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yns-world · 8 months

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Idol Worship

Pairings: Cyberpunk 2077 Men x Fem!Idol!Reader

Context: You’re a hyper feminine idol with a cutesy, girlie concept. As a Night City celebrity, these are some headcanons of your life with the men.

A/N: Y/S/N = Your Stage Name

Jackie Welles: You and Jackie had been dating for a year before your rise to fame, and have been going strong ever since. He supported your music dreams from the start, and you’ll always see him as your first fan, as well as your biggest fan (both literally and figuratively). When you started booking bigger venues and had appearances on TV shows, Jackie became worried that you’d leave him for some Hollywood slick, since that’s what everyone always did when they become famous, but you reassured him that’d you’d never leave him since he was the only one for you.

At the beginning of your stardom, you had decided to keep your romantic life personal as to keep Jackie away from all of the fame but that proved to be difficult when you had a known stalker on your tail. This stalker followed you everywhere and caused you countless restless nights. The situation had gotten so bad that he broke into your hotel one night, but thankfully you had stayed out that night and weren’t inside when he broke in. After that incident, Jackie didn’t feel safe to have you out on tours by yourself.

That’s when you both decided that it would be best to publicize your relationship-- one, to keep weirdos at bay, and two, so that Jackie could be with you all of the time unapologetically.

Thankfully, the fans took to Jackie pretty well-- with the exception of your pervy fans, but you weren’t too concerned with them anymore since Jackie became an unofficial official bodyguard. There wasn’t a single picture of you where Jackie wasn’t also in it, either intentionally or unintentionally.

Concerts, TV showings, photoshoots, Jackie was always there next to you. You were able to convince your manager to hire Jackie as full-time secretary since he was able to prove himself much more useful than the lumberjacks that couldn’t stop a fly.

Johnny Silverhand: You had already made a name for yourself when you met Johnny, and your first meeting was at an elite club that’s only known to a select few. In the dark night club, Johnny’s body was pressed flush against yours and all you both could do was stare into each other’s eyes and sway to the pounding bass of the music. The chemistry was wild, and Johnny was hooked, but you left before the night was over, leaving him high and dry.

The next time he would see you would be on electric boards in the city, performing your latest song. That’s when he recognized you-- those eyes, those god forsaken eyes that reeled him in.

With a call to his manager and a few pulling of strings, Johnny was able to bring you into his home-studio on the pretenses of having you songwrite a song he’s been working on. Needless to say, that would be one of many “studio sessions”.

Within a month, Johnny found himself asking you to be his girlfriend, and you agreed. Johnny being Johnny, immediately wanted to publicize the relationship. To say the public was shocked was an understatement. A crazy metalhead dating the cutesy pop star? Do we need to alert the feds?

But when the paparazzi photos of the two of you spending quality time together were leaked, everything was finally clicking into place.

At first, you didn’t want your relationship to overshadow your career so you would regularly decline any commentary or showings that had anything to do with Johnny, but after a few deep, honest sit downs with him, you both agreed that you would be able to make this business-pleasure relationship work.

After a few months of dating, not only were you able to show up to public functions together but you both featured on songs together. Your bird-like voice and his scruffy voice complimented each other remarkably well, not to mention the mixing of such polar genres. The two of you would release some of your most popular music together.

A few examples would be “Strawberry Kisses - Johnny Silverhand feat. Y/S/N”, and “Make Daddy Proud - Y/S/N feat. Johnny Silverhand”.

Johnny’s influence would definitely inspire you to expand in both your concept and your music. You would be his muse, and he would be yours.

Viktor Vektor: As part of the industry, it’s common for idols to get cyberware and plastic surgery done to conform to societal beauty standards-- as the motto goes, “in Night City, looks are everything.”

In the beginning of your career, your manager needed you to get some cyberware done but knew you couldn’t pay for the high prices that legitimate surgeons required, so he introduced you to a man with less-than-honest credentials.

That’s where you met him. Viktor Vektor. A miracle worker based out of a dingy basement and faulty fluorescent lights.

He treated you like a princess and you were in love right then and there. His gentle touches on your face and most intimate parts made you swoon.

Your manager had sent Viktor a list of procedures he wanted, but Viktor only consulted with you on what you wanted, no more and no less.

After the first consultation, you were hooked, and the feeling was mutual. You would check in at least monthly, and would find any reason to give him a call just to hear his voice.

By the time he had finally asked you out, you both were so used to sneaking around that it was silently agreed upon to not publicize this relationship. Maybe it was taboo, with the age gap and career choice, but it was love. And to you both, that was all that mattered.

And thanks to Viktor’s connections in the industry, you were quick to become the face of high fashion and runways. Always equipped with the latest cyberware, your tech upgrades were trendsetters, with influencers and celebrities alike flocking to imitate your work. But your tech was always one-of-a-kind, that’s what Viktor vowed to do from the moment he met you. Every creation he creates for you is only for you. It’s custom-made for your body and mind, no one else’s.

Your looks had become so famous that there was a genre of cyberware named after you: Roseware, an homage to your pink and aesthetic gadgets.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :) DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3 i’m open to requests again (specifically for cyberpunk), please read my the posts on my pinned before requesting :) lmk if y’all have any ideas for more content like this cause this was fun to write :D

#yns world #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x v #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand x v #viktor vektor x reader #viktor vektor #viktor vektor x v #jackie welles #jackie welles x reader #jackie welles x v #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic

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buryustogether · 11 months

Note

plssss viktor vektor smut, maybe after female v got injured and had to be rushed to him?

mr doctor man

viktor vektor x f!reader (v)

wc: 5.2k

summary: an argument with your ripperdoc/friend with benefits leads to a distraction during an important street fight. luckily, he’s not going to hold it against you.

warnings/tags: friends with benefits, allusions to sex and hook ups, swearing, blood, reader gets the absolute shit beat out of them, fighting, angst, vomiting, gun violence, love confessions, allusions to smut

author’s note: ask and ye shall receive

partially inspired by mr doctor man by palaye royale

“ mr doctor man

questions his hands

lost his mind

clinically fine ”

Viktor was sure he was out of his mind.

When he’d become a ripperdoc, he did so with one goal, one job, in mind; helping the injured, making sure everyone in this city had a fair chance at facing whatever was waiting out there for them. He was supposed to protect his patients, make sure they were fit and safe from the very things he installed deep within their muscles and memories.

He was supposed to take care of his patients, not fuck them into oblivion.

You couldn’t help but admire the raised red scratches your nails had inflicted upon Viktor’s back as he sat tinkering with the new piece of chrome he was about to put into your open forearm. Sweat was still in the process of drying on the back of your neck, cooled by the hum of conditioning that eased out of the grates overhead. Sure, you’d come in this afternoon to grab some new tech - but you could have done that over in Kabuki. Corpo Plaza. Arroyo. Anywhere you passed on your way here. But those clinics didn’t have Vik, didn’t have the glint of his glasses when he glanced your way, didn’t have the ‘tats inked into his arm that you held onto for dear life when he was railing into you hard enough to make you see stars.

No, this was your favorite clinic by far. And it wasn’t just because you lived only five minutes away.

“So tell me, kid,” said Viktor as he gingerly placed the reinforced piece of chrome into the meat of your arm. You held your breath at the strange sensation as his expert hands slowly adjusted the metal. “You’ve never exactly expressed interest in physical combat gear. Thought you were more of a gun steel gray kind of girl.”

He talked to you like you weren’t a thing, like you weren’t a couple.

Because you weren’t. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn’t know exactly what you were. You’d been friends, of course, when Jackie had first brought you in with him to get his nose popped back into place after a bar fight tilted away from him. You would come over in the evenings with dinner after he closed the clinic and watch fights. You would help clean up when he needed the extra hands. And when friendly banter turned more and more flirtatious, you hadn’t been obliged to stop it.

When slaps on the shoulders turned into kisses, and those turned into finger fucks, and those turned into full-on poundings on his table or against the wall, you hadn’t protested one bit. You wanted there to be something more to it all, wanted him to think about you the same way you did him - when you were alone eating breakfast by yourself, when you were driving across town, when you were in bed at night, anywhere and everywhere all at once.

But you’d never said a word of it.

You didn’t want to cross a line you knew you couldn’t see, take whatever this was one step too far and lose one of your best friends. So you left everything where it was - don’t fix what’s not broken, right? Don’t meddle with things doing just fine on their own, right?

So you kept your mouth shut and your legs open.

“Oh, yeah,” you said and stared up at the ceiling above your head. Across the room, the low sounds of a match beginning to start murmured from the television. “I’ve got a fight in Heywood coming up in a couple of days. Guy’s known for being built like ‘Saka Tower, so I figured I’d steel myself up before going to get my ass handed to me.”

You expected Viktor to smile, for him to chuckle and for his bare abs to tense up like they did when he found something amusing. But he didn’t. Instead the corners of his mouth tilted downward as he pulled the machine that would hotwire your skin back together over to the table. “What’s this guy’s name?” he asked offhandedly.

His sudden change in tone irked you slightly. “I don’t know. Heard he goes by Decard. Big in the Badlands, apparently, and he came into town looking for competition that wasn’t walking on four legs or eating after the four-legs.”

“Hmm.”

Pursing your lips awkwardly, you drummed your fingers on your bare sternum - you were both still in the bare minimum after your little late afternoon romp - and pulled your focus back overhead. You took a breath and pushed it out. “Got a problem with me fighting or something?”

Viktor looked up at you over the rims of his glasses - fuck, that steely gray of his irises were something else - and fixed you with a warning stare. “Don’t bring your attitude now, kid,” he said and rotated the machine patching you up. Even as the conversation was going south, he was still intent on giving you the best treatment he was capable of.

“Well, I mean - sorry, but it suddenly seems like you’d rather be literally anywhere else than here.”

“I will be, if you keep running your tongue like that.”

Your stare turned into a glare as you looked up at the ceiling above your head. What the fuck was this? You and Viktor hardly ever fought - and if you did, it was over who was going to win the match you were streaming. Fuck all, you just sucked his dick until he whimpered, and now he was giving you some weird kind of cold shoulder?

You waited until the machine had done its job and your arm was back together before shoving off the table and gathering your clothes that had been scattered across the clinic floor. You could feel him - sitting in just his pants on his stool - watching your movements like a hawk. “You know what,” you said, bristling as you tugged your clothes back on, “if you’re going to go full blown hermit on me out of the blue for no fucking reason at all, I have no reason to be here.” You angrily yanked your shoes over your feet, not bothering to tie the laces. “Don’t bother showing up to the fight. I’ll have Jackie there if I get my spleen shot out.”

“Didn’t know there was an extended invite,” Viktor said as he pushed away from the table on his stool and rolled over to his desk.

“There would have been if your stage four terminal dickery hadn’t ruined the party.” Snatching up your holsters from his side table, you stopped for a moment while you clasped them over yourself. “What was that, anyway? What’s your deal? One minute we’re hot and heavy, and the next you’re acting like you want to be rid of me.”

Viktor rolled his eyes - you saw it in the reflection of the dirty mirror hung opposite his desk. He picked up that damned screwdriver he was always tinkering with and began to adjust the calibrations of his mechanical fingers. “Maybe if you got your head out of your ass for once, V, you’d see that it’s just the opposite. I don’t think you should be sticking your neck out more than you already do for a couple extra eddies. You and Jack already run around pulling enough shit. Street fighting when you should be resting isn’t exactly the move you’d pull if you’re playing with a full deck of cards.”

Fuck, he was good. He could roll five different insults into one and make it sound like he was actually worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you said and cocked your head at him pointedly, “this coming from one of Night City’s greatest ring fighters?”

He shook his head in that way he did when he was getting ready to put something to rest - an argument, an idea, a patient… It made something in your gut twist. It made you feel small and childish - like you both knew he was right about this. Like he was talking to a little girl who refused to give up the fight just for the sake of fighting. “You’re stubborn, kid, and that’s a good thing most of the time. I’m not going to tell you what you can or can’t do. Go on. Kick some ass and prove me wrong.” He paused his tinkering for just a moment, and you thought he was going to rise and kiss you goodbye like he always did - but he just turned up the volume on the television. “I’ll be here either way.”

Overwhelmed with that sickening, roiling feeling in your belly, you threw up a hand and stalked toward the gates of the clinic. “Whatever, old man.”

As you stormed up the stairs leading into the alleyway between Viktor’s clinic and Misty’s shop, a coil of guilt turned itself about in the hollows of your chest. Maybe he was right - about your head being stuck up your ass. Your entire life you’d been fighting for your fair share in this city, being raised in the shadows of those who proved themselves time and time again to be bigger than you. From the time you knew how to properly hold a gun and throw a punch and speak your mind, you hadn’t let anything stop you - which hadn’t always been a good thing. A couple broken bones and black eyes had taught you that much.

But fighting - whether it was for your life or not - was all you knew. Arguing, and challenging, and defying… it felt as if it were in your blood like part of your DNA. The feeling of desperate survival never went away, no matter how much money you had or how full your belly was. Once it was there, it never went away.

This was what you told yourself two evenings later, when the stars and the moon were blocked out by the smog and the nighttime air was disrupted by thumping music and excited shouts and the wails of sirens in the distance. It was what you told yourself when you popped out the cricks in your neck and accepted pats on the back from those who had bet their monthly rents on you. And yet despite the fight about to happen in a few minutes’ time, despite the dozens of people surrounding the basketball court where it was to take place, your mind was stuck back in the clinic. Your ears still rang with the words both you and Viktor had hissed, your chest still stung with the venom laced between breaths. He had not called you, despite having a little get-together-date-night-come-over-and-let’s-fool-around-thing set up for last night. You had not called him, despite desperately needing encouragement for this fight, because you had caught a glimpse of Decard, and you’d almost choked on your own spit.

“Aye, V,” said a voice in your ear, and you were pulled back to the sidelines of the basketball court, where a crowd had gathered to watch the smackdown. You looked up at Jackie when he clasped your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing your attention up to his face. “You doin’ okay, choom? You nervous?”

Swallowing thick, you furrowed your brows and waved a feeble hand. Your knuckles had already been wrapped in bandages - something Viktor usually did before your fights, because he knew the best ways to keep them tight when you threw your punches. You had wrapped them yourself, and they were already falling loose. “M’fine,” you answered over the radio blaring across the lot. “Just… mind’s somewhere else.”

There came a look across Jackie’s face that told you he already knew exactly what you were talking about. You didn’t want to think about how he did. “Listen,” he said and grasped your other shoulder. “Worry all you want after, chica, but when you’re out there?” He used his knuckle to shove your chin in the direction of the court, where the fixer who had arranged the fight was arguing over bets with a corpo. “Your mind’s got’ta be out there, too. Otherwise you’re goin’ to get your ass handed to you and your brain won’t catch up ‘til you’re hurtin’ tomorrow.” When you looked back at him, mouth stretched into a taut line, his gaze softened a bit. He jostled you. “These kind’a things don’t last forever, choom. Trust me - Misty’s been on my ass enough times that she knows it better than I do, and we always come around. Just… let it go for a few minutes, yeah?”

Steeling your heart and sharpening your expression, you nodded your head slightly and took a breath. Just for a few minutes. Nothing but left hooks and dodges and roundhouses for just a few minutes. “Okay,” you said and shook yourself out. “Okay.”

“Atta’ girl.” Jackie clapped your hand in his own, then spun you around and shoved you in the direction of the court. “Now go and kick some ass. Drinks on you at the Afterlife to celebrate your victory, aye?”

Rounds of both cheers and taunts followed you as you walked onto the court to meet the fixer and your competition. Upon facing your opponent, you found your neck craning up. And up. And still up. Decard was fitted with an entire body of chrome and tech, more cyber than human in every sense of the word. Nearly seven feet tall. Fists of collapsable nanotech. Cybernetic eyes pixelated red that made his pupils look as though they were bleeding from the inside out. You’d be lying if you told yourself he didn’t intimidate you to the point that if you weren’t being watched by hundreds of eyes, you’d probably have pissed yourself just a little bit.

“Alright, people,” said the fixer as he tallied up a number of bets. A quick glance at the pad in his hand told you that the onlookers’ faith lay more at Decard’s steel-toed feet than yours. “Please don’t turn this into a crime scene. I’m already on a watchlist for these kinds of things, so let’s keep this quick and clean. Hopefully I don’t have to tell you both that no cybernetic advancements are allowed. Gorilla arms, thermal knuckles, mantis blades, the whole shebang. No killing - perioud. ‘Kay?”

“Sure,” you said.

Decard growled from low in his throat.

Once the fixer had left the court and motioned for the pair of you to get ready, you took a moment to assess your opponent. As you dug your toes into the dirty tarmac, you looked him over. His head, of course, was an option, throat exposed over the collar of his tank top. But you doubted you’d have much time to grab at it, even if you got past those mechanical arms of his. You were scrambling to find a weak spot, to find some way this didn’t end in you limping away with a broken arm and a shattered ego, when your gaze shifted slightly behind him and into the crowd after catching a subtle glare of glass.

Fuck - he’d shown up. There he was, standing with crossed arms and a wide stance amongst the young onlookers streaming on their phones and squealing with excitement. Viktor met your eyes across the distance.

Then an earth-shaking, rib-crushing blow landed to your sternum, sending you tumbling over yourself in a heap of flailing limbs to the feet of the crowd. Pain like thunder blossoming violently across the sky expanded from your chest where Decard struck you, but you weren’t given much time to process what had just happened before the crowd was pulling you to your feet and pushing you back onto the court.

You had barely regained your breath before Decard came charging at you, steel teeth bared like some kind of animal as he barreled in your direction. Turning on your heel, you just barely managed to miss him - then took a running leap up onto his back and sat yourself on his hulking shoulders. The crowd erupted in surprise. Clenching your jaw and fighting with everything you had to stay on top of him while he bucked and pulled at your legs with a grip that would surely leave bruises in their wake, you locked an arm around his neck and began to squeeze. It wouldn’t take more than maybe twenty seconds for him to start getting lightheaded, even with all those implants. Maybe fifteen if you were lucky.

But it turned out you weren’t lucky. Very, very, very unlucky, in fact.

Decard backed up across the court as you tried to choke him out, heading straight for the rusted old hoop on a metal pole that creaked when a breeze blew it the wrong way. With a great roar and a heave, he slammed you back into the pole. Howling, searing, thundering pain overtook you, spreading from your spine to your shoulder blades to your hips, all throughout every nerve ending and fiber inside of you. Your vision whited out for just a moment as you slipped off the man’s shoulders and dropped to the warm tarmac. Goddammit, that hurt. That hurt like a bitch. That hurt like your vertebrae had cracked and one wrong move would put you six feet under.

With a low groan that you felt echoing in your very bones, you slowly propped yourself up on an elbow. You coughed and spat out a bit of saliva mixed with blood that pooled from where you’d bitten your tongue after being slammed into the pole. You knew after a blow like that you wouldn't be able to finish. As much as you fucking hated it, you were going to have to forfeit. All those cameras on you, all those eyes and bets… all fucking wasted.

And Viktor… fuck, he wouldn’t ever let you hear the end of this. If he spoke to you again outside of emergency clinic visits and checkups.

Sucking in a shallow breath, you stretched out a hand and patted the ground once, twice, three times. Those who saw it groaned at the fight having been so short. Eddies were being passed around, deposited into accounts as you began to make your way to your feet to slink off the court with your tail between your legs. But you didn’t quite make it.

Before you could find your footing, Decard’s large cybernetic hand snatched up the vulnerable skin of your throat and lifted you off the court into the air. Panic flooded your systems as your eyes widened and you gasped, trying to pull in air around the blockage on your neck. A few people cheered, thinking the fight was still on. No matter how much you kicked and flailed, they didn’t seem to get the hint that you had forfeited. You didn’t want to fight anymore.

They said you don’t always get what you want.

“Some shitshow for a merc I’ve heard so much fuss about,” Decard said, just inches from your face as he lifted you closer to him. Up close, you were able to see his cybernetic gaze flashing back and forth between your suddenly terrified eyes. “I was hoping I’d get a run for my money.”

You gasped around his iron-knuckled grip, uselessly kicking your feet against his chest plates. “M’done!” you wheezed out, listening to your heart pound wildly in your ears. “Y’win! Let me go!”

Decard grinned a sickening smile and brought his lips to the shell of your ear, so close you swore you felt his tongue brush against your lobe. “Come on and show me what you’re really made of, mercenary.” Then he turned and threw you across the court, sending you sprawling over yourself for the second time that evening. Another roar went up from the crowd as the cameras began filming again and new bets were placed.

Vision hazy and your spine screaming in protest, you scrambled out of the way just in time to miss Decard’s boot cracking the concrete where you just lay half a moment ago. You weren’t lucky enough to evade his next blow, a backhand that had you careening to the ground once more. Smack after punch, blow after kick, you were slowly losing the ability to raise your arms to even cover your face as he followed your pathetic little parade around the court.

The crowd seemed to be loving your beatdown. They cheered for more, for you to just give up, not knowing that you already had.

Upon coming to rest on your aching back from a roundhouse that had knocked you off your feet, you tilted your bloodied and bruised face to catch a glimpse of two figures arguing violently with the fixer who organized the whole event. Through the blur twinging the edges of your vision, you recognized Viktor and Jackie practically screaming at the man, gesturing wildly back and forth between you and the man approaching to possibly finish you off. Without your permission, your vision screen kicked in to read their lips and translate what they were saying.

“He’s fuckin’ killing her, idiota!” Jackie said and raised a hand to your form cowering on the ground.

“She tapped out fair and square,” snarled Viktor and poked a mechanical finger in the fixer’s chest. “Call it off before it goes any further.”

The fixer raised his hands in defense, shrugging a shoulder to prove his point. “Listen, chooms, just because you lost your bets doesn’t mean you’ve got to take it up with me.”

“She forfeited!” Viktor said. “Everyone with their eyes in their head saw her call for mercy.”

The fixer grinned sadistically. “I didn’t see anything.”

Snapping back to the court, you raised your gaze to the tall, sinewy mass of a man who towered over you with a heaving chest and a sick emotion of satisfaction sitting upon his stupid fat lips. For the second time, he raised you into the air by your throat and held you up like a trophy for all to see. You didn’t have the energy to fight back this time, couldn’t even if you thought it would do something. You simply gasped for air and gripped his forearm, hoping you’d black out sooner than later so you wouldn’t have to keep enduring this torture.

“Too bad no one’s going to remember your name,” Decard said to you over the noises of the onlookers. “V, was it?”

Through the blood spilling over your lips and the ache in every damn inch of your body, you snarled and spat, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied. “To the image of you begging for mercy like a fucking dog.”

The words had barely escaped his lips when a miracle graced the old basketball court. A deafening gunshot like a firecracker went off just feet from your ear and an instant later, you were dropped from being suspended in the air. Forcing yourself to look up from the dirt digging into your cheek, you watched as Viktor, now standing on the court before a kneeling Decard as he screamed and cradled the blown-apart junction of his knee, leveled his handgun with his opposite shoulder.

“Don’t bother showing your face to any ripper in this fucking city,” Viktor warned, then cracked off another bullet into Decard’s shoulder. The man howled over the sounds of the crowd stampeding for their vehicles and the streets, then collapsed in on himself. “They won’t have any mercy on you.”

It was the last thing you saw before you rolled onto your side and vomited, allowing yourself to fall into that everlasting darkness behind your eyelids.

The first thing that hit you when your senses returned was the faint smell of cleaning alcohol, the kind that docs used to sterilize equipment before they dug deep into your chest. The second thing was the familiar sound of a television playing the sounds of a boxing match; the ringing of the bell and the commentator’s voice would have lulled you back to sleep, had it not been for the ache that thrummed like fire beneath your skin all across your body. From your toes to your scalp it hurt, pulling a low moan from the back of your throat.

Your brow scrunched, you opened your eyes and blinked a few times before recognizing the ceiling overhead as the same one you had glared at while fighting with Viktor two days ago. You were in his clinic, propped up on the operating chair with an IV stuck in your arm and bandages wrapped around your torso. Your spine bitched at you as you sat up and swept your gaze across the clinic. Viktor was nowhere to be found.

Fuck, you wanted to go home. Go home and take the longest nap in the history of time. How long had it been since the fight - since you got your ass almost literally handed to you on the internet for thousands of people to see? Your vision screen told you it had been almost twelve hours.

With a grunt, you carefully pulled the IV from your arm and swung your legs over the side of the chair - only to crumple to the floor the moment you tried to stand on your own two feet. Just a few seconds later, you heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and you prayed it would be anyone except your doc. You couldn’t face him, not after he had to save your ass after telling you not to fight. Hell, you almost wished it would be Decard coming to finish you off.

But you recognized the bottoms of the shoes rushing toward you as Viktor’s, and you could do nothing but whimper and groan as he gingerly lifted you off the ground and back onto the chair.

“Jesus, kid,” he said as he carefully stuck the IV back into your skin. “Only just came to and you’re already trying to walk out like nothing happened.”

You said nothing as he sat back on his rolling stool beside you and brought up your vitals on his tablet. You couldn’t bare the thought of looking into those eyes of his as he chastised you for being so fucking stupid, for not heeding his advice. He probably thought you were an idiot, a naive kid so blinded by chasing glory she didn’t realize she was running straight into the sun.

But it seemed that Viktor didn’t get the this-is-supposed-to-be-awkward memo. “Hate to say it,” he said as he scrolled through his device, “but you had a close call, kid. Popped a vertebra out of place in your spine, fractured four of your ribs, dislocated a finger or two… I could go on, but I’d like to save time where I can. In other words, I’ve never had a patient come in quite as fucked up as you.”

“Gee, thanks.” You exhaled a painful breath, unable to push down the bubble forming in the bottom of your throat. Just when you thought you’d be able to ignore it, it ruptured. “Why don’t you just tell me off for being so stupid and send Misty to take me home?”

Viktor didn’t look at you. And that made you all the more furious. “I’m not doing this again, V,” he said and rolled away to deposit his tablet on his workbench. “Shut up and take a rest from it, will you? You’re fogging up the place with that hot head of yours.”

“In case you forgot,” you shot back, struggling to sit up straight in the curved operation chair, “you’re the one who started this shit. So don’t you try and pin it on me.”

He stood and remained there on his feet for a moment, hands placed firmly on his hips and nodding his head with pursed lips - like he was preparing himself to have this same spat again. A pang of guilt shot through you, but you beat it back.

“You know what?” he said and finally looked at you through his glasses. He threw out a hand and let it smack against his thigh. “Fine. I did start this. I’ll own that. But I only started it because - and this may come as a surprise to that thick skull of yours - but I actually care about you, kid. I do really give a shit if some shady bastard you decide to throw hands with over a few eddies manages to get the better of you and leave you bleeding out in a dumpster on the wrong side of Pacifica.” He ran his good hand through his hair - and over his temples, which were just beginning to show through his dark tresses with a few streaks of gray - and began to tread closer. “Maybe what we’ve got between us is a fun way to kick off a bit of stress for you, and I’ll keep myself in check if it is, but goddammit, V, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you got yourself gutted in a fucking streetfight!”

You realized he had gotten closer to your chair and raised his voice only when you flinched at his sudden outburst. He seemed to understand, too, just how close he had come, because he at once stood straight again and began to back off.

You reached out your hand and grabbed his wrist. “It’s not,” you found yourself whispering when he glanced at you over the rims of his glasses. You swallowed thick and forced the words up and out. “Just… just some outlet. I… I love you, Vik.” A wave of tears threatened to overtake your vision, turn your eyes watery and your voice wavering. “I know it doesn’t really seem like it a lot of the time, but I promise I do.”

There were a long, silent few moments in which neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You squeezed your eyes together, suddenly afraid you had gone too far. That’s what you always did. You either went so far the line wasn’t even a line anymore, or you fell short enough that you didn’t even know there was one to begin with. You started to release his wrist, feeling as though you had fucked up yet another one of the good things in your life, when you felt his fingers angling your chin up so that he could press his lips to yours.

It was just like the millions of other times he had kissed you, when you were both in a rush to get your clothes off and climb on top of the other, and yet it was different all at the same time. This kiss was deep and genuine, relieved and thrilled. Sweet. Loving. He tasted like a faint twinge of whiskey, and when you grabbed his shirt collar to pull him closer and he grunted, a fan of breath swept across you like a ghosting whisper.

When you finally pulled apart, Viktor rested his forehead against yours and gently kissed the slope of your nose. “You better rest up quick, kid,” he murmured against your lips. “Because when you do, I’m going to spread those legs of yours and show you just how much I fucking love you.”

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 video game #cyberpunk 2077 smut #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk viktor #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x you #viktor vektor #viktor vektor x Reader #viktor vektor x you #cyberpunk viktor vektor

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carly125m3 · 9 months

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Viktor x reader / V headcannons

. Domestic bliss ™️

. Y'know how V can call Viktor and ask him 'Hows biz', and v says 'You 're the only person in night City who's happy with his lot'

. Loves Cuddling, he lives off of it. He likes to spoon, big and little. He isn't picky

. Horrible at cooking, burns it or gives you food poisoning.

.Idk why but he really likes cars and motorbikes. He will spend HOURS talking about them to his s/o

.His perfect date is spending some QUITE time with his s/o. He doesn't gaf what you're doing.

. Very protective

. He would love to train with his S/O if they did boxing

. He would've had kids if he didn't live in night city

. Extroverted but quite

. He would lick the ground his S/O walked on

.Loyal af

. He actually likes cleaning

#cyberpunk #viktor vektor #Viktor vektor x reader #Cyberpunk x reader

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thefanfictioncorner-blog · 5 months

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Read now! (25)

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viktorappreciation · 6 months

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Chatting about foreplay with our ripper husband. That's all I heard anyway. 😘

#v made him blush you can tell #cyberpunk 2077 #viktor vektor #victor vector #vicktor vector #viktor vector #viktor x v #v x viktor #viktor x reader #victor x v #v x victor

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beastyboyxx · 4 months

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Mantis Blades (Pt. 2) ★★★

Summary: After street fighting some goons your mantis blades begin to jam. You decide to pop in and visit the Night City’s best ripper out there. Viktor. And he’s not too excited about you coming in beaten again.

Warnings: Dialogue Heavy, Romance, MLM, Reader Referred To As “Kid/Princess/Boy”, Kinky Viktor, Forceful Viktor, Strapped down, Reader speaking in broken sentences, Begging, Viktor watching, Sex machine, Reader getting taught a lesson, Overstimulation, Taking Pictures, Blackmail, Fucked Dumb, Anal Sex.

Characters: Viktor Vector

Category: One-Shot (Two part series)

Series: Cyberpunk 2077

Word Count: 975

I couldn’t believe what was happening. Viktor watching me while I was strapped down to this damned table as the machine worked its magic.

He was like a devil behind those glasses. A sinful side I never thought I’d see from the greatest ripper in Night City. Jesus did I love it with every sick and twisted desire.

“V— Vik. Pl— Please…! It’s too much…!” The machine that was wrapped around my sensitive length was practically sucking the life outta me. It was some preem fleshlight of some sort. Attached to a metal arm that stretched down from the ceiling. Assuming its original use was for Viktors usual work.

“Just relax. Eventually you’ll tire yourself out.” Viktor sat comfortably in his chair. Arms crossed and eyes fixated on my cock being worked.

“Fuck off! You… you don’t— Aagh! Don’t get it!” My head rolled back. Fingers digging into the chair’s armrests. Inhaling sharply at each second the machine slid down my cock just do roll back up.

“Trust me I do. I’ve strapped myself in that thing before.” Viktor pushed his glasses up. Rolling his chair over towards his desk. A few things were being moved around. I couldn’t see what he was doing.

Viktor rolled back. Standing up with something in hand. It was a phone.

“Vik—? Wh- Ohh fu—uuuck!”

“Shhh princess. This’ll be my way of getting you to sit down and lay back once in a while.” The camera snapped. Flash and all.

“Every time you decide you’re invincible, I’ll threaten to use this.” Viktor showed me the photo. “As blackmail.”

“Fuck off asshole— Nngh! Hahh…!”

“Jus’ a few more minutes of this. Then we’ll move on.” Viktor flicked the machine. Rewarding him with a shaken horse moan from me.

Viktor wasn’t lying when it came to his words. Everything he said he meant it. It was only a few minutes left, but a ‘few minutes’ after feeling this for about thirty was utter madness. The machine would change its speed and movement.

From running up and down at relentless speeds to slow and edging was driving me crazy. It’d twist, suck, and vibrate. Who knows how Viktor decided he would create such a thing.

It felt like forever until finally Viktor pulled the machine off. Strings of my slick stuck from the base of my head to the hole of the plastic nightmare.

“God… you’re a monster… y’know that.” I strung out each word in breathless pants. My mind was fleeting into a fogged mess. Tears pricked at my eyes from the overwhelming sensation. I could only hope the sight of my state would satisfy Viktor enough to shut it down and let me go.

Viktor looked down. One hand rubbing at his chin as he thought. “Finally ready to give yourself a break?”

“Yes.. yes I swear— I promise…”

“Atta boy. Here, let’s get these off.” Viktor stepped up to a tablet. Typing in a few things before the metal clasps opened and the metal arm recoiled back up into the ceiling.

I tried to sit up only for Viktors strong hand to force me back down onto the chair. My eyes met with his own, a look of shock washed across my face as I laid my eyes on Viktors bare chest. The ripper tossing his button up off to the side in his workshop.

“Think I’m finished?” Viktor chuckled, a brow raised. His grip on my hips as I was tugged closer to him. “Poor boy.”

“Vik… Vikky…”

“You’re lucky I didn’t leave you in that thing for a few hours. Who knows what it would’ve done to that poor mind. Hm?” Viktor positioned himself with his clothed crotch near his prize.

“Jesus kid… I hate how much you make me just want to ruin you. Ironic for a ripper. Huh?”

Viktors eyes peered over his glasses. His gaze sent shivers down my spine. It was cold but flicked with genuine care. The doc bent down, inching close to my face.

“Let’s fuck you till that head spins. Ripperdoc’s recommendation. And a full discount too, on the house.”

Viktor worked his pants off. Quickly and efficiently. It wasn’t long until he was completely naked. His cock standing at attention. And his tattoos on full display.

My state was sloppy. Vision a bit hazy but just able to see enough. And feel enough. Viktor pulled me in, his hands at my sides as he began to slowly push his way inside. Inch by inch. He was toying with me.

Not long after I felt that overwhelming heat of my body demanding more. It was all so blurred but Jesus I felt it all. Viktors cock siding in and out. Hearing our breathes, groans, and other sounds of lust. Viktor changed my position so I was now laying on my side, all while not fleeting in his thrusts. His hand, resting at the top, dug into my side.

…

It felt like ages. Every second that passed drove me more into a dumbed out mess. Viktor knew that full and well.

Finally. One final grip of skin, loud groans, hands trying to hold onto any surface. Viktor finished inside, most likely from an hour of fucking.

“Think you’ll be taking that break now princess?” Viktor patted my side. He can be so caring yet so cruel.

“Fuck… you think…?” I rolled my eyes. Exhausted from what had just took place. My body ready to take a break. All thanks to the Night City’s best ripper.

My mind began to flicker. Sleep settling in under my eyes and throughout my body. Suddenly I heard a shutter and the voice of Viktor chuckling to himself.

Part 1

#m4m #male reader #x male reader #viktor vektor #cyberpunk viktor #cyberpunk #smut #cyberpunk smut

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wastedyouth-wasteddreams · 2 years

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#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk fanfic #viktor vektor #cyberpunk viktor #daddy vik #viktor vektor fic #viktor vector/reader #viktor vektor x reader #cyberpunk fic #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk 2077 fanart #cyberpunk 2077 oc #viktor vektor/reader #viktor vector #night city text fics

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misaverawrites · 2 years

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Well Rested (Victor Vektor x Reader)

summary: After a particularly nasty injury, Vik has to give you surgery. You tell him one of your secrets while under anesthesia.

tags: tiny canon divergence (fight is in Watson, not Pacifica.), anesthetized confession, older man, younger woman, female V, Reader is V/goes by V, fainting.

a/n: not enough Vik stuff on here, sad to see it. happy to improve it.

You'd had very little faith that you would actually win this fight against Razor Hughes. Thankfully, Vik had been there supporting you and had given you a little tip that came to your advantage, causing you an incredible win against the heavyweight in a major fight in Watson.

“Vik! Vik! I-I... I won..!" You run over to Vik as he scoops you into his strong arms, "I know, kid! Good job!" As his arms are wrapped around you, you feel a sharp pain in your stomach. It makes you gasp out loud and Vik pulls away from you quickly.

"Kid... Are you alright? Oh shit... I'm gettin' you to the clinic don't worry." That's all you remember him saying before you passed out, you remember waking up one more time just to fall asleep again quickly due to anesthesia.

You wake up feeling incredibly sore, nauseated, and hazy. It's an awful combination and you feel sick until you see Vik. You were always happy to see Vik. It was something you didn't tell anyone, besides Jackie and obviously, Johnny, but, you'd had a little crush on Viktor since you met him. You knew that he was old enough to be your father, but you looked at it more like a schoolgirl crush on a celebrity than anything else.

Except, he wasn't a celebrity... He was your ripperdoc. You watch, still hazy and anesthetized as he slides over to you on his wheely chair. Pausing the recording of his boxing match to talk to you. "Alright... V?" He moves a strand of hair out of your face and continues talking, "Razor hit you damn hard, caused an internal bleed."

You laughed uncomfortably, causing you a bit of pain in your abdomen and making you shift. "I still... I still kicked his ass good, Vik." Making Vik smile at you, his brown eyes sparkling under the lights of the clinic. You stare at him, hazy, the feeling of his eyes on you makes you feel blushy and anxious.

"Jesus, V. This shit is gross... You wanna just tell 'im?" Johnny chimes at you, annoyed and the sudden intrusion on the moment makes you hiss from within your head, "Please, Johnny, shut up."

"Vik?" You murmur, you're not thinking. This could be a mistake but you won't remember it well enough later. Vik is looking at charts but hums to acknowledge you and you take this moment to take the plunge, Johnny egging your drugged-out haze in the meantime.

"You're like... really pretty, Vik." That's all you can say, making Johnny metaphysically facepalm and consider slapping you around. Vik chuckles but has a mild panic in his eyes. You mean it, obviously, anesthesia does that to people. This wasn't the time, nor the place for you to be telling him all the mushy feelings you had for him. "V... say it." Johnny eggs you more.

"Thank you, V. I have been told once upon a time that I am, 'like... really pretty.' Glad to know I've still got it." Vik tries to play it off as easily as he could. He likes you as much as you like him, but you're young and headstrong, wouldn't want to be stuck with an older guy like him. After that, you slowly descend back into sleep, curling up on the chair and pulling the blanket over you tightly, little giggles and murmurs coming from your sleepy form.

Vik stares at you just for a second. You, at least, find him attractive enough to comment on it. Do you like him too? That is too good to be true and his life doesn't tend to work that way. Night City doesn't tend to work that way. He continues to monitor your vitals and file his files away, keeping an eye on you.

You open your eyes, slowly, they were still sensitive to the light in the clinic. You hear the crack of a bell on a screen and wriggle a bit, your abdomen feels sore but much better than it had when you last remembered. "Vik?" You murmur, nervous and sleepy.

Vik spins around in his chair to face you, a smile on his face. "How ya doin' kid?"

You giggle, causing some abdominal pain, "I thought I told you to not call me kid, Vik, and I'm feeling much better. Not surprising since you're the best ripperdoc in Watson."

You and he have an energy around you, awkward, you're not incredibly sure why. That is until Johnny reminds you of something, "You know you kind of told him about your little crush on him, right? You at least told him he was, 'like... really pretty.'" He teases you.

Oh no... Oh no, no, no. Is there any other way to say what you're feeling other than Oh fucking no?

"Vik?" You squeak out, more nervous than when you were at Konpeki Plaza. "Can I talk to you, please?" Vik sighs and nods, getting eye to eye with you. "I am... really sorry, Vik."

Vik shakes his head, it takes all he can do to be gracious. "It's fine. No big deal anyway." You turn your head in confusion and laugh, "Vik, I'm sorry it came out like that, after an emergency surgery while I was higher than hell but, I still like you. If you maybe felt the same about it?"

Vik smiles a bit, almost... giddy. Which was new altogether. You don't see him that excited often, it was cute. "Yeah, I... I like you too, V." He laughs a little as you sit up carefully, planting a kiss on his cheek and he goes back to watching the boxing match. "Maybe I should win fights more often." You muse out loud to him.

"Maybe you should stop needing emergency surgery though, just a thought." He considers back as you laugh, "It worked so well this time though, Vik." He pulls away from the match for just a moment to kiss you on the cheek before murmuring, "The last time it'll work. Now get some rest, V." To which you decide to comply, sitting in the ripperdoc chair with a blanket covering you as you comfortably lie there. The awkward energy dissipates between the two of you and is replaced with the new energy of comfort.

You remember when you and Jackie had toasting before the job with Dex, "To new beginnings." You had both toasted. Now, in your head, you'd decided that that toast was going to definitely go honored.

To new beginnings.

#viktor vektor x reader #cyberpunk 2077 #viktor vektor #v cyberpunk #cyberpunk #x reader #reader insert #x reader fanfiction #viktor x reader #x reader fanfic #cyberpunk game #cyberpunk fanfic

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cynical-sprite · 3 years

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Cyberpunk 2077 Preferences: How They React When They're Sexually Frustrated With You

Johnny Silverhand- You'd be able to tell immediately when Johnny is sexually frustrated. He'd be even more moody than usual, snapping at just about everyone and everything; everyone else would definitely notice as well. He'd want you close to him all the time, constantly touching you and pulling you close to him. When you point out his behavior, he certainly won't deny it, and he'll probably tease you, suggestively saying that it's your fault and that you should do something about it. He'll purposely annoy you until you finally give in, letting him pull you close to feel his hard cock, hands all over you as he whispers in your ear about how hard you've got him and all the things he wants to do to you.

Viktor Vektor- Viktor is very subtle about it, doing his best not to show it; it's only small details that give him away, and though others might notice him acting a little odd, you'll probably be the only one to figure out the reason for his behavior. He'll be a little less his usual patient self, getting irritated at things he wouldn't normally. Normally he enjoys his work, but, he wouldn't be in the mood to see any patients and he'd come up with excuses to get you to stay around the clinic with him. He'd probably try and distract himself by watching boxing, but he would often shift around in his chair and he'd yell a little louder than usual at the TV. When you'd point out his his behavior, he'd get a little flustered and brush it off, coming up with an excuse. As you'd kiss him and run a hand up his thigh, he'd sigh, melting into your touch and admitting you were right about the reason for his behavior.

Goro Takemura- Takemura would be even more intense and brooding than usual. He'd glare at just about anyone who dares to even look in his direction, and he'd grumble and complain about everything as he'd be more irritable. He wouldn't want to be around anyone besides you, making excuses as to why he needs you around while going out of his way to avoid everyone else. When you'd point out his behavior, he'd get flustered and deny it vehemently, insisting that it's ridiculous for you to even suggest such a thing. But, when you pull him close and kiss him, he melts into your touch, kissing you back a little more roughly than usual, confirming you were right about his behavior.

@werewolfgirl1995

#johnny silverhand self ship🎸#johnny silverhand x v #emily x vik vector⚕🥊#emily x goro takemura🇯🇵👔❤#johhny silverhand x reader #vik vektor x v #viktor vektor x reader #viktor vektor x v #goro takemura x v #goro takemura x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 imagine #cyberpunk 2077 self insert #my writing

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yns-world · 8 months

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cyberpunk 2077 masterlist

johnny silverhand

idol worship

never fade away

'till death do us part

boyfriend headcanons

jackie welles

idol worship

viktor vektor

idol worship

#yns world #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #jackie welles #jackie welles x reader #viktor vektor #viktor vektor x reader #cyberpunk 2077 v #female v

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buryustogether · 1 year

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fucked

viktor vektor x f!reader

word count: 2k

warnings/tags: pining, age gap, some descriptions of masturbation and sex, blood, street fighting, vik’s down bad

summary: while watching you in a street fight, viktor thinks about what’s holding him back from you.

author’s note: wrote this in class so it sucks

Viktor knew he was fucked the first time he saw you, in tow behind Jackie with a broken arm and a bloody smile that made his stomach clench in the best way possible. He knew he was fucked when you started coming around more often, bringing dinner and gossip from your latest jobs. He knew he was fucked the times you used his gym to train, and he would pretend to work while watching sweat drip down the back of your neck and imagine licking it off with the flat of his tongue.

Yeah, he was fucked.

And it was all on you.

Viktor exhaled a sigh as he locked the clinic door, then tread back down the dim stairwell and back into his cave - at least, that was what you called it. He’d shut up the place early in anticipation of the fight preparing to happen at this moment.

But this wasn’t one of his matches he watched on the network. This was a match taking place in a Kabuki back parking lot, filmed on a cellphone, streamed on an app that forced him to connect his tablet to his television so he could watch it without squinting. This was a winner takes all, loser gets shamed and maybe dies of a brain bleed later kind of fight.

And you were participating in it.

Grabbing the screwdriver he often fiddled with on his mechanical fingers, he dropped into his rolling chair so that he sat backwards and raised his arms to rest on the backrest. Absentmindedly, he began to tinker with his cyber appendages and trained his eyes on the screen.

When you’d come into the clinic last week and told you about this fight, he was wary, to say the least. You would be going up against Simon Shredder - an infamous street fighter known for pulling mantis blades on his opponents when the match wasn’t going his way. You had assured Viktor you’d be fine. You had Jackie there with you.

Viktor had snorted at that. “Like two of you is going to be a match for a half-crazed backstabber and his dozens of fans.”

“You’re always free to come along,” you had told him while you steadied the punching bag. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from glancing at the tops of your sweaty breasts, hidden behind your sports bra. “That is, if you can keep your eyes on the fight.”

Viktor twisted the screwdriver a little too hard and grimaced before shaking his hand out and flexing his fingers.

It was always something with you - wether it was flirtatious comments like that, or giving him a kiss on the cheek in thanks for a repair that lasted a little too long, or making yourself far too comfortable around him to be considered a friend and nothing more. He couldn’t count on his hands the number of times you’d stayed late to watch a fight and propped your feet up in his lap - dangerously close to his crotch, which he’d shifted to try and avoid your foot with. The last thing he needed was you realizing such a simple act could make him hard as granite.

Besides, what would a pretty little thing like you do with an old man like him? You had other young people chasing after you left and right. Like you’d ever think of him like he thought of you.

Shoving tongues down throats until neither of you could breathe. Grinding against hips. Gripping thighs and releasing small, desperate moans…

Fuck, he was a goddamn pervert. He needed to get a serious fucking grip.

Viktor turned his attention back to the screen. An official - more likely the one who arranged the fight and profited from either outcome - was speaking to both you and Shredder in the middle of the lot. Surrounding you pair were a few dozen onlookers, passing bets back and forth and pointing and assessing.

He didn’t focus on any of them. He was staring at you. Flexible trousers and a tank top, low enough to catch glimpses of the tight pink bra wrapped around your torso. Bandages wrapped around your pretty little knuckles, ones he’d wrapped himself time and time again. Eyes that were stern and intelligent, hard and steely and the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

The official wasn’t audible over the excited chatter of the crowd, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what he was saying. No hits above the waist. No enhancements, cybernetic advancements, or anything of the sort. Fight until mercy or… well, the alternative.

Viktor’s hand had stilled, his attention focused on your opponent. Simon Shredder was a big guy, bigger than Jackie, even. Muscles the width of tires, a height that would trump even the Animals bodyguards, eyes that had been replaced with cheap optical units that made it seem like his pupils were a bloody red. He dwarfed you in every sense of the word.

He could easily kill you if the desire arose within him.

Viktor found a deep, anxious sensation swirling about his belly. He continued with his tinkering. He’d worked with you for hours just for this fight, learning how to use an opponent’s weight and momentum against them. When Jackie was down for it, he’d watch you kids spar, commenting on techniques and offering critique, and it wasn’t uncommon to end the matches with Jackie lying beneath you, arm twisted behind him and tapping for mercy.

Sometimes, after you and Jackie left, he would drag himself to his apartment upstairs and stroke his aching cock to the thought of you pinning him beneath him like you did. He’d think of you rolling your hips against his, knees digging into the floor at his sides, your fingers curled around his jaw to keep his eyes on you while you raised and lowered yourself on him.

Viktor shifted in his seat as, on screen, the official moved to the sidelines. The fight was about to begin. A sense of pride swirled in his chest when you spoke and stuck out your hand for a shake - something he’d taught you himself to do before and after every match.

“To show you’re a good sport,” he had said.

“Good sport?” you’d asked and leaned back against his shoulder. “There’s winners and losers these days, old man. No more participation trophies, I’m afraid.”

And yet, after that piece of advice, you’d began to shake the hand of every opponent you went against.

Viktor snorted with distaste when Shredder glanced at your outstretched hand, then spat at your feet and readied himself into a fighting stance. Rolling your shoulders, you followed suit.

The crowd reared, shouting their praises and insults as you pair readied to fight. Part of him wished he had accepted your invite so he could be there himself to watch as you handed this guy’s ass to him. Or so he could be there to keep you from getting your ribs caved in.

There came the deafening shot of a blank fired into the air - because no one would be able to hear if the official yelled start - and the hollers of excitement multiplied.

You and Shredder slowly circled one another, footwork placed delicately and confidently all at once. You darted forward first. With a small leap to reach his level, you barreled your fist forward - only to miss as he ducked out of your way. You didn’t even have a moment to land before he landed a blow to your upper spine, sending you staggering forward for balance.

Viktor frowned deeply. Strike to the thoracic vertebrae. Discomfort later. Possible seize-ups and pulled muscles.

The crowd reacted with mixed reactions as you spun around, keeping yourself straight. It would take more than that to put you down. Digging your heels into the tarmac, you surged forward and raised your fist -

Only for your hand to be caught just inches from Shredder’s face. People groaned. People cheered. Viktor stilled. Though the feed was rather shaky, he could make out Shredder’s lips moving, his mouth close to your ear as he murmured something to you. Then he twisted your arm, causing you to bend to prevent it from snapping, and delivered a vicious blow to your face.

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat and he leaned forward, lips parted in shock. Your smaller figure collided with the ground hard, and you flailed slightly, struggling to roll onto your hands and knees. The person streaming the fight moved in the crowd to get a better angle. From there, the camera zoomed in on your face.

Blood trickled steadily from your nose. Your left eye was squeezed shut. Scarlet dripped from your lips as you shakily pawed at your mouth.

Viktor’s breath was stuck in his throat. Possible broken nose. Bitten tongue? Black eye? Bad enough he needed to prepare a replacement?

Fuck, he never should have let you do this. Never should have agreed to help you, never should have let you walk out the door this morning and wished you good luck. He should have kept you here, where he could look after you. Keep you safe. Make you feel good. So fucking good you couldn’t stand it.

Shredder stalked across the lot and towered over you, then crouched so that he could be closer to again murmur something to you. The official was already preparing to call it off.

But then it happened - just like it always did.

You pulled through. You surprised them all. Even Viktor, where he sat in his clinic miles away.

As Shredder leaned down to be at your level, you suddenly turned and cracked him across the face with your fist. He fell back onto his ass, stunned by your abrupt blow, and you took the opportunity to straddle his chest and deliver a series of whiplash-inducing strikes to his startled expression. Blood spattered on the tarmac. The crowd erupted.

“That’s it, kid,” Viktor said. “Fuck him up.”

It wasn’t more than thirty seconds of your incessant beating that Shredder tapped the ground blindly - mercy. The official appeared in view, dragged you off the hulking man, and raised your fist to the crowd.

Winner.

They cheered. They booed.

But you stood there, a smug and satisfied smile painted across your bloody expression, basking in the glow. Viktor knew that feeling; when it seemed like the world was at your feet and nothing, fucking nothing, could take it away from you.

He sighed and leaned back slightly, then glanced at the wrought iron doors that led to the stairwell. He was still for a long, long time.

“It’s bad luck to sit on these kinds of things,” Misty had told him one night, when he’d been drunk and let her do an aura cleansing and he’d blurted about his little perverted crush on you. “The fates are going to take this opportunity away from you if you wait too long, you know.”

He’d brushed her off at the time. You’d never go after an old timer like him. But yet… how was he to know if he never asked?

Viktor swore, then brought up his vision screen and called you up. It rang only once before you picked up.

“Hey, Vik!” you greeted on the other end. He watched your face, bloody and bruised, light up with a grin when you saw him. It made his heart melt and his cock ache all at once.

“Hey, kid,” he said and leaned forward. “Great fight tonight. Really. Knew you would pull through.”

“Hah! You don’t have to lie to me, old man. I know it didn’t look good.” Somewhere on the other end, he heard Jackie’s voice. “Sure, Jack. I-“

“Listen, kid.” Viktor paused, took a breath, and let it out. “Feel like swinging by the clinic? I can check out the damage, if you want. And I’ve got a few cold ones with your name on them.”

You smiled. “I’d love to, Vik.”

After you hung up, Viktor caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a mirror.

Oh, yeah.

He was so fucked.

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