Pianoballadswiftie - Mannat

Human Testing: Viktor (Arcane) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Three words: Viktor, my love.

Note: I’m not a chemist. Please don’t fact check this, it’s all an excuse for the reader to get railed. Also, this was not proofread, but I may come back to it some other time that isn’t 1:30am.

Synopsis: An unfortunate lab incident results in a more than pleasant night.

Warnings: NSFW. Aphrodisiac. Smut with Feelings. Dirty Talk. Friends-to-Lovers. Lab Sex. Slight Public Sex. Brief Oral. Riding. Unprotected Sex.

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We know our friend in a certain light, but we don’t know them the way their lover does. Just the way their lover will never know them the same way that you do as their friend. Their mother knows them differently than their roommate, who knows them differently than their colleague. Their secret admirer looks at them and sees an elaborate sunset of brilliant color and dimension and spirit and pricelessness. And yet, a stranger will pass that person and see a faceless member of the crowd, nothing more.

guys there was a fic in which the reader and harry quarantine together and like they smoked and shit and the reader gave him a tattoo and they were like childhood friends but i can't find it now :')

i think it was somehow related to watermelon sugar since he said that the reader should've been in the music video but idk

“What’s that for?” Levi’s brow furrows as he watches you swirl your teaspoon in the little jar before you, only to pull it back with long, syrupy strands drizzling from the end. The candlelight catches in the flow: shiny and translucent as it drips down slowly to pool back in its jar again.

“It’s honey,” you explain with a light laugh, dipping the spoon down to repeat the same satisfying motion again.

“Well, what’s it made of?” The man’s distrust is plain in his tone, his eyes narrowing as he glares at the indulgence that you’d picked up on a visit into town earlier that day.

“It comes from bees,” you say, angling the spoon over the steaming cup of tea to your left—Levi's cup—to which you're intent on adding a teaspoon's worth of honey. But you suddenly find your effort halted— Levi’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, keeping it frozen in place as another long rivulet of the viscous, amber syrup sinks back into the open jar below.

You peek at Levi with a curious gaze, your head tilting ever so slightly to the side in confusion.

His lips part.

“It’s made of bees?” 

He sounds positively horrified. 

You almost snort at the revolted look on his face, shaking your head and trying not to get distracted by how easily his large, calloused hand circles the circumference of your wrist. 

“No, no.” You swallow down the laugh you feel bubbling from your stomach up to your throat, knowing it will only irritate him more if you let it free. “It’s made by bees—harvested from their hives. It’s sweet.”

“Why would I want my tea to taste sweet?” he asks gruffly, as though the suggestion is the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. “I want my tea to taste like tea.”

“But it’s nice.” You make an earnest attempt to reason with him, a lightly teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth which you fight uselessly to keep at bay.

“It sounds repulsive.”

This time, you really can’t suppress your laughter at his staunchly uncooperative tone.

You attempt to pry your hand from his grip, pressing against his hold to lean closer to the still-steaming cup of tea waiting for your spoon, but his grip refuses to slacken even through your efforts. His grasp is firm and unyielding, but not painful—and is still far from the strength you know he’s capable of.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t falter.

Instead, he tilts your hand upwards in response to your struggle, and you watch helplessly as the honey begins to inch down the neck of the spoon—creeping closer to your fingertips with every passing second.

“It’s a treat,” you argue with him petulantly while still endeavouring to free your hand, twisting it this way and that in his hold, though the jostling serves only to make the honey drip towards your fingers faster.

“It’s unnecessary, and frankly an insult to the tea,” he bites back with an equal insistence, his tone verging more and more towards genuine offence on the tea’s behalf with every syllable. 

Finally, inevitably, you feel the honey meet the tips of your fingers: a sticky, unpleasant sensation. You stop fighting, dropping the spoon back into the jar of honey with a plop, and watch how the edges of the utensil sink into the thick liquid as though being slowly swallowed whole.

“You made a mess,” he chides you with a familiar reproachful tch.

He watches as you survey the residue left on your skin, his upper lip curling back in distaste when you spread your fingers to let the viscid strands stretch and break between them.

“Besides, if I wanted something sweet I—mmph!” Levi’s impending lecture is cut short as your fingers press against his mouth, your index and middle digit slipping unbidden between his lips as they part in speech. Thoroughly blindsided by the intrusion, his jaw goes slack—allowing you to run the pads of your sticky fingers over the surface of his warm, wet tongue. 

You watch raptly as his startled eyes never stray from yours—not as you slowly withdraw your fingers, running them gently over his pink lips, nor when you lift your hand towards yourself and slide the very fingers that had just been in his mouth into your own. Only once you’re satisfied that no lingering traces of the honey remain on your skin do you pull your fingers back, smacking your lips together to savour the pleasant, saccharine taste left behind.

“Hm,” you hum thoughtfully, finally breaking your prolonged eye-contact to inspect the tips of your fingers for anything you may have missed. “Tastes sweet.”

“You’re disgusting,” Levi chokes out an entirely unconvincing jab, clearing his throat roughly. 

You glance back towards his face, making absolutely no effort to conceal your provocative grin. You raise your hand to your lips once more, tongue flicking out to catch the last bit of honey you’d overlooked. His eyes follow your every movement with a sort of spellbound attention.

“And you’re blushing, Captain.”

Ewan McGregor interview in the Star Wars Complete Saga Blu-ray