Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hy6erions Tumblr has been deactivated. Because she posted exclusively on Tumblr and because when an account is deactivated it becomes near impossible to find their posts, I wanted to make an archive for the fics that I and many hold dear so they can be accessible again. 

I'm aware that on her blog, (before it deactivated) she stated she did not want her works to be reuploded anywhere else. This was a very hard decision for me to make because of this. The reason why I'm going against this is because of how deactivation goes on Tumblr. 

You can not access the account, or tags they used for their original posts, you can not search for the posts. Once an account is deactivated it is as far as anyone is concerned- gone for good. Unless you can find a reblogged version and trust me it's harder than you think to find a reblogged fic when again, Tumblr won't let you search for something that's been deactivated. 

I want to archive her fics so they are easily accessible to her fans again instead of having to go on a headache inducing quest to maybe find them. 

This will probably be an incomplete archive out of order because it is now incredibly challenging to find her fics for obvious reasons. 

Chapter Text

Ask: Absolutely desperate for more filthy horny reader content. WHERE THE PERVERT READERS AT!?

- Specifically Viktor finding out that their lil innocent lab assistant seems to not actually be so innocent and has a problem "borrowing" Viktors things and so he finally decides to confront them about it. Would be a real shame if he bent them over his knee and spanked them as punishment till they were a sobbing babbling mess and then proceed fuck them stupid…a real shame indeed -COUGH- 

synopsis: viktor discovers his seemingly innocent lab assistant is a pervert who’s been stealing his things. after a humiliating spanking, she still doesn’t learn—so he punishes her again, this time by edging her to tears in his lap.

cw: nsfw, fem! reader, pervert! reader, d/s dynamics, mean! viktor, spanking, humiliation, degrading, edging, begging, calling him sir (😭) 

a/n: please dont mind that I it changed a bit 🙏🏼 hope u can still enjoy it :

Your thighs burn. Your face is hot and your voice is hoarse from sobbing into your arm, stretched over the desk you usually take notes on. But tonight, you’re not writing data. You’re not documenting Hextech tests. You’re bare from the waist down, stretched over Viktor’s lap, and every inch of your skin feels like it’s glowing with shame and heat.

How this happened?

Simple.

He found your drawer.

Or rather—he broke the lock on your locker after he noticed things of his kept disappearing. One shirt. Then two. His lab tie. And more. You thought you were clever, hiding them away in a zippered pouch labeled “personal items.”

But Viktor? He’s not stupid. And you’re not as sneaky as you thought.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice” he murmurs, fingers dragging across the curve of your ass, feather-light. “My clothing slowly vanishing… and you always smelling like my cologne?”

He tsks, his touch drifting lower, to the spot just beneath your cheek, where the soft skin meets thigh.

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

SMACK

The slap lands with no warning. A clean, open-palm strike that ripples through your body and rings in your ears. You jolt with a broken gasp, pressing your thighs together. But Viktor just sighs and uses his knee to shift them apart again.

“Don’t do that” he says, his voice calm but firm. “You’ll keep them open. Understood?”

You nod—choking on the breath that stutters out of you. “Y-Yes…”

“Yes what?” His voice darkens instantly.

You swallow, shame flushing high in your throat. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He hums. Pleased. His hand coasts lazily over your tender skin. “Good girl.”

SMACK.

Another one. Sharper. You can feel your skin giving under the force now, blood rushing to the surface. He doesn’t let you recover—his palm returns again, again, each slap a precise punishment meant to sting. Measured. Methodical.

You’re gasping now, tears slipping hot down your cheeks. Not just from pain—but from the way it makes your whole body hum, your stomach fluttering, your thighs trembling as the heat spreads across your skin.

“Tell me what you did” Viktor says softly, hand resting heavy on the small of your back. “I want to hear it. Every detail. Every disgusting little thing you thought I’d never find out.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. But the words come out anyway, shamefully wet, broken between breaths.

“I—I took your shirts. I slept in them. T-Touched myself in them—”

SMACK

You wail, jerking forward. The burn makes your thighs twitch.

“And?” he prompts, unhurried.

Your voice hitches. “I wore your tie under my clothes… in the lab. It smelled like you. I—I kept your stuff—used them—and I thought about you while—while—”

SMACK

It cracks against the underside of your ass—raw and flushed. You sob outright now, hiccuping with the humiliation of it all, drool wetting the crook of your arm.

“You filthy thing” Viktor breathes, the roughness in his voice betraying how much this is affecting him. “I gave you a position in my lab. I trusted you.”

You nod helplessly, whimpering.

“And this is how you repay me?” He grabs a fistful of your hair and gently tugs your head back so you’re forced to look at him over your shoulder. “With secret orgasms and ruined underwear stuffed in your locker?”

Your lips tremble. “I’m sorry—I didn’t— I just—”

“You just what?” he snaps.

“I couldn’t help it…” you whisper.

He stares at you for a long, heavy moment. Then—he lets go. Pushes your head gently down again. And with a sigh, slides his hand between your thighs.

You twitch violently. His knuckles glide over slick skin.

“Pathetic” he murmurs. 

You sob, hips shivering. “I know—I’m sorry—!”

He chuckles—low and amused, but not kind. “No. You’re not. You’re enjoying this far too much.”

His hand lifts.

SMACK

You cry out, the sound shameless and high, echoing off the walls of the lab. It lands square on the most tender part of your ass, and your whole body flinches from the force of it.

“You’re not innocent at all, are you?” he murmurs. “All that shy eye contact. Helping me with my notes. Laughing like some bashful little thing at my compliments.”

You hiccup through your tears. “I-I wanted you to notice…”

Another pause.

And then, slowly, you feel him lean in, his chest pressed against your spine. His breath warms the shell of your ear.

“Well” Viktor whispers, “you got my attention now.”

His hand slides up your back again, fingertips teasing over your spine, then slipping back down to your bruised ass. He traces the lines of each handprint.

“I should make you stay like this for hours” he says. “Arched over my knee, dripping like a bitch in heat. Let you think about what you’ve done.”

You mewl softly, your thighs slick and sticky where they press together. You feel so raw. So open. Your entire body hums with tension.

SMACK

Viktor laughs. A warm, cruel sound.

“Can’t help yourself, can you? So desperate you’re rutting against my thigh like a needy little animal.”

You wail into the desk. “I-I’m sorry—I c-can’t—”

SMACK

Another strike. And another. You lose count.

By the time he slows, your skin is bright with flushed heat, handprints like painted stains across your ass and thighs. You’re sobbing, face wet, hips twitching involuntarily with every shift of his lap beneath you.

Viktor strokes your back softly, at odds with the harshness of before. “That’s better,” he murmurs. “There she is. My good little lab assistant. All flushed and well-behaved again.”

You whimper.

“Next time” he says, “if you want something of mine…” He brushes your ruined panties back up with care, fingers ghosting over your inner thigh as he tucks the fabric into place, “…you’ll ask.”

You nod, broken. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He helps you sit up, cradling your hips as you wince from the movement. His eyes trail over your tear-streaked cheeks, the wet shine on your thighs.

“Good girl” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

Then, with a dark smile:

“Now clean yourself up. You look like a mess.”

You thought he wouldn’t find out again.

That you’d learned to be sneakier.

Quieter. More discreet.

But when you opened your locker this morning, expecting your stash to be safe and undisturbed, there was a folded note waiting inside. Neat handwriting. Sharp pen strokes. A single line:

My office. Now. 

Now you’re in his lap again—but not the way you daydream about.

Viktor doesn’t even look at you.

His jaw is set. His eyes are on the opposite wall, and his grip around your waist is firm—stern fingers pressing into the dip of your back, forcing your spine straight, your legs spread wide on either side of his.

“Third time” he says, voice low and cold, vibrating through your thighs where they sit flush to his. “Third. And I was going to be merciful.” 

You open your mouth—but the look he gives you slices through any excuse before it can form.

“Don’t even try it” he mutters. “I found my handkerchief in your drawer. Ruined. My undershirt—again. And a photo of me. Where did you even get that, hm?”

You can’t speak. You just squirm. The shame sits low in your stomach, curling like a knot, especially when you feel the shape of him under you—hard beneath the fabric of his trousers. He hasn’t moved you an inch since pulling you down onto his lap, but the threat in his stillness is clear.

“You like being punished” Viktor says, almost to himself. “The spanking only got you wetter. You want me to lose patience.”

His hand slides from your back down to your hip, then between your legs—finding you wet already through your panties. He breathes in slowly, then gives a hollow, humorless laugh.

“See?” he murmurs. “Dripping.”

You whimper softly. His fingers rub in slow, maddening circles over the soaked fabric, just enough pressure to make you roll your hips without thinking—just enough to make your clit throb.

“Desperate little thief” he whispers. “You just can’t help yourself.”

Your breath hitches. “P-Please—”

But his hand stops.

He stills everything. Even his breath.

“No” he says. “No, no. Not yet. You don’t get to beg.”

You try not to squirm. But you can’t help it. Sitting on his lap like this—needy and humiliated—makes it impossible to stay still. Especially when he finally begins to move his fingers again, slow and cruel, brushing over the damp fabric without mercy.

“You’ll sit right here” he says softly. “And you’ll take everything I give you. But you will not come. Do you understand?”

You nod frantically. “Y-Yes—yes, sir—”

His hand grabs your throat. Not tight. Just a warning squeeze as he brings his lips near your ear.

“Say it properly.”

Your thighs quake. “I’ll take everything you give me, sir. I won’t come.”

A low sound vibrates in his chest—pleased. And then he does reward you: fingers pushing the soaked fabric aside, slipping into the heat between your folds. Just the pads of two fingers, circling your clit. Featherlight. Over and over and over.

You choke on a gasp, already twitching. His other hand holds your hip down to keep you from rocking forward too much.

“Look at you” he murmurs. “Soaked and shaking just from this. If I dipped my fingers in, I’d drown.”

You whine, high and broken. Your clit pulses under every stroke, the pressure building too fast to make sense. You press your face into his collar, hot tears forming as your legs begin to tremble.

“Sir—I can’t—I need—” 

“No” he says, and stops.

Your whole body jerks. A strangled sob escapes you—raw and pathetic. Your hips grind down helplessly against his thigh, but he doesn’t move.

“Did I tell you you could come?”

“N-No—”

“Then stop whining.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Your thighs twitch again. He starts again.

Slower. Meaner.

Two fingers now, circling your clit in tight, precise movements. Every time you start to shake—every time your breath breaks or your hips twitch—he stops. Holds you there. Lets your body flutter with the emptiness of it. Lets the orgasm sit on the edge and wither.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Your slick is coating the inside of your thighs now, soaking into his pants. You’re crying in earnest—hot, breathless sobs that leave you choking. Not just from the frustration—but the shame. You can feel how desperate you are. Feel how your cunt clenches around nothing. How your body writhes for him. How you’re being turned into a pathetic mess without even getting off.

“You’re going to remember this” Viktor whispers. “Every time you touch something of mine again. Every time you lie. You’ll remember what it felt like to be made a useless little toy.”

You sob again, your lips brushing the side of his neck. “Please—please—sir—!”

“Do you think you deserve to come?”

“I—I don’t know—”

“Wrong answer.”

He slaps your clit. Just once. One wet, sharp slap to the swollen bundle of nerves, and your body jerks like it’s been shocked. It doesn’t hurt—it burns. The frustration bubbles up your spine, tears spilling fast now.

He starts again.

Softer this time. Barely touching. But you feel everything. Every flick. Every stroke. And your thighs twitch uncontrollably, your hips bucking, your pussy fluttering around emptiness with a sobbing gasp.

“I feel you clenching” he murmurs. “You’re close again.”

You nod wildly.

“Beg.”

You whimper. “Please, sir—please, I—I need it—I need to come so bad—please—” 

“Say you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good—! I swear—I’ll never steal again—”

“You said that last time.”

“I mean it this time—! Please—I’ll do anything—”

He strokes once more. One final, devastating flick.

And stops.

Your orgasm dies on impact.

You scream, clutching at his shirt, soaking the front of his trousers with slick and tears and drool and sweat. You’re shaking like a leaf, your thighs spasming, your clit swollen and throbbing with denied pleasure.

“I—please—I c-can’t—I can’t take any more—!”

Viktor just holds you.

Silent.

Unmoving.

“You don’t get to come” he says quietly, brushing your hair from your face. “You didn’t earn it.”

Your entire body trembles in his arms.

“Maybe next time” he adds, voice like velvet and iron, “if you ask first—before stealing—you’ll be treated like something other than a needy, filthy brat.”

He kisses your temple once.

Then he lifts you, gently, and sets you down on your knees in front of him.

“Now sit” he commands. “Hands on your thighs. And be still.”

You obey. Bare, swollen and soaked—your ruined cunt twitching between your thighs. Tears dry on your cheeks. You don’t dare move.

Viktor just watches you with cold, quiet satisfaction.

“Maybe I’ll let you come tomorrow” he muses. “Maybe I won’t.”

Chapter Text

synopsis: after viktor taught you what discipline meant, you began to withdraw — stopped stealing his things and ignored him. exactly what viktor wanted, right? 

cw: fem! reader, explicit, heavy d/s dynamics and power dynamics, subdrop (!!), angst which leads to smut, fingering, desk sex, also readers last name is virell, lots of feelings 

a/n: part two idea from @ardently-verdandi // also this is really long 😭 i would’ve split it into two parts but it has been sitting in my notes for ages and i finally wanted it to be done 🙏🏼 enjoy <3 

The lab is quiet these days.

Not silent—there’s still the buzz of machines, the clink of glassware, the low hum of Hextech readings filtering through the tablet near your elbow—but the air between you and Viktor is thick with something else.

Distance.

You used to be close. Physically, mentally. You hovered beside him like a shadow, ready with a stylus or soldering tool before he asked, nodding at his mutterings, scribbling down notes in the margins of your own like they were gospel. He used to glance over his shoulder and find you there, quick-eyed and flushed with attention, always a little too eager, always soaked in the scent of his cologne.

Now?

Now, you can barely look at him. 

He notices. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t meet his eyes anymore—not even during lab briefings when you’re directly addressed. Instead, your gaze floats just to the left of his face, trained on the safety goggles looped around his neck or the gleam of his cane where it leans against the table. You answer questions with clinical precision. Efficient. Dry. Distant.

It’s not subtle.

Viktor’s eyes follow you every time you move across the room. Every time you pass him a wrench with trembling fingers or excuse yourself early to “review data sets” that don’t exist. You think you’re hiding it, that quiet way your hands twitch when he’s near, or the way you flinch when his voice drops low to correct your calculations—but you’re not.

He sees all of it. 

You’re afraid of him.

No — worse. You’re not afraid. You’re changed. 

You haven’t stolen anything since that night in his office. No more ties gone missing. No sweatshirts vanishing from his locker. No quiet little secrets zipped away into your pouch of “personal items.” Your drawer has nothing but pens now. Blank notepads. Disinfectant wipes. It’s all so sterile.

Viktor hates it.

He hates that he notices.

He should be proud. He made his point. You were insubordinate—shameless, filthy—and he corrected you. With discipline. With control. The exact thing he prides himself on. And yet…

He misses it.

He misses you. 

Not the awkward, silent girl who stiffens when his sleeve brushes yours, or the one who walks around him in wide arcs now, careful not to invade his space. He misses the sly little glances you used to steal over the top of your notebook. The nervous energy in your legs as you bounced them beneath the workbench, always close enough to brush his knee. He misses finding his clothes out of place, the faintest trace of your perfume on his scarf, the thrill of realizing you were quietly unravelling for him in secret.

Now you’re just—hollow, and it bothers him.

You’re careful to keep your distance that afternoon, same as always. You arrive early, already seated when he comes in, back straight and eyes fixed on your screen. There’s a tightness in your shoulders he’s learned to recognize—a frozen kind of posture, like prey waiting for the sound of footsteps to mean something sharp is about to strike.

He says nothing. Doesn’t acknowledge you except for a small hum as he passes. But he watches. Watches how you breathe, the shallow rhythm of it. Watches your fingers tremble slightly on the keys as you input calibration values. Watches the way your thighs press together under the desk, tight and tense, even though you’re not aware of it.

The tension in your body is obvious.

What gets to him most is the fact that you don’t smell like him anymore.

No stolen shirt clinging to your skin beneath the lab coat. No faint whiff of his cologne when you pass him a tablet. No invisible claim worn like a brand. It’s all…gone.

He stares at the back of your head longer than he should.

Something twists in his gut.

You break a beaker that day. A clean snap—just the lip of it cracking under your grip, your fingers trembling as you try to measure out a compound, and Viktor knows—knows—it’s because he’s standing too close behind you.

He doesn’t scold you.

Just takes the broken glass from your hand, slow and silent, his fingers brushing yours. You flinch. He feels it like a slap. You don’t even look up. Just mutter a pitiful “sorry” and go back to the data terminal, cheeks blazing.

That night, you don’t say goodbye when you leave.

You used to. Always. 

Even if you were flustered, even if your voice cracked, there was always a soft “good night, sir” at the door.

Now? The click of the lock behind you is the only thing that acknowledges your exit.

Viktor stays late.

He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop thinking about it. About the stiffness in your shoulders. About the missing scent. About the look on your face when he reached for your hand—a mix of panic and something that looked dangerously like shame.

Or maybe regret.

And worst of all, he doesn’t want to feel bad for what he did.

You enjoyed it. Every second. The way your hips moved against him, the way your thighs trembled when he touched you—it was unmistakable. You begged for it. Begged to be punished. Begged to be ruined. And he gave you exactly what you asked for. He gave you structure. Control. Dominance. And you responded like you were made for it.

So why the cold shoulder now?

Guilt? Humiliation?

Or something else?

He gets up and walks to your locker.

The lock is still there. Newer. Thicker. Reinforced.

He considers breaking it again. Just to check. Just to know. But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t need to.

He knows it’s empty.

That knowledge sits heavy in his chest, more than it should.

The light through the high lab windows is unusually soft today—muted grey, filtered through low clouds and fine mist that clings to the panes like breath. The glow it casts over the workbenches is cool, unfocused. Dreamlike. Everything feels a little underwater. A little far away.

~

You’re seated at your usual station, but you’re not working.

Your fingers rest, unmoving, on either side of a diagnostic panel, mid-input. A stylus lies forgotten just inches from your palm, its tip slowly drying. Onscreen, the calibration model you were adjusting has frozen—half-complete equations blinking in red error codes as the system waits for your correction, but you don’t move.

Your eyes are fixed on something beyond the glass wall to your left. Not on anything, really—just past. Your lips are slightly parted. Your breathing is slow, but shallow. Unconscious.

It’s like you’ve left the room entirely.

Across the lab, Viktor watches you.

He’d been glancing your way regularly all morning, as usual—subtle flicks of the eyes while pretending to adjust a schematic or re-balance the stabilizer coils. He’d noted how tired you looked when you came in. How sluggish your responses were during briefing. How the dark smudges under your eyes had deepened over the past week.

But this—this is different. 

This is stillness. Unnatural stillness.

He’s never seen you like this.

“Miss Virell?” he says—quietly at first, not wanting to startle you.

No response.

He tilts his head, gaze narrowing slightly.

“Miss Virell.”

Still nothing.

You don’t blink. Don’t even shift your weight. You look carved out of stone—haunted, hollow.

Viktor sets his tools down.

He crosses the lab slowly, his gait uneven but purposeful, the quiet click of his cane the only sound in the large space. You don’t react. Not even as the rubber foot of the cane taps close to your chair. Not even when he steps into your peripheral vision.

He frowns.

Your skin is pale. Your lips dry. There’s a glassiness to your stare that unnerves him.

Then—quietly, carefully—he says your name, your first name. 

“…y/n?”

You flinch like he’s struck you.

Your whole body jerks, a startled little gasp breaking from your lips as you wrench your eyes away from the window and look up at him. Wild-eyed. Adrift. Like you’ve just been shaken from a nightmare you didn’t know you were having.

It’s the first time he’s ever said your name aloud.

Until now, it’s always been Miss Virell, cool and professional, even when he had you stripped bare across his lap. Even then, your title remained like a layer of armor between you—something to keep the heat from turning to something real. 

But this? This is raw. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice softer now. Closer.

You blink rapidly. Your mouth opens, but no words come. Your throat works in a dry swallow, and when your hands move, they shake—fingertips fumbling for the edge of the desk like you need to ground yourself.

“I—” you try to speak, but it collapses in on itself. You shake your head. “Sorry, I was—I just spaced out—”

“That was more than spacing out.”

His tone isn’t scolding. Not cold. It’s laced with something quieter. Something heavier.

Concern.

Real, unfiltered concern.

You try to sit up straighter, to gather yourself, but everything feels wrong—your skin too tight, your chest too hollow. Like something’s carved a hole right behind your sternum and filled it with water, and now it’s all sloshing up into your throat.

“I’m fine“ you lie. Quickly. Too quickly.

You try to go back to your screen, fingers jabbing at the diagnostic panel with clumsy urgency, like maybe if you just do something, it’ll all go away. But the error codes are multiplying, and nothing makes sense, and your hands won’t stop shaking.

Viktor’s gaze drops to the screen.

He sees the values you’ve entered.

They’re wrong. Disastrously wrong. You’re trying to crosswire energy channels that would cause a short in any real application, and your math—your math, usually immaculate—is riddled with simple, juvenile mistakes. Half of it isn’t even formatted properly. Like you were typing in a haze.

“Hey,” he says, quieter now, almost a whisper. “Stop. Just for a moment.”

Your whole body quivers.

He can feel the tremor through your fingertips. The way you’re barely holding yourself together, jaw clenched, breath trembling behind your ribs like a trapped animal.

He recognizes it now—the flatness in your voice, the zoning out, the clumsy hands. The fact that you can’t look at him for more than a second without flinching. This isn’t fear. It’s not just embarrassment.

The emotional free-fall after being pushed too far. The body’s delayed reaction to pain, to humiliation, to overstimulation. To not being held after. It hits harder when you’re not expecting it. 

And you clearly weren’t.

You were left alone in the dark with all that need. That shame. That aching, terrible longing.

Now it’s eating you alive from the inside out.

~

You weren’t expecting the summons.

Not after the way things have been—tense, quiet, clinical. You thought maybe you’d be left alone, quietly replaced, slowly distanced from his orbit until the pain of it stopped making your stomach cramp every time he looked your way.

But then you found it. A note. Folded, neat, laid on top of your tablet where you’d left it unattended for no more than a few seconds while fetching reagents.

Your name. Inked in sharp, steady lines.

Inside, only three words.

Come. My office. 

And now—you’re here. Sitting stiff-backed in the chair across from his desk, hands in your lap, knuckles tight around your own fingers as if you can keep yourself together by sheer pressure alone. The door is closed behind you. Locked. You heard it click.

Viktor is seated in front of you.

Not behind the desk—no. He’s in the chair just beside it. Facing you. Closer than you expected. His cane rests nearby, untouched, the distance between you silent and electric.

He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look indulgent, either.

His face is unreadable. Too calm.

You fidget, unsure what to say.

The hum of the desk’s Hextech terminal is the only thing breaking the silence.

You don’t know where to put your eyes. His boots? The soft gleam of brass at the collar of his coat? The lean fingers draped loosely across the arm of his chair?

He waits.

Then, finally, his voice breaks through the fog.

“Something is wrong“ Viktor says quietly.

You open your mouth to deflect—out of habit, out of fear—but he doesn’t let you.

“I want to know what it is” he continues. “I want you to tell me.”

You flinch. He knows. He knows what it is and yet he says it like a question. 

You swallow. “I—nothing’s wrong.”

His head tilts—just a little.

“That’s not true.”

You press your knees together tighter, heart in your throat. “I don’t… want to make things worse.”

“You are not capable of making things worse,” he says flatly. “You are making them worse by pretending.”

His words settle into your skin like static.

Your eyes sting. Your throat is tight again. You look down at your lap, where your thumbnail digs into the pad of your finger.

“Tell me“ Viktor says again. Quieter now.

Still, you hesitate. You’ve held it all in for so long. Your shame. Your hurt. Your need.

But something about his voice now—soft, coaxing, almost kind—makes the edge of it buckle.

“I thought it meant something” you whisper.

He doesn’t move. You don’t look at him. You stare at your knees like they’re all that’s keeping you upright.

“That night. That… time. I thought it meant something. To you.” You take a shallow breath, pushing through the burn in your throat. “And then you just acted like nothing happened.” 

He says nothing. Not a twitch.

You go on, a little shakier now, like a dam cracking. “I know I made a mess of it. I know I crossed lines. But you—you were so calm. You humiliated me. Broke me. And then just… kept working like it was a normal day. Like I was just—like I wasn’t—”

You break off, lips trembling.

Viktor’s eyes are fixed on your mouth now.

You don’t notice. You’re too busy choking on the rest of it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just the way you touched me, or—” you swallow hard, “—or how it felt. But everything. How you looked at me. What it felt like to be seen. And then it was just—gone..!“ 

The tears gather fast now. You blink them away, mortified. Your thighs are tense again, pressed tight together, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” you whisper. “I keep thinking you’ll fire me. Or punish me again. Or ignore me forever.”

Viktor still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

Not blankly—no. His eyes are tracking every movement, every flutter of your breath. They settle briefly on your throat as you swallow, on the sharp rise of your collarbone under your blouse, on the tremble of your lower lip as you try to collect yourself.

Your voice hitches again.

“I don’t even know if I was just some… experiment“ you say brokenly. “Or if you just did it because you were angry. But I—” You stop.

His eyes are still on your mouth.

“I wanted it” you say finally. “Still do.” 

His expression doesn’t change.

But the air around you does. It shifts—tightens. The space between your chair and his might as well be a live wire. His breath is slow. Even. Controlled.

Yours is not.

You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the way your skin prickles under your blouse. Your thighs twitch involuntarily. You cross your ankles to keep from squirming.

Your voice is smaller now.

“I think about you all the time.” 

The clock ticks on the far wall.

Viktor is utterly silent. Not a breath. Not a shift in posture. But his eyes—his eyes are devouring you. Slow and deliberate. Tracing the trembling curve of your bottom lip, the wet clump of lashes at the corner of your eye, the pulse jumping at the base of your neck.

His gaze drops to your knees.

To the press of your thighs.

Then back up.

His lips part—just slightly. But no sound comes out.

You’re sitting barely three feet from him, and yet it feels like his attention is inside you—like it’s prying you open inch by inch, laying bare every raw, shameful nerve.

He hasn’t even touched you.

You squirm. Just a little.

And that—that earns the smallest reaction. A flicker behind his eyes. A breath, nearly inaudible, that parts his lips just slightly more. 

But still—no words.

No verdict. No comfort. No rejection.

Only his gaze, burning through every layer of you like Hextech through glass.

Still trembling, still flushed, still caught in the unbearable gravity of Viktor’s gaze—wide-eyed and small in the chair across from him, knees pressed together so tightly it aches.

He hasn’t said a word. 

But the air between you is saturated now—wet with tension, ripe with things unspoken. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. In your thighs. In the heat pooling low between your legs, your panties damp and sticky against your skin from the moment you walked in here.

A slow shift of weight. The creak of his chair as he straightens. The gentle sound of his cane being set aside, unnecessary now.

You freeze.

Then, without a word, he reaches for you.

Big, long fingers wrap around your wrist. Not rough—but sure. Final.

You gasp, startled—but don’t resist. You don’t even breathe as he tugs you forward, guiding you out of the chair, and then—

Onto his lap. 

Your knees land on either side of him with a soft thump, straddling his thighs, the thin fabric of your skirt hiked up enough that the bare skin of your inner legs touches his slacks. You’re flushed instantly, your weight settling over the firm muscle of his thigh, your panties pressing down.

Your breath stutters out in a sharp, high little sound.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask for permission.

His hands smooth up your thighs slowly, reverently, his palms warm and rough against your skin. One hand settles heavy on your lower back, anchoring you against him. The other trails down—slow, deliberate—until his fingers slip under the hem of your panties.

You sigh. It’s small. Embarrassing. Pure reflex. But you can’t help it—the feeling of his fingers on you, real and unhesitating, makes your whole body flinch.

His breath brushes your cheek as he leans in.

“You’ve been good,” he murmurs—his first words since you spilled your soul to him minutes ago. “No more stolen shirts. No ties wrapped around your thighs. No secrets in your drawer.”

His fingers find your slit and glide through it—wet, slow, greedy.

You choke on a gasp.

“You listened,” he continues, voice velvet-dark, curling around your ear. “You stopped taking what wasn’t yours.”

His fingers spread your folds.

You twitch in his lap, a ragged moan stuttering out of you as his thumb finds your clit, already swollen and aching.

The first two fingers push in without resistance.

You keen—high and helpless, your hands flying to grip his shoulders as your cunt clenches around him with immediate need. The stretch isn’t cruel—just perfect. His knuckles glide in deep, slow, pressing up against the spongy spot inside that makes your thighs tremble violently on either side of him. 

“Oh—Viktor—” you whimper, forehead dropping to his shoulder. 

His fingers fuck up into you in a slow, devastating rhythm—each thrust curling just right, dragging over your walls like he already knows your body better than you do. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every motion.

“Such a mess already” he murmurs. 

You nod frantically into the crook of his neck, your hips stuttering down against his lap, riding the thrusts without shame now. You can’t help it—your whole body is pulsing, cunt fluttering around his fingers like it knows what’s coming.

He kisses your temple.

Then pulls back to look at you.

“Let me see you.”

Your face lifts instinctively, eyes glazed, lips parted.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and fucks his fingers harder into you—faster now, more focused. You cry out, clinging to his coat as your cunt flutters wildly, slick gushing down onto his palm.

Your thighs are shaking. You’re grinding now—completely gone, your moans high and shameless, hips jerking down on every thrust. His fingers are soaked. The squelch of them inside you is loud, filthy, echoing against the polished wood of the office.

“I missed this,” he admits quietly, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. “Missed having you close. Wet. Needy.”

His fingers curl harder.

Your whole body locks up. Your orgasm crashes down so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

You cry out—raw and broken—grinding down onto his fingers as your cunt pulses violently, gushing around him in waves. Your whole body seizes, thighs trembling, belly tight. You ride it through with high, desperate whimpers, clutching his shoulders like you’ll drown if you let go.

He holds you the whole time.

Lets you grind, shake, twitch through it all—his fingers buried deep, palm pressed snug to your clit, giving you everything.

And only once you’re finished—once you’ve slumped boneless against him, breath trembling, skin flushed and glistening with sweat—does he speak again.

“There she is,” he murmurs, his hand gently slipping from your heat, slick and slow. “My good girl.”

He rubs your back, slow circles through the fabric of your blouse.

“You did so well.” 

Your eyes flutter shut. You breathe him in—metal, warmth, Viktor—and melt into the curve of his body. Your thighs still twitch. Your panties are ruined. His slacks are soaked.

The moment his fingers leave your body, you think maybe it’s over—that maybe that was all he meant to give you, a single, shuddering climax over his thigh, one act of mercy after weeks of denial. But then his hand is at the back of your neck, guiding you forward, and his voice—low, quiet, but unmistakably stern—breaks the silence between you.

“Desk.”

You blink, dazed, your thighs still twitching from the aftershock. “W-what?”

His eyes don’t waver. He reaches down to unbuckle his belt, slow, the sound of the leather sliding through metal sending a fresh ripple of heat down your spine. “Now.”

The command—soft but inarguable—hits you low, curling in your gut like a hook. You scramble up from his lap, legs unsteady, your soaked underwear clinging between your thighs as you move. The sharp edge of the desk is already warm under your palms when you lean against it, the wood polished smooth and cool where your hips press in.

There’s a quiet groan from the chair as he pushes to his feet, followed by the faint click of his cane as he sets it aside. You hear the slow rasp of a zipper, the unmistakable sound of fabric parting, and then—he’s there.

His hips slot against the curve of your ass, one hand sweeping your skirt up your back, the other palming roughly over the curve of you. You’re still slick from your orgasm, flushed and swollen and when he slides the head of his cock along your slit, the sound it makes is obscene—wet, desperate.

“You have no idea,” Viktor murmurs, voice strained, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

You whimper, arching back toward him.

He eases forward in one gently, steady stroke, and you gasp—knees buckling, nails digging into the desk’s edge. He’s more than you fantasized about in all the sleepless nights since he first touched you. The stretch burns in the most perfect way, your body clenching around him with instinctual urgency.

Viktor groans—low and raw—his breath catching at the base of his throat. 

The desk shakes with each snap of his hips.

He fucks you like he means it. Like every night he spent pretending to ignore you was penance, and this is the punishment. Not for you—for him. For waiting. For not taking what he wanted. For thinking he could keep distance between you when everything about you—your scent, your breath, the way you say his name—rips him apart. 

He’s rough. Focused. Controlled in only the loosest sense of the word.

His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he pulls you back onto him again and again, driving himself deep, grinding when he’s fully seated just to hear you cry out. The desk creaks beneath you. Papers flutter to the floor.

Your sounds aren’t soft anymore.

You’re loud. Filthy. Gasps and moans and incoherent pleading tumbling from your lips in a stream of broken syllables, half his name, half nonsense. Your thighs are slick, your face hot, sweat prickling at the back of your neck. 

“You’ve been so good,” he growls, voice right at your ear now, one hand snaking around your waist to pull your chest up off the desk. “So good for me. Not stealing. Not teasing.” 

You whimper, nodding frantically even as tears well again at the corners of your eyes. Your lips part, but no words come—only the ragged sound of your breath hitching as his other hand slips between your thighs again and circles your clit.

He groans against the side of your neck.

“I miss it,” he confesses—quiet, a ragged whisper. “The scent of me on you. My clothes—how you smelled when you wore them. You think I didn’t notice? Every time you came near me—” he grits his teeth, rutting harder, “—and I could smell myself all over you.”

Your whole body jerks.

It’s too much. Too hot. Too deep. Too filthy.

“Viktor” you sob, and this time it breaks. 

His name, real and raw, spills out of your throat like a confession.

He groans again, shakier this time, and the rhythm falters—just for a second—as if the sound of you unraveling with his name on your lips pushed him right to the edge.

“I feel it too,” he says—barely audible now, voice low and tight in his chest. “Every time I see you. Every time I pretend I don’t want you.”

His fingers move faster, circling your clit with deliberate, relentless precision.

Your orgasm surges up through you so violently your knees give out, a white-hot wave of pleasure that crashes through your spine and down into your toes. Your whole body clamps down around him, cunt fluttering wildly, milking him in rhythmic aftershocks. You cry out—loud, guttural—your voice echoing off the walls of the office as your orgasm rips you apart.

Viktor groans deep in his chest.

He fucks you through it, hips jerking erratically now, every thrust a little more desperate, a little more undone. And then—his breath stutters. He snarls your name under his breath and spills inside you, cock pulsing deep, hips grinding against your ass as he empties himself in thick, twitching waves.

For a moment—neither of you speak.

Only your breathing—ragged, wet, full of tremors—fills the space between.

And then—slowly—he leans forward.

Not to pull out, but to wrap his arms around your waist, gently, and guide your limp body back against his chest. You feel his lips at your shoulder first. Then at your neck. Then your jaw.

Gentle kisses.

Soft.

Reverent.

You make a soft sound, not quite a whimper, and turn in his arms as much as you can. He helps you, slowly, easing you up onto the desk so you’re facing him, still half-clothed, your hair a mess, his seed slowly leaking down your thigh.

You expect distance again.

But instead—his hand comes to your cheek.

He strokes it. Tender, even a little shy.

And then he kisses you.

Mouth to mouth. No hunger now. No discipline. Just a kiss. Deep and slow and slightly unsteady, like he’s not used to letting anyone close. You melt into it. Your hands on his chest, clutching his coat, your breath still uneven but easing.

When he pulls back—his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen.

“I care about you,” Viktor says, voice almost too quiet to hear. “Far more than I should.”

You blink, stunned, and then a sound escapes you—a little laugh, trembling and wet. You kiss him again, just once, and this time you smile against his mouth.

“You should tell me that more often“ you whisper.

He chuckles—low, tired—and gently nudges you against his chest, holding you there. Your head finds the curve of his shoulder. His arms circle you like you belong there. Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip.

You stay like that a long time.

Just breathing. Sharing the silence.

Eventually—his lips brush your temple.

“Come home with me tonight.”

You nod before he finishes the sentence.

And much, much later—after water, and softness, and a second kiss that lasts longer than it should—he fucks you again in his bed. Slower this time. Closer. His hands never leaving your skin.

You fall asleep wrapped in him.

For the first time in weeks, your dreams are quiet.

Chapter Text

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮- 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. 

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝! / 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞! / 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫), 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 

Viktor knew he was going to hell for this.

It started small—innocent, almost. At least, that’s what he told himself at first. You were his sweet, doting roommate, the one who always made sure he ate something that wasn’t just coffee and stale bread. The one who baked cookies late at night, humming some soft tune while their warmth filled the apartment. The one who, despite his sharp tongue and reclusive nature, still treated him with an affection he didn’t deserve.

He’d been fine admiring from a distance, stealing glances whenever you curled up on the couch with a book or stretched sleepily in the kitchen, unaware of how his golden eyes dragged over every inch of you. He’d been fine with that. Until one evening, he found something that shattered his self-control entirely.

It was a mistake, really. He hadn’t meant to go into your laundry basket—he was just looking for the clean dish towels you always kept neatly folded, but then he saw it. 

White lace, soft and delicate, with pink satin bows.

Your lingerie. 

Viktor had frozen, fingers twitching at his side as he stared at the matching bra and panties nestled between your other clothes. It was innocent enough, really—everyone wore undergarments. But this? This was something different. This was intimate, private, something that had been pressed against your soft skin, had hugged the curves he’d been secretly obsessed with for months.

His cock throbbed in his pants so hard it made his vision blur.

He should’ve put it back. Should’ve shut the basket and left the room.

But instead, Viktor reached out with trembling hands, feeling like an animal as he brushed his fingers over the lace. It was so soft. Delicate. Feminine. His breath was shallow, sharp as he let his thumb trace the pink bows on the waistband of the panties.

God. 

He groaned under his breath, his body igniting with something filthy and desperate. He imagined you wearing them—imagined how the lace would press against your cunt, how it would hug the swell of your hips. His hand tightened around the fabric before he could stop himself, and before he could even process the depravity of what he was doing, he was stuffing the lingerie into his coat pocket and limping hurriedly to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

His heart was pounding, his cock already straining against his slacks as he yanked the stolen fabric from his pocket, staring at it like a starving man. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his cane clattering to the floor as he leaned forward, clutching your panties in his hands like a relic.

The scent of your detergent, that soft floral fragrance you always smelled like, flooded his senses.

Viktor groaned, shoving the lace against his face, inhaling deep as his other hand fumbled desperately with his belt. He was already leaking, his tip smearing pre-cum against the inside of his pants as he freed himself, hissing when his fist wrapped around his cock.

“F-fuck,” he choked, hips twitching as he stroked himself, the stolen lingerie pressed firmly to his nose.

He was disgusting. A perverted, pathetic bastard who was jerking off to his own roommate’s panties like a deviant. 

But he didn’t care.

The image of you burned behind his eyelids as he fisted his cock, squeezing tight at the base as he imagined peeling the lace down your thighs, imagined the way it would stick to the slick between your legs when he finally got his hands on you. He imagined pushing them aside, dragging his fingers through your folds, feeling how warm and wet you’d be—

His hips bucked, a desperate, strangled groan ripping from his throat as his cock twitched in his grip. The pressure built too fast, his body overwhelmed with how filthy this was, how fucking wrong it was, but he couldn’t stop. He was gasping, panting like a dog as he thrust up into his fist, chasing the heat curling in his stomach.

“Mmhh—fuck, fuck,” he gritted through clenched teeth, your name slipping from his lips in a desperate whimper.

The thought of you catching him like this—seeing him sprawled out on his bed, red-faced and desperate, his cock throbbing in his hand while he moaned into your panties—made his pleasure spike dangerously fast.

He came with a guttural moan, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fingers, dripping down onto his stomach as his body shuddered violently. His grip on the lace tightened, his cock twitching as he milked himself through the aftershocks, his mind a hazy mess of lust and obsession.

Viktor sagged against the bed, breathless and trembling.

But even as he stared at the soiled fabric in his hands, shame pooling heavy in his chest, he already knew—

This wouldn’t be the last time. Viktor should have stopped. 

He should have shoved your lingerie back into your laundry basket and never touched it again. Should have avoided you the next day, put distance between you, done something—anything—to keep himself from spiraling further into this sick obsession.

But the problem was, he couldn’t.

Because the next time he saw you, you smiled at him.

Soft and sweet, like you always did, completely unaware of what he’d done the night before. You had flour dusting your cheek, your oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder as you pushed a plate of warm cookies toward him.

“Made your favorite,” you chirped. “You’ve been working too hard again, Vik.”

And fuck—fuck, you had no idea. 

No idea that just hours ago, he had your panties shoved in his face while he came all over himself, moaning your name like a desperate little pervert. No idea that even now, as you stood there with your soft smile and your innocent eyes, he still had them tucked beneath his pillow, waiting for him to ruin them again.

He barely managed to thank you, his voice hoarse, tight. You just beamed, completely oblivious as you turned back to the kitchen, humming a tune under your breath while you washed dishes.

And Viktor just sat there, staring at you, burning the image into his mind.

That night, he fucked himself to the thought of you again. And again. And again.

~

It didn’t take long for things to spiral further.

Viktor became reckless.

At first, he only stole one pair. But then he found himself rifling through your laundry again, fingers shaking as he pocketed another—something soft and baby pink, satin this time, with tiny white ribbons. He stole a bra too, one that still had the faintest scent of your perfume clinging to the cups, and it made his cock throb so hard he nearly dropped to his knees right then and there.

He spent nights unraveling in his bed, fisting his cock with your lingerie pressed to his nose, moaning your name like a desperate, filthy thing. He dragged the lace over his shaft, letting the delicate fabric catch on the sensitive head, whimpering at the friction.

One night, he nearly lost himself completely.

He came so hard his vision blacked out for a moment, his cum spilling over the soft lace of your stolen panties, soaking them, ruining them. He should have felt ashamed, should have panicked at the evidence of his depravity.

But instead, he just… brought them to his lips, sucking the taste of himself from the fabric, groaning at the thought of you wearing them like this—sticky, stained, his.

He was fucked. Completely, irredeemably fucked.

And then you started to notice.

One morning, as you sorted through your laundry, you frowned.

“Huh,” you muttered, rifling through the pile. “Weird. I swear I had more underwear than this.”

Viktor froze.

You were standing right in front of him, completely oblivious to the way his breath had just hitched, his fingers clenching around the edge of his book.

“Maybe they got lost somewhere in my room,” you mused, tapping your chin before shrugging. “Oh well. Guess I’ll just buy more.”

And then, as if you hadn’t just unknowingly set his whole body on fire, you stretched, your sweater riding up to expose a sliver of your bare stomach.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Vik,” you whined, pouting at him. “Can you help me tomorrow? I need to reorganize my closet.”

That was the moment he knew he was going to die.

Because your closet. Your closet was where you kept everything.

Your dresses. Your stockings. Your lingerie. 

Viktor barely managed to nod, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Good!” You beamed, reaching out to ruffle his hair playfully before disappearing into your room, humming.

And Viktor sat there, trembling.

He needed to get a grip. He needed to stop.

But he already knew—when night fell, when the apartment was quiet and you were fast asleep—he would be between his sheets, your stolen panties in his fist, fucking himself into oblivion like a filthy, desperate man.

~

Viktor had never been good at resisting temptation. 

The moment you had mentioned reorganizing your closet, he’d known he was fucked. Because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it—about all the things you kept tucked away behind those doors, soft lace and delicate fabrics that had graced your skin, kissed your curves.

So, when night fell and you were curled up in bed, unaware, Viktor found himself standing in front of your door.

He had no excuse this time. No justification.

He was doing something unforgivable.

But that didn’t stop him.

With a shaking hand, he turned the knob, the door creaking softly as it opened. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights through the curtains. He could hear your soft, steady breathing from the bed.

As quietly as he could, he stepped inside.

His heart was hammering, his pulse a deafening roar in his ears as he made his way to the closet, careful, slow. His leg ached with every movement, but the sharp bite of pain barely registered past the haze of arousal clouding his mind.

He swallowed hard as he pulled open one of the drawers.

And there it was.

Stacks of neatly folded lingerie—silks, lace, pastels, all things soft and delicate. All things that belonged to you.

Viktor exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he reached for a pair.

White lace, dainty pink ribbons.

His cock twitched violently, pressing insistently against his trousers.

God, he was fucking depraved.

He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deep, his lashes fluttering as your scent filled his lungs.

And then—

“Viktor?” 

The voice was soft, thick with sleep.

His entire body seized.

Slowly, his head turned, terror gripping him as he met your sleepy, drowsy gaze. You were sitting up in bed, blinking at him, your hair mussed from sleep.

The panties were still clutched in his hand.

The silence stretched thick between you, suffocating.

Then— “…Are you stealing my underwear?”

Your voice was gentle. No anger. Just confusion.

Viktor’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His mind was blank, burning with shame, his hands shaking as he fumbled for words, an excuse, something.

But then— Your expression softened.

“Oh, Vik,” you sighed, rubbing at your eyes, voice still thick with sleep. “You could’ve just told me you were frustrated.”

Something inside him snapped.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, crossing the room in uneven, desperate strides. The panties fell from his grasp as his hands cupped your face, his fingers trembling against your soft skin.

“You—” His voice was hoarse, almost wrecked. “You don’t understand—”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, still so unbearably sweet, so soft, and he couldn’t—he couldn’t hold back.

His lips crashed against yours, hot and needy, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped you. His fingers curled into your hair, tilting your head back as he devoured you, pouring every ounce of desperation, every filthy, pent-up fantasy into the kiss.

And you—oh, you melted against him so easily, your arms looping around his neck, a small, needy noise slipping from your throat as you kissed him back. 

That was all it took.

Viktor groaned, pushing you back against the bed, his body caging yours beneath him as his hands roamed, desperate, hungry.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your lips, his voice trembling. “No idea what you do to me—how long I’ve wanted—”

His hands found the hem of your sleep shirt, shoving it up, groaning when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. His fingers dragged over the swell of your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you whimpered beneath him, arching into his touch.

“Viktor—”

“Shhh” he hushed, his mouth trailing down your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Let me have you. Let me show you how desperate you’ve made me.”

You shivered, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips traveled lower, lower, down your stomach.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, he groaned.

Pink. Satin. Tiny white bows.

Just like the pair he had ruined nights before.

Viktor was breaking. No—he was already broken.

He had lost control the second you looked up at him with those soft, innocent eyes, completely unaware of how deeply you’d wrecked him.

He needed you.

Not wanted. Needed. 

His body was trembling as he pulled your soaked panties down, peeling the damp fabric from your skin, his breathing ragged, uneven. His fingers clenched tight around the delicate fabric, and fuck, it was wet—sticky with your slick, the scent of you hitting him so hard his cock twitched violently, already leaking inside his trousers.

“Fuck.” He groaned—low, wrecked, almost pained.

His fingers flexed as he spread your thighs apart, and then—

God. 

He stared. Your cunt was so wet, glistening in the dim light, your slick already dripping down onto the sheets, so fucking messy—so needy—just for him.

“Shit—look at you,” he rasped, his voice shaking.

“Shit—look at you,” he rasped, his voice shaking.

Your thighs trembled, your hands gripping the sheets. “Vik—”

He let out a harsh, uneven breath. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He was drowning in you.

His hands clutched at your thighs, desperate, shaking. “You’re dripping,” he whispered, his eyes dark, wild. “All this… just for me?”

You let out a soft whimper, flustered, squirming beneath his gaze.

He lost it.

A sharp, choked noise left him as he lurched forward, his lips crashing against your inner thigh, biting, sucking, worshipping. He couldn’t stop. He needed to taste you—needed you all over his mouth, his fingers, his cock.

You gasped, back arching, hips twitching as he pressed his nose to your soaked folds, inhaling deep, his entire body shuddering.

“Fuck, I need—need to—” He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore.

His hands shook as he slid his fingers through your slick folds, his breath catching as his skin glided over yours. You were so fucking wet it made him ache, made him shake with the need to be inside you. 

“Vik—please,” you whimpered, your voice so sweet, so shy.

He growled.

“Please what?” His voice was rough, desperate, his fingers circling your entrance, teasing, barely pushing inside. “Tell me.”

You swallowed hard, hips twitching. “Please—touch me.”

His jaw clenched. His cock throbbed.

“Fuck.”

He shoved a finger inside you. You gasped sharply, your walls clenching down hard around him.

“Shit, you’re—” He whimpered—actually whimpered—as your tight, pulsing heat sucked his finger in, your slick coating him, so fucking warm, so perfect.

“You’re squeezing me already,” he choked out, his head falling forward, his forehead pressing against your thigh. “God, I—”

He pushed in deeper, his breathing ragged, his entire body shaking.

“Feels—so—fuck—so good,” he groaned.

You let out a soft, desperate noise, squirming. “Vik—”

His cock ached.

“More,” he gasped, “need more—”

He shoved a second finger inside you, stretching you open, and you sobbed, your body jerking, your thighs trembling.

His breath hitched. “Shit—shit, you feel so good—”

He was moving before he could even think, his fingers curling deep, rubbing against that spot— And you cried out.

Your walls clenched, your body jerking, slick gushing down his hand. 

Viktor groaned, his entire body shaking.

“That’s it—” He moaned, his fingers moving faster, rubbing, pressing, forcing your body to break. “Again. Give me—fuck, give me more—”

A sharp gasp. A full-body tremor.

“Ohhh, fuck—!” 

Your body seized, your thighs jerked, and then— You gushed.

Your release splashed against his fingers, soaking his hand, spilling down onto the sheets, so messy, so fucking perfect. 

Viktor whined.

“God, you squirt?” His voice was wrecked, slurred, his fingers trembling. “Fucking—oh, fuck, look at you—” 

Your face burned, your hands clenching in the sheets, your entire body trembling.

“I—” You gasped, a sob breaking in your throat. “I don’t—ah—!”

Another curl of his fingers, another deep press against that spot, and you gushed again, messy, dripping, soaking his wrist.

Viktor groaned, his cock leaking, precum pouring into his trousers, the fabric already damp from how fucking desperate he was.

“Again,” he rasped, “fuck, do it again—”

You sobbed, wrecked, your entire body trembling, and still, he didn’t stop—he wouldn’t let you stop.

Another press. Another stroke.

And then— You screamed. Your back arched, your hips jerked, your release dripping out of you, splashing onto his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you. 

“Fucking hell,” Viktor whined, barely able to breathe. “You’re so—so messy—”

You whimpered, shaking, utterly ruined, utterly his.

And Viktor—Viktor hadn’t even fucked you yet.

His golden eyes were dark, wild, starving, his soaked fingers trembling as he brought them to your lips.

“Taste yourself” he whispered, his voice wrecked, desperate.

Your lips parted, your tongue flicking out—

And Viktor snapped. Because he needed you now. And he wasn’t stopping until you were crying his name.

Every last shred of control had snapped the moment he saw you squirt, saw your body convulse under his touch, felt your release gush out, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything.

And the way you looked at him afterward—eyes dazed, lips parted, your trembling little body trying so hard to recover—

He had to ruin you. 

He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

Not until you were his.

Not until he was buried so deep inside you, until you were sobbing with pleasure, until his cum was dripping out of you, marking you, claiming you.

“I—” His voice came out broken, ragged. His fingers curled tighter around your thighs, his whole body shaking. “I can’t—can’t wait anymore—”

Your breath hitched, your soft thighs twitching against his hands.

“Vik—”

He choked out a groan at the sound of his name on your lips, desperate and needy.

“Tell me you want it.” His forehead dropped to your thigh, his voice wrecked. “Tell me you want me inside you—please, I can’t—I need—”

Your fingers threaded into his hair, your nails lightly scratching at his scalp, and Viktor whined, bucking forward, rutting into the mattress like some desperate, depraved thing.

“I want you, Viktor.” Your voice was so sweet, so soft—too sweet for the filthy, depraved things he wanted to do to you. “Please—need you to fill me up—”

Fucking hell. 

Viktor let out a shaky, broken noise, his hands fumbling frantically at his belt. He was so desperate, so fucking shaky, it took him three tries to undo the buckle before he was shoving his trousers down his thighs, gasping as his cock finally sprang free. 

His tip was flushed angry red, already leaking, smeared with precum—so fucking sensitive from watching you fall apart under his fingers.

His tip was flushed angry red, already leaking, smeared with precum—so fucking sensitive from watching you fall apart under his fingers.

He barely had the sense to wrap a hand around himself, stroking once, spreading the slick down his length, before he was reaching for you, gripping your thighs, dragging you down the bed until you were under him, where you belonged.

“Viktor—”

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, and Viktor shuddered, dropping down, pressing his forehead to yours.

His cock was right there—so close, nudging up against your messy, soaked entrance, already dripping, already needing.

“I—I can’t—” Viktor’s voice was wrecked, desperate, his hips twitching, barely holding himself back. “I need to be inside you—need to feel you—please’—”

You reached up, cupped his face, kissed him—and that was it. 

A broken, choked moan tore from his throat as he thrust forward, sliding into you in one deep stroke and fucking hell, you were tight.

“Shit—!” Viktor whimpered, his entire body shaking, his cock aching from the way your walls squeezed down around him, sucking him in, holding him so deep.

You sobbed, your nails digging into his back, your thighs trembling against his hips.

“Oh my god—” Your voice was so wrecked, so sweet, and Viktor couldn’t—he couldn’t.

“Too tight—” he gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers gripping at your waist so hard he’d leave bruises. “F-fuck, you’re—you’re squeezing me so much, I—”

Your walls fluttered around him, your body still adjusting, and Viktor whined, shaking, his hips already trying to move, already trying to fuck you.

“You feel so good,” he gasped against your neck, panting, shuddering. “I—oh, fuck, I’m going to—”

His hips drew back, his cock dragging against your walls—sticky, soaked—before he thrust back in, burying himself deep and you sobbed, your legs trembling, your fingers clutching at him. 

“Viktor—!”

“Fuck—fuck—” His voice was so wrecked, shaking, desperate. “You’re perfect—so fucking perfect—”

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down.

Couldn’t do anything but fuck you, deep, desperate, shaking, his hips slamming against yours, his cock pounding into your wet, tight heat—

Your sweet little sobs only made it worse.

“You’re crying—” he gasped, watching as your lashes clumped together, fat tears spilling down your cheeks. “Are you crying for me? Is it too much?”

You shook your head frantically, your hands gripping his shoulders. “No—feels—so—so good—!”

Viktor moaned, his thrusts deepening, his cock bruising your cervix, every wet, filthy stroke dragging against that sweet spot inside you—

And then— Your walls fluttered.

Your body tensed.

“V-Vik—!” 

Viktor felt it the second you broke.

Your walls clamped down, locking him inside, your sweet, soft cunt milking him, sucking him in and you screamed, body jerking, pleasure ripping through you as you came hard, convulsing around his cock, so fucking tight—

Viktor saw white.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—!” He snarled, his vision blurring, his hips slamming forward, burying himself deep—

He came.

His body jerked, his cock pulsing, and then heat flooded you.

“Fuck—f-fuck—” Viktor whimpered, his hips twitching, pushing deeper, shoving himself inside you as his cum poured out, filling you so deep, so full—

And he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He kept thrusting, slow, deep, pushing his cum deeper inside you, stuffing you full, ruining you— Until finally, finally, he collapsed. 

Viktor shuddered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, his body twitching with aftershocks.

His cock was still buried deep, plugging you up, keeping every last drop inside.

You were whimpering, soft, tired, wrecked.

Viktor groaned, pressing a sloppy, desperate kiss to your lips.

“Mine,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re mine.”

Your lashes fluttered, your soft, messy hands cupping his face.

“I’m yours, Viktor.”

And fuck, Viktor felt his cock twitch again, already hardening inside you.

Because he wasn’t done.

Not until he’d filled you again.

And again. 

And again. 

Chapter Text

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 (??), 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞. 

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 (𝐢'𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫), 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧. 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!! 

The laboratory smelled of scorched metal and ozone, the air thick with the hum of something unnatural. Hextech pulsed faintly in the dimness, the glow of unstable energy illuminating the sprawl of unfinished blueprints, half-formed constructs, and tools scattered across the workspace. The place was Viktor’s mind made manifest—chaotic, brilliant, dangerous.

And you had walked straight into it.

You should have turned back the moment the reinforced door slid shut behind you, sealing you inside with him. But curiosity had always been your weakness. That, and something deeper—something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Viktor hadn’t looked up immediately. He was hunched over his latest project, fingers deftly adjusting a glowing green component embedded in what looked like a modified prosthetic. The energy arced sharply as he worked, momentarily illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the mess of dark hair that curled over the edge of his golden ocular implants.

It wasn’t until you took another step forward that he finally acknowledged your presence.

“Curious, are we?”

His voice slid through the dimness like a blade, smooth and sharp. He still hadn’t turned, but you knew he had been aware of you the moment you entered. The way his shoulders tensed slightly, the way his fingers stilled for half a second before continuing their work—it was enough.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his presence made the air feel heavier. “I was looking for you.”

That earned a reaction. His head tilted, just slightly. A pause. Then, finally, he turned.

His gaze was impossible to hold. The glow of his mechanical eye cast eerie reflections across his face, half in shadow, half illuminated by something unnatural. His real eye was unreadable, dark and gleaming beneath the mess of his hair.

“And now you have found me.”

There was something wrong with the way he said it. Like you had fallen into a carefully laid trap and only now realized the bars had locked behind you.

You tried not to react as he stepped closer.

Viktor never moved without purpose. Every shift of his weight, every subtle tilt of his head—it was all calculated, measured. And now, with the way his gaze dragged over you, slow and dissecting, you felt like a specimen under a magnifying glass.

His voice was almost amused when he spoke again. “You are trembling.”

You hadn’t noticed until now. The realization made your stomach tighten, shame curling in the back of your throat. You weren’t afraid of him. At least, you didn’t think you were. And yet—

His gloved fingers reached out, brushing the side of your throat. A light touch. Testing.

You gasped.

He smiled.

“Fascinating.”

The word sent a shiver down your spine. Because Viktor did not waste time on things that were not useful to him. If he was fascinated, it was because he was studying you.

You took a step back. A mistake. His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air, the way something unseen coiled tighter between you.

“You flinch,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Yet you do not leave. Why?”

The words shouldn’t have had weight. But coming from him—razor-sharp, peeling you apart layer by layer—they made something in you falter.

“I—” He was in front of you before you could finish “Shhh.”

The command was soft. Almost gentle. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. The glow of his lenses pulsed slightly, shifting as he cataloged your reaction, as he watched your breath hitch.

“I have been patient,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “So very patient.”

Something dark flickered behind his eyes. The kind of hunger that wasn’t born overnight.

“Tell me” he breathed, his voice a slow, curling heat against your skin, “how long do you intend to test my restraint?”

Your stomach dropped.

The moment stretched, taut and fragile. His grip on your chin wasn’t tight, but it was unrelenting. Unyielding.

And you—gods help you—you didn’t move away.

That was all the permission he needed.

The next breath you took was stolen from your lungs as he moved—fast. One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the cool metal of the nearest worktable, sending scattered blueprints fluttering to the ground.

His hand was at your throat now—not squeezing, not yet. Just resting. Feeling the frantic pulse beneath his fingers.

“I wonder,” he mused, his voice maddeningly calm as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, “do you truly not understand the danger you are in?”

You sucked in a breath, but it was shallow. Not enough. He was too close. The scent of metal and oil and something darker surrounded you, wrapped around your senses like a vice.

“Or…” He tilted his head, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, inhaling slowly. “Is it that you do?”

You whimpered. The sound was humiliatingly soft, but it didn’t escape him.

He smiled against your skin. “Ah. That is it, isn’t it?”

His hand moved, gliding lower, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip. Testing. Mapping. The way his fingers dragged over your clothes felt obscene, a slow unraveling of something inevitable.

“You wish to play human games,” he murmured, dragging his lips down, just over the curve of your throat, “but you forget—I am no longer a man who plays by such rules.”

Heat pooled between your thighs, unwelcome and delicious. You tried to squeeze them together, but his leg slotted between yours before you could, pinning you against the table. The pressure sent a sharp jolt of sensation through you, your breath hitching as he pressed just slightly—just enough to feel what he was doing to you.

He chuckled. Low. Dark.

“So soft,” he murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “So eager.”

He rocked against you, slow and purposeful. The sensation sent a shock of pleasure through your core, a gasp ripping from your throat before you could stop it.

“Look at you.” His voice was almost reverent, his lips ghosting against the corner of your mouth. “So willing to be ruined.”

Your head was spinning. You knew you should stop this. You knew. And yet— You turned your head. Just slightly. Just enough.

And Viktor took exactly what you offered.

His lips crashed against yours.

Not a kiss—a claim.

You moaned, and that was all it took for him to deepen it, devouring every sound you made. His metal hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in as he rocked against you again, harder this time, pressing himself between your legs with slow, maddening precision.

“You are mine now,” he rasped against your lips. “And I do not intend to let you go.”

His words barely had time to settle before Viktor moved.

You barely registered the sharp scrape of metal against the edge of the table before you were hauled up, your thighs spreading around his waist as he slotted himself between them. The rough press of his uniform scraped against your inner thighs, and the realization hit—you were caged now, caught in the unforgiving grip of a man who had long since abandoned human restraint.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Viktor rasped, his voice a dark whisper against your lips. His hips rolled—slow, deliberate. The thick press of his cock, still confined by layers of fabric, ground against your cunt with enough pressure to have your head falling back against the table.

“Yes,” he breathed, watching you. Cataloging.

His metal fingers dug into your thigh, spreading you obscenely wide, while his gloved hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face up until your breath hitched.

“I have waited,” he murmured, dragging his nose along your cheek. “I have suffered in silence—”

The next grind of his hips against your aching cunt made you writhe, the friction bordering on unbearable. Your breath broke into a gasp, hands flying to clutch at his shoulders, his neck—anything to ground yourself.

His hand snapped to your wrist, pinning it back against the metal surface with unforgiving force.

“But I suffer no longer.”

Your stomach tightened at the raw hunger in his voice. His lenses flickered, scanning your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, desperate breaths.

He wanted to consume you. And he would.

“This—” His metal fingers tore at the fabric of your clothes, ripping away the layers with impatient efficiency. The air hit your exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling between your legs ”—is mine.”

Your head fell back with a cry as his hand found you, his fingers dragging over your slick folds with slow, taunting precision.

“So eager,” he murmured, pressing a gloved finger inside without warning.

Your body arched, your legs attempting to close around his waist, but he would not allow it. His metal grip tightened, forcing you to remain open—to be seen.

“Do you think I have not noticed?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it—a controlled fury. “The way you watch me? The way your breath catches whenever I draw near?”

He withdrew his finger, only to drag it achingly slow against your throbbing clit, coating you in the evidence of your own betrayal.

“You pretend you fear me.”

His cock pressed against your entrance now, still shielded by fabric, but so dangerously close.

“But this?” He rocked against you, the thick pressure of his length gliding over your cunt, making you shudder beneath him.

“This tells me the truth.”

You wanted him.

And Viktor had never been a man to deny himself what he was owed.

“This?” Viktor’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel, his accent thickened by hunger. His cock dragged against your drenched slit, separated only by the thin barrier of his uniform. The friction sent a delicious, maddening shock through your core. Your fingers clenched against the table’s edge, your body betraying you with a whimpering shudder.

Viktor chuckled—low, dark, victorious.

“You shiver beneath me, yet pretend resistance.”

His metal hand traced the inside of your thigh, a cold contrast to the burning heat pooling between them.

“Perhaps you need further convincing?”

The next grind of his hips sent wetness spilling onto the coarse fabric of his pants. He growled, feeling it—evidence of your surrender smearing against his clothed length. 

“I feel you” he breathed, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Soaking me like a little whore, yet still you tremble?”

Your breath caught as his gloved fingers found your clit again, this time with no patience, no teasing—just ruthless, practiced intent. He pressed firm circles against the swollen bud, his gaze locked onto yours, drinking in every twitch, every sharp inhale, every helpless little jerk of your hips.

“Such a delicate thing,” Viktor mused. “So easily unraveled.”

You tried to close your legs against the intensity, but his metal grip shot out, forcing you apart again.

“No,” he snapped, voice sharp. “You will take everything I give.”

Your thighs trembled in his hold.

“Yes,” he purred, drinking in your helplessness. “That’s it. Good girl.”

The praise was nearly mocking, but your body reacted anyway, a fresh wave of slick dripping down your folds.

“Ahh—look at this mess.” Viktor’s gloved hand slipped lower, his fingers spreading you open. Inspecting. “Do you see? Your body betrays you. It begs me to ruin you.”

Your walls clenched around nothing, desperate and aching.

“Hnn—Viktor—”

A sharp slap against your clit made you yelp, the sting sharp and deliciously cruel.

“Try again.” His voice was soft, but the command beneath it was undeniable.

“Please,” you gasped, back arching, hips rolling against his fingers.

Viktor hummed in approval, his metal hand moving to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze onto him.

“Good girl.”

Then—he moved.

Your world tilted as he flipped you onto your stomach in one motion, your chest pressing against the cold metal of his worktable. His hand pushed down on your back, arching you, forcing you to present yourself.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pulling his belt slowly, the leather hissing through the loops. The sound made your breath stutter—anticipation spiking through your veins.

“Do you know how long I have waited for this?”

A sharp tug and his pants dropped just enough to free his cock, the thick length pressing against your soaked entrance.

Your nails scraped against the table, your body tensing in anticipation.

“Do you know,” Viktor continued, his tip teasing, rubbing against your swollen folds, “how many nights I have imagined you like this? Bent over, begging for me?”

The desperation clawed at your throat.

“Viktor—please—”

His metal hand snapped up, gripping your throat, arching you back against his chest.

“Shhh.” He kissed the corner of your jaw, his cockhead pressing just against your fluttering entrance.

“Do not rush me.”

And then—he pushed in.

Your breath broke into a strangled cry as Viktor pushed inside, his cock splitting you open with an unrelenting, slow precision. The stretch was intense, bordering on unbearable—your walls clenched instinctively, trying to accommodate him, but he was thick, every inch of him sinking into you with a maddening patience.

“Aww” he cooed, his metal hand tightening around your throat. His lips dragged against the shell of your ear, his breath hot, teasing. “You can take it. I know you can.”

Your fingers scrabbled against the table, seeking purchase, something to ground yourself against the overwhelming intrusion. He was so deep, pressing against something achingly tender, and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

“You are squeezing me so tight..” Viktor groaned, his free hand spreading your ass, watching the way your pretty cunt struggled to take him. His hips rolled, shallow thrusts, forcing you to stretch little by little.

“V-Viktor—” You whimpered, your body trembling, torn between pleasure and torment.

“Hnn, yes—say my name,” he murmured, his tongue flicking against your sweat-damp skin. His hand slid down, pressing against your lower belly, feeling the way his cock bulged inside you.

“So small,” he mused, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest. “So tight around me.”

His hips drew back, and for a brief, blissful second, you thought he might ease up—

But then, he slammed forward.

The force sent a sharp shockwave through your body, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as he buried himself to the hilt. 

“Ahhh—!”

“There it is,” Viktor growled, his fingers gripping your waist, holding you in place as he pulled back and drove in again.

Again.

Again. 

“You take me so well,” he purred, his voice thick with praise and possession. “Like you were made for this—made for me.”

His pace quickened, brutal and merciless, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every deep thrust. Your toes curled, your back arching, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the dimly lit workshop.

“So desperate,” Viktor mused, his metal hand gripping your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his teeth to scrape against your exposed throat.

“Your body begs me to ruin it.”

You cried out, your fingers curling, your walls clenching down around him too hard—

“Ah” Viktor hissed, his grip tightening as he slammed into you harder, rougher. “You think I will let you come so easily?”

His fingers abandoned your throat, slipping down to your aching clit, circling, taunting.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “Tell me who owns you.”

Your mind spun, every nerve in your body on fire. The pressure built, coiling so tight, so intense, you thought you might break apart—

“Say it.”

“Y-you—Viktor—!”

His pace faltered, just for a moment—like the words had satisfied something dark inside him.

Then—he fucked into you harder.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, his breath coming in ragged groans. His movements grew sloppy, more desperate, his fingers still tormenting your clit.

“Now—come for me.”

The command sent you spiraling.

Your body locked up, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed into you, waves of blinding, raw pleasure tearing through every inch of you. Your walls spasmed, milking his cock, your cries broken, breathless.

“Yes—yes, that’s it,” Viktor groaned, his own rhythm stuttering, faltering—

And then—he buried himself deep, his hips jerking as he spilled inside you.

A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, his body shuddering against yours as he filled you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

His grip eased, his breathing heavy against your skin. For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the workshop the erratic pounding of your hearts.

Then—Viktor let out a low chuckle, his hands trailing over your trembling body.

“I knew you would break for me,” he murmured.

His cock twitched, still half-hard inside you.

“But I am not done yet.”

Chapter Text

Ask: Hello~!

There is one thing I need and that's Viktor's head on my chest, you know, imagine he came from work all tired and stressed and then reader is there, waiting for him with dinner ready and before sleep she holds him all lovingly and rest his head between her breasts and he just lay there between consciousness and sleepiness, holding and toying with her boobs just because they're squishy and warm 💕

✰⍣..𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)

The apartment was quiet, bathed in the warm amber glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the walls. A gentle breeze filtered through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of Piltover’s bustling streets, but here… here, in this little sanctuary you’d built together, it was peaceful.

You stood in the kitchen, carefully ladling hot soup into two ceramic bowls, the comforting aroma of herbs and roasted vegetables filling the air. A fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the oven, sat on the counter, and you’d set the table with care—nothing extravagant, just a soft candle and folded napkins, the kind of touch that made a house feel like a home.

Viktor was late again.

You’d stopped worrying about it, not because you didn’t care, but because this was his rhythm—long hours at the lab, his brilliant mind always burning, pushing the boundaries of science. But no matter how caught up he got in his work, he always came home to you. Always.

As if on cue, the faint, familiar sound of his key turning in the lock reached your ears. You glanced up, wiping your hands on a dish towel, a soft smile already forming. The door creaked open, and there he was—Viktor, framed in the doorway, exhaustion clinging to him like a heavy coat.

His coat was half-off his shoulders, his gait a little slower than usual as he leaned on his cane. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of long hours and little rest, but when his gaze found yours, something in him seemed to loosen.

“You’re home,” you said softly, stepping forward to meet him.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am,” he murmured, voice rough with fatigue, as though the very act of speaking took effort.

You closed the distance between you, hands coming to rest gently on his arms. “Long day?”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You could say that.”

“Come,” you whispered, guiding him toward the kitchen. “I made dinner. You need to eat.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but the warmth of your touch and the promise of food seemed to sap the fight from him. He allowed himself to be led, sinking into a chair with a soft sigh, leaning his cane against the wall.

You set a bowl of soup in front of him, along with a thick slice of bread, and watched as he ate—slowly, methodically, like someone too tired to fully engage but aware that his body needed the nourishment.

He didn’t say much, but his free hand found yours on the table, his thumb stroking absently over your knuckles, grounding himself with your touch.

When the meal was finished, you cleared the dishes, gently brushing off his mumbled attempts to help. “Go lie down,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Viktor didn’t argue. That, more than anything, told you how drained he was.

By the time you joined him in the bedroom, he was already half-undressed, his shirt discarded on the floor, leaving him in just his trousers. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees, staring down at the floor as though he couldn’t quite summon the energy to move.

Wordlessly, you climbed onto the bed behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his bare back. His skin was warm, his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“Come here,” you whispered, tugging gently until he let himself be pulled back into your arms, into bed.

He all but collapsed against you, his head finding its natural place—nestled between your breasts, the softness of you cradling him like something sacred. You settled back against the pillows, one arm draped loosely around his shoulders, the other threading through his tousled hair, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp.

A soft, shuddering sigh escaped him, and you felt him melt, the tension bleeding out of his body as he let himself be held.

“Mm…” he murmured, already half-lost to that warm, hazy place between wakefulness and sleep. “You are very soft.”

You smiled, tracing slow circles along his back with your fingertips. “I know.”

His arm came around your waist, pulling you just that fraction closer, and his hand found its familiar place—resting gently over one of your chest, his fingers splayed, warm and absentmindedly toying with the flesh there.

It wasn’t sexual. Not really. It was comfort, a ritual you’d both fallen into without ever really discussing it.

“You do this every time,” you teased softly, your voice a lazy murmur.

“Can you blame me?” His voice was thick with sleep, muffled against your skin. “They are… very pleasant.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up, and you felt the corners of his lips curve into a small, lazy smile against your chest.

“Mm,” he hummed, giving a gentle, idle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, hypnotic circles. “Warm… and soft…”

You could feel him slipping, his body growing heavier, breaths slower.

“You work too hard,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

A soft sound of agreement rumbled in his chest, but there was no fight in him, not now, not when he was so thoroughly enveloped in you, your warmth, your scent, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

“You should sleep,” you murmured, your fingers still moving through his hair.

“I am sleeping,” he whispered back, though the smile in his voice betrayed him.

A few more minutes passed like that—quiet, warm, intimate. His hand grew heavier, his touch slowing until it was just the faintest, unconscious brush of his fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered, so softly you almost missed it, like a secret meant only for the space between your heartbeats.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, holding him just a little tighter.

And there, with his head resting on your chest, the sound of your heart in his ear, Viktor finally let the world go.

Chapter Text

Ask: i keep reading jayce and his stupid big dick pleaseee write more if you can its so hot🧎🧎🧎 i don't see enough of dom jayce🙏🏻

(no pressure if you don't feel like it!!!♡ i love the way you write btw!♡♡♡♡♡)

⇢𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞(𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬), 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

Jayce had been fuming all night.

You had seen the way his jaw locked, the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides, the way his golden-brown eyes darkened every time someone looked at you for too long.

It didn't matter that you had done nothing wrong.

It didn't matter that you weren't flirting.

To Jayce, it was enough.

So now?

Now you're face-down on the mattress, legs spread wide, your ass up in the air, completely at his mercy.

And fuck- he wasn’t being gentle. 

His thick cock slams into you from behind, stretching you open, his hands digging into your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you. The wet slap of his skin against yours fills the room, filthy and obscene, your slick dripping down your thighs, making a mess of the sheets.

"You think this pussy belongs to anyone but me?" he growls against your ear, his voice low, rough, vibrating with jealousy.

"T-thought you could just bat your pretty little lashes and have every guy in the room eating out of your fucking hand?"

You sob, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your body rocking forward with every brutal thrust, every stroke hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

"J-Jayce-ohhh, f-fuck—"

"Yeah? You like that, baby?" he mocks, his grip tightening, forcing you to take him deeper, harder.

"Like being reminded exactly who this pussy belongs to?"

You can't even speak, can't even breathe, your mouth hanging open, your moans breaking into breathless sobs as he pounds into you, fucking you like he's trying to fuck the memory of every other man out of your head.

"You're so fucking tight, baby-fuck-squeezing my cock like you were made for me," he groans, his fingers bruising into your skin, his pace relentless.

"This is mine. This pretty little cunt? Fucking mine."

You're completely wrecked, your body shaking, your thighs trembling violently, your pussy soaked, fluttering around his cock, dragging him deeper with every thrust.

"Ohhh, fuck-Jayce-s'too much-s'too deep-"

"Too deep?" he laughs breathlessly, mocking, pressing a big hand between your shoulder blades, shoving your face down into the mattress, pinning you down.

"Nah, baby. You can take it."

His cock drives into you, filling you to the brim, stretching you so fucking wide you can't even think.

"This is what you wanted, huh?" he grunts, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing tight circles against your swollen, aching clit.

"Wanted me to get jealous so l'd fuck you stupid, make you feel me?"

You wail, your whole body clenching, your nails digging into the sheets as the pleasure piles up too fast, too hard, too much

"J-Jayce-ohhh, f-fuck-g-gonna cum—"

"Yeah, baby?" he grins, grinding his cock deeper, dragging out your pleasure, making it impossible to hold back.

"Then do it. Fucking cum for me. Let me feel it."

And fuck-

Your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave, your pussy clamping down so tight around him that Jayce groans, his own thrusts faltering.

Your body shakes, convulses, pleasure surging through you like a fucking current, your walls milking his cock, squeezing him so tight he nearly collapses on top of you.

"Ohhh, f-fuck-shit, baby—"

Jayce snarls, slamming into you one last time, his hips grinding deep as he spills inside you, filling you up, stuffing you full of thick, hot cum.

"Take it, sweetheart," he grunts, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his hands still gripping your hips, holding you still.

"Take all of it."

His cock throbs inside you, pulse after pulse of heat flooding your already wrecked pussy, dripping out around his shaft.

He stays there, panting, wrecked, his body still trembling against yours. His fingers stroke lazily down your spine, warm, possessive.

Then, finally, he pulls out, watching as his cum spills out of you, thick and messy, pooling between your thighs.

Jayce groans, his fingers spreading your folds, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, watching you shudder.

"Mmm, can't have you wasting it, baby," he murmurs, grinning against your shoulder, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss there.

You whimper, your body still shaking, still sensitive, still completely spent.

"I wasn't even flirting, Jayce-"

He just chuckles, grabbing your ass, giving it a sharp smack that makes you yelp.

"Doesn't matter," he hums, his breath hot against your ear.

"This pussy still needed a fucking reminder of who it belongs to."

Jayce should be done.

He should be satisfied, spent, exhausted-he just came so fucking hard inside you, stuffing you full, filling you up, marking you in every way possible.

But fuck— One look at the mess he made of you, his cum leaking out of your swollen, wrecked pussy, and he's already hard again.

You're still face-down on the mattress, your legs trembling, your body twitching with aftershocks, your pussy still fluttering from how hard he fucked you.

And Jayce?

Jayce just grins, pressing slow, possessive kisses along the backs of your thighs.

"Mmm, baby, you look so fucking good like this," he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the cum dripping out of you, spreading it along your inner thighs.

"So messy. So fucking pretty."

You whimper, still too sensitive, your body still shaking, but Jayce doesn't give you time to recover.

Instead, he grabs your hips, flips you onto your back, and dives in.

The first drag of his tongue over your overstimulated pussy makes you scream.

"Ohhh-fuck, Jayce-s'too much-"

"Shhh, baby," he hums, his big hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing them flat against the mattress.

"You can take it."

You sob, your back arching off the sheets as his tongue laps up the mess he made of you, slow and lazy at first, just enough to make you twitch, whimper, gasp.

"Mmm, fuck," he groans, his breath hot against your soaked, throbbing cunt, his tongue teasing along your folds, swirling around your sensitive clit.

"Tasting myself on you? Fucking filthy."

You can barely breathe, barely think, your hands tangling in his messy brown hair, trying to push him away, pull him closer-you don't even fucking know.

"J-Jayce-ohhh, f-fuck—please-"

"Please what, baby?" he murmurs, grinning against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you spread wide for him.

"You want me to stop?"

"N-no-fuck-don't stop, don't stop”

Jayce just chuckles, burying his face between your thighs, his tongue flicking out, dragging a slow, messy lick up your slit.

"Mmm, that's my girl," he hums, lapping at the slick, drinking down the taste of you mixed with his cum, groaning at how fucking good it is.

"So fucking sweet. Soaked for me."

He's starving for it.

His tongue works you open, licking up every drop, lapping at the mess between your legs, sucking on your swollen clit just to hear you sob.

Your thighs shake around his head, your hands gripping his hair, pulling, tugging, your body rocking against his mouth.

"Ohhh-fuck, fuck-Jayce—"

"That's it, baby," he groans, his voice muffled, breath heavy, hot, desperate.

"Grind that pretty little pussy against my face. Use me."

You whimper, your legs twitching, your back arching off the bed, your body so overstimulated it hurts, but it feels so fucking good you can't stop.

"O-ohhh-fuck-s'too much-I can't” 

"Yes, you can," he growls, shoving his tongue deeper, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

"Come on, baby. Cum on my tongue."

The second he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, your whole body snaps.

Your thighs squeeze his head, your nails claw at his scalp, your breath shatters into a scream as your orgasm slams into you, harder than before, overwhelming, drowning you in white-hot pleasure.

"F-fuck-fuck-Jayce, ohhh-ohhh, god-JAYCE-"

Jayce just moans against your pussy, his tongue still flicking, lapping, milking every drop out of you, swallowing it down like he's fucking addicted.

By the time he finally pulls away, panting, his chin soaked, his lips swollen, his eyes glazed over with hunger-

You're wrecked.

Your body is shaking, your legs twitching, your breath still uneven, your pussy still throbbing.

And Jayce?

Jayce just grins, licking his lips, dragging two thick fingers through the cum and slick still dripping from your pussy.

"Mmm, look at that, baby," he murmurs, pressing his fingers inside you, curling them deep just to hear you whimper.

"Still so messy for me."

You whimper, your body too sensitive, too overstimulated, still trembling.

"J-Jayce-fuck, I c-can't—"

"Shhh, baby," he hums, dragging his fingers out, sucking them into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

"You can."

He smirks, crawling back up your body, pressing his cock-already hard again-against your soaked, ruined cunt.

"And you will."

You know he's not letting you sleep anytime soon.

Chapter Text

Ask: 7 minutes in heaven with jayce or viktor (whatever you feel like writing tbh) ×reader they've had a crush on for the longest time🙏🙏❤️ (whenever you find time tho, no hurry)

⇢𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧/ 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐦/ 𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤/ 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 (𝐦/𝐦/𝐟), 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝟕 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 (𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲). 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐅 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 (´ ω `♡)

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

Jayce Talis had been obsessed with you for years. It was pathetic, really—the way he watched you when he thought no one noticed, the way he’d get tongue-tied whenever you so much as leaned too close. He was a genius, a rising star of Piltover, but when it came to you? He was nothing but a desperate, needy mess.

And now, by some twisted stroke of luck, he was locked in a closet with you for seven whole minutes.

The air between you was thick, the only light coming from the thin crack beneath the door. You were so damn close—his broad frame nearly caging you against the wall, the scent of your perfume intoxicating him.

“You’re awfully quiet, Talis,” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement. “What, nervous?”

His jaw tensed. “No.” A bold-faced lie.

You smirked, stepping forward until your body barely brushed against his. “You sure?”

Jayce swallowed hard, his cock already throbbing against his pants. The way your voice dropped into something sultry, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt—it was fucking torture.

“You know,” you murmured, reaching up to trail your fingers along his jaw, “I always wondered when you’d finally snap.”

His breath hitched. “What?”

“Jayce.” Your nails scratched lightly against his skin, making him shudder. “I know.”

His heart stopped. You knew.

You knew how he watched you. How he fisted his cock late at night, imagining your perfect fucking lips wrapped around it. How he ached for you every time you teased him, every time you touched his arm or leaned in too close.

And now, you were looking at him like you wanted to ruin him.

“Fuck,” he rasped.

You laughed, low and sultry, before grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him down into a kiss.

Jayce lost it.

Years of restraint shattered as his hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging in hard as he pressed you against the wall, his tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, desperate kiss. He was already rock-hard, his thick cock straining against his pants as he rutted against your thigh, groaning at the friction.

You moaned into his mouth, nails raking down his back. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” he growled, grabbing your ass and grinding against you, letting you feel just how fucking hard he was.

Your breath hitched. “Fuck.”

Jayce wasted no time. His hands shoved up your skirt, rough fingers sliding over your soaked panties. “Goddamn, you’re dripping.” He groaned, pressing a thick finger against your clothed slit, feeling how warm and slippery you were. “All this for me?”

“Been wanting this for so long,” you admitted, gasping as he pushed your panties aside. “Jayce—”

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, fingers teasing your slick folds, brushing over your swollen clit. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your fingers.” Your voice was breathless. “Inside me. Now.”

“Fuck.” He shoved two thick fingers inside your tight little pussy without hesitation, groaning as you clenched around him. “Shit, baby—you’re so tight.”

You whimpered, gripping his shoulders as he pumped his fingers into you, slow and deep, stretching you open. His thumb found your clit, circling it in tight little motions that made your legs shake.

“Jayce—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“That’s it,” he rasped, curling his fingers just right. “Come for me.”

You gasped, legs trembling as pleasure crashed over you, your cunt tightening around his fingers as you came all over his hand. Jayce groaned, watching you fall apart, his cock twitching in his pants.

But he wasn’t done.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was yanking his belt open, shoving his pants and briefs down just enough to free his aching, heavy cock.

You stared.

He was big—thick, flushed, leaking precum from the tip. Your mouth practically watered.

“You gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?” Jayce rasped, stroking himself as he lined up with your entrance. “Or do you wanna keep teasing me?”

“Fuck me, Jayce,” you begged, gripping his shirt. “Please.”

That was all it took.

Jayce sank into you in one deep, brutal thrust, punching a moan straight from your lungs. “Shit—” He gritted his teeth, barely holding on as your tight, wet pussy clenched around him. “So fucking tight, baby.”

“God—Jayce—” Your nails dug into his shoulders as he started pounding into you, hips snapping hard and fast, each thrust shoving you against the wall. The closet was small, the air hot and stifling, but all you could feel was him.

The thick drag of his cock, the way his fingers bruised your hips, the filthy wet sounds of him fucking you.

“Always wanted this,” Jayce groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck—dreamed about this—dreamed about filling this pretty little pussy up, making you mine.”

“Yours—I’m yours—” You were delirious, drunk off his cock, every deep stroke hitting that perfect fucking spot inside you.

“Yeah?” His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “Then come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”

You screamed, body locking up as pleasure tore through you, your pussy fluttering around his thick cock. Jayce snapped, groaning as he fucked you through it, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate—

“Fuck—gonna come—”

“Inside, Jayce—inside me—”

“Shit—” His hips slammed against yours one last time before he groaned, cock twitching as he spilled deep inside you, filling you up with thick, hot ropes of cum.

The aftershocks left you trembling, your head resting against his chest as you both tried to catch your breath.

Then— A loud knock on the door.

“Times up, lovebirds!”

Jayce froze. You laughed, breathless and utterly ruined. “Guess we lost track of time.”

Jayce groaned, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck before slowly pulling out, watching his cum drip down your thighs.

“Fuck.” His voice was rough, dark eyes locked onto the mess he’d made. “You look so fucking good like this.”

You smirked, fixing your skirt. “Your room. Twenty minutes.”

Jayce exhaled sharply. Oh, this was far from over.

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

Viktor had never been a good man. Not in the way Piltover defined it, at least. He was patient, calculating, and often selfish in his pursuits. But when it came to you? That patience was razor-thin.

You—his closest friend, his greatest distraction. You, who had tormented him for years with teasing touches, playful flirtation, and those damn lingering glances. He’d endured it, pushing down every filthy thought, every moment of weakness where he wanted to ruin you.

And now? Now, you were both locked in a closet for seven minutes.

The game had started as a joke—a ridiculous, childish thing played by scholars who had drunk too much. Viktor hadn’t planned on participating. But when your hand rested on his thigh under the table, fingers barely skimming over the fabric of his pants, he knew.

You wanted to play.

And fate, it seemed, was cruelly kind. The bottle had landed on him.

So here you were, crammed in a dark, narrow space, your body pressed against his.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his cane resting against the wall as he loomed over you, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You planned this, didn’t you?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous.

You smirked. “Maybe.”

His lips curled, something dark settling in his gaze. “Brat.”

You didn’t have time to retort before his hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you against the wall. Not tight—just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Viktor—”

“You have been playing a very dangerous game.” His accent thickened, voice dripping with amusement as his thumb pressed just under your jaw. “Did you think I would not notice?”

Your pulse raced. “And if I did?”

He chuckled, a dark, wicked sound. “Then you are a fool.”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was rough, claiming, his teeth nipping at your lips as his free hand tore at your skirt, pushing it up until your bare thighs were exposed to the cool air.

You moaned against his mouth, fingers twisting into his shirt. “Fuck—Viktor—”

“Shh, dear.” His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your panties, brushing over your already-soaked slit. He let out a sharp breath, amusement flickering in his eyes. “So wet already? How desperate you must be.”

You whined, hips bucking against his hand. “Don’t tease me.”

He smirked. “Ah, but teasing you is so fun.”

But despite his words, he slipped two fingers inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your head fell back against the wall as he filled you, his fingers long and dexterous, curling just right. “Viktor—fuck—”

He hummed, watching your face with fascination as he worked you open, thrusting deep, pressing his palm against your clit with every slow roll of his wrist. “Look at you, falling apart already.”

You bit your lip, grinding down against his hand. “Please—”

“Please, what?” His tone was mocking, his fingers stilling inside you. “Use your words”

You glared at him. “Fuck me.”

His smile was sharp. “Good girl.”

And then he pulled his fingers out, shoving them past your lips before you could protest. “Suck.”

You whimpered, your tongue swirling around the digits coated in your slick. Viktor’s eyes darkened, his breathing turning ragged as he watched you obey.

“So eager,” he murmured, his free hand working his belt open, the soft clink echoing in the small space. “Let us see if you can take me as well as you take my fingers.”

Your thighs trembled as he pulled himself free, his cock thick and flushed, the tip leaking with precum.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your hands against the wall as he yanked your panties down to your knees.

“Good girl,” Viktor praised, his hand gliding down your spine before gripping your hip. “Now, stay still.”

And then he thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck—!” Your cry was muffled against your arm, your walls stretching around his cock. He was big—(not as thick as Jayce), but long, hitting spots so deep it made your legs shake.

“Shh, dear” His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you up, forcing you to arch. “Do you want them to hear?”

You moaned as he rolled his hips, his pace slow, teasing. “Maybe I do.”

Viktor chuckled. “Of course you do, little slut.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, slamming into you so deep it punched the air from your lungs.

“Viktor—!”

“That is it,” he groaned, his grip on your hip bruising as he fucked into you, deep and sharp, every thrust sending you higher. “You feel so fucking good—so tight—”

Your nails scraped against the wall, your body rocking from the force of his thrusts. “Harder—fuck—please—”

He growled, yanking you back against him, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place as he pounded into you. “So greedy,” he muttered against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Taking me so well—you want my cum, hm? Want me to fill this pretty little cunt?”

You shuddered. “Yes—fuck—inside—”

His pace stuttered. “Ah—fuck.” His hand slipped between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in tight little circles. “Come for me—let me feel you.”

That was all it took.

You cried out, your walls clamping down around him as your orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and blinding. Viktor groaned, thrusting once, twice more before he spilled inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

Your body slumped against him, your breathing ragged, your mind foggy.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then— A loud knock.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!”

Viktor huffed a laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder before slowly pulling out. He groaned as he watched his cum drip down your thighs, his thumb swiping through the mess before pushing it back inside you.

“Mm,” he hummed. “We must do this again sometime.”

You smirked over your shoulder. “Your room. Twenty minutes.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, a grin tugging at his lips.

“You read my mind.”

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

This game had been a bad idea.

It had started as nothing more than a joke—a childish game of Seven Minutes in Heaven among drunken scholars, fueled by too much wine and reckless decisions. Jayce had participated reluctantly, Viktor even more so, but you?

You had been waiting for this.

Because you knew.

You knew how Jayce watched you when he thought you weren’t looking, his hands twitching at his sides every time your skirts rode up just a little too high. You knew how Viktor’s golden eyes lingered when you spoke, how his voice would drop to something dangerous whenever you teased him.

You knew, and you wanted to break them.

And fate had given you exactly what you wanted.

Because when the bottle spun? It landed on both of them.

The room had erupted with laughter and teasing, but all you could focus on was the way both of them looked at you—Jayce’s mouth slightly open, his pupils blown wide, and Viktor’s smirk curling at the edges, like he already knew what you were thinking.

Now, in the cramped, dark closet, pressed between both of them, you could feel the tension.

“This is unfair,” Jayce muttered, his breath hot against your ear. “How the fuck are we supposed to do this?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways,” Viktor mused, his voice thick with amusement as his fingers brushed along your hip. “Unless you are too afraid, Talis?”

Jayce huffed. “Fuck you.”

“Mm,” Viktor chuckled. “I think you will find she is the one getting fucked tonight.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Then, as if some unspoken agreement had been made, they moved.

Jayce grabbed your chin, tilting your head up before crashing his lips against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you. His hands were rough, gripping your waist, pulling you back against his broad chest.

You barely had time to moan into the kiss before Viktor’s hands were lifting your skirt, his fingers sliding between your thighs.

“Already wet,” Viktor murmured, his breath ghosting against your neck as he dragged a single finger over your soaked panties. “How needy you must be.”

Jayce groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening. “She fucking loves this,” he muttered, grinding his cock against your ass, already hard and aching. “Look at her—barely even touched and already dripping.”

You whimpered, your head falling back against Jayce’s chest as Viktor’s fingers pushed your panties aside, his touch featherlight, teasing.

“Don’t tease her,” Jayce growled. “Give her what she wants.”

Viktor laughed. “Impatient as always.”

And then he thrust two fingers inside you.

“Fuck—!” Your cry was muffled as Jayce swallowed your moan, his tongue sliding against yours in a desperate, messy kiss.

Viktor’s fingers worked you open, slow but relentless, curling just right, pressing against that perfect fucking spot that had your thighs trembling.

“She clenches around my fingers so nicely,” Viktor mused, his voice thick with amusement. “Imagine how she will feel around your cock, Talis.”

Jayce groaned, rutting against you like he was barely holding himself back. “Jesus, Viktor—”

“Shh, patience,” Viktor murmured, his free hand reaching for Jayce’s wrist, guiding it between your legs. “Touch her.”

Jayce’s breath hitched.

Then his fingers were there—thick and calloused, pressing against your swollen clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as Viktor continued to fuck you with his fingers.

You shattered.

Your legs shook, a broken moan slipping past your lips as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls fluttering around Viktor’s fingers.

But they weren’t done.

Jayce growled, grabbing you and spinning you around before pressing you up against the closet wall.

“I need to fuck you,” he rasped, his hands tearing at his belt. “Right fucking now.”

You barely had time to nod before he was lifting one of your legs around his waist, his thick, aching cock rubbing against your soaked entrance.

“Jayce—fuck—”

“I got you, baby,” he muttered before slamming into you.

“Fuck—!”

Jayce filled you, stretching you wide, every thick inch forcing a cry from your throat. He barely gave you time to adjust before he started moving, his pace rough and brutal.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, slamming you down onto his cock with every thrust. “Been wanting this for so long—fuck—”

“You should see her, Viktor,” he rasped. “Look at her—taking my cock so fucking well.”

Viktor hummed, his golden eyes burning as he watched you come undone.

Then he reached out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed.

Viktor smirked before spitting onto your tongue.

You moaned, your cunt clenching around Jayce’s cock as you swallowed.

“Good girl,” Viktor murmured, his fingers stroking your cheek. “Perhaps next time, you will be stuffed from both ends.”

Jayce groaned, his hips snapping faster. “Fuck—gonna come—”

“Inside,” Viktor ordered. “Fill her up, Talis.”

Jayce snapped, thrusting deep before spilling inside you, thick ropes of cum filling your already-soaked cunt.

But Viktor wasn’t done.

“Bend her over,” Viktor ordered. “It is my turn.”

Jayce grinned, pulling out before flipping you around, pressing your cheek against the wall. “You can take it don’t worry” 

Viktor was ruthless.

Where Jayce had been all heat and desperation, fucking you like he’d been starving for you, Viktor was calculated. Precise. He took his time, making sure you felt every inch of him as he pushed deep inside your already-fucked, cum-filled cunt.

“Look at you,” Viktor murmured, his fingers digging into your hips as he bottomed out. “So full of Talis’ cum, and still begging for more.”

You whimpered, your cheek pressed against the wall, nails scraping at the wooden surface as he rolled his hips, dragging his cock almost completely out before slamming back in.

“Fuck—!”

Behind you, Viktor chuckled darkly. “Such pretty sounds.” His grip on your hips tightened. “Let us see what other noises you can make.”

And then he fucked you.

Deep, slow thrusts that made your legs shake, your overstimulated walls fluttering around his cock. Each stroke was precise, his length hitting that perfect fucking spot inside you, over and over.

“Shit—she’s squeezing you so tight,” Jayce muttered, his breath hot against your cheek. “Bet she’s still dripping from my cum, huh?”

Viktor groaned, his hands sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to arch you deeper. “She is greedy,” he mused, his pace never faltering. “So eager to be filled.”

Jayce hummed, his hands sliding down to spread your ass, watching as Viktor’s cock disappeared into your soaked, messy cunt. “Goddamn, look at her,” he rasped. “Taking it so well.”

You whimpered, your entire body burning, overstimulated and desperate for more. “Please—”

Jayce smirked. “Please what, baby?”

“More—fuck—please—”

Viktor chuckled, his fingers tangling in your hair before yanking your head back. “More? Are you sure?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“Talis,” Viktor said, his golden eyes dark with something wicked. “Give her something for her mouth.”

Jayce’s grin widened. “Oh, I love that idea.”

Before you could process it, Jayce was tilting your chin up, his cock already hard again, leaking precum from the tip.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing himself against your swollen lips. “Be a good girl and suck.”

Your cunt clenched around Viktor’s cock as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting Jayce slide inside.

“Fuck—just like that—” Jayce groaned as he pushed deeper, his fingers tangling in your hair.

Viktor grinned. “She takes you well, does she not?”

“Too well,” Jayce rasped, watching as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him down to the base. “Shit—”

Viktor’s pace picked up, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, the wet, filthy sounds of your cunt getting fucked and your mouth being used filling the small closet.

“You were made for this,” Viktor groaned, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he slammed into you, his cock coated in Jayce’s cum. “A perfect little toy for us to ruin.”

You whimpered around Jayce’s cock, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you took it.

“That’s it, baby,” Jayce groaned, his grip on your hair tightening. “Fuck—feels so good—”

Viktor wasn’t far behind. His thrusts were turning sloppy, his breath ragged as your walls clenched around him, milking him. “You want it agai?” he rasped. “Want me to fill you up like Talis did?”

You moaned around Jayce, your entire body trembling as another orgasm built inside you.

“Fuck, I think she does,” Jayce laughed, feeling the way your throat vibrated around him. “Go on, Viktor—fill her up. Let’s see how much she can take.”

Viktor snapped, his hips slamming against yours one last time before he groaned, spilling deep inside you, adding to the filthy mess already dripping down your thighs.

The feeling of it—the warmth, the fullness—sent you over the edge.

Your entire body tensed as your orgasm ripped through you, your cunt fluttering, squeezing every last drop from Viktor as you whined around Jayce’s cock.

“Fuck—fuck—” Jayce groaned, his hips jerking as he spilled down your throat. “Take it all, sweetheart—fuck—”

You swallowed every drop, your body still shaking as the aftershocks wrecked you.

For a moment, the three of you just breathed, the only sounds in the closet heavy gasps and the filthy wet noises of your bodies still pressed together.

Then—A loud knock on the door.

“Times up, lovebirds!”

Jayce snorted, still breathless. “Yeah, no shit.”

Viktor hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your spine before slowly pulling out, watching his cum drip from your thoroughly-fucked pussy. “What a mess,” he murmured. “I do hope you plan on cleaning her up, Talis.”

Jayce grinned, sliding a finger between your legs, collecting some of the mess before pressing it against your lips. “You gonna be good and lick it up, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, already opening your mouth to obey.

Viktor chuckled. “I think we shall need more than seven minutes next time.”

Jayce smirked. “Oh, I guarantee it.”

Chapter Text

Ask: hiii i have a request! could we get some pervert!jayce who stays up late at night touching himself to the thought of you? i wanna know what he fantasizes about ;__; 

thank you ily!!!

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞, 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧/ 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 ⇰ 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝/ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

It's late. The lab is empty, and he's alone-just him, his thoughts, and the unbearable ache between his legs. You left hours ago, but your presence lingers, burned into his brain, into his skin. 

The way you stretched before you left, arms above your head, spine arching just enough to make your shirt ride up. The sliver of bare skin, the subtle dip of your waist. The waistband of your pants sitting low, teasing him with just a hint of something lower.

You didn't even notice what you were doing to him. Didn't notice how he'd stopped mid-sentence, lips parting, gaze shamelessly trailing down your body.

Didn't notice the way his hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palm, the only thing keeping him from dragging you back and pressing you against his desk.

You'd smiled at him before walking away. Something simple, something casual. But it wrecked him. That fucking smile. Like you weren't the reason he was going to spend his entire night restless, hard, and frustrated.

Like you weren't going to be the reason he ends up here, in his chair, breath heavy, cock in his hand, pumping slow strokes because his mind won't let him think about anything else.

Like you hadn't just left him with an impossible craving, an ache so deep it burns, curling low in his stomach, making it impossible to think about anything but you.

His hand tightens, his thoughts spiral. He imagines you just like that, bare and waiting for him.

How easy it would be to pull you close, press his mouth to your stomach, kissing his way lower. How he'd peel your clothes off, watching the way your body shivers under his touch.

The sound you'd make when he finally drags his lips between your thighs, tasting you, groaning against your skin because you're better than he ever fucking imagined.

Would you be shy about it? Would you squirm under his gaze, cheeks burning as you try to press your thighs together? 

Or would you be bold, spreading them wider, teasing him with that wicked little smirk that drives him insane?

His grip on himself is rougher now, jerking faster, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths.

He groans at the thought of stretching you open, watching as you take him inch by inch. 

The way your legs would wrap around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him like you'd fall apart without him.

Your body rocking up against his, desperate, breathless. Your voice cracking when you whimper his name-"Jayce, please." 

Fuck, he wants to hear it. Wants to hear you beg for him, wants to make you desperate, make you so fucking needy that you can't think about anything but him.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you. He'd start slow, deep, making sure you feel every inch of him. He'd murmur against your lips, his voice rough, telling you how good you feel.

He'd push your legs further apart, watching the way your back arches, watching the way your mouth parts with every thrust.

And then he'd ruin you-gripping your hips, pounding into you, swallowing every gasp, every moan, every desperate sound you make.

He'd make you scream his name, make you sob from pleasure, make you come so hard you're shaking beneath him.

Would you be able to take it? Would you let him fuck you until you can't think, until you're wrecked and whimpering, begging him to stop because it's too much-but he knows you don't really want him to stop?

He's Close. Too Close. His strokes are faster, sharper, chasing the edge as his muscles tense. He groans, head tilting back, sweat beading along his brow.

His other hand grips the armrest, knuckles white as he imagines how tight you'd be, how perfect, how fucking good.

His name falling from your lips. The way you'd beg for more, for him. The way you'd look at him after, wrecked, ruined, utterly his. But fuck—he can't stop there. Not in his head. 

Would you let him take you again, even after the first time?

Would you let him flip you over, press your face into the pillows, pull your hips up and push himself back inside, even when you're still sensitive?

Would you let him fuck you like that—his hands gripping your waist, his weight pressing down against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he tells you how fucking perfect you are?

Would you let him come inside? Fill you up, let it drip out of you, let him push it back in with his fingers, his cock, keeping you full because you're his?

Would you let him keep going?

Would you take it? Would you let him wreck you completely?

And then he's gone. His breath stutters, his body tensing as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over his stomach.

He shudders through the aftershocks, his name still echoing in his head, your touch lingering like a phantom on his skin.

His heart pounds, his body lax, utterly spent—but his mind is still filled with you. Even as he cleans himself up, the heat still lingers.

Because tomorrow, he'll see you again.

And he already knows-he won't be able to stop thinking about you.

Chapter Text

Ask: I have just been having the worst (maybe best who knows) ideas about Viktor with a breeding kink.

Oh anon, you’ve just sent me into a spiral (≧◡≦)!! Viktor with a breeding kink?? Whispering in that sweet accent about keeping you full, making sure it takes… oh no, I’m doomed <33

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 

It starts the way most things do with Viktor—an observation, a hypothesis, a slow descent into obsession.

You noticed the shift in him before he did. The way his hands lingered on your hips longer than usual, the way his sharp golden eyes trailed down your body, calculating. Viktor has always been touch-starved, but this was different.

It wasn’t until one late night in the lab, when he had you pressed against the desk, your legs hooked over his forearm, that you heard the first slip of it.

“Look at you…” he murmured, his breath hot against your throat, each word thick with reverence. His hips snapped forward, slow and deep, pushing himself as far inside as he could reach. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you still, trapping you. “Taking me so well. So eager, hm? Such a perfect thing… meant to be filled.”

Your breath hitched, nails digging into his back as heat coiled in your belly. His words alone sent a shiver through you, a molten need pooling between your thighs.

“Viktor—”

“I wonder…” His pace quickened, just slightly, enough to make you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls. “If I keep you like this, over and over… would you swell with my child?”

Your moan was immediate, head falling back against the desk.

Viktor groaned, his grip on you tightening like a vice. “You like that, don’t you?” His voice was unsteady, broken with desire. “The thought of it—of carrying something we created?” His hand splayed over your lower belly possessively, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. “Mine.”

You clenched around him, and he felt it. The way you pulsed at his words, your body responding to the very idea.

His control snapped.

He gritted his teeth, a growl ripping from his throat as he buried himself as deep as he could go, his pace turning desperate. His breath came in short, needy pants against your ear, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I will make sure of it,” he whispered, voice raw with determination. “Again and again, until it takes.”

His thrusts became erratic, the sharp slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the lab. Every movement, every broken gasp was filled with intent—this wasn’t just pleasure, this was purpose.

His fingers tangled with yours, pinning your hands to the desk as he pushed, stretching you around him with every brutal roll of his hips.

“You will look beautiful like that,” he groaned, his voice dark, reverent. “Round, full of me… a true creation of science and love?”

Your body tensed, the coil inside you winding impossibly tight. The way he spoke—like he was designing the future with every thrust—sent you over the edge with a cry, your walls fluttering around him.

Viktor cursed, his body stiffening. His hips stuttered once, twice—then he was spilling inside you with a deep, shuddering groan, pressing himself flush against you like he could make it stay.

For a long moment, all you could hear was the ragged sound of your breaths mingling, the warmth of him settling deep inside you.

And then, Viktor let out a breathless chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“…We should do this again,” he mused, voice still heavy with exhaustion and something far more dangerous—satisfaction. His fingers traced lazy circles over your lower belly, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet possessiveness. “Just to be certain.”

And just like that, his obsession had a new purpose.

Chapter Text

Ask: What I wouldn’t give for more Viktor breeding kink… Maybe paired with the petite reader from before? I’m not projecting I swear, what would make you think that?-

Gosh, this is so hot <3 Viktor is a certified breeding kink enthusiast, no debate!! He’d be absolutely obsessed with how tiny you are compared to him, always pressing down on your tummy and murmuring about how well you’re taking him <3 Science?? Irrelevant. Filling you up is the real experiment <3

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐞! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 

Viktor wasn’t satisfied. Not even after fucking two thick, sticky loads into you, not even after watching them slowly leak out of your abused, swollen cunt, pooling between your trembling thighs. He should’ve been spent, but he wasn’t. Not when you were beneath him like this—so small, so soft, so utterly ruined and yet still taking everything he gave you.

His grip was firm, nearly possessive, as he held you down beneath him. His larger hands completely dwarfed your delicate wrists, pinning them above your head. His weight caged you in, pressing you deep into the mattress, making you feel just how much bigger he was. He could overpower you so easily—not that he had to. You let him do whatever he wanted. You always did.

“Look at you,” he rasped, amber eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they raked over your tiny, trembling frame. His voice was thick with desire, nearly breaking. “So small… yet taking me so well.”

His cock twitched inside you, still buried deep despite how impossibly full you already were. You whimpered at the sensation, at the way his cum was still warm inside, thick and sticky, seeping out in slow, obscene dribbles around his length. The mess was everywhere—slicking your thighs, smeared along his cock, soaking into the sheets beneath you. And yet—

“Not enough,” Viktor murmured, his rough fingers drifting down to your stomach, pressing teasingly just below your navel. His touch was light, barely there, but the pressure sent a deep, shivering heat curling through your core.

You gasped, legs twitching. He could feel himself inside you. He could see the faint swell beneath his hand, the way your tiny body struggled to accommodate all of him.

“V-Viktor,” you whimpered, squirming beneath him, but you had nowhere to go—not with how he had you pinned, trapped beneath the weight of his larger frame. Your thighs trembled as you tried to close them, but he stopped you easily, spreading them apart again, keeping you open for him.

His grip was bruising against the plush curve of your hips. “Ah-ah, none of that.” His voice was a low growl, half warning, half worship. “You’re not done yet.”

You whimpered again, your tiny hands pressing against his chest, barely able to push at him. But you were weak—too small, too fragile, too fucked out to do anything but take what he gave you. And he loved that.

“You can handle it,” he whispered, dragging his lips along the shell of your ear, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your throat. “I know you can.”

He pulled back, just enough to watch the way you stretched around him, your pretty, ruined hole fluttering as he dragged his cock out—slow, teasing—until only the tip remained. His cum leaked out in thick, warm dribbles, coating your thighs, pooling on the sheets. And then—

He slammed back in.

You wailed, tiny body jerking beneath him, nails clawing helplessly at his arms. The stretch was unbearable—too deep, too much—but it was so good, too, so fucking good.

“Shhh,” Viktor cooed, pressing another gentle kiss to your temple, so tender despite the way he was splitting you open. “Just a little more, hm?”

His pace was slow at first, deep and deliberate, pushing every last drop of his cum deeper inside you. He wasn’t satisfied until you were full—until he was sure you’d still feel him tomorrow, still leaking with proof of what he’d done to you.

And when you clenched around him again, tiny cries escaping your lips, he groaned, gripping your hips tighter, his voice trembling as he murmured against your skin. 

“One more.”

Because he wasn’t done. Not until you were truly, utterly ruined.

Chapter Text

Ask: I really love your Viktor and Jayce x petite reader request you had done! Can I request the same prompt for JayVik, Silco, and Ekko please?

synopsis: three filthy fucks with the most dangerous men in piltover and zaun — stretched open by jayce and viktor, spit-slick and ruined by silco, and bounced breathless on ekko’s lap ‘til your legs give out 

cw: fem! reader, explicit, petite! reader, threesome (mfm), oral (m receiving), gagging/ drooling/ spit, thigh riding, p in v penetration 

JayVik .𖥔 ݁ ˖

You’re flat on your stomach, legs spread just enough for Viktor to kneel between them. His hands are on your hips, cool skin working to guide you back into him as he grinds slow, deliberate circles against your ass. He’s not inside you yet — just letting the weight of his cock drag along your soaked folds, teasing you open with every rut of his hips.

You’re trembling already. You’ve got nowhere to go.

Jayce is in front of you, thighs spread wide, cock thick in your palm. He’s watching your mouth, barely breathing, one hand on the back of your head as he brushes your lips with the head of his cock. You’re small between them — ridiculously small — your belly flush to the mattress, mouth wet, cunt dripping, caught in the slow push-pull of Viktor’s hips and the heavy weight of Jayce in your palm.

“Open” Jayce says — low, not demanding, but knowing you will. And you do, lips parting as his cock drags across your tongue, slow and heavy. He pushes in until you gag, and your fingers twitch around the base, holding him as best you can while your mouth stretches wide.

Behind you, Viktor groans softly.

“Look at this“ he murmurs, dragging your hips back again so your cunt spreads open around the head of his cock. “Look at how easily she gives in.”

Jayce watches the way your jaw works to take him, the soft gag in your throat as you try to breathe through your nose, slick dripping from your pussy as Viktor finally notches in. It’s a slow stretch — you go tight and tense, your hips twitching as he eases in inch by inch, filling you without hurry. You let out a muffled, strangled sound around Jayce’s cock.

“Easy“ Viktor says, but his hands grip your hips harder. 

He’s deep by the time your voice breaks — nothing but a ragged little sob around Jayce’s cock as Viktor bottoms out, your cunt clenching down on him so tight it drags a hiss from his throat.

“Fuck, she’s—” Viktor cuts himself off, fucking into you with a shallow thrust. “Too much.”

“Let me see.” Jayce pulls out of your mouth and leans back, watching your hips as Viktor draws out and sinks in again. Your cunt clings to every inch of him, wet and stretched and flushed.

Jayce growls low, eyes flicking up to Viktor. “Switch.”

You barely register what’s happening before they move — Jayce hauling you into his lap like you weigh nothing, guiding your messy cunt down onto his cock in one slow push that has your back arching hard. You cry out — too full, too deep, stretched wide in his lap while he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you still.

Viktor sits in front of you now, flushed and breathing heavy, cock glistening in his hand as he watches your belly bulge slightly from the size of Jayce inside you.

Jayce grunts behind you, rolling his hips slow and thick. “You seeing this?”

Viktor nods, eyes fixed on your stomach. 

Jayce groans at that and drives in deeper, just to showcase it a bit more. 

You don’t know what you’re saying anymore — the noises you’re making aren’t words. You’re just twitching, drooling, caught between their hands and weight and mouths. Viktor leans in and cups your face, thumb tracing your lips as Jayce fucks you from beneath.

 Viktor feeds his cock to you — slow, careful, watching your eyes roll back when he slips into your mouth. You take it because there’s nothing else to do. You’re not even thinking anymore — just a soft, wet mess between them, your cunt pulsing around Jayce’s cock while your mouth works over Viktor’s, drool pooling at the corners of your lips.

“Fuck, just like that” Jayce groans, thrusts getting rougher, hands gripping tighter. “She’s close—feel that?”

Viktor is watching you, his thumb slipping into your mouth beside his cock. “Let her come. We’re not done.”

Your orgasm rips through you like heat — sudden, sharp, clenching. Your body spasms between them, tiny and overwhelmed and soaked. You’re shaking, crying, throat stretched and cunt clenching and still they don’t stop.

Not until you’re limp between them, wrung out and trembling, a perfect little ruin in their hands.

Silco .𖥔 ݁ ˖

“You can’t even wrap your hand around it, can you?”

Silco’s voice is calm, almost amused. He’s fully clothed, slouched back in that high-backed chair of his while you kneel naked in front of him, small fingers struggling to stroke his cock. It’s thick and veined, flushed a dark red that looks violent against your skin. When you try to circle your fingers, there’s a full gap left between thumb and middle finger — he wasn’t wrong.

“Little thing like you, trying to take this?” he murmurs, stroking a finger down your jaw. 

You nod, tongue out already, drooling down his shaft like you’re starving. He watches it — how you loll your tongue up the underside, licking along the length of him while your hand struggles to keep a rhythm. You have to use both hands just to stroke the base and even then, he’s got more left over.

“Open up“ he commands. 

Your jaw drops and you brace both hands on his thighs as you lower your head — Silco’s cock stretching your mouth open with slow, deliberate pressure. Your throat tightens the deeper you take him, the head pressing past your tongue, spit bubbling out the corners of your mouth. You gag — once, twice — and Silco groans low in his throat, not from concern, but satisfaction.

“Don’t stop“ he warns. “Keep going.”

You sob around him, trying — trying so hard — as your throat spasms, your tiny body jerking from the sheer effort of taking something that massive. Silco’s hand threads into your hair, not guiding, not forcing, just present, a silent reminder of who’s in control.

He fucks your mouth slowly, using it like he owns it, hips flexing just enough for your nose to press to the rough fabric of his slacks. You choke, spit running down your chin, onto your breasts. He groans again when you start crying — little, pathetic noises muffled by the weight of him.

“Look at you“ he breathes, staring down at the mess of you. “So small. So useful.”

When he finishes — when he finally grips your jaw and holds your mouth wide open, spilling down your throat in thick, hot pulses — you nearly collapse from the effort.

Ekko .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Ekko loves the size difference. 

He says it all the time — not in words, but in the way his hands span your hips entirely, how he lifts you with one arm like you weigh nothing, how he always tucks you against him like you belong right there.

Right now, he’s got you sprawled over his chest, his back against the mattress and your slick little pussy grinding over the flexed muscle of his thigh. You’re both bare — he hasn’t even tried to put it in yet, just watching the way you use his leg, grinding yourself over it, desperate and soaking and breathless.

You whimper every time your clit catches the ridge of muscle, the friction just right. You’re so wet it’s smeared down his skin, sticky-slick sounds filling the room each time you rut your hips forward. Your cunt glistens against his thigh — a creamy mess that has Ekko groaning and flexing the muscle harder for you.

“You like that?” he murmurs, voice low and raspy in your ear. “Keep goin’, baby.”

You gasp, burying your face in his shoulder. Your hips stutter, thighs twitching — you’re close and you can’t even help it. He grips your ass, guiding you down harder, helping you fuck yourself against him.

“Shit” he groans, watching. “Gonna come just like that, huh? Didn’t even need my cock.”

You’re crying out now, right on the edge — one more rock forward and you snap, your whole body tensing. You shake through it, thighs clenching, cunt pulsing open on empty air as you smear even more slick over his leg. He doesn’t stop you — just rubs slow circles into your back, letting you ride it out.

Suddenly he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back.

He lines himself up, the fat head of his cock dragging through your mess. You’re still twitching from your orgasm, and you whimper when he presses just the tip in — barely an inch, and you’re already full.

“Goddamn“ he mutters, voice wrecked. “You’re tight.”

You just moan, legs open, eyes glassy.

“Next round” he growls, leaning over you, thick and hot and heavy above your tiny frame. “You take all of me.”

Chapter Text

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨, 𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲) 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

He saw the way someone else touched your arm. The way you smiled too long. Viktor doesn’t throw tantrums—but he’s meticulous, quiet, and when he gets like this… you know you’re not leaving the bed for a while.

You were halfway through undressing when he pulled your wrist—not roughly, but firm enough that your breath caught. The door clicked shut behind him.

“You seemed… entertained tonight.” His voice was even, but the pause before entertained made something low in your stomach tighten.

You glanced at him, saw the way he set his cane aside. The way he watched you. Slow. Dissecting. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make your pulse pick up. He never did.

“I was just talking,” you say.

“Mm.” He steps forward. “That’s not how it looked.”

And then he’s kissing you—not hard, not soft. Just deliberate. He crowds you back toward the bed with frustrating control, lips brushing yours, tongue sliding in slow and calculated. No rush. Just steady pressure and the heat of his body following yours down until your back hits the sheets.

His hands are warm, decisive, slipping between your thighs as he kneels. You’re already wet and he hasn’t done anything yet. You feel ridiculous.

Fingers drag through your slick. He watches your face, eyes low-lidded behind those lenses.

“Still thinking about him?” he murmurs.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when two fingers slide in all at once—curling just right, just deep enough to drag a breathy noise out of you. His rhythm is smooth, practiced, knuckles grazing in slow, perfect strokes that make your legs shake already.

But he doesn’t stop there. His thumb circles your clit—soft at first, then faster, tighter.

“Keep your legs open.”

You try. You really do. But the buildup’s fast—too fast—and when your body tenses, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just keeps fucking into you with those fingers, precise and relentless.

“Vik—fuck, wait—”

“No.”

You come once. Clenching down around him, hips twitching.

But his mouth just brushes your inner thigh and he keeps going. Keeps his fingers moving in the same steady rhythm like he’s tuning an instrument. Making sure every part of you remembers who you actually belong to.

When your back arches off the bed a second time, he still doesn’t stop.

“Good,” he mutters, eyes locked on the way your body trembles. “Again.”

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

You saw her looking at him. Laughing a little too long at something he said. Touching his arm like she had any right. And Viktor—sweet, oblivious Viktor—had no idea. That’s fine. You’ll remind him who he belongs to.

You barely close the door behind you before you’ve got him against it. Your fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him down for a kiss that doesn’t ask. It takes.

He kisses back, caught off guard, hands fumbling for your hips, breath sharp. “Did I—do something?”

You laugh once, low in your throat, pulling his shirt loose, teeth dragging along his jaw.

“Oh, not you,” you murmur. “Her.”

Viktor’s brows pinch. Confused. “Who—”

You cut him off with your mouth again. Your hands push him backward toward the bed until he sits, eyes wide, already flushed. You straddle his lap, grinding just enough to feel him harden beneath you.

“She touched your arm,” you mutter against his neck. “You didn’t even notice.”

“I—”

“But I did.”

You grab his wrists, pinning them to the bed above his head. His pupils dilate. He’s breathing harder now, but he doesn’t fight it.

“You’re not allowed to be that fucking pretty,” you whisper against his ear, biting just enough to make him twitch. “It’s not fair.”

He moans—soft and helpless—as you grind down, slow and steady. Your hands tighten on his wrists.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you tonight,” you whisper, teeth dragging over his throat. “You don’t get to come until you’re begging. Understand?”

He nods. Too fast. You press your hips down harder, and his head falls back with a gasp.

You’re in control. Every grind. Every kiss. Every desperate sound he makes into your neck. You ride him slow and deep, pinning his wrists the whole time, whispering filth in his ear until his thighs shake, eyes fluttering.

And when you finally let him finish—only after your second orgasm—you stay on top of him, still moving, watching him squirm, overstimulated and needy and panting under you.

Just to make sure he remembers.

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤 

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯

You didn't mean to flirt. You didn't even realize you were doing it—but Jayce saw it. Viktor heard it. Now you're pinned between the two of them, body burning from both ends, and they've got something to prove.

Jayce is behind you. Viktor's in front. And you? You're not going anywhere.

"Look at me," Viktor says, voice calm but sharp. "I want to see your face while he fucks you."

Jayce's hand is on your waist, his breath hot against the back of your neck. He's already inside you-slow, deliberate thrusts that push you forward onto Viktor's chest. Every movement forces a gasp out of you, muffled against his skin.

"I didn't do anything," you manage to choke out.

Jayce just laughs. "That's not what it looked like."

Viktor's fingers tilt your chin up. His gaze is steady, unforgiving. "You smiled at him like that. Same as you smile at us."

Jayce snaps his hips forward-harder this time-and you jolt. A moan slips out before you can stop it.

Viktor catches it with his mouth. He kisses you like he's trying to swallow the sound, tongue sliding in deep, slow, so fucking controlled. His hand is between your legs now, fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit with mechanical precision.

"She's already close," he mutters against your lips.

Jayce groans. "Good."

You try to hold on. Try not to give in too fast. But Jayce is fucking you hard now, thighs slapping yours, and Viktor won't let up with his fingers. Their rhythm is maddening-perfectly synced, no mercy.

Your first orgasm rips through you. And they don't stop.

Jayce doesn't slow down, arms braced tight around your waist, grunting as he drives into you again and again. Viktor kisses you through every twitch and shake, fingers never leaving your clit, relentless in their pressure.

By the second climax, your voice is wrecked. Your legs are trembling.

"I-can't-"

Jayce leans in close to your ear, voice low, rough.

"You can. One more."

Viktor's mouth is at your throat. "One more for me, love."

You don't even remember the third one.

Just heat, pressure, the sounds of skin and breath and the low, hungry noises they both make when you fall apart for them. Again.

And still-Jayce's grip doesn't loosen.

Viktor's hand doesn't still.

Because neither of them is finished with you yet.

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫

They were both laughing too much at her joke. Jayce with that easy charm, Viktor leaning in a little too close. Maybe they didn’t notice it—but you did. And you’re going to remind them who gets to have them begging.

Jayce has always been eager with his hands. Viktor, less so—until you push him hard enough. And tonight, you’re not pulling any punches.

You’ve got Jayce on his back, flushed, panting, wrists pinned above his head. Viktor kneels at the edge of the bed, flushed down to his chest, lips parted, watching you with something like reverence—and something hungrier than that.

“You’re so fucking easy,” you murmur against Jayce’s throat, dragging your nails down his ribs, savoring the way his body arches under you. “Laughing at anything with tits and a decent smile.”

He groans, hips jerking.

Viktor lets out a low breath. “You know that’s not—”

You cut him off with a sharp glance.

“Don’t worry, I’m not forgetting you either,” you say. “You smiled at her like she meant something.”

You pull Viktor forward by the collar, fingers wrapping around his throat just enough to make him swallow. He goes quiet fast. They both do.

Jayce is rock hard, twitching against your thigh, and you reach down, stroking him once—then twice—just to hear him whimper.

“You get to come when I say.”

He nods, breathless.

You push Viktor down next to him and climb on top, making them watch as you ride Jayce, slow and grinding, every movement deliberate. Viktor’s hand curls against the sheets—he’s hard, untouched, watching your mouth open around a moan you don’t even try to hold back. 

You lean in close, pressing your lips to Viktor’s ear.

“You get your turn after he begs me.”

Viktor groans—low and needy—and Jayce’s whole body is trembling under you. He’s close. Too close.

“Don’t come,” you whisper.

“I—I can’t—” he pants.

He does anyway.

You pull off, slow, deliberate, leaving him shaking.

Then you turn to Viktor, grabbing his jaw.

“Your turn."

And he shudders. Because he knows you’re going to take your time with him. Make him say your name over and over until he forgets how anyone else ever made him feel anything.

𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

He watched you flirt with someone you thought was harmless. Just a little too friendly. Ekko didn’t say anything at the time. But now? He’s got you on your back, legs shaking, and he’s not letting up.

Ekko’s mouth is on your thigh, breath hot against sensitive skin, fingers digging into your hips like he’s holding back from something dangerous.

“You think he could do this to you?” he mutters, voice low and ragged.

You’re already soaked—shaking from the second time he made you come on his fingers alone. But he hasn’t stopped. Won’t stop.

“Ekko—fuck—please—”

“Nah.” He licks a slow stripe up your slit, tongue pressing into you deep enough to make your hips twitch. “You had so much to say to him earlier. So smiley. So sweet. Where’s that energy now?”

His hand spreads you wider. Fingers slip back inside—deeper, rougher this time—and his mouth is right there again, lips slick with you as he groans low against your skin.

“You’re not gonna think about him when I’m done with you,” he grits out. “All you’re gonna feel is this.”

You clench around his fingers, thighs trembling—and then it hits. Your third orgasm rips through you fast, body writhing under him, too much, too soon—but Ekko doesn’t stop.

He grins into it.

“You’re still squirming,” he teases. “Guess that means I’m not done.”

He keeps going until your moans turn to gasps, until your nails scrape into his shoulders and your voice is hoarse from begging. And when he finally pulls back, face wet, eyes half-lidded, all he says is:

“Mine.”

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

He swears the other girl’s “just a friend.” But she touched his chest. Laughed at every joke. Tried too hard to be close. And Ekko? Didn’t push her away fast enough. You’re not mad. Just… motivated.

Ekko’s wrists are pinned above his head, back arched off the mattress. His mouth is open, chest heaving—completely at your mercy.

You’ve got him spread under you, thighs shaking, pupils blown wide as you roll your hips slow and tight. He’s deep—so deep—and you don’t let up.

“You didn’t tell her to back off.”

He groans, breath stuttering. “She—she wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” You shift your angle, dragging a desperate whine out of him. “Wasn’t touching you on purpose?”

He chokes on a moan, trying to buck up. You plant your hands on his chest, holding him down.

“You don’t get to touch me until you learn who you fucking belong to.”

You clench hard around him and his head falls back against the pillow, curls damp with sweat, breath catching in his throat.

“I do—I know—I swear—”

“Then prove it.”

You move faster now—deliberate, controlled, working him right to the edge again and again. Each time he starts to fall over the edge, you stop. Grind just slow enough to pull him back. His arms flex against your grip but he doesn’t fight you. Won’t. He wants this. Wants you in control.

When you finally let him come, it’s a mess—his whole body going rigid, moaning your name like a confession. You ride it out, overstimulating him until he’s gasping under you, eyes rolling back, too wrecked to speak.

You lean down, lips brushing his ear.

“Next time she touches you, think about this. Think about how it felt when I fucked you until you forgot her name.”

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨 

⇢ 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭 

You were too friendly with someone at the club tonight. Now? You’re on your knees—and he’s going to keep you there.

He doesn’t shove you down. Doesn’t have to.

Just a slow, sharp tug at your hair as he guides you to your knees in front of him, his belt clinking softly in the quiet room.

“You had a lot to say to him tonight.” His voice is low, deliberate. A rasp that slides against your nerves like a knife against silk. “Thought you’d forgotten who you came here with.”

You open your mouth to answer but he’s already stroking himself—long, slow pulls—making you watch.

The head of his cock glistens, flushed dark, and when he finally lets you get close enough to taste, he doesn’t ease you into it. He drags the thick weight of it over your lips first, smearing precum across your mouth.

“Open.”

You do.

He presses in—slow at first, enough for you to feel the stretch of him, the weight of his gaze never leaving your face. His hand stays tangled in your hair, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth almost affectionately.

Almost.

The first thrust is shallow, testing, but he doesn’t stay gentle. Each roll of his hips forces you to take more, your throat tightening around him as he pushes deeper.

“That’s better,” he murmurs. “So much quieter like this.”

You whimper, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, breathing through your nose as he fucks your mouth with devastating control. He pulls out almost completely before driving back in—again and again—his breath hitching only slightly when you moan around him.

It’s messy. It’s rough. And he doesn’t let you stop.

Even when your eyes are glassy and your jaw aches, he holds you there, praising you in that low, wrecked voice:

“Take it. Be good for me. Show me you still know who you belong to.”

When he finally comes—deep in your throat, hips stuttering against your lips—he holds you there a moment longer, groaning rough and low as you swallow around him.

Only when he’s sure you’ve taken every drop does he release you, thumb wiping the spit and tears from your flushed face, gaze sharp.

“Now. Try smiling at someone else.”

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠)

You didn’t like the way that woman put her hand on his arm. Her smile. Silco brushed it off—but you didn’t. Tonight, you’re going to remind him exactly who makes him lose control. And it’s not her.

Silco’s sharp tongue goes suspiciously quiet once you’ve pushed him back into the leather chair, hands braced against his thighs.

You kneel between his legs, slow, deliberate, letting your nails scrape along the inside of his thighs just enough to make his breath catch.

“What?” you murmur, teasing the bulge in his trousers. “Nothing to say?”

His jaw flexes—tight, controlled—but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare.

You take your time. Fingertips dragging over the outline of his cock through the fabric, feeling him twitch under the lightest pressure. When you finally free him, he’s already half-hard, flushed and heavy against your palm.

You could be kind. You could sink down and swallow him deep. But you don’t. Not yet.

Instead, you trace the underside of his cock with your tongue—just the tip of it—feeling him pulse under the delicate flicks. Every muscle in his legs tenses.

“You let her touch you,” you whisper, breath hot against his sensitive skin. “Let her laugh at everything you said.”

He exhales through his nose, hands clenching into fists against the chair.

“And you liked it.”

You wrap your lips around just the head, suckling lightly, tongue flicking the slit until he curses under his breath—an ugly, bitten-off sound.

You back off with a wet pop, grinning.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll make sure you remember who takes care of you.”

This time you take him deeper—slow, stretching your throat around him inch by inch until your nose brushes his stomach. His hips jerk despite himself, breath ragged, chest heaving.

But you don’t stay. You pull back, leaving him throbbing and wet, cock twitching in the cold air.

You repeat the pattern—tease, taste, pull away—until he’s panting, flushed dark to his ears, biting his lip hard enough to leave marks.

When you finally let him fuck into your mouth, you hold him right at the edge, letting the weight of his need break down the last of that careful control he wears like armor.

And when he finally comes—spilling deep down your throat, hips jerking helplessly—you stay kneeling, eyes locked on his ruined, desperate face.

That look? That helpless shudder?

No one else gets to see it but you.

Chapter Text

Ask: saw that you’re in need of more jayce requests, so i’ve come to deliver! plot is up to you ofc but i would devour anything jayce and breeding/creampies related 🙂‍↕️ pretty pls

cw: fem! reader, explicit, breeding, creampie, jayce talis has a breeding agenda and it shows 

a/n: my birthday boy 😝😝

The room is thick with heat, air clinging humid and heady, heavy with the sharp scent of sex and skin and sweat. Your legs are trembling where they’re draped open across Jayce’s thighs, hips propped high by his strong hands beneath you, his weight bearing down, his slick, muscular chest glistening above as he rocks into you with an almost punishing rhythm — but it’s not anger, it’s purpose.

He already came inside once. Hot and heavy, pulse after pulse, so deep you swear it reached your heart. You could’ve sworn he was done, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice a hoarse whisper of “That’s it, baby, take all of it…”

But then his fingers had found your thighs, had gripped your hips again like a man possessed, and he growled against your neck, low and dark thst he wasn‘t yet. 

Now his cock is still hard, still wet, still buried deep inside your cum-filled pussy and he’s fucking it in. Making it messy, making it loud. The squelch of it is obscene, thick slickness pushed out with every brutal snap of his hips, slicking down your ass and pooling on the sheets beneath. 

Your nails claw at his back, your body shuddering under him, helpless as he fucks his spend deeper, drives it up into your womb like he’s trying to mark it permanent — claim you again, and again, and again. 

“You’re gonna keep it this time,” he pants, voice rough and feral in your ear, his mouth brushing the shell of it, his thrusts steady and relentless. “Gonna make sure you hold it, baby. You hear me?”

You can’t even speak — your mouth is open, throat dry, eyes glassy as your body goes soft, pliant beneath his, fucked dumb on the stretch of him, the pressure, the wet slide of thick cum being forced deeper inside over and over.

Your walls are soaked, clenching desperately around him and he groans — loud and guttural — as he feels it, your cunt fluttering, pulling him in like your body wants more, like it’s begging to be filled again.

“Oh, fuck— look at that. Look how greedy you are.” His voice cracks, hips stuttering for a beat as he thrusts deep and stays there, grinding against your swollen clit with the thick root of his cock. “Still sucking me in. Still hungry for it. You’re—fuck—you’re gonna take another load, you understand? You need it.” 

You sob, legs trembling around him, heels digging into his back. You feel so full, stretched to the edge — like your body can’t take anymore and yet it aches for more. He drags his cock out slow and you feel the gush of cum slide out around the thick head, but before it can escape far, he plunges back in, chasing the sound of your cry with another filthy, wet thrust.

His hand slides down your belly, fingers pressing firm against the soft swell just above your mound — right where he’s buried. “That’s it. I can feel myself in you. Right here. Gonna fuck it in so deep you’ll be leaking me for days.” 

You clench around him again at the sound of it, and Jayce’s jaw snaps tight, a sound like a growl torn from his throat. He’s close. You can feel it — the sharp edge in his movements, the way his cock pulses thicker inside you, the way he can’t keep his voice down anymore.

“Take it—take it all again—fuck, gonna give you everything I’ve got. One more—gonna pump you so full you’ll feel it in your throat—fuck—fuck—” 

And when he comes again, he doesn’t slow. He groans into your mouth, biting your bottom lip, hips jerking forward in raw, desperate thrusts, pumping every thick, hot spurt deep into your used cunt. You feel it flood you, feel it spill out around his cock only to be shoved back in with every hungry, mindless rut.

He doesn’t stop even when he’s done — just keeps grinding slow, deep, his whole body shaking against yours, his forehead pressed to your temple, whispering breathless, broken things:

“So full for me… My perfect girl… gonna make you mine all over again…”

You’re crying, overstimulated and blissed-out, your belly aching with fullness, your cunt soaked and raw and still fluttering around him, still wanting more.

Jayce — his cock still twitching, still thick inside you — just stays there, buried in the mess he’s made of you, whispering against your skin. 

Chapter Text

Ask: Hellooo, I love your fics😭💘could you write something like Viktor is IN LOVE with reader, every time she enters the room he can't take his eyes off her and she doesn't realize the impact she has on him until one day he can't stand all the love he has and simply confesses it to her expecting to be rejected (obviously Reader feels the same way about him) a song that comes to my mind is "every breath you take" 🥺

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐲- 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞. 

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 (╥╯^╰╥) 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝-

Viktor watches her. He has no choice.

It is not deliberate—not at first. The first time he notices, truly notices her, it is nothing extraordinary. Just a moment. A simple, passing thing.

She is laughing at something Jayce has said, shaking her head, her eyes crinkling at the corners. The sound of it is light—effortless, like it was meant to exist in the world, and he thinks, Ah. That is lovely.

And then, he looks away.

But that is how it starts.

It happens again, and again, and again. A small thing at first—a glance, a thought, a passing indulgence. But it does not leave.

Instead, it lingers. Settles. Buries itself deep in his chest, in the marrow of his bones, making a home out of him.

Before he knows it, she is in his thoughts more often than not.

She is in the moments between experiments, when his mind drifts, and he has to physically shake himself from imagining the way the light catches in her hair. She is in the spaces between breaths, in the hush of the late hours, when his mind slows just enough for the longing to creep in.

She is in the way his hands still when she leans over his shoulder, the warmth of her body so close, her scent curling around him like something dangerous, something fatal.

He is careful—so careful—to never let it show.

He tucks it away, locks it behind closed doors, never daring to let it slip into his expression. She cannot know. She must not know.

Because it woul

d ruin everything.

Because how could she?

She is kind. Brilliant. Good. And he—he is—

A man who wants too much. A man who should not want at all.

But want, he does.

She does not notice.

Not at all.

It is not that she does not care. She does. She enjoys Viktor’s company, always has. He is sharp, quick-witted, endlessly fascinating. He is clever, charming in his own way, and she has always admired the way his mind works.

But never—never—has she thought to look deeper.

Why would she?

To her, Viktor is Viktor.

A friend. A colleague. Someone to challenge her, to tease her, to rely on.

Someone steady.

It does not occur to her to question the way he watches her. The way his breath stills when she stands too close. The way his voice softens, ever so slightly, when he says her name.

It does not occur to her to wonder why, sometimes, when she speaks, Viktor looks as though he is bracing himself against the tide.

Because why would she?

Viktor has never given her any reason to think otherwise.

He does not touch her unless he must. He does not let his gaze linger for too long. He is always the first to turn away, to fold his hands behind his back, to swallow down the words that threaten to break free.

If there is ever something there—something deep, something aching—she does not see it.

And it is killing him.

It comes to a breaking point on an otherwise ordinary evening.

She is with him in the lab, working late. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But tonight, something is wrong.

Viktor is quiet

Not in the usual way. Not in the way of someone focused, of someone lost in their own mind. No—this is different.

This is silence weighted with something else.

He is still. His hands are clasped in front of him, fingers twisting together, his jaw tight. His throat bobs with the effort of something unsaid.

She frowns, setting her notes aside. “Viktor?”

He flinches. Flinches.

Her frown deepens. “Are you alright?”

He exhales, a sharp, unsteady sound. A humorless chuckle escapes him, brittle and thin. “No,” he admits.

Her heart stirs with concern. “What is it?”

And then, something breaks.

“I cannot do this anymore.”

His voice is low, rough, edged with something raw.

She stills.

“…Do what?” she asks, careful.

Viktor’s hands tighten around each other. He looks at her then, and for the first time, really lets her see him.

He looks wrecked.

There is something desperate in his expression, something frayed at the edges, something coming apart.

Something aching.

“I—” His throat works around the words. He swallows, hard, like it physically hurts to say it.

“I cannot pretend that I do not love you.”

The air leaves her lungs.

The words crash into her, sharp and sudden, knocking the breath from her body.

She blinks, mouth parting, brain struggling to catch up.

“What?”

Viktor huffs a weak, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. “I know. I know.” His voice is trembling. “It is—unfair. I should not have said anything. But I cannot—” He stops himself, running a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I cannot keep this in. Not anymore.”

He sounds wrecked.

He sounds like he expects her to run.

Like he expects her to be horrified. To step away, to shake her head, to leave.

She doesn’t. She can’t.

Because suddenly, everything makes sense.

The way he looked at her. The way he carried himself around her. The way he always turned away too quickly, always put distance between them, always seemed to be holding something back.

It was this.

It was always this.

Viktor lets out a slow, shaking breath. “I am not—expecting anything. I know how foolish this is. How selfish.” His voice is quieter now, barely above a whisper. “But I love you. I have loved you for so long, and it is—” He laughs, breathless. “It is unbearable.”

She is staring.

He swallows, looking away. “You do not have to say anything. I only needed—”

“I love you too.”

It is a whisper, barely a breath, but it stops him cold.

Viktor goes still.

Completely. Utterly. Still.

“…What?”

She exhales, stepping closer. “I love you too.”

He stares at her like she has just undone him.

Like she has spoken something impossible into existence.

“…No,” he breathes, almost broken. “You—you do not mean that.”

She reaches for him then. Takes his face in her hands, tilts his head toward her, forces him to see.

“I do.”

Viktor makes a sound—something sharp, something lost.

And then he breaks.

He grabs at her, arms curling around her like he is afraid she might disappear, like she is something real in a world that has never been kind to him.

And when she kisses him, he shatters.

Because finally, finally—

She is his.

And he is hers.

Chapter Text

Ask: Hear ye! I have a request my liege, how about a fem reader trying to win over viktor multiple times but fails all attempts until it is revealed he does in fact reciprocate🤭

✰⍣..𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬-𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. 𝐀𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧. 

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨 𝐦𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐱𝐱 

You were nothing if not persistent.

Viktor was sharp, focused, and hopelessly oblivious to the fact that you were doing everything in your power to win him over. It wasn’t that he was cold—far from it. He was kind in that absentminded, half-listening way of a man too buried in his work to notice the very obvious signs of affection right in front of him.

And so, you tried. Again. And again.

Attempt #1: The Lunch Offer

Your first plan was simple: food.

You had spent hours preparing something special, something homemade, something that you knew he’d like. You weren’t the best cook, but you had carefully followed every step of the recipe, determined to impress him.

Approaching his workspace, you cleared your throat, balancing the carefully wrapped meal in your hands.

“Viktor?”

He didn’t look up. His fingers twitched slightly as he adjusted the mechanism he was working on, the dim light of the laboratory casting sharp shadows along his face. His brow was furrowed in thought, lips parted slightly as if he were mid-calculation.

You tried again.

“Viktor, I made lunch for you.”

That got his attention. He blinked, finally shifting his gaze toward you. His golden eyes flickered between you and the carefully packed meal in your hands.

“You did?”

You nodded enthusiastically, setting it down on his cluttered desk. “Yeah! I figured you probably haven’t eaten much today, so I thought I’d bring you something homemade.”

A pause. Viktor regarded the meal with mild curiosity before offering you a small, appreciative smile. “That’s thoughtful of you, thank you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Progress.

But then— Without hesitation, Viktor picked up his fork, poked at the food once, then twice, before taking a single bite. He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable.

Your fingers curled anxiously. “So? What do you think?”

“…It’s interesting,” he said diplomatically.

Your stomach dropped. “Interesting?”

He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “I appreciate the effort.”

You deflated.

“I might have miscalculated the salt,” you admitted sheepishly.

Viktor, ever the gentleman, coughed lightly. “Ah, yes. A bit… potent.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Okay, okay, I get it! It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He chuckled, nudging the plate slightly away but still offering you a kind smile. “Not bad. Just… an acquired taste.”

You groaned. First attempt: failure.

Attempt #2: The Book Gift

You knew Viktor loved books. It was one of the few things that could pull his attention away from his work—albeit briefly.

So, you found a rare book on Hextech theories and wrapped it neatly, tying a ribbon around it for good measure.

You waited until he was in a rare moment of relaxation—well, as close to relaxation as Viktor ever got. He was seated at his desk, flipping through his notes with a cup of tea beside him.

Perfect timing.

“Viktor,” you called softly, holding out the book.

He turned, glancing at you before his gaze landed on the package in your hands. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” you said, smiling. “I thought you might like it.”

His brow furrowed slightly, curiosity shining in his eyes as he reached for the book. He unwrapped it carefully, the ribbon slipping off with ease. When he saw the title, his lips parted in surprise.

“You found this?”

You grinned. “I did! It took some effort, but I figured you’d love it.”

For a moment, he seemed genuinely touched. His fingers traced the spine of the book as he flipped through the first few pages, skimming the text.

“Oh, this is the outdated version.”

Your smile froze. “…What?”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, scanning the pages. “This edition was published before Heimerdinger updated his findings on Hextech decay rates. The later editions corrected a few errors in the theory, particularly in chapters three and five.”

You stared.

He looked up, noticing your expression. “…Not that I don’t appreciate it!” he added quickly. “It’s a thoughtful gift, truly. I will still read it.”

You sighed dramatically. “I was trying to impress you, you know.”

Viktor blinked. “Impress me?”

“Yes! And instead, I gave you an outdated book!”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s not about the edition. It’s the effort that counts.”

You folded your arms. “So I failed, huh?”

His lips quirked up. “Not at all. You are very persistent.”

Not exactly the answer you wanted, but you supposed it wasn’t a complete loss.

Attempt #3: The Stargazing Invitation

This time, you were going for romance.

You had set up a small spot on the Academy’s rooftop, a cozy little corner with blankets, pillows, and even a small lantern to give off a warm glow. The sky was clear, the stars bright. It was the perfect atmosphere.

Now all you needed was Viktor.

Dragging him away from his work had been no easy task. He had resisted at first, insisting he had equations to finish and calibrations to check, but you had practically pulled him by the arm, determined.

When you finally reached the rooftop, you gestured grandly. “Tada!”

Viktor looked around, brow raised. “…You brought me here to sit on the ground?”

You huffed. “Not just sit—stargaze. Relax. Take a break.”

He hesitated before carefully lowering himself onto the blankets. His cane rested beside him as he leaned back, gaze flickering toward the night sky.

You watched him closely. “What do you think?”

He was quiet for a long moment, then finally spoke. “…It’s peaceful.”

Success!

Encouraged, you scooted closer. “I thought you could use a moment to breathe. You work too hard.”

Viktor hummed, seemingly considering your words. “Perhaps you are right.”

You turned your head to look at him, the glow of the lantern casting soft shadows along his sharp features. He looked beautiful like this—lost in thought, his golden eyes reflecting the starlight.

Heart pounding, you gathered your courage. “Viktor… can I ask you something?”

He glanced at you, intrigued. “Of course.”

You swallowed. “Have you ever… thought about taking a break? Not just from work, but from everything. Spending time with someone. Maybe… me?”

Viktor blinked.

Then, with all the grace of a man absolutely oblivious—

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to burden you with that,” he said sincerely.

You stared.

He continued, oblivious to the weight of your question. “My work is demanding, and I would not want you to feel neglected. Relationships require time and attention, and I would hate for you to be disappointed.”

You nearly groaned out loud.

For a man as brilliant as Viktor, he could be painfully clueless.

With a resigned sigh, you flopped back onto the blanket, staring up at the stars. Another attempt, another failure.

—

You weren’t expecting much when you walked into the lab that evening.

In fact, you were expecting nothing at all.

After weeks of trying—pouring your heart into homemade meals, thoughtful gifts, and starry rooftop nights—you had resigned yourself to the truth: Viktor either didn’t notice your feelings, or he didn’t want to notice them.

And honestly? You were tired.

You had been visiting him less and less, not completely avoiding him, but pulling back just enough to protect yourself. You still cared—you would always care—but unrequited love wasn’t something you could keep torturing yourself with.

So when you stepped into the lab that night, you told yourself you were just here for work. Nothing else.

Jayce and Viktor were deep in conversation when you entered. Jayce stood by Viktor’s desk, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips. Viktor, seated, was scribbling something furiously in his notebook, barely acknowledging his friend’s presence.

They both turned when they saw you.

“Oh, hey!” Jayce greeted, his usual easy-going grin in place. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”

Viktor’s head snapped up so fast you almost thought he hurt himself. His eyes flickered to you, studying your expression for a fraction of a second before returning to his notes.

You forced a small smile, holding up a stack of reports. “Just dropping these off.”

You moved to place them on Viktor’s desk, careful not to linger, but Jayce’s next words stopped you in your tracks.

“You know,” he mused, voice dripping with playful amusement, “for someone who constantly complains when she’s not around, you sure don’t act like it, Vik.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that immediately thickened the air, made it heavy, charged.

Your brain took a full three seconds to register what Jayce had just said.

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

Viktor froze.

His pen, mid-stroke, halted against the page. His entire body went rigid, his fingers tightening around the notebook in his lap.

Jayce, bless his completely oblivious soul, continued without a care in the world. “Yeah, seriously. Every time you’re not here, he—”

“Jayce.”

Viktor’s voice cut through the air like a knife. Low. Sharp. Warning.

Jayce finally seemed to sense the weight of the situation. He looked at Viktor, then at you, then back at Viktor, realization dawning like a slow-motion catastrophe.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Ohhh.”

You barely heard him. Your entire focus was on Viktor, who was currently staring a hole into his notebook as if he could will the conversation out of existence. His grip on his pen was so tight you thought it might snap in half.

You took a step closer. “Viktor,” you started carefully, “is that true?”

He didn’t answer. Your stomach twisted.

Jayce shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—”

“Leave.”

It was barely more than a breath, but Jayce immediately straightened. “Yeah. Yep. That’s my cue. I am—definitely—leaving.”

And then, with the speed of a man fleeing imminent death, he was gone.

The door shut behind him, leaving you alone with Viktor.

And still—he didn’t look at you.

You took a slow breath, willing your voice to stay steady. “Viktor.”

Nothing.

So you took another step closer, moving carefully, deliberately, until you were standing directly beside him. Close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tight.

“…Is it true?” you asked again, quieter this time.

A long, heavy pause.

Then—finally—he exhaled. A slow, controlled breath, like he was preparing for something.

“…Yes.”

Your heart stuttered.

He still didn’t look at you. His eyes remained fixed on the desk, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his notebook.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your pulse was hammering in your ears. “Then why—?”

“Because it is irrelevant.”

That caught you off guard. “What?”

Viktor let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You deserve someone who is not married to his work. Someone who can give you their full attention, not just stolen moments between projects.”

Your chest ached. “You don’t get to decide th

at for me.”

He went still.

Slowly—hesitantly—he finally turned to look at you.

His golden eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were guarded. Careful. But beneath that, beneath the walls he so carefully constructed, there was something else.

Something hesitant. Something fragile.

Something real.

“…You would grow tired of me,” he said quietly. “Of the late nights. Of the exhaustion. Of the way I forget to eat unless someone reminds me.”

You stared at him, barely able to breathe. “Viktor—”

“I am not good at this,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I do not know how to—” He stopped, inhaled sharply, then exhaled again. “I do not know how to be what you need.”

Something in your chest cracked open.

You reached for his hand before he could pull away. Your fingers brushed against his—warm, steady, certain.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you said softly. “You just have to be you.”

Viktor stared at your intertwined fingers like they were some kind of impossible equation.

Like he wanted to believe you, but didn’t quite know how.

“…And if I disappoint you?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.

You squeezed his hand. “Then I’ll let you know. And we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue. But for once—for once—he didn’t.

Instead, after a long, drawn-out moment, he simply closed his fingers around yours.

Not tightly. Not desperately.

Just enough.

A quiet, tentative acceptance.

“…You are remarkably persistent,” he murmured, the smallest, softest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Viktor shook his head, exhaling something that almost sounded like a chuckle. “Jayce is going to be insufferable about this.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

And then—finally, finally—Viktor let himself relax.

Chapter Text

Ask: Viktor×reader, they're colleagues, both really really professional (usually), drunk at some work party or whatever, somehow end up rubbing (idk girl viktor just seems like a panties man) and playing "just the tip"🧍‍♂️

I'll see myself out, thanks.

As usual, you can write it whenever or not even write it at all❤️❤️

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢-𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, ,,𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐩" (𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐬), 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱

#𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬.

You and Viktor had always been the textbook definition of professional.

No lingering glances. No suspicious absences. No flirtations that couldn’t be passed off as banter with an intellectual edge. Just research. Collaboration. And the occasional perfectly polite smile when your eyes met over lab equipment.

Until tonight.

Until this damn gala thrown by the Academy.

It was supposed to be a celebration of your most recent breakthrough—a lightweight hex-core stabilizer that had the whole room buzzing with approval. The Council was there. Professors. Media. Colleagues.

And Viktor. Leaning on his cane with that same calculating calm, eyes glinting gold in the low light. He’d traded his usual lab coat for a sleek black suit, tailored so well it looked criminal on him. His curls were combed back, sharp cheekbones casting soft shadows under the chandeliers.

You were tipsy. More than tipsy. Because when you came over to congratulate him again, he tilted his head and murmured something in that dry, accented voice of his—“You look like sin in silk.”

And you laughed. You laughed like it was a joke, and he smiled like it wasn’t.

You don’t remember exactly how you ended up here—pressed against the inside wall of an unused office near the back of the event hall, with Viktor’s mouth hovering just shy of your throat.

But the door is locked. His cane is forgotten somewhere by the filing cabinet. And you’re in his lap.

“You’re sure about this?” he rasps, voice low and gravelled by vodka and restraint. One hand rests on your bare thigh, the other gripping your hip like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

“I shouldn’t be” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “But I want to.”

Something shifts in his expression. He’s usually composed, clinical even—but tonight, his pupils are blown wide, hair slightly mussed, breath unsteady. The professional mask is long gone.

“You don’t even know what I want to do to you.”

Your panties are already damp before he even touches you.

You’re straddling him in that tight little party dress he kept glancing at all night. It’s hiked up now, bunched around your waist, and his hands are trembling as they stroke over your thighs—slow and reverent. Almost hesitant.

“I’ve thought about this” he confesses into the curve of your neck. “More times than I can admit without embarrassment.”

“Thought about what?” you breathe, rocking your hips once—just once—and gasping at the feel of his hard cock pressing up against your soaked panties.

“This. The way you’d feel. Smell. Taste.” His fingers drag up your inner thigh and pause just at the edge of your panties. “What kind of underwear you’d wear beneath all that… professional civility.”

You flush. “What kind did you imagine?”

Viktor doesn’t answer with words. He simply hooks his finger under the lace waistband and drags the crotch to the side, groaning when the wet fabric clings to your folds.

“Exactly like this“ he murmurs, as if stunned. “Pretty. Soft. Wet.”

His cock—long, hard, already leaking through the front of his slacks—presses up between your thighs as he adjusts you over him. You can feel the outline of it perfectly, the heat, the thickness.

You grind down, slow and shameless. Panties soaked. His trousers damp. And he moans, deep and rough.

“You’re going to ruin me” he mutters, pressing his forehead to your chest as your clothed pussy slides over him again and again. “I’m not going to be able to look at you the same.”

“Then don’t” you whisper, catching his lips in a messy kiss that tastes like desperation and vodka. “Look at me differently. Want me differently. Just—don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

The dry humping quickly becomes feral.

You roll your hips, each pass dragging your clit against the ridge of his cock. Your panties are soaked through. His trousers are embarrassingly wet. The friction is perfect and filthy and not enough.

You’re gasping now—riding him like you need it, fingers tangled in his curls, dress straps falling off your shoulders.

“Viktor—fuck—I need—”

“I know“ he pants, one hand sliding between your bodies. “Let me—just—”

And then he’s pushing his slacks down, freeing his cock just enough. It slaps up against his stomach, flushed and veined, already slick from all the grinding.

You freeze as he lines the tip up with your entrance, still covered by your ruined panties.

“Not all the way” he murmurs, voice shaking with restraint. “Just the tip. That’s all.”

You nod. Whimper. Spread your legs wider in his lap.

He pushes your panties aside and nudges in—bare, hot, leaking against your opening. Your breath catches at the pressure, at how thick he feels just at the edge.

“Fuck“ you whisper, clenching around nothing. “That’s—mean.”

“Fuck“ you whisper, clenching around nothing. “That’s—mean.”

“I said just the tip” he groans, kissing your jaw. “But I didn’t say how deep the tip could go.”

You both laugh—delirious, hungry—and then he’s pushing in slowly. Just a few inches. Just enough to stretch you open. To let you feel the burn of it.

He stops. Thrusts once. Shallow and slow.

Your panties are still pushed to the side. His pants are halfway down. You’re still mostly dressed, sweating and tangled, trembling as you grip his shoulders.

“Do you want more?” he growls.

“Yes—God, yes—”

He grips your waist. Slides out. Pushes back in just the tip again. Over and over. You’re soaking him. He’s shaking. And when you clench around him and cry out, desperate and full of want, he finally gives in.

One snap of his hips and he’s buried to the hilt.

You both cry out—nearly sobbing at the sudden, perfect fullness. His head drops to your shoulder as he mutters curses in a language you can’t place.

“I’m sorry” he says breathlessly, thrusting deep again. “I had to. You’re—fuck—you’re so tight.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just cling to him as he fucks you like it’s the first and last time.

And if someone knocks on the office door, asking if everything’s okay inside?

Neither of you hears it.

Chapter Text

Ask: can we get some nsfw with cult leader viktor? maybe we are one of his followers and want some more private healing 🤍🤪

synopsis: in the shadowed sanctuary of zaun, you seek out viktor—the revered, transformed leader of the glorious evolution—for a more private kind of healing. drawn to him by faith and burning need, you offer yourself fully

cw: fem! reader, explicit, power dynamics (leader x follower), mild restraint, oral (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex 

The first time you laid eyes on him, he looked like something half-alive, half-holy.

Viktor walked barefoot through the core hall of the commune with his head bowed and arms slightly raised, palms open. Sunlight slashed through the crumbling glass roof, catching the polished sheen of the exposed Hexcore grafts climbing up his spine like divine roots. The dark robes he wore were open at the chest, revealing the split of purple skin. 

No one spoke in his presence. You didn’t dare. The room—once a gutted Zaunite observatory—was thick with silence and shimmer incense, warm on the tongue and tinged with sweat and hope.

He was everything they whispered: messiah, martyr, machine. Something new. Something holy.

And he had touched you once.

When you entered the circle that first night, trembling from detox and pain, he pressed his forehead to yours. His breath had been shallow, his skin cool and almost soft. “You do not need to be fixed” he whispered. “You only need to shed.”

You cried. He didn’t flinch.

Now you would do anything to be near him again. Anything.

⸻

You waited until the candles burned low. Until the others had fallen into their floor mats and silks. His inner sanctum was not guarded—he refused it. If they wish to see me, they will. And yet none dared.

Your bare feet were silent against the tiled floor. You padded past shrines of dismantled shimmer devices, old clocks and teeth and copper hearts, offerings laid like relics to the Evolution. Past the low chanting of a sleepless acolyte.

You reached the inner chamber.

The door was ajar.

He stood at the center of the room, bathed in pale blue light from the floating Hexcore, suspended like a heart above him. His robes were loose, his bare chest aglow in the dimness. Runes traced up his side like veins. He did not turn to face you. His voice came low.

“You should not be here this late.”

Your voice trembled “I need healing.”

“You have already been healed.”

“Not the kind you gave earlier.”

That made him pause.

You took a step forward, the silk wrap of your commune garment sliding off one shoulder. “Please, Viktor. I want… more.”

Finally, he turned. The look in his eyes—deep amber, backlit with cold fire—wasn’t surprise. It was understanding. Slow. Gentle. Hungered.

“You seek communion.”

You nodded, breath trembling. “Yes. Yours.”

He approached you soundlessly. You reached for him instinctively and he caught your wrist—not to stop you, but to guide you. His fingers curled around your pulse.

“So fast” he murmured, pressing the pad of his thumb over your wrist. “You are afraid.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.”

Your lips parted, but the words died when his hand moved—trailing down your arm, your waist, until his palm was splayed over your lower belly, heat radiating through the thin wrap you wore. His other hand came to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your lips.

“I will give you what you seek. But you must surrender.”

“I already have.”

A beat of silence “Good girl.”

He undressed you like he was peeling away old skin.

The fabric slipped from your shoulders and pooled at your feet, leaving you bare before him in the blue light. Viktor stepped closer, eyes dragging over your body with the kind of reverence that made your throat go tight.

He touched you like you were sacred.

One hand trailed up the curve of your thigh, slow and warm and deliberate, thumb brushing the crease where leg met hip. The other grazed over your chest, palm open, like he was blessing you. When his fingers finally closed over your breast, your knees almost gave out.

“So soft” he murmured, more to himself. “So warm. I forget.”

You whimpered when his thumb flicked your nipple—gently, then again, harder. He watched it stiffen with fascination, then leaned in. His mouth was hot and wet around it, tongue circling, suckling slowly until your back arched.

Viktor held you in place, arms around your waist, mouth sealed to your skin like he was drinking from you. And when he pulled away, your nipple wet and glistening in the glow, his voice was thick.

“You taste like longing.”

⸻

You were on the ground before you realized he’d lowered you there—his knees beside your thighs, his hand spreading them open, baring you to the cool air.

The breath left your lungs.

Viktor stared. Not with lust—at least not just that. There was awe in his face, hunger and disbelief.

You reached for him, wanting him to touch you there, to fill you. But he only caught your hands and held them to your sides, pinning you gently to the floor.

“Not yet.”

“But—”

“You asked for healing” he said, voice velvet-smooth. “And I will give it to you.”

Then he kissed down your stomach. Slowly. Carefully. His stubble scratched lightly against your skin, sending tingles over your ribs, your hips, your trembling thighs.

When his mouth finally reached the soft, wet heat between your legs, he groaned—genuine, low and needy.

You could only gasp when his tongue licked one slow, deep stripe up your slit. The sound was obscene—wet, greedy. Your thighs shook when he did it again, then again, slower each time, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue before plunging back down.

Your hands flexed against his hold. He didn’t let go.

“You will come from my mouth” he said against you. “And then I will give you the rest”

Viktor’s tongue was relentless.

He licked you slowly, like he had all the time in the world—and maybe he did. His mouth was reverent, almost prayerful, sliding over your folds with deliberate worship. When his tongue found your clit, he sucked softly at first, just the barest kiss of pressure—

“Ah—!”

Your hips bucked, but he tightened his grip on your wrists, holding you down. The tips of his fingers trembled slightly, the only betrayal of how hard he was holding back.

“Stay” he said simply, and dragged his tongue in one long, curling motion over you again.

You felt everything.

The rasp of his breath when it ghosted over your soaked cunt. The slight tremor in his jaw as he shifted, burying his face deeper. The wet, sticky sounds of your arousal as his mouth worked you open.

It was sinful. It was salvation.

You moaned his name—soft at first, then again, louder, when he slipped the flat of his tongue over your clit and began to move it in slow, tight circles.

“Viktor—!”

He groaned into you, the vibration shooting through your core like a surge of voltage.

Your back arched. Your legs locked around his head. And still he held you down, your wrists pinned beside you in one trembling hand, while the other snuck between your thighs and slid a single finger inside you.

It was slow. So slow.

Thick. Deep. Curled just right.

You nearly sobbed. 

,,So greedy. Is this what you wanted?” he murmured, lips brushing your folds. 

You nodded frantically. “Yes—please, don’t stop—”

“You will come now” he said simply. “You will cry my name”

Your body shattered.

Your thighs clenched around his face. Your arms trembled. And your voice broke into a desperate, high cry as your orgasm ripped through you—wet and violent and holy.

He didn’t stop. He kept licking, working you through it with slow, luxurious pressure, as if your pleasure was his communion. He only pulled away once your thighs trembled with overstimulation, and even then—he kissed the inside of your thigh like a benediction.

“You are ready” he said softly.

⸻

You watched as he rose to his knees—taller now, almost imposing in the flickering blue light. His chest heaved. His eyes burned.

He untied his robe.

It fell open.

You gasped.

The grafts along his hips shimmered faintly, a delicate blend of gold and purple, trailing down to where his cock stood hard and flushed—a striking contrast, glinting, metallic veins running up his lower belly.

He was thick, long, almost painfully beautiful—tip glistening, heavy and twitching as he stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on your still-trembling cunt.

“Look what you’ve done to me” he said softly. “I am supposed to be above this.”

You reached for him—wordless, desperate.

He climbed over you, his body hot and shuddering with restraint and braced himself on one forearm as he lined up his cock with your entrance.

“I will not be gentle, he whispered.

He pushed in slowly, with one long, devastating stroke.

You whimpered—his cock was thick, stretching you open in ways you hadn’t felt in years. Your hands gripped his back, fingers digging into the scarred skin between cybernetic seams. Viktor moaned low in your ear, his hips stuttering as he sank deeper.

“You feel like heaven—”

Your walls fluttered around him, sucking him in.

“Viktor—!”

“Say it again.”

“Viktor—please—!”

The slap of skin-on-skin echoed in the quiet room as he began to fuck you—deep, rhythmic, unrelenting. Every thrust dragged a moan from your throat. Every movement sent shockwaves up your spine.

He fucked like a man possessed.

Like he needed it—needed you.

Your name spilled from his lips in a string of curses, half in English, half in Zaunite dialects, some too old to translate.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper.

Until he bottomed out—grinding his hips against yours with a groan that made your skin ignite.

“I’m going to come” you gasped. 

He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again—pressing hard, circling fast—and your vision white’d out.

You came with a cry that tore from your chest, soaking his cock, your cunt clenching violently around him. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a raw groan, spilling into you with hips jerking, mouth open, eyes dazed.

He collapsed over you, panting.

You laid together in the silence, your bodies tangled in heat and wetness. Viktor’s hand brushed sweat-damp hair from your face. His lips found your temple, soft and reverent.

“You are no longer just a follower” he whispered.

You blinked, dazed. “What am I?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Mine.”

And you knew then—this was not just communion. This was ascension.

Chapter Text

Ask (I think): I am a sucker for pervert Viktor!!! (>u<) so cute

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭(𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐨𝐧. 

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭!

𝐚/𝐧: i also apologise for not posting lately!! I just have been a bit busy but it should be better now!

Perv! Viktor who steals your freshly worn panties straight from the laundry, then returns them like nothing ever happened.

He waits until you’re out of the room before he snatches them—still warm, still damp with the remnants of your arousal. He buries his face in the fabric, groaning as he fists his cock, imagining how your pussy must have felt, soaked and clinging to the fabric all day. When he’s done, he makes sure to put them right back where he found them, so you never even notice they were gone. The thought of you slipping them on, unknowingly wearing his dried release against your folds, makes him unbearably hard all over again.

Perv! Viktor who coats your personal belongings with his cum just to mark you.

Your hairbrush, your hand cream, the pen you chew absentmindedly while working—he’s tainted them all. He strokes himself over them, biting down on his lip to keep quiet, his seed spilling over your innocent possessions. When you use them later, completely unaware, it takes everything in him not to lose his mind. The idea that his essence is on you, that you’ve touched it, carried it, maybe even licked it by accident—it makes him delirious with possessive need.

Perv! Viktor who rigs Hextech surveillance just to watch you undress in the privacy of your room.

He tells himself he just wants to keep you safe, but that’s a lie so weak even he doesn’t believe it. The hidden lenses capture everything—the way you peel off your dress, the way your hands glide over your skin, completely unaware of your silent audience. He watches every night, stroking himself as you stretch, arch, slip your fingers between your thighs to satisfy your own desires. He strokes in time with you, whispering praises you’ll never hear, moaning your name as if you belong to him already.

Perv! Viktor who deliberately spills something on you just for the excuse to touch you.

“Ah, my apologies” he murmurs, eyes dark with barely concealed hunger as he dabs at your clothes, his fingers pressing just a little too firmly against your chest, your thighs. His fingers linger, brushing over sensitive spots under the guise of being helpful. If you shift, feeling weirdly embarrassed, he merely smiles, playing the part of the gentleman, all while his cock aches from how close he is to touching you exactly where he wants.

Perv! Viktor who masturbates in the very spot where you sat, while your scent is still fresh.

The moment you leave, Viktor is there, inhaling the lingering warmth where your body once rested. He spreads his legs, fists his cock, grinding into the same seat cushion that cradled your ass minutes ago. He imagines you riding him there, your heat pressed against his lap, moaning his name like you need him. He cums hard, making a mess of himself, panting as he envisions what it’ll be like when he finally has you for real.

Perv! Viktor who presses against you just a little too much in crowded spaces.

It’s innocent enough—after all, the hallways are narrow, the space limited—but Viktor takes full advantage of every accidental brush. His hip against your ass, his thigh against your own, the firm press of his body behind you. If you so much as gasp or stiffen, he chuckles under his breath, pretending not to notice the way he’s pressing against you just a little too firmly. You think it’s a coincidence, but Viktor knows exactly what he’s doing.

Perv! Viktor who licks the rim of your glass when you’re not looking.

You leave your drink unattended for a moment, and Viktor can’t resist. His tongue flicks over the place where your lips once were, tasting the ghost of your presence. It’s perverse, it’s filthy, and it only makes his obsession worse. The idea of your mouth so close to his, even if you don’t know it, makes his cock throb with frustration. He wonders how much further he could go before you’d finally notice.

Perv! Viktor who fantasizes about taking you in your sleep.

He watches you doze off after a long day, your body relaxed, unaware, defenseless. His mind wanders—what if he were to slip under the covers? What if he ran his fingers over your bare skin, teasing between your thighs, feeling the way your body responds even in slumber? He knows it’s wrong, but the temptation eats away at him, his cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself to the image of your soft, unknowing body beneath him.

Chapter Text

Ask: Hello hello 💕🎀 love the way you write yearning and desperation.. consider.. Reader stressed + Viktor stressed and they just.. let off steam in a knowing quiet way on each-other. Soft aftercare they both need breaks </3 (lovely hope you’re taking care of yourself and don’t forget water !!)

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭(𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲/ 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

The day never ends.

It’s half-past midnight. The lab is lit only by two dim desk lamps and the low blue glow of hextech cores, their gentle pulsing a contrast to the harsh pulse pounding in your skull.

You haven’t moved in hours. Your spine is tight. Your thighs ache from sitting too long. Your neck is locked into a permanent angle toward your datapad.

Across the lab, Viktor’s hunched posture mirrors yours.

He’s scribbling notes, testing something on a core that keeps shorting out. You’ve heard him sigh under his breath so many times tonight it’s practically ambient noise now. You can tell his limp has gotten worse—he hasn’t stood to stretch in too long.

Neither of you have eaten. Or spoken much.

You glance up when he shifts sharply—he slams a small tool onto the desk, letting out a tight, exhausted noise. It’s not loud, but it cuts through the silence like a scream.

And suddenly, you’re on your feet.

It isn’t graceful. You nearly stumble over a stool, and your joints crack as you move—but your feet carry you straight to him like they always do. Viktor doesn’t look up until you’re close. His face is shadowed, tired, and streaked with old ink smudges.

“Stop” you say gently. Your voice is hoarse from disuse. “Please. Just stop for now.”

His eyes flick to yours. That haunted sort of tired. Stress, not sleep deprivation. The kind that festers and knots in the chest, the kind that makes even air feel too heavy to carry.

“I can’t afford to waste—”

“You’re not.”

You reach for him, and he lets you—his hand slackens in yours the second you make contact. His shoulders drop, just slightly. You press your forehead to his.

“I need a break” you murmur, not a request. “And so do you.”

Something shifts in his face. A quiet defeat. A slow, weary nod.

You kiss him.

It starts slow, but the urgency comes fast. His lips part like a dam breaking, like he’s been holding back the need all night. He exhales sharply into your mouth. His fingers find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt, calloused and desperate.

You tug his vest off first, popping buttons on his shirt one by one, exposing the soft curve of his ribs, the long lines of his narrow chest. His breathing hitches when you touch his skin.

Viktor’s kisses get deeper—messier. He groans softly as your hand slips down, stroking the front of his trousers. He’s half-hard already, heat building fast under your palm.

He swears under his breath in that thick, honey-drenched accent, forehead pressed to your temple.

“Come here” he says, tugging your hips toward his desk. “Here, now—need you closer.”

The desk chair rolls back with a sharp squeak. He sinks into it, pulling you with him so you’re straddling his lap. You slot together like you’ve done it a hundred times—but tonight is different. The tension is bitter under your skin. You’re both starving.

You grind down once and feel him stiffen under you, hands gripping your ass through your pants, holding you in place.

“Off” he mutters. “I want you—want skin—”

You strip for each other in the low lab light. It’s quiet except for breathing and rustling fabric. He watches as you peel off your shirt, his mouth slightly parted. His fingers tremble as he undoes your pants. You slide them down with your underwear all at once, and he draws in a sharp breath.

Your thighs land on either side of him again, bare now. He slides his hands up them slowly, reverently, like you’re a blueprint he’s afraid of tearing.

And then he lifts you—just slightly—and lowers you down onto his cock.

No teasing. No fumbling.

Just slick heat, stretched tight around him, pressure blooming in your core like relief and ache all at once. You both gasp. Your head falls to his shoulder as he seats himself deep inside you.

You stay like that for a moment. Still. Shaking.

“You okay?” he murmurs against your hair.

You nod. “Are you?”

He kisses your neck once. “Getting there.”

You roll your hips. Once. Twice. You both let out low, breathy moans. The kind that don’t come from pleasure alone—but release. Relief.

It’s not a pretty rhythm. It’s frantic. You ride him with shaky knees and greedy hands, grabbing at his shirt, his shoulders, his jaw. Viktor thrusts up into you, trying to match your pace, one hand braced around your lower back, the other sliding between your legs.

His fingers circle your clit fast, firm. Not cruel, just focused. Effective.

He knows your body like the back of his hand, and he uses that knowledge like a weapon. Your thighs start to tremble.

“Vik—Viktor—I’m gonna—”

“Let go” he says hoarsely. “Please. Let go for me.”

And you do.

It hits hard. Your body clamps down around him, shaking through it, clinging to his shoulders, crying out softly into his neck.

He doesn’t stop.

He lifts you just enough to thrust harder—hips rolling up into you with slick, wet sounds echoing in the lab. He’s not saying anything now, just groaning low, jaw tight, hair sticking to his forehead.

You feel him twitch inside you. Once. Twice.

And then he spills into you with a breathless grunt, hips stuttering, arm locked around your back.

You don’t move for a long time.

You’re both panting. Still connected. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears. Viktor’s chest rises and falls beneath yours, sweaty and fast. His arms are trembling around you, one hand still absently stroking your back.

He hums, voice wrecked. “That’s… one way to clear the mind.”

You laugh breathlessly. It dissolves into a shaky sigh.

The silence that follows is thick with heat and the sound of your breathing—both of you still coming down. His chest rises and falls against yours like the slow, steady churn of ocean waves retreating from the shore after a storm.

You don’t move for a long time.

Still seated in his lap, still filled with him. His softening cock is nestled deep inside you, warm and wet and twitching faintly, overstimulated but not uncomfortable. His arms are tight around your waist, and yours are limp around his shoulders, fingers curled against the soft cotton of his undershirt.

Your whole body aches. Not from pain—but from use. From tension wrung out like a soaked cloth. Your thighs are sticky against his, your sweat cooling along your spine, your skin flushed and buzzing, every nerve still crackling with aftershocks.

Viktor’s lips are pressed to the side of your neck. He hasn’t spoken in minutes, just breathing you in, his nose nestled into the slope of your shoulder. His grip on you hasn’t loosened—not even a little. It’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You run your fingers slowly up and down his back, his shirt damp from sweat. “Hey” you whisper. “We should… clean up.”

He hums softly. “I know.” A pause. Then, with quiet reluctance, “But not yet.”

He lifts his head, and when your eyes meet, it’s like looking into the eye of a storm that’s finally passed.

His face is soft now. No tension in his brow. His eyes aren’t sharp with stress anymore—just tired. Heavy-lidded. Human.

You kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then finally his mouth again. It’s a slow kiss this time. No desperation. Just lips brushing lips, breath exchanged, silent thanks passed between you.

When you finally lift yourself off of him, both of you wince at the mess. You feel him spill out of you in a slow, warm slide, sticking to your thighs. He lets out a low, tired groan, running a hand over his face.

“Apologies” he mutters, glancing down at the mess between you with a tired smile.

“Don’t be” you say softly.

He kisses your shoulder once—tender, almost reverent. Then he helps you off his lap carefully, steadying you with both hands when your legs threaten to give.

You both stand on shaky legs. He leans on his cane long enough to guide you over to the small cot in the corner of the lab. It’s barely long enough to lie flat on, and the mattress is thin, but it’s been used more times than either of you could count.

He lays 

you down first. Pulls a soft, fleece blanket over your body, adjusting the edges around your arms like he’s tucking you in.

“I’ll be back in a moment” he murmurs.

You nod, watching the bare line of his back as he walks across the lab. He limps more than usual now, and you make a note to massage his thigh later—he always forgets how much tension builds there after long nights.

You hear the sink running, the quiet sound of drawers opening. When he returns, he’s carrying a clean towel soaked with warm water.

He kneels beside the cot, presses a gentle kiss to your stomach, and begins to clean you.

It’s slow. Intentional. He parts your thighs gently with one hand and runs the warm cloth through the sticky mess between them. Not once does he look away. Not once does he act hurried or awkward.

You flinch a little—you’re still too sensitive—and he pauses instantly. “Too much?” he whispers.

“No” you say quietly, your voice raspy. “Just… tender. Keep going.”

He does. Carefully. Soft passes between your folds. His eyes soften when he sees where your skin is pink and puffy. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, not sexual—just thankful.

When 

he’s done, he dries you gently, then helps you into one of his soft sleep shirts. It’s oversized on you, falling to mid-thigh. He kisses the top of your knee when he tugs the hem down.

You watch as he tosses the towel into the hamper, then washes his hands at the sink. He takes longer this time, rubbing his temples under the cool stream of water, then dragging damp fingers through his hair.

When he returns, he climbs into the cot behind you. The space is too small for two people, but that doesn’t matter. You lie on your side, and he curls around you—his chest to your back, his arm sliding beneath your neck, his other arm wrapping around your waist.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you feel his whole body exhale against yours.

His prosthetic on his leg shifts awkwardly, so you gently guide it into a more comfortable angle for him. His breath stutters like he hadn’t even realized how uncomfortable he was until now.

“Better?” you ask.

“Mhm” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “Thank you.”

You stay like that for a while. Breathing in sync. The hum of hextech in the background.

You tilt your head slightly so you can reach back and run your fingers through his hair. He melts into the touch like a man starved for it.

“You should sleep” you whisper.

“I will” he replies softly. “Just want to feel you first. I don’t want to miss it.”

You swallow thickly.

He never says things like that unless he’s truly overwhelmed. It’s his way of admitting he almost cracked tonight. That if you hadn’t come over, he would’ve drowned quietly in the silence of his own mind.

“I’m here” you whisper, pressing his hand tighter to your stomach. “I’ve got you.”

You feel him nod. His breath evens out slowly. You think he might have fallen asleep until he speaks again, voice barely audible.

“Don’t let me forget this.”

You turn slightly in his arms, just enough to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Never.”

He falls asleep before you do. You feel the moment his body truly relaxes—like the weight of everything finally, finally let go.

And in the quiet hum of the lab, with his arms around you and your body clean and warm under the shared blanket, your own exhaustion sinks its teeth in.

You sleep together like that. Tangled. Grounded. Saved by each other.

And tomorrow, when the work begins again, you’ll start from this place. From stillness. From comfort. From love.

Chapter Text

Ask: Hii! I know I just send in an another request but this idea also popped into my mind and I feel like you could write it quite well so I didn't want to send it to someone else.

Viktor×reader, where readers way of expressing their love and care is by taking care of people and trying to help as much as possible to make life easier for everyone they care about (opening doors, making food, helping a friend study, all the small and big things). I think viktor would struggle to accept that reader cares for him and isn't just babying him. Him slowly realising that he can ask for help not only when it's absolutely necessary but also just when he wants help because it would be easier. But then also getting stuck with the feeling of the reader being so caring for everyone. Love confession or something? Idk

Sorry for sending two requests in a row, take your time please.

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩- 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (╥╯^╰╥

Viktor was used to doing things alone. It wasn’t a matter of pride—at least, not entirely. It was habit. Necessity. He had learned early on that asking for help often led to disappointment, so he learned to manage on his own. He had learned to be independent, to push forward no matter the difficulty, to adjust his grip on his cane and keep moving even when his leg ached and the weight of exhaustion pressed against his skull.

That was why he struggled with you. Because you—without hesitation, without expectation—made his life easier.

It started small, things he could brush off. You holding open doors when you walked ahead of him, waiting just long enough so he wouldn’t have to catch the handle himself. You adjusting his chair in the lab before he sat down, subtle, like you hadn’t even thought about it. You bringing him tea when you got your own, setting it down beside him without a word.

But it wasn’t just him.

You did it for everyone. Helping Jayce reorganize his disaster of a desk when you noticed him getting frustrated. Bringing Claggor coffee when he was pulling an all-nighter. Tutoring some first-years when you saw them struggling with equations you could solve in seconds.

You were thoughtful in a way that seemed effortless, as if your care for others was woven into your very being.

And it unsettled him. Because the more he noticed it, the harder it became to ignore.

He had spent years learning to work through pain, through difficulty, through exhaustion. He only ever asked for help when there was no other option. And yet, with you, help was simply given—before he could even think to ask.

And worse than that, you didn’t just do it because of his leg, or because you pitied him. You did it because you cared.

That realization was the most difficult thing of all.

The lab was quiet save for the occasional scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor as he moved back and forth between his desk and the chalkboard. He was immersed in his work, half-formed calculations filling the margins of his notebook.

Until—

“Viktor.” Your voice, warm and familiar, pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as you placed a plate of food beside him.

He frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But you haven’t eaten all day, and I was making something for myself anyway. Figured you’d appreciate not starving.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you repeated easily. “But I wanted to.”

That should have been the end of it. You turned to leave, already heading back to your own work, but Viktor’s grip tightened around his pen.

“…You do this for everyone.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the plate, at the general atmosphere of you. “You help everyone. You—” He exhaled sharply, frustration edging his voice. “You don’t have to keep looking after me.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Viktor shook his head. “You should not waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” you said, more firmly this time. You took a step closer, crossing your arms. “But just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. He had spent so long believing he was only allowed help when it was absolutely necessary. When he physically could not continue without it.

But you—you were offering it simply because you cared.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

It took time.

At first, he tried to resist. If he needed something from a high shelf, he would stretch for it. If his leg ached after hours of standing, he would grit his teeth and bear it. If his hands trembled from exhaustion, he would steady them himself.

But you were there.

Not pushing, not forcing—just there. And it became harder to ignore the fact that things were simply easier when he let you help.

The first time he asked for something—really asked, not because he had no other choice but because he wanted to—it was almost painful.

“Could you… hand me that book?”

You didn’t comment on the hesitation in his voice, didn’t make a big deal of it. You just passed him the book and went back to your work, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe, for you, it was.

So he tried.

He let you carry an extra cup of tea back to the table when he saw you holding two. He let you adjust the strap of his bag when it had slipped. He let you—just once—walk beside him at his pace without feeling the need to keep up.

And then one day, without thinking, he said, “Could you help me with this equation?”

And you did. No hesitation. No expectation. Just a simple, of course.

And he realized—he liked it.

He liked knowing that there was someone who cared enough to notice when he needed something. He liked the ease of it, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

But then— Then he caught himself watching you help others. Not just him. Everyone.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was simply who you were.

But the next time you reached out to help Jayce with something, something hot and tight twisted in his chest.

“Do you—” He hesitated, words feeling foreign in his mouth. “Do you care for everyone the way you care for me?”

You looked at him then, truly looked, as if you were searching for something beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain.

His breath caught.

You took a step closer. “I care about a lot of people. But you—” A small, almost nervous smile played at your lips. “You are different.”

Viktor swallowed. He had spent so long avoiding the truth that it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

You cared for him. Not because you pitied him. Not because you saw him as weak.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And suddenly, he was laughing—soft, breathless, incredulous.

Because maybe—just maybe—he loved you too.

Chapter Text

Ask: Viktor being jealous??!!?!??!

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲/ 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠. ૮₍⇀ ‸ ↼‶₎ა

Viktor isn’t the type to throw a fit. He won’t storm out or pick a fight—no, he’ll sit there, watching, cataloging every detail. The way someone leans too close, the way they laugh just a little too easily at your jokes. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch against his cane, but he waits. He studies.

He won’t cause a scene, but he will dismantle his opponent with terrifying precision. A casual, cutting remark that leaves the poor fool questioning their existence? A pointed comment that makes them realize they’re utterly beneath him? He delivers it with a polite smile, an arch of his brow, and then turns his attention back to you like they never existed.

Viktor doesn’t need grand gestures. A hand on the small of your back, a thumb grazing your wrist as he guides you away, a lingering press of fingers against your hip. He is tactile when it counts, his touch burning with intent.

His voice drops, low and velvety, when he leans in close. “You are enjoying yourself, yes? I hope so. Because I would hate for you to feel… unattended.” It’s not a threat, not exactly. But his fingers at your waist tighten just slightly, just enough to let you know he’s very aware.

There’s a moment where he decides he’s done entertaining the nonsense. He doesn’t yank you away, doesn’t make a scene. He simply steps in, a warm body at your back, his breath at your ear. “Come with me.” And there’s no argument.

The room is warm, the air thick with conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. You hadn’t expected the night to stretch this long, but here you were, laughing at some story being told by a man whose name you had already forgotten.

You could feel Viktor before you saw him.

That particular kind of weight in the air, the prickle at the back of your neck that told you he was watching. It wasn’t overt, not yet. But you knew him well enough to recognize the signs—his patience had an expiration date.

“That’s fascinating,” you hum, just to be polite. You shift your glass in your hand, casting a glance over your shoulder.

There he is. Seated just far enough away that he could pretend he wasn’t paying attention. His fingers tap idly against the head of his cane, his mouth a neutral line. But his gaze? Heavy. Unwavering.

You can feel it trailing over you, catching at your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your waist. He is not pleased.

“Am I boring you?” The man in front of you tilts his head, misreading your distraction entirely.

You smile, but it’s not meant for him. “Not at all.”

You take a slow sip from your glass, deliberately holding Viktor’s gaze over the rim. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something dark and considering.

He moves.

It’s not rushed, not dramatic. Just the smooth, purposeful way he unfolds himself from his chair, the slow click of his cane against the floor as he makes his way toward you.

You straighten instinctively as he stops at your side, his body close enough that you feel the heat of him.

Viktor doesn’t immediately acknowledge you. His attention is on the man in front of you, studying him with a polite, distant kind of amusement. “You are very entertaining, I see.”

The man laughs awkwardly. “I do my best.”

“Mmm.” Viktor hums, unimpressed. His fingers brush lightly against the curve of your hip, as if it’s an idle thing. But the touch lingers.

Your breath catches.

Viktor shifts, angling himself ever so slightly toward you, his lips close enough to ghost against the shell of your ear.

“Come with me.”

A whisper, nothing more. But his voice is low, edged with something dangerous.

You shiver.

“Excuse us,” Viktor says absently, already guiding you away. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to.

The hallway is quieter, dimly lit, far from the eyes of the party. Viktor doesn’t stop until your back is against the wall, his body a breath away from yours.

“You are playing with me,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming.

You tilt your chin up, feigning innocence. “Am I?”

His lips curve, but there’s no real humor in it. He steps closer, his thigh brushing against yours. “Careful, love.” His fingers find your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there, feeling the way your pulse betrays you. “You might not like where this game ends.”

The air between you is electric, your breath caught somewhere between anticipation and challenge.

You don’t back down. “Maybe I would.”

Viktor inhales slowly, his thumb sweeping up to brush over your lower lip, his gaze dropping.

“You test my patience.” His voice is a rasp now, thick with something unspoken. “And yet—” He leans in, just barely, his mouth a whisper away. “I find I do not mind.”

Your heart is a traitor, hammering against your ribs. His presence is suffocating in the best way, his attention a brand against your skin.

“Viktor—”

The moment shatters as a voice calls from the main room.

“Viktor! There you are! We were just about to—”

Viktor exhales sharply, his forehead brushing yours for half a second before he pulls away, irritation flickering in his gaze. He closes his eyes, composing himself.

“You are lucky,” he murmurs, shaking his head. But his grip on your wrist tightens, just enough to remind you—this wasn’t over.

You swallow, your skin still burning where he touched you.

Lucky? No.

You weren’t sure luck had anything to do with it.

Chapter Text

Ask: Viktor requests? Fuck yeah, I wanna give that man the messiest thighjob ever.

Oh my god—messiest thighjob ever?? That’s literally the hottest idea I’ve heard all day. Viktor doesn’t even know the kind of divine treatment he’s about to receive… like sir, brace yourself. I’m blushing just thinking about it <3

You have taste, anon. Absolute top-tier, elite-level taste.

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐣𝐨𝐛 (𝐝𝐮𝐡)

He’s on his knees between your thighs, panting like he’s been starved, hair mussed, flushed all the way down his neck. His shirt’s halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and there’s nothing refined about him now—not the careful inventor, not the quiet genius.

Just a man rutting into your thighs like it’s the only thing that matters.

You’ve got your legs pressed together, slicked with spit and precome, and his cock is sliding through them—hot, hard, soaked. Every thrust makes a wet, obscene sound, and every time the flushed head of his cock peeks out from between your thighs, it’s leaking, glistening, smearing even more mess across your skin.

“Fuck—fuck“ Viktor gasps, voice wrecked, eyes locked on the sight of his cock disappearing into the grip of your thighs again and again. “You’re—ahh, gods, you’re perfect—”

You smirk, leaning back on your elbows, spreading your knees just a bit to tease him. “You like fucking my thighs that much, baby?”

His eyes snap up to meet yours—wild, dark, pupils blown.

“Too much” he chokes out. “It’s—you’re so soft—tight, it’s—fuck—”

He thrusts harder, faster, hips slapping against the backs of your thighs. His hands are gripping them like a lifeline, fingers digging in, keeping you locked in place while he fucks the space between them like it’s your cunt. His cock is leaving trails of precome, slick and shiny, painting your skin. You squeeze your thighs tighter around him, an

d he whines.

“You’re so messy” you murmur, dragging a hand down his jaw, his chest, teasing the line of hair leading down his stomach. “You’re drooling all over my legs, Viktor.”

His hips stutter, cock twitching, eyes fluttering half-shut. “I can’t help it—I’m—fuck, look at me, I’m gonna—”

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear.

“Then come for me, pretty boy. Make a mess.”

That’s all it takes.

He lets out a broken moan—loud, desperate—as his cock pulses between your thighs. Hot spurts of cum spill out, thick and heavy, splashing onto your stomach, your thighs, oozing down as he keeps thrusting through it, riding his orgasm like he can’t stop. He’s breathing hard, hips jerking, cum smeared everywhere—on your skin, dripping from your inner thighs, staining your sheets.

When he finally slows, he’s trembling, hands still clutching you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

You reach down, run your fingers through the sticky mess he left all over your thighs, then bring them to his lips. He watches, dazed, before sucking them into his mouth with a soft, filthy groan.

“You’re insatiable“ you whisper.

He pulls off your fingers with a wet pop, eyes half-lidded. “Only for you.”

Chapter Text

Ask: Can I ask for Viktor x reader where reader thought Viktor died in the Explosion on start of s2 but then finds him in Zaun in his little community and their reunion turns into make out session which turns out into… you know, and Viktor is just whimpering mess, worried he might hurt the reader because he still isn’t sure what his body can do? Maybe top! Reader and sub! Viktor?👉👈🥺

synopsis: after believing viktor perished in the explosion you’re shattered — until you find him alive, hidden deep in Zaun, leading a small community of survivors. But he’s not the same. the man you loved is fragile, altered by hextech and haunted by fear of his own strength. In a reunion that erupts into desperate passion, you show him he’s still worthy of love, still human and that no part of him —gold-veined, trembling, or broken— could ever scare you away 

cw: gn! reader, explicit, emotional hurt/ comfort, subby! viktor, body worship, sex with feelings, LOTS of feelings 

You had seen him die.

That’s what you told yourself every time you woke up in a cold sweat. That’s what you whispered when you stood at the scorched edge of the lab, where glass had melted like wax and twisted steel beams jutted from the rubble like broken bones. You’d cried there. Screamed. Dug through the ashes with your bare hands until Jayce had to pull you away, bloodied and broken.

Viktor was gone. Everyone agreed. No body, but enough fire to make that fact irrelevant.

You told yourself you were moving on. You helped rebuild. You smiled when you had to. You laid awake at night, pretending the sheets beside you had never been warm with his body. That you didn’t still hear the faint shuffle of his cane in quiet corridors or smell iron and ozone and ink when you passed a chemist’s shop.

But months later, deep in Zaun on Council business, you followed a whisper. A rumor. A throwaway mention of a kind man who helped the orphans near the old refinery, who walked with a homemade cane and eyes like dying suns.

You found him in a crumbling brick workshop lit by glowmoss and copper coils, surrounded by Zaunite children and makeshift tools. Thin. Pale. Still beautiful in that haunted, sharp-boned way that had once made you forget how to speak.

You didn’t knock. You couldn’t.

“Viktor” you breathed.

He froze

.

His back was to you, sleeves rolled to the elbows as he worked over a flickering power core. You watched his shoulders tense, watched his hand tremble as he set the tool down with aching care. He turned.

And he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“…y/n?”

Your legs moved before your brain caught up. You crossed the room in seconds, fingers trembling, eyes blurring with tears you’d sworn you’d never cry again. You grabbed his face — gaunt and lined with grief, eyes wide — and kissed him.

You didn’t mean to. It wasn’t a plan. But you were drowning in it — the shock, the love, the fury that he hadn’t told you he was alive. That he let you grieve him.

His mouth opened under yours with a gasp. Warm and hesitant, like he didn’t quite believe it was happening. You felt his breath stutter. One hand gripped the front of your coat like he thought he might fall. The other… hovered in the air, shaking.

“You’re alive” you whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to say it, voice ragged.

“I… I didn’t want you to see what I became,” he rasped, voice hoarse with guilt. “I wasn’t sure I should be alive.”

You pressed your forehead to his, chest heaving.

“You left me.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“I didn’t want your protection, Viktor. I wanted you.”

His knees buckled a little.

You caught him, arms wrapping around his thin waist, feeling the shift of his body — the low hum under the skin, the faint warmth of a core beating where his heart

used to race. His cane clattered to the floor.

“I’m not the man I was” he murmured, like it was a confession.

You lifted your head, cupped his jaw.

“Then show me who you are now.”

⸻

You didn’t make it to the bed.

The second kiss was hungrier. Slower. A build-up of all the longing that had hollowed you out over the months. You backed him against the wall beside the workbench, hands dragging down his sides, desperate to touch and confirm he was real — warm and solid and trembling in your grip.

He moaned softly into your mouth, fingers curling in your shirt like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I missed you” you whispered between kisses, your hands slipping under the hem of his thin shirt to splay against the sharp lines of his ribs. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Viktor gasped as you pressed your body flush to his, hips slotting together. His cheeks burned — red, high, and unfiltered.

“I… I don’t know if it’s safe” he whispered, breath hitching when your lips brushed his jaw, then his throat. “What I’ve become…”

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No—” he choked on the word. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

Your heart clenched.

The trembling in his hands, the hesitancy in his kiss, the shallow way he was breathing — it wasn’t just lust or need. It was fear. Not of rejection. But of breaking something precious.

You slid your hand up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him in close. Your voice dropped.

“Then don’t hold back because you’re afraid of you. I’m not fragile, Viktor.”

His head tipped back against the wall, a broken sound falling from his lips.

“I missed you” you whispered between kisses, your hands slipping under the hem of his thin shirt to splay against the sharp lines of his ribs. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Viktor gasped as you pressed your body flush to his, hips slotting together. His cheeks burned — red, high, and unfiltered.

“I… I don’t know if it’s safe” he whispered, breath hitching when your lips brushed his jaw, then his throat. “What I’ve become…”

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No—” he choked on the word. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

Your heart clenched.

The trembling in his hands, the hesitancy in his kiss, the shallow way he was breathing — it wasn’t just lust or need. It was fear. Not of rejection. But of breaking something precious.

You slid your hand up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him in close. Your voice dropped.

“Then don’t hold back because you’re afraid of you. I’m not fragile, Viktor.”

His head tipped back against the wall, a broken sound falling from his lips.

“I still feel it,” he whispered. “All the time. This… thrum under my skin. Like lightning waiting to strike. I—sometimes I wake up shaking.”

You kissed his collarbone.

“Then let me help you come back to yourself.”

You unbuttoned his shirt slowly.

He was panting by then, fingers tangled in your clothes like he needed to hold on to something. You eased the fabric off his shoulders, exposing the lines of his chest — the ridges of the tech laced into his sternum, veins glowing faintly gold. Your lips brushed the seam where skin met steel.

Viktor whimpered. Not a sharp sound — a soft, desperate one. His legs shook. He slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, eyes glassy, lips parted.

“I can’t— I need—” he stammered, voice broken and thick with emotion. “If I lose control—”

“You won’t” you whispered, kneeling between his legs. “You’re here. You’re with me. And you’re doing so good, baby…”

The pet name made his breath catch.

His pupils blew wide. His back arched slightly. His hips twitched like he wanted to grind up into you, but didn’t dare.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” you murmured, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I’ll stop. I promise.”

He nodded shakily.

Then his hands slipped into your hair and pulled you down into another kiss — needier this time. Hungrier. Like he’d finally given himself permission.

Like he needed you more than air.

You had never seen him like this.

Not in the soft hush of those old nights in Piltover where he’d press kisses to your temple in the dark, murmuring theories as his hands mapped your body like stardust on a chart. Not in the hurried moments between experiments, where he’d push you up against lab counters and stifle moans into your shoulder, too shy to let them echo.

This Viktor — trembling on the floor beneath you, breath shallow, lips red and wet from too many kisses — was bare.

His shirt hung open around his ribs. His golden veins glowed faintly in the dark, pulses of light rising with each fast, ragged breath. You sat on your knees between his legs, watching his chest rise and fall. His eyes darted over you, hungry and terrified all at once.

“I want to touch you,” you said softly, voice low. “Can I?”

He nodded, almost frantically. But the hesitation was still there — in his fingers clenched tight into the fabric of his pants, in the small tremor in his thighs. His lips moved before the sound came.

“Please.”

He nodded shakily.

Then his hands slipped into your hair and pulled you down into another kiss — needier this time. Hungrier. Like he’d finally given himself permission.

Like he needed you more than air.

You had never seen him like this.

Not in the soft hush of those old nights in Piltover where he’d press kisses to your temple in the dark, murmuring theories as his hands mapped your body like stardust on a chart. Not in the hurried moments between experiments, where he’d push you up against lab counters and stifle moans into your shoulder, too shy to let them echo.

This Viktor — trembling on the floor beneath you, breath shallow, lips red and wet from too many kisses — was bare.

His shirt hung open around his ribs. His golden veins glowed faintly in the dark, pulses of light rising with each fast, ragged breath. You sat on your knees between his legs, watching his chest rise and fall. His eyes darted over you, hungry and terrified all at once.

“I want to touch you,” you said softly, voice low. “Can I?”

He nodded, almost frantically. But the hesitation was still there — in his fingers clenched tight into the fabric of his pants, in the small tremor in his thighs. His lips moved before the sound came.

“Please.”

That whisper undid you.

You leaned forward, kissed the hollow of his throat. He gasped — sharp and high — as your hands traveled slowly down his chest. You traced every glowing seam, every edge of scar tissue where steel met flesh. He arched slightly, breath catching on a broken moan.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you asked, breath ghosting against his skin.

“No,” he whispered. “It… reacts. When I feel too much, it… flares. I don’t always know how strong I am.”

You pressed a firmer kiss just below his jaw, hands braced on his sides.

“Then let me be the one to feel for you.”

When you slid your hands down, across the ridges of his stomach and lower still, he made a sound so helpless it shot straight to your core. You palmed him over his pants and he bucked up, face buried in your neck, moaning high and breathless.

“F-fuck— I, I—”

“You’re doing so good,” you whispered, lips brushing his temple as your hand worked slow, teasing strokes. “You’re not going to hurt me…”

He whimpered again — head tilting back to rest against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted.

“Do you know how long I’ve missed you like this?” you murmured against his lips. “How many nights I dreamed about hearing these little noises again?”

He nodded shakily.

Then his hands slipped into your hair and pulled you down into another kiss — needier this time. Hungrier. Like he’d finally given himself permission.

Like he needed you more than air.

You had never seen him like this.

Not in the soft hush of those old nights in Piltover where he’d press kisses to your temple in the dark, murmuring theories as his hands mapped your body like stardust on a chart. Not in the hurried moments between experiments, where he’d push you up against lab counters and stifle moans into your shoulder, too shy to let them echo.

This Viktor — trembling on the floor beneath you, breath shallow, lips red and wet from too many kisses — was bare.

His shirt hung open around his ribs. His golden veins glowed faintly in the dark, pulses of light rising with each fast, ragged breath. You sat on your knees between his legs, watching his chest rise and fall. His eyes darted over you, hungry and terrified all at once.

“I want to touch you,” you said softly, voice low. “Can I?”

He nodded, almost frantically. But the hesitation was still there — in his fingers clenched tight into the fabric of his pants, in the small tremor in his thighs. His lips moved before the sound came.

“Please.”

That whisper undid you.

You leaned forward, kissed the hollow of his throat. He gasped — sharp and high — as your hands traveled slowly down his chest. You traced every glowing seam, every edge of scar tissue where steel met flesh. He arched slightly, breath catching on a broken moan.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you asked, breath ghosting against his skin.

“No,” he whispered. “It… reacts. When I feel too much, it… flares. I don’t always know how strong I am.”

You pressed a firmer kiss just below his jaw, hands braced on his sides.

“Then let me be the one to feel for you.”

When you slid your hands down, across the ridges of his stomach and lower still, he made a sound so helpless it shot straight to your core. You palmed him over his pants and he bucked up, face buried in your neck, moaning high and breathless.

“F-fuck— I, I—”

“You’re doing so good,” you whispered, lips brushing his temple as your hand worked slow, teasing strokes. “You’re not going to hurt me…”

He whimpered again — head tilting back to rest against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted.

“Do you know how long I’ve missed you like this?” you murmured against his lips. “How many nights I dreamed about hearing these little noises again?”

His hips stuttered against your touch.

The lines of his body — all lean muscle and sinew, too-thin from months of hiding — twisted in slow agony. The gold in his veins pulsed faster now. Your other hand slid around his jaw, grounding him, tilting his face up.

“You can fall apart,” you said. “I’ll hold you.”

A choked, shivering cry slipped out of him as you kissed him again — messier now, with teeth and heat. He kissed you back like he needed your breath to live. His hands clawed at your clothes, trembling, desperate for skin. You let him undress you, let him pull at your shirt like he thought it might disappear if he didn’t hold onto it hard enough.

When you were finally bare above him, his eyes dragged over you with reverence and disbelief.

“I thought… I’d lost this,” he whispered. “That I wasn’t human enough anymore. That you wouldn’t…”

You reached down, cradled his jaw again, and guided him to look up at you.

“I don’t want the man you were,” you whispered, dragging his hand to your chest. “I want you. Like this.”

He moaned — soft and needy — and leaned forward to mouth gently at your skin, lips hot and reverent, breath fogging as he kissed lower. His hands cupped your thighs like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to squeeze. You straddled him fully, your clothed core pressing against the hard shape in his pants.

Sounds tore out of him — loud, raw, like he was too overwhelmed to hold it in anymore. His head dropped to your shoulder, panting.

“I can’t— I feel like I’ll explode—”

“You won’t,” you murmured, grinding against him slowly. “Let go for me. Let me take care of you.”

He shuddered so hard it rattled.

You undid his pants, slow and deliberate.

Every movement you made was careful. You watched him as you exposed him, as his hips twitched and his face flushed deep pink. His cock was already wet at the tip, flushed dark and thick against the hollow of his belly.

You stroked him once — slow, base to tip — and he cried out.

His hand slapped to the floor, bracing himself like he was trying not to come already. His face was contorted in something between pain and ecstasy, eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched.

“You’re so sensitive” you whispered, brushing your thumb under his tip.

“I c-can’t—” he gasped, body jerking. “You don’t… know what you’re doing to me—”

“Yes, I do.”

You kissed him again, hard, and guided him back onto the floor fully. He laid flat, panting, chest heaving under you. You hovered over him, bracing your arms on either side of his head, letting him feel the weight of you above him.

He reached for you like it was instinct — like not touching you would kill him.

When you slid your body down, lining yourself up with him, he froze.

“Wait— wait—” he gasped. “Are you—are you sure? I don’t—”

You cupped his cheek again, voice soft and breathless.

“I want to feel all of you.”

His lips trembled. His hips lifted slightly, and you sank down onto him in one slow, delicious stroke.

A beautiful, raw, broken sound escaped him. He writhed beneath you, arms flung back above his head, fingers digging into the floor. His spine arched, his head thrown back, teeth bared like it hurt to feel that good.

“Fuck—fuck, I can’t— I’m—”

“You’re okay,” you murmured, starting to move. “Just breathe. Let me feel you. You’re so perfect like this…”

Viktor sobbed.

You kissed him again, hard, and guided him back onto the floor fully. He laid flat, panting, chest heaving under you. You hovered over him, bracing your arms on either side of his head, letting him feel the weight of you above him.

He reached for you like it was instinct — like not touching you would kill him.

When you slid your body down, lining yourself up with him, he froze.

“Wait— wait—” he gasped. “Are you—are you sure? I don’t—”

You cupped his cheek again, voice soft and breathless.

“I want to feel all of you.”

His lips trembled. His hips lifted slightly, and you sank down onto him in one slow, delicious stroke.

A beautiful, raw, broken sound escaped him. He writhed beneath you, arms flung back above his head, fingers digging into the floor. His spine arched, his head thrown back, teeth bared like it hurt to feel that good.

“Fuck—fuck, I can’t— I’m—”

“You’re okay,” you murmured, starting to move. “Just breathe. Let me feel you. You’re so perfect like this…”

Viktor sobbed.

His hands clawed up your back, and you let him grab on, ride it out, let him buck up into you like he couldn’t help it. Every movement made his cock twitch inside you. Every squeeze of your muscles around him had him whimpering for mercy.

“I love you” he gasped — not planned, not clean — just spilled from his lips like everything else in him was unraveling.

“I love you too.”

And you meant it — every inch of him, gold-veined and shaking, his brilliant mind and broken body, the scientist and the man. You rode him slowly, sensually, pressing your forehead to his as he came apart beneath you.

He was crying by the end.

Not sobbing. Just quiet tears, streaking hot down his temples as he clung to you, gasping soft, half-formed apologies. You kissed them away. You stayed on him, skin to skin, until the shaking stopped.

Until the gold in his chest dimmed to a warm glow.

Until you felt him finally, finally let go of the guilt.

Chapter Text

✰⍣..𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲-𝐟𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭- 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩. 

⇢ 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭/ 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 ╰(*´︶`*)╯

@swagbirdnightmare finally posted the part 2 u once requested 😩 god I’m sorry it took so long 

Viktor had no idea what was coming.

He had strutted around the lab all day with that smug little smirk, acting like he wasn’t still dripping from the way he rode your cock last night, like he hadn’t been shaking by the time you finally came inside him. It was insufferable.

And worst of all? He thought he had won. 

No, you weren’t going to let that slide.

By the time the two of you got home, you had a plan. You played it patient—watching him with dark, knowing eyes, staying close enough that he felt your presence, but never touching. You knew how to get under Viktor’s skin, how to make him restless without a single word.

It wasn’t until he finally snapped, shifting irritably as he sat on the edge of the bed, that you knew it was time.

“You are being unbearable,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “You have been looking at me like a wolf about to eat his meal all day.”

You chuckled, stepping between his legs. “That’s because I am.”

Viktor barely had a second to react before your fingers curled around his jaw, tilting his head up to look at you. His lips parted slightly, his breath hitching at the roughness of your grip.

“You thought last night was funny?” you asked, your voice dark and dangerously low. “You thought you could tease me like that and just get away with it?”

Viktor licked his lips, but there was still defiance in his eyes. “It was not teasing, it was discipline. Clearly, you needed it.”

Your grip tightened, your other hand moving to grab his cane and toss it across the room. His muscles tensed, realizing what you were doing—stripping him of control before he could even think to take it again.

“I think you’re the one who needs discipline” you murmured, dragging your thumb over his bottom lip.

Then you pushed him back.

Viktor barely had time to catch himself on his elbows before you climbed onto the bed after him, caging him in. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, chest rising and falling rapidly. That flash of uncertainty, of knowing he had nowhere to run, sent a thrill down your spine.

“Oh, you love this,” you breathed, running your hands down his body. You could feel the way his muscles trembled under your touch, could see the way his cock twitched against his thigh. He was already half-hard. “Last night, you took what you wanted. But tonight?” You leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Tonight, you beg.” 

Viktor exhaled sharply, but he didn’t fight. He knew better.

You made quick work of his clothes, dragging his shirt over his head and shoving his trousers down until he was completely bare beneath you. His cock was hard now, flushed deep red, resting against his stomach and leaking precum onto his skin.

But you ignored it.

Instead, you spread his legs wider, gripping his thighs and dragging your nails down the sensitive flesh. He hissed, his hips twitching.

“I should leave you like this,” you mused, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. “Keep you open and desperate all night.”

His breath hitched. You could see the way his hands curled into the sheets, already bracing himself. But he didn’t respond—he refused to give you the satisfaction.

Oh, you’d fix that. 

With slow, deliberate movements, you ran your fingers down his stomach, stopping just above his aching cock. You watched as his muscles tensed, as his cock twitched at your proximity, but still, you didn’t touch. Instead, you trailed lower, between his thighs, brushing your fingers over his sensitive rim. 

Viktor’s breath stuttered.

“Already wet for me,” you murmured, circling his entrance with lazy, teasing strokes. “Were you thinking about it all day? About me fucking you into this mattress?”

Viktor clenched his jaw, stubborn.

You pressed the tip of your finger inside, just barely breaching him, feeling the way his body sucked you in, greedy for more.

Still, he said nothing.

So you pulled back.

“Tch.” You clicked your tongue in disappointment, sitting back on your heels. “I don’t fuck brats.” 

That broke him.

Viktor’s fingers clenched in the sheets, his pride warring with his need. You watched as he swallowed hard, struggling with himself—until finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose and forced out, “Please.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

Viktor groaned in frustration, his head tipping back against the pillows. His body burned, his hole clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. He hated this—hated how easily you unraveled him, how quickly you turned him into this whimpering mess.

But he loved it more.

“…Please,” he repeated, softer this time, his voice breathy and desperate. “Please, I need—” He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your fingers back against his hole, teasing. “I need you to fuck me.”

There it was.

You rewarded him instantly, pressing a finger inside, then another, curling them just right, making him arch and whimper.

“Good boy,” you murmured, working him open. “Now, let’s see if you can take it.”

He could. He always could.

By the time you lined yourself up and pushed inside, Viktor was already trembling. His hole stretched around you, gripping you like a vice, pulling you deeper. He was soaking, practically dripping down to the sheets, his body eager to take you to the hilt. 

Viktor moaned as you bottomed out, his fingers clawing at your shoulders, his head rolling back against the pillows. “F-fuck,” he stuttered, breathless. 

You didn’t give him time to adjust.

You pulled out halfway and slammed back in, knocking the air from his lungs.

His mouth opened in a silent scream.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” you groaned, setting a fast pace. “Wanted me to ruin you? Wanted to pay for last night?”

Viktor was gone. His mouth hung open, drool pooling at the corner of his lips, his body rocking under each harsh thrust. He was perfect like this, completely broken down, taking everything you gave him.

And you weren’t stopping until he begged for mercy.

You fucked him hard, raw, slamming into him until the sound of skin against skin filled the room. His cock leaked precum onto his stomach, untouched, but you knew he didn’t need it—he’d cum just from this, from being used.

And when he finally did? When his body tensed, his eyes rolling back as he came with a shattered cry?

You didn’t stop.

Not until he was a sobbing, overstimulated mess, his legs twitching, his hole still clenching around you like it needed more.

Only then did you finally lean down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his throat.

“That,” you murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction, “was payback.”

Viktor let out a breathless, broken laugh, his body still trembling. “…Worth it.”

Oh, you’d fix that, too. 

Not even 20 minutes later, Viktor was wrecked. Completely, utterly ruined beneath you—his body trembling, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, sweat dampening his curls. His thighs were still twitching, his hole clenching weakly around nothing, leaking down onto the sheets from where you had fucked him stupid.

And yet, you still hadn’t come.

Your cock was still thick and aching, coated in his slick, twitching every time you shifted. You had held yourself back—just to make him suffer, just to make him pay—but you weren’t feeling generous anymore.

No, now you were going to take what you were owed.

Viktor let out a soft, dazed whimper as you pulled out of him, your cock dragging against his spent, overstimulated walls. His body twitched, too sensitive, but he didn’t resist when you grabbed his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your eyes.

His pupils were blown wide, glazed over with exhaustion and pleasure, his lips still parted from the moans you had ripped from him. He looked absolutely wrecked—and yet, you could still see it. That smugness lingering beneath the haze.

Like he still thought he had won. 

You huffed out a dark chuckle, gripping his chin a little tighter. “I didn’t say we were finished.”

Viktor blinked slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, but you didn’t give him the chance. You dragged him upright, manhandling him until he was kneeling on the mattress in front of you. He swayed a little, his legs weak, but you steadied him easily.

Then, with deliberate slowness, you gripped your still-hard cock and tapped it against his swollen lips.

Viktor’s breath stuttered.

“Open.”

A flicker of resistance crossed his face—whether from exhaustion or pure stubbornness, you didn’t care. Your fingers tightened around his jaw, forcing his mouth open, pressing your thumb past his lips just enough to make him gasp.

Then, before he could think to protest, you shoved your cock into his mouth.

Viktor choked. 

You groaned at the heat of it, the way his tongue flattened instinctively as you pressed deeper. His lips stretched wide around you, his throat convulsing as you pushed to the back of his mouth. His hands shot up, gripping your thighs, but he didn’t pull away.

Oh, he knew better than that.

“Fuck,” you hissed, your fingers threading into his curls, gripping tight. “You wanted to be in control last night—let’s see how much you like it now.”

Viktor let out a garbled sound as you thrust shallowly, letting him feel the weight of you, the depth. His nails dug into your skin, his body shuddering from the sheer force of it. He was still so fucked out, still sensitive from the way you ruined him—but you didn’t care.

You weren’t done using him.

“You can take it,” you murmured, rocking your hips, pressing deeper with each thrust. “You wanted to tease me, to make me beg—but look at you now.”

Viktor whined, his throat tightening around you.

You groaned at the sensation, at the way he struggled to take you but still did, his lips swollen and wet, spit starting to drip down his chin. He looked up at you, amber eyes hazy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed—so fucking pretty like this.

But it wasn’t enough.

You pulled back, just enough for him to catch a desperate, gasping breath—before slamming back in.

Viktor gagged.

The sound was filthy, wet and messy, his throat constricting around you. His nails clawed at your thighs, his body trembling as he tried to adjust, but you didn’t let up. You set a slow, deep rhythm, fucking into his mouth with firm, calculated thrusts, dragging against his tongue with every pull back.

“You love this, don’t you?” you murmured, your grip tightening in his hair. 

Viktor whimpered, his lashes fluttering, his lips stretched tight around you. He was barely breathing between thrusts, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin.

And fuck, he was so good.

So perfectly ruined, letting you fuck his throat like you owned it.

Your thighs tensed, your cock throbbing, that familiar heat coiling low in your stomach. You were close—so fucking close—but you wanted to make sure he felt it.

“Open wider,” you ordered, your voice rough, wrecked.

Viktor barely had the strength to obey, but he did, his jaw going slack, his throat relaxing—just enough for you to press in, all the way in, until his nose was flush against your skin.

And then you fucked him properly.

You didn’t hold back. You used his mouth, each thrust fast and deep, fucking into his throat like it was your personal toy. The noises he made were obscene—wet, garbled, desperate. His body shook beneath you, his nails digging into your thighs, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

“I’m gonna cum—” you groaned, your grip in his hair unrelenting. 

Viktor shuddered—and that was it. That was all it took.

You buried yourself deep, your cock twitching against the heat of his throat as you finally, finally came.

Thick, hot ropes spilled down his throat, and Viktor had no choice but to swallow. His throat bobbed, lips still wrapped around you, taking everything you gave him.

Only when you were finished did you finally pull back, watching as he gasped for air, coughing slightly, a thin trail of spit and cum connecting his lips to the tip of your cock.

His lips were swollen, his eyes glassy, his cheeks streaked with tears. His whole body trembled, his throat undoubtedly raw. But still, still, he had that look—that cocky little glint in his exhausted, ruined expression.

Like he was proud of himself.

You chuckled darkly, gripping his jaw one last time, swiping your thumb over his wet lips. “Such a messy little thing,” you murmured. “You took that so well.”

Viktor just panted, still catching his breath, his lashes fluttering as he leaned into your touch.

You hummed in satisfaction, dragging your fingers through his damp curls.

His body trembled against you, loose-limbed and weak, still trying to catch up with what you had done to him. His lips were swollen, slick with the mess you had made, his throat surely sore from how you had fucked it. And yet, even in his exhaustion, there was that telltale spark of satisfaction glinting in his hazy eyes, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his well-used mouth.

You let out a breath, something warm curling in your chest despite how much you wanted to tease him for it. Of course he was smug. Even when he had been reduced to nothing but whimpers and drool, even when he had been utterly wrecked by your hands, he still held onto that stubborn streak of his.

You couldn’t be mad, though. Not when he had given you everything. Not when he had been so good for you.

“Come here,” you murmured, voice softer now, all the sharp edges of dominance worn down into something gentler. You gathered him up in your arms, lifting his pliant body with ease.

Viktor made a faint noise of protest—some slurred, half-hearted attempt to remind you that he wasn’t that weak—but it didn’t hold any weight. He was too exhausted to resist, his head lolling against your shoulder as you carried him through the apartment.

The air was cooler outside the bedroom, the contrast making him shiver slightly in your hold. You pressed a kiss to his damp curls, trying to soothe him.

“I’ve got you,” you promised, voice low, steady. “Let me take care of you, love.”

Viktor hummed—a sluggish, barely-there sound of agreement—as you stepped into the bathroom.

The space was dimly lit, only the soft glow of the wall sconces illuminating the room. You reached out, twisting the knobs of the tub, letting warm water begin to fill it. The sound of rushing water echoed through the space, steam curling into the air. You poured in a bit of oil, watching as frothy white bubbles foamed across the surface, the scent of bergamot and lavender filling the room.

Viktor stirred slightly at the scent, shifting in your arms.

You smiled. “Mmm, smells good, doesn’t it?”

A slow, lazy nod.

Carefully, you set him down on the edge of the tub, crouching before him as you reached for a cloth. His skin was still sticky from sweat, remnants of your release drying against his flushed cheeks. You wet the cloth and brought it to his face, swiping it gently along his jaw, his lips, his throat—cleaning him with slow, careful motions.

Viktor let out a quiet breath, tilting his head slightly to let you work. His lashes fluttered, dark against his cheeks, his body still humming with exhaustion.

“You did so well for me tonight,” you murmured, thumb brushing over his chin as you wiped away the last of the mess.

A faint, breathy sound left him—somewhere between a sigh and a pleased little hum.

You chuckled. “So good.”

Once you were satisfied, you nudged at his knee. “Come on, let’s get you in.”

Viktor obeyed, his movements slow and sluggish as he slid into the bath. The moment the hot water touched his skin, he let out a soft, almost obscene moan, his entire body sinking into the heat.

You grinned. “That good?”

“Mmm,” was all he managed, his head tipping back against the rim of the tub.

You laughed, slipping in behind him, pulling him into your chest as you settled into the water. He fit perfectly against you, his back pressed to your front, his body warm and pliant.

You let out a contented sigh, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on the top of his head. “You’re perfect,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Viktor made a quiet noise, but didn’t argue.

Smiling, you reached for the bottle of shampoo, pouring some into your palm before working it into a lather. You ran your fingers through his curls, massaging slow, careful circles into his scalp.

Viktor let out a long, content sigh, his entire body going boneless against you.

You grinned. “Like that?”

He gave a slow, sleepy nod.

You chuckled, taking your time, letting your fingers glide through his hair with gentle, steady strokes. You worked the shampoo in until his curls were thick with foam, the scent of lavender stronger now, clinging to his skin.

For a while, there was only quiet. The sound of water shifting around you, the slow drip of condensation, the occasional sigh from Viktor as your fingers worked over his scalp. It was nice—a contrast to the roughness from earlier.

And then, Viktor spoke.

“Can we go on a date this week?”

You blinked. The question was so soft, so unassuming, that it caught you off guard.

You tilted your head, looking down at him. He was still resting against your chest, still utterly relaxed, but there was a certain hesitation in his voice—like he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

Your heart ached. 

Slowly, you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Of course,” you murmured against his damp curls. “Anywhere you want.”

Viktor exhaled, tension you hadn’t even noticed melting from his frame.

You frowned slightly, brushing your thumb along his temple. “Did you think I’d say no?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He was quiet for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your arm where they rested over his stomach.

“I know I can be… difficult,” he admitted, voice low. “I know I push you. Test you.”

You huffed, kissing his temple again. “You are difficult,” you teased.

Viktor snorted, though it was weaker than usual.

“But you’re mine,” you murmured, dragging your fingers down his chest, slow and soothing. “And I’ll take you anywhere you want, love.”

Viktor sighed, his grip tightening slightly over your arm.

You smiled, tilting his head back slightly to rinse out the suds, your fingers combing through the wet strands, making sure nothing was left behind. He looked soft like this, relaxed and warm, his sharp edges dulled by exhaustion and comfort.

When his hair was finally clean, you reached for a cloth, running it over his shoulders, his arms, his chest—cleaning him with slow, deliberate care. Every touch was a silent I love you.

By the time you were finished, the water had started to cool.

You drained the tub, wrapping a warm towel around his shoulders before lifting him effortlessly into your arms again. He let out a small noise, but didn’t resist—just curled into you, his face pressed against your throat, his body completely pliant.

You carried him back to bed, setting him down gently on the fresh sheets. He immediately burrowed into them, his breath slow, even.

You climbed in beside him, pulling him into your arms. He didn’t resist—just tucked himself against your chest, his fingers curling loosely around your wrist.

You ran a slow hand down his back, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Sleep, love.”

Viktor hummed, his breath hitching slightly before evening out again.

You held him closer. And finally, he drifted off in your arms.

Chapter Text

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐝/𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝- 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲  

His hips slap against yours in a frantic, desperate rhythm, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress with every thrust. Viktor’s thin frame trembles above you, his arms braced on either side of your head, shaking from the effort of holding himself up. His damp curls cling to his forehead, sweat dripping from his temple onto your skin, but he doesn’t slow down—not even for a second.

His breath is ragged, broken between whimpers and gasps as he buries himself inside you over and over again. The pace is wild, messy, almost frenzied, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops even for a moment. He lets out a high, choked sob when your legs tighten around his waist, locking him in deeper, forcing him to grind against you with each thrust.

“Please, please, please—” The word tumbles from his lips in a breathless chant, his voice cracking on every syllable. He’s shaking so much, completely lost in it, his forehead pressing against yours as he whimpers, needy and overwhelmed. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you murmur, reaching up to cup his flushed face. His skin is burning, his pupils blown wide, tears clinging to his lashes. “You’re such a good boy for me.”

His back arches, his hips slamming into you erratically as he lets out a wrecked, sobbing moan. “Mommy—f-fuck—!” His voice is so thin, so desperate, it makes your chest ache. “Too much, too much, I—”

“Shh, you can take it,” you whisper, running your hands down his trembling back, feeling every ridge of his spine, every taut muscle trembling beneath his feverish skin. You squeeze his waist, guiding his frantic movements, keeping him buried inside you. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

Viktor whimpers helplessly, nodding, his nails digging into the sheets beside your head. He’s completely at your mercy, his mind drowning in the pleasure, his entire body wound so tightly you can feel him teetering on the edge.

“Tell me, baby,” you coax, tightening your legs around his waist. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

“You—!” he sobs, burying his face in your neck, his voice breaking into something shattered and breathless. “You, Mommy—oh, fuck, you—” 

His thrusts grow erratic, frenzied, his breath coming in ragged, desperate pants. He’s trembling so badly now, his whole body rocking against you, pressing you deeper into the bed.

And then—

His hips stutter, his breath catching in his throat, and he comes with a long, wrecked cry, burying himself as deep as he can go. His whole body locks up, a strangled sob leaving his lips as he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core as he shakes apart in your arms.

He clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, his body collapsing against yours as he rides out the aftershocks, twitching and gasping with every pulse.

You hold him through it, stroking his hair, whispering soft praise against his temple. “That’s it, baby. You did so well for me. Such a good boy.”

Viktor shudders, pressing his face into your neck, his breath hitching. “D-don’t—don’t stop saying that,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion, still trembling in your arms.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his damp curls. “I won’t, baby,” you promise, holding him close. “I’ll take care of you.”

Chapter Text

Ask: Thank you so much lovey(my official nickname for u atm)for the reply.

I was thinking maybe something along the same line of the viktor being jealous fic??

So it had a banquet/ ball and he gets jealous and when he and reader are home things get spicy👀 and he shows reader who's in charge ( so powerbottom viktor and subtop male reader if ur cool with that)???? 

⇢ 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐓𝐨𝐩! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐢𝐝𝐤

𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐱𝐱

Viktor was seething.

You could feel the heat of his glare burning into the back of your neck, even as you entertained polite conversation at the Piltover banquet. The hall was opulent, filled with nobles dressed in their finest, but none of it mattered. Not when Viktor stood stiff beside you, his grip on his cane tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

It was jealousy, raw and unfiltered. You hadn't done anything-just smiled and nodded along as some insufferably rich scholar placed a hand on your arm, leaning in too close, laughing at your words with a little too much enthusiasm.

You could tell Viktor was barely restraining himself from snapping something vicious.

But instead of confronting it, he said nothing. Not a single word the entire way home. Just tension, thick and suffocating, radiating from his body like a storm waiting to break.

You barely made it through the door before it did.

Viktor grabbed your tie and yanked you forward, slamming his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. His grip was ironclad, fingers twisting in the fabric, pulling you down to his level as he devoured your mouth like he was trying to mark you from the inside out.

"You let them touch you," he growled between ragged breaths, voice rough with anger and something deeper. "You let them fucking look at you like that."

Your pulse pounded, your cock twitching in your trousers at the sheer dominance in his tone. Viktor never took control like this, but when he did... fuck.

"You liked it, didn't you?" he continued, his knee pressing between your legs, rubbing against your hardening cock.

"Enjoyed the attention. Enjoyed making me watch."

You exhaled sharply, hands instinctively moving to grip his waist, but Viktor shoved them back against the door. "No," he spat. "You don't get to touch unless I say so."

The shift in power was intoxicating.

Viktor dragged you to the bedroom, pushing you onto the mattress, climbing over you with fire in his amber eyes. He worked open your clothes with infuriating ease, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. Your cock was already hard, leaking precum against your stomach, but Viktor ignored it completely, instead stripping himself with slow, deliberate movements, making you wait.

"Look at you," he sneered, running his fingers down your chest, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. "So needy."

You groaned, hips bucking involuntarily.

"Viktor-"

A sharp slap landed on your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you jolt.

"You don't get to beg yet," he murmured.

"Not after tonight."

Then, without warning, he reached between his legs, fingers spreading himself open. He was already soaked, his hole slick and twitching with need. He let out a low, breathy moan as he prepped himself, teasing you as he pushed his fingers in, curling them just enough to make himself shudder.

You clenched your jaw, cock twitching at the sight of him fucking himself open right in front of you.

"You see this?" he panted, stretching himself wider, deliberately slow. "This is yours. Not theirs. Yours."

"Then let me take it," you growled, voice raw with need.

A sharp smirk curled his lips before he lined himself up and sank down onto your cock in one agonizing, slow motion.

"F-fuck," you gasped, the tight heat of his hole gripping you like a vice, squeezing around you so perfectly it made your head spin.

Viktor moaned, his fingers digging into your chest as he took every inch of you, his body trembling from the stretch. "So big," he slurred, rolling his hips experimentally. "Always stretches me so good..."

Your fingers twitched, aching to grab him, to thrust up into him, to take control—but Viktor wasn't giving you that tonight.

He set the pace, rolling his hips, fucking himself on your cock with slow, devastating precision. Each movement sent pleasure sparking through your spine, but it wasn't enough. You needed more. You needed to ruin him.

But Viktor was still in charge.

"You want to fuck me properly?" he taunted, grinding down, his slick hole clenching around you. "You don't get to.Not until I decide you've earned it."

You groaned, your cock throbbing inside him, already on the edge from the way he used you like his personal toy.

"Look at you," Viktor purred, voice breathy and soaked with satisfaction.

"Normally so in control, but right now? You're just a desperate little plaything for me to use."

You swore under your breath, fingers curling into the sheets as he rode you mercilessly, rolling his hips with sharp, calculated movements that had you seeing stars. His nails scratched down your chest, leaving faint red marks in their wake as he bounced on your cock, fucking himself deeper and deeper.

"You're gonna cum, aren't you?" he taunted, tightening around you, milking your cock with every squeeze of his hole.

"So fucking weak for me."

"V-Viktor, I-"

But he didn't let you cum.

He stopped, sitting fully down on your cock, keeping you buried to the hilt but refusing to move. His walls fluttered around you, teasing, taunting, his smirk downright sadistic as he watched you writhe beneath him

"You don't get to finish," he said, breathless but firm. "Not yet."

You groaned, body aching, desperate to fuck up into him, to chase that peak he kept just out of reach.

But Viktor was in control.

And he was going to make you suffer for it.

"Be a good boy," he whispered, rolling his hips just enough to make you twitch, but not enough to send you over the edge.

"Take it."

And you did. Because he owned you tonight.

Chapter Text

Ask: The worms in my brain want needy Viktor fic where he’s actually pathetically needy

Idk…. maybe we give him a handjob ⁉️

subby viktor is just a NEED <3 like it’s not even a want anymore it’s a biological requirement. i’ve written so much viktor lately it’s actually criminal but i literally cannot stop…

he’s so pathetically eager and clingy and sweet i just… yeah. he deserves that handjob. and maybe a lil more. for his health. <3

⇢ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐣𝐨𝐛, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 

His knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the desk, trying to stay quiet, trying to focus—but the way your hand pumped up and down his cock ruined any hope of that.

“You’ve been squirming all evening, Vik“ you whispered against his ear, breath warm as you leaned over from behind, your fingers never slowing. “I thought you’d come undone just watching me walk around here, hm?”

Your tone was playful. Cruel in the most tender, loving way. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat—somewhere between a whimper and a plea—his hips jerking involuntarily against your grip. His cock was flushed, leaking, twitching with every stroke, slick sounds echoing in the dim lab around you.

“I—I was trying to focus” he rasped, jaw clenched, brows knitted together. “You—ghnh—you make it… impossible.” 

You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hand twisted on the upward stroke, teasing the underside of his tip with your thumb.

“Poor thing. So desperate and sensitive. You’ve been hard for hours, haven’t you?”

He nodded frantically, shame burning bright in his cheeks. He couldn’t even form words now—just breathy, wet moans that he tried (and failed) to muffle. His whole body was tense, his knees trembling beneath the desk as you lazily jerked him off from behind, lips just brushing the corner of his mouth every now and then.

You could see him falling apart by the second, and it was glorious. 

“All it takes is one look, one touch, and you’re like this? Really, Viktor. You’re brilliant in every way—except this.” You leaned down further, resting your chin on his shoulder, hand never slowing. “You’re so needy for me. It’s pathetic. You couldn’t even ask.”

“I—nngh—I didn’t want to interrupt your work,” he managed through gritted teeth, though his hips bucked up again at the way your tone dipped into mockery. “You were focused, and I… I can’t just—” 

“You could“ you corrected him with a soft chuckle, twisting your wrist just enough to make him hiss. “You just didn’t. You sat there, stiff in your chair, cheeks pink, pretending like your cock wasn’t aching every time I walked past. Pretending not to rut against your own thigh under the table like a desperate little thing.”

The noise he made at that—something between a moan and a sob—had you tightening your grip.

“So needy you’re shaking. Is that what you want? Want me to keep stroking this pretty cock until you’re whining for it?”

“Yes” he gasped immediately, shame long forgotten. “Please. I—I don’t care anymore, just—don’t stop.” 

His body was so responsive—his back arching into your touch, his thighs trembling under the table. He was normally so composed, so put-together, so guarded. But right now? He was a ruined mess, undone by your hand alone.

“That’s it“ you cooed, lips brushing his flushed cheek. “Let me take care of you. You work so hard, Viktor. Don’t you think you deserve this? Hm?”

He gave a broken nod, forehead dropping against his crossed arms on the desk. His breathing was ragged, desperate, every muscle in his lean frame coiled like a spring.

You reached your other hand down, gently cupping his balls, rolling them between your fingers with soft, practiced touches, and he sobbed.

“So sensitive” you whispered, nearly in awe. “bet you’ve been holding back all day.”

“I have“ he moaned, whined completely unashamed now. “I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been so close, so long. Watching you, hearing your voice—I couldn’t take it anymore. I almost came in my pants earlier, just from the way you said my name.” 

“God, that’s sad, baby.”

“Yes,” he agreed without hesitation, rutting shamelessly into your palm. “I don’t care—fuck, I just want to cum, please, please—please—”

Your hand sped up, the obscene wet sounds of your strokes louder now as he trembled beneath you.

“I’ll let you cum, Viktor” you whispered, lips brushing his neck. “But only if you say it. Tell me how needy you are. Tell me what a desperate little thing you are for me.”

“I—I’m so—ah—I’m so fucking needy for you,” he gasped, voice high and breathless. “I’ve been aching for you all day, I can’t—fuck, I can’t think—I need it so bad, I need to cum—please—”

You smiled wickedly against his skin, biting gently at the base of his neck as you jerked him faster.

“There you go, baby. Let it go. Cum for me. Make a mess.”

That was all it took.

He gave a strangled cry as he spilled into your hand, hips jerking uncontrollably, cum spurting thick and hot across your fingers and the edge of the desk. His whole body shuddered, legs shaking, and he nearly collapsed forward if you hadn’t wrapped an arm around his chest to hold him up.

You milked every drop from him with slow, deliberate strokes, making him twitch and sob with overstimulation. His breath came in ragged gasps, body limp in your arms.

“You look so pretty like this” you whispered into his ear, licking a bead of sweat from his temple. “Absolutely ruined. My brilliant Viktor… reduced to a whining mess.” 

He whimpered softly, body still twitching with aftershocks, his cock now twitching weakly in your hand.

“I… I love when you touch me like this“ he confessed in a dazed murmur. “It feels like my body forgets how to breathe.”

You chuckled and gently released him, wiping your hand on a cloth from the desk. Then you leaned forward, wrapping both arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

“Next time, don’t wait all day. Come to me when you need something, hm?”

He let out a soft groan and nodded slowly, completely melted into your hold.

“I will“ he promised, voice weak. “But… if I had come to you earlier… would you still have done it like this?”

You smirked. “Mmm. Probably not.”

“…Worth the torture, then” he sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

You kissed the side of his neck and chuckled again. “You’re such a filthy little thing under all that intellect, Viktor. I love it.”

Chapter Text

Ask: 7 minutes in heaven with jayce or viktor (whatever you feel like writing tbh) ×reader they've had a crush on for the longest time🙏🙏❤️ (whenever you find time tho, no hurry)

~🍒

⇢𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧/ 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐦/ 𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤/ 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 (𝐦/𝐦/𝐟), 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝟕 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 (𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲). 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐅 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲  (´ ω `♡)

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

Jayce Talis had been obsessed with you for years. It was pathetic, really—the way he watched you when he thought no one noticed, the way he’d get tongue-tied whenever you so much as leaned too close. He was a genius, a rising star of Piltover, but when it came to you? He was nothing but a desperate, needy mess.

And now, by some twisted stroke of luck, he was locked in a closet with you for seven whole minutes.

The air between you was thick, the only light coming from the thin crack beneath the door. You were so damn close—his broad frame nearly caging you against the wall, the scent of your perfume intoxicating him.

“You’re awfully quiet, Talis,” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement. “What, nervous?”

His jaw tensed. “No.” A bold-faced lie.

You smirked, stepping forward until your body barely brushed against his. “You sure?”

Jayce swallowed hard, his cock already throbbing against his pants. The way your voice dropped into something sultry, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt—it was fucking torture.

“You know,” you murmured, reaching up to trail your fingers along his jaw, “I always wondered when you’d finally snap.”

His breath hitched. “What?”

“Jayce.” Your nails scratched lightly against his skin, making him shudder. “I know.”

His heart stopped. You knew.

You knew how he watched you. How he fisted his cock late at night, imagining your perfect fucking lips wrapped around it. How he ached for you every time you teased him, every time you touched his arm or leaned in too close.

And now, you were looking at him like you wanted to ruin him.

“Fuck,” he rasped.

You laughed, low and sultry, before grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him down into a kiss.

Jayce lost it.

Years of restraint shattered as his hands grabbed your hips, fingers digging in hard as he pressed you against the wall, his tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, desperate kiss. He was already rock-hard, his thick cock straining against his pants as he rutted against your thigh, groaning at the friction.

You moaned into his mouth, nails raking down his back. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” he growled, grabbing your ass and grinding against you, letting you feel just how fucking hard he was.

Your breath hitched. “Fuck.”

Jayce wasted no time. His hands shoved up your skirt, rough fingers sliding over your soaked panties. “Goddamn, you’re dripping.” He groaned, pressing a thick finger against your clothed slit, feeling how warm and slippery you were. “All this for me?”

“Been wanting this for so long,” you admitted, gasping as he pushed your panties aside. “Jayce—”

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, fingers teasing your slick folds, brushing over your swollen clit. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your fingers.” Your voice was breathless. “Inside me. Now.”

“Fuck.” He shoved two thick fingers inside your tight little pussy without hesitation, groaning as you clenched around him. “Shit, baby—you’re so tight.”

You whimpered, gripping his shoulders as he pumped his fingers into you, slow and deep, stretching you open. His thumb found your clit, circling it in tight little motions that made your legs shake.

“Jayce—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“That’s it,” he rasped, curling his fingers just right. “Come for me.”

You gasped, legs trembling as pleasure crashed over you, your cunt tightening around his fingers as you came all over his hand. Jayce groaned, watching you fall apart, his cock twitching in his pants.

But he wasn’t done.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was yanking his belt open, shoving his pants and briefs down just enough to free his aching, heavy cock.

You stared.

He was big—thick, flushed, leaking precum from the tip. Your mouth practically watered.

“You gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?” Jayce rasped, stroking himself as he lined up with your entrance. “Or do you wanna keep teasing me?”

“Fuck me, Jayce,” you begged, gripping his shirt. “Please.”

That was all it took.

Jayce sank into you in one deep, brutal thrust, punching a moan straight from your lungs. “Shit—” He gritted his teeth, barely holding on as your tight, wet pussy clenched around him. “So fucking tight, baby.”

“God—Jayce—” Your nails dug into his shoulders as he started pounding into you, hips snapping hard and fast, each thrust shoving you against the wall. The closet was small, the air hot and stifling, but all you could feel was him.

The thick drag of his cock, the way his fingers bruised your hips, the filthy wet sounds of him fucking you.

“Always wanted this,” Jayce groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck—dreamed about this—dreamed about filling this pretty little pussy up, making you mine.”

“Yours—I’m yours—” You were delirious, drunk off his cock, every deep stroke hitting that perfect fucking spot inside you.

“Yeah?” His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “Then come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”

You screamed, body locking up as pleasure tore through you, your pussy fluttering around his thick cock. Jayce snapped, groaning as he fucked you through it, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate—

“Fuck—gonna come—”

“Inside, Jayce—inside me—”

“Shit—” His hips slammed against yours one last time before he groaned, cock twitching as he spilled deep inside you, filling you up with thick, hot ropes of cum.

The aftershocks left you trembling, your head resting against his chest as you both tried to catch your breath.

Then— A loud knock on the door.

“Times up, lovebirds!”

Jayce froze. You laughed, breathless and utterly ruined. “Guess we lost track of time.”

Jayce groaned, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck before slowly pulling out, watching his cum drip down your thighs.

“Fuck.” His voice was rough, dark eyes locked onto the mess he’d made. “You look so fucking good like this.”

You smirked, fixing your skirt. “Your room. Twenty minutes.”

Jayce exhaled sharply. Oh, this was far from over.

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

Viktor had never been a good man. Not in the way Piltover defined it, at least. He was patient, calculating, and often selfish in his pursuits. But when it came to you? That patience was razor-thin.

You—his closest friend, his greatest distraction. You, who had tormented him for years with teasing touches, playful flirtation, and those damn lingering glances. He’d endured it, pushing down every filthy thought, every moment of weakness where he wanted to ruin you.

And now? Now, you were both locked in a closet for seven minutes.

The game had started as a joke—a ridiculous, childish thing played by scholars who had drunk too much. Viktor hadn’t planned on participating. But when your hand rested on his thigh under the table, fingers barely skimming over the fabric of his pants, he knew.

You wanted to play.

And fate, it seemed, was cruelly kind. The bottle had landed on him.

So here you were, crammed in a dark, narrow space, your body pressed against his.

Viktor exhaled slowly, his cane resting against the wall as he loomed over you, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You planned this, didn’t you?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous.

You smirked. “Maybe.”

His lips curled, something dark settling in his gaze. “Brat.”

You didn’t have time to retort before his hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you against the wall. Not tight—just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Viktor—”

“You have been playing a very dangerous game.” His accent thickened, voice dripping with amusement as his thumb pressed just under your jaw. “Did you think I would not notice?”

Your pulse raced. “And if I did?”

He chuckled, a dark, wicked sound. “Then you are a fool.”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was rough, claiming, his teeth nipping at your lips as his free hand tore at your skirt, pushing it up until your bare thighs were exposed to the cool air.

You moaned against his mouth, fingers twisting into his shirt. “Fuck—Viktor—”

“Shh, dear.” His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your panties, brushing over your already-soaked slit. He let out a sharp breath, amusement flickering in his eyes. “So wet already? How desperate you must be.”

You whined, hips bucking against his hand. “Don’t tease me.”

He smirked. “Ah, but teasing you is so fun.”

But despite his words, he slipped two fingers inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your head fell back against the wall as he filled you, his fingers long and dexterous, curling just right. “Viktor—fuck—”

He hummed, watching your face with fascination as he worked you open, thrusting deep, pressing his palm against your clit with every slow roll of his wrist. “Look at you, falling apart already.”

You bit your lip, grinding down against his hand. “Please—”

“Please, what?” His tone was mocking, his fingers stilling inside you. “Use your words”

You glared at him. “Fuck me.”

His smile was sharp. “Good girl.”

And then he pulled his fingers out, shoving them past your lips before you could protest. “Suck.”

You whimpered, your tongue swirling around the digits coated in your slick. Viktor’s eyes darkened, his breathing turning ragged as he watched you obey.

“So eager,” he murmured, his free hand working his belt open, the soft clink echoing in the small space. “Let us see if you can take me as well as you take my fingers.”

Your thighs trembled as he pulled himself free, his cock thick and flushed, the tip leaking with precum.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your hands against the wall as he yanked your panties down to your knees.

“Good girl,” Viktor praised, his hand gliding down your spine before gripping your hip. “Now, stay still.”

And then he thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck—!” Your cry was muffled against your arm, your walls stretching around his cock. He was big—(not as thick as Jayce), but long, hitting spots so deep it made your legs shake.

“Shh, dear” His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you up, forcing you to arch. “Do you want them to hear?”

You moaned as he rolled his hips, his pace slow, teasing. “Maybe I do.”

Viktor chuckled. “Of course you do, little slut.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, slamming into you so deep it punched the air from your lungs.

“Viktor—!”

“That is it,” he groaned, his grip on your hip bruising as he fucked into you, deep and sharp, every thrust sending you higher. “You feel so fucking good—so tight—”

Your nails scraped against the wall, your body rocking from the force of his thrusts. “Harder—fuck—please—”

He growled, yanking you back against him, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place as he pounded into you. “So greedy,” he muttered against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Taking me so well—you want my cum, hm? Want me to fill this pretty little cunt?”

You shuddered. “Yes—fuck—inside—”

His pace stuttered. “Ah—fuck.” His hand slipped between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in tight little circles. “Come for me—let me feel you.”

That was all it took.

You cried out, your walls clamping down around him as your orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and blinding. Viktor groaned, thrusting once, twice more before he spilled inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

Your body slumped against him, your breathing ragged, your mind foggy.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then— A loud knock.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!”

Viktor huffed a laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder before slowly pulling out. He groaned as he watched his cum drip down your thighs, his thumb swiping through the mess before pushing it back inside you.

“Mm,” he hummed. “We must do this again sometime.”

You smirked over your shoulder. “Your room. Twenty minutes.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, a grin tugging at his lips.

“You read my mind.”

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

This game had been a bad idea.

It had started as nothing more than a joke—a childish game of Seven Minutes in Heaven among drunken scholars, fueled by too much wine and reckless decisions. Jayce had participated reluctantly, Viktor even more so, but you?

You had been waiting for this.

Because you knew.

You knew how Jayce watched you when he thought you weren’t looking, his hands twitching at his sides every time your skirts rode up just a little too high. You knew how Viktor’s golden eyes lingered when you spoke, how his voice would drop to something dangerous whenever you teased him.

You knew, and you wanted to break them.

And fate had given you exactly what you wanted.

Because when the bottle spun? It landed on both of them.

The room had erupted with laughter and teasing, but all you could focus on was the way both of them looked at you—Jayce’s mouth slightly open, his pupils blown wide, and Viktor’s smirk curling at the edges, like he already knew what you were thinking.

Now, in the cramped, dark closet, pressed between both of them, you could feel the tension.

“This is unfair,” Jayce muttered, his breath hot against your ear. “How the fuck are we supposed to do this?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways,” Viktor mused, his voice thick with amusement as his fingers brushed along your hip. “Unless you are too afraid, Talis?”

Jayce huffed. “Fuck you.”

“Mm,” Viktor chuckled. “I think you will find she is the one getting fucked tonight.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Then, as if some unspoken agreement had been made, they moved.

Jayce grabbed your chin, tilting your head up before crashing his lips against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you. His hands were rough, gripping your waist, pulling you back against his broad chest.

You barely had time to moan into the kiss before Viktor’s hands were lifting your skirt, his fingers sliding between your thighs.

“Already wet,” Viktor murmured, his breath ghosting against your neck as he dragged a single finger over your soaked panties. “How needy you must be.”

Jayce groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening. “She fucking loves this,” he muttered, grinding his cock against your ass, already hard and aching. “Look at her—barely even touched and already dripping.”

You whimpered, your head falling back against Jayce’s chest as Viktor’s fingers pushed your panties aside, his touch featherlight, teasing.

“Don’t tease her,” Jayce growled. “Give her what she wants.”

Viktor laughed. “Impatient as always.”

And then he thrust two fingers inside you.

“Fuck—!” Your cry was muffled as Jayce swallowed your moan, his tongue sliding against yours in a desperate, messy kiss.

Viktor’s fingers worked you open, slow but relentless, curling just right, pressing against that perfect fucking spot that had your thighs trembling.

“She clenches around my fingers so nicely,” Viktor mused, his voice thick with amusement. “Imagine how she will feel around your cock, Talis.”

Jayce groaned, rutting against you like he was barely holding himself back. “Jesus, Viktor—”

“Shh, patience,” Viktor murmured, his free hand reaching for Jayce’s wrist, guiding it between your legs. “Touch her.”

Jayce’s breath hitched.

Then his fingers were there—thick and calloused, pressing against your swollen clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as Viktor continued to fuck you with his fingers.

You shattered.

Your legs shook, a broken moan slipping past your lips as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls fluttering around Viktor’s fingers.

But they weren’t done.

Jayce growled, grabbing you and spinning you around before pressing you up against the closet wall.

“I need to fuck you,” he rasped, his hands tearing at his belt. “Right fucking now.”

You barely had time to nod before he was lifting one of your legs around his waist, his thick, aching cock rubbing against your soaked entrance.

“Jayce—fuck—”

“I got you, baby,” he muttered before slamming into you.

“Fuck—!”

Jayce filled you, stretching you wide, every thick inch forcing a cry from your throat. He barely gave you time to adjust before he started moving, his pace rough and brutal.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, slamming you down onto his cock with every thrust. “Been wanting this for so long—fuck—”

“You should see her, Viktor,” he rasped. “Look at her—taking my cock so fucking well.”

“You should see her, Viktor,” he rasped. “Look at her—taking my cock so fucking well.”

Viktor hummed, his golden eyes burning as he watched you come undone.

Then he reached out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed.

Viktor smirked before spitting onto your tongue.

You moaned, your cunt clenching around Jayce’s cock as you swallowed.

“Good girl,” Viktor murmured, his fingers stroking your cheek. “Perhaps next time, you will be stuffed from both ends.”

Jayce groaned, his hips snapping faster. “Fuck—gonna come—”

“Inside,” Viktor ordered. “Fill her up, Talis.”

Jayce snapped, thrusting deep before spilling inside you, thick ropes of cum filling your already-soaked cunt.

But Viktor wasn’t done.

“Bend her over,” Viktor ordered. “It is my turn.”

Jayce grinned, pulling out before flipping you around, pressing your cheek against the wall. “You can take it don’t worry” 

Viktor was ruthless.

Where Jayce had been all heat and desperation, fucking you like he’d been starving for you, Viktor was calculated. Precise. He took his time, making sure you felt every inch of him as he pushed deep inside your already-fucked, cum-filled cunt.

“Look at you,” Viktor murmured, his fingers digging into your hips as he bottomed out. “So full of Talis’ cum, and still begging for more.”

You whimpered, your cheek pressed against the wall, nails scraping at the wooden surface as he rolled his hips, dragging his cock almost completely out before slamming back in.

“Fuck—!”

Behind you, Viktor chuckled darkly. “Such pretty sounds.” His grip on your hips tightened. “Let us see what other noises you can make.”

And then he fucked you.

Deep, slow thrusts that made your legs shake, your overstimulated walls fluttering around his cock. Each stroke was precise, his length hitting that perfect fucking spot inside you, over and over.

“Shit—she’s squeezing you so tight,” Jayce muttered, his breath hot against your cheek. “Bet she’s still dripping from my cum, huh?”

Viktor groaned, his hands sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to arch you deeper. “She is greedy,” he mused, his pace never faltering. “So eager to be filled.”

Jayce hummed, his hands sliding down to spread your ass, watching as Viktor’s cock disappeared into your soaked, messy cunt. “Goddamn, look at her,” he rasped. “Taking it so well.”

You whimpered, your entire body burning, overstimulated and desperate for more. “Please—”

Jayce smirked. “Please what, baby?”

“More—fuck—please—”

Viktor chuckled, his fingers tangling in your hair before yanking your head back. “More? Are you sure?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“Talis,” Viktor said, his golden eyes dark with something wicked. “Give her something for her mouth.”

Jayce’s grin widened. “Oh, I love that idea.”

Before you could process it, Jayce was tilting your chin up, his cock already hard again, leaking precum from the tip.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing himself against your swollen lips. “Be a good girl and suck.”

Your cunt clenched around Viktor’s cock as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting Jayce slide inside.

“Fuck—just like that—” Jayce groaned as he pushed deeper, his fingers tangling in your hair.

Viktor grinned. “She takes you well, does she not?”

“Too well,” Jayce rasped, watching as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him down to the base. “Shit—”

Viktor’s pace picked up, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, the wet, filthy sounds of your cunt getting fucked and your mouth being used filling the small closet.

“You were made for this,” Viktor groaned, his fingers digging bruises into your hips as he slammed into you, his cock coated in Jayce’s cum. “A perfect little toy for us to ruin.”

You whimpered around Jayce’s cock, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you took it.

“That’s it, baby,” Jayce groaned, his grip on your hair tightening. “Fuck—feels so good—”

Viktor wasn’t far behind. His thrusts were turning sloppy, his breath ragged as your walls clenched around him, milking him. “You want it agai?” he rasped. “Want me to fill you up like Talis did?”

You moaned around Jayce, your entire body trembling as another orgasm built inside you.

“Fuck, I think she does,” Jayce laughed, feeling the way your throat vibrated around him. “Go on, Viktor—fill her up. Let’s see how much she can take.”

Viktor snapped, his hips slamming against yours one last time before he groaned, spilling deep inside you, adding to the filthy mess already dripping down your thighs.

The feeling of it—the warmth, the fullness—sent you over the edge.

Your entire body tensed as your orgasm ripped through you, your cunt fluttering, squeezing every last drop from Viktor as you whined around Jayce’s cock.

“Fuck—fuck—” Jayce groaned, his hips jerking as he spilled down your throat. “Take it all, sweetheart—fuck—”

You swallowed every drop, your body still shaking as the aftershocks wrecked you.

For a moment, the three of you just breathed, the only sounds in the closet heavy gasps and the filthy wet noises of your bodies still pressed together.

Then—A loud knock on the door.

“Times up, lovebirds!”

Jayce snorted, still breathless. “Yeah, no shit.”

Viktor hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your spine before slowly pulling out, watching his cum drip from your thoroughly-fucked pussy. “What a mess,” he murmured. “I do hope you plan on cleaning her up, Talis.”

Jayce grinned, sliding a finger between your legs, collecting some of the mess before pressing it against your lips. “You gonna be good and lick it up, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, already opening your mouth to obey.

Viktor chuckled. “I think we shall need more than seven minutes next time.”

Jayce smirked. “Oh, I guarantee it.”

Chapter Text

Ask: Two words: scissoring viktor

cw: afab! realer, explicit, trans! viktor (ftm), scissoring

a/n: you expanded my mind with this anon!! thank u for your services <3

His thigh trembled against yours, slick and warm where your clits rubbed — your folds sticky against the thatch of soft, damp curls at the base of his. You pressed forward, grinding deliberately, letting your clit catch just right against his, the swollen heads dragging against one another like wet mouths.

Viktor moaned helplessly — high, cracked, needy. His fingers dug into your hip, trying to pull you closer, closer, hips jerking forward in messy rhythm. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop—” His voice was barely there, all breath and wrecked vowels, like he couldn’t keep up with the sensations. “Feels—f-fuck, you feel s‘good—” 

He was flushed dark and glossy and wet, twitching every time your mound slid against him. You rocked harder, grinding down to force the full drag of your clits against one another, his catching on yours with a delicious stick-slick kiss of friction. The wet sounds of your cunts squelching together filled the room — filthy, perfect. 

“You’re so fucking soft“ you whispered, leaning over him, hand cupping the underside of his thigh as you pressed him open wider. “Look at you. Look at this mess.”

He whined, his lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed all the way up to his temples. His legs were shaking now, twitching where you kept them spread. He was soaked between his thighs, the tip of his clit clinging to yours, catching, dragging, pulsing.

He gasped, trying to buck up but just smearing more slick between your hips. “Need it—need you to keep rubbing—right there, right—” 

You rolled your hips just the way he needed, letting your clits kiss again, pressure building right behind your belly. Viktor keened, eyes going glassy.

“Don’t stop“ he begged again, “please, I’m—I’m so close—please—”

You kissed his throat, just to feel how his voice caught there, how his whines vibrated against your lips. Your cunts kept meeting, messy, perfect friction, smearing each other’s cum until your thighs were wet and your bellies sticky. You clit-thrust against him harder, faster.

“Come on, pretty boy. Cum with me.”

Viktor gasped — full-body tremor, a moan that punched out of his chest. He fell apart under you, coming with his mouth open, thighs clamping around your waist, cunt pulsing against yours. You rode him through it, breath catching as your own orgasm crested and dragged you under, your clits throbbing together, wet and grinding and perfect.

You collapsed into him, both of you slick and shaking, still twitching against each other with aftershocks.

He whimpered once more — barely a sound and buried his face in your neck.