Here is part 2! Sorry for the delay, was on vacation and now I'm sick. I hope yall enjoy it! Shout out to @mischievous-piltovan for the AMAZING header image! Love you stinker <3
Just A Peek Part 2 [NSFW]
Pervert Viktor x F!Reader
Word count: 1.6K
Tags: Cunninglus | Fingering | Not practicing safety on ladders | praises | Overstimulation | Someone get these hooligans out of the library!
Viktor is a stuttering mess beneath you, eyes blown wide, hair raised at its ends, brows raised comically high enough that, if possible, they'd go to his head. You don't often throw him for a loop, but whenever the rare moment occurs, you relish it, especially now. For what felt like weeks, all you've done is drop hints of your feelings for the man; at this rate, perhaps you misinterpreted his kind nature and timid gestures for something else.
Of course, just when you thought about giving up, you stumbled onto something so delectable. A discovery that plays on repeat within your mind. It's no secret Viktor often stayed late at the lab, the man wholly devoted to his work. You had several questions about an upcoming Hextech showcase; you could've easily waited till morning, but Viktor was more than likely awake and at the lab; what's the harm?
How should you have known that the man would be taking himself in hand, shamelessly moaning your name into the dimly-lit lab that echoed into the hallway?
You initially thought he was hurt, mistaking his sounds for groans of pain. Then, it clicked as you neared the door, hand hovering above the frame.
You should leave; it feels wrong just standing there, hearing his breathy moans followed by the sultry sound of his husky voice chanting your name like some mantra. Leaning against the wall, a book clutched tightly onto your chest, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks and toward the tips of your ears.
As quickly as you made your way to the lab, you found your way back home. Racking your brain over the scenario you just overheard. Viktor, in the lab late at night, shamelessly moaning out your name.
Has he been doing this every night in the lab? Can he not wait till he goes home, and that's if he even goes home! Did you genuinely have this effect on him and of this magnitude?
And here you are, exposing yourself to him as he becomes a stuttering mess, golden eyes frantically darting around the room.
You can feel his fingers tense against your soft skin, an audible gasp eluding his parted mouth. Viktor's whiskey eyes quickly pry from your gaze, presumably looking around to ensure nobody is watching. Strands of his hair bounce with each motion of his head, cascading down his forehead as he quickly whips his head back toward you.
His eyes meet yours, a sense of wild laced deep behind them.
"Here? Now? A-are you sure?" Viktor steadies his faltering voice, a deep inhale followed by a nervous exhale. "What if we get caught?"
It's cute watching him in such disarray, how his eyes are blown wide as sweat beads at his temple, the methodical tapping of his index against your searing hot skin.
"Then don't get caught," You chuckle, repositioning yourself on the ladder, fully turning your body around toward Viktor, spacing your legs just far enough to give him ample room to work. "I can keep quiet."
"It's not you I'm worried about..."
"Are we gonna keep playing twenty questions, or are you gonna do something?" You sigh, swaying your hips at the man. "I'm sure this is one of the many things you've thought of in that lab late at night."
Viktor stutters, his face turning several shades of pink. "How did you-, w-when did you…." After several moments. "You knew?"
"Are you always that noisy? Or only when you think of me?" You wink.
Viktor's embarrassment quickly fades into unbridled carnal desire, sensually rubbing your lower leg as he places his cane against the bookshelf. "Only when you're on my mind."
"Oh? And how often is that?"
"I think you already have an idea on that." Viktor teases, running his hand along the curvature of your leg, stalling just at the base of your ass. Again, you see the hesitancy, his eyes looking up toward you, a silent plea. "Are you sure?"
"Since when did you ask for permission?" You tease.
A bashful smile unfurls across his face, shades of pink painted across his defined cheeks.
"Well," nimble fingers slowly ghost along your skin, following the swell of your ass, a reaffirming squeeze. "I do believe this qualifies as a scientific discovery…."
It takes everything you have not to crumble under his touch, how perfectly well those dexterous fingers mold your pliant flesh, his sultry groans that raise every hair on your body. Your knees threaten to buckle as you brace yourself against the ladder,
"Fuck," he mutters, a teasing swipe between your folds. But, of course, such a feather-light touch could elicit a profound sound from you. "You don't have the faintest idea how long I've thought about this."
"You're not the only one, Viktor." You retorted, biting your lip to stifle another moan.
A euphoric exhale eludes his parted mouth, helpless gawking at your wetness, trailing along your trembling legs as he swipes another teasing finger between your folds, parting you. Deep red stains his cheeks, feeling the warmth of his flushed face down to his chest as he continuously parts your folds, admiring the way you whimper, such an intoxicating sound that clouds his mind.
Without hesitation, Viktor flattens his tongue against your clit, greedily lapping away at your wetness, groaning with each squelch. At that moment, with tremendous regret, Viktor realizes just how little justice his imagination of you has been.
Sweet, he hums.
Oh, so sweet.
Your hands bunch up your skirt, half-lidded eyes observing the man below mercilessly devour your aching cunt, golden eyes lock onto yours, ecstasy glimmering deep within.
There's no rhyme or reason to his pattern; he is entirely erratic and inexperienced, not that you mind. There's room for training later. But now? You're doing your damnedest not to scream his name as he mercilessly devours you. Viktor's groans only exacerbate your pleasure, shuddering from the vibrations of his voice against your cunt, feeling faint whispers against your skin, nothing you can reasonably make out.
His movement stalls as he elicits another keen from you, running another kitten lick at a new spot, earning another trembling sigh. You can feel him smile against your skin before he licks again, causing another uncontrollable groan as you begin to shake, clinging onto the railing as he experiments. Flicking his tongue and running languid strokes against your slit, a pleased hum for every groan he elicits from you.
Damn him—a scientist in and outside his work.
You can feel the swell of annoyance accompanied by your pleasure, a rather complicated mixture of sensations. "Viktor.." Your plea, feeling his tongue stall at your proclamation of his name.
A curious hm meets your words, and you feel him smile against your skin.
"Don't be such a tease- Ah!" Your protest is cut short by a muffled moan, biting feverously into your knuckles as you whimper at the sensation of his deft finger plunging into your cunt, whimpering as he experimentally curls and pumps.
You had half a mind to berate him for teasing you.
Perhaps you were the tease, and maybe he's just returning the endeavor.
Well, it certainly feels that way with how relentless he is with each pump of his finger, a delicious curl of his dexterous finger, an audible sigh with each squeeze of your walls around him, desperate for more.
Your knuckles will surely bruise with the intensity of your teeth against them, stifling every keen as Viktor below you continues to make you his next little project. A prod here, a gentle flick there with an occasional swipe here. You're steadily growing accustomed to him, around his finger.
You grasp onto the ladder railing, a whimpering mess as Viktor relentlessly devours you, his groans only amplifying your pleasure. His other hand bunches up your skirt, exposing your lower body, wincing at the frigid air against your sensitive skin. It's too much, the combination of his tongue flat against your clit, the sensation of his deft fingers pressing against that one spot, curling so deliciously.
In a breathless gasp, you exhale his name, your knees growing weak as the wooden rails creak under your firm grip. Then, your climax crashes against you, damn near knocking you off the ladder, desperately clinging onto whatever sturdy object that'll prevent you from toppling over and onto the man beneath you.
If nobody heard you earlier, they definitely heard you now. Them and half of Piltover. How Viktor's name rolls off your tongue with each clash of ecstasy against you, hips rolling in tangent with his tongue.
"Viktor," You exhale, your pleasure bordering too much. "T-t-too much." You grunt through gritted teeth.
He ignores you, continuously lapping away at you as he groans, his hands firmly grasping your thighs, locking you in place.
"Ah!--Viktor!" You exclaim, hands finding purchase in his soft hair, pulling at them. Only then does he relent.
Taking a step back, Viktor lets your skirt fall, covering up your exposed lower half.
"Come," Viktor smirks, offering a hand.
You can't help but laugh at the ironic wording; you'd make a sarcastic quip if you weren't using all your strength not to fall. One step at a time, you place your hand in his as he helps guide you down, his hands resting against your waist, pulling you flush against him.
"What do you say," Viktor plucks his cane from the side. The handle creaks under his grip as his free hand run along your back's curvature. "We take this matter elsewhere?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well," Viktor pauses, wiping his face against the inner part of his elbow. A sheepish grin finds itself on his well-defined face. "I always wanted to do it in the lab."
After Hours: A Viktor x Fem!Reader Fic Pt 2
Summary: Standing on the freezing streets of Piltover, you’re having a hell of a shift trying to bring customers in to your club for drinks. You see a pair of Academy students headed your way--one is eager enough, but the other is much more of a challenge to win over, and you like a challenge.
SFW, sorry bbys, just flirting and sexual tension here not getting to the spicy parts yet these bitches wouldn’t stop TALKING god forbid, Viktor being cute and flustered, reader just doing her best here
By 1:30 am, you’re over dealing with customers. Your last party has left, yet another group of businessmen twice your age who leave you with a bad taste in your mouth but you say nothing, pocketing their tips with a wince once they’ve left.
Technically, you’re supposed to stay on the floor until the end of shift, but you decide to slip into the dressing room instead. If any of your co-workers want to rat you out, that’s on them, but they all seem preoccupied.
You sit on the small plush stool in front of the vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’re not supposed to leave the club in your formal dresses, and this one, with its corset boning, isn’t the most comfortable to begin with. Most of the girls, bleary eyed and intoxicated, stumble home in something close to loungewear, but that won’t do for tonight.
Not when you’re supposed to meet Viktor. Is it a date? You’re not really sure, but you know that you want him to see you looking pretty rather than sloppy. That the thought of spending time with him makes you nervous, though not entirely in a bad way.
You touch up your makeup in the mirror; darkening the eyeliner, adding extra glue to make sure your lashes stay in place. A swipe of pale pink lipstick on your lips.
You kick off your silver heels under the vanity and your throbbing feet thank you, curling your toes in the plush carpet. Fifteen minutes until you were supposed to meet Viktor, and you still have no idea what to wear.
You keep a few outfits in your slim wooden cubby, often used as a backup in case there’s a spill or some other accident and you’re forced to change. You paw through the options, frowning at each one. Janna above, this shouldn’t be so difficult, and yet.
Truth be told, you haven’t been out with anyone in a long while. Given your line of work, you have a low tolerance for bullshit and even less patience, and that didn’t exactly lend itself well to dates, or relationships. You got used to being alone, and besides—with how you used any opportunity to visit your family, you never considered yourself truly alone. Chin in your hand, you sigh.
What if Viktor didn’t show up at all? Maybe he was stringing you along—he wouldn’t be the first. You couldn’t shake the sense that Viktor was far from the type, but the anxiety in the pit of your stomach was a persuasive bitch.
Even more so when you glanced at the clock and realized it was five minutes to 2 am.
You reach into the pile of clothes and pull out a black sweater, buttery soft and oversized, that had a habit of falling off one shoulder. Pink skirt. Knee high boots. Your black coat with the pink bow at the waist. It would have to do, as you spritzed a little vanilla perfume and grabbed your handbag to rush out the door.
“What’s with her?” You hear one of the others mutter as you pass them by, and don’t bother to respond.
They never actually cared to know—a fact you had learned the hard way.
When you leave the club, you see a fog has rolled in over the Piltover streets, coated everything in a hazy, chilled mist. You huddle into your coat, grateful you aren’t out trying to entice customers now.
At first, you don’t see Viktor at all and with your heart in your throat, you think maybe he hadn’t shown up. This is what you get up for opening up, you think, muttering to yourself in your native tongue, the usual curses.
Fuck. So he hasn’t stood you up after all, and may very well have heard the unflattering commentary you were whispering like a crazy person. Well, this is off to a rousing start.
Viktor isn’t outside of the club, which makes sense if he’s being cautious and actually cares about you and your job. He’s a few feet away, cane in one hand, leaning against a lamppost. He tucks a newspaper under his arm, and you can’t help but notice once again how devastatingly good-looking he is, with his dark hair mussed and his cheeks slightly pink in the cold.
You look up at him—he’s so damn tall—and it’s as if your brain shorts out, wiped completely blank. The only thing you can think of to say is, “Hi.”
You relax into your real voice with him, not bothering to suppress your accent, and it’s nice, to let this aspect of your mask slip, at least in this moment. You realize you’ve been staring—at the beauty mark above his lip no less—and quickly compose yourself.
“I hope it isn’t too much trouble. To, erhm, be staying up this late,” you say to Viktor, hands in the pockets of your coat.
You two start walking down the street, towards a nearby 24 hour cafe that you often frequent when you can spare a little tip money and don’t have the energy (or the sobriety) to cook in your little room.
Viktor shrugs. “No trouble. I often keep late nights.”
You’re not drunk per se, but you certainly aren’t sober, either, and you giggle, stumbling. “Busy, huh?”
Viktor reaches over with his free hand to steady you. “Careful, Miss (y/n).” His hand lingers on your arm, and you can feel the heat of it through your coat and your sweater.
You want nothing more than to press yourself against him, and gods, what was wrong with you? Clearly you were tipsier than you thought.
“Hmm?” He furrows those lovely dark brows and looks at you in confusion. He hasn’t moved his hand from your arm.
“You don’t have to call me Miss.”
There’s that dust of pink across his cheekbones again, and he swallows, removing his hand. “Right. Of course. Y/n it is.”
You’re in front of the cafe now, and you look up at it, and then at him. “Is this alright?”
He seems lost in some thought. “What? Oh, yes.”
You’re caught off guard by what Viktor does next; a small gesture, really, but one that lingers. He holds the door open for you, as if you were a proper lady, gesturing for you to walk first.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
“Of course,” he replies.
The cafe is empty at this hour and you slide into a booth, Viktor opposite you, as an exhausted waitress places glasses of ice water in front of you both. In the beat of silence that follows you feel all your old insecurities taking root in your brain: what are you doing, spending time with an Academy student who shouldn’t be wasting his hours with the likes of you?
You fiddle with the straw in your glass, wondering if this was a mistake. The waitress returns with two mugs of coffee and some kind of fried potato dish, perfect for keeping a hangover at bay, though your appetite is gone by now.
Viktor pushes the dish towards you. “You should eat something. I mean, um, so you don’t feel like death when you wake up.”
You twirl your fork in your hands. “I’m not that drunk. Unlike your friend.”
Viktor laughs softly. “Jayce never knows his limits.” He cocks a brow. “Though your mastery of that drinking game was quite impressive.”
You take a bite of food. Heaven, though you won’t admit as much. “It’s a talent,” you say after swallowing. “Not all of us can go to the Academy, I suppose.” Maybe the barb is overkill, but you can’t help the bitterness that seeps through.
Viktor regards you over his mug of coffee, his amber eyes taking you in. “Fair enough,” he murmurs. “I know my circumstances are more….unusual.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Especially given I was never enrolled in the Academy properly.” He gives you a sly grin, and you almost drop a forkful of potatoes.
His expression shifts from sly to somewhat sheepish. “My parents saved for months to get me the uniform, though they didn’t understand why I wanted it so badly. I got dressed and started attending classes as though I belonged. No one questioned it, at first.”
You can’t help but laugh. “You sneaky bastard.”
There’s that endearing blush again, and you find you keep wanting to tease him. Wondering what it would be like to truly get Viktor flustered.
“No one would take a chance on me.” Viktor takes a sip of his coffee. “A poor cripple from the Undercity? They couldn’t see beyond their own bias, so I had to make my own way. Of course, I was found out eventually, but the Dean was impressed by my chutzpah and offered me a place as his assistant while I studied.”
You take another forkful of food. “I suppose we both have our masks, then.”
“Is that what brought you to your line of work?” He asks.
You shrug. “I wanted something better for my family. I figured that I would try my luck. Not exactly cut out for the Academy.”
Those amber eyes are on you, intense. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Y/n.” He bites his lower lip, drums his fingers on the table. Looks very much like he’s holding himself back, though from what you’re not entirely certain. “You are not unintelligent. That much is obvious.”
You push aside the plate of food. “Most everyone just sees me as…” You gesture up and down at your outfit. You like your style, but you wish you could be seen as more than just an object.
“You are. More than that, I mean.” Viktor runs his hand through his messy locks. “Your style is quite unique, (y/n), don’t misunderstand…I mean…but it is not the only thing I noticed or enjoyed about your company.”
You blink, taking in his words with some measure of surprise. Viktor seemed like he wanted to be anywhere other than the club, so this is news to you, and it’s disorienting. At least, that’s what you tell yourself about the dizzying feeling that has you digging your nails into your thighs to steady yourself, as though you were in a free fall.
After a pause, you reach for your water, taking a sip. “I’m surprised you noticed anything about me,” you mumble.
“Oh, I certainly did.” He raises a brow and you are once again left with the sense that Viktor is full of kinds of surprises, an enigma you can’t fully puzzle out. “Tell me, (y/n), if you could study at the Academy, what would you want to learn?”
“Art.” There’s no hesitation. Maybe there should be. You don’t share your sketches with anyone, and you spend your days off drawing anything and everything, just for practice. “I know it’s not practical—“
“I would be inclined to disagree,” Viktor says softly. “I may work in the sciences, but I would argue that art is equally necessary in this world. Both do good, albeit in different ways.”
The sound of chimes interrupt whatever you plan to say next. It’s four bells, according to the nearby clock tower outside and you rub your tired, aching eyes before realizing you’ve likely smeared your makeup. Have you really passed all this time with Viktor so quickly?
He seems to register as much as well. “It’s late.”
You nod. Even the coffee isn’t helping much at this point.
“I should get home.” You reach to leave a few coins for the bill, but Viktor beats you to it, dropping the change on the scrawled paper.
“Viktor—“ You protest.
“My treat,” he says mildly, and you sigh. “Now, I would be a very bad date if I didn’t see you home.”
You feel as though all the oxygen has been stolen out of your lungs, your heartbeat picking up significantly. Date? Now you’re the one blushing as you slide out of the booth, Viktor following behind you with his cane.
The word reverberates in your mind over and over. Date. He considered you his date. Silly, maybe, for you to be so taken by the idea but you can’t remember the last time you had been taken out on a date, let alone one with company so enjoyable rather than the usual insufferable Piltie companions you dealt with.
“Viktor, you don’t have to go to all the trouble…” You trail off as you walk out of the restaurant and onto the fog-coated cobblestones. Surely he had classes in the morning, other responsibilities. Couldn’t spend half the morning sleeping like you and your odd nocturnal schedule.
He stops, right in the middle of the deserted street, prompting you to stop as well. Leans in and for a brief, heart stopping moment you think he’s going to kiss you.
He doesn’t, though. Simply takes two slender fingers and places them under your chin, gently tilting upward so that you, short as you are, can look up at him.
“I don’t have to, (y/n), but I wish to.”
Your mouth goes dry at the simple touch, knees damn near incapable of holding you up, and for all your supposed intelligence you can’t think of a blessed thing to say, so you simply nod. He releases his touch and continues walking, and you quickly take the lead once more.
Your small room that you rent from a perpetually absent landlord isn’t too much further, maybe two or three blocks that pass in comfortable silence. Finally, you stop in front of the stucco townhouse. “This is me.”
Viktor raises his eyebrows at this and you rush to clarify.
“I, um, rent the attic room. Nothing too thrilling.” Do you invite him inside? Would that be too forward? Especially given the late hour, and the implications of your workplace? Janna, this is confusing, and why you don’t date. Too messy. Better to just be you and your cat, spinster forever.
“Thank you,” you manage to say, finally. “For a…nice evening.” Gods, you sound like an idiot.
“You’re welcome.” Viktor looks down at his shoes, then back up at you. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”
You are about to say yes when he leans in, catches your lips in a sweet, hesitant, kiss. One that you want to deepen, given in to the hunger beneath it, but are too afraid to, a small mewing sound at the back of your throat at your repressed yearning. Viktor tastes like coffee, and you could get drunk on the way his hands hover at your waist, skimming at your ribs.
All too soon he pulls away, your lips tingling from the contact, stunned by the gentle touch of the young student in front of you.
“Good night, Miss (y/n),” he says quietly, leaving you with the unfulfilled urge to pull him inside by his tie and have him half a dozen ways.
For now, you slip into your room, one finger ghosting over where Viktor had kissed you, waiting to wake up from whatever dream this must be.