#ta!viktor

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 1]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x Fem!Reader Warning: reader being an incorrigible flirt, Viktor being shy as hell Rating: T (so far) Summary: Your Professor’s assistant is cute as hell, which sucks for him, because you’re going to eat him alive (in a good way).

You’re out of breath and confused, and anxiety is beginning to bubble up in your chest. You’ve been walking around the area for more than half an hour - darting between buildings and scrutinizing your surroundings - to no avail. You’d left twenty minutes early in preparation of needing to locate the building your class would be held in, but you were still going to be late.

You’d printed out the map and directions provided by the school, and you had google open on your phone! And you were still lost - though not according to any of your resources.

According to the school map, there should be a building in front of you, and not inconsequential in size: made of dusty brown brick, with industrial windows lining the exterior. But you see no such thing. It’s even more baffling, because according to google, you were right where you were meant to be.

You glance around again, and scoff. You’re standing in the middle of a bricked crossroads, in the center of the campus’ older quad - the vintage sector, as some liked to call it. You’d been running willy nilly around the same area for the last four years, both attending classes and sneaking around after parties, and never, in your entire time of being there, had such a building existed.

“Pardon me?”

A quiet voice behind you startles you out of your thoughts. So badly, in fact, that your phone flies out of your hand and lands face-down on the concrete with a sad thunk.

Immediately, the man behind you starts to apologize, but you just stare at your phone for a second before reaching down to grab it.

“It’s fine,” you say, blowing a little bit of dust off the screen. “I’ve repaired and upgraded this stupid thing like eleven times now. If it’s not bulletproof, then I clearly need to keep working on it.” You glance up at him with a reassuring smile, showing him the unharmed device while you get a good look at him.

He’s cute, you decide. Tall, slender, with soft-looking hair and the kind of warm, brown eyes that you’d always been a sucker for.

“You didn’t get my attention for nothing, though.” you continue, “Was there something I could help you with?”

The man seems to come out of his own thoughts, and takes a couple steps closer to you.

“The opposite, actually,” he says, his gaze darting down to the map in your hands. “You seem lost. I thought I might be able to offer directions, if you need?”

Your shoulder sag in relief, and you’re quick to show the somewhat-crinkled, blurry image to the kind stranger, who regards it with a miffed expression.

“Ah, I’ve been saying for years that the maps of the science quadrant need to be updated. You’re one of Professor Heimerdinger’s students, no?”

Your smile further widens, and you nod.

“If you’ll follow me, then. I can take you there,” he says, and starts off in a direction that you’d walked several times before.

You debate going after him, since surely it would be of no consequence to you…but a tiny voice in the back of your mind encourages you to wait.

The man pauses about ten feet from you, and turns back when he isn’t able to hear your footsteps. You fidget a little bit under his gaze, even though you don’t feel particularly judged or scrutinized. You’re even about to offer an explanation, when a look of realization suddenly dawns across the man’s face.

He immediately comes back to you, digging around in his pockets along the way. By the time he comes to a stop at your side, he’s already producing his student identification card, as well as his teachers aide ID.

“My name is Viktor,” he explains, as you study the cards he’s given you. “I’m Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant, and one of his teaching aides.”

You nod, pleased with not only the information you’ve garnered, but also his willingness to give it to you.

“Sorry,” you tell him, handing his items back to him. “It’s not that you seem untrustworthy or anything like that. You just… can’t be too careful, y’know?”

When Viktor starts walking again, you’re quick to follow.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he promises. “Our campus is safer than most, but I have… heard horror stories. As you said, one cannot be too careful.”

Your heart warms a little at his understanding, and you keep pace at his side instead of trailing just behind him.

You chat idly with him as you walk past buildings you’d seen dozens of times, asking him about his school life and what he found enjoyable about teaching. Eventually you start to pass buildings you’d never seen before, but he walks with purpose and familiarity; even when the little voice in the back of your head springs up again, you’re quick to quiet it down and continue following.

The pair of you round the corner of an old lecture hall, and you pause. There, nestled in amongst shrubs and ivy, is the building you’ve been searching for.

“What the hell is it doing all the way over here?” you ask, not of anyone in particular. “Did they just- pick it up and move it???”

Viktor answers with a quiet huff that you’re pretty sure is a laugh, and says, “Yes, actually.” Leaving you to flounder for a couple seconds in surprise before darting to catch up to him.

“You know,” he says again, “I am surprised you haven’t asked me about Heimerdinger’s teaching methods yet.”

The two of you come to a stop outside a heavy metal door, with a keypad and card reader set up beside it.

“You are aware of his reputation amongst the student body, no?”

You watch as he pulls out one of the cards he’d shown you earlier, and swipes it through the reader to unlock the door.

“I’ve heard everything by now,” you reply, helping him tug the door open enough for the two of you to slip inside. “The stories get more convoluted every year - like failing entire classes on multiple occasions, and having the highest dropout rates among the entire faculty.”

“And yet, you do not seem to have any worries?”

The hallway Viktor leads you down is one of the most nauseating spaces you’ve ever been. Worn linoleum flooring, and faded yellowish walls with a multitude of cracks, water stains, and the occasional cobweb. With a crinkle of your nose, you ask, “Do you meet many fifth-year physics students who are willing to believe information without checking the facts first?”

“You would be surprised.”

“It’s a miracle they haven’t been weeded out by now,” you sigh, realizing that you’re definitely going to have to cope with annoying classmates. “Since you asked, though, I don’t like to leave my decision-making up to other people - I’d rather try something first, and discover for myself that it’s not working out.”

As you and Viktor near a modern, out-of-place-looking door at the end of the hall, he asks, “What if everyone around you says that your tribulations would end in failure? Would you still try?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, and honestly.

Viktor seems pleased with your answer, though he doesn’t voice his thoughts; a quirk of an eyebrow and the barest hint of a smile is all he gives you.

“Plus,” you say, amplifying the mischief in your tone as you push open the door to the small lecture hall. “I had Heimerdinger in my second year. I’m well aware that he can be a hardass at times, but he’s a good teacher, and I learned a lot from him.”

You gently trail your hand over Viktor’s arm as you pass him - a friendly gesture to anyone who might be watching - and give him your cheekiest smirk. You manage to catch the slight widening of his eyes, as well as the near-immediate pink that dusts his cheeks, and you’ve definitely decided: he’s cute as hell.

—

The rest of the class goes off without a hitch, and is about what you expected it would be: it’s a three-hour class, and you’re more than grateful that you don’t have any other sessions scheduled on the same days. The syllabus seems hefty - although still doable - and you know for a fact that your stress levels are going to be through the roof throughout the semester.

You know that the workload is only to discourage students who aren’t serious about learning the material, but it still seems an ineffective way to rule out unmotivated individuals. You were still there, after all, and you were five years in.

At one point, Heimerdinger steps out of the room to make a phonecall, and leaves Viktor to continue speaking on his behalf. Explaining expectations that everyone will have implemented on them, as well as writing down and iterating office hours and contact information.

At one point, when Viktor’s gaze falls on you for the umpteenth time, you shoot him a coy smile, and delight in the way his face lights up pink again. 

Such a sight keeps your spirits up as the professor returns to the lecture hall, and announces your first assignment.

—

You stand up in your seat after everything is finished for the day, stretching with a pleased squeak, until your spine cracks and you’re able to breathe again. It doesn’t take long to pack up your things, as they currently only consist of a notebook, a binder, and a bunch pf pretty-coloured pens, but by the time you’re heading towards the door, most of your classmates are already gone.

“Ah, Y/N?”

You pause mid-step when you hear the soft lilt, and turn towards Viktor.

“Yes?” you wonder sweetly, and move a little closer to him.

It’s as if your very presence is flustering him, with the way he starts and stops his sentences several times. “That’s technically the staff entrance,” he finally manages, “It was closer than walking around the rest of the building, earlier, since there’s a fence blocking the shorter route to the main exits, and class was about to start-”

You wait patiently while he collects himself.

“All this to say; you would get in trouble, if you were to be caught in the wrong place.”

Your eyes quickly flick towards the Professor, who is thankfully in the middle of an animated conversation with a pair of other students.

“I don’t mind a little bit of trouble,” you say cheekily, slinking closer to him until you’re nearly touching. “It’s always more exciting to be somewhere off-limits, isn’t it?”

Viktor looks like he might combust if you take your flirtations any further, so you continue, “Besides, I don’t actually know where the proper entrance is.”

You note the way his shoulders droop slightly - though you’re not able to tell if it’s from relief or disappointment - as he begins to rattle off directions.

“You’ve seen how terrible I am with directions, Viktor.” You’re unable to help yourself, entirely enticed by his sweet reactions to your instigations. “Maybe you could show me? If it’s not too much trouble?”

—

Once the two of you are outside again, you take a deep breath of fresh air. The lecture hall itself wasn’t terrible, even if it was old, but the hallways were vile in everything that they were - from the colour of the walls, down to the distant stench of stale lysol.

“Thank you, Viktor,” you tell him, “I’d still be wandering around in there if not for you. Like some weird variation of the Backrooms.”

He looks puzzled for a moment, before shaking his head. “It’s nothing. It’s my job as one of your teachers to make sure you’re learning as much as you can.”

“That includes the layout of the building?”

“Yes,” he confirms, and the smile he gives you makes the butterflies in your stomach start fluttering.

You stand there for a couple moments, neither of you really sure how to say goodbye for the day, unsure if you even want to go your separate ways yet.

“Hey, do you have a phone?” you ask suddenly, and Viktor nods.

“I do,” he says, pulling the little device from his pocket to show you. “Why?”

You make grabby hands towards it. “Unlock it, so I can add my contact information.”

If you thought he’d been blushing earlier in the day, you’d have been sorely mistaken. His face erupts in red the moment he comprehends your request, and he looks as though he’s become acutely aware of the fact that he has hands.

Adorable, you think to yourself.

“I’m in off-campus housing, and most days, the internet is pretty spotty,” you explain, taking pity on his slightly-panicked state. “I…don’t really want to have to walk twenty minutes to the nearest starbucks to send an email saying I won’t be attending class. Or to ask a tiny question that doesn’t warrant an office-visit.”

Viktor nods quickly, as if you hadn’t just pulled your reasoning out of your butt - your internet was, in fact, fantastic - and hands you his phone.

You, in return, hand him yours, and the two of you quickly punch in your info. You decide to keep yours professional, despite how you’ve been teasing him throughout the day, and make sure to add your class details in the event that he forgets who you are.

You still put a smiley face at the end of your name, though.

When you hand your phones back to each other, Viktor finally bids you a good afternoon, and disappears back into the building. Your heart flutters again, and you find yourself suppressing a childish, giddy smile. You knew for a fact that it was against the rules for teaching assistants to have relationships with students from the classes they were teaching, not to mention it was a social taboo.

But then, you were both adults, and he seemed to at least find you attractive. There was no harm in flirting, and if anything more came from it? You were both aware of the rules, and if Viktor chose to escalate things, then who were you to stop him?

[gaybybirth]

Every Lover is a Madman - pt two

TA!Viktor x Fem!Reader AU (SFW)

Series Masterlist - Arcane Masterlist - AO3

Synopsis: After your meeting with Viktor, you're not entirely sure how the next couple of classes are going to go. And they are certainly something, especially when Viktor seems determined to give you even more attention in class than he had before.

Warnings: lots more sexual tension and flirting, a smidge of angst, a bit of spice, embarrassment and awkwardness because you and Viktor are trying your best.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: I'm really happy y'all are enjoying the series so far. Thank you for the love and support for it.

Viktor called your name and you were sure you heard the sound of him lifting from his chair, but you were faster than him. But even so, you kept up the brisk pace until you were back at your apartment, back against your bedroom door, eyes closed, panting. You had no idea why you’d said anything to him beyond a thank you. Why you’d opened your big mouth and practically told him you were crushing on him was beyond reason.

You thought about skipping class the next day. Again so when your usual six hours of sleep dwindled down to four. But you wanted to double-check with Heimer about your topic change and you knew there was going to be a handout for Stardust. You didn’t want to risk the potential zero for the assignment simply because you couldn’t face your professor’s assistant.

Still, you made sure to time your entrance when a bunch of other students came in so you could hide in the cluster. You sat near the back again, only daring a glance up to see if Viktor was in the room yet. He wasn’t. But you couldn’t relax.

You sat two seats in just in case Viktor was the one to pass out the handouts.

He and Heimer came in together five minutes later. Heimer greeted the class, Viktor a second after, and you kept your eyes glued to your laptop until Heimer spoke again, starting class. You didn’t even spare a glance at the desk where you knew Viktor was seated. No matter how badly you wanted to see if he was looking at you.

After Heimer finished his lecture, the world seemed to be on your side when he passed out the Stardust assignment. He even waddled past the two seats to hand you your own.

“Oh, Miss (Y/N), Viktor informed me about what the two of you discussed in regards to your topic. I look forward to reading your paper!”

“T-Thanks,” you said, not expecting him to say anything about it in the middle of class. But that meant you were off the hook about emailing him or even visiting his office again. That meant fewer interactions with Viktor.

But at the mention of his name, your subconscious took over and your eyes shot over to where he was sitting at the front of the room. His hair was a tad askew, eye bags puffier and darker, eyes narrowed at the computer monitor. His mouth twitched–into a smile or frown you shouldn’t tell, not from five rows away. He wore a white shirt today with a casual black scarf and dark blue jeans. You sucked in a harsh breath and quickly looked back at your laptop.

“Feel free to work on the assignment for the last fifteen minutes. Vik and I are here if you have any questions. Otherwise, you’re free to go. Have a good day!” Heimer waved at the few students who left. They left before you could pack up, taking away the chance to leave with a crowd. You opted to stay, hoping the rest of the class would stay until the end and all leave together. Then you were in the clear.

Thankfully, you were sucked into the assignment after the second question and ten minutes passed in the blink of an eye.

And then the classmate beside you and one a few rows up raised their hands. The one upfront muttered professor and you felt your heart skip a beat before dropping into the pits of your stomach. You tried to regain the thought you’d been writing, but it wasn’t coming. The gears in your brain were jammed. Hard.

Viktor stood beside the student. He kept one hand in his pocket and the other on the handle of his cane. He didn’t bend down.

“What can I help you with?”

You tightened your fingers around your pencil. You didn’t write a single word as you tried not to listen to Viktor answer your classmate’s very benign question. Viktor sounded bored as he recited the difference between autonomy and agency. You’d already answered the question they were referencing. Does the inclusion of Captain Shakespeare diminish Tristan’s agency in the makeover scene?

They peered up at Viktor with wide, expectant eyes. Nodding along to what he’d said. Like he was reading a story to them, not defining words he’d defined for them for the umpteenth time. Viktor didn’t linger when they said oh, I get it now, thank you. His eyes met yours for a second before you looked back at your paper. You still couldn’t write.

“Need any assistance?”

His hand went to the back of your chair as he bent down ever so slightly. You held your breath as you locked eyes. His brow pinched as he waited for you to respond. But the gears in your head were still rusted. His eyes were so pretty. Even when it looked like he was running on just as little sleep as you were. He was breathtaking. Literally. It forced you to hold onto the oxygen in your lungs like you wanted to hold onto him.

“No,” you breathed out.

Your next breath was coffee and caramel. You wanted to see if he tasted the same, eyes dropping to his mouth. It twitched into a faint smile.

“Miss (Y/N),” he whispered so quietly that you questioned if you’d imagined it.

It warmed you like a fireplace on a winter morning. Hot cocoa after playing out in the snow for hours. A fresh bath with vanilla suds and lavender candles. You crossed your legs and flexed your thighs until they started to shake.

“You seem a little distracted today.” He glanced down at your sheet. “Lose your train of thought?”

“Perhaps,” you muttered.

“Mmm.” He eyed the agency question you’d answered in full detail and smiled. “I wonder why that is.”

You’d wanted to say I wonder in response, but you were at a total loss for words. They’d been completely stuck in your throat. Trapped like a bird in a cage. You swallowed and Viktor noticeably watched your neck.

“Well if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.” His voice dropped to a lower octave and he glanced subtly to the student beside you. “I’m sure I will not be going far.”

Despite class ending in five minutes, a few of the students–including yourself–stayed late to finish the assignment. If you’ve finished, feel free to turn them in now for an extra credit point. Only half of the students who stayed turned them in. Including yourself. Your hand grazed Viktor’s as you passed it to him and you practically sprinted out the door, replaying the small interaction with him until your hand stopped tingling.

The next two classes, Viktor stopped by your desk. Whether you sat in the back or your original seat, Viktor made sure to find himself beside you. The first, to ask if you had any questions when you had the handout passed back out to you. Those who turned it in last class already have the fortune of it being graded. So Viktor returned them to each student, making sure to hand you yours last. Hands brushing. Cheeks reddening. If you have any questions about your grade, feel free to ask. You noticed he’d only said it to you.

The second was when Heimer had to step out of the class for a moment while a video played. A mini-lecture on plot structure. Viktor passed out handouts for the upcoming required reading–A House on Mango Street–and paused beside you.

“How is the paper coming along? It is due in a few days.”

It wasn’t getting any easy to talk to him. Especially since you’d seen him bending down to help students less and less. Yet as he stood beside you, he stood back and behind you, hands in his pockets, cane hooked around his arm, leaning forward as if he were checking out something on the handout. There was no one sitting beside you today.

“I’ve already finished it. I’m doing a once over again this afternoon and then I’m turning it in.” Your voice was hoarse as Viktor pointed at a question that didn’t need any explanation.

“Ah. Good. If you would like a second pair of eyes to check it, you’re more than welcome to stop by Heimer’s office. Although he will be out this evening, so I must admit only I can offer my assistance.”

You glanced over at him without pause. He looked completely unaffected. As if he’d just answered a basic question about the handout. He smiled and patted your shoulder as he stood. It felt like you hadn’t been touched by someone else in ages. You leaned just slightly into it before you caught yourself, sucked in a sharp breath, felt your heart leap to life as if you’d just been an example of the living dead.

He nodded and made his way back to the front of the classroom. You forced an uninterested face as Viktor flipped the lights and closed the video. Heimer came back in just as he was pulling the PowerPoint back up.

“So, where were we?” Heimer asked as he positioned himself at the front of the room. “Ah, yes, the climax.”

You had a choice. A very important choice.

You stared at your completed paper, already printed out. You told yourself you’d printed it so you could edit. To scribble and scratch your favorite red pen along the words and annotate to your heart's content. But you’d already done that. Three times. Your pen already sat capped, back in its usual spot on your desk.

It seemed you’d already made the choice, but you couldn’t get yourself to move from your desk.

You deliberated a while longer. Wondering if you were reading into Viktor’s words too much. Dreams that had found their way into your head the past few nights danced in the background. Teases. Nothing more than Viktor in the classroom, his hand occasionally drifting from the back of the chair to your back. Shoulder. Your cheek as he wiped away a stray eyelash. Eyes would linger on lips. Breaths would hitch. But your dreams never gave you a taste. Not a second of it.

It doesn’t matter. Whether Viktor had meant something with his words or not, you could still go and get his professional opinion. Even if you were wearing the dangerously low-cut tank top, its hanger discarded on the floor from when you pulled it out of your wardrobe. The yellow satin was tucked into a black skirt that hit mid-thigh and flared out. You wore a long necklace that slipped down into your cleavage because it looked good with the outfit. No other reason besides that. None at all.

The front desk man was leaving as you entered. Closer to seven than you’d meant, but your deliberation took longer than you had hoped. He waved you in, reminding you not to stay too long. You nodded, preemptively pulling your paper out of your bag.

Heimer’s door was cracked.

It inched open when you knocked and Viktor simply called out to come in. His sleeves were rolled up like last time. His hair even more askew than before. But at least it looked as if he’d taken a nap since then. His eyes brightened when he glanced up. Mouth quirked into a smile.

“I brought something for you.” You held up the paper.

“Excellent.”

You walked over on nervous legs and handed him the stapled papers. He plucked up and twirled his red pen, no hesitation as he started reading.

“Stay,” he murmured when you didn’t immediately sit, not looking up from the paper. “I am a quick reader.”

He surely was. He marked a few spots you already knew he was going to. You’d dedicated an entire three paragraphs to just Tristan’s name change purposefully to piss him off. He finished in no more than thirteen minutes. An agonizing thirteen minutes, having to sit there in silence as Viktor read your work.

When he got to the last page, you fisted your skirt and waited. It was agony, watching his eyes scan the last few lines. When he finally sat the paper down, your eyes met.

“It’s a very good paper. Very polished.”

“Thank you.”

“Although,” he mumbled as he turned your paper back towards you. “I must admit I did have my favorite parts. And my least favorite.”

He flipped back a page and pointed at the name section. You grinned.

“What? Not a…Tristfan?”

Viktor looked like he was fighting a smile as he sighed. He closed his eyes and shook his head, losing the battle as his resolve broke. He dropped his head in his hand and a laugh snuck out. A crooked smile curved his lips. You matched the expression.

“You did not need someone else’s opinion. This is an A paper.”

You swallowed and tightened your grip until you felt your nails through your skirt.

“But I have a feeling you know that already.” Viktor dropped his pen into the holder.

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond to that. He was right. You’d edited it three times, were solidly sure of its the decency, but he’d invited you. You wanted him to read it. Or, at least you thought you wanted him to read it. There were a fair bit of muddled thoughts mingling around in your head. Many of which seemed to have Viktor highlighted in them while the rest of it was blurred away.

“I am personally under the impression that it never hurts to get a second opinion. Right?” You swallowed hard.

“You are correct.”

You plucked your paper up from the desk and stuffed it into your bag. The sound of you sorting the random contents of it filled the office as Viktor watched patiently.

“Er…” You hooked your arm through the strap and rose up. “Thank you for reading it. You didn’t have to…offer, you know, I mean- You didn’t have to take time out of your evening to read over my paper.”

“Miss (Y/N),” Viktor murmured and you stopped, half standing. You straightened and clutched your strap for dear life.

“Yes?”

“If you have a moment, I would like to continue the conversation we were having the last time you were here.” His eyes seemed to blaze like the twilight sky outside.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot.

“You would?”

“I would.” He rested his chin in his hand and drummed his fingers against his jaw.

Slowly you lowered yourself back down into the chair. You kept your bag on your lap this time.

“What about it would you like to discuss?” Your voice felt trapped in your throat. It was difficult to breathe. To speak.

“You mentioned that some of the students come to me with…mundane questions that they might not want to bother the professor with.”

“I did.” You took as even of a breath as you could muster. When Viktor didn’t continue speaking, you filled the quiet. “It’s not because they don’t want to bother the professor, Viktor, it’s because…”

You weren’t exactly sure how to word it. Politely? Because they think you’re attractive. Cute? Because they’re crushing on you, Vik. Crudely? Because they want to fuck you. There wasn’t exactly an easy way to explain it to the man you already confessed to having the same feelings towards. The same feelings as the classmates who peered up at him with eyes that would’ve danced any other person into their bedroom.

“Because they want to be near you. You know, like, be close to you because they…like…you.”

You looked away from Viktor. Holding eye contact was difficult with him while saying something that you knew he was going to connect back to you. And that’s exactly what he did.

“And…that is why I make you nervous?”

You held your breath as you thought over possible responses. You’d already admitted to him that he made you nervous. But admitting that that was why he made you nervous? Telling him that you had a crush on him? Fucking nerve-wracking. But you didn’t exactly have another choice.

“Perhaps.” It was barely audible.

That was all you could handle. Like your fight or flight kicked in, you jumped to your feet. Just get outta there. You don’t need to hear the rejection. You thanked him again and started to turn towards the door, but the sound of Viktor standing made you pause. He said your name quickly, his voice a tad panicky.

“Wait.” He seemed to be breathing just as hard as you were. But neither of you had moved more than a few inches. He said nothing more.

You started to say his name, but when you searched his face, you noticed his eyes scan your body. Slowly over your legs, where the skirt flared out, where your shirt was tucked in. Stalling over the low-cut dip of your shirt, following the necklace chain up to your neck. When he got to your face, his cheeks deepened to a dark red and he jerked his eyes away.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I…My apologies.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes as he sat and shook his head. Your legs were too wobbly to move just yet. You imagined Viktor looked how you had when you were last here. Confused, vulnerable.

“Viktor-”

“This was a mistake.” You barely heard it. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “You wrote a great paper, Miss (Y/N), I look forward to the Professor’s reaction to it. He’ll certainly enjoy it. Have a great evening.”

You took a step to the side as Viktor rose and grabbed his bag. You thought about stopping him, but this was a mistake seemed to be like ice in your veins. Or perhaps icicles prickling your skin. Falling through cracked ice, plunging into the freezing waters below. Sinking to the bottom of an endless lake, the pressure growing until the air had been wedged from your lungs.

Viktor held the door open for you. He finally met your gaze when you stepped by him, sandwiched in the doorway. You seemed to search each other’s eyes for something that wasn’t going to be there.

You bit your cheek as you held your head as high as you could, trying to maintain some sense of confidence and nonchalant bravery as Viktor towered over you like he towered over everyone. What were you supposed to focus on? The close contact, this was a mistake, confessing that he made you nervous because you were crushing on him, the way he seemed to be having an internal argument about something?

The words left you before you even realized you’d started speaking.

“What was a mistake?”

Viktor shifted his weight between his left leg and his cane.

“Have a good evening, Miss-”

“Viktor.” You spoke his name in a whisper that seemed to chip away at whatever professional barrier he had put up between you in the last two minutes. You had no discernible truth that he reciprocated the feelings. In fact, you were solidly sure he’d already politely rejected you. But you needed to hear him outright say it. It can’t happen or I don’t want you. Just something to take the cold water from your veins and dump it over the heat flaming around your heart.

“Inviting you here when the Professor was out.” He glanced over at Heimer’s desk. “I’d thought I…could handle it if I was just reading your paper.”

The flames were fanned. You stood your ground.

“Handle what?”

Viktor fell silent for a moment. He studied your face, the small clock on a nearby desk outside ticked away. You got to thirty-something before Viktor spoke again.

“Perhaps the same reason the students come directly to me is similar to why I always inquire if you need assistance.”

Like Calcifer when Sophie told him she liked his spark, the inferno around your heart roared. That was as close as you were going to get to any sort of reciprocation or confession from him. You could tell as he seemed to wince at his own words. He shook his head and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth–probably in an attempt to rectify the situation he’d just created–but nothing came out except a quiet fuck. You never thought a single word would drive you absolutely insane. But it had. The hoarseness of his voice, the breathy whisper it dropped to. It kicked you into gear. But it felt like you were in second when you should’ve been in fourth.

You had to have been drunk on his words, on his presence in a way that had accumulated since the first day of class. It was the only way to describe why you hadn’t just nodded, wished him a good evening, and walked away. But it seemed whenever you were alone with Viktor, you weren’t making good choices.

Or, perhaps you were making the best ones.

You stepped towards his.

His cane bounced on the floor as your fingers tangled in his hair, his hands finding your cheeks. His back pressed against the opened door, keeping it propped. Noses nudged and chests rose and fell with a speed like you’d both sprinted a hundred meters towards each other. Your lips brushed. A gentle caress. Hovering but nothing more than a simple tease of a touch. You gasped as Viktor’s nails dug slightly into your skin. He sighed as yours scraped his scalp. You fought the disappointment as neither of you took the inch forward necessary to get there. It was a war to start to pull away. One you seemed to lose the second you started to move from his grasp.

Not a moment of hesitancy. He kissed you. Slow, like a secret. Mouth soft and tender. He dropped his bag to the floor and backed you up to the other side of the doorframe. The door started to close and you gasped, trying to say his name, and he quickly threw out a hand to stop it. He practically purred against you as your mouth parted and your tongues grazed.

His free hand skimmed down along your jaw, following the curve and swiping along your neck. He broke the kiss and glanced down, heat building on your cheeks when you realized just exactly where he was looking. His fingers trailed along the gold chain of your necklace until he hooked them around it and lifted it. He chuckled as he pulled the obsidian star pendant out of your shirt.

“I have been wondering what was on the end of this since you walked into the office.”

You laughed lightly, completely dazed and fighting the urge to put your mouth back on his. He turned the pendant over in his fingers before he let it drop back against your chest. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He frowned.

“(Y/N),” he breathed and you felt that similar icy feeling come back. “I feel as if I do not need to say that this…cannot happen again.”

He swallowed and stepped back. He reached down and plucked his cane up.

“I am your professor’s assistant. I help grade your assignments. It would be-”

“I know,” you interrupted, voice low. “A conflict of interest.”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded. “A conflict of interest.”

A bittersweet smile crept up. “Maybe I should continue going directly to Professor Heimerdinger with any questions, then.”

“Hmmm,” Viktor hummed. “Maybe I should continue questioning if you’d done the required reading. I have to make sure my students are keeping up with the work.”

You narrowed your eyes and Viktor grinned halfheartedly.

“What?” He pushed forward and you followed. The door shut behind the both of you. “If you continue to question my standing in the classroom, then I shall do the same with you.”

You stopped walking and scoffed as he pressed the down button on an elevator a few doors down from Heimer and his office. He stepped inside and pushed what you guessed was the one button. He seemed to be torn between a sarcastic smugness and the loss of something the both of you'd had for mere moments in the grasp of your hands. He let out a careful breath as the doors closed. His voice sounded strained.

“Goodnight, Miss (Y/N). I’ll see you in class.”

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 5]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety and stress, i wrote this without my adhd meds so, good luck you lot :S Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You officially start your career as a musician, and it’s nothing like you thought it would be; thankfully Viktor is kind, and does what he can to care for you, even though you feel like you don’t really deserve it.

On Monday, you finally find the energy to send an email back to the studio; apologizing for the delay and explaining that you’re a full time student. You thank them for the opportunity, and agree to set up a time to meet - whenever they’re available, of course, and you’ll do your best to work your schedule around it.

The professionalism and anxiety pretty much destroys your mood afterwards. You’re barely able to pay attention in class that day, too full of nervous energy to absorb the lecture.

Thankfully, Viktor texts you later and offers to send you a recording of the lesson.

—

On Tuesday, you’re able to recover a little bit. The only class you have that day is in the afternoon, and you’re thrilled to be able to sleep in for once; not as late as you’d like to, but waking at ten was still better than waking at seven.

You run into Viktor after your class, and the two of you end up grabbing coffee while he’s on his break. You talk for a little while, telling him about the meeting you had coming up on thursday and expressing your worries about everything.

He, as usual, encourages your skill and capability.

But the mood shifts when a couple of your classmates walk into the small cafe, and find seats not far from you. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice them - or if he does, he pays them no mind - and continues telling you about one of the most recent papers he’s read.

You, however, are unable to ignore the dirty looks being shot your way.

—

On Wednesday, you take the first test of the semester. There are seven of them in total - according to the syllabus you’d been given at the start of the course - worth twenty percent of your grade, and not including your final exam. 

Part of you is grateful that most of your grade relies on your ability to absorb information; as opposed to having to write, source, and properly format a multitude of academic papers. Sitting for hours while scouring through books and internet pages wasn’t your favourite way of learning, and more often than not it had you getting sucked down wikipedia rabbit holes that had nothing to do with the subject you were supposed to be researching.

Though you also kind of miss being able to add things to your bank of useless knowledge.

In any case, the test goes well, and you’re pleased with your performance. It had been challenging enough that you really had to think and apply what you’d learned in class, but still straightforward in its wording, and not purposefully convoluted as a means of confusing you.

—

On Thursday, you have your meeting at the studio.

You get lunch with Viktor beforehand, going over the prior days’ test and talking about which concepts you fully understood, and which ones you maybe had a little more difficulty with. He seemed to be fairly confident in your grasp of the course so far, going as far as revealing that you were among the top three students in the class.

“I would not be surprised if you get an invite to one of the winter galas,” Viktor had admitted, much to your surprise.

“I thought those were only for the faculty and university sponsors?”

“Typically, they are,” he’d explained, going on to tell you about the singular event at the end of the year where certain students could be invited to attend and talk about their experiences with the school.

“So it’s basically to get more funding?” you’d asked, and Viktor had nodded with a smile.

You were thankful that he’d been able to take the time to sit with you for a little while before your meeting, his presence temporarily mitigating your ever-present anxiety. You didn’t tell him that, but you weren’t sure you needed to; his hand on your shoulder and a gentle encouragement as you departed suggested he already knew how stressed you were.

Now, you’re waiting in a small lobby. Waiting to be called back into an office to discuss the next five years of your life. You poke idly at your phone, playing some silly, repetitive game that didn’t require any skill or thought, but it had cute cartoon cats in it, so it automatically held your interest.

Kind of.

It keeps you entertained for all of thirty seconds, before your thoughts start wandering. What would it be like to work with an actual studio? Would you have to write your own music, or would you have help? Thus far in your life, you’d gotten on by mostly playing covers - some with lyrics, some not; you’d only ever written a couple pieces, and none of them had words. God, how were you going to do this? You didn’t know how to write! You were a physicist in training, not a songwriter-

You ball your hands into fists, so tightly that your knuckles turn white and your nails bite into your palms, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. Wait a couple seconds, breathe out, says Viktor’s voice, in your mind. Again. That’s it, good girl.

You try not to think about how much the sound of his voice flusters you, instead focusing on the little encouragements and praises he’d give you: kind words, a pat on the shoulder. Maybe even his hand wrapped around yours, thumb smoothing over your skin, like he had done the weekend prior.

Your anxiety eventually recedes, though the fluttering in your chest remains. At least the palpitations aren’t from fear, you think, and slouch back in your chair.

—

Four hours later, you meander through the doorway of your home, dragging your feet and overwhelmed with exhaustion. The toe of your boot catches on the lip of the entrance, causing you to topple forwards. You barely manage to catch yourself on the way down, twisting so most of your weight lands on your knee instead of your face; and you still end up sprawled out on the floor surrounded by loose books, but at least you don’t have a broken nose.

You lay there in the front hallway for a few minutes, unmoving and unmotivated to get up. Even when the cold air starts coming in through the screen door, you remain frozen.

Disappearing into the woods sounded like a really good option.

You know that you’re just being dramatic, and that nothing particularly terrible had happened, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you know you’re going to be stressed in the coming weeks, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You’d gotten through your appointment without much issue - you’d talked through the contract with your new boss, and been honest with him about the fact that you were a full time student. You’d met your mentor, a couple of other people you’d be working with at some point, and gone over what would be expected of you should you sign with the studio.

Everything had been thorough and friendly, and it had been written into your terms that your schedule would be modified to fit your student lifestyle.

In theory, there was no reason to be anxious.

Yet here you were.

On the floor.

Seriously considering running into the woods to become a mushroom.

It would be easier than writing an entire album in six months, you think, finally gaining the willpower to push yourself up into a sitting position. You gather up the books strewn around you, carefully sorting them into little piles before sliding them back into the bags you’d carried them in. 

While the meeting had gone well, and everyone you’d been introduced to had been kind and understanding, you’d still been…criticized, to some extent. Or rather, you’d been told that at least two thirds of your first album needed pieces with lyrics.

“Your instrumentals are fantastic,” your new boss had said, pairing a couple more praises as you went through the CD you’d sent in weeks ago. Then, he skips ahead to one of your more impressive covers. “Your voice, though? That’s a gift not many people have.”

He’d been somewhat disappointed when you’d admitted that you’d never actually written lyrics before, and even moreso when you and your mentor had tried to come up with something on the spot.

It was obvious that they were looking for well-rounded musicians - not necessarily traditionally educated, but with at least some kind of natural talent that could be built upon. And you were certainly what they were looking for in most areas: you just…didn’t have a way with words. You couldn’t take your feelings and turn them into sung poetry.

Which was apparently a detriment only to you.

You’d left the studio with a modified contract - instead of five years, you were cut down to six months. If you could produce a worthwhile album in that amount of time, then the longer deal would be reextended and you’d officially become one of their artists.

And if not?

You didn’t want to think about that.

Your mentor had been kind enough to catch you on the way out of the studio, offering you a list of resources that you could look into to start learning how to write lyrics, as well as a few words of encouragement. You had thanked him, and exchanged numbers in case you had any questions, and he’d disappeared back into the building.

You’d stopped at a couple of bookstores on the way home, picking up as many of the recommended books as you could afford, and…well, now you were on the floor in your front hallway.

One of your cats chirps at your side, pressing up against you and knocking her head on your arm.

“You have no idea what kind of nonsense the world is,” you tell her, trailing your hand over her fur. She - as expected - says nothing, and begins to purr.

—

Your life gets a hell of a lot more hectic after that.

Every moment you’re not studying for class, you’re studying what it takes to write a decent song. Beats and syllables, word shapes and styles that are pleasing to the ear, how to breathe properly, what to avoid; it’s maddening, and not in a good way.

You knew that it would take longer than a week to grasp concepts that were entirely new to you - it had been years since you’d studied a subject that you didn’t already have some base knowledge of - but that didn’t do much to lessen the frustration you feel each time you try to write something, only to scribble it out minutes later because it sounded wrong.

You’d hardly had enough time to keep up with your classes before, but now?

Now you can hardly pay attention.

You’re tired, your sleep schedule is a mess, you’re stressed. Each time you walk into the lecture hall, you feel like the entire room is staring at you with malice, and yet you can’t find the ability to care, because all of your energy is being put towards spongeing up information.

You feel like you’re learning so little about music, that you even start bringing your books to class: you figure you know enough about physics to get by for a couple of days, a fact which proves true when you’re called upon to participate in some discussion taking place around you.

You can tell that Heimerdinger doesn’t quite believe you when you say that you’re ‘just distracted by writing everything down’, but he doesn’t press you on the matter, which you’re grateful for.

Viktor, on the other hand, is less gracious.

He wanders up to your seat once the lecture is finished, and finds a spot beside you. He doesn’t say anything while you pack up your things, but you can feel his gaze boring into you - you worry you’ll find disappointment if you look at him.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, keeping your tone lighthearted. Viktor sighs.

“Are you alright?” he wonders quietly, making guilt well up in your stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, but you know your resolve is slipping: and Viktor’s hand on your shoulder is the last straw.

“You’ve just started a very demanding job, and you’re still in class full-time,” he says, and then taps a finger against the cover of the book you’d been reading out of. “That, and I don’t think poetry is part of the curriculum.”

You cease gathering your things up, and slouch back in defeat. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mumble, “I’m in way over my head. I thought I knew so much about music, but now I- I’m learning entirely new concepts, and I have no idea how to apply them!”

Viktor quietly slides the thin textbook towards himself, glancing over the cover and opening it to take a look at the table of contents.

“I’m sure you didn’t always understand physics, either. Learning takes time, Y/N.”

“I know that,” you cry, “but I don’t have time! I have to make an entire album in six months! Less than that, really, because I’m spending so much time studying and not enough time actually writing, and a good chunk of the time I have is going to be spent recording so the writing needs to be done by then, and-”

A pair of warm hands cupping your jaw draws you out of your anxiety spiral.

“Darling, breathe.”

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks, giving you something to focus on while he helps you monitor your air intake: you’re amazed you don’t start crying, with how tenderly he cares for you.

It takes a couple of minutes, but finally, you sigh.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Viktor’s hands drop from your face, to your shoulders.

“We are going to head to the library, to go over what you missed in class today.”

“But-”

“No buts. We’re going to go over the entire curriculum, and we’re going to see which parts you need to study, and which parts you already understand. Then, we’re going to make a schedule around that.”

You cast your gaze away from him, anxiety beginning to claw its way back into your thoughts. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, with every ounce of warmth and kindness he possesses. “But I could perhaps be convinced to stop for a snack on the way there, should you desire one.”

You perk up slightly. “But the library doesn’t allow food.”

Viktor smiles then, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We can sit elsewhere while we eat,” he promises. “And maybe you can tell me more about ah…poetry and songwriting, is it? We could work it into your study schedule.”

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 4]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: None that I’m aware of Proofread: Not even a tiny bit Chapter Summary: You finally make a decision about your future, and Viktor shows his unwavering support - through kind words, reassurances, and also agreeing to attend a wedding with your chaotic family.

The rest of the weekend goes by without anything notable happening. Though, after a not-quite date with Viktor, anything you did would pale in comparison.

The pair of you had finished your coffee and sweets over an animated conversation. After regaling your predicament to him, Viktor had asked you more about your love of music - how it started, where you’d learned, why your parents were so against the pursuit of such a career. You were surprised by how genuinely interested he seemed in your hobby, not only in his inquiries, but in the way he listened to everything you told him.

“I didn’t take you for an avid lover of music,” you’d told him, and you’d shoveled the last bite of cake into your mouth.

“I’m not,” he’d admitted, “At least no more than anyone else. You simply make it difficult to pay attention to anything else, when you speak about the things you enjoy. Your eyes shine, and you radiate passion.” He lowers his voice a touch, “You are…wholly captivating.”

After that, the remainder of the afternoon had been electrically charged: walking down the street together, puttering from shop to shop while sharing quiet conversation, unable to make any kind of movement or touch that might suggest involvement. It had been a maddening kind of afternoon, as much as it was pleasant.

Now you lay diagonally across your bed, donning your comfiest pajamas with blankets haphazardly strewn around. One of your class textbooks sits on your nightstand, bookmarked to hell and back with facts you need to reread and sections you need to study.

Study. Right.

You sigh deeply, staring up at the patterns that your lamp makes on the ceiling. As if you could study at a time like this.

Not-a-date with Viktor aside, you felt your life falling to ruin around you: and the more you stalled on making a decision, the more it would continue to crumble. But then…whatever decision you made, would you not also lose something?

If you quit school, and took up music as more than a hobby, you’d be happier in many ways. You’d be able to pursue Viktor in the way you both wanted, and you’d be working towards a career you’re passionate about. But what if it didn’t work out? What if your parents were right, and you didn’t have what it took to make it as a musician? If you dropped out of school, and then failed at achieving your dreams…you’d have nothing to fall back on. Not to mention your parents would definitely cut you off for daring to go against their will.

But you knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity in front of you. You had to take the chance that you’d been given, meaning your only other option would be to juggle university and a full time job. Songwriting, recording, performing - all of that intermingled with studying and tests and projects and exams. 

You’d be so stressed, the mere thought of it makes you feel nauseous.

Y/N: I don’t know what to doooooo

You quickly send the text to Viktor, despite having seen him a couple hours earlier; he would understand your woes, or at the very least, put up with your complaining.

Y/N: Viktoooooor Y/N: Can you make the decision for me? Viktor <3: I’m sorry, darling Viktor <3: If I make the decision, it will be selfish Viktor <3: And that might not be the best course of action Y/N: If your decision would be selfish Y/N: Then that means you think the best decision would be to keep going to class Viktor <3: I did not say that! Y/N: It was implied

You’re unable to hide a smile as the little dots beside his name appear and disappear in quick succession. You are one of the few people able to render me speechless, he’d admitted to you earlier, and you’d been terrible at hiding your delight about it.

Viktor <3: Listen, I truly do not believe that there is a right or wrong decision here Viktor <3: Only what might be good, or better, for you. And you will not know how things will work out until you take action. Viktor <3: There are pros and cons of both options, and it all depends on whether or not you feel the gain is worth the potential loss. Y/N: >:C

Viktor <3: Why are you angry, dear?

Y/N: Because you’re right >:C Viktor <3: Perhaps a written list would help? Y/N: I have three lists sitting in front of me already Y/N: And I still can’t pick Viktor <3: Where- Viktor <3: Where did you get the number three from? Y/N: From the number of options? Viktor <3: There are only two, my sweet.

Y/N: No, there are three.

Viktor <3: Option one - drop out.

Viktor <3: Option two - stay and class while working a full time job.

Y/N: Yes, and option three - disappear into the woods and become one with the mycelium.

Viktor <3: Pardon me?

Y/N: Mushrooms don’t have problems, Viktor.

Viktor <3: Slugs.

Y/N: Mushrooms have very few problems, Viktor.

You snicker, able to feel his exasperation through your phone.

Viktor <3: Option three is null.

Viktor <3: I won’t go on a date with a mushroom.

Y/N: >:O

Y/N: But humans have so much DNA in common with fungus.

Y/N: Are you saying you wouldn’t like me if i were a mushroom?

Viktor <3: I would still like you

Viktor <3: I just would not want to take you to dinner

Y/N: I could be the dinner, if i was a mushroom

You watch in amusement as Viktor takes a solid thirty seconds to type.

Viktor <3: Hard no on mushrooms

Viktor <3: Not opposed to you being dinner, though.

Y/N: That took you so long to type.

Viktor <3: The other options.

Y/N: You’re bright red, aren’t you?

Viktor <3: That is not the subject we’re conversing about.

Y/N: You’re very cute when you blush, you know.

Y/N: A very pretty shade of pink.

Y/N: You’re very pretty, in general.

Viktor <3: You’re avoiding making a decision.

Y/N: Maybe! 

Y/N: But you’re a lovely distraction.

Viktor <3: Focus, dear.

Y/N: Mean >:C

The conversation goes back and forth for a couple minutes, until you yawn so hard you end up dropping your phone on your face. Viktor is mostly sympathetic when you tell him, promising you that he’s only laughing a little bit at the image his mind is conjuring.

You try to keep the conversation going, even after you crawl into bed and flick the lamp off, but the darkness combined with the comfort that Viktor brings is enough to have you drifting off into slumber.

—

The next day, you spend most of your time studying. Curled up at your desk, wearing bunny slippers and a blanket over your shoulders, surrounded by books and papers and little colourful stickynotes. Your hand aches from writing and re-writing, your butt aches from sitting for so long, and your back aches from having the posture of a shrimp.

It’s nearly four in the afternoon by the time you’re able to come out of your hyper-focus; stretching your limbs one by one, and twisting your torso until a series of satisfying pops travel up your spine.

You flop back in your chair.

It’s been good to get so much done, you decide. Your homework for the week is nearly finished, and you feel productive and confident about the upcoming test you were studying for. You could recite the material in your sleep, and you feel as though you’ve not only memorized everything, but found ways to apply it.

You feel good.

Even with the weight of a pending decision in the back of your mind, you feel good.

And then your phone pings, and you’re unaware it’s about to sour your entire mood.

You grab the little device off the edge of the desk and unlock the screen, and your heart sinks when you see the email.

From your mother.

“Fuck,” you grumble, opening the inevitable wall of text. You skim over most of it - mainly gossip about the rest of the family, half of which you don’t even speak to - but a couple things catch your eye.

“Your father and I forwarded the wedding invitation that ended up at home; your cousin has invited all of us, but she didn’t have your address,” you mumble the words out loud, following the passage for a couple more lines. There’s also something about ‘coming to visit’, but you’re pretty sure it’s just your mom waxing poetic about ‘missing you’ and how she ‘never gets to see her darling daughter anymore’.

You toss your phone onto your bed, and pull a housecoat on so you can run down to the mailbox to see if there’s anything there. Knowing your mother, she probably forwarded your things several days before mentioning it; when you open the box, it’s made apparent that you’ve been doing a poor job of keeping up with that chore.

There are at least nine envelopes stuffed into the little space, most of them crinkled or bent. A couple of coupon magazines, a folded flyer or two. “Bill, bill, definitely a bill,” you mumble, flipping through everything as you wander back into the house.

You eventually come upon a tidy black envelope, folded with pristine care. It’s covered in that weird velvet fuzz that makes a mess, and you wonder if the embossing around the edges is made with real gold leaf?

You tear it open.

And yep, that’s definitely a wedding invitation.

Great.

Y/N: Homework is boringggggg

Y/N: And my back hurts

At this point, texting Viktor about every single little problem you have has become cathartic.

Viktor <3: You do have a tendency to sit with the posture of a shrimp.

It’s his fault as much as it is yours, since he’s always so eager to text you back.

Y/N: Shrimps are cute.

Y/N: They have whiskers.

Viktor <3: They look like bugs.

Y/N: Bugs are cute too!

Y/N: Have you ever looked at those fluffy moths?

Y/N: Or bees? Y/N: Have you ever seen a bee fall out of a flower?

Viktor <3: I can’t say I have. Viktor <3: I will leave the bugs for you :S

Y/N: Viktor Y/N: Viktor, do you squish the spiders?

Viktor <3: No!

Viktor <3: I put them outside, and then wash my hands.

Y/N: Good. Squishing spiders is bad manners anyways.

Y/N: Even if they don’t pay rent, they still keep all the other gross little things away.

Viktor <3: Is there a reason we’re talking about insects?

Y/N: Because I’m bored.

Y/N: And nervous.

Viktor <3: Still trying to decide your future?

Y/N: That too!

Y/N: No, I got an email from my mom.

Y/N: She didn’t even like, face-time me or whatever.

Y/N: Just a professional wall of text sent from her work email.

Viktor <3: I’m sorry.

Y/N: It’s not like she’s a bad mom! Like she cares, but shes just so…

Y/N: I dunno.

Y/N: Anyways.

Y/N: I got an invite to my cousin’s wedding in a month.

Y/N: Fancy going with me?

Viktor <3: I thought we were going to wait until you made your decision, to start…

Viktor <3: You know.

Y/N: Dating?

Viktor <3: Yes.

Y/N: You’re flustered again, aren’t you?

Viktor <3: The wedding, Y/N?

Y/N: Pretty boy. 

Y/N: But yes. I was thinking more in a ‘moral support’ kind of way.

Y/N: As in ‘my family will absolutely drive me to drinking away my sorrows’

Y/N: And I’d rather not have a repeat of the last family event.

Viktor <3: What happened at the last event?

Y/N: I woke up in a barn.

Y/N: On a bunch of hay bales. Y/N: There was a cow

Y/N: I guess the bright side was that there were also a bunch of kittens

Y/N: But I still have no recollection of how I ended up there.

Y/N: Considering we’d been in an upscale hotel in the middle of the city. Y/N: The cow was friendly, though.

Viktor <3: That’s.

Viktor <3: You’ve mentioned partying several times now.

Viktor <3: Do you drink often?

Y/N: Nowhere near as much as I used to, I swear.

Y/N: I kind of actively avoid bar parties now.

Y/N: But I’ll get hassled if I decline the invitation

Y/N: And I’ll get hassled if I turn up alone.

Y/N: Please?

Viktor <3: Your parents won’t…assume anything about us, will they?

Y/N: I don’t think so.

Y/N: They might be judgemental, but they’ve done that to everyone I’ve ever made friends with. Y/N: They’ve singlehandedly wrecked most of my relationships.

Y/N: If they do assume anything, though

Y/N: I’ll make sure to set them straight.

Y/N: Assure them that we’re not together.

Viktor <3: And this is in a month?

Y/N: Yeah.

Y/N: I can forward you the exact details

Y/N: Time and place, etcetera.

Viktor <3: That would be appreciated.

Viktor <3: I can’t help but notice, though…

Y/N: ???

Viktor <3: This event is in a month.

Viktor <3: But you’re saying it like you think we’ll have to pretend to be friends.

Viktor <3: That is, that we’d have to pretend not to be involved with one another.

Viktor <3: Or that we’d…actually not be involved with one another.

Viktor <3: Does that mean you’ve come to a decision about your future?

Y/N: …I think so.

Y/N: I’m sorry.

Viktor <3: There’s nothing to apologize for.

Y/N: I know, I just. 

Y/N: I dunno.

Y/N: I really want to be with you right now

Y/N: But I’m also terrified to give up the stability of a guaranteed future.

Y/N: Not to mention avoiding whatever nonsense my parents would come up with.

Viktor <3: Y/N.

Viktor <3: I understand.

Viktor <3: I’m not disappointed in the choice you’ve made.

Y/N: You are disappointed, though.

Viktor <3: Only because I’ll have to wait longer to be close to you.

Y/N: And you’re…sure you actually want that?

Y/N: To wait for me, instead of finding someone more…

Y/N: I dunno, readily available?

Viktor <3: I want this. Viktor <3: And I want you. Viktor <3: I’ll wait for you as long as you need me to.

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 3]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: None that I’m aware of Proofread: Not even a little bit Chapter Summary: You and Viktor meet up outside of class, you tell him about your problems, and he tells you about the time he had a crush on a woman he’d never even spoken to.

You step off the bus, trying your best to look confident, and not like you’re completely out of your comfort zone. You’ve never ventured very far outside of your apartment or your classes - at least not while sober - and the sudden newness of your surroundings is putting you on edge. It makes you feel incredibly grateful that Viktor had sent a picture of the little coffee shop he suggested meeting at.

“It’s just across from the bus stop you’ll want to get off at,” he’d said, when the two of you had been sorting out your schedules over the past couple days.

You glance in both directions before crossing the street, making a beeline for the cafe.

A little bell jingles as you walk through the entrance, a glass door painted with intricate, cheerful designs. It’s just as eclectic as the rest of the establishment, with its worn checkered floors and mismatched furniture. It’s charming though, warm and homey, and the air smells of coffee beans and baked goods.

You glance around the room, and you’re not surprised that you don’t see Viktor. You’d departed on your journey early, to give yourself some time to order a snack and sit down while waiting. In the short time since you met him, you’ve known him to be a punctual man - you didn’t want to risk earning his ire by asking to stop for a little bit to eat.

Deep down, you know that he wouldn’t be bothered by such a thing, but your anxiety had gotten the better of you. What if he didn’t want to eat something as well? Would you just sit there and make him watch you while you ate? Or what if he did want something? Would you pay, since it was your idea? Would he pay, since he felt obligated out of politeness? Would you both hesitate and make the conversation awkward by trying to decide?

The easiest course of action was to simply arrive before him, and eat on your own.

“Hello,” you say softly to the barista behind the counter. She seems a little bored, but she’s friendly to you nonetheless. “Can I have a- just a regular cup of coffee? For here. And, um. A slice of that strawberry cake maybe?”

You move to point at the cake on display nearby, but a hand on your shoulder startles you into silence.

“Would you be able to make that two cups of coffee, please? As well as a butter tart?”

It takes you several seconds to calm down enough to discern the voice of the person standing behind you - too long, apparently, as you watch Viktor drop a twenty on the counter, as opposed to fumbling your wallet out of your pocket.

“You didn’t have to pay,” you tell him quietly, carefully scooping both cups of coffee and one of the plates into your hands. Viktor is quick to shush you as he takes his own plate, and the two of you find a quiet spot by the window.

“I do not mind,” he says, “I was not expecting to find you here so early.”

You set his coffee in front of him, and take your own seat.

“I left early with the intention of getting something to eat here,” you explain, plucking the strawberry off the top of your cake. “I didn’t know if you’d want anything, and I didn’t want to like, sit and make you watch me eat.”

“It seems we are of the same mind, then.”

You fall into a comfortable moment of silence after that, picking idly at your snacks and enjoying the overall atmosphere of the cafe. Eventually Viktor reaches for the little packets of sugar supplied on each table, meticulously counting out five to take.

The surprise must be clear on your face, because he quickly turns shy under your gaze.

“I know,” he sighs, “All the sugar is not healthy.”

“That’s not it at all!” You’re quick to interrupt him, and grab your own five pouches. “I’ve just never met someone who hasn’t recoiled at the amount of sugar I take. It’s weirdly refreshing.”

The two of you share a smile, and you go about fixing the rest of your drink, humming pleasantly when you take a sip.

“Y/N, could I make an inquiry that is…perhaps a little personal?” Viktor asks suddenly.

“It depends on the question, I guess.” You take a sip of coffee. “What do you want to know?”

Viktor fidgets a little in his seat, looking more awkward than you’d ever seen him. You wonder what the nature of his curiosity is, to have him so worried about asking.

“Forgive me if this is intrusive, but…the other day, when your bag was destroyed? You seemed incredibly distracted beforehand, and you’ve been less animated in class since then. I just wanted to make sure everything is alright?”

You’re admittedly a little disappointed with how benign his question is, albeit charmed by his concern. Not only his concern, but the fact that he’d noticed you were having an off-day in the first place. Had he been watching you?

You tap your nails pensively against the ceramic of the mug you’re holding. “Can I…be honest with you about something, Viktor?” you ask, trying your best to keep your voice from shaking. If anyone would understand your predicament, it would be him; he was kind, he was smart, and you were friends. He wouldn’t judge you.

“Of course,” he replies.

You set your coffee down, and sigh deeply. “I’m only studying physics so that my parents will pay for university.” When Viktor doesn’t say anything, you continue, “I know it’s kind of a crappy thing to do, and I feel like a manipulative asshole, but they were going to kick me out if I went to school for anything else, and I wasn’t ready to be on my own! I wouldn’t have been able to juggle a full time job and music school, and- and- I’m sorry.”

Viktor gently wraps a hand around yours in an attempt to comfort you, only worsening the fluttering in your chest.

“It’s not like I dislike physics,” you explain, “I think it’s super interesting, and I really love being able to understand how things work. But I’m just not passionate about it, y’know? Not like you, or Heimerdinger, or the students who sit in the front row of the classroom.”

Much to your frustration, tears begin to well up in your eyes, forcing you to furiously wipe your face on your sleeve. “Sorry,” you sniffle, “I- I don’t know why I’m crying like this.”

Viktor reaches across the table with his free hand, gently nudging your arm away from your face to replace the rough knit of your sleeve with the softer texture of a fabric tissue. His touch is tender, his thumb barely grazing your cheek as he pats a trail down to your jaw - fingers stroking the curve of your face in a startlingly affectionate manner.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he says, his touch lingering. “It sounds like you have been keeping a lot bottled up - does anyone else know?”

You shake your head. “I don’t really have friends,” you admit. “I mean, I have friends, but they’re the kind you attend parties and get drunk with. Not the friends you have actual meaningful conversations with.”

Viktor pulls away finally, and it’s only then that you notice how entirely red his face has gone - pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

“That sounds incredibly lonely,” he observes, and you shrug.

“It’s not too bad, usually. As long as I don’t think too hard about it. Anyways!” You take a deep, refreshing breath. “Now that you have all that context! The day my bag died, I got an email from a local studio. They help set up live performances, and they have their own advertising and merch setups - anyone who wants to be someone starts out with them.”

“They have a huge waitlist though - some people have been waiting for months to hear back from them, and I was expecting the same! But then they emailed me the other day, with- with a contract offer.”

“Y/N!”

The enthusiasm in Viktor’s voice startles you, and you nervously meet his gaze. You had expected some amount of disappointment, even from someone as open-minded as him, but instead you only find pride. Pride, and a hint of excitement.

“All I did was send in my sample CD,” you mumble.

Viktor squeezes your hand. “A testament to your skill.”

“You haven’t even heard me play anything!”

“Yes, I have!” he retorts, without thinking.

All at once, the pretty colour that had been fading from his cheeks, returns tenfold. He’s undeniably cute when he’s flustered; when he flushes pink and stumbles over his words for a couple moments. He makes your heart race and your insides turn mushy, and a little part of you is terrified that he’s going to feel your hand shaking beneath his atop the table.

“When-”

“A while ago, now,” he interrupts. “I think you would have been in your second year?”

You think back to your second year; you’d had one of Heimerdinger’s classes back then, too, though Viktor had not been present. You’d been a mess at that point in your life, struggling with the workload of university, life in a self-dubbed ‘party dorm’, as well as feeling pressured by your parents to maintain a job.

“The theatre hall!” you realize out loud, and Viktor nods.

For a brief two months in your second year of schooling, you had managed to secure and maintain a part-time cleaning job on campus. It wasn’t anything fancy or well-paying, but you had been fortunate enough to have one of the less-grueling positions among the staff: you’d been the one to clean the old theatre, and make it sparkle, before every performance.

Your boss hadn’t strictly forbidden you from touching specific parts of the auditorium - namely any instruments that were a permanent fixture - but it had been heavily implied that if you broke anything, you’d be the one paying for it.

You’d been scared into not touching anything for a couple days, until the enticement of playing an actual grand piano became too strong.

“I was in the building one afternoon, running some errands for Heimerdinger,” Viktor explains, “I was waiting in the hallway so I wouldn’t disturb a lecture, when I started hearing music. I hadn’t known that there were any rehearsals going on, but I know students are typically allowed to sit in on those. I slipped in the back of the theatre, sat down to listen, and…there you were.”

Shyness overtakes you, when he regards you with such awe; as if he still thinks of you as some mysterious, beautiful creature.

“You came back a couple times after that, didn’t you?” you ask, and he nods.

“I did not do it in some lecherous kind of way!” he promises, “I was in the building a few times afterwards, and you happened to be playing - I don’t get many opportunities to listen to live music.”

You bite back a laugh, and assure him that you’re not - nor had you ever been - weirded out by his presence. “I did notice you, though,” you tell him. “I could never see your face or features, but I knew you were the same person. I wish I’d said hello, or waved, or…something.”

“Perhaps it is best you didn’t,” Viktor says, mischief turning up the corners of his mouth. “I fear I would have combusted the moment you acknowledged me.”

You’re unable to hold back any longer, and the two of you burst into a quiet fit of giggles. How easy it is to laugh with him, you think. How comfortable he makes you feel - how warm, how relaxed, how seen. You barely even know him, and it feels like he’s been a part of your life for years.

And your smile falls.

“You know,” you sigh, saddened by the thought, “If I accept a contract with the Firelights, I…won’t be able to keep going to class. Pretty much all my time will be dedicated to writing music, performing, and recording.”

Viktor strokes his thumb over the back of your hand, his skin warm against yours. “I will not lie,” he says. “The thought of not seeing you in class is unpleasant. You’ve somehow become the brightest part of my day - though I am not entirely shocked. You’re even more captivating than you were all those years ago.”

Heat floods into your face, and you can hear your pulse quicken in your ears.

“You know,” you squeak, earning a lopsided smirk from your companion. “Just because we won’t see each other in class, doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other altogether.”

Viktor is pensive for a couple moments, continuing to rub soothing circles into your hand.

“Perhaps…we should wait until you officially drop your classes,” he suggests. “We are already on thin ice being out together today.”

“There aren’t any rules against students being friends with their TA’s,” you pout.

“But there are express rules against romantic relationships,” he supplies.

If your face was hot before, you’re now encroaching on scalding, and you’re absolutely certain that Viktor can see how flustered you are. Especially with the way you stumble over your words, choking on half-formed sentences. Is this how you’d made him feel whenever you’d flirted with him?

“I-Is this a date?” you manage to ask.

“No.”

Your heart sinks.

“However,” he continues, “If you choose to pursue music, and drop your courses…I would very much like to take you to dinner sometime.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “And what if I don’t drop my classes?” you ask. “What if I find a way to balance music and physics. You’ll still be my TA, and we’d definitely get in trouble if we were caught together. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your job.”

Viktor smiles at you then, takes a quick glance around, and brings your hand up to his lips. “In that case, we’d simply have to be patient, and wait until you finished the course.”

He then presses his lips to your knuckles, and while your soul swiftly exits your body, you manage to squeak out a soft ‘okay’.

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 2]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: None that I can think of Proofread: Not even a tiny bit Chapter Summary: You enter friend territory with Viktor, get an email that might change your future, and get asked on a date (but it’s not actually a date).

It’s been two weeks since the new semester started. Two weeks, and you’re already stressed over the amount of work you’re doing. You’ve told yourself again and again that it’s only going to get more difficult as the year presses on, but somehow, the sentiment has not made you feel any better.

You suppose one of the bright sides of being in another one of Heimerdinger’s classes is that you’ve met Viktor.

When you’d asked for his number, you’d maybe given him the impression that you only wanted it for school purposes; however, he didn’t seem to mind that you texted him daily - if it bothered him, he’d never said anything. In fact, he was always quick to reply to your messages.

Viktor doesn’t seem to be the type of person who’s particularly attached to his phone, so you like to think that maybe he just enjoys talking to you.

—

You startle out of sleep when your alarm starts beeping aggressively in your ear; you don’t remember leaving your phone on your bed the previous night, but knowing your own habits, you probably fell asleep while watching meme videos. Again.

You squirm around a little bit to find the optimal stretching position, only to be deterred when you realize all three of your cats are curled up on your legs, rendering you immobile.

You quickly snap a picture of them, and flip to Viktor’s chat window.

Y/N: Good morning!

Y/N: Hopefully you’re already awake, and I’m not waking you up.

Y/N: I might not be able to make it to class today.

You find yourself smiling when a set of dots appear beside Viktor’s name.

Viktor (Phys510A): Good morning, indeed.

Viktor (Phys510A): Everything is alright, I hope?

Your heart flutters at his concern, and you take a moment to compose yourself. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself, He would check in on anyone else just the same. But despite your inner monologue, you still can’t help the warmth that spreads through your chest and down every nerve ending in your body.

Y/N: I’m okay, I promise.

Y/N: Just a little bit of potential legal trouble.

Viktor (Phys510A): Legal trouble?

Viktor (Phys510A): Do you need help?

With a wry grin, you send the picture of the cats piled on your blanketed legs.

Y/N: If I move them, I’ll go to jail.

Viktor (Phys510A): Miss. Y/N.

You can feel his exasperation through his text, and you barely manage to suppress a laugh.

Viktor (Phys510A): You are a menace.

Viktor (Phys510A): You had me genuinely worried for a moment.

Y/N: Awww, you care about me?

Viktor (Phys510A): Of course I care.

Viktor (Phys510A): You’re one of Heimerdinger’s top students.

Y/N: Oh, ouch???

Y/N: And here I thought we were at least friends by now.

Y/N: But I see how it is.

Y/N: I’m only a student, after all.

Y/N: Woe is me :( 

Viktor (Phys510A): You say it like you consider us friends?

Y/N: Of course I do!

Y/N: You’re one of the only two people I send good morning texts to.

Y/N: The other person is my cousin.

Y/N: She works at a pizza parlor.

Y/N: I get free pizza if I let her gossip with me.

Viktor (Phys510A): Is this your way of saying you want something from me?

Y/N: No!!!

Y/N: omg you’re missing the point completely.

Y/N: I can’t believe I showed you my litties when I’m being treated like this

Viktor (phys510A): What are litties?

Y/N: KITTIES*

Y/N: You’ve stooped low, Viktor.

Y/N: Calling me out on a typo.

Viktor (Phys510A): Physics and its subsequent lessons have no room for typos.

Viktor (Phys510A): I’m just preparing you for class.

Y/N: Physics and its concepts were discovered by total accident.

Y/N: That’s basically a typo, but real life.

Y/N: Therefore you cannot scold me for having fat thumbs.

Viktor (Phys510A): You’re really going to stick with that argument, aren’t you.

Y/N: Yes. Yes, I am.

Viktor (Phys510A): If you’re not in class today, I’m telling Heimerdinger that you’re hungover.

Y/N: But then he’ll be disappointed in me!

Y/N: He’ll make The Face and everything!

Viktor (Phys510A): It’s your choice.

Y/N: Terrible, awful, horrible man.

Viktor (Phys510A): I’ll see you in class :) 

You set your phone down with a pouty sigh, and debate just going back to sleep. However, you know that Viktor is a man who will follow through on his threats, however playful they are, and you don’t think you have the emotional capacity to deal with disappointment from the Professor.

So, with great difficulty and many protests from your cats, you haul yourself out of bed to get ready for the day.

—

You walk into the lecture hall, waving to Viktor and the Professor, and take your favourite seat; second row from the front, just to the left of the center of the room. 

The class had shrunk considerably since the start of the semester, with most of the unenthused students dropping the course, but in your mind, the front row was only for serious students. You might still be a part of the class, and you certainly cared about your grades, but you weren’t passionate about the subject like some of your peers.

The second row was the optimal choice.

Once you’re settled, you pull your notebooks and supplies out of your bag. It’s an ancient thing, made mostly of scraps and patches at this point, but it gets the job done. You only have to unwrinkle a few pages of notes as you go over them.

Then again, you only go over your notes for a few pages, before your mind - and your eyes - starts wandering. Specifically, over to Viktor.

He’s a good teacher, whether he’s helping Heimerdinger with lectures, or wandering from student to student to quietly answer questions. He’s insightful and intelligent, and he’s encouraging in his criticisms. 

Not to mention, he turns a lovely shade of pink when you flirt with him.

You’ve noticed a couple of your classmates try to behave the same with him - friendly with a flirtatious air - and you’ve never seen Viktor get as flustered as with you. In fact, with everyone else, he hardly gets flustered at all. He keeps his professionalism in check, and keeps the conversation subjects strictly on class material.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t do the same with you, of course; his first instinct with you is to help you with any questions you have about the days’ lecture, but he’s…warmer with you. Friendlier, and more open. Plus, you’re pretty sure you’re the only person in the class who has his personal number, and he’s always quick to text you back-

You startle out of your thoughts when your pocket vibrates and, with a quick glance around to make sure you haven’t drawn attention to yourself, you pull your phone out of your pocket.

You’re half expecting a cheeky text from Viktor, something along the lines of ‘Why are you checking your phone in class?’, and you’re only slightly disappointed when you don’t see any notifications from him. You do, however, have an email.

You swipe to see who it’s from, deciding it’s most likely junk or spam - but the name of the sender makes you pause.

Firelights Studios.

Your heart leaps into your throat so quickly that you nearly choke, and you’re quick to open the email.

You don’t fully read most of it - that’s a task better left for outside class hours - but you’re able to understand the gist of it; you try your hardest to keep your excitement at bay, but as you quietly slip your phone back into your pocket, you’re unable to keep your hands from shaking.

There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to focus on working for the next three hours.

—

The class drags on far longer than it should, despite the fact that it ends right on schedule. Part of you is grateful for the longer lessons - it really allows you to get into your projects and be present for learning - but mostly, you’re just cranky that you have to sit for so long.

You walk swiftly down the steps at the side of the lecture hall, your mind still reeling from the email you got earlier. It had seemed to be good news, from what you’d read; you hadn’t seen any apologies or ‘we regret to inform you’s hidden within the multitude of paragraphs.

And then a tug on your shoulder, followed by the sickening sound of snapping threads, brings your thoughts out of the clouds and back to reality. It happens so quickly that you don’t even have time to react - your shoulder bag is torn open after getting caught on the edge of a bannister, and your various papers and school supplies explode across the floor.

You swear quietly, and stoop down to try to collect everything. You’re not sure how you’re going to carry anything, though, once you try to find space in the bag that is - at this point - little more than scrap fabric.

You sigh deeply, and run your hands over your face. 

And then the creak of a chair right beside you, and the shuffling of papers.

You remove your hands from your face to find Viktor just to your left, helping you gather up the mess you’d made. You just watch him for a second, both surprised by the gesture, but also not; because he’s Viktor. Of course he’d rush in to help.

“Thank you,” you manage to squeak out, scrabbling around to move all your stuff into a more tidy pile. You’re not entirely sure why your throat tightens the way it does, nor why tears start to sting the corners of your eyes; you just hope that Viktor doesn’t notice, or make a comment on why you’re so quiet.

Once everything is set up into neat little stacks, Viktor produces a fabric square from his own shoulder bag, and hands it to you. “It won’t replace an actual school bag,” he says softly, “but it will at least allow you to carry everything back to your residence.” 

You stare at the square for a moment, taking longer than you’d like to realize it’s a reusable grocery bag. You quickly unfold it to start packing your things up, mumbling your thanks once again.

Once all is said and done, Viktor stands up beside you and offers his hand.

“Well,” you sigh, as he helps you to your feet, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to fix it this time around.” You regard the ruined satchel in your hand, and crinkle your nose up.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks, though you can tell by his tone that he’s just trying to be supportive. “A…little bit of extra fabric here and there, and maybe…”

You fix him with a disbelieving stare, and he trails off.

“At this point, the entire thing is made of scrap fabric,” you explain. “I’ve had this bag since I was thirteen, I think? Or maybe twelve?” Viktor looks surprised, but you continue, “It doesn’t matter. I’m overdue for a replacement, is the point.”

Your attention darts down to the worn-leather bag hanging at his side, and you ask, “ Viktor, you wouldn’t happen to remember where you got that, would you?”

His gaze follows yours, and realization dawns on him. “Oh- yes, actually.” He reaches into one of the satchel’s pockets, and digs around for a couple seconds. “It’s a little hole-in-the-wall sort of place - I don’t think they even have a website, all of his reputation is based on word-of-mouth.”

He pulls out a tiny notepad and a metal pen, and scribbles down an address. “Here,” he says softly, handing it to you, and you don’t miss the little jolt of warmth you feel when your fingers brush together. “It’s, ah. It’s reasonably priced, for hand-crafted goods, and there are lots of designs to choose from. You should be able to find something.”

Butterflies explode in your stomach when you see the pink dusting his cheeks again: he’s just as affected by the little touch as you are.

But your nervous excitement turns into anxiety when you read the address he’s written down for you.

“Is this place in the-” you pause for a moment, “Is this place in Zaun?” You try your best to keep your voice even, but it proves difficult. You don’t want to be the kind of person who judges any part of a community based on the worst of the people that can be found there, and you understand that most of the residents in that district are only trying to make ends meet: but you’d be naive - if not downright stupid - to walk through the undercity without a single care.

“It is,” Viktor confirms. “Is that an issue?”

You fidget nervously, picking at the dry skin around your cuticles. “Only because I’m a single woman,” you tell him, starting to feel like you’re overreacting. “It’ll be fine though, I’m sure. I’m just being my usual nervous self!” 

Your attempt at deflecting goes poorly, because Viktor continues to frown at you. You think for a moment that you’ve offended him or worse, but all at once his features soften and his shoulders relax.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he says quietly, sounding almost guilty.

You shrug. “I mean, you’re a guy, so you don’t…I mean, obviously you have to be careful still, but…you don’t really have to be on guard every time you leave the house.”

“It is the same as when we met,” he says, “when you hesitated following me. Clearly there are dangers in the world that even I do not know about. But you need a bag, and I stand by my opinion that this man is one of the best craftsmen in the area; and I cannot send you there alone in good conscience.”

Then quieter, “Are you free this weekend?”

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 8]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of manipulative/controlling parents

Proofread: Not even a tiny bit, no beta we die like men

Chapter Summary: You and Viktor have a quiet afternoon in the hotel AKA Viktor takes a nap, you take a bath, and then you two have an emotional chat

You stand in the entrance to the bedroom for several moments, hiding your face in embarrassment. Your skin burns hot with mortification, and you want nothing more than to evaporate into the walls and become one with the uninspired beige paint.

You can’t believe you hadn’t asked your cousin to make sure there were two beds - she would have understood, surely! Even if she believed you were in a relationship with Viktor, she wouldn’t have asked any questions about your chosen sleeping arrangements.

You stay hidden, even as you hear Viktor wander up behind you to see the situation for himself.

“I’m sorry,” you whine, finally pulling your hands away from your face.

He settles his hand on your lower back, a gesture you suppose is meant to be comforting - but it only flusters you more.

“There are worse ways to sleep than next to a beautiful woman,” he tells you softly, though the amusement in his tone is quite obvious to you. “You said you don’t snore, so I don’t see an issue.”

Your heart warms by a fraction when his touch slides over to your hip, and Viktor nudges you closer. “If you really are uncomfortable,” he says, “I’m fairly certain that the couch in the lounge is convertible.”

“I’m not going to kick you out of the bed!” you protest immediately, squirming in his hold so you can face him with a stubborn pout. “You’re doing me a huge favour by coming with me this weekend. I’m not banishing you to the couch.”

His lips curve into a wry little smile that has your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. “Well, you deserve a decent place to rest, since you’re going to be around so many people you dislike. I’m not kicking you out, either.”

“We’ll just have to share, then!”

“Oh, how terrible.”

Your face erupts into flame again, and when you try to speak, the only sound that comes out is a slightly pathetic squeak. You quickly turn away from Viktor and storm back into the front room of the suite, fetching your suitcases as an excuse to take a moment to breathe.

When you return to Viktor, he’s already made himself comfortable on the bed - sat on the edge and sprawled backwards in his best mimicry of a starfish.

“How did we start out with me being the incorrigible flirt, and you being pretty and flustered,” you ask as you set both your suitcases down, “And now we’ve completely switched?”

Viktor sits up slightly, propped up on his elbows, to fix you with an incredulous, slack-jawed look. You can feel the accusation radiating off of him, though he doesn’t seem angry or upset.

“So you were doing everything on purpose!”

You stare back at him with wide eyes. “Of course I was doing it on purpose!” you tell him. “You’re handsome and I like talking to you - I wanted to get to know you better! The fact that flirting with you also made you turn a lovely shade of pink was just a bonus.”

He says nothing after that - playfully rolls his eyes and flops back down on the bed. 

You start unpacking. A couple days’ worth of comfortable clothes, one or two things more suited for the weather; you can’t imagine you’ll be going anywhere aside from the wedding venue, but you always felt more comfortable being prepared. Everything else is either formal or pajamas, or-

Your heart skips a beat when your fingers brush against soft burgundy silk, and your gaze darts over to Viktor. Thankfully, he’s more interested in laying down, and doesn’t notice you hastily stuffing the rather sensual little nightgown into the back of the hotel dresser.

You’d packed it in a moment of daydreaming, thinking of all the ways you might be able to charm him on your weekend together - but now that you’re here with him? Your heart beats faster just by being in his presence, and you’re not so sure you could wear something so saucy around him. 

Would he even want something like that?

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts, and pull out the last article of clothing you’d packed: your dress.

It was still wrapped up in a plastic sheet, to keep any debris from marring it, but the hem peeks out from the bottom. Flowing navy satin that you’d tailored to fit your body perfectly, and painstakingly sewn over soft tulle dotted in gold stars.

It looked like the night sky.

You hang it in the closet, smiling quietly to yourself when you think about Viktor’s reaction. He always appeared to be in some kind of awe around you, never missing an opportunity to tell you how lovely you look - even on that one afternoon when you’d been in the library, in an old sweater and leggings that had stains from your breakfast, bags under your eyes and hunched over like a shrimp. 

He would undoubtedly think you were stunning, wearing something so fine.

At least, you hoped.

“Hey, Viktor?” you ask quietly, turning towards him.

When he doesn’t say anything, you take a couple steps closer.

“Vik?”

Once at the side of the bed, you’re able to get a closer look at him - and it’s with a warm sort of glee that you realize he’s fallen asleep. Deep, even breaths drawn in and out, the ever-present crease between his brows now smoothed. He looks as peaceful as he does exhausted, you think.

Tenderly, you brush chocolate strands from his forehead, and lay a light kiss on his hairline.

Then, with the quietness of a mouse, you grab a change of clothes and disappear into the spa-like bathroom.

—

When you’re finished in the bath, you’re more relaxed than you’ve been in months. The hotel hadn’t been stingy when offering up a platter of fancy scented oils and colourful bath salts - you had no idea what the benefit of any of them were, nor what combination they were meant to be applied in, so you’d dumped a little bit of everything into the water and let yourself soak.

The smells, the bubbles, the pearlescent opal liquid swirling around, and the jets pressing into the stiff muscles of your back - it had all provided a very rejuvenating experience. You’d nearly fallen asleep for a moment at the end, and that’s when you’d decided it was time to stand up and dry off.

You pull on your comfiest leggings and a soft cardigan, and tiptoe out of the bathroom. Viktor is usually quiet, but when you stop in the doorway to listen for a moment, you can’t hear any signs of life.

One peek into the bedroom confirms that he’s still out.

You know it’ll be harder for him to sleep overnight, if you continue to let him nap now, but you don’t have the heart to disturb him yet. 

You silently pad across the room to where you’ve stashed your suitcase, and grab your carry-on bag, where you’d packed your textbooks and homework. You supposed you could also try to work on your music, but with all the extra preparations you’d been doing throughout the week, you hadn’t had the time to get ahead in your classes.

Viktor can sleep for now, you think, finding a quiet spot in the lounge. I’ll wake him up by five thirty.

—

You’re not entirely sure how long you’ve been working through equations. As soon as you’d opened your textbooks and gotten down to reading, the quiet environment had soothed you into a flowing state of focus - reading and repeating numbers, rewriting theories from memory to compare to the original, noting your own understanding of how everything worked together.

You’re certain that you’ve already gotten through at least two classes worth of information, diligently writing and tidying your notes.

“I thought this was supposed to be a vacation?”

Viktor’s voice comes from just over your shoulder, startling you so badly that your pencil falls from your hand and down to the floor.

You quickly reach down to grab it, and come up to stare at Viktor with a guilt-ridden expression.

“I couldn’t afford to miss an entire weekend of homework,” you explain, setting your pencil in your notebook before closing the pages. “With all the last-minute dress-making, I didn’t get the chance to get anything done ahead of time.”

He looks as though he wants to say more, but his expression softens after a couple seconds, and he nods. You watch him for a moment while he crosses the room to find a spot on the couch, and once he’s gotten comfortable, you follow him.

“Did you have a good nap?” you ask.

Viktor takes a few moments to comprehend your question, and you’re unable to help the little smile that dances across your face.

“It was sufficient,” he finally replies, stretching his arms upwards until a series of cracks travel up his spine.

You wince slightly, but you’ve no room to scold him into assuming a better posture. “I didn’t want to wake you,” you admit. “You were out like a light, so I figured you must have really needed the sleep.”

“It will be a little more difficult to sleep tonight, but…I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.”

You tuck your legs up beside you, and lean into Viktor’s side. As if by habit, he drapes his arm over your shoulders, and rests his cheek on the top of your head. It’s a quiet moment, that you both fit comfortably into; breathing slowly, feeling the warmth that radiates from the other.

“Mm, dinner’s in half an hour,” you mumble sleepily. “It’s provided while we’re here. Breakfast, too. Or we could order room service.”

Viktor makes a soft noise and begins to idly trace his finger in little patterns across your arm. “We could…” he says, thoroughly tempted by the thought of holing up for the night and enjoying a meal together. “But it might do us some good to get out for a little bit, even if it’s just…downstairs.”

You hum in agreement. At the very least, you wouldn’t both be fast asleep by seven.

However, neither of you make any sort of movement, or any kind of stir to suggest movement. You’re content where you are, pressed against his side, your head having slipped down to rest on his chest.

You can hear his heart fluttering.

And then:

“May I ask you a question?”

You mumble an affirmative, and he continues.

“You don’t get along with your parents, this much I know. And from what you’ve told me, they’re not the best people. But…is there a specific reason the three of you are at odds?”

Ah.

There it is, you think, and all at once your pleasant mood darkens.

You knew that you would have to have this conversation with Viktor eventually - that you’d have to explain your past, and the hell your parents had put you through. You knew he would probably be the one to ask you about it, too, what with how curious he was as a person.

You knew you’d never really be ready to talk about it.

But you trusted him.

He’d supported you so far, through every decision you’d made and every action you’d taken - he’d gone so far as to outright help you with your struggles, whether they pertained to your class or not.

You could trust him.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, squishing your ear harder against his chest. “As you’ve probably gathered, they’re…controlling. Not just with school, though. They’re controlling over everything I do.”

Viktor’s right hand finds yours where it lays on his thigh, and he links your fingers together.

“They always wanted me to be educated,” you explain. “And I- don’t get me wrong, I know what kind of privilege I’ve had growing up - to afford the private tutors, and extracurriculars, and the summer school programs. But they pushed me so hard! They said they were doing it out of love, and that they wanted me to be successful in life, but- god, I found my first grey hair when I was fourteen, did you know? I have a whole streak that I dye, now!”

You sniffle quietly, and Viktor strokes his thumb over your knuckles to comfort you.

“They’re the ones who made me afraid of failure,” you continue. “They’re the ones who made me feel like I’ll never be enough - for anyone. I don’t even have friends anymore, because my parents chased them all away! Every time I’d get close to someone, they’d intervene. Friends are a distraction, they said. They’d make some phone calls, and then my new friends would suddenly just…ignore me. Stop talking to me at school, pretend I didn’t exist. Except for…”

Your heart squeezes in your chest, and the tears drip past your lashes and down your cheeks. It had been so long since you’d thought about her, since you’d told anyone about her…

“Except for Vi,” you tell him wetly, your voice quaking. “I was a little bit older than her, but we…we got pretty close. She was from the undercity, she showed me what things were like - and we got up to so much trouble together. If my parents knew about her, they would have thought her the worst kind of influence on me.”

You laugh quietly.

“But she was the best kind of influence. We got up to so much shit, and I didn’t realize how dangerous some of it was until much later - didn’t realize how lucky we’d gotten in a lot of situations. She never had much, but she showed me how to live. I experienced so much because of her, got so many new perspectives on life.”

You sigh.

“And then my parents found out. They always do. I was so careful in making sure they didn’t follow me, I kept my grades up so they wouldn’t notice anything was amiss! But they…found out. And Vi disappeared - literally disappeared. She left a younger sister behind, and she was just…gone. I begged my parents to tell me where she was, but they wouldn’t tell me anything! Just looked down at me with their stupid fucking smirks and told me that everything was just a coincidence! As if I hadn’t been watching them pull strings for years!”

A hopeless sob wracks your frame, and Viktor all but pulls you into his lap. He holds you tightly while you cry and cling to him, rocking slowly and smoothing a hand over your back in lazy circles. How easily you fall into his comfort, how easily you fit at each other’s sides…how much you care about him…

…and how you’d brought him here, knowing all that your parents could do.

“I’m selfish,” you whisper, when your sobs turn to small hiccups. “My parents could ruin your life, and I brought you here.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Viktor losing everything because of you. Because of your selfish choices, because of-

“Do you really believe you have so much control over me?” he asks suddenly. His tone is light and questioning, carefully neutral as if he worries you’ll take his inquiry the wrong way otherwise.

“Huh?”

“Our relationship,” he says. “Do you think you have the ability to control me? Though I am often entranced by you, this is not some…some Pied Piper situation.”

You frown slightly in confusion. “What?”

“The story?” he says again, “Of the man with the magic flute, who lured a bunch of children to their deaths?”

The horror must be apparent on your face, because he’s quick to continue, “It does not matter - my point is this: I do things because I like you. I do things because I want to spend time with you. And yes, sometimes I make some risky decisions because of these facts, but…those are my choices. I am the one who is choosing to reciprocate your advances and flirtations, despite knowing that it could prove detrimental.”

He gently takes your jaw in his hand, and pulls your gaze to his. “I am here because I choose to be here. I know the risks as well as you do.”

Your lip wobbles slightly, and you resist the urge to start crying again. 

“Even with everything that my parents could do to you,” you wonder, “You’d still want to be seen with me?”

He nods then, leaning forward ever so slightly to rest his forehead on yours. “I am choosing you. I want to be with you, and I am marginally sick of waiting. We can’t be seen together once we’re back home, but…we have this weekend. And I would like to spend it as your partner.”

You stare at him for several seconds, nearly cross-eyed with how close he is, but you find no dishonesty in his eyes - only warmth, and affection, and a surety that makes your stomach do flips.

The decision is easy, you realize, and tilt your head up until your lips meet.

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 6]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: Descriptions of a coffee-induced panic attack, one (1) very brief mention of a body-shaming mom Proofread: no beta we die like men Summary: Viktor continues to be one of the only supportive people in your life, but he isn’t helpful when it comes to fashion.

The following three weeks are less stressful than you ever thought they would be. You still feel like crying and pulling your hair out most days, but for the most part you don’t desire to disappear into the woods, never to be seen again.

Viktor had been your savior during this time, taking hours out of his already-busy schedule to meet up with you and work through what you needed help with. He tells you that he’s fairly confident that you know the class material, and that he also knows that’s not what you’re really stressed about.

“It’s just…writing music,” you admit one afternoon, gnawing idly on the end of your pen. “I’m not great at grasping new concepts and being able to apply them, y’know? Like I’ve read all the books I bought from cover to cover, and I still…don’t know where to start.”

Viktor is quiet for a couple moments, and very pensive. You can practically see the cogs and gears turning in his head, and you resist every urge in your body to reach forth and smooth out the crinkle between his pinched brows.

“Perhaps…you need to lower your expectations?” he suggests, and when you tilt your head in question, he continues, “It’s quite common to be struck with anxiety when trying new things, but I suspect your case is a little more severe, given that anxiety is something you struggle with.”

You gnaw harder on the end of your pen.

“I wonder if perhaps you worry about the things you create not being good enough?”

You stop chewing.

“And if this is the case, then perhaps you might need to try heading into new things with a different mindset. Instead of trying to make a perfect song right off the bat, maybe…you could try to make an awful song? You could make your goal more attainable, instead of setting yourself up for failure.”

You sigh deeply, resting your cheek on your palm with a pout. 

“I really hate that you’re right,” you mumble. “It’s harder with anxiety, but…I know you’re right. There comes a time where just reading about something isn’t enough anymore. I know I have to actually write songs in order to get better at it.”

Viktor reaches across the table to wrap a hand around yours, carefully avoiding the chewed-up pen still in your fist.

“It will not be easy,” he promises, “but it is possible. And if you need me to sit here with you while you work on songs, I will - no questions asked.”

Guilt fills your stomach then, and you shake your head with a smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather suffer through my frustration on my own. You’re already doing enough by helping me with class stuff.”

He seems to take the answer without detecting the roiling feeling in your gut, and you’re grateful he doesn’t sense your quickly-souring mood.

—

It takes a couple more days for you to put Viktor’s ideas into action. You keep finding little reasons to not start - benign, stupid reasons - but you know that you’re really just avoiding what scares you. Eventually, though, you’re able to choose a subject and start hammering out the most hideous lyrics you’ve ever laid eyes on; it’s possibly the worst thing you’ve ever written, including your first instrumental pieces in your angsty teen years. But for some reason…it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would.

Over a couple days, you’re able to refine the concept you’re working on - something simple, and a little bit goofy - and turn it into a somewhat-decent piece. It’s still not great by the end of it, and you certainly wouldn’t say that a song about apples is album-worthy anyways, but it’s…done. It’s done and it wasn’t as terrifying as you thought it would be, and if you can do this one thing, then how many others would you be able to make?

Your smile and positive mood are quickly dashed when your alarm starts blaring from your phone. You stare at it for a couple seconds in confusion, before the realization hits you like a bag of bricks. You rush over to the window and pull the light-blocking drapes away.

It’s morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit!” you hiss, double-checking the time, just in case your eyes have somehow failed you. But no, your initial assumption was correct: you’ve been up all night working on a song, and you didn’t even notice.

And now you’re exhausted and you have class, and an entire day of studying to complete beyond that.

With a pit in your stomach, you quietly wobble down to your kitchen to start making your first of many cups of coffee.

—

You walk into class, and you don’t even notice the contemptuous stares from the students in the first row. It’s barely been two hours since you were supposed to wake up, and you’ve already had four cups of coffee.

Typically, you tried to stay away from the stuff, only having a cup or two on a day out, or when you really needed the extra boost of concentration.

But four?

You can feel your heart beating in every part of your body, and your vision pulses slightly with every thump. 

You’re pretty sure that Professor Heimerdinger has started the lecture for the day, but you’re not positive. You can’t really hear what he’s saying.

The world is far away.

The sound of his voice is so…distant.

But not the thud of your heart.

So loud in your ears, it’s deafening. Fluttering in your chest, threatening to beat its way out of your ribcage.

You can’t breathe.

You don’t even know what you’re thinking about; maybe something, maybe nothing. Or maybe everything - every negative thought you’ve ever had, compiled into one huge insurmountable mess running through your mind.

That one time you walked into a glass door.

The way you took a joke too literally, in front of all your mother’s friends.

The way your mother nitpicked your body, your clothes, your hairstyle, the colour of your nails-

You swallow thickly, and shakily stand up. The professor doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pay you any mind, as you quietly tiptoe towards the exit, leaving all your belongings behind.

You barely make it ten feet down the hallway before you have to sit down and tuck yourself into a ball.

—

Viktor watches silently as you suddenly stand and make your way out of the lecture hall. He shoots you a questioning glance, but you don’t notice - you don’t even look at him. 

His first wonder is that perhaps you’re upset with him - you didn’t send him a good morning text as you usually do, nor did you say anything when you entered the room…

But when he looks closer at you, getting a good impression as you pass a few feet in front of him, he’s able to note the tears in your eyes. The stiffness of your posture, the tremble of your hands.

Worry washes over him in an instant, and he tries his best to be subtle when glancing out the small window in the door. He expects to see you disappearing around the corner, heading towards the washroom to perhaps catch your breath or splash a little bit of water on your face.

Instead, he sees you on the floor, curled up in a sad little lump.

He wants to go to you, wants to rush to your side and pull you into his arms, whisper quietly to you that everything would be okay; help you measure your breathing and offer you comfort while you waited out whatever panic you were going through.

But he can feel the eyes of the class on him. 

He knows the professor would notice, if he were to suddenly disappear after you.

A couple of the students had already seen the two of you out and about on your days off. He’d heard their whispers - he knew what they thought.

Things that made him furious, things that made him want to abandon his quiet and kind nature to defend you. Things that made him worry for your future in the university, should any of them ever be proven true.

Heimerdinger takes a pause in the lecture, moving to set up a powerpoint presentation to show while he spoke, and Viktor takes the chance. Quietly tells the professor that ‘one of the students is having a panic attack in the hallway’ and asks if he should ‘go out and make sure she’s okay?’.

He doesn’t make a move while Heimerdinger contemplates, and only once he’s given permission does he quietly follow you out the door.

—

You spend the next day and a half sleeping, and coming down from your rather horrid high.

As soon as Viktor had found a seat on the ground beside you, you’d started sobbing, apologizing to him, explaining why you were so up in arms all of a sudden.

He had listened carefully, never interrupting you despite the way you hiccuped and heaved. 

He just…listened.

Held your hand, and helped you breathe.

You feel quite silly immediately after the whole ordeal, making a small jab at yourself for ‘being so bad at self care’. But Viktor hadn’t laughed along with you; he’d knit your fingers with his and squeezed - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to draw your attention.

“You have two options,” he’d told you firmly. “You can go back into the lecture hall, pack up your things, and head home for the day, or-”

You’d opened your mouth to complain, and he had quickly covered your mouth with his other hand.

“Or,” he continued, “I can go and grab your things while you wait here, and you can head home for the day.”

You’d frowned at him.

He’d removed his hand.

You’d started to complain.

He’d squished his palm over your lips again.

“Option one, or option two,” he says. “It’s your choice.”

It takes a couple moments, but eventually you huff and hold up a single finger. As much as you’d like to stay in the hallway - or return to class, actually - you would be even more mortified if your TA had to go and get your things for you. Not to mention it would look suspicious, and would undoubtedly garner questions at how far Viktor was willing to go for a student.

Thankfully, he’d been amenable to sitting in the hallway for a few more moments with you, until you felt well enough to stand and gather your things.

By the time you’re well rested enough to think again, your panic is far behind you, and you’d learned your lesson - four cups of coffee in quick succession would always be a recipe for disaster.

—

Now you have a new kind of panic in your life.

You’d somewhat grown accustomed to the anxiety you felt when writing songs or studying for class, and it had become a motivator in getting things done.

No, the stress you’re feeling is from a sense of impending doom: your cousin’s upcoming wedding - and more than that - seeing your extended family.

You’re wholeheartedly grateful that you and your cousin were like-minded people. You’d gotten along well as kids, and you’d stuck together through any family events you’d previously been forced to attend: you’d cut out the same family members, too, which meant it wasn’t likely you would be seeing anyone you truly disliked at the wedding.

That didn’t mean you weren’t on edge.

While you didn’t outright despise the family members you’d be mingling with, that didn’t mean you got along with them. You had several shit-talking aunties who would judge your every move, with their hellspawn screaming children and passive doormat husbands.

If you wanted them to bite their tongues, you’d have to show up with a date - Viktor - and you’d have to look fantastic.

And that was where you were drawing a blank.

You toss the only three dresses you own onto your bed, and wince. 

The fuchsia one was definitely not going to be what you wore, given the temperature outside, and also the fact that if you showed up to a formal event in something so short, your mother would have an aneurysm.

The second one you kept for sentimental purposes - it had been your highschool prom dress - and it most definitely didn’t fit you anymore, both in size and style.

You try on the third one for good measure, just to be certain. It fits well enough, but it was just so…so…

Well, your mother had picked it out, and you’d kept it to avoid her wrath.

You sigh in frustration, and flop across your bed.

Y/N: Viktorrrrrrr Y/N: I need your help

Viktor <3: Of course Viktor <3: What do you need, dear?

Y/N: So I sent you the wedding details weeks ago, including the theme Y/N: Do you know what you’re wearing? Y/N: I’m having a hard time figuring out what ‘Midnight’ means

Viktor <3: Midnight is the time of night between dusk and dawn

Y/N: >:C

Y/N: Stop making me laugh im having a crisissssss Y/N: I meant in terms of dresses!

Viktor <3: Making you laugh is a fun passtime Viktor <3: You have a beautiful smile

Y/N: Now you’re making me swoon!!!!

Viktor <3: I’m sorry

Y/N: You’re not

Viktor <3: No, I’m not :) 

Despite your worry, a smile still dances onto your face.

Y/N: I really do need your help, though Y/N: The wedding is next weekend and all the formalwear i own either fits like crap, or looks like crap

Viktor <3: I doubt you make anything look terrible

You snap a quick mirror selfie and send it to him, making sure to get your unenthused grimace in the picture.

Y/N: Really? Y/N: Because something tells me that this is not the look

Viktor <3: Well, you look beautiful Viktor <3: If not perturbed

Y/N: My mother’s tastes in dresses are garbage though Y/N: I somehow look like an old woman and a prom queen from the eighties.

Viktor <3: I’m sorry I’m not more well-versed in women’s formal attire Viktor <3: I don’t know how to help

Y/N: No, no it’s not your fault Y/N: I should have started looking earlier Y/N: My head has just been filled with other things Y/N: Plus, it’s just a dress Y/N: I’ll probably wear it once and never look at it again Y/N: Maybe i’ll play it safe and just go with black Y/N: Midnight is dark, black is dark

Viktor <3: Whatever you’re most comfortable in Viktor <3: You’ll look stunning, regardless

Y/N: I wish we could hang out together Y/N: Because I would definitely be smothering you with kisses by now

Viktor <3: It’s unfortunate, really Viktor <3: Just three more months, though.

Y/N: Yeah :C  Y/N: I think i’m gonna go look at goodwill or smth for a dress Y/N: Even if it doesn’t fit, maybe i can find a good base and sew it a bit

Viktor <3: That’s very clever Viktor <3: In any case, let me know what colours you’re going with once you choose something? Viktor <3: I figured I’d get a tie to correlate.

Y/N: Ofc >.<

You close out of the chat window, and roll onto your back. There were only a couple of stores nearby that you’d be able to afford, and if you wanted to have any chance of finding something, you’d need to head out as soon as possible.

You groan quietly at the thought of getting up.