#viktor arcane fic
Note
Prompt idea….Viktor accidentally walks in on the reader having quickie sex with someone in the lab….👀👀👀…. But he can’t look away…. 👀👀👀……and while she’s with the other person, she accidentally says his name…. 😱
Oh nonny. You wicked thing. If you insist. This one’s for my beloved dirty little degenerate-pervy Viktor truthers. You know who you are @dad-dumpster @valaruakars and… oh yes, dare I say it even my precious sweet darling @arcanescribbles
Viktor POV - NSFW
TW: Voyerism, oral- f receiving, fingering, masturbation, slight angst, embarrassment, even more masturbation, peeping tom? More like peeping Viktor, is that a panty fetish I see? Oh my. MDNI
He realized too late that he should have recognized those sounds; the desperate soft huffing of heavy breath, the slickly wet noises, the stifled moans.
He’d been too wrapped up in his thoughts at first to hear them, or to put two and two together once he did. Too involved in the research and books balanced up to his chin and mug of coffee wobbling precariously by its handle in the hook of his finger as he struggled along through the door at the back of the lab, leaning heavily on the cane tucked up under his armpit.
The hour was late, late enough Viktor was used to being the only one there, and the shock was significant as he surfaced from the distraction of his plans and rounded one of the large prototypes that littered the back of the lab. Struck to a paralytic frozen stillness as he glanced up to find the pretty biochem assistant sat up upon a workbench, her shirt wide open and skirt hiked around her waist, with one of the many nameless tech engineers between the spread of her bare thighs, head buried under the rumpled hem of her skirt and her hand clutching desperately at his dark blonde hair.
Breath froze in his lungs and blood ran cold as ice in spite of the fire-hot flush he could feel flooding his face from the collar of his shirt right up to his ears. Face burning, heart a clenched stone, all he could do was stand there, staring as the tech lifted his head and rose, clearly aiming for a kiss that missed its landing as the assistant’s head turned away and his mouth instead made due with mauling biting kisses along her throat as he pulled one cup of her bra down to pinch and tug at the pretty tautness of a nipple until she was keening and writhing in her seat.
“Dirty thing. Like it rough, hm? Little priss.” The tech chastised as his hand closed over her upper arm and yanked the assistant off her seat upon the workbench only to bend her roughly over the desk immediately across from them.
Viktor reeled backward, ducking behind the prototype. The books and coffee in his arms jostled and he frantically juggled them and his cane. He ought to leave, ought to hurry back the way he’d come and immediately find somewhere else to be. Forget what he’d accidentally seen and leave the two lovers in peace. Seconds away from dropping everything and being found out, he managed to deposit the pile of books and the coffee on a small table, nearly knocking over an open tool kit. He grabbed at it frantically before its contents could rattle and in a hot panic watched a ratchet handle go rolling toward the edge.
He snagged it mid-air and let out a silent sigh of relief.
Behind him the moans had picked up volume again. Wanton little noises tugging insistently at his attention until, in spite of himself, he’d set the ratchet down and was peeking out from around the edge of the prototype.
She was bent forward over the desk, facing his hiding spot, and for a second he nearly jerked backward, sure she’d spot him. But her eyes were closed, prettily flushed face upturned and mouth hungrily agape as she rocked against the desk, resting upon her forearms as the tech behind her busily - and from the sounds of it - viciously fucked her with his fingers, grinning down at her bare bottom. His hand clenched the back of her skirt up as his other busied itself between the cleft of her sweet bottom and part of thighs, the slapping wet noises positively obscene.
It was filthy, gorgeous, exhilarating and mortifying.
The soft curve of her bare breast wobbled gently, that succulent flushed nipple practically dragging across the desktop as she arched her back into the attentions. Eyebrows knit hard over eyes shut tight, lips glossed and opened enticingly into a lovely little ‘O’ of want. She was so pretty, so undone. That prim little assistant Viktor could never bring himself to start a conversation with, whom he’d watched with vague little stabs of jealousy as she easily conversed with Jayce or anyone else. Her little tight smiles and witty asides, her keenly intelligent observations and the way her hair was constantly in a state of coming undone or falling out place in soft tendrils.
It was fully undone now, as beautiful a mess as its owner.
The tightness in his groin was unbearable, tent pressed hard against the front of trousers as he watched in strangled silence as that lovely girl began to tremble, her fingers curling into fists upon the desk, nails scraping against the smooth, cold metal tabletop as she gasped and bucked. Viktor found his own hand pressing to the aching constriction of his clothed cock.
Much like watching, the pressure felt both sickeningly painful and dizzyingly good. He allowed himself one slow, palming stroke and practically had to stifle his own quiet moan. And then…
“Ahhhnn! Y-yes, mmn… Viktor!”
The world screeched to a halt. Suddenly you could hear a pin drop in the spacious, open lab.
“...What did you just say?”
The tech’s question was coldly accusatory, and Viktor, who’d jerked himself wide-eyed back behind the bulwark safety of his hiding spot, thinking wildly that he’d been spotted at the sound of his name, found himself once again torn between fleeing the scene and the fact that he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. She’d… she said his name. But she hadn’t seen him, she couldn’t have. Not with eyes shut tight. That meant…
“Dex, I’m… I…”
Viktor chanced another hidden, one-eyed glance around the shield of his prototype to find the tech had pulled the poor girl upright and was glaring at her in undeniable disgust.
“You’re what?” The tech prodded icily, and when instead of answering the girl just crossed her arms over her vulnerable bareness and stared guiltily at the desk she’d just been bent over, he took the liberty of filling in the blanks for her.
“You know, this whole time I was wondering why a such a stuck up, straight laced little slag like you was suddenly so willing and eager to mess around with someone like me when you normally can’t be buggered to even acknowledge anyone who hasn’t gone to your precious academy is even in the room. Did you even know my name before tonight? None of you lot got any respect for this crew. We do all your dirty work, crawl into the guts of whatever new inventive way to die or lose a limb you’ve all come up with, and not a single one of you seems to know we’re anything more than another moving part of your machines. Just faceless cogs.”
He snorted a laugh.
“Or I guess faceless cocks, huh? Just a human toy for you-”
His tirade cut off with the sharp sound of a ringing slap. The assistant he’d been berating stood there in stony silence, open palm still lifted, just daring him to try for a second out of her as he rubbed his stinging cheek. For a breathless moment it looked as if he just might press on with his insulting tirade. Instead he grabbed the discarded jacket of his uniform and left in a hot blooded huff, muttering under his breath and slamming the door on his way out.
Viktor sagged back against the prototype, eyes rolling to the ceiling in a mingling of gratitude and relief. If it had escalated further, what would he have done? A physical altercation might be beyond his scope, and usually the weight of his position of authority and sang-froid calm was more than enough to wield the command he needed in any given situation. But confronting a man who’d just been called by his name in the heat of passion? And with the obviousness of an erection still straining at the front of trousers?
Nothing about that would have ended well.
As it was, he heard the girl heave a sigh of dismay followed by a soft snarl of utter frustration and the clatter of something on a table go flying with what was doubtless an angry smack. Viktor was just about to resign himself to waiting until the coast was clear to finally sneak away when the next noise caught him off guard.
More of those soft moans, the quietly wet enticing sounds that had him peering back around to find her bent back over the desk, bare breast cupped in her own hand, fingers rolling and tugging nipple to stiffness once more and her other hand shoved down between her thighs as she finished what the tech had started.
“Ah, Viktor… nnh, please yes, please!” She was going at it with a desperate, almost angry need, huffing stuttering breaths and savaging her lower lip between her teeth as she fell right back into the building crescendo that had been so unfortunately interrupted by her own indiscretion.
Viktor grit teeth as he was pitched right back into another impossible choice. What… what if he walked out there? What if he walked up to her, tucked the fall of hair back behind one ear and slid his fingers down to replace her own. What if he asked her to say his name like that again, for him. Would she let him? Let him feel how wet she’d got imagining him, while she wished another man’s touch had been his. How would she squeeze around his fingers, his cock?
He could practically smell her arousal from here, what would it be like close up? How did her skin taste, her mouth? That sweet slick gloss dripping down her thighs? How many times could he get her to say his name that way and what would it take until she was gasping it hoarsely, brokenly, begging. Would she be prettily embarrassed if he went out there, or terrified and appalled?
Her soft, needy little sighs of his name were driving him mad. So hard that the ache in the tightness of his balls was all consuming, that all he wanted, no - needed- was to get himself out of his pants and, oh Janna, please, buried in her.
But he couldn’t.
Couldn’t do any of it. If he went out there now, how could he possibly explain why he’d been watching for so long? What he was even doing there or why he felt it was in any way appropriate to interrupt her… her… oh gods, she was so close to orgasm, he could hear it. The way her breath picked up, the way she trembled upon the desk she leaned over, the quickening pace of the wet sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of herself.
And how she was pleading his name. Like… like he was somehow the one who could offer her the release she was chasing. Gods, it sounded so good. She sounded so good.
If he pulled himself free from his trousers she was sure to hear the frantic way he needed to fuck his fist. No way he could keep himself quiet, or at least quiet enough to keep himself hidden. Palm rubbed hard at his length as he sucked breath in near silent hisses through clenched teeth, thumb running the sensitive ridge of the head of his cock pressing through soft, straining fabric of his pants. A sweetly hot spiral of weighted craving coiling taut in the pit of his belly, tensing hips, leaving lean muscle of stomach and thighs tensing to a slight tremble with the need to thrust.
How many fingers did she need? Two dripping digits stuffed tightly into the clenching heat of herself, or three? Watching her face as she lost herself was intensely arousing but the thought of seeing her from behind was destroying him. The soft curve of her bottom, pretty, softly swollen, slick lips just peeking between the cleft of cheeks, her fingers shoved to the limit inside herself, wet just dripping from knuckles as she…
“Vik…ahn! Viktor, pl please… yes, ah. Fffuck! Viktor!!”
One last little stifled shout of his name and she panted a stuttered, broken moan before falling still. Viktor watched in desperate fascination as she sighed, gone boneless on the desk for a long moment.
Janna, to collapse against her; to kiss the heat of her flushed cheek or run hands over the little shivering tremble of hips, to soothe and help her catch her breath, to taste the little bead of sweat that ran down her temple and beside the tender curve of her ear to her throat.
She picked herself up off the desk as he watched, still gripping the aching stiffness of his cock through his clothes. Watched her stand on weak legs and slowly redress herself, with a regretful, or perhaps it was resigned, look on her face. Watched her rebutton her shirt and fix her hair as she wandered out of the lab, tugging at the back of her skirt.
Viktor waited until the door swung shut, waited a good three minutes at least after the sound of her footsteps had faded until he struggled out from his hiding place, the strain in his pants making walking more difficult than usual as he shuffled over to where she’d lain, stroked fingertips over the heat of her that still lingered, fading upon the metallic desktop. There was a smudge of sticky wet on the edge of the desk where her damp fingertips had brushed it and he was just about to drag a finger over the faint gloss of moisture when something on the floor caught his eye.
A tiny black crumple of lace.
Viktor bent painfully, stiffly, and snagged it, rising to let it hang from one finger as he regarded the discarded cloth in confusion for one second before the shape of it suddenly made sense.
Her panties.
She’d left her panties.
Long fingers curled tightly into a fist over the soft, lacy garment and a second later he had his pants open. The fist clenching her panties braced upon the table as he frantically, desperately fucked into the tight grip of his other hand, mouth hung open as he rushed straight over the precipice of his release with a delirious surge that had him hunched over with a sharp jerk, a soundless long groan dying in the gape of his mouth as lungs convulsed.
It was both the most intense release he’d ever had and the least satisfying. Over so quick, and nothing half as wonderful as all those delicious little fantasies he’d conjured watching her, listening to her. Not nearly as good as she would have felt.
Coughing slightly, struggling to catch his breath, Viktor righted himself. Hissing softly at the tender ache of abused flesh left too long constricted and then fisted far too roughly with precious little lubrication, he put himself away.
There was barely a half second of consideration for the panties in his grasp before he tucked them into his pocket. He could have, and perhaps should have left them where he found them - but what then? If the cleaning staff found them perhaps inconvenient questions might be asked. If instead the next morning their work colleagues found them then even more inconvenient scandals might get bandied about, no doubt leading to her embarrassment if that jilted tech ever spoke up.
As Viktor made his way slowly toward the door he’d come in from he briefly considered tucking the pretty, lacy things into the drawer of her desk. It was a sweetly devious thought, to be sure; to watch her discover her underwear laid neatly in her desk and have to wonder who knew, who put them there. Perhaps he could leave a clever little note beneath… no. No. Then she’d know, and no one could ever know that he’d just… just hid there and watched. It surely didn’t matter how sweetly she’d moaned his name or begged for him, if she knew he’d seen everything and done nothing? No, she’d hate him, find him repulsive.
Viktor paused at the door, hand sliding into his pocket, the delicate lace brushing the tips of his fingers as he glanced behind himself.
No one could ever know.
And those panties were coming home with him.
#viktor arcane#viktor pov#viktor fic#viktor arcane fic#arcane fic#viktor drabble#10/10 you know he didn't make it home before taking a sniff#idk how we ended up here but#i blame all of you#viktor x reader
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The Tides Have Veiled [Seven]
This is a loong one so buckle up!
Viktor x Fem!Reader--Gothic AU/Spooky Sea--4.7K---SFW
> M A S T E R L I S T <
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Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.
Summary: You arrive at the city, knowing that once you return by the sea, things will have changed. For the better of for worse? That's on you to decide.
Tags: Slow Burn | Strangers to Lovers | Marriage of Convenience/ Fake Marriage | Sprinkled Domestic Fluff, not much tbh | Forced Proximity--but is it, really? |
Taglist: @lunar-monster @bittercyder @local-mr-frog
Chapter Seven: The Sea's Call [Pt. 1]
The air far from the coast was colder and thinner, and yet the whole ride toward the city felt just as asphyxiating and dense inside the tiny carriage that bumped away at every second on the unpaved road.
Viktor pretended to read the whole time, even when you doubted he could make sense of the words with how much the carriage seemed to jump around. But the façade was welcomed because you didn’t wish he could see the way you fidgeted with the hem of the sweater that was too long for you to wear.
Knitted in wavy patterns, teal blue as if you’d wished to take a part of Piltover the Old with you now that the roar of the sea was too far away to be heard, replaced by white noise, the still breath of Viktor echoing in the quiet ambiance.
You had forgotten to scrub your hands well enough, some stains of oil staining the reverse of your palms. Viktor helped you maintain the electrical system of the lighthouse, Surveying the beacon will keep the light up day and night for consecutive three days.
Part of you prickled with curiosity, wanting to know why it was so important to turn on the lighthouse beacon, but besides the very peculiar circumstances of your messy relationship with Viktor, you found yourself shying away when the question wished to pour out your lips.
Ever since the footprints went toward Viktor's bedroom, a thought haunted the back of your mind when the world became quiet, when all you had to do was to watch toward the sea, toward all the ghosts and creatures that seemed to become more solid the more you thought about them.
You didn’t wish to know—and part of you claimed it was a terrible idea to get tied to this man, to the owner of the claimed haunted house by the cliff.
But was it, truly? Could it be… a you problem? Instead of all the legends coming true, it could be your mind invocating them to life to distract you from your unstable situation, suspended midway from jumping off into the endless void.
You decided to nap, at least try to, the bumpy road not helping to lull you. Though inside the dreamlands your inner warning still reached you; in the form of a misty evening with the water rising at the coast, with nowhere to go.
There, you were one of the specimens in Viktor’s studio in the basement, trapped in a tidepool first, and then forever in formaldehyde. You hoped this marriage wouldn’t corner you to such destiny.
You closed that door, opening the next, this one deeper into your subconscious. Everything floated and swayed in a calm current, lulled by the chants of the waves crashing over a golden shore filled with broken shells; there you could lay on the cool sand and stargaze when the moon turned the water liquid silver.
“Miss?” A voice said, and you were about to open your mouth to invite them to watch the night sky, when a hand touched your shoulder, gently shaking it. “Miss, we’ve arrived.”
Your eyes opened, golden eyes gazing down at you. Viktor’s lips curved in an apologetic smile. You had barely slept ever since your haunting experience inside his house.
You nodded, finding that your hands were trying to comb your hair, so used to the humid air of the sea that down it felt dry and without volume. Viktor exited the carriage once he was sure you were awake, hands reaching inside his pocket to retrieve the key to enter the building in front of you. His figure disappeared into the luminous foyer as the driver helped carry the luggage up the stairs, barely two identical suitcases as Viktor had to lend you one.
Minutes later, Viktor got outside. You caught a glimpse of his hands folding a ticket inside the breast pocket of his jacket. He stood at the door of the carriage, extending his hand toward you.
You took his hand, jumping out of the vehicle. Your steps were wobbly, like a newborn fawn. Cobblestone welcomed your feet, steady and solid contrary to the sand that tried to suck you underneath over the beach dunes. You heard chatter echoing in the busy streets, another lulling rhythm replacing the waves, both just as never-ending.
Looking around, you took in the tall buildings with wide windows open to take the afternoon breeze, curtains dancing ghostly melodies against the wind. The city smelled like oil and smoke, like newly baked bread and strong coffee. It felt alive.
Some puddles of rain reflected on your face as you gazed down at the flicking reflections of you mixed with the landscape. Almost meant to be.
“Come inside,” Viktor told you, taking some money from his pocket at seeing the driver coming down the flight of stairs, tilting his hat to Viktor to inform him the luggage was placed at the entrance of the apartment. “It’s getting colder out here.”
You were torn between letting go of his hand to walk down the street, the coffee shop on the other side cozy, and warmth from all the people talking and laughing inside.
Viktor seemed to follow your gaze because he smiled. "We can go there once we eat a strong meal first. Their fruitcake is delicious. But it won’t make you any good to eat dessert first, would it?”
“Why is that?” you inquired, following him inside the house. Three floors were divided into an apartment each without counting with the restaurant on the ground floor, the main landing flooded with a drooling smell of stews and grilled meat. “Talking from experience?”
Viktor chuckled. “Most certainly.” He looked up at the stairs in front of both of you and sighed, one of his hands grabbing the metal rail and he propelled his weight up.
“You can lean on me if you want,” you said, just by instinct.
“It’s easier with the rail,” Viktor reassured you, looking back at you with the smallest of smiles. “But thank you for the offer, Miss.”
His apartment was nothing like the gloomy house near the sea. This one brimmed with life; pale yellow walls showed countless chalkboards and boards filled with papers and drawings, polished wood floorboards there where fluffy carpets didn’t cover it. A large couch tucked between a bookshelf and a coffee table had a couple of blankets thrown in the backrest, cushions pilled up to where you supposed, he laid back in the afternoons to keep working.
Viktor cleared his throat at your wandering eyes. “My apologies for the… eh, the clutter. I'm not used to having visitors."
Hardly could you be called that, after everything. Though you kept the thought to yourself.
Besides, you had helped him tidy up the house, so you thought he didn’t have a particular reason to feel embarrassed. “Don’t worry. You can’t do many chores when you’re this busy. I imagine.”
He nodded, his bare feet muffled by the wood as he left his shoes in a rack by the door, walking toward what seemed to be the kitchen. You slid the luggage inside, taking your boots off before closing it.
Viktor returned with a glass of water for you. “The food will be here shortly,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him across the hallway. "Sadly, I don't have a guest room here either. I will be sleeping on the couch; you can take the master bedroom.”
You looked at him, almost horrified. Shame and fear washing at you—you remembered quite well what occurred when you took his bedroom before.
“I sleep there most nights, you don’t have to worry about it.” As if you needed confirmation from the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, he opened a door, turning up a lamp to reveal the bedroom. Contrary to the piles of books and papers, and the closet ajar with some clothes thrown inside carelessly, the bed was practically untouched besides some wrinkles in the side next to the closet.
“You can change if you want,” Viktor continued. “I will be in the living room if you need something. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway.”
He closed the door once you and your luggage were inside. Carefully, you sat at the edge, feeling the cozy carpet underneath the bed brushing your toes, as soft as sand, the fluffiness of the duvet, and how your body sunk into the mattress. Looking around, you saw the pairs of shoes Viktor had tossed in the bottom level of a vanity with no stool. You left your things there; hairbrush and tiny bottles of shampoo and soap, toothpaste, and toothbrush. You had brought the shell, too.
The next thing you did was rummage in your luggage to take your clothes off it and use the cloth hook behind the door to hang your dress.
Your wedding dress, you thought as you bit your lips.
It wasn’t white, but rather a yellowish ivory with details in gold that time, and abandonment had only got more yellow. It had been your mother’s, watched over by your grandmother until you were old enough to wear it without dragging the skirts. Of course, it wasn't supposed to be the one you wore to whatever wedding your family was planning for you, but rather just another one of the puzzle pieces of memories of the life you couldn’t have.
Shaking your head, you changed into the first clothes you saw; an old green dress that you tied with a belt as the hem had become too loose over the uncountable washes, that’s why the sleeves would sometimes slip away from your shoulders if you moved too much. But the fabric was thick enough from the slightly cold air of the city, and you weren’t meant to explore the suburbs until tomorrow, after the wedding.
Looking at your reflection in the vanity, you nodded at yourself—more for gathering courage rather than in an approbatory way. Then you tiptoed outside the room, hearing Viktor mumbling to himself as he hurriedly tried to clean the living room.
He looked at you with surprise, almost as if he had forgotten you were supposed to be there, before gesturing to the kitchen. "The food arrived. Feel free to serve yourself, I will be there in a second.”
You walked toward him, looking at the myriad of books lying around, from physics to folklore tales and history, to biology and engineering. Part of you felt relieved at seeing that Viktor was so knowledgeable. If there was someone to help you study to enter the University, that was him.
“I can help you clean,” you offered, taking the folklore book, some papers falling at your feet. “Uh. I’m sorry.” You crouched, piling the pages and putting them inside the book. It seemed old, with yellow pages and the spine almost unattached. Scribbled on the front page was a name.
“Don’t worry,” Viktor said, fingers taking the book away from you before you could read the dedicatory. “You can eat first, I’m not very hungry yet. The journey made me feel motion sickness.”
You blinked, embarrassed that he may be driving you away due to your nosiness. “Oh, alright then.” Then he also couldn’t read while in the carriage. That would mean he was trying to ignore you or to pretend doing something else to avoid making you feel nervous. But little mattered, you thought as you walked inside the kitchen, a bowl with beef stew and bittersweet chicken accompanied with white rice laid in porcelain plates flanked by a jar filled with orange juice.
You sat, alone in the still space of the kitchen, with only momentaneous echoes of Viktor’s steps as he moved around on the other side of the wall.
He appeared around an hour later when he heard you turning on the water to clean the dishes. Viktor settled next to you, taking a towel to clean them as he put them away on the cupboard.
"I went downstairs to buy some bread," he announced to you, signaling to the paper bag lying on the table. "I hope you like chocolate."
*~*~*~*
You sat on the missing stool of the vanity, Viktor settling in a chair next to you.
The balcony was a small cube, some lines of rope filled with empty clothespins. It couldn't overlook the city that well, with Viktor's department being only on the second floor rather than the last, but you liked the view anyway.
Catching glimpses of golden windows open despite the sudden drizzle tapping the roof, you saw blinks of life; a table filled with food with a family surrounding it, a woman painting on her living room, and even a cat lazily lying in the backrest of a couch.
You hoped that this scene, with Viktor next to you and a tiny glass table filled with desserts and coffee could look just as inviting. Just as real.
“Do you like it?” Viktor asked, and you knew he didn’t mean the sweet, braided swirl chocolate bread he had bought you.
“I’ve never seen so many things before,” you said, blowing into your cup of coffee. “It feels… alive.”
Viktor chuckled. “Sometimes too alive.” He shrugged. “But I understand. Piltover the Old is… well, old. Both the architecture and the people made you believe as if you'd been trapped in time there that when you get out, it feels as if things move too fast.”
You looked at him. “You don’t like the city,” you pointed out instead of asking.
His golden eyes didn’t meet yours anymore. “It has its charms.”
“Do you miss back home? The sea?” Part of you felt as if it would be hard to sleep without the constant roar of the ocean surrounding you.
Viktor reclined on his seat, barely taking crumbs out of his slice of fruitcake. “If I can be honest with you, I don’t think I’ve ever considered myself at home,” he said softly. “Not here, not there.”
You interlaced your fingers in your lap. “I feel the same way,” you confessed, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. “Of course, this is the first time that I leave Piltover the Old, but…" You shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose one day I will be able to be somewhere and just feel the pull. The realization that I’m finally home.”
Viktor smiled, his eyes sweeping over the city landscape. “I feel the same way, Miss.” Taking his cup of coffee, he extended it toward yours. “I hope we can both find such a call, someday."
The porcelain clinked together when you cheered, the noise like bells staying much longer than it was supposed to.
*~*~*~*
Unknown to you, that night was the best rest you’d have in so long. Encountering you dumbfounded once Viktor knocked on your door the next morning, his thick morning accent poured into your sleepy brain telling you that it was almost 8 AM.
“I’m awake,” you told him, voice groggy.
“Can I come in?” Viktor said, and any remnants of sleep evaporated from your mind. “I didn’t take my suit out yesterday.”
Oh. Of course. Looking at your dress, you nodded. But he couldn’t see your nod with the door closed. “Yes, of course.” The blankets were soft and smelled like soap when you covered yourself with them, peeking at his figure wearing mismatched pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt when he entered.
He looked once at you, nodding thankfully as he made his way toward the closet, eyes glued on everything but you. Between the friction of hooks and clothes, he produced a brown suit jacket with some pants folded underneath, the color so dark for a moment you thought it was black.
From another hanger, he grabbed a cream vest and a white dress shirt. Viktor turned, closing the closet doors before backtracking. “Eh, yes, yes. The tie,” he mumbled, looking at you from the corner of his eye, cheeks slightly red from having witnessed of his self-chatting.
Tossing a red tie atop the clothes hugged against his chest, he turned back to the exit. “I will be going now—” Viktor started, looking at the dress that had been hiding behind the door. “That is such a pretty dress, Miss,” he commented, looking up and down at it before turning the knob open.
“Thank you. It was my mother’s.”
He looked at you, his stance frozen on the threshold. “Have you ever imagined her in your wedding?” Viktor asked tentatively.
“I’ve never imagined I’d get married by my volition, so no. Not really.” What was the point anyway? “Death can’t return her to me anyway.” But part of you hoped that somehow, somewhere, she could be a little bit proud of seeing you here, in the city she inhabited before the sea called her back.
You didn’t even know if you wanted to have her with you. Would she have lied to you like your family did to protect you?
“If she was a student in the University, then there has to be some registers about her in the archive,” Viktor told you. “We can go there later. What do you say?”
Your aunt's words drilled into your skull, making your heart squeeze painfully. An unknown father, a mother given to the sea. A childhood filled with lies.
“No, it’s alright.” You forced a smile. “Maybe on another occasion.”
His golden eyes froze in your face, eyebrows furrowed just slightly, just for a moment. “Very well. I will let you change, then. We’re meant to leave to the notary in an hour.”
The mental clock ticking by his words didn’t help with your nerves, but you thanked him nevertheless. Not even the cold bath could soothe you, taking double the time to slip inside the dress and try to reach the tiny buttons aligned at your back.
Now it dawned on you the curiosity of why your mother had a wedding dress. Seeing you dressed in it, you pictured her twirling in a mirror on a boutique, a dreamy smile on an unknown face as she hoped to walk down the aisle toward your father, perhaps. Another faceless person it didn’t matter to grieve about.
Or so you tried to convince yourself.
What a useless thing to long for something it never was.
You entered the living room, Viktor sitting in front of the coffee table as he ate tiny bites of a slice of toasted bread covered with yogurt, the smell of newly made coffee flooding from the open door of the kitchen, a half-empty bowl of sliced fruit next to yours that was still completely covered in a mountain of sliced strawberry, peach, and pear.
He must’ve woken up around two hours ago if he had prepared all this and finished dressing already. The only thing missing was his jacket and his shoes which were aligned at the doormat entrance, files of the needed papers ready to go over the bookshelf.
You sat next to him, his fingers grazing yours when he passed you the breakfast. From the purplish eyebags adorning his golden eyes, you thought it was a mercy he had so many things to prepare in the morning, allowing him to get up instead of rolling away, trying with no luck to catch slumber.
You ate in silence, feeling your throat strained with nervousness. Quickly, you both shared the bathroom to brush your teeth, Viktor leaving you alone as you finished preparing.
Finally, around 9:26 AM, Viktor gazed at you when you walked toward the entrance door of the apartment, finding it weird to see his hair brushed back, with barely some locks poking rebelliously against his brow.
“The dress suits you,” he commented on your way down the stairs. “If you’d allow me to say that.”
Your steps faltered. “Oh, that’s right!” you exclaimed, waiting for him to descend all the stairs. “Can you help me button it up? I just missed the middle buttons.”
Viktor chuckled, gesturing you to turn around in the empty corner of the landing. It was too late for the rest of the residents to linger in their houses on a weekday. He gave you his cane to hold, his hands brushing your back slightly as he pinched the buttons inside the grommets.
You took in his presence, feeling his warmth bathing you, the essence of his shampoo smelling like a fresh breeze sweeping by the coast.
“There you go,” Viktor muttered, his breath moving the hair around your ear. You shivered, walking away from him. “Are you cold?” he asked, blinking with confusion knitting his eyebrows. “I can give you my jacket—”
“No, no.” You raised the unmatching muddy green coat and hugged it against your chest as if he could feel how your heart was picking up speed if you didn't. “I have this.”
Yanking the door open, you hoped the cold morning could calm down the frenetic rhythm reverberating in your ears, but it was all in vain when you ended up sitting next to him in what Viktor told you, was called a trolley car. The movement of the vehicle stopping and starting again at each public stop made your body press against him as the strange train moved its way up the city.
“The University is here,” Viktor chatted, trying to soothe your nerves as he fiddled with the handle of his cane. He pointed to the glass, where you could see a big, gothic-like building hiding the sun behind its high towers. People were walking inside, its courtyard made of neatly cut grass and tiny trees. All of them held books as they walked, both alone and in animated groups toward the cobblestone path that connected a pair of double doors with the outside. "This is the main building, but the rest of the faculties are behind it. You can't see it all from here."
“It’s gigantic,” you said, trying to take in all the details as the car moved away.
“Indeed it is. You have to be careful not to lose in the hallways,” he chuckled. “Or you’ll be late to class.”
"Where does the entrance exam take place?"
Viktor signaled out the window again. “In the main building.” His hand hovered over yours, interlaced on your lap. This time, he poked one with his finger. “You’ll see it for yourself soon enough.”
Embarrassed, you giggled. “I hope so.”
“Have more faith in yourself,” Viktor added, leaning slightly against you so your shoulder brushed his. “I believe you can do it.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Viktor…” you said in a hushed tone to not wake up the working man next to you, his uniform covered in coal and oil from his shift in a factory. “Thank you. For trusting me.”
Your gazes connected, and it felt as if he could rival the morning sun, the gold in his eyes twinkling like pools of honey poured in a teacup; reassuring and warmth.
"Couldn't be any other way."
*~*~*~*
The notary had a tiny chapel, barely decorated with candles whose wax had made them amorph, some of them cocooned in hollow wax ponds. The red carpet where you walked down the aisle alongside Viktor was worn out and thin, but neither of your steps faltered, the official papers tucked in a file under his arm.
You don’t have to do this, you repeated Viktor’s words, as you’d been doing ever since you entered this seemingly deserted building on a Wednesday morning, hand in his. But you wanted to, thrill pooling in a chaos inside your belly that almost felt like fluttering. Of all the scenes you could picture a marriage in, this was the most interesting. Almost funny how surreal it was.
You would've been so lucky if this was sincere, a childish part of you longed.
But it wasn’t, and foolish was it to lament for things that never were.
The officiant smiled at you two, Viktor taking your hands into his as he asked him if he could give you two his blessing—as no other one could.
You took in a deep breath, pride filling your stomach now that you could do something your mother yearned for. Fulfilling another’s dream, but your way.
His golden eyes sparkled with the dancing flames of the candles, his fingers interlaced with yours as he looked down at you, the officiant’s voice echoing in the empty seats and closed doors.
“Will you have Y/N to be your wife? To love her, comfort, and keep, and forsaking all others remain true to her, as long as you both shall live?”
Viktor nodded, looking from the pastor to you. “I will.” The squeeze of his hand made your eyes swept away, the room getting too hot from all the candles lit and no windows open.
“I promise to keep you safe even when the storm is raging outside,” Viktor said, his tone gentle yet confident. Just as his muttered words of solace back at the cliff. “To accompany you in each dreary night watch, for I will be here as long as you need me to.”
You felt a lump in your throat that made it difficult to breathe without having your voice broken.
"Thank you," you couldn't stop from saying, which made him smile. His thumb brushed away a stray tear running down your cheek.
“Will you have Viktor to be your husband? To love him, comfort, and keep, and forsaking all others remain true to him, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do—I will,” you said, finding your throat dry. Viktor nodded, encouraging you silently. “I take you as my husband. To be your best friend when you’re seeking a friend. To light up the way back home if you ever get lost. I’ll be there, always.”
His gaze was hard to read, brows pinched and eyes squinting, blinking away in a tender smile. “Thank you, love,” Viktor said.
The officiant had the papers laid over the table, his pen scribbling away at the paper the complete names of you both. You glanced at the words Viktor Ambroz right next to yours when it was your turn to sign the papers.
“For the power given to me, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, young man. Congratulations.”
The officiant busied himself with registering the marriage in his ledgers, Viktor right in front of you. His eyes said the same plea repeating in your mind, you don’t have to do this.
But you nodded nevertheless, looking back at the officiant as if saying that it would be weird if you didn’t kiss.
In reality, you were curious about what would happen next. Finding refuge in the dimming room, Viktor couldn’t see your flustered expression if he proceeded, nor your unfiltered hurt if he chose not to.
Viktor took in a deep breath, taking your hands into his as he pulled you slightly closer, cold fingers brushing your trembling ones. His eyes seemed to read your soul from how close they were, speckles of amber and brown mixed on his irises, honey, and chocolate that felt just as sweet when he gazed down at your lips.
Suddenly shy, you closed your eyes, feeling the brush of his eyelashes when he did the same.
He leaned in and brushed his lips with yours, barely a fleeting motion, the friction making you dizzy. Viktor stayed there a second too long, or so you thought, the world seemed to stop, just as your breath and your heartbeat.
A gasp rippled through his chest when he pulled away, the orange hue of the candles letting you see the wild red blush creeping from his ears down his neck.
The officiant gave you the papers, a beam as he congratulated you both once again.
“Let’s go, my dear, We have the whole day ahead of us to celebrate.” He smiled, taking your hand to drag you away.
If the officiant found it weird that any of you had said 'I love you', to each other, he didn't comment on it, the register was sealed official by his signature, filled with already dried ink. All opportunities of turning back were now locked away in the corresponding ledger, the leather book put inside the archive where the shadows would watch over it from the time being.
#arcane viktor x reader#viktor x reader#viktor arcane x reader#viktor arcane x you#arcane viktor x you#viktor x reader arcane#arcane viktor x fem! reader#arcane x female reader#arcane viktor fanfic#viktor arcane fic#viktor arcane fanfic
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ive got a viktor fic percolating and im going to explode if i dont share it with someone
#something something czech influence#something something polio#something something childhood rivals turned adult friends to lovers#SOMETHING SOMETHING SECRET RELATIONSHIP#viktor arcane#arcane#viktor fic#the machine herald#viktor x reader#viktor arcane fic
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“You’re not ugly,” said Viktor. “Although, I am used to physical deformity. But mine are much easier to hide. May I?”
Silco looked up in confusion, which seemed to be permission enough. Viktor held up a hand in front of the scarred side of Silco’s face, closing one eye so he could only see the unblemished right half. Silco blinked, strangely self-conscious. He felt like an insect about to be pinned.
“You’re not actually very old, are you?” asked Viktor, still holding up his hand.
One of my favorite scenes from Anoint With Affliction by @withercrown, a stunning Vilco fic that everyone should read
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Noisy - Part Four
Despite your agreements, Viktor is being very loud... Again. You go to confront him about it.
Viktor x fem!reader
Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.
Word Count: 5,500
Warnings: Frustration, concern, hints of growing intimacy, unprotected sex, creampie, feelings
Previous | Masterlist
---
You couldn’t sleep.
You turned to your side, away from the window. Maybe the faint glow from behind the curtains was what had kept you awake. Or maybe all the thoughts crowding your mind were on that side of the pillow, sneaking in through your ear until they could snarl and snap inside of your brain.
Another sleepless night was not what you needed.
A moment later, you amended the thought. If there was going to be one night you couldn’t really rest, this wasn’t the worst night for it to happen. You didn’t have anywhere to be the next day and no real plans. You could sleep as late as you needed to recover what you were losing to your racing thoughts.
With that realization, you gave in and let your mind whir rapidly as it performed a variety of calculations it apparently thought were necessary.
The first - and accordingly most concerning - thought was about your impending departure from the Piltover Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation.
You had been a student at the Academy for almost a decade. Your undergraduate work had been completed on time. Graduate work had slowed you down slightly as you started taking more advanced courses that required more field work. And your doctoral program seemed to have stretched on for an eternity. That was mostly because the Academy’s work-study program had left you attending courses only half of your time.
Even then, your main focus for the last semester had been on writing your dissertation.
From everything you had learned about other schools, Piltover’s Academy was unique in the way dissertations were presented, especially in practical fields. Instead of a simple essay, Academy dissertations were written as a proposal. You were to identify a problem, hypothesize about causes and solutions, and create a plan to help alleviate the problem or treat those suffering from it.
When you were finished with your dissertation, you would submit it to your mentor, Professor Ukkud. Once she went through it with you and you completed any final changes, she would present it to the Council of Piltover. They would read it, discuss your proposed solutions, then give you a chance to answer their questions and defend your intended methodology.
If you successfully defended your dissertation, you would gain a doctorate. You would also be approved a specified amount of Piltover’s money to put your proposal into action, backed by the Council. Doctors whose experiments and solutions helped people were often offered jobs in the government itself, working to improve the lives of Piltover citizens.
Your identified problem - the pollution in the Undercity, particularly the fumes found in the Sump sector - was easily proven. The causes were of concern to Piltover. The solutions were simple and relatively cheap. It was, by all accounts, tailor-made for a successful dissertation defense.
Except that you had been advised to start over.
Your meeting with Professor Ukkud that afternoon had been profoundly disappointing. It had been your first meeting with her since you had discussed concepts. The professor had left the Academy for several months as she delivered a beautiful boy. She and her wife had spent much of the following time bonding with their newborn son and, by the time she returned, your dissertation was almost complete.
Which was why it was particularly heartbreaking that you had presented your lovingly-crafted work to Professor Ukkud only for her to sit in uncomfortable silence. She listened to your explanation, but pushed the dissertation back to you unread. When she finally spoke, it was with an expression of sympathy and a delicate sort of tone.
“I understand your passion for this project and I think it would have a positive impact on the Undercity. However, I feel that there is a strong chance the Council will deny you the funds you’ve requested.”
You had been aghast. The Council rarely refused funds, and when they did, it was often because the attached proposal had been subpar. In a few cases, they had denied funds and awarded the defender their degree anyway, but it had happened only twice that you could remember.
It was considered slightly shameful to receive your degree with no accompanying funds. It was a sign that the Council thought there was no situation in which your special knowledge could play an role in improving Piltover.
“But… But this is important research…” you had protested, knowing it wouldn’t matter. “My solution is simple and cost-effective, and no one can argue the impact it would have on the lives of those living in the Undercity. Especially the ones who live in the Sump sector, but it could make a difference for people who live much further away.”
Professor Ukkud shook her head sadly. “I agree, and I believe there is a strong possibility that your proposal would improve lives across the Undercity and even along the border of Upper Piltover where the river is narrow.”
“Then I don’t understand the problem,” you’d said, openly frustrated.
“Simply put: the Council will not divert funds toward a project that will mostly impact the Undercity.”
You had suspected as much as soon as Professor Ukkud suggested you change the topic of your dissertation, but it was startling to hear her say it so directly. Worse, you knew she was right.
You wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all, but the prejudices of Upper Piltover ran deep. There was no other explanation for the poor conditions half the city lived in - and perhaps more, since censuses tended not to go well in the Undercity.
And, even worse, you partially understood. The Undercity rebelled against Upper Piltover on a regular basis, and most of those rebellions were violent. Yes, they were rebelling against a lack of representation and the fact that the Council didn’t put any effort toward improving the Undercity, but you could imagine that the proud Piltover people would see helping them as rewarding the very violence they were hoping to stop.
None of those thoughts had left you. Instead, you slumped and stared down at the stack of pages resting on the table. They represented literal months of your life. When you weren’t helping Ukkud in her classroom, you were researching or writing or editing or experimenting, all in the process of crafting the perfect dissertation.
“What am I supposed to do, then?” The question had sounded more defeated than challenging. “I can’t rewrite it. The semester is ending soon.”
“I think your best option is to stay an extra semester,” Professor Ukkud opinioned, looking visibly relieved that you weren’t planning to argue with her about it. “You could try to create a different dissertation, but in the limited time… You would either end up with an inferior proposal or be too exhausted to defend it.”
You hadn’t had anything else to say, by then. What was the point? Instead, you thanked the professor for her guidance and left the classroom. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon sulking and mulling over your options.
The way you saw it, you had two: spend an extra semester at the Academy to create another dissertation and proposal about an issue you weren’t as passionate about, or…
Or present the dissertation you had already prepared.
Professor Ukkud was right, you probably wouldn’t be funded. But you could leave here and go somewhere where you could make a difference. You had taken several grant-writing courses during your time at the Academy. It would be far more difficult to do things on your own. But wouldn’t it be worth it?
You turned onto your back once more, eyeing the ceiling with disgust. Now that you had rehashed everything about the disappointing meeting and rethought about the difficult choice that faced you, you had hoped sleep would come. But you were just as awake as you had been before and you clearly weren’t going to make any important decisions that night.
Sliiiiiide. Scrape. Scrape! BOOM.
Your initial jolt turned into you sitting bolt upright in bed as a tremendous noise came from the apartment above yours. You looked up at the ceiling, like you could see through it if you stared hard enough.
When that didn't work, you started to lay back down, but paused. Viktor knew you didn't need to be awake early the next day and had no specific reason to stay quiet, but this was excessive even for him.
Immediately, your mind started jumping to negative conclusions. What if Viktor had tripped? What if his cane had caught on something, leaving him tumbling to the floor? If had fallen badly enough to hurt himself, how would he call for help? Would anyone notice until the weekend ended?
The last thing you wanted was to imply that he couldn't take care of himself, but it would be good to check on Viktor, right? He couldn't be offended if you were making sure he wasn't hurt. And if he was, you could always pretend you were upset with him for making so much noise. He didn't know you had already been awake…
You pulled on a sweatshirt over your pajamas and started the trek upstairs. You had been casually sleeping with Viktor for months by that point, but you didn't go up to his apartment as often as you had expected.
And who could blame you? Not only did Viktor prefer to keep people away from the experiments that filled his apartment, but he also didn't have a bed. You liked to think you were fairly low-maintenance, but you did prefer not to have sex on the floor. Unless it you were in a particular mood. Or a hurry. Or-
You pulled your thoughts back to your current mission. Viktor could be hurt, and you needed to make sure he wasn’t in pain and waiting to be found.
The first obstacle was that you didn’t have a key to his apartment. It had never been necessary before and you were struck by the strangeness of that for the first time. Your relationship was strictly casual, but it would have made sense for you proximity to lead to more opportunities for hooking up. Including swapping apartment keys.
And so you knocked, your taps on his door were firm with an edge of urgency. Even as you waited for a response, you planned: if you knocked again and there was no answer, you would break down the door. How you would accomplish that, you weren’t really sure. As you eyed the solid wood of the door, you wondered if you might be overestimating your own abilities.
Fortunately, you and your poor shoulder were spared from seeing how you fared against the door when it opened and Viktor’s brown eyes peered out. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?” you asked, a little nonplussed.
“Of course,” he told you.
“What are you doing up here?”
Viktor looked overly innocent, which was a good as a red flag in the current situation. “Nothing in particular. Why?”
You squinted at him. “Well, I heard a really loud noise a few minutes ago. I thought you might have fallen and knocked yourself out.”
“Do you really think so little of my balance?”
The dry question was met with a hard stare of your own. You had seen him trip over nothing, and if something impacted how his cane landed, he was virtually guaranteed to end up on the ground.
Graciously, you decided not to bring up any of that. Instead, you said, “You’re out of breath. A little odd for someone claiming not to be doing anything in particular. And it’s really dark in there…”
You tried to see around him and into the apartment, but Viktor leaned into your line of sight. “Seriously, did you knock over a lamp or something? It totally dark in there. Wait, not totally… Are those candles? I don’t think you’re allowed to have candles in the dorms.”
Viktor sighed heavily, letting the door swing out from his grip. You took a moment to process his bare feet and rumpled hair before accepting his silent invitation and stepping past him into the apartment. As always, you almost struggled to believe that his apartment shared a layout with yours, since his was decorated so dramatically differently.
His furniture was almost entirely missing, with the exception of a very old and well-worn recliner that he slept in. The rest of the space was taken up with various experiments. They had changed since the last time you had been there, but precise layouts of chemical, biological, and mysterious experiments still spread across every available surface. Each one was accompanied by a notebook containing neatly written notes.
It took a moment for you to check, but you couldn’t see anything around the room that would have caused the amount of noise that had brought you upstairs in the first place. That was good, since it meant that Viktor probably wasn’t hurt and trying to hide it from you.
There was a bare circle on one of Viktor’s countertops, all the experiments carefully swept clear. In the middle of the circle was a cluster of candles, throwing warm light dancing around the room.
“Well, at least you made sure nothing would catch on fire from your illegal candles,” you conceded.
Viktor came to stand beside you. “Well, nothing that I don’t want to be caught.”
Your eyebrows raised without your permission as you gave him a sidelong look. “Are you lighting things on fire in your apartment? Need I remind you that I live downstairs and that the building is ancient? And flammable?”
“Besides,” he continued, ignoring you. “I think they set a mood quite nicely. Don’t you agree?”
“What mood are you trying to set? Angsty serial killer, or are you going for-”
Viktor leaned close, the motion so sudden that you pulled backward. You would have thought it was just a rushed attempt at a kiss, but the way he was looking at you was anything but romantic. His amber eyes were studying your face like you were one of his experiments. You didn’t care for the feeling.
“Is something wrong?” he asked abruptly.
The bluntness of the question threw you off, made you less able to create a believable story. “Not- Not really? Bad day. Then my upstairs neighbor keeps being noisy.”
“Today was your meeting with Professor Ukkud, was it not?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question; Viktor had proven to have a near-eidetic memory when it came to the things you told him. “Did she have many critiques for your dissertation?”
“Something like that,” you admitted.
“Strange,” Viktor mused. “I thought it was rather brilliant.”
Your eyes snapped to his. Viktor was smiling slightly, but he seemed sincere. He had read your dissertation.
When you had asked him to the first time - claiming that you needed another set of eyes on it - he had refused. His explanation was that his ties to the Undercity were too strong, that he wouldn’t be able to look at your proposal with any objectivity. That had seemed like a lie to you, but you hadn’t pushed. A boundary was a boundary, even if he wasn’t giving you the real reason behind it.
“You… you read my dissertation?” you stammered.
“Of course,” he told you. “It’s you. How could I no-? Unh!”
You felt a little guilty about the way that his throat had collided with the top of your shoulder as you pulled him into a hug, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping him with your full strength.
It was only when he stroked a hand down your back, hushing you gently, that you realized you were crying. The entire story spilled from you then. Every detail about Professor Ukkud’s recommendation for rewriting, your crushing disappointment, and the nagging fear that she was right and that to present before the Council would be to set yourself up for failure.
Viktor held you close, making appropriate noises as the stream of words pouring from you finally slowed, then stopped. “Do you want to talk it over? Consider your options?”
“No,” you refused, smiling tearfully at him. “I feel better just telling you about it. But I could really use a distraction. That is, if you don’t mind? I know I’m all gross…”
Viktor’s soft lips halted your apologies and explanations. You still felt as gross as you had claimed to be, but you sank eagerly into the kiss. It wasn’t often that you let Viktor lead - normally, you were too excited for that - but you gladly followed the soothing motions of his mouth against yours.
“We do not have to-” he started when you pulled back to breathe.
“No, but I really, really want to,” you admitted openly.
“In that case…” Viktor stepped away. You immediately felt the loss of his warm body against his, but he was holding a hand out to you. When you took it, he started leading the way to his bedroom.
It took until you were at the doorway to remember why this was a bad idea. You tugged slightly against his grip. “I know I said I want a distraction, but I’d rather not get eaten by one of your plants, Viktor. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for right now.”
“Do not worry,” he assured you, pushing the door open. “I removed them last week.”
“...Why?”
He laughed openly at you. “You’re too young to be so skeptical.”
And then he stepped through the door, pulling you in behind him before you could continue protesting.
To your surprise, Viktor had been telling the truth. The plants that had dominated most of the bedroom the last time you’d been inside were gone, as were the colorful lights that had illuminated them. He had even removed the protective tape from the light switch.
Even without turning on the notoriously harsh overhead lights, you could see Viktor’s bedroom clearly enough for your mouth to fall open. “Is that..?”
“Yes, it is,” Viktor confirmed, smiling more broadly than you had ever seen.
You started forward, but paused. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Is this a trick? A mirage? An optical illusion?”
Viktor only chuckled at you, gently shaking his head. You moved closer despite yourself, extending a hand until your fingers rested against the soft, sheet-covered surface of a real, tangible bed.
“It’s real,” you reported, awe heavy in your tone.
Viktor rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I know, I moved it in here today.”
You rounded on him. “Is that what was making all of the noise? You shouldn’t have put it together yourself, Viktor. I would have been happy to help you.”
“I didn’t build the frame myself,” he said dryly. “I know my limits. I had some members of the housing administration bring the pieces and assemble everything for me this afternoon.”
“Then what were you doing that made so much noise?” you asked. “And how did the housing administration not freak out when they saw your collection of experiments? You have to be doing irreparable damage to the interior of this place.”
Viktor looked offended. “I know how to perform an experiment with minimal risk to the environment, myself, and others. And did it not occur to you that I could be trying to surprise you?”
“Honestly, the idea of you moving the plants was surprising enough,” you admitted. “But where are they? Are they okay?”
“They are fine.” You relaxed at the answer. Viktor’s plants may have tried to eat you, but that didn’t mean you wanted to think about them rotting somewhere. “The experiments were a success, so I had the plants moved into the lab for further testing and eventual propagation.”
You nodded, impressed despite yourself. Viktor’s efforts to grow plants using various colors of light had seemed ridiculous and frivolous when you’d first learned about them, but he had eventually told you that there were implications for growing them in the Undercity.
“Now,” Viktor said lowly, taking a step closer to you, “Are discussions about my botanical experiments distraction enough for you?”
You thought about it for a moment, but decided that, no, it wasn’t. “I think I need a distraction that’s a little more… hands-on.”
As you said the last, you grabbed Viktor’s spare hand, placing it on the curve of your hip. The warm weight of it made you tense with anticipation even as Viktor rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.”
“Flatterer,” you accused, leaning in for another kiss. Viktor dropped his feigned grumpiness immediately to seize the offer of your lips. Eagerly, you lost yourself in his embrace.
By the time you remembered that you were a physical being in a physical environment, you had changed positions entirely. You were sitting now, making good use of Viktor’s new bed. He was in front of you, cupping your cheek with a careful reverence that made you feel distinctly melty.
His graceful fingers traced up and down the stretched-out collar of your sweatshirt. “Tell me you are not wearing anything complicated under this.”
You shook your head, grinning. “No, you’re still the king of complicated clothing.”
Viktor gave you surprisingly wicked smile. “I planned ahead.”
And then you watched, fascinated, as he unbuttoned the few buttons on his vest. With it gone, you found that his shirt was held together only by the buttons that would show above and below the vest itself. With three more buttons undone, Viktor was bare from the waist up, and looking very proud of himself for it.
The laugh that burst from you was loud and joyful. That moment of silliness from Viktor had done more to lift your mood than hours of ruminating had. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Flatterer,” he returned. “You are also falling behind in this particular race.”
Your eyebrows shot upward. That was a challenge you had no intention of letting stand. You stripped off your sweatshirt in a single motion and - luckily enough - static friction pulled your sleep shirt off at the same time.
You gave Viktor a triumphant look, then both of you were fumbling to remove your own pants. Viktor had buttons to deal with while you did not, but you were stymied by the shoes you had put on to climb the stairs. He beat you, but only by a margin of seconds. You cut off any intended boasting with a deep kiss. And since you were already there, you straddled his thighs at the same time.
Viktor’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back slightly. “No, I’m going to be on top this time.”
For the first time in a while, you felt a little uncertain. “Is that a good idea? Your leg-”
“-Will be fine,” he told you firmly. “It has improved with all the exercise it has gotten lately. Nothing long-term, but I can do this. Let me do this?”
The soft entreaty, more than anything else he could have said, convinced you. You gave a shallow nod and Viktor set to work. He guided you down to the mattress - and you were privately disappointed that the sheets didn’t have time to smell like him yet - and settled on top of you.
The weight of him was solid between your thighs, even with him bracing a hand against the bed’s surface. You were always mildly surprised at Viktor’s size - his height and narrow build often made him appear far more slender than he truly was.
You did have admit that you liked the position for how close everything was. When you were on top, you often felt further away from him than you wanted to be. But with Viktor taking the lead, his free hand roamed your body as both of your hands did the same to him. He alternated between kissing you and nosing along your skin while you did your best to suck tiny bruises into every stretch of his neck and jaw that you could reach.
After a span that seemed both endless and impossibly short, Viktor pulled away with a groan. “I am uncertain how much longer I can wait to be inside of you.”
Everything between your legs gave an eager pulse, your muscles helpfully lifting the cradle of your hips to press yourself more firmly against him. The length of him slipped easily between your folds, pressing against you.
You gave a stuttered breath at the contact - he wasn’t entering you, but the angle of him left his head brushing firmly against your clit and the sensations were dazzling. Viktor must have been in a similar frame of mind, because he gave another groan. This one was hoarse, verging on desperate, and you throbbed.
“Please,” you asked, lifting your hips once more.
It took a fumbling moment for Viktor to reposition the head of himself against your entrance, but he made up for lost time by sliding home the instant he was in place.
The noise you made was inarticulate and loud, and you were grateful that the only apartment connected to Viktor’s was your own empty one. Viktor was silent, but when you remembered to open your eyes, you found that his had fluttered shut. There was a wrinkle of concentration between his dark brows, but something about their upward tilt gave him a hint of beatific supplication. He looked like he was praying.
He drew in a breath - a long, shaking inhale - and opened those gorgeous eyes.
“You are never anything less than incredible.” His fervent, matter-of-fact delivery was sincere enough that you believed him. It wasn’t enough to remove the soreness of the day from your heart, but it certainly didn’t hurt.
But you were neighbors with benefits, not a couple. This level of emotion seemed taboo, somehow forbidden for two people in a casual relationship. You pushed your response aside, teasing, “Are you talking about me or my pussy?”
“You.”
The only way to hide your response to the affirmation would be to close your eyes, and that was a sacrifice you weren’t willing to make. So instead, you leaned up to give him a kiss, hoping to convey some sense of what he meant to you. You couldn’t be sure what came through, but at least he began moving inside of you.
Viktor felt exquisite inside of you and it was hard to concentration on anything other than the pressure he put on your g-spot every time he moved into or out of you. But in the quiet spaces in his rhythm, you gathered yourself enough to watch him. Not only was watching Viktor one of your great joys in life, you were also searching for any signs that this position was hurting or straining him.
True to his claims, it didn’t seem to be. Viktor’s pace was eager, nothing but intense focus on his face. The noises he made didn’t sound pained, either, and you let yourself relax into enjoying the entire experience.
Your finger traced along the lean muscle of Viktor’s chest, danced across his ticklish ribs, and met briefly behind his back. The feeling of his muscles tightening and releasing as he drove into you and pulled back out was intoxicating. It also made you aware of the way your hips were surging up to meet his thrusts, turning every stroke into a earth-shattering collision.
When your timing matched up with Viktor’s, it felt like he was pushing his way up into your stomach. The depth of it was a little strange, but it didn’t hurt. Far from it, actually. You jerked so hard that Viktor paused.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” you told him, adding, “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”
He laughed, and the desperate need pulled away long enough for you to see the humor in it. “It feels wonderful, Viktor. Please keep going.”
Viktor took you at your word and started thrusting into you even harder than before, but much faster. The pleasure came roaring back with a vengeance.
In moments, you were clutching at Viktor’s shoulders both to keep yourself from being pushed up the bed and in an effort to keep yourself grounded. This was overwhelming, but in a way that left you ready for more even while you were still experiencing it. This was something addictive, you realized, but you couldn’t even begin to worry about that.
Especially when your body started to tighten around Viktor’s.
“Close.”
Your panted warning made Viktor nod. He dropped his pelvis a fraction of an inch, making his occasional brushes against your clit far more often and intense. Seemingly instantly, that contact pushed you unceremoniously over the edge.
Viktor managed to keep his pace even with your body locking down around him. You shook and panted and gasped - and made some sounds that were far more dramatic - as he worked his way closer to his own orgasm.
When you drifted back down to earth, you were content to watch Viktor work above you. He was close, you could see it in the way his arms trembled, the drop of sweat from his temple tracing down over jutting cheekbones.
“Close,” he hissed, pushing into you so hard that it sent a shockwave through your body.
You smiled at that. You had asked him once why he warned you when you had already come. He had simply shrugged and told you, “It seems the polite thing to do.” It was so perfectly Viktor that you had laughed then. It still made you smile.
Viktor plunged deep inside of you, giving a low and hastily-stifled groan as he came. He was particularly beautiful in the throes of pleasure, you noted. His pale skin was slightly flushed with exertion, lips swollen and red from kissing you. When his head tipped back, you could admire the marks you had scattered across his neck. His eyes were closed, but you could picture the stunning shade of amber they would be when they glowed with pleasure.
When he was finished, Viktor’s arms were shaking badly enough that you were worried, but he managed to lower himself beside you rather than collapsing. You wouldn’t have minded that so much, but Viktor’s limbs were so long and angular that collisions tended to leave you with large, unfun bruises the next day.
“Are you okay?” Viktor asked.
You pulled your attention back to the moment. “Yes, of course. Why?”
“You are usually talking by now,” he told you. His eyes were still closed, but a tiny smile played around the fullness of his lips.
With a hum, you said, “Good point. Maybe we should talk about all of this.”
Viktor’s eyes opened at that. He looked wary. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” You sat up slightly, wincing at the way his cum started trickling out of you. But you pressed your legs together, ignoring the sensation in favor of counting on your fingers. “The candles, the bed, the mysterious noise with no apparent cause…”
“That is what would make a noise mysterious,” Viktor agreed, an edge of sarcasm in his accented voice.
“Shush. Anyway, I’m working on a theory…” You paused to recheck your work, but arrived at exactly the same conclusion you had come to the first time. “Were you trying to lure me up here for some reason?”
“‘Lure’ is an ugly word.”
“That’s not a real answer,” you informed him. “Were you planning something? Something I derailed by bursting into tears before you could get to it?”
“It wasn’t important,” he told you. “Not by comparison.”
His closer hand was resting against the mattress, between his face and yours. You laced your fingers with his, and he returned your smile. How could you be sad when there was magic like this in the world?
“Will you tell me what it was?” you requested softly. “Please?”
Viktor’s smile turned a little sickly and he swallowed, but nodded. “I wanted to- Well, I still want to… Ask- If you might want something more serious.”
“With you?” you checked.
Now looking distinctly queasy, Viktor nodded again. “With me.”
You beamed, feeling inexplicably close to tears once more. “I would like that a lot, Viktor.”
“You-?” Viktor’s eyes were wide, even as he feigned a casual attitude. “You would. Very well. Then I believe we should enter into a romantic relationship together.”
“I believe the same,” you said, giving him your best grave expression. It wasn’t particularly solemn, not with the way you had been grinning a moment before, but it was enough to make Viktor roll his eyes as he tried not to smile. “When should we begin?”
“In my opinion,” Viktor said carefully, “we already have.”
“Fair point,” you conceded, squeezing his hand as you leaned in for another kiss.
---
Author's Note - As I've said on a few different fics I've posted this year, this is my last Fanfic February! The tolls of writing over 100,000 words to post all in one month is pretty high, especially when I have so many other ongoing projects.
I have some additional ideas for this story and I might continue it when I've caught up on the other works I've been ignoring. For now, I think this is a good pause point.
Thank you for reading!
#fanfic february#fanfic february 2024#arcane#arcane 2021#arcane netflix#arcane viktor#viktor#viktor x reader#viktor x you#fem!reader#reader#reader insert#reader insert fanfiction#reader insert fanfic#reader insert fic#spicy#lemon#not suitable for minors#minors dni
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Funny SFW Viktor x Gn!Reader Headcanons 💖
-Viktor cannot STAND black coffee. Sometimes when you're pissed at him, you "forget" to add creamer or sweetmilk. His face is hilarious.
-He isn't an animal guy- they take lots of time to care for... which he does not have. But when you rescue some kitten off of the streets, he can't help but treat it like a baby. He bought one of those little feather shakers and spends his free time snuggling your kitty. Despite insisting he isn't emotionally attached.
"Fur baby? This is not my fur baby! He's just small and fluffy, that's all. Now stop teasing me," he says, dramatically looking up at you while gently petting the little thing.
-Terrible at interior design. Used to have only a single sad wooden chair at the "dining" table. Note: There is a small crack in the sad wooden chair due to prolonged ponderings. 🪑
"Where do you even buy these things? Most of my decor consists of scattered notes and trinkets." (He is looking at a finger painting of a bird that your toddler cousin made.)
-Viktor is a big fan of meal prepping and has a giant pot's worth of soup or pasta available 24/7. Sometimes he invites you over just to help polish off a hefty tupperware full of fettuccine before it goes bad. He's a surprisingly good cook, whipping up a mean omelet for you on lazy mornings.
-He has calloused and worn hands from writing and tinkering all day. As a gag gift, you buy him those kiddie princess band-aids... your know the ones. After a small mishap, he reaches into the first aid drawer of the lab, only to pull out a smiley anthropomorphic dog. Oh well, he thinks, wrapping it around his finger.
"I see you're wearing the band-aids I bought you, hm?" you tease.
"Very funny," he says, eyes still glued to the bolt he's turning.
-Viktor is nosy when he gets bored. He looks through your books, adding little notes on random pages.
"Spicy, don't you think? I'm sure Heimerdinger wouldn't approve. Tsk tsk, dove." - V
📖🖊
(Written in the best chapter of your romance novel.)
-During academy meetings and events, you have a subtle signal for what is essentially a side eye. Phrases like:
-"Did you hear that right?" 🤨
-"That's crazy talk." 🙄
-"Are you ready to leave?" 🥱
-"Look over there." 👀
Are expressed with two hand-squeezes.
“I love you” is expressed with three.
______________________________________________________________
Hello this is my first tumblr thing I'm scared thank you goodbye
#arcane#viktor arcane#arcane league of legends#arcane viktor#viktor x reader#arcane viktor x reader#arcane fanfic#arcane fic#arcane fluff
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my dearest fic writers who headcanon viktor as czech! i know you guys are struggling with google translate — and it indeed is awful (for slavic languages especially, cause it keeps messing up the adjective declension).
i have an amazing alternative: deepl and reverso context. i’m currently getting my degree (german translator) and i’m a fellow slavic fic writer — therefore, i use those A LOT for uni. and let me tell you — google translate is absolute shit compared to those two. reverso context even provides you qualitative example sentences??? how cool is that???
anyway i love love LOVE seeing czech viktor fics and headcanons and i just figured i might share those helpful little things with ya’ll so you don’t have to struggle with shitty ass machine translator.
live laugh love viktor <3
#viktor arcane#viktor czech#viktor definitely cusses in czech im not the one making the rules#viktor fics#viktor x reader
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Distracting: Part 2
Viktor has been harboring guilt over his accidental thievery of your used champagne glass. At least he had the security that you were none the wiser..that doesn't change that your even harder to ignore now that he spent the weekend studying your lip print
warnings: More of Viktor's developing crush on you, lots of flashback to after the party, him being soft, some VERY mild suggestive stuff..don’t worry more is to come in the next part
Read part 1 here
Word count : 2,339
“Is the sun always that bright?” Viktor whined, covering his gaze as he hurried over toward the window, leaning toward it and squinting disaprovingly at the sunny world beyond it, before pulling on the shades and banishing the light. His head didnt exactly pound anymore, but he had a way of ending up hung over whenever he drank, call it his low weight, or the fact that his anatomy consistently seemed against him, if there was alcohol, it hurts the next day.
“I think it always stays like that Vik '' you answer, earning an unimpressed glance your way as he limps toward his desk and places down his bag. You stretch your arms upward, humming lightly as you feel the satisfying crackle in your spine and knuckles. You personally, feel wonderful. After the party over the weekend, you peeled away your dress and were fast to slip into a hot bath, allowing for your sore muscles to relax and let you practically fall into a perfectly restful weekend. You dont recall too much other than resting on your couch, reading the current novel that had infected your every thought, one you had also slipped into your bag for today when the lab was getting a little boring.
“Ugh..” You hear Viktor let out a relch at the sound of your joints popping, “Why, every morning..That isnt good for you, and it is worse to listen to” He lectured, placing himself in his chair, slowly turning to face you so that his point would get across. You mimic him immedietly, a practiced motion, turning to face him, and mirroring his posture and how his fingers laced together on his knee. He flashed yet another disaproving look, this time punctuated with a, “Rude”.
You snicker lightly, returning yourself to face your desk. Unpacking your bag only takes another minute or so, that moment remaining silent as you and Viktor set up for today's work load. The silence was normal, especially with Viktor, but that's why you liked working with him. While you could spend hours talking with Jayce, bouncing back and forth in a hyper focused frenzy, you much more enjoyed the comfortable silence of working next to Viktor. You had developed a ritual of passing back and forth materials and tools as you worked simultaneously on projects.
He was always respectful, never intentionally touching you without reason, and if he did bump you, he was quick to apologize, which you enjoyed only because of how flustered he got when he began to stumble over words so fast he began to slip into his native language. Or when he would tap you lightly with a pencil, and you would turn to see what he needed, only for him to lean over your notebook and scribble something down, like a warning before he did so.
You had caught yourself memorizing his little mannerisms over time, keeping a small tally at the top corner of your pages for every time he had tricked you into letting him fix a note, or murmured a word you didnt recognize when fidgeting with a new project. It relaxed you, like a little grounding tool to keep your mind occupied when you had tired yourself with your work, a healthy distraction. So you lazily flipped open your notebook to the current page, doodling a little box for today's tallies before pulling the sheet off your current project and beginning your busy work.
Viktor sat quietly as he began his project, as usual. He had just gone for his wrench when he caught movement in the corner of his eyes, a familiar motion he had memorized, you're playing with your hair again. His gaze tracks the motion, how the tufts flutter about, if he was closer like last time, he was sure he would be able to smell the shampoo you used again..if he was correct in assuming, it smelt like honey. He didnt notice he was staring until you turned your head and caught him. Your eyes lock with his golden gaze for a short moment, a blissful second of eyecontact between you, before he caught it and you watched his gaze flicker around, his head turning swiftly before settling back on his work and his form shrank down far too close to his project to be safe, but successfully he had avoided the chance of you seeing how harshly his face darkened red. His breath was shaky, as he struggled to keep it low enough that you coculdnt hear. How frustrating, it had been getting harder to avoid your prying eyes, more tedious to avoid you catching him logging your smiles, and even harder to keep up conversations without smiling too much, and you had only added another level to it with that damned glass. That weekend, he had smuggled that stupid glass away from the party. He didnt know why, in fact he was sure it was a trance when he walked into him and Jayce shared an apartment, only to find the empty champagne glass still tucked in his palm. Jayce locked the door as Viktor considered what could have happened to end up here, now a thief..through the glass couldn’t be too expensive, it felt rather cheap.
“What's that you got there?” Jayce asked, leaning over Viktor and causing him the flinch, almost hard enough to send the delicate glass shattering across the floor. He gripped it tighter, giving one of his famously annoyed glances. Jayce lifted his brows, motioning specifically toward the rouge lipstain at the edge.
“Oh? Oh hoho..that color there looks pretty familiar” Jayce had started to tease, his chest was starting to bob with a deep chuckle, the kind he had always given when he was preparing to tease him.
Viktor felt the stab of anxity in his stomach, looking quickly between Jayce’s knowing gaze and the glass before he squirmed a bit away, trying to hide away in his room, fast.
“I dont want to talk about it.” He insisted, tucking away into his room and quickly hiding away the used glass in his closet with a slam.
“Talk about what? Did they give it to you or did you mean to steal it?” Jayce practically howled as he leaned into Viktors room, watching as his friend as he struggled to undo his tie with furious aggression, only getting more incense the longer he struggled. With a loud huff he finally undid it, now wrestling with his shirt vest,
“I didn’t mean t- I didnt steal it from them” He insisted, pulled off the vest before landing on his bed and taking off his shoes,
“Oh..so you're not denying it anymore?” Viktor froze, his hands ceasing shakily over his cufflinks. Jayce smirked teasingly, suppressing another laugh until Viktor flung a loose shoe toward him. He quickly took the hint, “Okay! Okay! Good night loverboy-” He laughed, slipping away and leaving Viktor flushed violently and gripping his hair as he fell back into his bed.
At least now he could let his face cool down now that you were no longer watching him, it of course was easier to work and ignore you for a few minutes at a time. Until..
“Hey guys! Sorry I'm late,” Jayce hollered, bursting through the door, nearly tripping over the doorway and spilling the offering of coffe for the trio.
Yes, Viktor was screwed now. Jayce knew, he dditn know to what extent, but he did know. He knew about the glass.
“Here ya go,” Jayce chirped, handing you a coffee with that stupid winning smile.
“Aw, thanks ya goof. You know, you could just not be late, then you wouldn't need to get us coffee every monday.” You explain, sipping the drink as you watch him float off toward Viktor who had frozen solid since the door opened.
“Then I would miss out on your winning smile, you have a very special smile when you get surprised by coffee” He replied, twirling around to the other side of an unresponsive Viktor. He placed the cup beside his friend's hand, leaning over his shoulder to whisper where you couldnt hear.
“I got you the same order, in case you want to ‘swap’ cups again,” He hummed, almost getting hit as Viktor swatted him away. Jayce snickered quietly, slipping away to his own work.
Viktor sat staring at his coffee for a few moments, regrettably reaching for it. Coffee was essential, how unfortunate that it was a gift from Jayce..he drank it non the less, pressing his lips to the lid and gulping down a few mouthfulls and returning finally to an average working pace.
“Vik? Are you there?” Viktor snapped out of his focused state, turning toward the sound before pulling off his goggles and finding you much closer than he expected you to be. You stoof next to him, leaning a little over his side after spending the past minute or so trying to get his attention. You tilted your head, giving an amused huff as you slipped some papers to his desk. “Thank Janna the fire alarm wasn’t going off, you would be cooked by now.”
He blinked, glancing from you to the papers a few times before turning to read them better. He pulled them from the table, acutely aware of the fleeting warmth your hands had left.
“Hmm..yes, and I'm sure in wouldn’t notice the heat or pain either,” he replied, looking over your notes with a similar, less intense, focus.
“I wouldnt be surprised, you kinda run on autopilot when you're zoned out. Once you stole my pencil for the day after fixing my notes”, You pull yourself up on the desk, crossing your legs and watching as he scribbles down corrections to your equasions. “And you have yet to return that novel I let you borrow, you're kind of a clepto.”
“I am not a ‘clepto’” he huffed, adjusting one of your notes, biting on the edge of his pencil,
“That's my pencil..”
He pulled it away from his teeth, inspecting it for any signs he may recognize. He flipped it in his hand, finding your initials etched into the wood..
“Ah..so it is..” he muttered, finishing his edits before offering you the pencil.
“No, you keep it.” You say, declining the chewed on pencil and snatching up your papers. You hug them to your chest, walking a step or two before leaning down close to his ear, “Add it to your little collection,” you purr, straightening up and hurrying toward Jayce for a final opinion.
Viktor stills in his seat, holding the pencil loosely between his fingers and staring blankely at the edge of the desk. He twitched his hand lightly, unable to do much more after that.
You were so close..he still felt the warmth of your breath across his throat, the memory of it sending a static shiver down his spine, causing him to lean over his desk and place his head againstt his hands. You were warm, even though you hadnt touched him, and being so close, he could confirm..your shampoo smells like honey.And when you sat on his desk, he had fought every instinct in his body not to look at you, not when you sat above him like that. Your legs crossed, leaned over his work. If he reached over, he could have confirmed another theory, whether or not your thighs were as soft as they looked- Damn it, focus. He coudln’t be doing this, not here. You were no less than a yard away and all he couldnt think about was how good you smelt, how your breath felt against his neck..how your lipstain would look against his skin. He had noticed you were wearing the same color as before.
‘Stop it. They work with you.’
He grabbed his coffee, sipping it aimlessly.
The night after the party, Viktor had sat staring at the single stained glass on his desk. He had pulled it out to clean it, thinking at least he could put it in the kitchen and just forget all about his accidentale thievery. Instead, he had ended up watching it, as if it would squirm or come to life if he only watched for long enough.
He didnt clean it..he let it sit on his desk and continued on with his day. On occasion he would glance at it, sometimes walking over and holding it to closely inspect the print of your lips left on its crystal edge. He always rounded back to it, replaying the memory of you in that dress, giving him the rest of your drink..you smiled..maybe you knew- of course you didnt. Why would you know? He was good about hiding it, right? He didn’t think he made it too obvious, maybe stareing a bit longer than he should have, or that one instance where he had to hide the smile tally from you when you had seemingly manifested beside him.
Before he had slept that night, he absentmindenly brought it with him to the kitchen..he ment to clean it..but instead he had filled it, nursing down a bit of wine to trick his brain into sleeping. Maybe even allow for a dream similar to the events of the party..with less of him standing alone.
He groaned lightly to himself, standing and grabbing his crutch before walking across the room toward the door.
“Everything ok Viktor?” Jayce asked, pulling his attention away from the blackboard,
“Just need some fresh air..” Viktor replied, escaping the lab, and making his way down the hall.
After a walk his head would be clear enough to work again. He would be able ti at least make some progress on the assignment without his thoughts drifting back to how your uniform looked against your skin, or how pretty your voice sounded when you gifted him your stolen pencil..
“Add it to your little collection..”
He paused..eyes wide. “Oh..no..”
#viktor#viktor x reader#viktor x fem!reader#arcane viktor#viktor arcane#viktor x oc#viktor x y/n#Viktor x gn!reader#viktor x you#viktor x f!reader#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane x you#arcane x female reader#arcane x y/n#arcane x gender neutral reader#arcane x oc#arcane x reader fic#arcane fanfic#arcane fandom
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Forgotten
Summary: Attempting to head into work early, Viktor finds that he had forgotten a vital part of his morning routine.
I needed to write something sweet, as I keep hating every scene I write for another piece, I feel like I am going mad with how much I just hate it.
In the early morning, not even the sun having started to illuminate the room you were in. Shuffling was heard around you, the unmistakable off beat steps making it clear just who was moving around in the dark.
Cracking one eye open, you would just barely make out the outline of the man's figure in the room. You could tell that he was already dressed for the day, packing up the last few things that he needed before he would be heading back to the lab.
You normally would have been upset by him slipping from your bed without any notice, but after multiple conversations the man had been making so many positive changes to take care of his own health that if he was heading in early it was probably for something big. This wasn't a thing he did often anymore and with him now coming home for dinner and getting to sleep at a semi-decent time, you couldn't find it in you to berate him over this.
"Shit shit-" Viktor's hasty whisper was heard before his cane made a loud crack against the floor. You could see how he cringed, turning to face you to find you looking right back at him.
"...I'm so sorry Solnyshko, I didn't mean to wake you..." Scooping his cane back up, he made his way over to sit on the edge of the bed, placing a warm kiss to your forehead.
"Go back to sleep, I will you after work like always. I will even bring you a little treat from that bakery you like, as a treat?" He asked softly, placing another kiss to your forehead as he stood back up.
As he headed to the door, you couldn't help notice that he was forgetting something, a thing you had been pushing for him to do for weeks now.
"Aren't you forgetting something, love?"
At your words, Viktor froze, slowly turning to face you with both guilt and...confusion?
"Of course, how could I have forgotten?" He said, though his normal tone was replaced with one of apprehension.
Returning back to your side, as he returned to sitting beside you his hand came to cradle to side of your neck.
The kiss he gave you was sweet and soft, nothing short of perfectly loving. So much so that as he stood back up and headed for the door, you hadn't spoken instantly but only when he nearly was through the doorway into the next room.
"No no, not that! Your water bottle, you promised to take it with you so that you could remember to hydrate"
The water bottle was in fact on the bedside table and not in his bag like it should be. At this, a soft scoff was heard from the man as he made his way over to retrieve the said item.
"Right, of course. Thank you my dear"
Getting snuggled back up in your blankets, you watched as he got everything arranged perfectly in his bag. The soft 'I love you' that you sent after him being barely a whisper.
But as you slowly felt yourself slipping back into your dreams, you knew that you heard Viktor saying it back, just like he always did.
#arcane viktor x reader#viktor#viktor arcane x reader#viktor x reader#viktor league of legends#viktor x reader arcane#viktor x y/n#viktor x you#viktor arcane#arcane fic#arcane x reader#arcane league of legends#ficfanatic
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can't sleep, thinking about characters who just try so hard even when they fail, even when it all starts crumbling down around them, they just keep trying
#re-reading chicken's fic god damn you chicken#scaramouche#silco#copia#papa emeritus iv#genshin#arcane#viktor arcane#uhh#it's 1 am who else
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Incubus Viktor ~ Part 2
Incubus Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW
Art by @arcanescribbles my beloved angel
Well. It only took me an entire month of work BUT here you go, my sweetly patient darlings. A continuation of this fun little drabble. Thank you all for bearing with my slow progress and for all your lovely support🖤 Enormous thank you to @insult-2-injury for helping to battle my brain goblins. ilu bb
TW: no y/n, anxiety, new relationship dynamics, how to train your incubus, sex, smut, cockwarming, edging, overstim, body worship, multiple orgasms, anal/rimming, possessiveness, breeding kink(?), attempted assault, off screen implied death
The heavy iron skeleton keys rattled against the lock as you opened the door. You’d become used to their weight, in your hand, in your pocket, clanking about in your bag. And used to the home they belonged to… that you belonged to now, as surely as those rough edged, intricately cast metal monstrosities that let you into your front door.
The landlord had seemed surprised to find you still there when he returned, unexpectedly and unannounced, to check on the place two days after you’d moved in. As shocked to see you standing there, dripping mop held like a weapon and eyes wide as your pulse hammered in your ears as you were to see him letting himself uninvited into your new home. Convinced he’d been someone picking the elderly locks to break in and claim squatter’s rights or else rob you.
He’d stayed shocked while you’d dissolved into irritation and held out your hand for the spare skeleton key he’d so conveniently chosen to keep for himself. He surrendered it without a fight, to his small credit, and as you assured him that you were perfectly happy with your lease of the house and shut the door upon him, you weren’t sure which of you were more suspicious of the other. You, wondering just how much the greasy oaf of an old man knew about the home he couldn’t seem to keep tenants in, or him, left to ponder over why or how you had made it through a single night there.
It had been several months now, and you still weren’t sure you could have honestly answered the question of why you had stayed, even to yourself.
“Moje sladká broskvička…”
The voice purred in your ear, no sooner than you had the door shut and the key turned in the lock on the inside. Broskvička, broskvička, broskvička… That reverberating, gradual manifestation of a voice that licked straight through the shell of your ear to course along the wet ripples of brain matter in its forward and back soft echo that still made your eyes struggle with the urge to flutter shut and thighs clench.
As he’d grown stronger, as you’d fed him, Viktor had gained more control over himself. No longer relegated to only appearing in the dead of night as he had been in the beginning, though he was certainly stronger, more whole after the sun had set. Not fond of brilliant, bright sunshine, and somehow less during daylight hours; that insatiable, insensible pull of him not nearly as intoxicating as it was after dusk.
Still, he seemed to like to be where you were, with you, daylight or no, and even when he wasn’t there beside you the house felt like an embrace, saturated with him and infatuated with you.
“You’re back.” He breathed over your shoulder, and you felt his face press into the soft give of your hair as the climbing, curling grasp of long clawed hands materialized around you and slid up under the front of your shirt to gently rake fine pointed nails over the small swell of your stomach as the black mist shroud that always heralded him coiled and spilled around you like tendrils of living, liquid smoke whilst he himself took shape from them.
The bags in your hands dropped as the weight of him pinned you to the door, his head laid in the crook of your shoulder, the sticky smoke soft strands of his dark hair tickling your cheek and throat.
These desperate, eager greetings had become common. Dogs were less eager to see their masters after a long day. Even though every evening you returned home from work, even though you’d never made a move to pack up your things, even though you spent most spare time fixing up and cleaning the old place, he still seemed to harbor a deep seated fear that perhaps each time you left the house that he was apparently bound to that you would not return. He never voiced this concern, but you could feel it in these greetings, in the subtle way the strange amorphously solid conundrum of his body shivered ever so slightly as he pressed to you, in the tenderness of clawed hands as they slid over your own skin, reassuring himself you had returned to him.
It was intoxicating, if you were honest, to be this desired and missed so badly, to be yearned for.
Turning in your pinion between him and the door arms lifted, hands sliding over the ephemeral texture of his skin as he gathered you to himself with a deep, quiet purring noise of immaculate pleasure that trailed out at the end of each breath in eerie, soft clicks. His kisses traced a map across your throat and jaw, to lick tenderly along the shape of your collarbone. Soft little lines of tingling fire rose from your shoulder blades and down your ribs as clawed fingertips raked gently down the span of your back to press palms hard into the small of your back, arch you toward him.
At times you thought perhaps you’d learned some resistance to that thick, honeyed drug of his seduction, that you’d somehow managed to keep your bearings and sense better as the time had passed, only to be disabused of that notion time and time again when he truly dialed up that unspeakable, heady pull of his that turned bones and willpower both to warm jelly.
No, it was Viktor who’d become better at his control, not you. As if sensitive to the quiet terror that ran like a low current under your eager submission to his power, as if he could see swimming in the back of your lust-drunk eyes the fear of that lack of self control, and so tried to keep that thrumming, beguiling narcotic effect of his in check.
He slipped at times though, too excited, too enthralled and eager and hungry for you.
Not that your appetite for him ran any different.
Whatever he was, however dark and terrifying and arcane, you wanted him. Craved him even without the influence of his seduction. Beautiful and dangerous and achingly gentle in the quiet moments, he was a creature that had infested your desire as surely as he had infested the decrepit old Victorian house.
He crooned wordlessly as your hands cradled up the angles of his face, pressing his forehead to your own with a sigh like it was the first time he’d been able to breathe since you’d left that morning. It made your heart ache a little.
“Viktor…” Voice gently chiding, ready to chase away his concern.
The knock at the door to your back cut you off, and quick as he had materialized, Viktor vanished, dark smoke dissipating into thin air, leaving behind a scent of petrichor and extinguished candles.
Spinning in surprise to gaze through the ancient leaded decorative glass panes of the door’s large window at the figure distorted behind them, you turned the key you hadn’t yet had a chance to take from the lock, and pulled the door open an inch. A toothily smiling masculine face greeted you, a good foot and half taller than yourself, and you felt the hair on the back of your neck rise to stand on end as thick fingers curled around the edge of your open door a few inches from your own face.
“Hullo, lovie. Name’s Barrett.”
“Hi.” Reply dry, cold and verging on impatience. The kind of tone you reserved specifically for overconfident door-to-door salesmen. Barrett seemed to take no notice.
“I been lookin for work in the neighborhood and heard a rumor this old place had been let again. I’m a bit o’ a handyman ya see. Specialty is roofing.” Dark eyes cast upward toward the inside of your obviously sagging porch roof before searching around the slice of room he could see through the barely cracked open door above your head. “I figured as I’d come introduce myself quick as I could, offer my services.”
You did not like how those dark eyes ticked up and down and over you with the same greedy calculation as they had the room behind you. Nor the way his smile spread like an oil slick across the uncomfortably unkempt looking five o'clock shadow of his face. Unable to tell if the dark smudges staining skin beneath the stubble were dirt or faded old scars under his olive complexion.
“Old place like this… sure it could use a lil tender care, hm?”
Did he just fucking wink at you?
“As you said, this place is leased. Any major repairs are the owner’s responsibility. Do go see him if it's employment you want.” Polite but firm, the only hint of rudeness in your inability to unclench your jaw.
He tutted and pushed at the door without exerting much effort at all and you were alarmed to find he easily slid you back a few inches across your carefully polished and restored glossy wooden floorboards.
“Sure you’re right. Silly of me, hm? I jus’ heard this place was occupied again an’ got excited. You don’t mind if I come in, take a look around an’ take stock of what might need doin’ so I can work up an estimate for the landlord, do ya sweetheart?”
Heels dug in as you shoved your shoulder against the door and tried to force the inexorable slow opening of it back closed against his strength.
“Yes I do mind! S-stop!”
He was laughing softly at your frantic effort, like your sudden jolt of hot fear was the silliest, funniest thing in the world, and weren’t your struggles precious?
Neither of you expected the way the door suddenly jerked and slammed shut on his fingers like it had a mind of its own.
Barrett was howling, scrambling on the other side of the door to yank his mashed fingers free, and there was a horrifying moment when all you could do was stand there and stare at those digits turning a sickly hot purple and angry red and think for sure you were about to see them fall severed onto your doormat.
No idea who was more relieved, you or him, when the door eased a fraction and he was able to wrench fingers free before it slammed shut in earnest and the key turned in the lock all on its own.
Only, you knew it was not on its own. Barrett stood on the porch, cursing and grunting and hissing breath through his gapped teeth as you stared at the distorted blob of him through the textured glass, stared at the smudge of blood where his fingers had grasped the door, and mustered your voice once more.
“No thank you! …And no soliciting!”
The sound of him spitting some kind of hateful slur like ‘bitch’ at the door was the only response, paired a short second later with the heavy sound of his footfalls thundering across the porch and down the front steps. Another moment of staring at the door before you bent to grab your groceries off the floor and headed for the kitchen, shaken but alright.
Viktor found you there once more, hands trembling as you tried to simply focus on putting the groceries away. You felt him coalesce, felt him lingering close without touching, felt his confusion at the emotion rolling off you in unhappy waves. Cheeks hot, your face burning and you couldn’t say why, why you should feel so embarrassed or upset.
“You’re angry?”
Viktor’s question came softly behind your left ear, had you grit teeth as you struggled to even out your breathing.
“No, Viktor.” Your answer took the form of a tired sigh as you closed a cabinet door a little too hard and leaned heavily upon the countertop on the heels of your palms. At least that stopped them shaking.
One hook nailed fingertip drew a lock of hair back behind your ear, the sharp of it tracing lightly along the curving, delicate shell of its shape.
“He scared you.” His rejoinder was defensive, sulky, “He meant to hurt you.”
Hurt you hurt you hurt you. You shook off the subtle draw of his voice with a small shiver, eyes closing and brows knitting tightly as you fought the urge to forget your anxiety and seek out his mouth instead.
“Mmnnh. You…you don’t know that.” You pressed back, quietly petulant, turning your face away as you clung to the anger of the entire interaction. Of the stranger who felt comfortable enough to try to let himself into your home and the spectre who felt beholden to enact a violence on your behalf that had left your stomach turning.
The vision of those purpling fingertips and the shrieking of the man behind the door would not stop haunting you.
“Yes, I do.”
Goosebumps lifted along your skin in tandem to that chilling, insistent confession of his and the soft dragging stroke of the pads of his fingers along the shape of your jaw.
“Please just, stop. I don’t… I don’t need protecting.” Railing against the pull of him, you slammed a hand down hard on the countertop, letting the sting of the slap center you, “I can take care of myself!”
There was a soft little hissing, incomprehensible sound that might have been a muffled word in that language of his you did not understand, and his touch dissipated.
Viktor was gone by the time you managed to force eyes back open and turn around sharply. Left you wondering not for the first time exactly how that mind of his worked, how he worked. Left you both regretful to have chased him off with your angry chill and grateful to be left to sort through your thoughts rationally without the clouding influence of his presence.
By later that night however, when he had not reappeared, you had begun to feel worse about your little tantrum. Viktor was not at fault for how the stranger had made you feel both vulnerable and angry all at once. He’d only done what he could to try to help.
Finishing your glass of wine, you rose and dressed, and went downstairs.
Only after getting a crackling fire going in the ornate, large fireplace and settling back against the old tufted jacquard couch did you draw a deep breath and lift your chin and watch the shifting, flickering shadows play about the room. Long and sad, stretching thin along the walls in ever changing shapes that did not exactly correspond to the furniture or items that might have cast them. Watched them lick over the floor, darken the corners and cling to the ceiling.
“Viktor?”
The shadows shifted, drew back. The air in the room stirring, brushing back against your skin like the house itself had drawn a breath into unseen lungs.
“Viktor… please?”
The shadows seemed to suck back behind you, gathering together, portent to the dark spill of slow unwinding coils of heavy smoke that pooled and poured over the back of the couch before those impossibly long, necrosed dark claws came tack tack tacking over the wooden spine of the old couch and creeping slowly over your shoulder, up to curl over the column of your throat as the tip of his nose brushed the soft of your cheek opposite.
“Forgive…?”
Forgive forgive forgive. It suckled at the back of your brain, made you arch hard against the stiff back of the couch and let your neck roll over the cold decorative wooden spine of its upper edge as his mouth pressed to your temple, your hairline. As that thick cloying, molasses sweet darkness made your mouth feel full and heavy, turned a simple exhalation into a low, lingering moan.
“Forgive me, little peach… forgive me please…?”
“Vik…hhmmn… Viktor.”
Hands sought his, tugging carefully as you forced yourself back from the edge of submission, straightened your spine as you sat up, reeling back from that delicious abyss of want as you stood unsteadily and turned to face him.
“I want you,” It came out panting, struggling to finish that thought, “To sit.”
No way to describe how he moved from stooping over behind the couch to sitting upon it, as if he passed directly through it or just… shifted, mind-bending in how he moved without moving, leaving those tendrils of dissolving darkness behind to be seated upon the couch where you had just been, the gleaming irises of hotly golden illuminated eyes cast dejectedly into his own lap under those heavy dark brows, the cupids bow of his mouth parted but downturnt as he sat, arms open along the high armrest and back of the couch, long legs sprawled indolently even in his unhappiness.
Your handsome devil could make the world spin with his sly smirk but oh, the way his pout could turn you inside out. It was unfair, that such a creature should look so vulnerable, so beholden and chastised and dispirited and yet so enticing. Unfair that you should have made him feel this way.
Hands fumbled in their tug at the hem of your modest nightgown and those shining eyes of his lifted from their downcast to watch you tug that long gown up and over your head, his dark brows rising as you tossed it aside to stand before him in nothing save the deeply plunging lace bodysuit you’d hidden beneath.
It was a dark merlot colored confection that bared your entire back and nearly as much of your front, barely a set of sheer, high cut panties with twin slashes of matching lace attached in the center of the front that rose in a vee to cover each breast and only met again where they looped behind your neck. Hands smoothed over your own hips as you stood watching his eyes widen.
Your turn to be the one smiling slyly as you closed the space between you to climb into the spread of his lap and straddle one lean thigh, watching his mouth open soundlessly as he ricocheted from his dejection to delighted surprise, as the radiance of golden eyes raked up the shape of you in undiluted desire, his dark clawed hands hovering, as if afraid to touch and be chastised once more, but unable to deny the bitter, fighting longing to have the warmth of your skin under his palms once more.
You let him suffer his uncertainty as you shaped hands to the beautiful angles of his face, stroking the sharp of cheekbones, the sculptor’s perfection of a jawline.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Skin that soft strange play of cold and heat as you pressed a kiss to the very center of his dark brows where they’d pinched together over the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sorry, I was just scared and upset.”
Another brush of a kiss to the pretty little beauty mark under an amber eye before you straightened and let your weight settle more fully upon his thigh. Releasing a soft sigh as the delicious pressure of his leg became friction with a roll of your hips.
Hands slid to rest upon his shoulders as you rocked yourself in your seat upon his leg, watching him eye you with that insatiable hunger building steadily upon those beautiful, angular features as he lifted his thigh, pressed into the roll of your hips encouragingly.
“Such things I would do for you, milovaná,” That echoing, softly pitched voice of his sounded so longing as he watched you lean closer, for once the one slightly taller than him in your seat, forcing him to tilt the sharp of his chin up, “Precious to me.”
As if still trying to explain himself and his violence. Tongue made a little tutting sound against the roof of your mouth as you shushed him, leaned forward to lip a grazing little kiss to his upper lip. Precious to him. Protective of you. It fizzed beneath your heart, warmed in your veins and joined that delicious, growing weight of the ache for him in the pit of you. Who in your life had ever treasured you so? And you’d been so callous as to scold him for it.
Determined now to make it up to him, to show him that dark place he’d made a home in your heart, to let him taste how deep your devotions ran. Sample your affection and make a feast of apology.
Slow, so slow, the sharp and careful drag of nails and fingertips came at last, down either side of your spine, ghosting over the curve of hips only to play back up the edges of the lace that barely covered the shape of your bottom, catching and toying, threatening to snag. Coy tease, lighting little ticklish licks of electric fire under skin, prickling into the softness of your flesh, urging the roll of hips forward as you rode his thigh unhurriedly.
“You… you are precious to me too.” You managed to sigh out, the marvelous friction of dampening lace against your sex making cohesive thought as slippery as his thigh was quickly becoming. It had him croon delight; both the words and the way you shuddered as the first hint of a lazy flutter teased behind your navel.
Half lidded eyes watched that curious expression of his soften into the slicking spread of a sharp toothed fox-sly smile as deviously delighted in your admission as a devil could be. Was he devil? Demonic? A terribly gentle harbinger if that was the case.
The gleaming brilliance of eyes slanted closed as your fingertips stroked his throat, as you bent close to kiss the tiny dark mole just above the edge of his mouth, and then to lick at one of the strange, small markings carved darkly into his skin. Claws closed upon the spread of your thighs straddling his own as that warm rumbling, eerie clicking purr of his kicked up once more while your mouth strayed along his throat, down across his collarbone.
For as much as he delighted in unraveling you, it was those small moments when you could return his affections, show him softness and offer caress that seemed to undo him the greatest. Made you feel heady with power any time his head rocked back, or his grip upon his mischievous composure slipped. He was scrabbling, clawing for it now, struggling as you sucked soft, deep purple marks across his skin while your hand slipped down between his lean thighs and the ghosting, dark fog he often ‘clothed’ himself with dissipated at your touch.
Always hard for you, always eager and ready waiting.
Viktor’s chest was stuttering, heaving shallow quick breaths as you slid forward, thumbed aside the gusset of lingerie and straddled him in earnest, hooking ankles back over the tops of his thighs with the bend of your legs. All the better leverage as you pressed the thick, dark length of his cock to the part of your pussy. Let him savor that heat he so desired as you bobbed, slicking your wet along him in slow grinding lifts.
“...Beloved,” His voice, the words seemed to coalesce out of the air itself, drawn from somewhere far more distant than the lean column of his throat. The fire at your back guttered then roared, flames fed on more than the coals beneath them. Instead of more reassurances or sweet pleading, the terrible dark beauty of his mouth was left hanging open while the gleam of eyes shuttered behind taut closed lids.
About time he was the one struggling with his words instead of you. The power of it was delicious, had you lifting to settle over top of him, to let him press to your entrance invitingly. Let him feel how you dripped for him, savor that heat, so close…
Hands clenched upon your hips, their long fingered grasp nearly enough to span and touch at the small of your back, thumbs pressing a slow, circular caress, urging, trying to ease you down upon him. Ah but you were determined, wanted him ravenous, wanted to push that envelope as far as possible and see what it bought you. It was in your nature, you were coming to realize; that insatiable dance toward dangers you could not fathom. The girl who wanted the haunted house, the girl who stayed. The girl madly infatuated with the monster in the shadows under her bed.
“Mmn, impatient…” You panted, breath sticky in your throat, filling lungs like water as instead you lifted from over him and sat back once more, hands smoothing along the lean ripple of his stomach, catching a grip at narrow hips and then sliding inward. “Don’t I get to…mmnh… don’t I get to please you?”
“Moje malá broskvička, you always please m… ahhn!”
That seductive tenor of his voice dropped off sharply as your hands curled grip around the thick girth of his cock. Stiff and heavy in your hands, the same otherworldly deep ashen blue and bruised purple as the rest of him, deepening to that inky black at its smooth head. Fingers licked over it, tightening grip as he twitched in your hands and you stroked slow, let one thumb trace the throbbing ridged rise of thick vein that ran from base nearly to tip, watched him slyly as bright eyes slanted open and his dark head lifted.
Toying at the sensitive give of frenulum, you watched his hips rock, rise under you. Watched that dark smooth, thick bell curve head positively drool pearlescent, sticky drips of precum.
That desiccated third arm of his unfolded from behind him to rise up, grasp at the back of the couch hard enough you could hear the wood of it groan and the jacquard puncture under sharp claws. As he had grown stronger the spectre of that strange additional limb had weakened, faded away, until now it only made itself known in the heights of his hunger or depths of his depravity.
It was nearly violent, how suddenly Viktor canted forward, and you so eager to meet his mouth with yours it became more collision than kiss. He was hot against your mouth, eager in your hands. So easy to lose yourself in him, in how the taste of him filled your mouth, made it water for more, made your tongue burn with a soft fire and the back of your throat thicken.
It was a struggle to draw out the tease, to take your time as you toyed with him, drunk on the air around him, lost in that heavy, cloying lust that thickened blood in your veins and made each motion a slow struggle. You smiled sleepily down at him as you rose to take a straddle of him for the second time that night.
This time, however, you let him in.
Painfully sweet, that delicious slow stretch. Your moans soft things under the echoing deep of his long groan as you worked yourself unhurriedly down upon the straining heat of the curve of his cock, the slow gripping, slick clench of inner walls easing inch by inch to give the thick of him quarter. Oh, so full, so deep when at last you were seated completely, hips just barely rolling a fraction every so often as you railed against the clenching, burning, insistent need to feel him move within, to ride him until your legs gave out and mind broke. Free of every little care save the hot spill of him inside you, wiping away the world and leaving just his embrace. Not yet, not yet.
Under you lean hips lifted, fought the obvious urge to fuck up into you with the straining impatience that you move, already. But still you sat, smiling near drunkenly as you squeezed around him, gasping at the hard little twitch you could feel within that inner grasp, gazing into the narrowed fire of golden eyes before you, reveling in how you could feel his ache, his need singing in the silence strung between you, ready to snap as easily as a strand of saliva caught between mouths after a kiss.
The entrancing shape of Viktor’s mouth curled at one edge as the dawning realization of what you were doing seemed to break over him and he channeled all that hot desire to hammer up into you instead into pitching forward once more to press his face to the bare slash of your sternum.
Arms folded around his head and shoulders in a loose embrace, cheek coming to rest upon the strange soft of his dark hair as you held him, felt him mumble sweetly against your flesh as his own arms finally enfolded you fully, clawed hands shaped dark wings to the planes of your bare shoulder blades. So delicious, to just sit there, full of him, surrounded by him, warm want seeping through veins and skin, soft fire burning flush under cheeks and hot up throat and scalp as you luxuriated in the lapping, licking waves of the building tide of lust rising with every second you refused to stir to motion. Just holding him within and relishing that intense, unspeakable feeling of completion he always offered so eagerly.
It was a sensation that had haunted your waking hours and sleep alike, had you eager to race home at the end of each day, frequently distracted you from your work. How wanting him infiltrated every innocent thought any more, every quiet moment. Had you squirming in your chair at work, pressing thighs together and struggling to keep the small of your back from arching at the sweet, intrusive fantasy of him under you, in you, of just sitting upon him, struggling to focus on what you needed to do as he whispered adoring filth in your ear.
No way to tell him, to find the courage to give voice to those dirty little thoughts… but you could show him.
Viktor’s head tilted and you loosened arms to allow him to gaze up along you, the sharp of his chin still pressed to your sternum and eyes shyly half-lidded as if seeking approval, agreement. It had you smile once more, that so terrifying a creature could be so deeply infatuated with you as to seem wound around your little finger. It was a heady rush, a sweet spice to the illicit thrill of allowing this unearthly monster between your thighs; to let him into your very heart.
And how could you not, with how softly his mouth closed over your own as you tugged him up to catch a lingering kiss from him? With that electric tingling deliciousness of his tongue and its seductive late summer taste of tart crisp apple and bloody, earthy sage, of dripping honeycomb and the briny bite of salt tears.
You kissed him slow and deep, savoring, taking all the time in the world, fingers ghosting along the sharp, long line of his jaw until his arms began to loosen and long fingered hands strayed down along ribs toward the nearly bare curve of your bottom while his tongue painted a wandering, lingering wet lick down the offering of your throat.
You meant to make him stop, but devoid of the distraction of your mouth under his own he went licking at the dark, wine colored lace of that lingerie, tonguing slowly over the pressing peak of one nipple through the thin fabric before nosing the teasing slash of lace aside to close lips over the sensitive sweet bud.
Slow, slow suckle and release, over and over until you were shivering, aching, dragging your own nails down the nape of his elegant neck as the tip of that impossible tongue of his wrapped and spiraled round the singing burn of your flushed nipple, tickling and teasing its stiffness as you moaned long and shudderingly low for him, warmth blossoming, spilling within in slow rivulets.
“W-wait…wait…”
“Wait? Why wait, delicious one?” He murmured, releasing you from his mouth with an obscenely wet little pop that had the depths of your belly clench, had the hot throbbing at your core tighten around him invitingly. He was already headed to uncover the neglected hard nubbed and eager little twin to your hotly colored and glistening wet nipple.
One dark hand slid down between you both, thumb seeking the spread of your sex, unerringly brushing featherlight tease along the swollen ache of your clit, a ghosting caress that had your entire body convulse hard in a gasping little mewl. Calling your bluff, raising the stakes.
“You make me wait. Wait years for you, and now wait all day. Make me worried, so cruel. Little tease.”
Delightful to hear him growl softly at being so denied, no heat in the lovely reverberating, eerie echoing noise of it, only determined frustration and seeping want.
“Wait,” You still insisted breathlessly, writhing over him as his hips dipped only to grind the hard hot length of him up into you, threatening to undo you, threatening to loose that slipping hold he had on his own straining yearning.
Hands pressed to his chest as you struggled to stay still, struggled against the way hips disobeyed you with each new, barely there pass of his thumb grazing your clit. Met resistance as he struggled against that base urge, that all consuming drive, until at last you could feel the shift of him once more mastering that ravenous hunger, feel him give and let you push him back, push him down to sink indolently back in his seat upon the couch.
Gleaming amber eyes gazed up at you tormentingly as that thumb of his began a taut little circle that had you sinking teeth into the plush of your own lower lip, stifling and strangling the breathless whines building up in the back of your throat as you shivered in his lap. His laughter a hissed sibilance, dark and rich as chocolate, soft as satin, licking into your ears as you fought and lost the battle against that first delectable orgasm, head thrown back as the tether snapped and you came undone over him, clenching rush wringing tight at your belly, deep in your core and coursing outward in one pummeling tidal crush of wonderful heat.
“Ahh…there, little peach…” He soothed as he rocked hips beneath the burning complaint of your tensed thighs and bent knees, offering you just a little taste of what you might have if only you’d move for him, give in to the growing urge to ride him to your own destruction. “Isn’t that better? Ah, moje milovaná how you drip for me. Give up, delicious one. I always win your games…”
One hard little buck of his hips drove him up into you as if to make his point for him, leaving you gasping, air whistling soundlessly out of the open oh of your mouth as you clung both to him and the shredding, unraveling rope of your willpower.
Games, yes. You liked playing little games with him, didn’t you? His teasing rocked you backward into a memory of months ago, when you’d been struggling with much needed work to the house and he’d been insistently nipping at your heels, tormenting you with little touches and whispers, pulling you distractingly from the task at hand until you’d given up in an amused huff.
“You want to play, hm?” You’d asked to the empty air, not nearly so bold as you managed to sound, fighting how badly you’d wanted to just strip off paint stained and dust covered work clothes and let him settle between your thighs right there on the dropcloth covered floor.
A stirring in shadows of one dark corner caught your attention as it spilled and spread, gathered and rose to a crouched inky shape undefined save for the features of his face illuminated by the twin lanterns of those brilliant eyes.
Your devil looked stunned, momentarily shocked before those sharp teeth all bared in a gleaming, lopsided curl of a smirk as he came shifting forward, lean shoulders and sharp shoulder blades hunched like a large cat as claws dug into the floor, audibly prickling the fabric of messy dropcloths strewn about. Coiled to spring.
Your own smile spread, grew sprawling until you let out a shriek and turned to sprint off into the house.
There was no sound of footfalls behind you, no huffing breath to match your own as you had skidded through the halls. No quarter to hide here, no place he could not find you, there was only flight and the silent chase from the shadows you could feel stretching out toward you, reaching ephemeral fingers, grasping in your wake.
He got you first in the dining room, massive old unused space bare save for the ancestral table that stretched the length of it. He caught you from behind the door, surging forward in a dark rush of smoke and shade, had you pitching backward onto the table as that pretty face of his shoved hungrily between your thighs, breath cool over the fabric of the pants you wore, the slow dragging swirl of his tongue luxuriating over the denim hiding velvet softness of an inner thigh from his taste and up, inward to lap at the crux of thighs as if even through pants he could taste sodden cotton barely covering glossed lips. You arched in spite of yourself as he pushed the full force of his face hard between your legs.
Only when he paused to moan quietly at the scent of you did you find your moment, shimmied backward over the table to drop off the other side and forced weak-kneed legs to work, to keep up that chase.
Peels of your laughter echoed through the dark halls as you fled, his own deeper in its wake, that otherworldly back and forth reverberation impossible to source, everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Up the taut spiral of stairs you went, through the upstairs rooms only to have him catch you as you tried to escape back downstairs via another winding stairwell, shooting out of the dark to press you face first to the wall as he ground into you, weight pinning you to the wallpaper as he slid a hand between you and the wainscoting to slip fingers down within the waistband of pants, stroking, petting, caressing as you rolled against him, panting. The pinch of his teeth catching at the curve of your shoulder.
“Don’t run, little peach.” He was whispering against your skin, teasing clit through cotton in a way that had you bucking, fruitlessly fighting that delectable pull of how well he’d come to know you, how well he could get you. Teasing tight little circles and metronome rubs against sodden panties and in another minute the coiling, tensing, building weight behind your navel was at the tipping point.
“Ah, ahn, ahhhn…Viktor…”
“Nowhere I can’t find you, milovaná. Say I win, let me feast.” Mouth against your ear, teeth tugging soft at the tender shell. Eyes fought to roll back in your head, but you managed to somehow squeeze out from between him and the wall to nearly tumble down the stairs and spill out into the kitchen.
The door to the basement stood dark and silent against the far wall, and without a second thought you fled for it.
“No!”
Suddenly Viktor was before you in less time than it took to blink, barring the door, back to it and arms spread. Handsome features no longer twisted in delight at your new game, but rather stark in deadly seriousness and… terror?
“Viktor,” It had thrown you, pitched you straight into scolding, as if he were a child, “It’s just a basement.”
You’d been down there before, with the landlord, on the day you agreed to the lease. Nothing bad down there, just dust and piles of old junk from previous owners. Nothing to warrant a reaction like this. Especially from a creature so fearless, so impervious as your sweet devil.
Still, he caught your wrist as you reached insistently for the doorknob, grasp tight around fine bones as he shook his head in mute pleading, the brilliance of eyes widening further.
“No!”
His fear, because that had to be what it was -fear- softened you. And while you tucked that dangerous spike of curiosity away for another time, you could not deny that it was there. One more little mystery about him, one more secret he wouldn’t or couldn’t speak.
“Okay, it’s okay…” The course of your stopped hand in his grip turned, lifted, rose to cup the hollow of one bruise-blue cheek as you lifted on tiptoes to brush the soothing invitation of a kiss to his lips.
“Promise.”
Promise promise promise. It pulled insistently at you, had you rock backward, down onto bare heels as you struggled against the tug of its tide, nodding soundlessly, unaware you were moving, being drawn along by him until you felt the rumbling hum of pleasure emanating from his chest under the splay of your hands. Felt the sweet burn of legs bent too long ease with your rocking.
Viktor’s hand had strayed up, caught a tender grasp of your throat and jaw as your hips had begun to roll, to offer him and you both a bare fraction of sweet movement. One gentle hook clawed fingertip traced tenderly over the give of the edge of your mouth and soft of your cheek with his grasp. His other stayed firm in its grip of your upper thigh, thumb picking up its encouraging little rubs again to your now hypersensitive and slicked little clit.
“Do you give up, little peach?” He was murmuring invitingly, the tone of that slithering, seductive voice insidiously knowing, well aware you’d already teetered across your tipping point. His thumb pressing his point as the tickle of his nail dragged slow across that hot little bundle of nerves, making you tense and struggle not to writhe, struggle to swallow a pleading little whimper of a noise you knew he could feel beneath the palm he had cupped to the column of your throat.
All the answer he required.
Hands fell away, and then the delicious stretched feeling of him within you was gone, as gone as the body beneath your straddle was. Only to have arms enfold you from behind, to be lifted, moved, weightless until you felt the warmth of the fireplace licking at your face, felt the soft itch of the ancient oriental carpet beneath your bare skin. On your stomach and no recollection of how you got there, Viktor caged over you, on his knees, dark head dipping as his face came pushing, shoved into the bare expanse of skin between the space of shoulder blades.
One elegantly long clawed hand caged the nape of your neck, kept you pinned as your own arms folded up alongside your head where Viktor kept you shoved to the floor, fingers digging into the old fibres of the carpet as he lavished you, mouth making a slow map of bare skin, lifting goosebumps as lips grazed, teeth pinched tenderly, as the sweet damp of his tongue tasted and toyed along the hollow trench of your spine.
This was worship, this was holy. Here in the dark, flickering flames lighting orange, dancing behind closed eyelids as you succumbed, welcomed that tender monster to make a meal of you any way he wished. Managing to get knees under you one by one, you pressed hips up, pushed the invitation of backside up against the beast caging you in, and felt the desiccated dry grip of that third arm come grabbing, gripping tightly at the plush curve of your bottom.
Slowly, unhurriedly, your lovely devil made his way down the expanse of your back, the grip of his hand leaving the nape of your neck as both hands instead took a grasp of the backs of your thighs taut enough to dent and dimple the yielding give of tender, generous flesh. That terrifying third hand slid from its own grip, dry scrape of nails raising little lines of hot fire where they scraped across skin. It caught the lace that barely covered the cleft of your bottom, grabbed hold and dragged the scant remaining protection of it aside, leaving you fully bare to the humid wash of Viktor’s breath.
Hips pressed up mindlessly, your train of thought long gone off the rails as you sank into the delicious release of inhibition, worry or shame, enveloped in the intoxicant of your sweet devil and unconscious to all save the cloyingly sweet sensations of his caress.
You could have luxuriated in it forever, floated lost within it… right up until his hands slid upward, shaped to the pretty curve of your ass, thumbs pressed to the crease where thighs and bottom met, and prised cheeks apart. The sudden wash of vulnerability had your stomach flip, had your lungs sucking a sharp breath as you felt the sinking grip of his teeth mark the inner, tender curve of one cheek, heard him murmur delight at the soft squeak it earned him.
Oh but then, then came that endless, dragging tease of his tongue. Warm and soft as it traced down that exposed cleft, rolling and slowly roiling in its wet warmth as it passed and pressed against the puckered give of your asshole. It had you gasp, had every line of you tense and shiver as he licked, toyed against that tautness.
“Would you give me this, little one?” He teased in obvious eagerness, either oblivious to your mortification or else delighting in it, “Let me have every inch of you, every sweet part?”
Heat flooded cheeks to rival that rolling off the licking flames of the fireplace you lay before, and protest died small deaths on your lips, mumbled into nothings as his tongue pressed, licked and pushed at you.
This was not a liberty you’d ever offered anyone, and not one of your former partners had ever even asked. It had your jaw clenching, teeth whining in their crush and grit together as he strayed lower, slicked along and slowly licked across your entrance to gather the dripping wet left behind from the first release he’d so sweetly offered you. Ah but that relief did not last long, not with how he strayed back up, redolent with your own heat and lubrication, to slowly, slowly slide that tongue of his within the gradual, easing give of your ass.
“Don- don’t… ah!!”
Foreign, filthy, incredibly vulnerable and above all intensely arousing, you squirmed on your knees before him. Panting, gasping each time he withdrew only to press in further, you were dying by inches, aching below where his attentions had focused, clenching hungrily around nothing as his tongue pressed more and more deeply into you. Electrifying and confusing, it had you keening quietly with each coiling slow, slippery thrust.
You wanted to demure, wanted to beg him to stop, to not… but oh.
Hot wet curling, licking pressure deep within had you moaning soft encouragement instead, had you digging fingernails into the carpet and pressing back against him. Debased and uncaring, drunk on him, for him. Begging him to do whatever he wished, however he wished, as you felt your tightness open, yield and give to the thick glistening push of his tongue.
Beneath you rough carpet teased ticklishly at the sensitive, achingly proud points of stiff nipples, the scant lace of that bodysuit long since gone awry to leave both breasts mashed bare to the floor as you writhed and rocked face down on your knees, positively oozing down your thighs for him as he ignored the eager enticement of your hungry sex in favor of tormenting you in this mortifying, gloriously debauched new way.
Horror and delight mingled until you could not untangle one from the other, until you were pleading his name, practically shouting it between stuttered, strangled moans. But he would not stop, not until bones had nearly gone to water and you were scrabbling at the carpet beneath you, hovering interminably on the verge of cumming around nothing at all. Until it would have taken just a breath of his blown over the throbbing want of your clit to send you over, or even the merciful press of a single finger within you to give you something, anything else to end this wonderful, mind-melting agony.
Only then did you feel him withdraw, and let your entire body go limp, bottom still ignominiously in the air, huffing breath and groaning softly at denial of your own release.
Not for long.
Arms came gathering, lifting. Easing you onto your side. Head found a pillow against the bend of his arm as Viktor curled himself along the back of you. Warmth at your back as inviting as the heat from the fireplace was at your front, rolling licking flames washing in soft lapping waves as you melted back against Viktor with a begging little hum.
No need.
Gathered close, he nuzzled into the spill of your hair, pressed his mouth to the ticklish little nook behind one ear. Over hip and thigh his free hand came stroking a soothing little caress before gripping, raising your top leg, prickling of claws under the crook of your bent knee.
Just enough to give him space to slot himself home once again.
There had been many times, since that first night, when he’d taken you so hard you felt sure he’d break you in half. When he’d left you so fucked out and wonderfully bruised in his hungry and enthusiastic hedonism that even standing the following day was a sweetly painful reminder of just how thoroughly he’d made you his own. You craved it, if you were being honest, reveled in the times he lost all control and the whole world dialed down to the raw need you each felt. No art or grace in it, nothing but a mindless drive to be as deeply, viciously connected as two desperate creatures could get.
This, however, was not one of those times.
No, this was slow, the way he pressed and slid teasingly between your thighs, cock slicking along wet folds as you could feel your entrance clench with each slow thrusting pass that failed to fill you, that slid right by. That cruelly adoring monster nuzzling kisses to the rising curve of your shoulder not satisfied until your hips were rocking, bucking, trying anything to have him inside you once more.
Only after you’d practically come to tears with denial did that terrible, beautiful creature of yours finally relent, pressing, easing at the throb of your entrance. No words for that delicious, hard ridged way the head of his cock spread you as he sank into you unhurriedly, had eyes rolling back in your head as you tensed outward like a strung bow from crown to the small of your back. Lids shut tight, blotting out all the world save for him, the heat of him spreading, filling, finally.
“Are we done playing, beloved…?”
That silken, beguiling echo came slipping into your ear in all its undoing glory, ruining consciousness, leaving nothing but sodden, heavy want in its wake. His third hand slid over your side, cupped up the softness of a breast as you shuddered at the horrifying sandpaper and twig feel of clawed finger and thumb pinching one tender nipple, prickling at singing skin with a twisting little tease that thrilled through you in peals of painful pleasure.
“Yes…yes!” You choked on it, near drooling, tears leaking from the tight clench of shut eyes to run hotly over the bridge of nose and drip onto the pillow made of his folded arm.
Tender, slow. Utterly unhurried in how he took you, hips rolling with a small snap at each end as you wormed and pressed to him, letting you suffer sweetly for your sins as he fucked you slow as he liked, reveling in your undoing as the stringing bliss of each slow built orgasm came one by one by one. Until you were little more than a shivering mess, core trembling and hands gone to weak shaking as he fucked you lovingly through each little ruination, letting you milk at him with each frantic little release, giving you no rest as he rocked into you, kept you keening softly to accompaniment with the deliciously obscene wet sound of your coupling.
Enthralling, every time, the way he felt both too much and not enough all at once. How he turned you into a base and greedy little thing, like beneath it all you were just that yearning, just your hunger and desire and nothing else. Distilled down to his.
The focus of each lewd, unraveling little thought; the way he dragged against you within, the way he pressed almost painfully at the zenith of every thrust against cervix, how the deafening pulse of your own blood in your ears sang his name, ran hot and thick in a soft choral thrumming just for him.
Yours, your own. Your making and undoing. The dark stain of your soul and shadowed hollows of every chamber of your heart.
Your beautiful, exquisite horror.
One hand had lifted, reached back to grab a fistfull of his hair, had him laughing softly as he suckled and bit at the red flushed curve of your ear. It felt like hours, like ages, before he finally shoved his face hard into the hollow of throat and shoulder, until he succumbed, growling softly punctuated with quiet clicking, eerie delight as hips lost their gentle rhythm, became almost slovenly frantic in their last few thrusts before he buried himself deep in one final hard drive.
Impossible to ever become used to that sensation; to the unspeakable lush heat of his release spilling out as it overfilled you, at the sweet little swell within and tautly obscene stretch you could literally feel. To the elation, the searing fire of the commingled slurry of yearning and satisfaction that quadrupled as he came within you, the way it kindled every last ounce of you, inundating and overwhelming, wiping away everything save that writhing, wringing, blinding ecstasy that spun out slow deaths in trailing, pinwheeling sparks coursing out the length of limbs, simmering to nothingness at the tips of clenched fingers and curled toes.
He was speaking, but you could not make out the words, drowning as you were, slipping into the dark, warm waters as oblivion folded around you, the incomprehensible tenor of his voice trailing after you into the welcoming maw of unconsciousness.
No idea what time it was when wakefulness found you again.
The confusion of disorientation reached you first. No fire, no rough old carpet or hard floor under your skin. The sensation of warm, soft sheets and the give of mattress, the scent of your own pillow under your cheek flooded in slowly. Your own bed. Freed of the tickle of lace or constriction of lingerie, skin bare and smoothly clean, save for a slight lingering stickiness between the sweet throb of gently swollen, used folds.
The darkness of the bedroom was absolute, the silence heavy. At your back was a soundless rumble, and the lovely circle of long limbs tangled around you had you smile sleepily as you sank back into relaxation, fingertips tracing over the open sprawled palm of one elegant hand, up along forearm in a caress that had Viktor stirring at your back, unfitting himself until you could roll onto your back and he could settle over you, the weight of him pinning you gently to the mattress. Head tilted back into the pillow to allow the lazy trail of kisses down the offering of your throat.
The delicious warmth of blankets left you as Viktor reared up, soft glow of golden eyes opening in the dark as he began to sink back down, between the spread of thighs that opened for him in silent invitation.
Somewhere down below in the dark of the house came the soft tinkling of shattering glass.
Viktor was caged back over you in a heartbeat, before you’d even half registered the noise from the depths of the house below you. The torpor of sleep fled sharply as his clawed grip scooped under you possessively, as the air in the bedroom grew thick, chill and viscerally rife with brittle rage.
“Viktor?” Sleep-thick voice strained a whisper.
“Sssshh.” The hushing noise escaped him, not soothing nor calming, but like the escape of steam between sharp teeth. “Stay here. Hide.”
“What?!” Heart hammered hard against the cage of ribs as your hands tightened their grip upon his shoulders, fear sharpening the edge of confusion to a knifepoint.
“Do not leave this room.” The hateful focus of brilliant eyes upon the closed door of the room shifted, dragged attention back to the bewilderment of your features. Felt the backs of his fingers graze your cheeks before hands took a firm hold.
“Listen to me, sweet one. Stay. Hide… Now.”
And the next instant he was gone.
You could hear heavy footfalls on the stairs, and an unfamiliar familiar voice calling, too muffled to distinguish individual words. Still, it struck you to action, obeying the simple directions Viktor had left you with. No closets, no room in the large bureau either. No time to make it to the bathroom and nowhere in there to really hide either. Up off the bed, dragging the comforter along, you wrapped up in it and dove beneath the bed to tuck up in a huddle, pressed shivering to one corner near the wall, praying to be mistaken for a pile of discarded bedclothes should the owner of that voice make his way into the room.
“Lovie…? Where you at little lovie?” That voice, clearer now in the hallway, coming closer. “Come on out, sweetheart. I just wanna talk. Really did a number on the ol’ hand earlier. Think you could make it up to me? Ya know a man works with his hands…how am I s’posed to…”
Even under the suffocating swaddling of the comforter the sudden, oppressive darkness flooded in, black upon black, blotting out any semblance of light and squeezing air from lungs like the slow wringing twist of a wet cloth.
Out in the hall the footsteps had stopped.
“What… what the fu-”
There was a scrabbling, a scrambling, a sound of frantic, blind fear followed by the deafening rush of wind and wings and a thousand gaping, gasping maws sucking all remnants of air left behind, starving sharp teeth clacking in a cacophony ivory chorus.
And then the screaming began.
Once, when you were little, you’d seen a rabbit chased by a cat. You’d watched the brown streak of it with the orange tabby hot on its tail, and a second later when they were out of sight you’d heard the shrill scream of the rabbit. The terrified pitch of it ear-splitting in its intensity with a primal, gripping panic that verged on the most intrinsic of fear made audible.
Not since that unfortunate rabbit had you witnessed a sound so alarming, so horrified; the noise of a creature come face to face with its death and begging that it were not so.
No matter how tightly you shoved the soft thickness of the comforter to your ears, no matter how hard your hands pressed the cotton batting fabric of it over either side of your head, nothing could blot out that revolting, blood chilling sound.
Time ground to a halt. It was still ringing in your ears, still as shattering and sickening as when it started. Was it coming from you, or around you? Where did you begin and the sound end? And huddled, shivering, horrified in your dark little bundle of blankets, jammed as far up under the bed as you could get, you waited, shoulder and hip bone and elbows aching against the press of the hard floor.
A hand closed on your ankle, grip tight, and pulled.
Only then did the spell break, did you realize the sounds had stopped as your own terrified shriek burst from your throat. Hands scabbling hot panic as you were dragged from beneath the bed.
“Malá broskvička, sshhh… shhh…”
No one there but Viktor, crouched long limbed beside the bed, unwrapping you hurriedly from the bundle of blankets, cradling you up, hands soothing, calming, cupping your face, drawing you in, smoothing tenderly along arms and back, cradling the nape of your neck as you pitched forward into his arms, clinging tightly, trying to quell the shaking of your own limbs with how tight you gripped him. Heart a jackhammer in your chest, like that terrified rabbit of memory had got caught beneath your ribs and was frantically trying to kick itself free.
“Viktor! What…what happened, what was that?!”
He would not answer for a long time, simply gathering you to him, cooing wordlessly or else in that language you did not understand. Smoothing your hair, kissing and thumbing away hot tracks of tears you hadn’t even realized you’d shed. Until the pair of you lay upon the floor, in the crumpled mess of comforter and your panic had subsided into a bone-tired exhaustion and the knotted fear in your stomach faded to a vague nausea, until the tension had eased to a dull ache behind your eyes.
“Viktor?” You pressed again, cuddled close, fingertips trembling in little aftershocks as you touched his chin, traced the shape of his mouth. Whatever had happened had pulled the curtains from the windows, left them hanging in tattered shreds so that the silver moonlight streamed in, offering a thin, blue cast illumination to the shape of the beautiful horror cradled up against you.
“He meant to hurt you.” He murmured. “I told you.”
Told you told you told you. Blood drained from your face as you watched a sad little smile turn one edge of Viktor’s mouth under your fingers. Tried to shove aside and silence the thoughts that flooded in of what might have happened, had you been alone, truly alone in that great house.
“I will never let anyone harm you, my sweet one.”
The words were darkly reassuring, dripping horrifying promise as he turned his face from under your touch to press a kiss cool as the first frost to your forehead. One clawed hand slid from its gentle grip of your hip to span the slight swell of your lower stomach and your frantic heart stopped dead in your chest, world pitching violently on its axis at his next words.
“...Either of you.”
#viktor x reader#incubus viktor#monster viktor#viktor arcane#viktor fic#arcane fic#viktor au#arcane au#viktorxreader#viktor arcane x reader#viktor arcane x you#arcane viktor#mdni
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Do you have any Jayvik fic recs?
It’s about time I did a part two of JayVik fic recs! (My first round of recommendations can be found here!)
Sleepover by Kirbily—rated E. Words cannot accurately express how much I adore this fic. Divorce Era. Jayce has taken on a ward, seven year old Amaranthine. She is, in the best possible way, a tiny terror. Jayce and Viktor are working on rekindling things, and Amaranthine is finally meeting Viktor for the first time. It’s sexy, sweet, domestic, heart wrenching. It’s literally one of my all time favorites.
I’m All Yours (You’re All Mine) by Fenfyre—rated E. Reaaaally scratches the Dom Viktor/Sub Jayce itch. Divorce Era. Jayce is abducted by some Undercity thugs. Viktor makes their pronouns past tense. Realizes that Jayce is turned on by how scary he is, drops right into Dom mode. Degradation kink, edging, bondage & gagging (someone else put them on but both of them are beyond ok with it), humiliation. Just nails the whole love/hate/sex/love life cycle of Divorce Era.
Notes on Germination and Fantasy: A Field Study by SirExcelsior—rated E. Arcane Era, 2 chapters. Heed the tags. Jayce is alone in the lab with the Hexcore. Viktor is elsewhere, thinking about Jayce. The Hexcore responds to Viktor’s thoughts, and subsequently acts on them. Good ol’ tentacle porn. I’m not usually into that, but this is done very well, in a way that is weaved into Viktor’s psyche and his longing for Jayce. Leads to realizations and confessions, and then Viktor gets to do the things he was thinking about. Lighthearted and funny and yet also super sexy.
A Guide On How To React When Your Nemesis Is Dying by TradingJack—angst, rated M for blood and gore. Divorce Era. Heed the tags. Jayce is mortally wounded in battle, and Viktor intervenes to save him. The characterization in this fic is so deliciously spot-on; Viktor is calm and collected in crisis, but you can see the notes of worry, of panic as Jayce’s condition worsens. Jayce is wary of what Viktor will do to save him, augment-wise, because he doesn’t want that. And the angst hurts so good.
That’s all folks, til next time!!!
#arcane#league of legends#jayvik#vikjayce#jayce talis#jayce giopara#machine herald viktor#arcane Viktor#jayvik fanfiction#fic recs#asks#ace answers
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i really want to see a fic where someone is creeping on reader, and viktor smacks the everliving fuck out them with his cane lmao
#viktor#viktor arcane#the machine herald#viktor x reader#arcane viktor#arcane viktor x reader#viktor fanfic#arcane fanfic#arcane fandom#arcane fic#viktor fic#the machine herald x reader#the machine herald fic#is this fandom even alive anymore?#hello?? hello??#beuller??
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doodle for an upcoming chapter i guess
#Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men#cherry doodles#viktor#viktor arcane#the other hand is grey bc its supposed to be the reader#but readers come in so many different shapes#i cannot possibly put them all into one form#grey is neutral#viktor x reader#shamelessly promoting my own fic
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Good Intentions Part Twenty
The Haven gets a new donor, Silco wants a side deal.
Rating: Explicit.
Word Count: 4,900
Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, veiled references to organized crime, arguments, oral sex (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, and blackmail
Previous | Next | Masterlist
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You did your best not to squint at the men on the other side of the table. Doing so would only make it look like you were suspicious of them.
You were suspicious of them, of course, but there was no need to be obvious.
“My apologies, gentlemen,” you said slowly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but with all of the opportunities available to you, I don’t understand why you are so interested in helping to fund the Haven.”
“It’s complicated.” Jayce Talis, the most famous Piltover inventor in recent history, rubbed at the space between his heavy brows.
“I do own and operate a relief organization and facilitate certain healthcare treatments, including minimizing the effects of Shimmer withdrawal,” you pointed out mildly. “Maybe, if you explain it slowly, I can follow along.”
One corner of his mouth curved upward, emphasizing the fullness of his lips. He was famously handsome and infamously unavailable, but that was fine. Your tastes ran in other directions.
His business partner - a man who was known around the Undercity only as Viktor - crossed his arms, slouching back in his seat. You tried not to judge it as a show of poor manners, especially when he straightened his leg with a wince. It was very likely Viktor just needed to adjust positions. Of course, it was equally likely that he didn’t find you very amusing.
“Make your point, Jayce,” Viktor muttered. “We have important business to take care of at the lab.”
“Yes, the lab,” Jayce said, adding a nod in your direction. “As you may already know, HexTech is doing well. We have made several important advancements and are set to debut more over the next few years. We own the patents to everything outright, so all profits come to us. Piltover has given us a few dozen grants and investments have flooded in. We have plenty of money to pursue the further development of HexTech.”
You nodded. It all seemed simple to understand so far.
“There is one particular area where HexTech does not excel: outreach.” Viktor interrupted with an impatient look at his now-pouting business partner. “That is why we reached out to you.”
“Yes, but is there a particular reason you want to support the Haven rather than any other Undercity outreach?” you pressed. Maybe you were a little paranoid, but your recent experiences with Silco had convinced you that being more discerning was probably a smart move.
Jayce sat forward slightly. “The Haven’s track record is impressive. Your expense justification reports have all shown remarkably low operating costs, your residents have started to find work with other Undercity businesses, and there’s plenty of buzz about the dent you’ve made in the Shimmer trade in your neighborhood.”
The blood roared in your ears at that. “That’s an overstatement, of course. Drug use waxes and wanes in neighborhoods over time. It’s just coincidence that Shimmer use decreased when the Haven opened.”
Jayce furrowed his brows, but Viktor looked like you had finally said something interesting. “I assume that is the line one must repeat vehemently if one wants to avoid the attention of the chem barons.”
“Chem barons?” Jayce repeated, now frowning harder. “They’re a local legend, a convenient shadow government that the people can blame their problems on.”
“Of course,” you agreed.
Viktor looked darkly amused. “Nothing more than a legend, certainly.”
“Yeah…” Jayce said slowly, glancing between you and Viktor. “Anyway, we’ve heard about the decreased drug use and we want to support that as much as possible. You and the Haven seem like the best choice to make that happen.”
“How is your security?” Viktor asked abruptly.
“We have a small team of guards for the exterior of the building,” you said honestly. It probably wouldn’t help anything if you told them exactly who was paying for that small team of guards. “There is almost no Enforcer presence in the Lanes, so we can’t count on a patrol happening at a crucial time.”
“I can pull a few strings,” Jayce assured you, totally confident. “I have some connections with the Enforcers. Piltover wants to support new development, especially when it isn’t tied to the drug trade. And they’re not going to find anything better than an anti-Shimmer organization with a proven track record.”
You nodded in acknowledgement of his point, but looked to Viktor. “And you? Do you also think the Haven is a good match for HexTech’s goals?”
Viktor lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I fail to see what impact your outreach could possibly have on the Undercity. The politics are snarled, the people are desperate, and there is too much money to be made from exploitation.”
That was a harsh assessment, but it was true. Jayce cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Viktor spoke again before the better-mannered of the pair could offer any reassurances. “That being said, I am… reluctantly impressed by what I have heard of your meetings with Silco. There are few willing to argue with him.”
You stiffened slightly at Viktor’s mention of Silco. Up to that point, you had both pointedly avoided using his name, as evidenced by the way Jayce was glancing between the two of you.
“I don’t understand,” Jayce admitted. “Who is Silco?”
“You will find out,” Viktor said, the statement sounding both threatening and utterly inevitable as he stood. “I must return to the lab. Jayce, I agree with whatever choice you make.”
You watched as Viktor leaned heavily on the cane and left the building. It was situated at the edge of Piltover, just across the bridge from the Undercity. Jayce had assured you multiple times that, if they were not working on time-sensitive experiments at HexTech, they would have been more than willing to meet you in the Undercity. He may have even been telling the truth.
Jayce was still half-smiling when he looked back at you. “Who is Silco?”
You got the impression that he would keep pushing until he got an answer, so you chose your words carefully. “He is a… major player in the Undercity. He wants- well, he says he’s working for the good of the people. That’s up for debate.”
“But what does he do?” Jayce pressed.
“He’s an industrialist.” You sat very straight on the edge of your chair - not quite standing, but giving the impression that you were ready to leave. “Speaking of helping the Undercity, I need to get back to the Haven. When you’ve made a decision about your outreach, please let me know.��
“Easy enough,” Jayce said, standing to offer a hand over the table. “HexTech would like to provide funding for the Haven, to be used in whatever way you think is appropriate.”
You were giddy with excitement, and it rushed through your veins like adrenaline. Somehow, you managed to keep a straight face long enough to thank Jayce and accept the check he filled out for the Haven. It was generous, which made your heart soar. You would be able to help so many people!
The good news put a spring in your step and you were still bouncing as you climbed the stairs to Silco’s office. Thankfully, no one was around so early in the day - you had serious doubts about your ability to look cranky and irritated right then, but you would have been obliged to put on a performance if there were onlookers.
“You seem cheerful,” Silco noted as you closed the door behind yourself.
“So far, so good,” you told him, walking over to his desk. “What’s the plan for today?”
He ignored your question. “Productive morning, I take it?”
“Very.”
You peered out through the window. The Last Drop was just barely tall enough for you to catch glimpses of the building projects happening over near the Haven. The mechanic’s shop was well on its way to being completed, the construction crews had broken ground on the second apartment building, and the grocers were taking over an existing building, so they were already in the process of hiring staff.
As you leaned back, you caught sight of a familiar handprint on the glass and your lower belly tightened with the reminder of how it had gotten there.
“And how much will HexTech be allotting you?”
With the casually conversational way Silco asked his question, you didn’t immediately notice that anything was wrong. Your attention was split between the handprint on the window and the ever-increasing needs of your body. At last, awareness filtered through and you froze.
‘I-” You cleared your throat, giving your best innocent expression as you turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Silco gave an impatient gesture. “Come, pet, we have already discussed that I know all that happens in Zaun.”
“Nothing happened in Zaun,” you said blandly.
His answering look was dry. “But a potential alliance between the Haven and HexTech undeniably concerns Zaun and her future. Do me the courtesy of assuming I know of your meeting with the two inventors behind HexTech.”
“Fine,” you agreed, largely because he gave no indication of moving on. “I met with the owners of HexTech.”
“Thank you,” Silco said, gaze drifting to the window. “And how much has young Talis decided to give the Haven?”
You paused, uncomfortable with the idea that you needed to place a boundary. You and Silco shouldn’t be close enough to need things like boundaries - the clear divisions between you should have been so obvious as to be implied. “I’m not sharing that information with you.”
“Why not?” he asked. “If I know the size of their donation, I can exceed it.”
“I don’t need any more donations at the moment,” you told him.
Silco’s brows unfurrowed. “Ah, that much? Congratulations. You may rest secure in the knowledge that the sale of your morals has fetched so high a price.”
You recoiled at the slight before you could stop yourself. A drug lord was going to lecture you about morals? That bothered you. Surely that was the cause of your discomfort. Any other reason would imply that Silco was important enough to you that his opinion mattered.
“I didn’t have to sacrifice my morals to accept their donation, unlike others the Haven has received in the past,” you told him icily.
Silco stood abruptly, his chair lurching back with the movement. You held your ground, though it took more effort than you were comfortable with. “My donations served your residents just as well as the ones from HexTech will, and at far more dire a time. Do not act as though I were not there to support you every time you have needed me.”
You gaped at that. “Because we’re in a deal! Every donation served you just as well as it did me - it increased your leverage over me and the Haven. Convenient, since you need me around for an easy source of sex.”
He scoffed, looming over you. “Do you truly believe that there are not others who throw themselves at my feet? I receive more offers of easy sex than you would believe possible.”
“Then why keep me around?” you pressed.
“Because you are the only one who offers the slightest hint of a challenge!” he snapped, breathing heavily. You had stepped into him rather than away, and he was already so close that your chest and his were nearly touching. You glared at each other from inches away before one or both of you closed the gap separating you.
His mouth was hard and unyielding against yours, disinterested in any hint of refusal. Fortunately, refusing his kiss was the last thing on your mind. The energy of securing the HexTech donation was still crackling through you, and sex was a wonderful outlet. The slight tinge of irritation accompanying it only served to increase the appeal.
You met him with lips that were already slightly parted, and your tongues were dueling in a moment. Kissing Silco wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to you, but it was still rare enough that you considered it a novel experience.
Your toes were curling at the slow luxury of his mouth on yours. Silco was rarely in a hurry, even now, when you were apparently taking a break in the middle of a fight. Your interest was only piqued further when he started removing your clothing with rough movements. When he had finished, he pushed you backward as you gasped with shock.
Fortunately, Silco had thought far enough ahead to position you close to his desk. The sensation of your bare ass on the cold surface of the desk was jarring, but you watched Silco eagerly. You were more than willing to brave the temperature difference in order to watch him undress for you.
To your surprise, Silco lowered himself, fully-dressed, into his throne-like chair. You eyed him, frowning as he took your ankles in his hands. They were placed to either side of his chair, leaving them supported by the arm rests at his sides. It went without saying that your knees were forced open by the position, leaving your core exposed to the air… and to Silco’s gaze.
That mismatched stare was fixed between your legs, studying the most private parts of you as you tried not to squirm. When he reached out to touch your cunt, you felt his fingertips like electric shocks… but he only parted your folds and continued his silent observation.
Irritation, embarrassment, and need swirled together in you until the pressure pushed words from your mouth. “Silco. What are you doing?”
“Studying my favorite acquisition,” he replied distantly. Even lost in your own distraction, you could feel the echo of your first time together, in this very situation in this very office, when Silco had said something similar. “And wondering how my pet can be so very unyielding, yet yield so delightfully in other areas.”
You frowned at him - not that Silco was looking at your face. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find them down there.”
That made him glance upward, a small smile playing around the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it would be best if you lay back.”
You complied, though not without rolling your eyes. “If we’re having a repeat of our first session, I hope the sex is more satisfactor- Oh!”
Without any sort of warning, Silco’s mouth had closed around your clit. You half-lifted back off the surface of his desk, staring down at his face between your legs. You could only hope that your expression was less desperate than you felt, but wicked pleasure filled Silco’s gray-green eye, so you didn’t think that was accurate.
And then he set about making you forget all about expressions and irritations. Silco buried himself between your thighs, teasing you with fingers and lips and tongue and teeth. He nibbled, he stroked, he thrust… He used every hint of weakness he had gathered from you over your time together, recalling every sensation that drove you wild and subjecting you to all of them at once.
You arched up off the desk so sharply that the muscles in your back and abdomen protested. Your knees tried to close around Silco - either to keep him close or to force him away from you, you weren’t sure which - but his shoulders kept you spread open and subjected to his torment.
By the time he had pressed three fingers deep inside of you, your body was glistening with sweat. You were panting, your hips trying to both ride him and grind closer to the lips that were wrapped around your clit.
Silco always ate you like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else, but this was more intense than anything you had experienced with him before. You didn’t remember when you had sank your hands into his hair, but it didn’t matter. You were using him only as an anchor; he never moved far enough away for you to need to pull him back.
At last, he removed himself from you, pulling away almost entirely. The only parts of his body that was touching you were his shoulders, still holding you spread open for him.
“Silco?” you asked, an edge of desperation clear in your voice.
“Shh, pet,” he soothed. “I am trying to decide whether you deserve the reward of coming on my tongue.”
You whined, lifting your hips as if you could convince him to come back.
“I am less than thrilled by your association with the Piltover business,” Silco admitted slowly. Torturously slowly. “Yet I suppose you may have earned a treat for coming to meet with me anyway. Is that correct?”
You nodded.
Silco leaned slightly closer. “You would not break our deal over a single donation from another business, would you?”
You shook your head.
Silco came even closer then - still not touching you, but near enough that you could feel every exhale on your damp folds. “Does our deal still stand, pet?”
You nodded, but Silco shook his head. “I need to hear it in that lovely voice. Tell me, darling: does our deal still stand?”
“Y-yes,” you stammered, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Yes!”
“Ahh…” he mused. “How long will it stand?”
He watched you with a gaze so sharp you understood instinctively that he would only accept a spoken answer. This one was more challenging; he hadn’t told you what he wanted you to say and thinking was difficult when your brain was soaked in hormones and arousal.
“Until- ah!” Silco had darted a long lick up your folds - not touching anything firmly enough to throw you over the edge, but still startling. And distracting. “As long as I’m in the Undercity.”
“Our deal will stand as long as you are in the Undercity,” Silco repeated. You nodded and he looked thoughtful. “I suppose I must offer sufficient incentive for you to stay, then.”
As if the shock of it removed you from the situation, you noted it dispassionately as he parted you a little more, nestled his nose against your clit, and thrust his stiffened tongue up inside of your heat.
And then the moment of observation passed. You were thrown back into your body just in time for it to go through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your body arced up off the desk again, muscles spasming so hard that you had the vague sense of Silco holding your hips against the surface so you didn’t throw yourself onto the floor.
But that was a dim knowledge, far in the background of your thoughts - the vast majority of your brain was caught in a stranglehold of pleasure. How could you be expected to lay still when every bit of you was crackling with such intense energy? You had to move. It was not possible to do anything else.
At last, Silco removed the live current that was his mouth against your core. He had to struggle against the grip you had on his hair. You weren’t really trying to keep him in place, but your muscles had locked down in the aftermath of your orgasm.
“How do you feel?” he asked conversationally, when he had freed himself from your grip, losing a few strands of hair in the process.
“Nnn umm…” Nope, those weren’t words. You tried again. “Needum mint.”
“Take your time,” Silco invited, relaxing back into his chair. He licked his lips, cleaning the shine of you from them with his tongue. Watching the process made your uncomfortably sensitive body tighten, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. When he had licked everything he could reach, Silco retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, chin, and cheeks.
If you were capable of higher thought at the moment, you might have been embarrassed by how much of a mess you had made on Silco’s face. Fortunately, the brain fog was still too dense, and you just watched him vacantly.
Rather than rush you into another round, Silco snagged a piece of paper from beside your hip. He lifted it and started to read. From the light that filtered through it from the window behind him, you could see that there were schematics of some kind drawn on the page. They were highly detailed, but something about the writing looked young, like it had been done by someone without fully developed fine motor function.
And then Silco’s fingers wrapped around your ankle and you stopped thinking about anything else. Especially when those fingers began to play idly against your skin, tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on your anklebone.
“How much more reading do you need to do?” you gritted out at last.
Silco glanced up at you instantly, eyebrows raised. “I can stop at any time, pet. I was under the impression that you needed a moment to recover.”
“I have recovered.”
“Why did you not tell me immediately?” Silco asked.
Despite the censurious words, he lazily tucked the schematics into a desk drawer before he stood. In a moment, he had opened the front of his trousers, pushed aside the layers of fabric, and lined himself up with you.
There was something almost sweet about the fact that Silco was so hard. He had brought you pleasure without being touched in return, and yet his erection hadn’t flagged while he sat quietly reading for minutes. For all that he was a selfish, manipulative bastard, Silco was surprisingly impacted by the way he affected you.
Any hints of altruism were shoved aside as Silco plunged inside of you. Rather than hesitating or asking if you were ready, he surged powerfully forward until he was seated as deep inside you as he could be. Your hips shifted to accommodate him and your legs trembled against the arms of his chair as you struggled to surface against the pressure of him stretching your walls.
Silco’s hands were tight on you. One was wrapped around your hips, providing an anchor point as he began to thrust in and out of you. His other hand was firmly on your ass, half-lifting and half-squeezing as he rolled his hips against you.
That rolling motion made your lips part for air as you stared up at the ceiling. Silco was big enough to fill you, but something about that motion put pressure against your walls in a way that felt almost cyclical. It was like he was fucking a little circle inside of you every time he pushed in, which meant that you got intermittent pressure against your g-spot. It was magical.
You tried to lift against him, to counter-thrust and speed things up, but Silco wasn’t having it. His grip was firm enough to hold you utterly still, making sure that all you could do was experience the way he was taking you apart for a second time.
“Silco, please,” you gasped out. “Faster. Harder. Please.”
“No,” he denied simply. Silco’s hand momentarily released your hip to grab your wrist instead. He tugged it downward until your fingers were brushing the throbbing place between your legs. “If you want your pleasure, you’ll have to take it.”
You were tempted to deny him and yourself, if only to prove that he wasn’t in charge of you, but the slight graze of your fingertip over your own clit made you squirm. But if you were going to be responsible for your own orgasm, you were damn well going to make sure that Silco helped.
With some effort, you lifted your legs from where they were still resting on the armrests of Silco’s chair. It took only a moment to wrap them around his waist, and when you tightened them, the pull was strong enough to force Silco forward against you.
When he had bottomed out inside of you, Silco’s grip shifted upward, pressing against the surface of the desk on either side of your hips to support the shift in his center of balance. His eyes widened, startled as you kept him close. You used your newfound freedom to thrust your hips, moving him and out of your core as you strummed at your clit.
The resulting sensations were enough to take you sailing over the edge again. This orgasm was less abrupt than the last one, but almost more satisfying because your inner muscles had something to lock down around.
Dimly, you registered that Silco was trying to withdraw from you, but couldn’t escape the grip of your leg muscles. You only understood his reasoning when his body stiffened, face tightening and growing slack as he reached his own peak.
Silco’s orgasms tended to be subtler than yours, but even his legendary poker face failed him. His expression tightened, then went slack as his body spasmed in a series of explosive surges. He hissed out a curse that sounded like half a prayer, his lips continuing to move long after he had stopped speaking loud enough for you to hear it.
Slowly, you let the tension seep from your leg muscles. When your feet were dangling toward the floor once more, Silco eased himself out of you. The first spill of your combined mess seeped directly onto the surface of Silco’s desk, but he cleaned it up and caught the next with the same cloth he had used to wipe his face earlier.
When Silco was seated in his chair once more, you took the cloth and held it in place as you slid down from the desk. Silco smiled wryly. “I never intend to make such a mess, but you are irresistible. Especially when you’ve wrapped me in those lovely legs. If I must be trapped, I will say that I prefer to be trapped in your embrace.”
“Flatterer,” you accused gently.
“It is a lovely benefit when the truth is flattering,” he replied, giving you a look you didn’t quite understand… until he added, “Now, pet, tell me how much I should write for the amount of my next donation check.”
You turned toward him with an irritated huff. “Are you still talking about this? I don’t need an extra donation from you, especially not when your motivation is simply to outdo someone you consider a threat.”
Silco’s lip curled. “I hardly consider those two boys to be a threat.”
“Then what is your problem with them supporting the Haven?”
“I dislike the idea of Piltover gaining a foothold here in Zaun,” Silco explained after a moment of thought. “Even if their influence is only over a small outreach. It could hinder the growth of Zaun’s independence.”
You bit back the irritation that rose at the Haven being referred to as a small outreach. It was a small outreach, of course, but it was so important in your life. It hurt to be reminded that your work was considered minor to other people.
“Fine,” you said instead of telling him any of that. “What are our options? I’m not telling you how much they donated.”
“Very well,” Silco said tightly. By all appearances, he was displeased with your insistence, but something about the look in his mismatched gaze gave you the distinct impression that he was getting something he had been angling for all day. “If you will not allow me to match HexTech’s donation amount, I would be willing to overlook their involvement in the Haven…”
“And what will it cost me?”
“I want to be part of the Undercity Innovation Committee.”
It took a beat for you to remember what that was. “Jazper’s group? No. Absolutely not.”
Silco watched you in silence. His brow creased and it was like watching a far-away storm building into something catastrophic.
“I have no control over that,” you expanded. “I can’t risk everything I’ve built - I can’t risk the Haven - to argue for you being part of the meetings.”
“And I would never ask you to,” Silco assured you smoothly. “I have other resources at play. All I need from you is not to argue against me being on the committee.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “So you don’t need me to fight for you? Just don’t tell them not to let you join?”
“Yes.”
It seemed simple. Almost too simple. And yet… it had been a long day. You could use some simplicity. “Fine, I agree to those terms. If someone else brings up the possibility of letting you join the committee, I won’t argue against it.”
“Perfect.” Silco took the end of your conversation as an opportunity to refasten his clothing, so you started to get dressed as well.
By the time you had finished, Silco was holding out a slip of paper toward you. You looked from it to his face, unwilling to accept an unknown item from him. He continued to offer it anyway.
“If I understand, your objections were not to me making a donation, but to me trying to make a larger donation than HexTech,” Silco explained. “I do not know how much they donated, but here is my offer.”
“Silco…” you lamented, arms still folded across your chest.
He lifted a brow. “If you prefer, I could resume trying to discover the HexTech donation amount…”
You sighed loudly so there could be no mistaking your irritation as you snatched the check from his hand. You didn’t look at the amount, but the way Silco grinned as you shoved it into your pocket didn’t seem promising.
---
Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I'll see you next month with another update!
Quick reminder: this story does take a lot of time and effort to write, edit, and format every month. At this point, we're up to roughly a 200-page book. I appreciate the likes that you guys give me, but reblogging my work is the only way new people can find it. I would really appreciate it if you would reblog not only my fics, but any fics you enjoy!
#good intentions#good intentions fic#arcane netflix#arcane fanfiction#arcane silco#silco#arcane viktor#arcane jayce#viktor#jayce talis#silco x reader#silco x fem!reader#silco x you#reader#reader insert#reader insert fanfic#reader insert fanfiction#reader insert fic#spicy#lemon#not suitable for minors#minors dni
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Divorce era Jayvik energy
#Viktor arcane#jayvik#all I want is approximately 100 more Jayvik divorce era fics#of two mature men having an extremely messy and ill advised reunion
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