Viktor X Reader Novels & Stories

Viktor cried, which I hadn't fully expected, though by now perhaps I should have the controlled version of him had quietly stopped being the only version some time ago, and this seemed like exactly the kind of moment the other version had been saving itself for. "Names," Camille said, eventually, once the room had settled into the particular hush that comes after the largest thing that's ever happened to you turns, briefly, ordinary. "You two have had nine months and I'm fairly sure you've discussed nothing." "We discussed plenty," Viktor said. "We discussed nothing," I said. "We discussed the studio wall extensively. We did not discuss names." Viktor looked at the two of them. Then at me.

- collectors of debts, takers of lives. Their presence strikes fear into the hearts of even the most hardened men. Each one a force to be reckoned with, ruthless and merciless. Their rule is absolute, their mercy nonexistent and I'm in love with one of them. Their rule is absolute, their mercy nonexistent and I'm in love with one of them. Viktor Ivanov, the Strategist. Alexei Sokolov, the Ghost, is the most quiet and reserved member but he's as deadly as a viper. Mikhail Volkov, the Butcher or the Volk and then we have Nikolai Rostov, the Punisher.

Sergei and Zoya followed, both of them smaller but faster. Dmitri waited until all three were in wolf form. His wolf burst out with all the rage and pain and frustration he'd been holding back since dawn. Black fur. Amber eyes. Larger than all three of them combined. Viktor attacked first,Dmitri caught him mid-air, jaws clamping around his throat. He threw Viktor into the stone wall hard enough to crack the ancient rock. Viktor didn't get up. Sergei came at him from the left. Dmitri spun and raked his claws across Sergei's face, blinding him. Sergei yelped and stumbled back, blood pouring from the wounds.

His mouth latched onto Raphael’s throat, sucking brutal hickeys as his hands pried Raphael’s legs apart. "Do you even know what the fuck you’re doing?" Xavier hissed. "I hate you," Raphael spat, breathless. "Then why do you need my cock to satisfy your little hole?" Xavier’s fingers found his entrance... wet, pulsing, desperate. He slid two fingers inside with terrifying ease. "It’s already so wet." "Dripping like a virgin bitch in heat," he growled. Raphael only moaned louder, clawing down Xavier’s back with his nails, blood mixing with sweat, with want, with vengeance.

“We barely do anything anymore.” Lukas blinked once. “…what?” “You heard me.” “Viktor—” “No seriously,” Viktor snapped, voice louder now. “You touch me like I’m made of glass lately.” “That’s not true.” “It IS and you know it!” Viktor laughed once under his breath but it sounded frustrated more than amused. “You used to look at me like you wanted to consume me.” and Lukas stared at him in utter disbelief. “We literally had sex a few days ago!”

His eyes flared, a dark, furious light that made my stomach turn. “You drew blood,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Interesting.” I backed up, keeping my eyes on him, watching for every twitch, every micro-movement, every tell of where he might strike next. My fingers ached, my palms slick with sweat and Alexander’s blood. My muscles screamed in protest, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t falter. Viktor’s attacks were precise, fast, and merciless. He slashed, feinted, jabbed, but I ducked, twisted, parried as best I could. Every motion was calculated, every breath measured, every heartbeat a countdown to survival.

and turned back to reach for the switch at the bottom of the stairs, and of course bumped again into Mr Tormentor-in-Curls. As his hand reached out to hold me steady, near my waist where the cami rolled up again, I thought I heard him gasp, or did I imagine that? I wasn't sure, as my body went into a hyper mode and gave an involuntary shudder, the moment he touched me. Because Vic never touched me. Ever. Ever since I knew him, there were many times when I patted him or smacked him (depending on my mood) but he always maintained his distance, something that impressed as well as irritated me.

she whispered, but her voice shook. “Maybe.” His hand slid up her calf, slow, under the hem of her dress. “But I’ve been watching you for weeks, Val. The way you flirt but never let anybody close. The way you go home alone to that tiny apartment and touch yourself thinking about something darker. I can give you that.” She tried to pull away but the cuffs held. His fingers kept moving higher, brushing the inside of her thigh. She was still a little drunk, body warm from the club, and shamefully wet already. Viktor noticed when he reached her panties. He smiled, slow.

High bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling like monoliths in a moonless night. Where was he? Then, a shadow moved, quick and low to the ground. I lunged toward it, but before I could even take a step, an earsplitting crash rang out. Books and whole damn shelves toppled over like dominos. I sidestepped just in time, and there he was. Viktor. Our eyes locked, hate burning in them. Simultaneously, we both drew guns and pulled the triggers. Click. Click. Empty chambers. "Suka," Viktor spat, echoing the curses in my own mind. Viktor sneered, his face contorted with malice. "You think you're fit to lead the Bratva? You're just as weak as your father."

He appears older than me or my age. When I try to get up, he offers his hand, and I grab it with a thankful smile. I gape at the feeling of his hand and quickly let go. They are cold. So cold that it sends shivers down my spine. He chuckles, taking steps back away from my private space. “Cold, right?” He doesn't wait for a response before he clarifies with a shrug, “I run on cold temperature.” Peering up, I stare into his eyes. A sharp breath comes from me when I stare into the most second beautiful pair of eyes I have ever seen. They're a mixture of red and golden and refuse to settle on a color. I gulp, “who are you?” “Viktor,” he grins boyishly. “Viktor Ben Drago.”