's tongue didn't stop—working her through every pulse, extending the orgasm, drawing it out until Granger was sobbing and shaking and begging.
"Please—please—I can't—too much—please—"
George pulled back. His chin was soaked. His grin was insufferable.
Fred withdrew slowly. His cum immediately began leaking from Granger's pussy—thick, white, running down her thighs. He sat back on his heels and looked at his work with genuine pride.
"Professionals," he repeated.
Draco was on his feet before Fred finished speaking. He crossed the circle to Granger—crawling, actually, on his knees, drawn by an invisible thread—and settled between her thighs. His face inches from her cum-filled pussy. Fred's cum leaking from her. Dripping. Inviting.
"Can I—?" Draco whispered. Looking up at her face. Grey eyes burning.
Granger looked down at him. At his desperate, devoted, starving expression. At the boy who'd just confessed—to the entire circle—that he wanted to breed her. Put his baby in her. Love her forever.
"Clean me up," she whispered. "Then fill me again."
Draco's face crumpled. He pressed his mouth to her cum-filled pussy and licked. Long, deep, thorough strokes—tasting Fred's cum, tasting Granger's arousal, tasting the mixture—and swallowing. Drinking. Worshiping.
Blaise watched. His cock throbbed in his ruined sweats. His dark eyes met Draco's across the landscape of Granger's body, and something passed between them—a silent agreement, a shared understanding.
i have been searching and looking for viktor x listener creators for ages, and i can’t find any! if you happen to know a creator that happens to have made a few or even a patreon with it i’d appreciate it! thank you☺️☺️
Rule One: You could do whatever you wanted. Get the degree you want, party when you want, cancel plans when you want, love who you want. Whatever you really wanted to do, you were going to do, anxiety and guilt free.
Rule Two: You could do whatever you wanted, except for have relationships with classmates. No sex, no dating. If they were on the same course roster as you, they were off limits.
Easy enough, right?
…Right?
Viktor x Fem!Reader - 18+
A.N. Sorry for the long delay between last chapter and this one. I had expected to post months ago but I got busy. Very busy. I met @crimsonlegend and @rennethen in person! We got to hang out for a day back in February and it was really great to get to know them both outside of the internet. I had a great spring rugby season. I moved into my own apartment. And most recently I spent a whole week with my family. All this to say, I've been pretty busy. So I hope everyone can excuse the accidental hiatus.
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Viktor woke before you and considered himself blessed. You had barely moved in the night, still comfortably resting your head on his chest, fingers laying against his stomach. He craned his neck to look at you better. To admire you better. Your face was completely relaxed, eyelashes gracing the tops of your cheeks, lips pressed together in a soft line as you breathed through your nose. Gently he brushed a strand of hair off of your face, smiling at you as you scrunched your nose, but didn’t wake. Instead, you pressed your face closer against him, rubbing your cheek against his skin with a sigh.
He covered his eyes with his free arm, breathing slowly as emotions exploded in his brain. As much as he wanted to kiss you, it was early. Too early to wake you without a reason. Normally he’d be up, or at the very least coaxing his body into allowing him to get up. It always felt like a waste of a day to be in bed past sunrise. It didn’t feel so much like a waste when you were the reason, though. He lay there, letting himself feel everything as the sun slowly filled his room.
His body ached, as he knew it would. He could have gone easy, taken it slowly. Taken you slow. At the end of the day, he was still a man. A fairly desperate one at that. He’d have to take it easy the rest of the weekend. Living gentle with you wasn’t something to complain about. Living with you. He began to think about that in the quiet. About what he had asked you last night, what you had agreed to. There was no part of him that wanted to take the question back, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe you’d change your answer. Your family wasn’t far. It would be easy for you to go home for break. He wasn’t in the same position.He hoped you hadn’t agreed to stay just because you felt bad for him. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling out the doubt and trying to recenter back into his own body.
His body ached, as he knew it would. A sheen of sweat lingered where your body was pressed to his. He could feel the slow movement of your breath and the feathery feeling of your hair on his skin. He could tell that he was just a little bit hard, an embarrassing biological function he hoped he could will away before you woke.
When it was bright enough he shifted slowly, reaching for the worn paperback that he kept shoved between the wall and mattress. He held it open above his head, reading the yellowed pages in his native language. He had just passed the part where two characters discussed applying Nivea to a third degree burn when he felt you stir.
Viktor glanced down, watching as you rubbed a hand across your face and then tipped your head back to look at him. A tired smile spread across your face as you pressed a kiss to his skin.
“Good morning.” You muttered, still half asleep as you began tracing lines over his ribs.
“Good morning.” He agreed, hand moving over your covered shoulders.
“What are you reading?” You asked, glancing up at the book in his hands.
“The Engineer of Human Souls,” he said, closing it and showing you the worn cover, “by Škvorecký.”
“Hm, Czech?” you asked, resting your chin against his chest to see it better, “looks old.”
“Yes,” he laughed softly rifling the pages so you could see the language unknown to you, “It was my father’s copy.” A small line formed between your eyebrows. Viktor could practically read the thought that slipped into your mind. He had never once mentioned his father — or lack of one — to you. “I never met him, but he left some things in my mother’s apartment. I only really had an interest in the books he read.”
“What…” you started, unsure at first, “what happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Viktor shrugged, reaching for your face. He smoothed the line between your eyebrows, “and I don’t really want to talk about it. Not right now.”
You nodded, “You don’t have to,” you assured him. “You can tell me if you ever want to, but you don’t ever have to.”
“Thank you,Milá,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“Of course,” you rubbed your cheek against his skin, “do you want to tell me what the book is about?”
“That I can do,” Viktor laughed softly.“It’s about a Canadian from Czechia. It jumps between his time during World War II and his life as a writer in the 80s. It’s interesting, a comedy thats kind of depressing.”
“Hm, read me a bit?” you asked, smiling up at him.
“You won’t like it,” he told you, “not the part I am reading at least.”
You let out an offended scoff, “What’s that supposed to mean? Come on, I’m sure I’ll like it. Please read to me, Viktor,” you pouted up at him, “please.”
He clenched his jaw. The tone and look on your face certainly weren’t helping with his unwanted hard-on. He swallowed hard, opening the book back up and holding it above his face. He could feel your eyes on him as he read the passage to you.
“It was only when I reached the street that the full impact of Prema's exploit hit me, and inspired by the magnitude of the deed I decided on a stratagem that also required a certain degree of heroism.”
He glanced down, checking that you were still interested. Your eyes said you were.
“A very insignificant degree, to be sure - a tiny amount of bloodshed - but blood all the same, blood shed for the motherland. When I put it that way to myself, it sounded foolish, though strictly speaking it was true. But if Prema could blow up a fuel dump, I was certainly not going to shy away from a little bit of pain. I took my penknife and a clean handkerchief out of my pocket and closed my eyes.”
He felt your body react, a slight flinch as you realized what was coming. He continued.
“I imagined that gigantic sparkler, the blazing barrels bursting like popcorn, falling golden into the dark green shadow of the woods and hissing in the shallow river - and I sliced the ball of my thumb right down to the bone.”
He didn’t get any farther than that before you gasped, half gagging as you slapped his chest, “No, stop. Stop.”
Viktor teased you over your dramatics, dropping the book to the side and wrapping his arms around you as you squirmed. “I told you!”
You shrieked a laugh, “Then why’d you read it to me?”
“Oh, you frustrating girl!” he gasped, pulling you up and leaving a playful bite on your neck, “you drive me crazy.”
Still stuck in his arms you managed to slide your leg all the way to the other side of him. You were lying chest to chest, knees by his waist and your chin resting on his sternum as you smirked up at him.
“I’ve noticed,” you said with a wink, pressing back slightly. Just enough to brush against his lap.
“I’m sorry,Milá,” Viktor said. He could feel the blood splitting between his body. Half racing to color his face, the other half desperate to fill his cock. He let you go, hands going to your waist to help you off of him. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t okay.”
You laughed, pushing yourself up on the heels of your hands. You caged him in with your forearms, head tilted down at him and hair forming a curtain around your face. “You don’t need to apologize, Viktor.” You shook your head, false innocence on your face, “I know you can’t help it…” you dropped your voice, sliding back until his half hard cock was trapped beneath your ass, “but I could help you.”
“Sakra.” Viktor breathed out, his hands coming up to your waist. He watched your face as you pressed down against him, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, eyelids low, and cheeks red. You rolled your hips against him. He could nearly feel how wet you were though the layers of fabric.
“Is this okay?” you asked him, voice light as you moved.
“Fuck, yes, Milá, so good,” Viktor said, pushing his hands under your borrowed sweatshirt. He cupped both your breasts in his hands, kneading gently.
“Oh, Vik,” you gasped, hand coming up to his wrist as you caught his cock perfectly between your legs.
“Take your shorts off,” Viktor demanded, hands gripping your waist and guiding you off of him, “please.”
You sat to the side, frantically shoving the borrowed shorts down your legs and kicking them off. Viktor pushed his own boxers down, not bothering to get them any further down than his balls. He slipped on a condom just before you climbed back into his lap. You slid against him, hands on his ribs as he glided through the wet between your legs. He was still sensitive from the night before. He could come like this. Your heat gliding over his dick, leaving a slick mess against his lower belly.
But he didn’t want to come like that.
“Milá, please,” he panted, gripping your hips harder than he meant to, “need to be in you.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you cooed, lifting up on your knees.
You grasped him between your legs, eyes on his face as you lined him up with your entrance. Slowly you lowered yourself down onto him, enveloping him completely in your warm cunt. You didn’t stop until your ass was against this thighs. He keened for you, panting as he felt your delicate muscles flutter around him. His hands squeezed your thighs like he was trying to hold himself to the earth.
“How does that feel, Pretty Boy?” You asked, a fucked out smile already on your face as you panted his first nickname.
He whined your name, “You feel so good, Lásko. Oh my god, you feel so good on my cock.” He twitched his hips, “Fuck, please move. Feels so good, please more.”
“You’re chatty this morning,” you laughed softly, moving up slowly. “God, I love hearing you beg for me.”
“Miluji tě! Miluji tě tak moc” he gasped, raising his hips to sink back into you.
“Patience,” you said, pushing his hips down. You smiled down at him, a hand coming up to caress his face, “You’re big, angel, and I’m sore. I’ll fuck you like you deserve, just give me a second.” you leaned down close to his face, teasing when you said, “Impatient boy.”
You didn’t make him wait long. You adjusted your legs, hooking your feet under his thighs for leverage and bracing your hands against his stomach. Your fingers splayed wide against the taut muscles of his abdomen, warm against his skin. He could feel every square inch of contact with you as you rode him.
He was grateful for your takeover. Even without moving much himself he could feel the protest in his hip and leg. It wasn’t bad, certainly not enough to distract him from the breathy whimpers and pants that came from you as you fucked yourself on his cock. He watched you in awe, half-convinced he was dreaming. The blanket was still half covering you, the fabric of it bunched around your hips, sweater riding up your stomach. He reached up, pushing the fabric up until you lifted your arms, yanking it off and shaking your hair out as you tossed it to the side. He grabbed your waist, hands moving with you as you moved.
“Fuck, Milá, you are so beautiful,” he said, watching you take him. “So fucking pretty.”
You pushed down on him, spreading your knees wider to get impossible close. You gasped, gripping his arm as you rolled your hips in place. “Fuck, Viktor. Oh my god, you’re so deep,” you whined, eyes closed as you clenched around him.
Viktor could have cried. Never in his life had someone taken him like you were, not that he had complained. But that was because he had no idea how good it would feel to be completely swallowed up. To feel the head of his cock nudge the very back of your core. You picked up your pace, knees held wide so every come down took him all in as you chased your orgasm. Viktor could tell he wouldn’t last much longer, and in an effort to get you to come before himself he slid his hand up your thigh, fingers braced in the crease of your leg as he pressed his thumb to your clit.
Your hand came to your mouth, covering your lips as you practically screamed. As incredible as the noises you made for him were, he let you stifle them for the sake of his house mates.
“You are so perfect,” Viktor panted, rubbing circles on your clit, “taking me so fucking well. No one does it like you, Lásko. You are such a good girl. Fuck, come for me, Lásko. Come on my cock.”
“Vik,” you whimpered, eyebrows coming up and jaw dropping as you came around him, “god, yes.”
The feeling of you moving up and down while your muscles pulsed, doing everything they could to keep him inside, was enough to throw Viktor over the edge. He practically saw white as he came, every good feeling to ever exist rushing through his blood. You dropped yourself down, chest coming to meet him for the first time that morning as you gave him a messy kiss that nearly outshined his orgasm.
He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close as you panted into his neck. The both of you sweat-soaked and spent. He kissed your temple, trying to regain his breath as he held you. He soothed a hand over your back as your breath hiccuped.
“Are you okay Lásko?” he asked, pulling your hair away from your neck.
You nodded, eyes closed and lips parted, “That was so fucking good.”
“I agree,” he laughed softly, pressing his face closer to yours. The final pulses of your muscles were too much, making Viktor cringe. “My girl, could you?” he asked, gingerly nudging your hips up.
“Sorry,” you muttered, a pained noise slipping past your lips as you lifted up, allowing him to slide out of you. He smoothed his hand down your back and over your ass as you settled back against him.
“Don’t apologize," he sighed, exhaustion spreading over him. He barely bothered to pull the condom off and toss it in the bin before he tugged the blanket back up over the both of you. You pulled yourself closer and he breathed you in. Nothing was more comforting than the pure scent of you. He committed it to memory. The sweat and salt on your skin, your faded perfume — floral and bright — mixed with faded cigarette smoke clinging to your hair. The way that, if he pressed his nose close enough, he’d be able to smell himself on you. On your lips. In the hollow of your throat. On the back of your neck. Behind your teeth. It gutted him in the best way. Carved out all the space inside his ribs for you to live in place of his heart and lungs. He didn’t need them anyways — you’d do the job of keeping him alive just as well.
He trusted you. Despite that, he opened his mouth and broke the silence to say, “You don’t have to stay with me,Milá, if you don’t want to.”
“Do you…not want me to stay?” you asked, pushing up on your hands and looking down at him. Your face was artificially neutral, but Viktor saw the hurt clear as day.
“No, I do!” he backtracked, eyes wide as he held on to your waist. “I just don’t want you to stay just because you feel like you have to. I want you to stay, not because I don’t want to be alone. I don’t mind being alone.” Never in his entire adult life had he crashed and burned so hard. “I just want you to stay because I…I want you to stay. But it’s okay if you don’t want to stay.”`
“I said yes, didn’t I?” you asked, mouth in a flat line and head tilted toward him.
“Well, yes, but it was after…everything, and I don’t know,” he tried to think of the right thing to say. He was panicked and the required translating of his every thought into English wasn’t helping. “I was feeling a lot of things and I imagine you were as well. Sometimes, in those moments, we say things we don’t mean.”
You recoiled, flinching slightly as the flat line of your mouth ticked down.
“Not that I didn’t mean the things I said,” Viktor assured you. Dread was clawing at his chest. How had he managed to fuck this up so quickly? “I did. I do. I swear, I just want you to be sure you meant what you said when you agreed to stay. It’s okay if you only said it because…well because of whatever.”
“Viktor, stop,” you sighed, saving him from himself. You dipped your head down, looking him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. I’ve never been fucked stupid. I knew what I was saying. I want to stay here with you Viktor. I want to stay, not because I don’t want you to be alone, but because I am selfish and I want all of your time. I want to stay because I want you.”
He blinked up at you, instinctually looking for some sign of a lie. For your soft expression to crack into something mean. Instead you reached up, gently touching his face. He leaned into the gentle feeling of your fingertips at his temple. Another instinct.
“I have never pitied you a day I’ve known you, Viktor.” you said, expression not changing, “You are strong and smart and beautiful, and I have never pitied you. Ever.”
“Oh, Milá,” he said, closing his eyes as emotions threatened to choke him, “you’re gonna kill me.”
“No way,” you laughed, dropping back down against him, your forearms caging in around his head. You smirked down at him, “I like the way you fuck me too much to kill you.”
Viktor scoffed, raising an eyebrow at you, “Is that all I am to you? A good cock?”
“No of course not!” You gasped, mock offended, "You're a fantastic cock. And a pretty face too.” You grinned at him, squeezing his cheeks.
“Můj bože!” He scoffed a laugh, grabbing your wrist.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assured, pulling him to you by the chin, cheeks still squished in your hand as you kissed him, “I like you very, very much for many, many reasons.”
“Hmph, so you’ll stay.” Viktor raised an eyebrow at you, rubbing his face when you let him go.
You dropped your head next to his, temples close and your nose pressed to his cheek, “As long as you want me to.”
Forever he thought, mind swimming in the dark pools of your pupils. He couldn’t say that, so instead he offered, “All of break?”
“You’ll get sick of me.” you laughed, reaching up and toying with the hair at his temple.
“Impossible.” He caught your wrist, closing his eyes as he brought your pulse to his lips. He felt your heart beat stutter. “I have months to make up for.”
“Oh, so we won’t be leaving bed all of break then?” You raised an eyebrow. He held your palm to his cheek, his hand covering yours entirely.
“Dirty mind,” he scolded lightly, sly smile coming to his lips as he shrugged. “We’ll leave bed for approximately twenty-five percent of the time.”
“I like your math.” you hummed, moving closer to kiss him.
He let go of your hand, opting instead to wrap his arm around your ribs, hand flat on your back to pull you closer. Your fingers slid through his hair, not pulling, just holding, while you kissed him gently. You let out an annoyed sound before pulling away and cursing.
“What?” Viktor asked, confused and worried he had done something wrong. He looked over your face, eyes glancing down to your body for a sign that something was wrong.
“I forgot I have to go to Arizona.” You frowned, looking almost sick.
“For your mother?”
“Yes,” you sighed. “And as much as I’d rather ditch out on that to stay here with you, I don’t need her hating me more than she already does.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” he tried, brushing your hair behind your ear.
“Well, she certainly doesn’t like me,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.
Viktor sighed, seeing through your sarcasm with ease. He knew pressing wouldn’t help though. “Okay,Milá. If that’s what you want to do. That’s fine.”
“I’ll still be here most of break,” you told him, a small smile returning as you kissed his face. “Just three days without me. Think you can manage?”
“No, I’ll probably perish,” he added with a dramatic sigh.
“Do I get custody of Rio?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Of course,” he nodded, “Jayce wouldn’t do it.”
“So true,” you agreed, dropping your head against his shoulder. He reached up, carding his hands through your hair. You laid like that for a while, almost long enough for both of you to fall back asleep before you asked, “What time is it?”
Viktor hummed, craning his neck and reaching over for his phone. “Almost 10.”
You huffed, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at the pout on your lips. You tilted your chin slightly, kissing him before answering the silent question.
“As much as I want to stay in bed with you all day,” you said, continuing to kiss him between words, “I need to go finish packing.”
You moved away from him, sitting up and stretching your arms over your head with a groan. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching as you stood and did another big stretch, this time with your whole body. You raised on your toes, muscles lengthening as you pushed your hands above your head. Absolutely beautiful in the warm morning light, bare aside from the marks he had left on your skin.
“I can come with, if you’d like.” He offered, mostly for himself.
“Oh yeah, you can come with,” you laughed, grabbing your bag from his chair, “but be prepared to tell Lest how many times you made me come. Because she will be asking.”
“You know what,” Viktor said, blinking at you as he backtracked, “I totally forgot I told Jayce I would help him with… something.”
You barked a laugh, pausing at the bathroom door. “That’s what I thought.”
“Listen, Lest is great she’s just…” Viktor tried to tread carefully about how to describe your best friend.
“A fucking lot?” you finished. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, you’ll be desensitized to it this time next year.”
“Good to know.” He nodded, distracted as his eyes began to wander down your body.
“And before you ask—no. We’re not showering together. Lest leaves at noon and I’d like to see her before then.” You said stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.
Viktor huffed, then shouted after you. “I wasn’t going to ask that,” he lied, dropping himself back down on the bed.
-----
Half an hour later and you were sneaking out of Viktor’s room. Leaving him with a kiss and a promise to return in a few hours. The house wasn’t completely trashed, but it had certainly seen better mornings. Jinx had done a decent job as the sober friend. Nothing looked broken, but she hadn’t cleaned like normal after a party. That was probably in part to the fact that Jayce was drunk as a fish and you and Viktor were otherwise occupied. Cait and Vi were probably in the same boat. You carefully stepped through the mess of cups and cans that littered the floor. There was nowhere else they could have ended up, every other surface was already covered. The soles of your sneakers stuck to the hardwood, a nasty ripping sound coming from them with each step.
“Have a good night?” A voice behind you asked, making you flinch with a gasp.
You whipped around to find Jinx looking at you from over the back of the couch. Her makeup smeared around her eyes and blue hair pinned messily on the top of her head. You could see Ekko’s bright white hair against the arm of the couch, both of them crammed onto it.
“You slept here?” you asked, squinting at her.
“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes, “We smoked a bowl after everyone left and didn’t want to walk home. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“None of your business,” you huffed, holding your bag closer.
“Fine, don’t tell me how your night was,” she sighed, “it’s fine though. I already know you had a great morning.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. You turned and walked away as she giggled behind you.
-----
As soon as you knocked on your dorm room door, Lest yanked it open. A devious look on her face.
“Tell me everything,” she demanded as you pushed past her into the room.
“Can I set my bag down, first?” You laughed, face heating up as you dropped your bag on your bed.
“You set it down, now tell me!” she cried, sitting on the edge of her bed, hands clasped in her lap.
“Don’t you need to pack?” you asked her, dumping your clothes from yesterday into your laundry basket.
“I’m done,” she told you, “Sky is picking me up in an hour to go to the airport. So you have to tell me all the details now.”
“Well, okay, I’m not gonna tell you all the details,” you said, holding a hand up, “also, I need to pack my own stuff.”
“Oh my god, you can pack and talk at the same time,” she whined. “Please, I’m dying here.”
You dragged your hands down your face, laughing. “Fine, I’ll answer three questions. Choose them wisely.”
She shrieked, practically jumping up and down before composing herself. She changed her voice into that of an old-timey reporter, holding a pretend microphone up to her mouth, “Miss! Miss! The people need to know. Did you have sexual relations with Viktor Sýkora?”
You laughed as she held the invisible mic out to you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you answered the question, “Yes, I did.”
“Lovely!” She beamed at you, keeping up the character, “About time, I say! Now my second question. Did Mister Sýkora go down on you in a skilled manner?”
You closed your eyes, scoffing a laugh at her commitment to the bit. “Yes,” you confirmed, “In a very skilled manner.”
“Brilliant,” she nodded, “good to know the boy knows how to eat. Never would’ve guessed from the look of him. And for my last question. What was the preferred position of the night?”
You felt yourself blush, knowing exactly how she’d react to the answer, “Missionary.”
She gasped, wide eyes and an even wider smile on her face. “Oh my God, that is so romantic. Lots of eye contact? Kissing?” she pressed, dropping the act.
“Yes,” you nodded, fighting back your own smile.
“That is so cute, I can’t!” She pulled you into a hug, “I am so obsessed with you two.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around her middle, “Clearly.”
“Can I ask one more question?” She said, chin on your shoulder.
You nodded, “Sure.”
“Are you happy?” Her voice was soft and quiet and damn near brought you to tears.
“Yeah.” You swallowed down the emotion that collected in your throat, “I think so.”
She pulled away from you, tapping you lightly on the chin and looking at you with soft eyes. “Good, I’m glad… And whenever you feel like spilling all the spicy details of your sex life to me, I’m here and dying to hear it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you laughed as she sat back down on her bed, “Thank you, Lest.”
The two of you chatted idly as you packed and finished cleaning the room. She was telling you about her night with Sky.
“I feel crazy,” she laughed, “like, I haven’t even left yet and I already miss her.”
“I mean, yeah, you like her Lest,” you shrugged, “of course you’re going to miss her.”
“I know, but like, I’m low key dreading going home right now.” She said with confusion on her face, “Do you hear me? I’m actually not happy about going back to the Island. That’s insane, right?”
“Aw, Lest,” you sighed, “I’m sorry. It won’t be that long. You’ll have fun once you’re actually home, ya know. And you can call her all the time. I know that probably doesn’t help too much, but really, I feel like you think it will be worse than it actually will be.”
She groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “I know,” she sighed. “It still just sucks. It’s embarrassing, too. Like, what do you mean I’d rather spend winter break in Connecticut instead of Hawaii? Am I insane?”
“No Lest,” you scoffed, “you just like your girlfriend, that’s normal.”
“Okay, but I’ve never cared about this before,” she half whined, “it’s just weird.”
“Well, before you were dating men,” you pointed out.
She blinked up at you from her bed, “yeah and?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I just think that you’re with someone you actually like now.”
“I did like my boyfriend,” she rolled her eyes, “that’s why he was my boyfriend.”
“Okay, did you, though?” You raised an eyebrow, “or did you just think you were supposed to like him.”
She narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously, “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything,” you scoffed, tossing your hands up, “I’m just saying.”
“No, you’re totally implying something.” she argued.
“Don’t tell me what I’m implying,” you said, “you don’t know what I’m thinking. You aren’t in my head.”
“Shut up, yes I am,” she said with a pout, standing up. She placed her hand on the top of your head and shook you around, making you laugh, “I’ve been in that noggin of yours since the day I met you.”
You swatted at her hand, she laughed as she dodged you, “oh my god, stop it.”
“Speaking of knowing every thought you’ve ever had,” she said, leaning against the edge of your desk and crossing her arms, “why don’t you seem upset about leaving Lover Boy?”
“Don’t call him that,” you huffed, closing your eyes and shaking your head at the nickname.
“Boo, no fun,” she pouted, “but seriously, like you guys just started this thing days ago and now you have to go home for weeks, doesn’t that suck?”
“Well, about that,” you cringed. She was going to be completely offended that you hadn’t told her your change in plans as soon as you stepped into the room. “He kinda asked me to stay with him… all of break.”
She blinked at you, “Okay, well, what was your kinda answer?”
“I kinda said yes…” you bit your lip, looking at her sheepishly.
She gasped, “You bitch! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that first. That is totally first in line as far as news goes.”
“I’m sorry,” you laughed, “I wasn’t thinking about it.”
“Oh, sure you weren’t,” she laughed, a cheeky smile on her face. “I was wondering why you were packing your lacy underwear to go work on a fishing boat.”
“Shut up,” you scoffed, swatting at her as she teased.
“So you’re actually going to stay with him?” she asked, chewing on her lip as she thought about it, “like, in his house alone with him the whole time?”
You scrunched your nose, fighting back a face splitting smile as you nodded, “I mean, I have to go to Arizona for Christmas, and Jayce will be back in January, but yeah.”
“Oh my god, that’s so domestic,” she sighed, “and sexy. God, don’t get pregnant.”
“Yeah, not planning on it,” you cringed.
“Wait.” She paused, tilting her head, “Does your dad know?”
Your heart sank. You hadn’t even thought about the fact that your dad was expecting you home tonight.
“I’m gonna guess that look means no,” she said, cringing.
“Fuck,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face, “dude I’m so fucked.”
“Yes you are,” she agreed, leaning against her bed. “So… are you still gonna stay?”
“I don’t know,” you sighed, “I want to stay…but I told my dad I’d come home and work. And I told my mom the reason I couldn’t come see her earlier was because of that.”
“Okay, well fuck your mom, that doesn’t matter,” Lest said, waving the thought away, “how bad do you want to stay?”
“Really fucking bad,” you told her, eyes wide, then you pouted, “but I also want to see my dad.”
“Why can’t you do both?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at you. “Break is like three weeks long. Just spend the first half with Viktor and then the second half with your dad?”
You hummed, thinking about it for a second. “Yeah, that’s smart.” You pursed your lips, “I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t think of it.”
“It’s okay,” she said, patting you on the shoulder. “I know all you’re thinking about is Czech dick. That’s why I’m here to think for you.”
“Ew, shut up,” you scoffed, pushing her away as she giggled. “Such a freak.”
“I love you,” she sang as you turned your back to keep packing.
You huffed, fighting a smile, “I love you, too.”
-----
When you made it back to Viktor’s house, the sun had melted the snow into a thick layer of dirty slush. You parked on the street, pulling neatly into the spot behind Mel’s Escalade. You sat there, fingers tapping on the steering wheel while you thought about what you had to do. Your dad was expecting you home tonight. You weren’t sure which was going to be worse, disappointing your dad or disappointing Viktor. Neither were things you wanted to do. If you went with what Lest had said, you’d disappoint them both.
You decide to float the idea to your dad, first. You didn’t want to be that person. The one who ditches their family for a relationship. If your dad wanted you back all of break, you’d drive home tonight.
With the truck idling on the curb, you dial his number.
“Hey, Buddy,” your dad’s voice said down the line, “what’s up?”
“Hey, dad,” you said, the nail of your middle finger picking at the cuticle of your thumb. “Nothing, I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you about something, is now a good time?”
You heard the rustle of him sitting up straighter, voice more alert when he spoke. “Of course, is everything okay?”
“Yeah everything is fine,” you assured him, “I just wanted to ask you about something, not a huge deal.” You lied.
“Shoot,” he said, waiting for you to cough out what you were trying to say.
“Okay, so I know I was supposed to come home this weekend. Today,” you started, wincing as you drew blood from your nail, “But, I was wondering if you’d be okay if I stayed here in Piltover for the first part of break, with a… a friend.” You fumbled as you tried to think of a reason why, “It would just be the first part and then the last week I’d come home. It’s just that I’m, uh, I’m working on this big project right now.”
“Oh, what project?” He asked, genuinely curious, not an ounce of suspicion in his voice. That somehow made it worse.
You cringed, dropping your forehead to the steering wheel, “Oh, well, it’s not actually my project. It’s a friend’s, uh, thesis thing that I’m helping with. As a test subject. Oh, and plus, I’m closer to the airport here for when I go see mom, so yeah.”
You blinked down at your knees, practically holding your breath as you waited for his answer.
“Yeah, that’s fine, Buddy.”
You hoped your sigh of relief wasn’t audible. “Really?”
“For sure,” he said, “I mean, don’t get me wrong I always want you to be home, but I’m not gonna fall apart at the seams waiting a little longer.”
“Are you sure?” you sat up.
“Yeah, I mean I’ve got so much work going on I can barely keep the days straight as it is.” He told you, scoffing. “Not fun work, either. Not out on the boat. I’m updating a bunch of license stuff, you know, all the paperwork bullshit I have to do. I’d be out of the house most of it, I figured you could meet up with some of your high school buddies, but if you’d rather stay in Piltover it’s really okay.”
“Oh,” you nodded, chewing on your lip, “okay, cool… are you really sure?”
He laughed, “Yes, baby. What? Do you think I’m lying to you? I promise, I’m okay with you staying there. You’re a big kid now, ya know? You don’t have to do things just because I want you to do them.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I just, I do want to see you. But I also want to stay here. I’m so confused.”
“That’s life Buddy. Can’t do everything we want all the time, gotta make choices,” he paused, “Is staying the choice you want to make right now?”
You swallowed hard looking up toward the house, toward Viktor’s car covered in slowly melting snow. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said firmly, “that’s all that matters. I love you Buddy. Don’t stress about things you don’t need to stress about, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Buddy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you, too, dad,” you swallowed hard, “talk to you later.”
You blinked out the windshield. That was… easier than you had expected it to be. Though the guilt of lying was already starting to pick away at you. It was a horrible lie to begin with. One that would produce results or some other concrete evidence of its existence. You’d tell him it was a lie eventually. You’d have to. He was too interested in the things you were a part of to not ask more questions. Which is great any other time. You’d make him happy first. Show him your grades or let him have a few beers first. That would soften the blow surely. You’d cross that bridge when you got to it, though. And right now it would be days or even weeks before you’d reach it.
You popped open the truck door, dropping into the slush and slinging your bag over your shoulder before trekking up to the house. You didn’t bother knocking. You could hear Jayce and Vi bickering as soon as you opened the door. You paused to toe off your wet boots and hang your coat, trying to make out what they were arguing about. Something playing on the TV wouldn’t let their words come into focus. The house was still half a mess, the litter on the floor had been pushed to the side instead of being picked up. When you stepped into the living room you realized exactly why.
Your friends had been awake just long enough to turn on the TV and move cans out of the way. Mel hadn’t even pressed start on the coffee maker. She, like always, was the most put together of the group. Standing in the cluttered kitchen looking like a sleepwear model, her hair still wrapped in a silk scarf. The others were less casually glamorous. Ekko and Jinx must have left some time after you did because now it was Cait, Vi, and Jayce all crammed onto the couch instead. They were watching last night’s PWHL game. Well, Cait and Vi were watching and Jayce swayed gently in his seat. He looked like a strong enough breeze would make him sick all over the carpet.
“Good morning,” you told them, despite it being past noon already.
“Morning,” Jayce grumbled, head leaning heavily on his hand.
Vi looked at you over the back of the couch, “Morning,” she said, a suspicious edge to her voice, “You seem awfully chipper today?”
“Awfully chipper?” you scoffed. “Who the fuck are you, my grandma? Also, I literally just said good morning. If I seem more alive than you guys, it’s because I didn’t get absolutely fucked up last night like y’all did.”
“Yeah, you just got fucked instead,” Cait said without looking away from the game.
You glared at the back of her head while the other two snickered. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you guys?”
“Well, a lot,” Vi said, resting her chin on the back of the couch, grinning at you. “Come on, tell us, how long did you guys hang around before sneaking off? I bet fifteen minutes.”
Cait shushed her, swatting at her arm with wide eyes, but it was too late.
“Bet?” you narrowed your eyes at her, “what do you mean bet?”
“Come on, it’s not that crazy,” Vi scoffed, rolling her eyes. “We just took guesses at how long you two would last at the party before running off to finally do it.”
You gaped at her, muscle under your eye practically twitching, “What?”
“Yeah, I guessed fifteen minutes, Cait said forty, and Jayce was very noble and said an hour and forty minutes,” she told you.
“I was not involved in this,” Mel said from the kitchen, “I told them it was a bad idea.”
“Barely.” Cait scoffed, pausing the game on the TV for this argument, “you told us to do what we want.”
Mel gasped, “Yes. Because I should have to tell grown adults not to bet money on their friend’s sex life.”
“What’s the point of being an adult if we can’t bet money on our friend’s sex life?” Vi asked, “that’s so lame.”
“You bet real money on us?” you gasped, “you’re fucking joking.”
“Well, yeah. What? Were we supposed to bet with fake money?” Vi shrugged, “we’re not kids.”
“Oh my god,” you tugged at the ends of your hair, “y’all are fucking crazy. Literally, why are you guys so obsessed with what me and Viktor are doing? Why do you care if we fuck? What, you want to watch or something?”
They tried to cut you off as you raised your voice.
“No, fuck you guys. I’m sick of this.” You scoffed, “what do you want to know? That me and Viktor fucked last night? We also fucked this morning, if you want to take a crack at that as well. There. It’s done. Get a new fucking joke.”
They stared at you wide-eyed from the couch, mouths open in shock as you turned and yanked Viktor’s door open. You stepped inside and before closing it turned back to them, “Oh! And by the way. You all lost. The first time we fucked was in September.”
You closed the door with a little more force than normal, leaning your back against it and dragging your hands down your face. When you looked up you found that Viktor was completely oblivious to what had happened just now, at his desk with his headphones on. You dropped your bag down on the ground, walking up behind him and watching his screen. You had never seen him seriously play a video game before, but that was exactly what he was doing. He tapped away at his keyboard as he controlled a character in the first person. It was a wooded landscape, streaming by the screen as he ran through the trees. The characters view swiveled, looking behind him as he ran.
“Roman, kde sakra jsi?“ he said, completely unaware that you were standing behind him. You couldn’t hear the response of whoever he was talking to, but after a beat, he said, “Ne, nechoď tam. Medvědi jsou tamhle, zatraceně.”
“Vik,” you said his name, gently at first. When that didn’t get his attention you spoke louder, “Viktor.”
He reacted, but not to you. Not at first. He muttered something to whoever he was playing with and then, “Oh!” he gasped as he turned his head to look up at you, “I’m sorry, Milá. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s okay,” you said, reaching out and touching his face gently. Your heart rate that had been racing from the argument with your friends slowing to a steady rhythm, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to get back.” His eyes lit up as you looked up at you, “hold on.” He turned back to his computer, “Musím jít, kámo. Za chvilku jsem zpátky.”
Protests rang out from the headphones he had pushed down to his neck, cut off as Viktor disconnected from the game. You stepped back as he stood. He placed his hand on the back of your head and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Here, come,” he said, grabbing your hand and stepping with you to the other side of his room.
“I didn’t know you were into video games,” you said, following him to his dresser, “what were you playing?”
He paused, halfway reaching for one of the drawers. He looked at you and shrugged, “Eh, I’m not really into them. I actually haven’t played in a few years, but I started again when I moved here. Easy way to stay in touch with friends in Česko.”
“You have friends back home?” you asked, then immediately cringed. “Not that you wouldn’t. I just thought that Jayce was your only friend. Well, not your only friend, just…”
He raised an eyebrow at you, giving a short laugh as you dug yourself into a hole.
“I’ve never heard you talk about them,” you said, blinking at him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a total bitch.”
He waved you off. “No Milá, it’s fine. You are not bitch, ever. For a long time I didn’t really talk to them, Roman and the others, outside of playing Dayz, the game. We went to school together, but rarely spoke in person. Not until we could drink.” He laughed absently at some memory, “but then University and work and everything kinda got in the way until a couple months ago. We try to log in together at least once a week. It’s nice.”
A tangle of warm emotion collected in your chest at the admission, you smiled up at him. “That’s nice,” you said, “that sounds really nice.”
He nodded, “it’s good. Feels good to speak my language, too.”
“Yeah, not a lot of Czech conversation opportunities here in Piltover, huh?” You laughed.
“Eh, not really,” he agreed.
“You can keep playing, you know?” you said, “you don’t have to stop just because I’m here.”
“Oh,” he blinked at you, surprised, “really? Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”
“Yeah, of course,” you said, “I want you to be able to catch up with your friends. Besides, I have been neglecting my farm in Stardew Valley, like, all semester. I like it. Doing our own thing, but together, I mean. If you’d also like that… I am talking a lot.”
“Yes.” He nodded, “that does sound nice. I would like that.”
“Good.” You nodded, “now what did you want to show me?”
“Oh, yes!” he turned back to his dresser, pulling one of the drawers open.
It was empty.
“I, uh, I wanted to make space…for you,” he said, nervous edge to his voice, “since you’re staying.”
“Oh…” You suddenly forgot how to breathe.
“You don’t have to use it, of course,” he said, urgent and shaky, “whatever you would prefer. Just tell me if—”
You cut his sentence in half with a kiss. His hand landed against the top of the dresser, steadying himself as you looped your arms around his neck and pulled him close. His free hand hesitated for a moment before coming to hold your waist. He hummed, pressing closer to you as he pulled a shaky breath in through his nose. He tasted like fresh toothpaste.
“A kiss like that over a drawer?” he asked as you pulled away, accent thick.
“It’s nicer than anything anyone I dated before has ever done for me,” you admitted, corner of your mouth twitching into a sad smile.
“Well, forgive me if this is harsh,” he said, “but I am grateful everyone before me was a complete fuck up, otherwise I wouldn’t have the opportunity to clear a drawer for you.”
“I’m not too mad about it myself,” you said, kissing his jaw before he righted himself, “Go catch up with your friend, I’ll put my things away.”
He nodded, kissing the top of your head before turning and walking back to his desk.
“Milá,” he called, settling back down into his desk chair.
“Hm?”
“Thank you for staying,” he said softly.
You smiled at him, “thank you for asking me to stay.”
-----
You took your time putting your clothes away. You had expected to just live out of your duffel bag for a week. You wouldn’t have minded. This was nice though. This felt real. This felt solid. When your bag was empty of your clothes, you fished out your laptop and the cheap controller you used to play. Before you could settle onto his bed, he called for your attention.
“Roman, hold on,” he said, sliding his headphones down, “Milá, wait, come here.”
He stood up, beckoning you over as he stepped away from the desk. You watched as he pushed the armchair he kept near his bookshelf closer to the desk. He moved some things around, clearing a space on the desk next to his computer. He sat back down, then patted the seat of the armchair expectantly.
“Selfishly, I want you close,” he said.
“I’m okay with that,” you laughed softly, taking the seat he offered. He waited as you set up your game, taking your charger and plugging it in before you could ask.
“Good?” he asked. His chair was arm to arm with yours, as close as you could be.
“Perfect, thank you.” You inclined your chin up. He answered the silent ask, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours. Soft and sweet. You started your game and he returned to his, close and comfortable next to each other.
You liked listening to him speak in his first language. This was only the second time you had ever heard him have an actual conversation in Czech.
“Hej, jsem zpátky.” he said. You were close enough to hear his friends response crackle through the headphones.
“Brácho, co se děje?” You heard a man’s voice, Roman, you assumed, “Kam jsi šel?”
“Promiň, moje holka je tady” Viktor said, glancing down at you instinctually, “Just getting her settled. I’m back though.”
“Váš Dívka?” The voice laughed, “NAle kámo, slyšel jsem, jak někomu říkáš Milá. Myslel jsem, že je to ten had.”
“Dobře, hlupáku, nezní to tak překvapeně,” Viktor scoffed.
“Nejsem! Jen ses nikdy předtím nezmínil o žádné holce.”
“Jo, bylo to, ehm, složité.”
“Kdy to není?” Roman scoffed. You tried to picture what he looked like. You wondered if you had seen him on Viktor’s Instagram.
Viktor laughed, “Jo, no, naštěstí už to není složité.”
“To je dobré. Je hezká?”
Viktor sneered, “Sklapni, kámo, ona je tady.”
“Umí mluvit česky?”
Viktor hesitated, “...Ne.”
“Tak mi řekni, je krásná?”
Viktor looked down at you, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. "Hezká je slabé slovo."
You narrowed your eyes at him, “What?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“Are you talking about me?” you asked.
“No, of course not.” He shook his head, “You know I think about things other than you, right?”
You scoffed, “That’s not allowed.”
He rolled his eyes at you, “Spratek.”
“Jak se jmenuje?”
Viktor said your name, but wasn’t addressing you.
“You are talking about me!” you gasped, “what are you saying?”
“Nothing, Milá,” he laughed, “don’t worry about it.”
You heard your name shouted from the headphones, “Viktor say you very sexy. This true?”
“Fuck, Roman, shut up.” Viktor yelped, reaching forward and muting the sound on his laptop, cutting Roman off mid laugh.
“Viktor!” you scolded, face splitting into a shocked grin.
“Milá, please,” he grimaced, face turning red as he held his hands up in defense, “He asked. I didn’t say anything gross, I swear.”
He dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head. You laughed, reaching over and squeezing the back of his neck as you leaned into him. You kissed his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I’m joking. It’s fine.”
“I’m going to kill him.” He said, voice muffled.
You pried his hands away from his face, getting him to look at you, “Really, it’s fine.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, “I don’t particularly mind being bragged about… but keep it PG-13, yeah?”
“Yes ma’am,” he nodded firmly, then kissed you one last time before returning to his game.
-----
You spent most of the day like this, just existing inside each other’s orbit. Eventually, the ache in your hands put an end to your game and the time difference put an end to Viktor’s. You weren’t sure who moved to the bed first, but you both ended up there. Each reading your own books for a while, sharing space. You curled up next to him, your head resting on his stomach as you read. After a while, you quietly dog-eared your page and set the book to the side. Viktor didn’t notice the shift, not until he felt your hands pushing the fabric of his shirt up his torso. He lifted his book, looking down at you and raising an eyebrow. You blinked up at him.
“Don’t mind me,” you said casually, tracing your fingertip across the taut skin between his hip bones.
He did, in fact, mind you very much. You felt his eyes on you as you tilted your head and pressed a linger kiss just above the waistband of his jeans. You parted your lips, enjoying the harsh breath he sucked in when you dragged your tongue over his skin. You couldn’t help the smile when you glanced up at him. He was an absolute vision. Teeth worrying at his bottom lip and eyebrows knit together as he watched you from under his book.
You moved to lay on your side and hooked your arm under his thigh to be closer. You pressed your face to his lap, rubbing your cheek across the denim of his jeans.
“Is your leg okay?” you asked, nosing along the line of his dick. Already half hard just from having you close.
“Ano,” he muttered, setting his book to the side.
“Tell me if that changes,” you said, free hand coming up to pull at the button of his jeans.
He breathed your name, hand coming to your shoulder as you pulled his jeans open. You palmed him through his boxers, skin warming at the heat that radiated off of him. You leaned your cheek against his thigh, eyes on him as your handed glided lightly over his cock. You kept going, fingers brushing a straight line up his stomach. Over the trail of dark hair that started at his navel, under his t-shirt and up his chest as far as you could reach. You could feel his heart hammering in his chest against the side of your hand. You watched him as you dragged your hand back down to where he really wanted, fingernails scraping against his skin making him shudder. When you once again reached the waistband of his boxers, you hooked your fingers into the fabric and pulled it down towards you. His cock, almost fully hard, lolled free, resting against the crease of his hip. You smirked at him, resting your chin against his thigh and dragging a featherlight finger from root to tip and back again.
“Viktor you are so beautiful,” you said, thumb pressing against his tip as it started to leak, “such a pretty cock and a pretty face and a pretty voice.”
He whined your name, face red as you continued your teasing touch. You adjust yourself and grasped his cock at the same time, bringing him to your mouth. You held his gaze, eyes locked as you pressed a kiss to the tip, licking slightly.
"You are so smart,” you hummed, licking more of him. His lips were parted, eyes hooded as he fought to keep them open, “so beautiful and smart and hot.”
It was funny, you could feel the shape of the words that should have followed. They rested harshly behind your teeth, almost uncomfortable to not let out. So instead, you took him in. Wrapping your lips around him and sinking down. He was too big to take all the way in at this angle, but even with your mouth only around a fraction of him, he began to unravel. You hollowed your cheeks as you pulled back slightly. Viktor dropped his head back, cursing as he breathed raggedly. You closed your eyes, breathing out of your nose as you tried to focus on the feeling of him alone. Velvet skin against your tongue and lips, bitter and heavy. Your mouth flooded with spit as you began to move, cautious of your teeth as you took him as far as you could. You swallowed as he reached the back of your tongue. You felt Viktor’s fingers grab at your hair as he bucked his hips. You gagged, pull off of him at the same time as he retracted his hand.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Milá,” he gasped, sitting up and reaching out to you as you caught your breath. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s okay,” you said, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You paused, looking at him for a beat before saying, “do it again.”
“What?” he blinked at you.
“Fuck my face,” you clarified, reaching out for his hand and guiding it to your face. You leaned your cheek against his palm before encouraging him to slide his fingers into your hair.
“Lasko, I…” he hesitated, looking torn.
“Please, Viktor,” you whined, “fuck my face. Use me, please, Vik.”
He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. When he opened them again, his grip tightened in your hair, sending a shiver over your skin. He reached down and took your hand in his. “You have to let me know you’re okay.” He squeezed your hand tightly, “Once for good.” He squeezed your hand again, and then a second time, “Twice for too much.”
“Okay.” You nodded, “I can do that.”
You watched him as you squeezed once. He nodded, “Good girl.”
You opened your mouth tongue out and taking the lead as you took him again. You bobbed your head at your own speed, Viktor’s hand was just there, no pressure at all, he just moved with you. So you stopped. Then squeezed his hand once. Once. Good. Keep going. Slowly he began to move your head, hand tight in your hair as he barely moved you. You could feel he was holding back. You moaned around his cock, attempting to be vocal about how much you wanted this. It was enough to comfort him into moving faster. He pushed and pulled you more, keeping a steady rhythm as he sank deeper every time he pushed you down onto him. You pressed your thighs together, wishing for some kind of friction. You didn’t want him to get distracted. Your goal to begin with was just to play. Your goal now was for Viktor to let go.
You swallowed around him hard, earning another buck from his hips, harder this time as he moaned. Then he was pulling you off of him completely after the involuntary gag that he caused.
“Are you okay?” he asked, panic in his voice
“Yes, Viktor,” you said, looking at him desperately and squeezing his palm hard, “I’m perfectly fucking okay.”
“Ah fuck,” he groaned, finally giving in to what you both wanted.
He pushed your head down, bucking his hips into your mouth at the same time. You breathed through your nose, bracing yourself against him as he finally picked up the pace. Spit leaked past your lips, soaking the neat dark hair at the base of his cock.
“Oh my god,” he panted, head back against the pillow as he fucked into your mouth. “Fuck, Milá, feels so good.” His accent was as heavy in his mouth as his cock was in yours.
He picked up the pace, cock sliding past your lips as you focused on breathing. On swallowing at the right time. On your hand wrapped around what you could not fit. On the breathy, desperate sounds that fell from Viktor’s lips as he fucked your mouth like he’d fuck your cunt. You were lightheaded, half from the lack of oxygen, half from the feeling of being completely full of him.
“I’m close,” he muttered, holding you on him, “are you okay?”
You squeezed once and he kept going. You kept your free hand wrapped around him, following your lips and keeping you from going too far down. You swallowed hard, taking him just a little more and making him cry out as he came. He held you in place as he came down your throat. You looked up at him through your lashes, tears rolling down your face as you swallowed him down. His hand moved from your hair to the side of your face, brushing strands away from the mess on your chin. He was still breathing hard, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to catch his breath. He cringed as you pulled off him, his softening cock laying in the crease of his hip. You dropped your head, resting your forehead against the top of his thigh, eyes closed as you attempted to catch your breath.
“You’re heaven sent,” Viktor muttered above you in awe.
You laughed against his skin before turning your head to look up the line of his body. Your sweaty cheek pressed to his own sweaty thigh, “I don’t know if being good at head is heavenly, but sure, I’ll take the compliment.
He reached down for you, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer. “If that isn’t part of being in heaven, I don’t think I want to go.”
You groaned as you climbed up to him, body stiff from the awkward position. “Is that what your heaven is?” you asked, “just, like, an orgy forever?”
“God, no.” He scoffed, wrapping his arm around you, “My heaven would just be sex with you forever. No one else, just you.”
“That’s so grossly romantic,” you giggled, pressing your nose to his neck, the smell of his cologne and sweat filling your head. “I agree, though. It’d be so nice to just ignore everything else. Stay in bed forever.”
“God, we are so gross,” Viktor laughed, covering his face with his hand.
“Hey, this is what our twenties are for,” you joked, “Drinking and having sex and being gross and stupid and wasting time. We won’t have winter breaks once we graduate. Personally, I want to take advantage of it as much as I can.”
He spread his fingers, peeking out at you from behind his hand with a raised eyebrow. “That so?”
You laughed at his leading tone, grinning as you said, “Yes, sir.”
“No reason for us to stop now, then.” He shrugged, craning to get closer to you. He kissed you once, then spoke against your lips, “right?”
You hummed in agreement, leaning in for another kiss. You hooked your leg over his, hand coming up to grip his shirt. You didn’t make it any further than that before being interrupted by a knock on Viktor’s door. Both of you ignored the sound, and then it happened again… and then again.
Viktor broke away from you with a groan, turning his attention to the door and shouted, “Go away.”
“Fuck you, I knew you were in there,” Jayce shouted back, “Check your phone, we’re trying to make plans.”
“What plans?” Viktor asked, not bothering to get up.
“Last Drop,” Jayce said.
Viktor turned to you, “Wanna go?”
As if he could hear him, Jayce added, “C’mon, its the last night before everyone leaves tomorrow.”
You laughed, then shouted, “Yeah Jayce, we’ll go.”
“We’re leaving at 7!” His voice fading as he walked away from the door.
With Jayce gone, you looped your arm back around Viktor’s shoulders. You pulled him down to you speaking between kisses. “Everyone leaves tomorrow,” you muttered, biting down on his bottom lip.
His hands moved up your sides as he grinned down at you. “Everyone leaves tomorrow,” he said gratefully.
------
The last time Viktor walked into The Last Drop with you under his arm, it had ended in tears and a hospital trip. He was hopeful tonight would end differently. So far the start of the night had gone fine. Sarcastic remarks were traded with Sevika at the door. You pointed out the buck fifty Malört shots on the specials menu with a cocky smile. Jinx quickly introduced her brothers who were home from wherever they attended University. Viktor was the only one who hadn’t met them previously, but neither you nor Jayce or Mel seemed to know them any better than he did.
Everything was going fine until he was separated from you. He and Jayce had been caught up by one of the U of P board members. Someone with money to burn who was willing to fund Jayce and Viktor’s capstone project. Viktor wasn’t sure if there would ever be a time or place that he’d want to discuss those matters. If there was one, it certainly wasn't here in the middle of the local dive bar. But when a bored millionaire wants to burn his money to keep you warm, you don’t say no to a conversation.
To his dismay, you excused yourself. He watched as you ordered at the bar and followed Mel outside to the patio. Leaving him to nod along to Jayce’s spiel and hope he seemed socially competent enough to warrant investing in. He let Jayce do most of the heavy lifting, offering up the basic data when it was needed. When the investor finally felt like dropping the pair of men, Jayce turned to Viktor with a flat look.
“Hm?” Viktor raised an eyebrow.
“You are no fucking help,” Jayce huffed, “You know that?”
“Hey, didn’t want him to catch on to the accent,” Viktor shrugged, “what if he doesn’t like foreigners?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jayce scoffed as they made their way to the bar. Once they were in line, he tapped Viktor on the arm, “I’m buying.”
“Why?” Viktor asked, “Not that I’m turning it down, but, what’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” Jayce shrugged, “Just a sorry for being a dick, is all.”
Viktor blinked up at his friend, “Am I… missing something?”
Jayce returned the look, “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Viktor narrowed his eyes, leaning in.
“Nothing, nevermind.” Jayce said, waving him off.
“No, no,” he scoffed. “What were you being a dick about?”
“Nah, nothing, don’t worry about it.” Jayce turned away.
“Jayce Talis, tell me right now,” Viktor insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or I’ll show the Prague photos to Mel.”
“Ah fuck you,” Jayce groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fucking Vi let slip that we were betting…”
“On?” Viktor pressed.
“When the two of you would finally hook up,” Jayce cringed.
“Man, come on. Really?” Viktor sighed.
“Listen, you guys weren't supposed to know,” Jayce defended. “And now that you do I feel bad about it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Viktor shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t really care that much. She’s got a thing about it, though. She wants us to keep it close for a bit. I don’t know, she’s just nervous even if she won’t admit it.”
“Hey, I don’t blame her,” Jayce said. “I mean, when me and Mel were interested in each other, at first, we didn’t tell anyone. Which was hard, but we were worried about throwing the whole dynamic off. We were all friends, ya know? At the time, Cait was on and off with Vi, so she wasn’t really a part of the group quite yet, and everyone else's partners weren't in the same circle as ours, so the awkwardness was never a problem.”
Viktor hummed. He hadn’t thought about the two of you in the grand scheme of things. In his mind, it was just the two of you. A separate entity that had no effect on anything else. Apparently he was the only one who felt that way.
“Honestly, though,” Jayce added, “she doesn’t have much to worry about. I doubt anything is going to change.”
“What does that mean?” Viktor scoffed, curling his lip.
“It means that— hold on,” Jayce held a hand up, ordering quickly for the both of them before continuing, “It means that in retrospect, the two of you have been painfully obvious, and I doubt that will change now that she’s actually going out with you.”
“Painfully obvious?” Viktor raised an eyebrow, “you had no idea until I told you.”
“Viktor. She spent the night in your bed on Halloween,” Jayce deadpanned, then threw a hand up. “You wore matching costumes.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Viktor lied.
“Well, clearly it did,” Jayce scoffed, “the only reason I didn’t realize sooner was because, I don’t know, I expected you to talk to me about something like this.”
The waver in Jayce’s voice caught Viktor’s attention. “Are you…upset with me? For not telling you?”
“I just don’t know why you didn’t trust me with it,” Jayce shrugged.
“It wasn’t about not trusting you,” he assured as the bartender passed him and Jayce their drinks. He tried to think of the right words to say as they weaved through the crowd. “Do you know how embarrassing it would be if crashing and burning with one of your friends was the first thing I did when I came to America?”
“You’d have to move back to Prague,” Jayce agreed, dramatically.
“Exactly,” Viktor laughed, then looked to Jayce, “No hard feelings?”
“No hard feelings,” Jayce nodded, pushing open the door to the patio.
A fire was crackling in a pit made of stone. It was flanked by seating on all four sides. Full of friends and a handful of strangers. People Jinx and Vi were familiar with. Instinctively, he searched for you within the group as he walked closer, only to be disappointed to find that your attention was already being taken.
You were on the end of one of the couches, the space next to you occupied by one of Vi’s brothers. The skinny one. Mike…Miles…Mylo! Yes, Mylo was talking to you about something that you didn’t seem totally disinterested in. You nodded along to what he was saying, eyebrow quirking as you asked a question.The gentle expression on your face made Viktor’s heart melt and his spirit rage. Devastated that he wasn’t the one you were looking at. The closest he could get to you without forcibly removing Mylo was the seat across. You looked up over the fire, sending him a smile that rivaled the flame’s warmth.
He hoped you caught the look he gave in return before Mylo once again commandeered your attention.
He tried to be part of the conversation, but he couldn’t focus. Not when someone else was so close to you. So close and so obviously interested. Throughout the conversation he somehow closed the distance between your bodies. A fraction at a time until his thigh was pressing to yours. To his relief, when Vi’s brother was so bold as to place his arm over the back of the couch, behind your shoulders, you stood.
“Gonna run to the bathroom,” you told your friends, “B.R.B.”
Viktor watched you leave, catching your eyes for just a moment before you were gone. Mylo seemed oblivious to the fact that he was the reason she left. He just settled into the couch, arm still slung over the back, knees still spread obnoxiously wide. The conversation continued on while you were away. Viktor nodded along, thinking of a way to get you away from Mylo and next to him instead. Each couch only allowed room for three. Getting an open spot next to you would require shifting around that would surely be too obvious.
He turned the possibilities over in his head until his phone buzzed in his pocket…three times in a row. He opened it to find they were all from you.
Hey.
Where are uou?
*you
Viktor frowned at the next. You knew exactly where he was.
I’m still here, why?
He waited for your response, a jolt of electricity shooting through him when you replied with a photo. It wasn’t anything explicit, just you in the bathroom mirror. One hand braced against the sink and head tilted to the said. It was accompanied with the text: Why r u making me wait?
It took every ounce of restraint Viktor had not to shoot out of his seat. Instead, he slipped his phone into his pocket, casually looking around to see if anyone noticed his change in demeanor. Luckily, no one was paying him any mind. He downed the dredges of his drink, and stood. Muttering something about another beer as he made his way back towards the door. He walked as fast as he could through the crowd, head down and only one thing on his mind.
You.
You waiting for him.
Part of him was grateful that he was slower than the average man. If he had it his way he’d be sprinting through the bar to you. He didn’t need to look more desperate than he already was, though. His mind was so focused on you that he almost didn’t notice when Professor Heimerdinger stepped into his path. He practically skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding tripping over the old man.
“Viktor!” he cried, wide smile half hidden under his mustache, “how lovely to see you, my boy.”
“Hello, Professor,” he greeted, hoping he didn’t look as frantic as he felt. “Nice to see you as well.”
“I hope you’re having a good start to winter break,” he said, “you’ve worked hard, Viktor, you deserve a break.”
“Thank you, professor,” Viktor nodded, grip tightening on the handle of his cane. Before he could excuse himself, Hiemerdinger interrupted.
“Actually, I’m so glad I ran into you,” he said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”
Viktor blinked down at Heimerdinger, trying to stay pleasant.
“It’s about the assistant position,” He continued, “Not only is this a good opportunity for you, but selfishly, I truly want you as my assistant Viktor. You’re a brilliant young man with an incredibly bright future. I hope your hesitation isn’t to do with another offer.”
“Thank you, professor,” Viktor said, internally embarrassed for the childish animosity he felt for a moment, “I apologize for making you wait. I was planning on emailing you this week to accept the position.”
“Oh, that’s great news!” Heimerdinger clapped, “I’ll have the paperwork emailed to you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Viktor nodded, hesitating for a moment, “May I ask… do you ever have multiple assistants?”
“Yes of course,” Heimerdinger assured, “While I’m sure you are more than capable, the workload is far too much for one person. Depending on how many courses I’m teaching in a semester I have at least two, sometimes three, assistants working with me.”
“Oh.” Viktro raised his eyebrows, “that’s good to know.”
“Why do you ask?” Heimerdinger tilted his head, “Did you have someone in mind?”
“Actually, yes.” He nodded, then offered your name. “She’s brilliant, truly. And works harder than most people I know, you’d be lucky to have her as an assistant.”
“Oh, I didn’t know she was interested,” Heimerdinger mused. “I agree, she is quite a remarkable student. Thank you for telling me, I’ll put some thought into it. In the meantime, let me buy you a drink? I’ve been meaning to connect with you about your capstone.”
“Thank you professor,” Viktor said, awkwardly glancing towards the restroom sign. “but I was, uh…”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Heimerdinger laughed, “You enjoy the rest of your night, we’ll meet in the new year!”
“Thank you, professor,” Viktor nodded, stepping away, “Have a good night.”
He was moving again before he even had time to hear the professor’s response. Once again squeezing through the crowd to get to you. He was grateful that neither the single user nor the stalled restroom had a line at the moment. He glanced over his shoulder as he approached the door, knocking quickly.
“It’s me,” he said, trying the handle.
No response.
“Fuck, Milá, come on, let me in,” he hissed, reaching for the handle again. There was no resistance when he pushed it down, as it was already being opened from the other side. When the door opened, it wasn’t you. Instead it was a man. A very large, very angry looking man. Viktor stepped back, eyes going wide. As he began to stutter an apology, he heard you somewhere behind him. Laughing.
He turned his head to see you leaning out of the doorway of a second single user restroom. One he had no idea existed. Without a second look at the man he had disturbed, Viktor turned and beelined for you. He kept his head down, face red as you let him inside. You continued to giggle as you locked the door and pushed him up against it.
“I need to kill myself,” Viktor muttered, knocking his head back against the door.
“That was incredible,” you laughed, pressing your lips to his neck, “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I hate you,” he whined, “shut up.”
“Thats what you get for making me wait so long,” you huffed, biting his skin. His hands came up to your waist, eyes closing at the feeling of your teeth on him.
“Not my fault,” he breathed, holding on to you tightly, “I was accosted by Heimerdinger.”
“Oh,” you smiled, pulling back and letting him drop his chin to look you in the eyes. “Did you tell him you accept the position?”
Viktor nodded, smile pulling at the edge of his lips. “I told him I accept the position,” he affirmed before you pressed your lips to his.
Your hand came up to his cheeks, eyes squinting as you smiled at him. “Yay! That’s good.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, muttering “good boy.”
If there were any words that would send every blood cell he possessed straight to his cock. It was those two.
He melted into you, arms wrapping around your body as he kissed you deeper. You half yelped, sound muffled by his lips, as he walked you backwards. His cane left leaning against the door. Panting into your mouth, he only stopped moving when your lower back hit the edge of the counter. He braced a hand against the edge, supporting himself as he kissed you. His other hand met the front of your neck, holding you in place as he licked into your mouth. You grabbed at his shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric as you tried to tug him closer.
With his tongue against yours and your hands on his body, this dirty bar bathroom might as well have been the Vatican with how pure he felt.
“Fuck Vik,” you gasped, dropping your head back as he attached his lips to the sweet spot of your neck.
He gripped your hips, taking a reluctant half step backwards to spin you around. He pressed his chest to your back, hips to your ass, as he made you face the mirror. You whined, trying to turn to face him, craning your neck to catch his lips with yours. He let you try for a moment before taking over. His hand came back up to your throat, grabbing you by the jaw and turning your head to look forward. His other arm was wrapped tightly around your waist. He met your eyes in the mirror. Even in the horrible lighting you looked angelic. Lips swollen and parted as you caught your breath, eyes hooded with blown pupils.
“Look at yourself,” he said, lips close to your cheek. “Milá, look how beautiful you are.”
Your nose twitched and you tried to look away, “Viktor, stop.”
“You are so perfect,” he dragged his gaze over your body, hands impatiently gripping his wrist. “So perfect. No wonder he wants you.”
“Who?” you frowned, “Mylo?!”
“I don’t like him,” he muttered, sliding his hand under the collar of your shirt, fingers pushing back the fabric to expose skin for him to kiss.
You laughed, sound strangled as you struggled through the feeling of his teeth on your skin. “Mylo wants everyone. I’m not special.”
“I won’t even acknowledge such a lie,” Viktor furrowed his eyebrows at the second part of your statement, “I don’t care. He needs to leave you alone.”
A sly smile crept across your face as you caught his eyes, “Viktor, are you… jealous?”
“Yes.” he said bluntly, a point blank affirmation.
“Viktor,” you breathed his name, soft and sweet. You turned your head over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, faces close together. “Viktor, I’m yours. Only yours.”
He could have died.
“You’re mine,” he nodded, forehead tilted against yours, “Oh, god, you’re mine.”
You kissed him over your shoulder. A kiss like a prayer, all desperate hope and clashing teeth. He could feel the uncomfortable restraint of clothing against his cock, fully and painfully hard now as he resisted the urge to rut against you like a dog. You certainly didn’t help, pressing back against him with a whimper, nails digging into his wrist. He slid his hand down your throat, pushing under the collar of your shirt. He paused, making an involuntary sound of disappointment as his fingers met the padded fabric of your bra.
“It’s cold,” you defended with a laugh.
“You can wear what you’d like,” he reminded you, pulling back and raising an eyebrow at you.
“Well, yeah,” you rolled your eyes, “but I know you like when I—”
Your words were cut off by a gasp as he pushed his hand into your bra. Cold fingers kneading into your flesh exactly how he knew you liked. He kissed your shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave behind a mark as he flicked his thumb over your nipple. He looked up into the mirror, watching your face as he pressed his thigh between your legs. Adoring the shape of your lips as you canted your hips back, searching for some kind of friction.
As much as he wanted to bend you over the counter and fuck you until the entire bar heard, or even have you fuck yourself against the top of his thigh until you cried, his body had other plans. Already the tendons and muscles of his hip and leg began to ache. It’d be worse soon. He didn’t have much standing left in him, let alone the physicality it would take to fuck you properly. Instead he slid both hands down your belly, smoothing his fingers over the tops of your thighs before coming back up to just barely dip under the waistband of your jeans, living for the breathy moans that slipped past your lips from just the slightest touch. He pulled your jeans open, watching his hand in the mirror as he dragged a finger over your underwear, lacy and black and entirely for him. When he went to move underneath them you gasped, grabbing his wrist and stopping his motion.
“What?” he asked, heart frozen. Worried he had done something wrong.
You gave an awkward smile in the mirror before asking, “Wash your hands?”
Viktor laughed, half in relief, half in love. He kissed your temple, muttering, “yes, Milá.”
“Thank you,” you said as he curved his body around yours to reach the sink. You laughed softly, head titled back against his shoulder. You left quick kisses along his jaw as he washed his hands. When you reached up to hold his face still and childishly lick his cheek, he cringed, laughing as he tried to tilt his head away. He didn’t actually care, but his dramatic protest pulled the prettiest laugh from your lips. He dried his hands, tossing the paper towels to the side to deal with later and presented his palms to you.
“Up to code?” He joked raising an eyebrow.
You nodded firmly. “Perfect,” you said, grabbing his wrist and bring his palm to your lips. You left a gentle kiss that turn into a bite against the pad of his thumb.
“Ow,” he weakly protested, pulling his hand from your mouth and using his fingers to turn your face to him.
You met him without a second thought, lips parting as soon as they met his. He melted into you, kissing you hard enough he was sure your atoms would mix. He dropped one hand to wrap around your waist, gripping your shirt and tugging it up. The other hand dipped between your legs, beneath the layers of denim and lace to find where you were warmest. You gasped into his mouth as soon as he made contact. He felt his cock twitch as he realized how wet you were, underwear completely soaked through as you dripped for him.
“Fuck, Milá,” he muttered, dragging his fingertips through you. He resisted the urge to pull his hand back just to see you coating his fingers, “god, you’re so fucking wet.”
“Viktor,” you mewled, sides of your shoes knocking against his as you tried to spread your legs. He helped, moving his leg between yours and using his foot to slide yours over to open your legs for him. He used the space it gave to finally push a finger inside you. Your chin dropped to your chest, mouth open and eyes shut as you gripped his wrist.
Nosing against your cheek he muttered your name, “Look at me.”
You blinked your eyes open, meeting his in the mirror. “Vik please,” you begged, leaning your temple against his. “Fuck, please more.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he said, your words from this morning echoing in his brain as he drew back and pushed a second digit into your warm cunt.
He held your gaze as he gave you what you wanted. Long fingers found the places inside you that made your breath hitch. He pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing smooth circles over the bud. Your nails bit into his skin, your teeth into your bottom lip as you kept yourself quiet. Viktor leaned in, pressing a kiss to your jaw before dragging his tongue over your skin. He stopped just below your ear, biting gently to make you shudder.
“It’s good?” he asked. He didn’t need to. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear you say it. Needed it.
“Yes,” you whimpered, words catching in your throat as he stretched you with a third finger. “Oh my god, fucking yes Vik. Feels so good.” You panted, blinking and letting out an almost embarrassed laugh, “I’m so close already,” you admitted.
“You’re so perfect moje lásko,” he panted against your shoulder. Hearing your voice, seeing your face, fucked out and wrecked just from his fingers in you, it felt as good as cumming. Maybe better. He moved faster, wrist aching beautifully as you soaked his hand.
You turned your head to the side, breaking eye contact in the mirror to find the real thing. Eyebrows knit together, pupils blown, and face flushed a beautiful shade of pink. You looked so lovely. So lovely and perfect and his. All his.
“Viktor,” you muttered, leaning your head back against his shoulder and tilting your chin, “Kiss me, please.”
He connected with you instantly, breathing harshly through his nose as he drowned in you. Your smell. Your taste. You wrapped around his fingers. Your teeth clicking against his. You kissed him harder the closer you got, chest heaving as your muscles tightened around him. You moaned into his mouth, using his lips to stifle the sound as you came around his fingers. He moved slowly as you pulsed around him. You tipped your head back against his shoulder, blinking up at the ceiling as you caught your breath. When the tightening of your muscles began to let up, he slipped his fingers out.
“Are you okay?” Viktor asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
You snorted a laugh, “I’m great. Yeah, perfect even.”
“Good,” he said, holding his hand out in front of himself. His fingers were covered in you, clear and slick and sticky. He spread his fingers apart, watching as lines of you connected his fingertips.
“Viktor,” you whined, voice low as you watched him in the mirror.
He ignored you, bringing his hand to his mouth and pressing his fingers passed his lips. You groaned, making him laugh as he licked you from his skin. He hummed around his own hand.
“You taste so good Milá,” he said, licking his fingers clean. “My favorite fruit, you can’t blame me.”
“Freak,” you muttered, unable to hide the smile on your face. You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips when you faced him. You grabbed him by the waist with one hand, the other moved to the front of his jeans, palming his hard cock, You pressed a kiss to his neck, muttering against his skin when you said, “Let me get you off?”
A shaky breath slipped past his lips, his temple knocking against yours as his eyes fell shut. The ache in his bones was still present, though, and the reason he was only half hard had nothing to do with being turned on. “Later,” he forced himself to say, “we’ve been gone so long already.”
“Who cares,” you pouted, biting his skin. You pulled back, smirking at him, “I can make it quick.”
“Really, Milá,” he insisted, “I want to—I just… I don’t know how much longer I can stay standing.”
“What?” Confused cross your face half a second before realization and concern, “Oh, fuck Vik, why didn’t you say something?” You looked over him like there was something you could do, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine Milá,” he laughed, using his clean hand to cup the back of your head and bring you closer to kiss your hairline, “just need to sit down for… probably the rest of the night.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” you said.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he laughed, “if the price of hearing you come is having to double up on my pain meds, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
“But—” you tried again.
He cut you off, groaning your name. “Please stop.” You froze, eyes wide at the mild reprimand. He reached back up, brushing hair behind your ears. “Moje lásko, I need you to trust me, okay?”
“I trust you,” you defended, nose scrunching.
“No,” he shook his head, trying to be gentle in his delivery, “you don’t. You say you do, but argue with me every time I say I’m okay. If you trusted me, you would accept that I know my body. I’ve lived in it for twenty-three years, I know when I can handle something. And I know when I can’t. There will be days when I can’t do anything, and I promise I will communicate when that happens. But I need you to understand that I cannot spend my good days reassuring you that they are in fact good days. Okay?”
Of all the reactions he’d received to this particular conversation, he was pleased by yours. You reached up, hand on his cheek as you nodded gently.
“Okay,” you pulled in a breath through your nose, “you’re right. I’m sorry, I… I’m sorry.
Viktor smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. “Now that is an apology I will accept,” he muttered against your mouth.
You rolled your eyes, snorting a muffled laugh before kissing him back. When he stepped away you reached up and smoothed down his hair. The next few moments were spent making yourselves and each other look presentable again.
“Ready?” he asked, grabbing his cane from where it was leaning by the door.
“Mhm,” you hummed, grabbing the back hem of his shirt as you followed him.
You immediately bumped against his back. Your hand came up to his waist, steadying him and yourself.
“Vik, what the fuck?” you asked, half laughing as you stepped back to see why he had stopped short.
You’re laugh fell flat as you realized Professor Heimerdinger was standing on the other side of the door. He was first in an awkwardly long line of people waiting for the bathroom.
Both men opened their mouths to speak. Both closed their mouths as they realized they had no idea what to say in a situation like this. Neither said anything. Instead, Viktor reached back for your hand and began stepping down the hall in one quick motion. “Really?” You heard someone ask from the line. You followed closely, doing your best not to make eye contact with anyone in line as the two of you darted away.
“Mila we have to leave the country,” he whispered to you urgently.
You laughed, bumping your forehead against his arm. “No we don’t, maybe let’s just leave the room, yeah?” You pulled him towards the outside door.
“I told them I was getting a drink,” he said, stopping.
“Okay,” you said, “I’ll see you out there.” You tilted your chin up and he answered the request instantly. Kissing you quickly on the lips before you turned and walked away.
-----
Viktor reentered the group as casually as he could, sipping the beer he had gone to get over half an hour ago. He tried not to react when he noticed he had somehow beat you outside. Jayce raised an eyebrow at him as he retook his seat on the other side of Mel.
“Long line,” Viktor shrugged, hoping no one else had come and gone while he was away to dispute the lie.
“Damn, should have asked you to grab me one.” Jayce laughed, turning back to his conversation without a second thought. Mel’s eyes lingered on him, a slight “hmpf” coming from her mouth before she turned back to the conversation.
He tried his best to hide his impatience as he waited for you to come out of the bar. Fingertips drumming against the top of his thigh. He tried to pass the energy off as him fiending for a cigarette as he dug the pack from his pocket and lit one. It acted as the perfect excuse to continue searching for you. After every drag, Viktor turned his head away from the group, looking directly at the door as he exhaled, hoping you’d walk out at that moment. It was between anxious looks that you actually did come out. He knew you were there when Mel looked over her shoulder and sent you a warm smile. He whipped his head around to follow her gaze, heart stuttering when he caught your eyes. Adrenaline pumping through his veins like he hadn’t just been kissing you in the bathroom.
“Sorry,” you laughed, speaking to Mel and anyone else who happened to be listening, “long line.”
If anyone other than Mel caught the echoed excuse, they didn’t say anything. Mel didn’t either, aside from an overly knowing hum before turning back to the conversation. You didn’t acknowledge her, instead you continued on your way back to the spot next to Mylo.
Viktor couldn’t help himself. As you passed by, he reached out, catching you by the wrist. You paused, looking down at him with an amused tilt to your lips. You hummed a question.
“C’mere,” he muttered, pulling you closer. This was fine. You had just kissed him in the bar. This had to be fine. God, he hoped it was fine.
You obliged—to his relief— and let him bring you close enough to wrap an arm around your middle. You laughed, a half audible “oh my god,” slipping past your lips as he pulled you down into his lap. You looped your arm around his shoulders, holding on to him as you raised an eyebrow.
“What, are you, like, into me or something?” You joked, snatching the cigarette from his fingers.
“Spratek,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and squeezing your waist as you took a drag.
You laughed and leaned in to press a kiss to his temple, lips warm in the cold air. His gaze lingered on your face as you jumped back into the conversation, throwing your opinion against Vi’s. Your casualness was overwhelming. This was all he had wanted for months, and —not so—suddenly it was his. He slipped his hand into yours and squeezed once. The corner of your lip twitch up into a smile. You squeezed back. Just once.
mad scientist!machine herald viktor x gn!reader, medplay, kidnapping, knife (scalpel?) play, blood play, bondage, wound fucking (fingering), dubious consent
18+, minors dni
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"Poor little thing," Viktor coos. He isn't even trying to sound concerned. "You will be good for me, yes?" His voice lowers. Smooth, dead-serious. "Or will I need to catch you once more?"
Your breathing comes in quick, sharp pants, like that of a panicked animal. Beneath the squished press of your cheek, the operating table you're sprawled over is ice cold. Viktor's body, metal, impossibly heavy, keeps you pinned in place. His chest is pressing against your back, where you can feel his artificial warmth, his mechanics, rhythmically thrumming. The gears of his heart, the pistons of his lungs. Vibrations reverberating to a methodical, unsettling tune. He has your wrists pinned to the table, held down with both of his hands, and his third arm, the Hexclaw, is pushing with moderate force at the back of your skull.
Still, you shake your head as best you can manage.
Viktor goes silent, considering. Then, he guides your hands up, pulling them above your head. With great care and precision, he presses your wrists together, securing them with a leather binding, and fastening them to a curved metal hook that juts out at the end of the table.
He hums to himself, and when it seems evident that he's restrained you properly, that you won't — or can't — move, he pats your shoulder, approving.
"I can forgive you, as you do not understand what is truly necessary, nor can you grasp the entire extent of your contributions to progress." Viktor's metal hand snakes under you to grasp your chin. He squeezes your jaw, more firm than affectionate, he lifts your head and holds it at a near awkward angle. "You are my research subject, the most glorious lab mouse to have ever graced me, in fact. You are cherished. Even if you do not believe it."
In front of you, a large steel canister acts as a makeshift mirror. Wires lace from its edges to its open core. It drones idly, murmuring electricity. In it, you can see a curved picture: the dirty walls of Viktor's lab, hollow machine-bodies littering the floor, and a nearby side table, strewn with syringes and tools. Something twists tightly in your chest. Is he- is this what he plans to use on you, this time?
You can barely make out Viktor's shape, all metal armor, inhuman and daunting. He seems even larger when you're underneath him. His eyes, burning pools of amber light, fixed to his mask, meet yours in the reflection.
"I will only say this once more." Viktor leans in close. "You know that I am stronger than you, I am more knowledgeable, more perceptive. Do not run from me. There is no reality where I will not find you. Do you understand?"
You nod feverishly. (Your imperfect heart is thumping, you're stumbling over your feet like a helpless fawn; a laser, precise and burning hot, slices a line in front and behind you, cutting off all escape paths. Maybe you only ran from the Machine Herald because you knew you'd be caught. And subsequently praised, or even punished. You'd be pleased with both.)
You've never felt so pathetic.
The Machine Herald laughs, victorious. "Good pet. Hold still. I would hate to have to restrain you any more than this, after you have shown such sublime obedience."
He reaches for the small table. Overhead, the lights flicker, dull, sizzling. Your heart batters your ribs. Your eyes must be wide, pupils blown into fearful dark moons. Viktor adjusts his hand, he cradles your cheek, tilting your head to the side.
A needle kisses your neck. Thick, crimson liquid fills a silver syringe, held deftly between patient metal fingers. Small particles swirl inside, like dotted stars, like shards of sharp glass.
"Breathe in for me. Excellent. Breathe out, now." Viktor brushes his thumb over your cheek. You could almost mistake it for tenderness. "The lack of anesthesia should serve as an adequate form of punishment."
You close your eyes tight, until you can't see anything at all — just vague colors, pulsating like veins.
"Ah, you are shaking… there is no need to be afraid." Viktor's velvet voice, the curl of his accent is electric; you can't help but go limp. Relaxed, and waiting. "I will be with you. I will always be right here."
He injects you.
A gasp breaks on your lungs; you twitch, you writhe for a moment. All at once, a strange feeling comes over you, heat blooming at the base of your neck. Vines gush down your skin, causing shivers to patter along your spine. You feel… insistent. Viktor's third arm grasps the base of your neck, to hold you still.
"Hm." Viktor examines you, verbally taking notes. "Accelerated breathing. Heightened body heat. Arrhythmia, synonymous with an irregular heartbeat."
He taps your cheek. "Open wide."
Metal fingers slide inside your open mouth. They taste bitter and metallic, segmented with intricate joints, exposed bolts. You resist the urge to lap at them, or to close your mouth and suck. Viktor rubs his fingers in a small circle onto the flat of your tongue, in a rather practical motion. He is careful to not push them back too far, but you begin to gag anyway.
"And an excess of saliva. How peculiar." Viktor wipes his hand off on your nape, cooling your skin with your own slick drool. "I assumed this mixture would incite a conflicting response. I designed it with the average human body in mind, but evidently, that was not good enough. There are many inconsistent factors at play… the potency of the drug… your precise level of endorphins, or perhaps it is the oxytocin… Ah, no matter. I suppose I cannot declare it a complete failure, quite yet."
While he's been busy monologing, your breathing has grown heavy. "V- Vik…"
Viktor's voice gets a touch softer. "Are you alright?"
"I think… I- I don't know…"
"That is just fine, sweet thing. Perhaps you would like an antidote."
(There is none, but you, poor, precious, unevolved and unaugmented you, certainly can go without knowing that.)
"Yes- please?"
"Then listen to me carefully." The Machine Herald settles his weight atop yours, pressing closer. A flicker of steam, his breath, exhales from beneath his mask to brush your face. "I am sure my little rabbit can accomplish this much."
You nod. Dumbly.
The lights are fizzling again. "Now, could you tell me the answer to eleven plus four?"
"Fifteen…" Your head is spinning — no, the whole room is spinning… "Ah-"
"Good. Very good job. And what colors are you currently able to see? Simple observations such as red, or blue, will do just fine."
"Grey." (Almost the entirety of his lab is the color of steel, of cold fog rolling through Zaun, of smoke brimming from busy machinery.) "Purple." (Beakers, bubbling with shimmer.) "Blue." (Formaldehyde. The liquid he typically uses to embalm hearts and livers, brains and small organisms, suspended in jars, in translucent receptacles.) "And… orange, maybe?"
"I see. Your cognitive functions are decent. That is good, at least."
A stab at your head. Your headache is trying to escape the confines of your bones. "Did I mess something up?"
"Oh no, no, of course not," Viktor purrs; he leans into your cheek, like a cat's headbutt. "You have been nothing but sweet to me, and I simply cannot express how proud I am of you. I will not give you anything more for now, but… I believe I should perform more testing before I administer this particular solution again. Perhaps on your blood, as well as your skin."
He sits up, and he touches your nape, where the needle mark is quickly bruising. You wince, to his satisfaction. (Hopefully, you will wear this mark for a long, long while.)
"And in order to accomplish that, I will need a piece of your flesh."
"Okay… okay…" You say, only slightly over-eager. "You can do whatever you want, Doctor Viktor…"
"Ahaha, there you go. I am incredibly pleased to hear that." His Hexclaw ruffles your hair, before it releases you. A small mercy. "I will be gentle. So please, do not worry."
Viktor makes certain everything is in order first. On the table, he's organized some bandages, some cotton pads to soak up the bleeding. Forceps, he may need those. Scissors, meat saw, bone chisel, no, that won't be necessary. Not yet. Not tonight.
He grabs his scalpel very carefully, inspecting the shiny, sterile blade. (The shape is nothing short of delightful, a perfect grip, measured approximately to his hand, and a lightly curved edge, like a delicate half-moon. Admittedly, Viktor has always cared little for simplistic inventions such as these — they are mere tools to accomplish a task, drops in the ocean, the bits and pieces that help to form the basis of techmaturgy.
And yet, he finds himself longing to indulge more and more these days. Is this the sort of madness that you inspire?)
He acquired this scalpel in particular just for this, just for you, after all. Light catches on its surface as he tilts it. Fish scales. Or polished ironwork, he thinks, yes, that is more appropriate. How divine.
A feeling the Machine Herald had long since forgotten, a sense of excitement boils deep in the forge of his heartbeat.
"Left or right?" He twirls the scalpel. "Choose quickly."
"Right."
Viktor hikes up your shirt. He brings the tip of the scalpel to your right side, beneath your ribs, but above your hip. It only takes him a moment to settle on the exact position. His free palm presses to the small of your back — to hold you still.
"Do you trust me?" Viktor asks. It's hardly a question at all, because there's only one way you can answer.
Once again, you nod, but Viktor seems unsatisfied.
"Say it."
"I do, I trust you…"
A breath, in unison. These conditions are hardly appropriate to perform a proper biopsy, but he shouldn't pay that any mind.
As long as you have placed your faith in him, your trust, in his vision, as long as he has you; more accurately, he owns you. You are his responsibility. And so —
Viktor begins with a small, loving incision, barely a centimeter in length. You tense, expectedly, but you do not cry. Not to start with, but you will. The blade cleaves your flesh like silk. Nothing compares to the sight of it. He cuts as far into the tissue as the scalpel will allow.
"It must be painful… poor sweetheart." Viktor removes the scalpel, if only to prolong the process. He leans a bit closer, wiping tear droplets from your cheeks with a warm metal thumb. "But you can be strong for me. I know it is possible. You may not see what I see, but I promise you, this is wonderful. You still possess such potent emotions. Pain, fear, adoration, and to be able to witness them on display… Oh. Your pulse is spiking. Look at you… you are exquisite."
You plead, stuck on the V of his name, for a moment: "Viktor… V-Viktor…"
"Yes, my dear? Ah, fuck me, I should not have answered. It is so much more enjoyable to hear the way you beg for me."
It's no use. Spiked and quick, pain lances out from your side. Your shoulder blades go tense, pretty wings grinding together; you grit your teeth, and for him, you bear it.
"Oh, you cannot answer? That is okay… yes, if you feel the need to bite your tongue, that is more than okay."
Viktor returns to cutting. He is experienced enough to do this blind, and so he does, he focuses on you. On your weak body trembling beneath his metal-mass, a toy for his examinations, your chest heaving, your bottom lip shaking so pitifully.
And to think, you were once one of his colleagues, worthy of his respect in your own right — but you will never need to use that lovely head of yours ever again, unless he asks you to, unless he plans to cut it open.
Blood, love-red plasma, drips down your skin and pools onto the table, vivid with oxygen — and Viktor is enamored, beside himself with ecstasy. He shudders, though his working hand remains steady.
"You have no idea how much it satisfies me to be inside you." Viktor huffs, and the air in front of him clouds with the release of pressurized steam. You resist the need to cough. "I think you are beautiful, you have always been entirely perfect. In truth, my infatuation is… unyielding."
But oh, you'd be just as beautiful with a few metal augmentations. Viktor rambles, "My little love. If you would allow me to open your pretty body, I could provide you with more efficient, self-sustaining organs- it would be such a sight to behold. Ah, or perhaps I could give you a set of metal joints, they would function very well for you- of that, I am certain. No other scientist nor mechanic is able to grant you such an upgrade. Their minds are too feeble, too enclosed to understand true potential. I am the only one capable, and I would give you anything, everything you desire."
He laments, briefly, that you are still fully clothed. He would have loved the opportunity to examine you even closer, to open up your ribcage, or perhaps he could thoroughly inspect the wet warmth between your legs —
Dizzy with affection, Viktor glides his gloved hand up your back, he presses firmly enough to feel the ladder of bones beneath.
"A design signed with my name, proof that you have given yourself to me, to the newly realized future of humanity… haha, or maybe… I think you might prefer a metal collar for you to wear, one you are unable to remove without my assistance. Perhaps we could start there. You would not get lost again, yes?"
"Viktor, please…" You sob, you are begging without knowing what for — for him, for Viktor to adore you in every way possible: the tangible, the surgical, the cannibalistic.
Viktor can no longer help himself. His free hand prods his neck. A puff of stream unfurls to greet him. Here, he finds a familiar coupling of thick, exposed wires, kinked and curling from his nape to his throat. He teases them with the end of one finger, then begins rubbing and pulling with two. The stimulation is acute, instant. It feels good. So good. Arousal melts along his body, gnawing at his inner systems; a closed circuit, lapping at itself.
When you arch your back, metal jingling as your wrists pull at their restraints, your ass presses into him; Viktor grabs your waist to keep you steady.
"Dear…" He clicks his tongue: "Tch, I have not dressed your wound yet." Shaky, exhilarated, he gently cups your side. Brushes his palm to his work, the perfectly circular cut, the sticky still-oozing of blood, and his head goes heavy, just at the sight of it. "What am I to do with you?"
A constant ringing persists in your eardrums.
Two metal digits begin to probe your open wound, toying with it, or perhaps attempting to dig out the circle of flesh. Your blood slicks the steel. The perpetual brain-noise swallows you whole.
You scream so sweetly for him. The Machine Herald doesn't doubt that your cries can be heard from halfway down Emberflit Alley.
"Shhh. Such trouble you are making for me once again." Viktor's Hexclaw, with the clumsiness of an untrained machine, gives your head a few stiff pats. "Quiet, now. I am the only one who needs to hear you. Yes, well done. The pain is merely a temporary hindrance. Eventually, you will learn to control its impulses."
He then glides his gloved hand up, beneath your shirt. It presses to your soft bare skin, where he feels the thump, thumping of your heart. So adorable, so precious. So needy.
Malfunctions are running rampant within his brain. Fractals fraying from emotion blocking chips, prefrontal enhancement devices instead choosing to bend to Viktor's ardent desires. In the simplest of terms: he wants to claim this heart, wants to feel you even closer than this, a beating thing in the curve of his palm.
You will be pliant for him, will you not?
"It's alright. Once we are done, I will take good care of you." A gross, wet sound echoes through the Machine Herald's lab. His mechanics are beginning to purr, inner gear belts grinding, cooling fans whirring to unreliable speeds.
"Rest assured that I am intimately familiar with how this must feel for you. The rippling pain. The pervasive sense of dizziness, the way it threatens to conquer what remains of your composure. But do you not understand, now? I am making you into something far better. You are loved so dearly. That is why I must do this."
"Mhmm…" You sigh, glassy-eyed. The air has turned humid, almost stifling. I am loved, I am loved, I am loved.
"Precisely." Were you speaking aloud? Viktor hums, pleased, as he admires the newfound lump of flesh in his palm: "What a good little test subject you are. You have impressed me, but we are not yet done. Let us continue with something more… gratifying, shall we?"
content: nsfw, Viktorxfem!reader, exes, angst, jealousy, oral sex
summary: That time you bumped into Viktor at a party.
word count: 5.1k
an: another flash back :) Y’all are gonna have to wait till chapter 7 for them to resolve the pub conversation, sorry not sorry <3 Listened to 2000s house party music while writing this and imagined I was a fly on the wall watching it all unfold. I drew a map of the layout of this house party in order to block the scene lol, I'll post it soon. This fic on AO3.
I don't know how long it's gonna take me to write literally anything atm, I'm so busy, but I pinky promise I won't be going on another year long hiatus <3
Chapter list
divider by @saradika-graphics.
The past few months had been a lesson in whims, as in how to follow them. Tired of being good, of not knowing what catharsis feels like, of holding onto everything so tightly for fear of dropping the ball, you decided it was time to let your hair down. Where you used to bite your tongue, now you were inclined to shout. Where you previously couldn’t be baited, now you bit down hard enough to draw blood. It felt good to drink as often as you now did. It felt good to smoke the cigarette you swore you’d never touch. It felt good to wake up in the bed of a stranger, to get a taste of the person you thought you’d never be as you slowly became a stranger to yourself.
When you wake in the morning, room still spinning, organs both begging and daring you to move, insecurity seeps in. Call it good old hangxiety, but it feels silly to treat the mere act of your going out as revolutionary. It’s not as if sleeping with someone you now cannot remember the name of is some grand rebellion. You practice your reasoning each time you hunt for your clothes strewn across whoever’s room it is this time. You are not trying to be rebellious, per se. You are trying to be human. You are trying to dismount the horse you’ve been sat on, stood atop a hill looking down on the rest of your peers, whether intentional or not. You are trying to allow yourself to be greedy, to indulge in your desires and for once, not feel bad about it.
You don’t want to think. You want to turn off your brain and try feeling instead. Whether you are succeeding or not is debatable.
You’ve chosen a new subject for tonight. The house party of a friend of a friend always provided the perfect pool of candidates; a decent enough peer review and enough distance not to cause too much drama. He gave you his name ten minutes ago, but seeing as he won’t be getting your number you haven’t catalogued that bit of information. He’s broad, tattooed, a classic tall-dark-handsome. You’d hoped to find some brooding there too, but so far he’s all sunshine and rainbows. You are putting him through all the usual tests; leaned against a wall, shoulders back, face tilted up, lashes low. The flush in your cheeks in only on account of the alcohol and you keep your lips persistently upturned as he speaks. He is responsive; blushes easy, laughs awkward but endearing, scratches at the back of his neck when you compliment him. He’s accidentally charming, talks a lot, eager, and yet he doesn’t encroach on your personal space no matter how much you invite him to. Polite. Too polite. You can tell it’s not because he doesn’t want to. He’s nervous, you make him nervous, but it’s more of a boost to the ego than it is enticing.
You could get him to come home with you, you had a feeling he’d go willingly as long as you lead the way. It’s easy to imagine how he’d feel under you, whispering into his ear how sweet and easy he is and all the things you’d like him to do to you. He’d stutter and blush no doubt. You’d have to convince him you weren’t made of glass though and likely field a thousand ‘are you sure?’s with increasingly impatient yeses. It would require thinking, not an insignificant amount. It’s not that you mind being the one to call the shots, but tonight you wanted someone to put all the right words in all the right places. Crudely into your ear, or perhaps in the crease of your groin, you wanted someone to make you blush all over, someone to render you speechless because they found a spot that made your eyes roll back, someone to tell you how sweet and easy and good you were, and all the things they’d like to do to you.
So as lovely as Tall Dark and Handsome is, you will nod idly and be polite and half-listen to his tipsy ramblings on invasive but edible alliums while you scan the crowd for your next candidate.
The fibres of your shirt catch on the matte paint of the pillar behind you, a gentle scratching sensation as you press your back against it. It’s steadfast in the sea of moving bodies. While everyone else finds satisfaction flitting between here and there, you find comfort in staying exactly where you are. You let your candidates come to you when they give into the luring feeling of someone’s eyes on them. And if you want an out, you have Jayce and Mel in your sights too, just one excuse away. The pillar has a perfect view of the door, no new faces could walk in without you noticing. And, oh, how you notice when the next late-comer arrives.
Lucky, lucky you.
Viktor is fashionably late. Being that he is not a candidate, that should be all you notice. He looks good though, unfairly so, and he looks tired. Not the kind of tired you get from late nights at the library, but the kind of tired that you yourself have been carrying all semester; last night’s booze still kicking about in the liver, purple bags under the eyes, wincing at the music till you adjust and tonight’s booze hits you. Even without having visited your old library haunt in months, you know he’s been avoiding it too.
If he was coming here with someone, they should have walked through the door by now. If he’d been dragged along by Jayce and Mel, he would already have been here when you arrived. If he didn’t intend to do more than just drop by, he wouldn’t have put in more effort than just changing his clothes. The only other reason for his being here alone, then, is that he wanted to be. Tall Dark and Handsome’s voice has disappeared into the background as you make your observations.
Then your stomach drops, because Viktor’s gaze has locked onto you too.
Tunnel vision is one of Viktor’s strengths, though he’d rather not admit it. He would like to think, sometimes, that he is good at seeing the bigger picture, that he is as good at compartmentalising as you seem to be, and that he does not apply the scientific method to dating. He has tried other people. He has fucked other people, he has even dared to date them. But you are his control group. He looks for you in the gaps between teeth, beneath layers of cotton and polyester, in the crook of an armpit. He looks for you in locks of hair, a crown tucked under his chin, as if you are a piece of fuzz he could groom from the head of another, as if his looking is enough to make your existence come true. Hell, he has even tried to find you in the touch of a man, imagining the lips wrapped around him as yours and expecting to hear some muffled quip about how much he’s enjoying this. The man had said something along those lines and Viktor had laughed — actually laughed — when he couldn’t match the cadence to yours and realised his own ridiculousness. Unfortunately, the man didn’t share your fondness for laughing during sex. So Viktor had finished himself off in the bathroom, looked for you, as he most often did, in the palm of his hand. He hasn’t decided whether he wants to replicate results or find evidence against the theory that men never get over their first love. Either way, his findings are not promising.
For a second — and it is quite unfortunate that it’s within the first minute of his arrival — tunnel vision kicks in and the room narrows to you.
What he had failed to account for in his collecting of evidence is that he might see you. And that you might not be alone. You might, for instance, be leaned against a pillar in the middle of the room where everyone could see you, and you might be flirting with an objectively attractive man, showing him off like a shiny trophy. Look what I can do, he imagines you’re thinking. It is even worse that you’ve chosen to look back at him, forcing him to keep whatever curses he wants to mutter to himself until you finally decide he’s not worth looking at anymore.
Black cotton and tour dates stare back at Viktor as he tries to bore a hole through the man with his eyes, if only to get a proper look at you. You're showing off, it seems, and he'd like to get a look at how you're taking your victory.
He hears his name called out from across the room, warm and bright, accompanied by Jayce's enthusiastic wave beckoning him over. His inquiry will have to wait.
“Hey, Vik! Thought you might bail on us after last night,” Jayce greets with a firm clap to his shoulder.
Viktor pretends that Jayce's hand landed too heavy and mocks an unsteady sway. “I am no weakling, Jayce. I can handle a few nights out in a row.”
He watches Mel trace his eye line, throwing a glance over her shoulder in your direction. She seems unsurprised by your current situation.
So, this wasn't new for you then.
"It's good to see you," Mel says with her la bise. "We could've given you a heads up."
"It's fine," Viktor replies too quickly.
It should be fine. It should provide him with some closure. You were both moving on, as you both should. Mel eyes him with a level of scepticism possessed only by someone who knows too much, but does not push.
"Jayce was just telling me that you've moved up from teaching assistant to associate lecturer. Congrats, you deserve it," she continues.
Viktor smiles awkwardly, accepting the pat on the back with a small nod. He is about to say something about how the increase in workload is necessary evil of this development when Jayce swoops in and saves him from downplaying his achievements. Or really having to make any conversation at all.
Which is good, because conversation is proving nearly impossible.
Because Viktor cannot stop looking at you. He cannot stop watching you, he cannot help himself but to study the way you try and coax this other man out of his shell. He cannot help but notice how you hide your frustration at the man's inaction behind an unmoving smile. There is part of Viktor that feels bad for the guy, because he is either a fucking idiot who can't read your fuck-me eyes, or he just can't handle being on the receiving end of them. Neither option will end in you having a good time. The other part of Viktor wants to show the man how it's done. If it was him over there, he'd have you a blushing mess in seconds. In fact, Viktor's positive he'd have dragged you away from that pillar you're clinging to and bent you over the bathroom sink. He'd fuck you from behind, make you look at yourself in the mirror while he tells you to be quiet, and how pretty you are, and you good you are, and how you plague him, and how he cannot stop thinking about you and how he almost hates you for it.
A head's up would have been nice, actually. That way he might not be stood here, staring at you half-hard, while Jayce blathers on about- Viktor realises he has no clue what Jayce is talking about because he hasn't been listening. And he cannot listen because you are driving him insane from all the way across the room without having so much as looked at him in the last five far-too-long minutes. There must be something, something divine, something supernatural, anything that explains why he cannot help but be drawn to you whether he should be or not. He is convinced you must be putting out some kind of siren call designed specifically to torment him and him alone.
Your eyes seem too trained on the man, as if you are trying not to look back at Viktor. He knows if he looks for too long you will give in and return eye contact, and he's not sure that's what he wants but he doesn't get a choice when he proves himself right.
You look. He stiffens, grip tightening on his cane, holding his breath.
Your stare is blank. And in spite of himself, he thinks you are beautiful.
“And so then- what are you looking at?” Jayce furrows his brow and looks over his shoulder. “Oh,” he pauses, and Jayce's looking causes you to look away. “You should go talk to her.”
“Jayce,” Mel warns gently, a hand on his back.
Viktor finally comes back to conversation. “No it’s okay, she’s busy.”
“Hah, busy is one word for it,” Jayce jokes, good-natured yet poorly placed.
“Jayce” Mel warns again with a quelling look.
Viktor's eyes flick to Jayce and his brow twitches slightly. “My point is proven, then.” When he looks back at you, your eyes are fixed on the floor and you fiddle with your necklace.
"She's going through a phase," Mel offers as some flimsy explanation for Jayce's joke.
Phase. Right. Viktor couldn't say he didn't know what you were doing. It was obvious, for one. He'd heard talk that you had broken out of your usual goody-two-shoes routine. This was merely confirmation. And it was written all over your face when you saw him. Guilty, yes, but for once you didn't look like you were going to throw up about it. It almost suited you.
Viktor clears his throat. "I got that."
Jayce and Mel give him sheepish, apologetic looks that Viktor decides he can't bear. "I need a drink," he tells them before slipping past them.
The drinks are in the kitchen. To get to the kitchen, he has to walk past you. He could give you a wide berth and slip right by you, but where would be the fun in that? No, you have been setting him adrift since he got here and it was unfair that he be the only one affected.
Viktor calculates his trajectory. A bump to your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hopefully dislodge you from that goddamn pillar you clung to like a barnacle.
Your poker face has never been one of your strengths, but you muster up everything you have to give away as little as possible as you stare back at Viktor. You wish sometimes that you didn't say as much with your face as you did. It had gotten you in trouble on more than one occasion, catching you out in a lie or revealing your amusement in what is supposed to be a serious situation. God forbid Viktor saw you were affected at all by his being here. Getting over someone in theory is one thing, but seeing them in person tends to feel like picking at a scabbed over wound. You had done a decently good job of avoiding him; between the last time and now, all you'd seen of him was a glimpse in university hallways and cafes. Other than that, your self-experimentation went on without disruption. You just hadn't found what you were looking for yet, whatever that was.
Viktor should have no choice but to believe that you feel fine about him being here. You were both free to do whatever you liked. It wasn't that you felt bad for flirting with someone else in front of him, you thought, but that it was simply awkward to see you ex like this. Yes, that was it, that was the queasiness that had come over you. That or the mixing liquors in your stomach.
The self-experimentation was about you, and you could take constructive criticism. 'You think too much and talk even more'. Viktor hadn't been wrong. There was no harm in trying something different, something out of your comfort zone, something to push you.
You put your blinders on as you decide that ignoring Viktor is the best course of action for tonight. But Viktor's stare is piercing and unbearable, and you'd like to use it to your advantage and put on a show for him he'd hate. Tall Dark and Handsome will do for now, because even though he might be more effort than you're usually willing to put in, he comes with the added benefit of pissing Viktor off. You play the part of interested, bare your teeth in your smiles, get touchier, make it look like you're going to do more than get this man to walk you to a taxi rank so you're seen leaving together.
The only reason you look back over at Viktor is to check whether it's working. Though he is still staring back unwaveringly, there's very little you can see in the way of a reaction. Maybe you should give it up. Maybe this is more effort than it's worth. When Jayce joins in with the looking it's your cue to put the blinders back on. This time you actually try to listen to what the man before you is saying.
And then it happens, the glorious catharsis of being right, of winning. Viktor's shoulder collides with you, sending you a stumbling step to the left. Never in your life have you been so delighted to be pissed off.
The triumph is short-lived, lasting as long as the dull ghost of him at your shoulder. It is replaced by a phantom on the back of your hand. Barely there, so faint it might not have been real. You could've sworn you felt the graze of his knuckles. And if you did, it must've been accidental, he wouldn't have done that on purpose-
Tall Dark and Handsome puts out a hand to steady you and says your name as he waits for you to answer him.
"Sorry, zoned out there for a minute," you reply, trying to shake Viktor off and attach yourself back to the pillar. He was just bumping you in retaliation, what else could it have been?
"Oh, you alright? Need some water?" Tall Dark and Handsome checks, bless his heart.
"Yeah, I'm okay." When you look up, he is watching Viktor go, and it's not with the mild annoyance you expect, but intrigue. The poor boy obviously thinks it was an accident.
You put your smile back to steal his attention back to you. "What were you saying?"
You don't get to find out what it is Tall Dark and Handsome was saying, not for lack of trying, but he may as well be talking gibberish because that's all you can hear. He talks enough that your hums and nods and yeahs sound like active listening as you finally relinquish the idea of sleeping with him.
He must finally have realised he'll get nothing from you, because at some point he'd left. You don't remember when, but you notice that he hasn't come back. Some sweet girl that must've seen the whole thing comes to check on on you, pressing a glass of water into your hand, making small talk, attempting to pull you out of the shell you've retreated back into.
You have been set adrift, the pillar doing little to anchor you now. The sensation of Viktor's knuckles against yours haunts you. You're still not convinced it was real, and still not convinced it was on purpose. Because what reason would he have for doing it on purpose? It's not like he wanted anything from you. He probably just wanted a reaction. That is, if it was on purpose, he probably just wanted you to feel bad for flirting in front of him. And, if that was the case, he really shouldn't have come to a party. People flirt at parties, he'd have to get over it since he was the one who didn't have time for you. Yes, a reaction, that's what he wanted. Because if he didn't want a reaction, if he wanted something else, that was a whole other kettle of fish. Maybe he wanted to shake that guy off you, but then he shouldn't have bumped you. He might've wanted you to follow him, but follow him for what?
The girl checking on you is saying something about how guys suck while you're thinking yourself into an early grave. Viktor's laugh puts the final nail in the coffin.
Viktor is standing in front of none other than Tall Dark and Handsome, who is leaning against the wall while Viktor twirls his cane idly. Viktor has him blushing deeper than you ever managed for the forty-five minutes you had him, and he looks more at ease somehow despite how heavy you know Viktor's gaze is. Maybe the he finds the weight of it comforting. You always did. Viktor had this uncanny ability to make a person feel seen just by looking at them. It was less like being looked at and more like being disassembled to see how you work, then put back together.
You realise you have not won. No, Viktor's reaction was a consolation prize, a distraction so that he could do this. Confusion spoils, turns ugly and boils over.
"Sorry, I think I see someone I know," you tell the girl who is still trying to reassure you.
You're moving before you can even think about it.
Bas, as Viktor had learned the man's name was, was far too sweet to be used as bait in this game of who-will-break-first. Admittedly, Viktor had first approached him to find out what you'd seen in him. He'd been right to think that Bas couldn't handle your fuck-me eyes, evident now that he was positively melting under Viktor's. It was cute, really, Viktor felt a little bad that Bas had been lured in and caught up in all this nonsense between you. Viktor could hardly blame him, you were not easy to resist by his account. None of this had been Bas's fault, and it had turned out a bit too much hassle for Viktor too. Perhaps it would be welcome if Viktor made it worth both their whiles.
There is a hand on Viktor's shoulder. And then you are looking up at him with a saccharine smile. Bas is giving you an awkward but polite nod in lieu of acknowledging he ditched you. And Viktor cannot think of what you'd possibly want now other than payback for displacing you earlier.
"Can I steal him from you for a minute?" you ask Bas, but Viktor knows it is not really a question.
A stuttered 'sure' is hardly out of Bas's mouth before Viktor is being dragged away. He doesn't have time to protest the matter. You have pulled him away from the party, into the darkened hallway reserved for chatting while you wait for the bathroom or making out.
His back hits the wall with a thud, but there are no needy lips on his. Instead, you are pointing a finger at him and demanding answers from him like he's committed a crime.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Am I not allowed to talk to people?”
“You’re stepping on my toes, you’re doing it on purpose.” Ah, so you have decided what he is doing for him.
“You weren't exactly having the best time with him,” he points out.
You snarl. “Oh, I see, you’re jealous.”
Viktor has to admit, he is amused at all the hoops you are jumping through to blame this entirely on him. “Yes, I’m the one that’s jealous,” he mocks.
It sets you off. The words come spilling out of your mouth, hot and venomous and bitter and mean. Viktor should be upset at the interruption, worried about causing a scene, shocked and angry that you'd say anything as nasty as what you're spewing. He is impressed by the sheer volume of it, and none of it lands close to hurting him. He is too focussed on the way your lips curl around every jab, the way your teeth gnash at the air and pierce vowels. Consonants cutting, scarlet creeping up your neck, and a line between your brows he wants to lick flat. Viktor has never seen you like this, not with anyone. He knew it was there, simmering underneath your skin, waiting to be seen. So many times he had asked you to show it to him, tried to provoke it. So many times all he had wanted was to see you free from the vice grip your strange morality had on you, and have you show him how you felt instead of packaging the feelings all pretty with an apology note attached.
A glob of saliva flies from your mouth in your rage and lands on his shirt. Right now, you are so angry, and you are so free. And somehow, it makes you more beautiful than you already were.
"You think you’re so clever, you think you know me so well, don’t you? Well guess what? I’m different now, you don’t know anything about me-”
Viktor kisses you. It's not a smart decision by any measure. He gets the angle wrong, lips meeting your teeth instead, resulting in a blooming, bruising pain. He half expects you to bite down and draw blood, push him off you and call him an asshole and tell him to stay away from you.
You correct the course. Shift into him, use his shirt to press him further into the wall as you lean your weight forward. Viktor opens his mouth to accept your barbed tongue, sucks on it gently and swallows all that venom down for you and relishes the bitterness. He grabs at your hips, pulling you against him by the belt loops.
The hands fisted into his shirt drag him towards a bedroom, and Viktor goes without resistance. He would follow you anywhere, and if it meant he could continue receiving your wrath he'd let you trawl him along the ocean floor. If he had known this is what your ire looked like, he might have tried harder to provoke it. He offers up his lip for you to gnaw on as he backs you up to the bed, cane abandoned by the door, and falls down with you.
Viktor kisses down your front, pulling your jeans down with him. He buries his nose against the dampened cotton of your underwear and takes a deep inhale there, breathing in the sweet musk that heaven must smell like. He could die happy here between your thighs, nose pressed to your clothed cunt, your hand loosely in his hair. He would live here if you let him. He licks you through the fabric, his taste buds catching on cotton. He knows the most you’ll feel is the heat of his flat tongue, that you’ll think he’s taking his sweet time just to drive you crazy. But it’s not for you, it’s for him. He needs literally anything to pace himself right now, to not come in his pants like a teenager from just the taste of you. You’d find it hot, no doubt, might even let him fuck you because of it.
“Vik, your leg-” you protest. The nickname is not new by any means but he files it away for later regardless, along with your brief moment of concern.
“Is fine,” he assures, but his knee argues. “Throw me a pillow.”
He peels your panties off so they joins your jeans at your ankles. Finally, he can kiss lips that do not claim to hate him. Viktor is measured at first, gentle as he licks from opening to clit. He slides a hand under your shirt to brace both you and himself as he settles back into the feeling of you.
The little gasp you let out spurs Viktor on. He is pleased you are not angry with him anymore, unfiltered fury bleeding out of you as you soften, tense, pull his head further into your crotch. He licks it up, fucks you with his tongue first and his hips rut into the bed frame.
When you whine, he knows you want more. He gives you his fingers, because he would give you anything, pumping them inside you as he flicks his tongue over your clit steadily. Your thighs tighten around his head and make it harder to breathe, though this is less of a problem than how it muffles the sound of your voice. Every whimper, every moan of his name, every plea is kept from him by the very flesh he reveres.
He listens to your body instead; the scrape of your nails against his scalp, the way you pry his hand off your stomach and interlace your fingers there and squeeze. Your hips cant into his face. He hums into you to answer the question your body is asking him. Then you are coming around his fingers, and he is lapping at you to savour every moment he has of you like this.
Viktor catches his breath against your thigh. He presses a kiss there tentatively, and you are either too boneless to brush him off, or — if he lets himself hope — you like it as much as he does. He chances at another, then another at your hip, another at your navel, then your sternum through your shirt, collar bone, neck-
His nose traces the shell of your ear, he can smell your perfume emanating from where you tucked it under your jaw.
"Lásko…" he breathes.
The next kiss he places lands on thin air.
Viktor opens his eyes to find yours averted, your whole face turned away from him. The hope he had just barely nurtured withers. Somehow, somewhere, he has made a mistake, and you are angry again. This time it is the kind that you bite back and swallow down for fear of anyone seeing it. He wants to rest his forehead to yours, make you look at him. He would take it if you started shouting at him again, but you are already squirming out from under him.
He lets you go because he doesn't know how to stop you without making this worse. He doesn't even really know what he did wrong. The door slams behind you and Viktor collapses into the hollow you left in the sheets. He wants them to smell of your sweat but they only smells of whosever room this is.
an: Also, completely unrelated, but in the last chapter I wrote that lil bit about Reader hiding like a rabbit and I didn’t wanna lean too much more into the prey thing than that so I left it there bc I didn’t want it to be creepy. I kid you not, like two days later, a someone on a dating app where they described themselves as a horrible person, told me I had the ‘eyes of a prey animal’… hello???? wtf??? It’s been haunting me. If on the off chance anyone I actually know reads this and now knows it’s me bc of that tid-bit, no u don’t.
But that's half the fun, isn't it? Anger is the perfect appetizer to the evening you have planned, an excellent prelude to passion. The way his lips twitch in satisfaction when he recognizes the look in your eyes, the rising desire gnawing at your insides forces a needy sound to escape your lips, one you were unaware you could even make.
What makes you even angrier is the distance he keeps, playing at the edges of your vision, the bite of metal in your skin keeps you from turning to face him fully. Skillful hands, cold, gently brush against your heated skin with a strange mixture that swings back and forth from reverence and contempt like the grandfather clock that ticks just outside the dimly lit room in the hallway.
You can't help but keen into the small touch, head turning to try and capture his lips — only for him to dart away like a dreamy mist — you hate when he teases like this. The faint buzz of arcane energy makes your pulse quicken, the hexclaw gripping your wrists loosens for a moment.
"Viktor, please." You whine, tugging against the metal. Your thighs were slick, body aching to be touched by him — the only man who has ever made you feel this way.
He chuckles, pleased beyond belief at the shiver that wracks through your frame as his chilled fingers trace along your bare thigh. His breath is warm as he leans over your shoulder, a soft murmur that belongs only to you barely heard over the rush of your own blood. His fingers trace the seam between your thigh and pelvis, leaving goosebumps. "Are you mad at me, Kočko?" Voice warm, syrupy and saccharine.
"Tell me what you need from me, Milenec..." His tone dips, nose tracing along your throat, "I will give you the world if only you just ask."
A dreamy sigh, followed by a soft whisper you don't even recognize is your own, "You," a beat. "I just want you."
"Then have me," he answers.
You bolt awake in your dorm. That stupid TA's name dying on your lips as you look around — fuck —he's infuriating. Ever since you were assigned to work with him, you have dreamt of his long fingers and dulce tone — the heat of passion in his eyes drawing you in, even as he pushes you away with sharp, borderline berating behavior.
He insults your work, questions your intelligence, and pushes back on everything you suggest. You swear he does it on purpose. If you were to say the sky is blue, he would claim that no, the sky is not blue, and instead looks blue because of x, y, z.
You've never found anyone as attractive as him, and if you're a little honest with yourself, you egg him on. Guiltily, your hand snakes across your stomach, landing between your thighs as you close your eyes, sighing as the mental image of his fingers taking the place of yours settled in your mind.
You'll argue with him first thing in the morning, and you hate yourself for looking forward to it.
pervybsf!viktor who lays in bed at night thinking about you, about your interactions throughout the day, texts you’ve sent. he eventually falls asleep while imagining your beautiful body next to him in bed.
pervybsf!viktor who has wet dreams all the time, of course you’re in all of them. most of the time he wakes up sweaty and still rock hard, and he just can’t fall back asleep unless he deals with it. he likes to pretend his hand is yours, and you’re right there with him. feeling his need and desire for you.
pervy!viktor who gets super horny really easily. this man gets turned on by almost anything you do. for example: you sent him an angry voice memo ranting about something he did by accident. the second time he played it he was fisting his cock desperately and agreeing with the insults you were spewing.
