Farrah spots Vicktor training and before they know it, they're caught in a heated exchange of words,
Posted: Fri Jul 11, 2025 12:07 pm
The sun was setting in a slow crawl over the spires of the school. It bled across the sky, setting the clouds aflame as it sank behind the high towers. The windows along the upper halls fractured that dying light, casting slanted beams across the polished floors. It sort of looked like fire. Though, Viktor didn’t care. He didn’t stop to admire it, or tilt his head to appreciate the artistry or the centuries-old architecture or whatever else the instructors always rambled on about. The ’prettiness’ of the Academy, the way the gardens were arranged with mathematical precision… blah, blah, blah. it meant nothing to him. In fact, it bored him.
Even now, he sat on the edge of his windowsill in his dormitory, one foot propped against the frame, watching as the light dimmed, and the voices of the campus faded into a low evening murmur. His fingers twitched restlessly against his thigh. An all-too-familiar agitation buzzed just beneath his skin, it wasn’t rage for once. It was mostly a need. A gnawing itch in his bones that wouldn’t leave until something cracked beneath his knuckles.
The day had been nothing but an insult to his patience. His professors were cowards, sputtering out old theories they barely understood. His classmates were dull, always trying to impress someone, as if memorization and brownnosing were signs of strength. And the halls... gods, the halls were filled with too much. Too much laughter, too much chatter, too much presence. Everyone walked too slowly, talked too much, breathed too loud. They didn’t even know they were prey.
He hated all of them.
Viktor stood, finally, pulling a black hoodie over his head in one fluid motion and laced his boots, hands moving quickly. There was no decision to be made, the training grounds were where he needed to go. The halls were mostly empty now, most students were tucked away in their dorms or lounging in the common spaces. A few passed him by in silence, quickening their pace as if moved by instinct. By the time he reached the outer doors, dusk had finished falling. The wind had picked up, cool in a way the indoor air never was. Viktor exhaled through his nose, and let the door slam shut behind him with a satisfying bang.
The path to the training fields was marked by tall hedges and flickering torches that hadn’t been fully lit yet, leaving the space in a soft half-shadow. His boots crunched across the gravel, each step slow not because he was lazy, but because he was conserving energy for something better. Ahead of him, the training field spread out like a graveyard of forgotten ambition. Archery posts to the left. Sword stations to the right. And in the center, the row of combat dummies, each one worn and patched.
He headed for the largest one, the one furthest away from the rest. The one no one used unless they were showing off. It stood crooked and scarred, wrapped in fraying canvas and stuffed with aging hay. One of its arms hung too low and its frame was tilted just slightly to the left from years of punishment. Viktor stood silently in front of it for a moment, then he knelt and unhooked the leather bindings from his belt. Viktor wrapped his hands with the bindings tightly. Each strip pulled snug against his skin, biting into old bruises and half-healed scabs. He didn’t wince because he didn’t mind the sting. He actually liked it.
Once his hands were bound, he stood again, and rolled his wrists then tilted his neck until it popped. Finally, without a warm-up, he stepped forward and hit the dummy square in the chest. The impact echoed in the open space. A solid thud traveled up his arm and into his shoulder. The dummy rocked back slightly, like it hadn’t expected the hit and Viktor grinned. It was solid… good. He punched again, and again. Each strike came heavier and faster. No rhythm or technique. Just a ton of force. Pure, unfiltered violence funneled through his body. The hay inside the dummy began to shift under the pressure. A puff of dust escaped from one of the seams. Bits of straw began to spill with every blow.
The corner of his lip lifted in a slightly smirk, his fists moved faster now, arms driving forward with grim precision. A hook to the ribs, an uppercut beneath the chin. A jab that tore open the canvas at the chest. He was breathing hard now, but steady. The kind of breath that came with violence, not fatigue. Straw littered the ground around his feet, carried by the wind. The dummy’s torso had collapsed inward and its left arm hung limp, like it was trying to surrender. One more punch and its neck bent sideways with a sickening crack. It sort of sounded like a bone breaking. His smirk grew.
Viktor stopped only when the thing could barely stand, sagging sadly on its post. It reminded him of weak men dying. He stepped back, his chest was rising and falling and his knuckles were red beneath the leather. The wind tugged at the loose strands of hair near his face, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at the ruin he'd made, Then, softly, like a quiet insult, he muttered, “Pathetic.” The word was meant for the dummy, maybe. Or for his professors, maybe it was for every simpering brat in the Academy who walked with pride they didn’t earn. Maybe even for himself.
He didn’t know and honestly didn’t care.
The wind rose again, rustling the shredded hay like dry leaves. Viktor flexed his fingers, there was a dull ache and maybe he should stop, but, the itch in his skin hadn’t quieted yet, not completely at least. So, he turned toward the next dummy and raised his fists. It was time to ruin another.
Her time perusing the Academy’s Clocktower while intriguing was cut short for how jarring it became. The ringing that happened on the hour was obviously loud but it was how void the silence felt after that, as if the lingering hum of the bells dragged the rest of the noise with it. It was too quiet for her, and Farrah was having none of that. Her shoulders eased the moment she walked out of the tower and she let out a sigh. While the inner workings of the clock were satisfying enough to keep her watching, they weren’t compelling enough to make her return. 3.5/10. She walked quickly to put some distance between her and the darn thing while throwing the back of her hand to her mouth as she yawned.
Only to stop in her tracks as the initial cracking sound filled the air. Not loud enough from where she stood, but loud enough for her to observe birds rise from the treetops near the training yard as they scattered across the setting sky. There was another cracking, followed by another, and another. The echoes of intentional force thrust on something, ones she could remember filling the air of training arenas, military camps, and the palace grounds her whole life. Whoever it was, they were making some solid strikes to whatever their target was. Her brows knitted together as she continued to listen to the beat down taking place next door, and a thought struck her. Could that be Xenia, or Richie out there? Sethos? If anyone was violently finessing something like a practice dummy with their fists, it was one of them. They were Martians; the bones of their enemies was what they cut their teeth on.
Walking turned into a sprint as her long legs carried her in the direction of the training yards. While she was warm now thanks to the oversized layers that clothed her, she’d hoped to be indoors before the sun went completely down. Seeing which one of her siblings was at the end of her trek overrode that want, and there was no scenario where the opposite would ever be true. Not when it came to them. As she moved along the tall hedges, she heard a final, sharp cracking noise followed by nothingness. Turning the corner she entered the main part of the yard to see… a wrecked dummy and someone that was not Richie or Xenia.
Farrah’s first reaction was to make a deadpan stare. She wanted a refund for being let down like this.
Her second reaction was to stare a little too long upon realizing who it was. Not that she knew much else about him outside of what he looked like. Taller than her, white hair that reminded her of Ivan and her sister’s little plaything, and eyes so light one had to squint to make out his irises, which were that gentle blue hue ice sometimes had to it. Except, nothing else about him could ever be described as gentle. Especially at that moment, not when he looked fresh from a fight and ready for seconds. It was a quality about this dude that had her looking at him more than once since he arrived. Farrah couldn’t make out what he said or if he even vocalized it, but he looked discontent with the dummy.
Feeling the wind as it brushed against her face snapped her out of her gaze and she tugged on the collar of her pink hoodie to cover the back of her neck. As Viktor moved on from one dummy to the next, Farrah took the opportunity to stroll closer to the line of them so that she could inspect the one hanging on to its post by a thread.
”If this were a real body I bet no one would be able to identify it.” Rah spoke with a hint of admiration in her soft tone as she looked at the dummy’s crippled condition. She reached out to push it back straight by its head only to watch it fall back sideways, just as she found it. She pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh at the scene. This dummy was going to need a lot of work, if it weren’t beyond repair. She turned her head to Viktor and raised a brow. ”Did it owe you money?”
She took the dummy by the head again and held it as if it were looking at the wired Hyoden Duke that stood some feet away. Rah made a pouty look and gave it a voice, repeating her question with some playful teasing. ”Yeah, did I owe you money?”
Farrah let go of the dummy’s head and punched it hard enough to send it bending the other way. She had managed to break one or two herself over the years when she was fully locked in on practicing, and knew good ones could take on a lot of punishment. She thought back to how Viktor looked at it after kicking its butt and figured the second one was about to be just as cooked by the time he was done with it. Would she be giving it the same look? She turned her head to peer at the taller man. ”If bullying the mannequins isn’t cutting it for you, maybe find someone with a pulse.” Her shoulders shrugged with her suggestion and her lips curved into a grin. ”Just an idea.”
ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: training yard ★ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ: Viktor ★ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ: Xenia, Richie, Sethos ᴀʟʟ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ:black boots, jeans, shirts, necklace, and oversized hoodie ★ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ: 'stop staring at this grumpus.'
Posted: Tue Jul 15, 2025 8:02 am
Viktor gripped the training dummy by its neck with one hand and drove his fist into its gut with the other, knuckles slamming into packed straw like he was still trying to pound bone and muscle into mush. He enjoyed the image of someones skull that could cave in with the force of his fury. But it wasn’t the same, it never was. The dummy didn’t bleed, it certainly didn’t scream and obviously could not fight back. The scent of hay and dirt filled his nose, and his lip curled in disgust as he landed another brutal punch to the side of the dummy, sending it rocking on its stand. The wood creaked and the sack of straw sagged, it was still standing, and that pissed him off more.
This school was torture, and so was the ridiculous peace treaty. They called it diplomacy- Viktor called it weak. War had always made sense to him, fight or die. Simple and profitable. It made a person powerful. Now they were forced into this sad ceasefire, expected to sit in classrooms beside their former enemies like it was nothing. Like blood hadn’t been spilled or would ever spill again. He didn’t buy it.
His brow furrowed deeper, jaw tight as he pulled back and drove his fist into the dummy’s chest once more, hard enough to crack through the wooden spine. Before he could completely ruin his second dummy, he heard cautious footsteps, coming up right behind him. Viktor turned in one swift motion, body tense and ready to strike. He would snap a neck without hesitation if someone was stupid enough to come at him unannounced. His eyes locked onto the figure approaching.
A woman, who was in a jacket, with her arms crossed, breath fogging faintly in the cold. Sadly, not a threat. He exhaled through his nose and turned back toward the dummy, already dismissing her. But then she had to speak.
”If this were a real body I bet no one would be able to identify it.”
The voice was amused, cut with a curiosity that stopped Viktor mid-punch. He tilted his head, just slightly, then flicked his gaze to her from the corner of his eye. Was she serious? Why in the hell did she think she could speak to him? Like they were equals? Like she belonged anywhere near him?
He didn’t respond, instead he simply let his silence answer her and threw another blow, this time to the opposite side of the dummy. A sharp crack echoed as the stand finally gave way and the thing toppled to the ground with a pathetic thud. Straw spilled out from its side like guts. He sighed in frustration.
Then she laughed and once again interrupted his thoughts, his back stiffened instinctively. He turned slowly, with a tightly clenched jaw and watched her by the broken dummy. She lifted its limp head and twisted it in her hands like a child with a broken toy and gave it a mocking voice. Like she was putting on a puppet show. Was this… a joke to her? His stare sharpened, and he finally approached her with eyes sweeping down her body in a way that wasn’t admiration, it was calculation. She was taller than most girls here, her frame lean and long with hair dark as a ravens feathers, stark against pale skin. But what caught his attention was her gaze, eyes the color of blood, watching him without flinching.
Hm. This woman didn’t seem afraid of him. She obviously couldn’t take him in a fight. But maybe poison was more her forte, or hidden blades? It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. He wasn’t careless enough to think her harmless. Just irrelevant, unless proven otherwise. Then she punched the dummy herself, and surprisingly hard. Hard enough that the stuffed torso bent beneath her fist. Vik’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.
Interesting.
He wasn’t impressed, but he noted it, like he was some sort of predator learning how far his prey could run before the chase began. When his gaze returned to her face, his expression was unreadable. Nothing moved except the subtle twitch in his brow, as if her very existence gave him a headache, “Are you mocking me?” His voice was low, and completely devoid of emotion, then he stepped closer, his shadow falling partially over her frame now, swallowing the dim light between them, “Would you like to volunteer?” The words were quiet, yet threatening. His feral eyes locked on hers, not once did he move, or even blink. Viktor just stood there and stared down at her, imagining what it would be like to wrap his hands around her throat just for thinking she could share the same air as him.
She saw how the frost-haired man’s gloved fist stopped as she said something about his previous disastrous looking piece of work. He was part way through the second, smaller practice dummy. At one point she fully expected him to unleash a furious roar at it, as if it would scare the thing so badly it’d oblige him and die on the spot. But he didn’t, and that was a disappointment. She wondered, then doubted that he knew how to. If he kept up with the same intensity on each dummy, the whole darn row was going to be out of commission well before midnight and the other gym bros were going to be so so sad in the morning about it. Not that it would have been either of their problems, they just went there.
He heard her, and was very certain he even looked at her. She said something, and there was no one else in the training yard for him to react to. Farrah looked back at him straight-faced, making sure to keep red eyes locked on his. She waited.
He said nothing, and resumed his onslaught. Her eyes remained locked on his face but they narrowed while she watched him. ‘Rude.’ Now, she wasn’t exactly expecting him to drop what he was doing and talk to her, and she gave him a pass when he spotted her the first time, but it was evident now he was snubbing her. Farrah was usually a forgiving person, but between his arrogant gym bro routine – you couldn’t tell her he didn’t flash his own abs at himself in the mirror every morning, – the bloody cold she disliked, and the fact her night was ruined because he wasn’t her siblings, he wasn’t getting any forgiveness, no. Not from her.
Farrah put her hands up to her mouth, both well into the large sleeves, and felt the warmth of her breath spread across the area around her mouth and up her cold cheeks. She had part of the picture of him completed, but wanted to know why he was busting these dolls like gushers. Was this his normal intensity, or was this rage-fueled? If it were, why was he so mad?
Did his girlfriend leave him? Did he lose his shot at the throne, kind of like Mister Kiki did? Did he lose the fight with the demon whale that popped up on the 18th Monday, November 11th of their current year? Was his the butt that Ivanna kicked that day? Or, was he left out of the sexy paint fight, also that day? The possible answers were endless.
He didn’t like her little joke with the dummy. He disliked it so much it was only now he stopped being rude and was approaching her. ‘Uh oh, he’s big mad now.’ Farrah stood in place while he approached and watched as he gave her a lookover. She recognized that look; it was the same one girls like her wanted from a man: the kind of look that said ’flip me over and make me tap out.’ Okay, maybe not exactly that, but somewhere adjacent. She gave him a single lookover too. He was obviously taller, with broad shoulders and most likely solid underneath his jacket. Her experience was telling her it wouldn’t be easy to take him on and win, but the brashness behind her eyes told experience to shut the heck up. Her chin lifted to look him in the face as he closed the distance between them.
“Are you mocking me?”
‘He speaks.’ Farrah gazed up at him and blinked her round eyes for a long pause before answering. ”You can take on big wooden dolls but can’t handle a little fun humor?” Yes, yes. She was mocking him now, though she didn’t set off to do it intentionally. But he didn’t laugh at her dummy joke and she filed it with the rest of his other rude ‘crimes.’ ‘But would you like me to… snowball?”’ Halfway through she decided for a man with a seemingly intimidating presence, not that she was intimidated or would ever admit to it, he needed a cute nickname to balance it out. ‘Kitten’ would fit the bill, but it didn’t feel unique to her new friend. Snowball was definitely a kitten name though. She couldn’t pick up anything from his face, and she kept her face blank as well, at least until she flashed him a small grin. ”You look like someone who would appreciate Yeti, but it’s too fitting. Wait– Snow Yeti. But only if you smile.”
He didn’t look like the type to smile. Too bad, his loss.
Farrah could feel the warmth emanating off of him when he stepped further into her personal bubble. This would have been her queue to simply back off or shove him away, but she didn’t move a muscle. He wasn’t going to make her move. Her eyes flicked up to the line between his brows, which she noticed were a couple shades darker than his bone-white hair, before looking back at his eyes. Her mind buzzed on whether or not he liked her doing that, looking him in the eye.
“Would you like to volunteer?”
This question carried a different kind of energy, as did his presence. It was one that caused an excited energy to surge through her, igniting her fight response something wicked. Farrah had already made up her mind about tussling with him back after he finished beating up the second doll, but now he was practically asking for it. She pursed her lips, pretending to think about it before finally answering. However, not with an answer to his question. Not right away. Besides, if she did, then that meant they’d have to move and she couldn’t keep warm if this walking, barely talking space heater was on the other end of a sparring ring.
Okay, her ‘five more seconds’ moment was over. Now it was time for business. Rah had a spark in her eyes, and she flashed the taller male a sly grin. Maybe she wouldn’t win, but she would try and the aftermath for the next day. She’d be satisfied if she could get a few hits in that would leave him remembering how she, the one he thought he could snub, kicked his butt this evening. She wasn’t going to make it easy. ”Fine, Snowball. But you also need to say the magic word. ”
She turned and walked in the opposite direction of him, unzipping her jacket and dropping it down to the ground where she stopped and turned back to face him. She still had a shirt and a sweater on, so her skin wasn’t completely exposed to the cold elements. This was only temporary; once they got moving, she knew she’d be just as warm as she was if not warmer, and too busy fighting this tough guy who looked done with her already.
Viktor stared her down at her, jaw tight, his eyes cold and unblinking. His eyebrow twitched, just a flicker, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to betray the tension building in him. Her voice grated against him like sandpaper, sarcasm spilled off her tongue like it was too practiced, too casual, like she didn’t realize who she was talking to, or worse, like she didn’t care. Still, she kept going. He didn’t interrupt, not yet. Letting her speak was deliberate, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was getting under his skin, even if his pulse was starting to thrum harder against his throat. Her words were all jagged edges, designed to provoke him and honestly, he recognized that, he had used it himself, plenty of times. Then, she had the audacity to call him a stupid, ********, nickname.
That’s what made the rage crack through, “Snowball.” His face finally shifted. Subtle at first, but unmistakable. The tension snapped and his lips pulled back into a snarl. Rage flared across his features. Then he took a step forward. barely even a step, more like a shift in gravity. But it changed everything. The air between them thickened. “You know,” His voice was low and heavy with menace, “The more you ramble, the more I want to-” He stopped himself, the words caught in his throat. ‘Break your neck’, that’s what he wanted to say. That’s what every part of him screamed to say. But even he wasn’t stupid enough to let that slip, not here. Serge would never let him live it down, and worse, it would mean losing control, and Viktor didn’t lose control.
Not where people could see it.
Still, the impulse was there, and it was brutal just under the surface. His hands flexed at his sides, curling in on themselves before he forced them still again. It made him crazy how still she was. How calm. She didn’t flinch when he stepped into her space. Didn’t even blink or move. Just looked at him with those stupid red eyes, clear and focused. Was she just reckless? Or had she seen worse? He didn’t buy it, his gaze dropped, trailing down her frame, scanning for any hint of strength, any proof she had real weight behind her words. Nothing about her screamed threat, at least to him. Viktor scoffed, more at himself than at her. He was wasting time, entertaining this bullshit. And yet… he couldn’t stop himself.
His eyes flicked back to hers, narrowed and challenging her to make a move, but she just stared back, unmoving and unafraid, and he hated that. Hated the control she thought she had in that moment, an illusion that she was the one deciding how this went. Then, just to add insult to injury, she smiled, it was a smug, knowing grin of someone who wanted to piss him off. His hand clenched again, this time not bothering to hide it. What the ******** was her problem? He wanted to break her composure and shatter whatever false sense of confidence she had. Maybe even scare her enough that she never spoke to him again. But when she paused, and pursed her lips like she was actually thinking about volunteering, he felt a strange flicker of anticipation. The rage didn’t leave him, but it twisted and morphed into something else. If she accepted, then he’d know that she was insane, or desperate. Either way, she’d made herself fair game.
Then she did it, she flashed that ******** grin and said it,
“Fine, Snowball. But you also need to say the magic word.”
His entire body went still and he stared at her like she’d just slapped him. Then, after a beat, he laughed. Just once, though it was humorless. If she thought for even one second that he’d say please, then she really was delusional. “Not in this life or the next.” He muttered darkly, then crossed his arms over his chest, and watched her with a new level of scrutiny. She was serious, this b***h wasn’t backing down. She was going to try. Maybe that would be admirable in a way to some people, but to him it was just stupid. His eyes flicked to the side- they were wasting time. Precious, useful time that he could be spending training. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it carelessly to the ground nearby, revealing the fitted shirt beneath that hugged the outline of muscle and scarred skin. If she wanted this, he wouldn’t hold back.
He mirrored her movement, watching her like a predator, “How about we just begin?” His tone was clipped, cool and a little irritated. Viktor curved his lips into a slow, sinister grin and lifted his arms at his sides in invitation, “I’ll even let you use whatever weapon you’d like.” His hands moved in a slight beckon, “Go on.” Then he tilted his head slightly, scanning the training yard, looking for anything she could use. “I’ll wait.” Once this little performance was over and she came at him with whatever reckless, half-thought-out plan she had, he’d make sure she remembered exactly who she was dealing with. Every bruise she left with would be a warning and every time she limped past him. He'd make sure of it.
There it was. That shift in his hardened features, and all it took were two words that made one fitting, adorable nickname. His snarl had her lips tugging her own grin wider and Farrah lifted her chin as she continued to watch him react. But that wasn’t what had the moment tasting as sweet as candy for her. It was what he said, what Viktor had started to say. A mischievous gleam passed through her eyes and she didn’t miss a beat to ask about it. “The more you want to what?” Her mouth opened with a silent giggle. She matched him with a subtle lean of her own and put her hands together behind her back, reveling in the building tension. “You can say it. I bet you… you’re about ready to just kill me, aren’t you?” She knew she was poking a polar bear who might have, like her, had flickers of murderous thoughts when someone grated at her nerves.
Her eyes trailed down to his hands and she saw how they flexed before she looked back up to him. There was a chance she had it wrong and that he was waiting for the right moment, but Farrah was convinced she was safe enough. That he wouldn’t hurt her. At least not outside of a fight. That if he really wanted to, she could have been put into as bad of shape as those training dummies already. But he hadn’t. She was standing across from him having a staredown, in as good condition as she was when she first got to the training yard. Under the surface she felt the tremors and charges that were coursing through her, but she was compelled to complement him on his show of restraint. Just to needle him a teensy bit more. Farrah spoke up again, this time in a slow whisper, but no less teasing than before. ”Does it hurt, holding back like that?”
He made it obvious he didn’t like what she said, even if he did laugh. Farrah feigned disappointment with a turning of her lips to make a pouty expression. Maybe it wasn’t nice what she said herself, but it was such an intense stance he took on the word ‘please,’ avowing to spend more than one lifetime avoiding use of the word. She was a little disappointed, but she already suspected him to be someone who would glare at balloons at a birthday party. It did have her wondering now what the dude did for fun. With an eyeroll, a giggle bubbled past her concentration at the mix of his stubbornness and his darkened demeanor. ”Okay, fine, fine. Forget I asked.”
There was a faint crease in her forehead as Snowball put an end to their back and forth in favor of starting their half-friendly spar. The way he beckoned her to pick a weapon and come at him was a little too filling for her sails. Farrah wanted to sweep that devious grin off his face with her boot and replace it with the same one of disbelief she’d caused just moments ago. She gave Viktor another lookover once he got rid of his hoodie, taking note of his muscular frame. It was what she'd expected, and there was noticeably more strength on him compared to the subtle but present definitions of it on her. What she lacked in strength she made up for in speed and precision. There were no doubts that he spent time on the battlefield, with the scars he sported. Her own flesh carried not even a blemish despite the fact she should have been riddled with scars and burn marks of her own. Farrah knew she was diving head first into what was likely to be more trouble than she originally planned for but it was too good of a draw to pass up and there was no turning back. Not when he was so riled up and asking for a fight too. She was happy to oblige.
She looked across the yard and what was offered but saw little in the practice weapons that caught her attention. There was an axe and it would have been nothing to modify it to her preferences on the fly but, like in most instances, she wasn’t about to reveal that particular card to Viktor unless she absolutely needed to. Farrah looked back over to her opponent for anything that might reveal if he had any abilities he was keeping under wraps himself, but nothing stood out. Only his eagerness to begin. Farrah peeled off her lighter sweater and dropped it down with her jacket, lightly bristling at how the cool air hit the bare skin her tank top didn’t cover. From her boots she pulled out her daggers, holding one in reverse in each hand once the sheaths were discarded.
Farrah didn’t stay in any kind of stance for long and instead made quick work of closing the space between her and Viktor. This was happening now and she tightened her lips, keeping her face blank and red eyes sharp and locked on her opponent. On the inside her heart was pounding against her chest and she was riding high from what led to this. For what was to come. Once within range she jumped and kicked a booted foot to his chest. She followed with a punch of one hand, and a swipe of her dagger with the other at the first opening she got.
OOC: If I need to change anything with the combat, please let me know!
She didn’t seem fazed by him at all. Not even a flicker of hesitation, not the smallest twitch of nerves. Instead, there was teasing, sarcasm, laughter… and Viktor’s jaw tightened at the sound of it- eye rolls. She had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. He narrowed his own in return, the muscle in his cheek ticking with restrained irritation. It hurt, holding back, she was right. Gods, it burned, he wished he didn’t have to. If they’d met on the battlefield, if this were war and not some ridiculous “play fight,” he’d have ripped her apart and savored every agonizing second of it.
Thankfully, she seemed to give up the moment it came down to him saying “please.” As if he’d ever beg for anything. The very idea was laughable, and it was written all over his grin. He turned, peeling his hoodie off in one fluid motion, the muscles in his shoulders shifting beneath scarred skin. He returned her gaze, his expression unbothered. She asked for this. He couldn’t help but wonder, even now, how their little skirmish would play out. She was smaller, the type who’d slip through most men’s fingers if they weren’t paying attention. Speed would be her weapon. Vik would have to anticipate that, catch her when she thought she was untouchable.
His eyes traced her without shame as she shrugged off her jacket. The goosebumps that prickled over her arms made his mouth twitch into the faintest of smirks. He imagined, briefly, if that shiver carried all the way down beneath the thin stretch of her tank top, if her skin everywhere would rise like that beneath his hands. His head tilted, dark thoughts curling into something that mirrored possession. Perhaps he’d collect his winnings in more ways than one.
Then she moved, and fast. Faster than he’d given her credit for. Before he’d even drawn in his next breath, the dark-haired woman was sprinting toward him, a predator in her own right. His gaze dropped instantly to the gleam of daggers in her hands, naturally, his heel dug into the dirt, bracing. It was already too late to sidestep, his best chance was to let her come closer, and allow her close the distance he needed.
A slow, toothy grin spread across his face as she leapt. The boot to his chest wasn’t pleasant, almpst knocked the breath out of him, but it was the sharp slice across his cheek that really got his blood pumping. Literally. That was it, he was all in this fight. Viktor’s hand shot out, seizing her arm before her third strike could land. He twisted and effortlessly tossing her like a sack of grain, and sent her flying. The impact cracked through the quiet. She slammed into a training dummy, hay bursting from its seams, the dummy itself toppling half-sideways under the force. Viktor laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound carried in the chill air.
Then a metallic warmth trickled into his mouth. He swiped his tongue over it, savoring the coppery taste before dragging his forearm against his cheek, smearing the blood across his skin like war paint. Pain didn’t register... no, it was only pleasure. He stared at the blood on his arm for a heartbeat longer, then turned his gaze back to the woman who had dared to draw it. He took measured steps toward her, slow enough to give her the chance to run, not because he was merciful, but because he loved a chase. His pulse thundered in his chest, a furious drumbeat threatening to split his ribs apart. It had been too long, far, far too long, since anyone had made him bleed. And this b***h of all people…
A low chuckle rumbled out of him as he reached her. He loomed for a moment, then bent, catching her wrist in a single, decisive grip. Without hesitation, he hauled her up, her weight nothing in his hands, and lifted her high enough so her red eyes were level with his. He didn’t speak yet, he just held her there, savoring the furious thrum of her pulse beneath his thumb. It was racing, just like his. He inhaled deeply, breathing her in, then exhaled slowly, “You can do better than that, baby.” The words slid out low, almost like a growl, then he drew his knee up hard into her stomach and released his hold, letting her drop.
Viktor stepped back, spreading his arms wide, a blood-slick grin cut across his cheek, “Come on, then,” He taunted, eyes gleaming with vicious joy. For the first time since this cursed school, he felt something close to being alive. And pain, well pain had always been the easiest way to remind him how much he still enjoyed the game.
The blade making its maiden’s draw against flesh made up for what her boot to his chest didn’t give. It seemed to do the trick, and she stole that smug grin right off his face to wear for herself. The peek of red gave off a little thrill she hadn’t felt in some time, at least not one her own guard could provide when they sparred. The glint in her eyes was short lived and before she knew it she was on a one-way trip into the practice dummies, courtesy of the frosty-haired brute. Farrah collided with one of them, back-first into its body, and she let out an involuntary cry with the clapping noise they made together upon impact. The slight bounce back had her on the ground where in her daze she felt a pain radiating across her back ribs. It wasn’t pleasant, but hardly a deterrent. Their fight was only just beginning and they were off to a great start.
Her breath turned white and dissipated with each breath while he laughed. What a new discovery. The taller man had been nothing but lemons and vinegar the entire time, so she didn’t know he knew how to actually do that. Maybe she was to blame for that, and he made it quite the fun challenge to get under his skin with just her words alone. The sound of approaching footsteps brought her focus back and she rolled forward to bring herself back to her feet. He was taking his sweet time closing the distance between them, but the way he prowled toward her had one of her feet taking a step back. Another had her bumping up against the broken dummy, and she shifted so that she could slide behind them and make them a temporary obstacle. At least until he got there. She dug her heels in and waited, her heart throbbing harder as she watched in silence. If he wanted a win, he’d have to pry it out of her cold, defeated hands first.
She was able to better see the cut along with how his blood was smeared across his cheek and on his arm. It was the exposed scarring that tore her stare away. Her pupils expanded for a beat as she looked over his garment with interest. Were there more marks, and what did they look like? How did the brute earn them? The human form wasn’t foreign to her and when properly conditioned and taken care of, it was a tool capable of many great feats. However, the way the man stalked like a calm storm and how he wore his own blood drew an attention not common from her. One that had her curious about the things weaponous bodies such as his could do in matters outside of a training yard or battlefield.
Her chin lifted so that she could match his stare with one of her own. She even threw in an impish grin for the heck of it, having noticed he was just loving those. “I didn’t know you knew how to laugh.”
He was full of surprises, and when she felt him take her by the wrist she was quick to try and pull it out of his grasp. It was one thing for them to be fighting, but for him to hold her like some small animal was another and earned him more than just the snarl he got. Farrah leaned in and snapped her teeth at him with an intense glare the moment their eyes met again. Her tone was slow and sharp and carried with it a warning. “Unhand me, now.” She could feel her pulse as it beat from her wrist against his hand, and in her temple. What he said next — specifically what he called her and how he said it — changed her expression from disdain to shock. The low growl had a chill rolling down her spine and settling into her stomach.
Her cheeks flushed with heat but before she could say anything, he knocked the breath out of her with his knee. Rah found herself back on the ground, one fist against the ground while her other arm wrapped around her stomach as she gasped for air. The sound of her breaths through gritted teeth were all she would allow through. If he was expecting some kind of howl of agony, he was out of luck. She wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. It was on now. Her head turned his direction. “Not your baby.” She corrected with an edge in her voice. Maybe in this p***k’s fever dreams, but not in the there and now. Farrah pushed herself to her feet and scoffed, then spoke in a deliberately sweet, mocking tone. “But you’re one to talk. Scared you’ll be bested by a girl?”
As much as she wanted to not waste time and entertain his request, she held off. Now she would be the one to take her time and perhaps try his patience in the process. Red eyes stared ahead as she considered what she’d seen from him so far. What it would take to claim a victory in this. He had obvious strength and a build that proved that, but was that the extent? With the dagger still in one hand, she pulled the pendant from its chain effortlessly and pressed it over the knuckles of her empty, fisted one. It obeyed under her hand like clay yet was as solid as ever when it was revealed to be molded into a crude form of brass knuckles.
In the same breath Farrah took off, surging toward the white-haired male. The anticipation did nothing to lower the speed in which blood rushed through her and she bared her fangs with a smile as she made the first strike toward him with her bladed hand. Her other, metal-lined fist was quick to follow with a hard thrust of its own to his ribs.
She shifted to one side and circled under his arm to position herself behind him, not only to keep herself briefly out of his reach but to take a small gamble against his stamina. He was warmed up, but he also expended some energy before they started their fight. That could explain his low-energy approach toward her, but she knew it could have just as likely been for some other reason. The Martian Princess climbed up his back as if he were a tree until she was on his shoulders. With the crook of one leg positioned under his chin, she locked it in place under the other and gave him a squeeze. His head acted as an anchor and she bit down on her smirking bottom lip as she held on, expecting the ruffian to quickly become a bucking bronco under her.
OOC:♫ I continue to not know what I’m dooooiiinnng but feel free to have Viktor respond however you see fit for himmmmmmm ♫
ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Utopia - Training Yard ★ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ: A cocky wet blanket of a Duke ★ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ: none ᴀʟʟ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ:black boots, jeans, shirts, tank top. necklace, and oversized hoodie ★ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ: 'Where is this punk from? Not Mars, I know that for sure...'
Posted: Fri Oct 17, 2025 10:41 am
“Unhand me, now.”
The sound of her voice, sharp and edged with venom, hit something deep in Viktor’s gut. Gods, she was furious. It made his teeth flash in a wolfish grin, “I’m terrified,” He murmured, voice low and rough as his eyes stayed locked on hers. And what a gaze she had. It wasn’t fear that stared back at him, it was defiance. Defiance that burned bright enough to make his blood heat. That look alone stirred something in him, a hunger that had nothing to do with victory and everything to do with her refusal to break. But first things first, he needed to finish this.
His knee connected with her abdomen, and the satisfying thud that followed made him laugh. She crumpled to the ground, one hand clutching her stomach. He could see the tremor in her arms as she tried to steady herself. She took it better than he expected, though, the little gasps she made only fueled him. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, “Still breathing, are we?” She had grit, he’d give her that. Maybe even too much of it.
When she lifted her head to glare at him, Viktor’s grin widened. There it was again, that delicious spark of homicide in her eyes. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?” His voice dripped with cruel amusement. Most people would’ve begged by now. Not her though, she was feisty and a little reckless. A woman who either didn’t value her life or didn’t fear him enough. And that… was rare. Then came the mocking, her mouth moved, spitting something clever and cutting that he barely processed before his jaw clenched. His expression flattened, eyes darkening. Gods, she was annoying. Did she want to die, or was this all just some elaborate test of his restraint? “Try me,” The words a promise rather than a dare. He could crush her if he wanted, she had to know that. And yet, she was still standing there, steadying herself like she actually believed she had a chance.
He studied her movements as she took off the pendant from around her neck, eyes narrowing at the way something shimmered in her hand. Something seemed to ripple, metal morphing in an instant into a weapon he didn’t recognize. Viktor huffed, impressed despite himself. “Cute trick,” He muttered under his breath, only to realize too late that she had distracted him. His focus snapped back just in time to see her dart forward. The blade caught the light and barely missed him as he twisted out of the way, but her other weapon, whatever strange force it was, hit him square in his ribs. The impact drove the air out of his lungs. Pain bloomed hot across his abdomen, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. ’How the ********> He doubled over and coughed trying to find air. His teeth ground together as he attempted to lunge for her, but she slipped away again, quick as a shadow.
He straightened with a growl, chest heaving, his pride burning hotter than the pain. No one had ever taken him down a notch like this, especially not a woman. He barely had time to reset his stance before she was suddenly behind him. A flicker of movement, then her legs wrapped around his neck, and locked tight. He grabbed hard onto her thigh with one of his hands. Her legs only tightened around his throat at the contact. Every muscle was straining, and the sound of his own choking filled his ears, “You ********> He reached behind him, trying to pry her off. His grip tightened on her leg, but she was relentless, squeezing harder. His vision tunneled, the edges went black. And… no, no, no-
Then, nothing. How mortifying.
When consciousness finally returned, Viktor woke to the taste of dust and the sting of humiliation. He rolled to his side, coughing hard, throat raw and lungs aching. The world spun. He had never, never, been choked out before. Not by a man, not by a soldier, and certainly not by a girl. The thought made bile rise in his throat. He spat on the ground, dragging himself upright. Every muscle trembled with fury as he fixed his glare on her. She was there. Smug as can be, maybe even a little too calm for his liking. Vik saw red.
Without thinking, he surged to his feet. His vision swam, but the fury carried him forward. He barely felt the pain as he stalked toward her, jaw tight, eyes murderous. His breath came ragged but steady enough to speak. He reached out again, ready to make her regret it. Except, his body didn’t listen. The adrenaline had tricked him into thinking he was fine, but the moment he extended his arm, his legs gave out. The world tilted violently and he stumbled forward. Before he could curse or even catch himself, he crashed straight into her, taking her down with him. His weight pinned her beneath him, and then, humiliatingly, darkness claimed him a second time. If he had been conscious enough to register it, Viktor would’ve called it the lowest moment of his life, being bested not once, but twice in the span of minutes. By her, of all people. The thought would haunt him later, gnawing at his pride like a wound that would never heal.
Her lips parted with a saccharine smile. It was a pleasure to watch the amused contentment melt from his face with just a word or two. By now he knew the answer to his own question as she hadn’t shown any signs of stopping. It was just more taunting now. She wasn’t often driven to a place her patience didn’t reach but here she was, reveling in their clashing against one another. With the way he grinned on and off like a maniac she could see he was doing the same. Farrah only widened her grin to his chilling stare. How he must have wanted to bring her down to her knees. Denying him that only riled her up more, made her crazier with her recklessness. He wasn’t making it easy to shut him down, wasn’t being gentle on her. She liked that and it was only going to make putting an end to their spar and his peachy, cocksure attitude all the more enjoyable.
Viktor twisted out of the way of her first swipe, but it was the second strike aimed at his ribcage that she was more keen on making. The sound of his immediate loss of breath was a welcomed note among their footsteps and the cool wind blowing around them. She stepped back just out of reach as he came at her. Fury surged through his demeanor. That strike had to hurt but she had a feeling that wasn’t the only reason he was fuming. His glower had a grin tugging at one side of his lips but she refrained from doing more to taunt him. Instead she moved before he seized on a chance to get a hand on her again.
Farrah half-expected him to get her from around his neck, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. His grasp on her thigh was hard enough that she knew she’d find some impression of his hand later. Her hold tightened as he continued to pry her off and she resisted the urge to grip him by his frosty-white hair. Instead, she beckoned him to finish his sentence. If he could with all that leg around his neck. “I’m what?” But he started slowing down. His hands were losing their strength behind them. Next thing she knew he was going down and she was going down with him with a chirp.
She didn’t know what kind of outcome to expect, but she definitely did not expect it to end this way.
Once her legs were untangled and out from under him, Farrah flipped around to see the man unconscious on the ground. Her brows raised and she quietly gasped at the sight. This dude wasn’t…? Was he…? She closed the space between them and moved her hand toward his neck. To her relief she felt his pulse against her fingers. She had not set out to actually kill the guy, nor had she intended to render him unconscious. Rah shifted to sit crouched a couple of feet from her sleeping opponent’s head and watched him in silence. Her eyes trailed over to the cut on his cheek, compliments of her. Maybe if he was nice she’d offer to fix it, make it as if it never happened. The metal that laid atop her fingers was pulled off, reshaped, and put back onto the chain around her neck.
Naptime ended abruptly and she watched as he rolled over and started sputtering back to life. Coming back after having your lights knocked out was such a jarring thing. At least it was to her the time or two she went through it. She was flying high from the unanticipated victory and the remainder of her adrenaline rush, but she had no plans to rub it in his face and little in the ways of vitriol left to do it with. Instead when he sat up and met her at eye level, she offered him a friendly smile and a small wave of her hand. “Good morning and good performance… baby.”
Okay, maybe there was a little bit of something left. He used the name on her first and she couldn’t resist the idea of using it back on him at that moment.
If there were ever a look that complemented the color of her blood-laced eyes, it was the one he was giving her. Forget the one his furiousness was giving her before their second round; this stare was icy and lethal. She could feel his desire to murder penetrate her bones. Farrah rose to his feet and stepped back just as he rose up to his own. With each step he took toward her she took one back. How was he even able to move soberly after she put him out like that? And… why, at a time like this, did she feel a heat stirring in her from the sight of his imposing form stalking toward her, burning with the fury of several Martian suns? She put her hands up in front of her. Crimson eyes narrowed back at him and the command she made took on the similar sharpness from earlier. “Hey Snowball–” She started with the realization she needed to get his real name. “Stop and sit dow–”
He moved faster, too fast for her to escape his grasp when he reached out for her. Everything that followed happened so fast. The taller man crashed into her and both of them fell to the ground. Farrah found herself on her back with his limp body pinning her in place, gasping for the breath he knocked out of her. “Get off of me!” She rasped. She pushed at his shoulders only to freeze when she realized he was unconscious. Again.
“Hello?” Rah shook his shoulders. He wasn’t dead this time either; she could hear him breathing. Could feel his chest expanding and contracting against her own. “Dude, get off.” Goddesses above, he was heavy. She already had aches here and there across her body from their spar and this wasn’t helping. Shaking became pushing but then she stopped momentarily. She let her head fall back to the dusty, hay-scattered ground beneath her as she drew in another deep breath. During all their back and forth the sky took on cooler blue colors and she looked up at it over his shoulder with pressed lips and a look of exasperation. Here she was at Utopia being crushed and smothered by a guy’s whole-a** body passed out on top of her. ‘So this is how I die. How embarrassing. At least I won’t be cold.’ Some consolation, but that was true. If it was colder, she couldn’t tell on account of Deadweight’s body heat keeping her warm. The thought was fleeting, but when it passed a more wicked one took its place. One involving their precarious position. Farrah went wide-eyed and her breath hitched. There was no amount of cold air that could cool her face down from that imaginative mental image.
She freed herself after a quick combination of harder pushing and body shimmying. Then, she left him there only long enough to grab her jacket, and slipped it on as she walked back. This time however she left a wider gap between where she crouched and he laid. ‘I could just leave him here.’ Rah hugged her jacket closer to her body and shook her head, rejecting the thought. Even if he was arrogant as all get out and tried to murder her earlier, it simply wasn’t right to leave him in the training yard in his current defenseless state, even if it was peace time.
It was by this same logic she didn’t grab a marker and draw on his face. The fact he actually looked more human when he slept, while observed and noted, had nothing to do with it. So she waited.
And when he finally woke up, Farrah rose to her feet and into a defensive stance. She wasn’t going to let herself get got by him again. “Slow down before you pass out again, my guy.”
ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: Utopia - Training Yard ★ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ: A cocky murderous wet blanket ★ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ: none ᴀʟʟ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ:black boots, jeans, shirts, tank top. necklace, and oversized hoodie ★ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ: 'Awh, what a wittle baby face he's got!'
Posted: Fri Nov 07, 2025 7:33 am
Even unconscious, he couldn’t escape that voice. It drilled into his head. They’d just met in the training yards and already she’d managed to wedge herself into his nerves. Now, in the dark fog of half-consciousness, her voice still scraped at the edges of his mind. And now someone was moving him. Was he on top of her? Ha. Maybe she was suffocating under his weight. Fitting, really. Her frustrating, infuriating, sexy voice wavered in and out of reach until his awareness began coming back. Viktor groaned as the warmth beneath him vanished, the ground suddenly cold underneath him. Either she disappeared into thin air or finally escaped him. How boring. He laid there longer than he should’ve, the humiliation simmering hot under his ribs. She’d seen him go down and he really ******** hated that.
No chance.
He stirred, sluggishly at first, then his eyes snapped open, fury still burning behind them, though slightly dimmed by the dizziness that followed. Everything spun for a moment. He felt drunk. What a miserable feeling. So this was what it felt like to get choked out. He’d laughed at people when it happened to them. Now he understood. It was awful… he already knew that he was going to enjoy doing it more. Her footsteps scuffed against the dirt. Damn it all, she was still there. What a stupid decision. Viktor rolled onto his back, ignoring her, and dragged his eyes toward the sky. It was later, maybe an hour, maybe more. How long had she been watching him?
“Slow down before you pass out again, my guy.”
That voice again. Grating and equally attractive. His eyes flicked toward her, just for a moment, before drifting back to the clouds. “You did this to me,” His tone was low, lazy and deliberately calm, “Come here and help me up.” He could almost feel her hesitation and the uncertainty that followed. His mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a smirk. He closed his eyes again and waited, patient as a wolf playing dead. When she finally moved closer, he lifted his arm, palm up, waiting for her to take it.
And when she did, he opened his eyes and caught hers. For one heartbeat, there was nothing there. No rage or warmth, just a void of emotion. Then he moved swiftly, his hand clamped around her wrist, and in one sharp, effortless motion he pulled her forward, rolled, and had her pinned beneath him again. This time fully awake, and every one of his muscles was burning with a heat he no longer wanted to control. His palms were pressed into the ground on either side of her head, his body hovering just inches above hers. Close enough that he could feel her breath catch against him.
He didn’t say anything at first, he wanted the silence to stretch. He enjoyed playing with his food first. Then finally the corner of his mouth curled into a cold grin. He shifted his weight to one arm and let the other drift, knuckles brushing against her jaw, thumb tracing the edge of her lower lip. The motion was slow, and his eyes never left hers. “Did you really think I’d just… let you walk away?” God, this woman, this reckless ******** woman. Of all people, she was the one who managed to get under his skin. And the worst part? He liked it. Liked the defiance in her eyes, the faint tremor in her throat that told him she wasn’t scared, not really even when she should be. He could feel his blood rushing throughout his body, reminding him how close she was. He hated that it felt good. Hated that his body betrayed the irritation in his head. His hand slid lower, resting just at the base of her throat. Not squeezing, not yet at least. Just feeling the rhythm of her pulse beneath his palm. His thumb traced her skin once. She was either brave or stupid. If anything, she proved she may be both.
He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper now, “Tell me your name.” Vik didn’t even know why he wanted it. Maybe he just wanted to hear how it sounded when she said it, how it would feel to say it back later, maybe in anger, maybe in something else. The space between them grew thinner by the second. He could smell her, a mix of sweat, and something sweet. Every inhale made it worse. His control was hanging by threads as he let his imagination run wild with all the things he wanted to do to her. Right there in the middle of the training yards for all to see.
Then, through the haze, came the reminder. This kind of public display would get him kicked from the academy. Serge would kill him. Then there was the so-called brother he was supposed to keep an eye on. ******** responsibilities.
With a sharp breath, he pulled back. His hand left her throat, his weight lifted off her, and he stood, slower than before, but steady. For a moment he just looked down at her, the mess of her hair, the defiance still sitting in her gaze. Viktor ran a hand along his jaw, smearing the dried blood from her earlier hit, and exhaled through his nose. “I’m bored,” He muttered half to himself. “And now I need a shower. Because of you.” He turned away and reached for his jacket, pulling it over his head. Then he glanced back at her over his shoulder, “Why don’t we continue this little game?” It was clear as day that he wanted her to come back to the dorms with him. Whether she accepted it or not didn’t matter. His eyes traveled down her body again, before meeting her gaze, a lazy smirk cut through the edge of his frustration. She’d come around eventually, he was sure of it. He could feel it. She was just as ******** as he was when it came to pain.
She stared flatly at the now conscious heap of brooding attitude, and crossed her arms over her chest. Was he really asking– no, telling her to help him to her feet? For that alone she kept her feet firm where she stood and instead waited for him to pull himself up. He’d done it earlier, and she drew a deep breath as she remembered just how bloodthirsty he looked when he stalked toward her. Whoever he was, there was no denying he caught her attention in the most intense, annoying of ways. Yet she found herself wanting to play, wanting to hold her whole hand over the burning wick instead of just brushing it against the open flame. Farrah made her approach and when she took his hand, everything slowed. The empty look in those pale blue eyes was the only warning she got before she went spinning.
Her heart leapt into her throat at suddenly being pulled down, and the next thing Farrah knew she was down in the dirt with him while his imposing figure loomed close above her. Again with being pinned down by this man! A frustrated snarl escaped her as she glared back up at him and she pushed the heel of her hands into his shoulders, but to no avail. This time he was awake and not easy to move. To the ground beside his hands she let hers drop and she laid still, keeping her eyes locked on his. She spoke with a low grumble, with no plans to forget about his move anytime soon. “You must be so proud of yourself.”
Farrah’s chest rose and fell and she matched his silence, only hearing the subtle sounds of mingling breath and the rustling of what the occasional gust of wind picked up. It was cold, but that only made the heat coming off of him that more obvious. And as if on queue, he’d taken the tingling sensations that washed down her skin and lit them up under his hand. Her face flushed with warmth and as his thumb traced her lower lip, she narrowed her eyes. His impressive presence, and being touched by a hand she knew could end her gave Rah a thrill she found herself wanting more of. Not that she’d give him the pleasure of discovering that. She waited a second more before nipping at the tip of his thumb.
She studied his face, though she didn’t expect to find much in his expression that would clue her in about what he said. Such a stoic dude, this one was. His question amused her and it reflected in the playful grin she gave. “So you wanted me to stay? You have the funniest way of showing it. Making faces like this—” Farrah paused to make the best impression of one of his murder-y faces from earlier before relaxing her features. “Doesn’t exactly scream ‘don’t leave.’” It raised a question of her own: why was he keeping her there, even after their spar? His hand at her throat did nothing to quell the growing interest in more, and her neck shifted with no other accompanying movement. She had more than one chance to leave earlier, but didn’t. Even now, though it’d be a bit of a real fight, she could get away. Maybe she should have. He was a butthead, and she cursed herself for finding some attraction to him despite that fault. Farrah lifted her chin slightly. “If I really wanted to walk away Snowball, you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
There he was, telling her to do something again. It was kinda charming in its own way. This time his face was closer to his, close enough that if she wanted, she could touch it with her own. Spit in it even with zero chance of missing. Instead, Farrah turned her head to look at one of his hands, then lifted a finger to graze up and down the side of his wrist. She let out a hum and bit down on her bottom lip, debating on whether or not to give up her name. “And why would you want that?” There was something appealing about the scent coming off of him and with each inhale she got another hit of it. She dropped her hand back to the ground and turned to look back up at him with a relaxed gaze and a little smirk. “It’s Farrah. Now tell me yours.” She lifted her head and booped the tip of his nose with hers. “Unless you want me to keep calling you Snowball. I don’t mind.”
The body heat between them dissipated when he rose to his feet, leaving cooler air to fill the space. She shuddered from the sensation. Her eyes met his, and only sharpened as the seconds ticked by. He put her down there, and all he was going to do was stare? Farrah extended her arm toward him and lifted an incredulous brow. “A hand, please?”
She had to scoff at his revelation, along with the insinuation that the blame for the dirt and sweat on him rested on her. He wasn’t wrong. He looked pretty disheveled. After dusting herself off, she put one hand to her hip. “Glad to be of service, but I’m sure you needed one before I showed up.” That was going to be what she did when she got back to her dorm: relax under a hot shower and let the remnants of the evening’s events go down the drain. At least it was, until he spoke up again.
Farrah blinked, finding herself lost at the mention of their ‘little game.’ Sure, she could call their short duel a game but— Her chin lifted and understanding took over. The smirk he offered only confirmed what he was suggesting. Tagging along with the taller, arrogant man she just met, who she’d fought with and won, who she admittedly been taunting almost the entire time, who was kinda like a personification of mortal danger that stared at her like a hyena did an antelope. Except she was no antelope. The alarms sounding off in her head were as good as calliope music during a carnival. There was no real danger there. Whatever he had in mind, Farrah was game. “Only if you’re ready to lose again.”
Red eyes studied the private space meant to be his home away from home, her boots tapping against the wooden floor as she stepped further in. It looked as big as her own quarters, though different in decoration and contents. Rah put her satchel down by the door, then turned to face Viktor. Her gaze ran up his body until they met his face. The cut was still there. “You got a little something….” She said and pointed to her own cheek to point out the smeared blood on his.
The image of this woman beneath him sent fire through his icy veins. Who knew that was even possible? The dust settled and she said something snarky…again. The corner of his lip twitched, “I am.” He was indeed proud of himself. Proud that he didn’t let his instincts take over and murder her. He would’ve surely been expelled then. Probably even started a war. For all he knew, she could’ve been a princess. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. And killing a princess was a big no, no. At least not in such a public place. He was also proud that he’d managed to get her on her back again, and this time, despite pushing at him for a little bit, she didn’t move. She could have, he was sure of it, but she chose not to.
But what really did it for him, what made him really proud, was that he’d brought color to her pale features with nothing more than a stroke of his hand. Confirmation that she was more into him than she let on. Or at least more into the situation. She didn’t need to be into him, not really. As long as she was down to work out some built-up frustration with him, that was enough. She didn’t seem like the type who wanted a relationship. But a one-time thing? Something casual? He could see it.
Her teeth caught the tip of his thumb, and immediately he wanted to ask why she was so quick about it. If she wanted to bite him, he’d welcome it. Perhaps later. Her face scrunched into something that almost made him laugh. Instead, a grin tugged at his lip, a cocky one, if he had to guess. The only smile he had, or so he was told. But his eyes flared with something else entirely, and that was intrigue, “…And yet you are still here.” His gaze traveled down, past his hand resting against her pulse, then back up to her blood red eyes. The way her neck moved beneath his palm when he touched her there made him tighten his grip- just a little. Like a wolf closing its jaw at the slightest movement of its prey, just to be sure it was dead. His grip wasn’t that firm, though. He wasn’t there to kill her, he’d already decided that. It was why he was so proud of himself… obviously.
For a moment, they simply stared at one another while he waited for her name. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she refused. Her name didn’t matter, that’s what he told himself. No matter how delicious it might have sounded coming from her. She turned her head to the side, her attention seemingly on his hand. Then her lip slipped between her teeth, and his eyes snapped back to her, glued to her mouth. He imagined biting down on that full bottom lip- a familiar metallic taste on his tongue. The devil woman’s finger brushed against his arm, and his entire body tensed. Restraint was now in full effect.
“It’s Farrah. Now tell me yours.”
“Viktor.”
His eyes flicked to hers as her nose brushed his, close enough that he could practically taste her. He answered far too quickly. So, he got to his feet without another word. He dragged a hand across his jaw, glanced at it, then looked back down at her, and the way she was looking at him. ********. It was hot. His lifeless stare finally broke when her hand appeared between them. Viktor huffed but complied, albeit reluctantly, pulling her to her feet. Leaving her on the ground wouldn’t help his plans of bringing her back to his dorm. He stretched his arms over his head, grinning at her again, the same challenging, cocky grin he’d worn throughout their fight, teeth bared.
She still had attitude, and Gods, that drove him mad. Then, music to his ears, she decided to take him up on his offer.
Back at his dorm, Viktor slipped past Farrah, ignoring the way she glanced around his room. There wasn’t much to see. If she wanted to judge him for it, so be it, he didn’t care. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair by his desk, then peeled off his tank top. It was practically ruined thanks to the devil woman, so he treated it as such and threw it in the bin. When he turned, he hadn’t expected her to be standing so close. He watched her for a moment until her eyes met his. His brow lifted with interest; this woman was forward. Then she motioned to her face, pointing out the blood smeared across his cheek. Both of his brow’s lifted now as his hand mirrored hers, fingers brushing the dried blood, "Hm.” At least it was mostly dry, not completely, though.
Viktor lowered his hand and took a step toward her. Without hesitation, he dragged his thumb down the side of her face and jaw, leaving a faint trail of blood behind. His hand settled beneath her chin, tilting her head up as he stepped closer. He scoffed softly in amusement. His eyes traced the mark he’d left on her, “Ah. It seems I am not alone.” It took him less than a second to let his free hand find her hip. He gripped it tightly, enough to pull her closer, and met her blood-red gaze again. The smugness was gone now, all that remained was intensity behind his eyes, “I do not like to lose games. Do you understand?” His accent was thick with a low growl, whatever restraint he had was gone. At this point, he didn’t even care about the shower. They’d just end up in the same state afterward anyway. His hand dropped from her face to her other hip, pulling her flush against him, “And I’m not asking for permission.”
She looked him in the eye as she tried out his name. “Viktor…” There was a sharpness to it that made it fun to say and she flashed him a small grin. The man hovering over her, who tensed the moment her finger touched him, had lingered behind in the training yard just as she did, long after their match was over. There were no other legitimate reasons for her to be out there with him. The only thing that was keeping her there was intrigue. That, and the fact he was committing war crimes against her with the way he stoked the heat that was building deep within her, while looking absurdly attractive while he did it.
And then Viktor had to go and remove his jacket and tank top like the menace to society he was. Rah’s breath caught in her throat as she found herself suddenly face to face with him, his upper body bare and no longer left to her imaginings. She had nothing to say, her red eyes wide and talking for her as she surveyed the curves and outlines that made up his upper body. Seeing a guy shirtless was hardly uncommon but it wasn’t often it kept her attention. She wasn’t bothering to hide her gaze.
Farrah remained still as he touched her face and left a smear of his blood, finding the gesture not only to be a little electrifying but dare she say, cute in his delivery. She dared. “Cute.”
When his hand touched her hip, her own instinctively reached out and gripped tightly to his wrist. His mood shifted and the suddenness in his intensity made the fear and desire twist into something she found intoxicating. She shot him a playful glare, and the corner of her lip perked up to the sound of his accent. It almost annoyed her that she hadn’t recognized it sooner, considering their mutual kingdom’s allied status. “Yes.” She teased in his native tongue before continuing in common, leaning her head in closer to further dare him. “Don’t just say it. Prove it.”
“And I’m not asking for permission.”
Her lips parted with a breathy exhale at how tight she was being held against him, the sudden impact rippling to places beneath her skin. Viktor was an arrogant a*****e with some audacity to make demands of her, of all people. But he was a hot, arrogant a*****e who she should have found more unbearable and not as entertaining as he’d been over the past couple of hours. “Oh, I’d never put it past you to not do that.” Farrah gave him an amused smirk, then lifted her free hand so that she could trace her fingers down his bare collarbone. “And I don’t give permission to just anyone either.”
“But if you were to…” Her finger stopped for a moment as she looked for the right wording for what she wanted to stipulate. She’d never experienced it herself, but she wasn’t so naive to what games such as theirs entailed. He was intense and rough and she knew he wouldn’t hold back with her. She didn’t want him to, except for at the beginning of a certain stage if they were to reach it. Ease her into what could quickly become unhinged. Rah’s finger drifted down the cut between his chest muscles and she looked up at him with a sly curl to her smile. “...make your first motions gradual, you would have it.”
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