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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

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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’.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #arcane reader insert #fem!reader #TA!viktor #modern au i guess?#Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men #also this is like the fourth time ive written about viktor kissing the back of a hand #so maybe i want him to kiss my hand #maybe im just a soft nerd #(i am in fact a soft nerd)

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hehewh0r3 · 2 years

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Devilish Best Friend

ok fair warning: i got this idea based on a prompt, a long time ago. and i wrote it in 2016 and yikes was it cringey. so, i rewrote it; so, enjoy or don't :) up to you

i also wrote this high, so here's a wild ride

“You are great,” The words come out a whisper, a soft tone to them as if there were no truth to the statement. Which, in his head, there wasn’t. “You are smart, and wonderful,” He racked his brain trying to come up with a new term that he doesn’t truly believe.

“You are also incredibly dorky,” A louder voice speaks out, a teasing tone as she leans against the doorway of her brother’s room. “I can’t believe you still talk to yourself,” She laughs then ducks when a pillow flies past her.

“Very funny Madison,” Stiles rolls his eyes as he turns from the mirror and meets her eyes. “I can’t believe you still sleep with Mr. Stuffins,” It comes out mocking but there’s no heat behind it, he could never hate his sister. After all, she’s always been there when needed.

“Leave his name out of your mouth Stilinski,” The blonde-head girl glares and crosses her arms. “Anyways, we need to head school before dad kicks our asses,” She smiles and heads to her room while the older boy groans at the thought. He hated school, and in fact, the school hated him. Everyone would avoid him in the halls, and those who didn’t; bullied him to the point where it became their favorite activity and his least anticipated moment. He had no friends, even if he had the ability to make friends easily, no one would want to. At least, not at Princeton high.

Princeton high, the private school where the girls are hookers, the guys are dicks, and the teachers seem to favorite those with money. Stiles and his sister only attend the school, because their dad is the sheriff and that entitles them to a full scholarship. The walls are a sickly green, and the lockers a shade of blue that mimic a wannabe sky. Floors that contain spots from all different kinds of liquids; blood, food, drinks, and other things that shouldn’t be allowed.

Stiles grabbed his backpack, full of books and notes because even though he’s a certified genius, the books protect him from when he gets shoved to the ground. He zips up his hoodie, littered with tears that came from wear, and the particular smell that never seems to go away. He checks to make sure his phone is in his pocket and he walks down the stairs as the kitchen comes into view.

“I can’t believe you eat that nasty shit,” His nose crinkles as he sees Madison eating a kiwi as if it's candy. “It looks like it came from another planet.”

“I can’t believe you still wear that nasty hoodie,” She smirks and then rolls her eyes when she gets lectured. “Sorry dad, although he started it,”

“Yeah, yeah get your ass in the car little miss princess,” The apple he grabs is crisp, and it’s enough to last till lunch. Or, at least he hopes it will. The pair heads to his Jeep, his faithful jeep that’s been through hell and back. It’s a light blue, with dents and scratches, the windows make their own decisions on if they want to stay up or roll down, and it’s seats that are surprisingly still intact.

“Will you be okay today?” It comes out hesitant, and she already knows the answer but desperately hopes it’ll be different from usual.

“Don’t worry about me, focus on yourself.”

—

The parking lot is already crammed, cars of all shapes and colors taking up spots as if they only exist; which to the people who drive them, they do. Stiles parks the car, far away from others as a safety precaution and he gets out slinging his bag over his shoulder. He waves goodbye to his sister and starts to head to the wing that holds the seniors. The mighty, mighty seniors who rule the school and treat it as if it’s a kingdom. A place where only the rich and popular have a place, and the others are just there. He’s not the only one who gets bullied, others do as well, he just seems to get it the worst. The doors creek as he steps foot inside, the chattering and laughter dying down as they all turn to look.

“Damn, do you guys not have anything else to do,” The words come out harsh, as if they were venom dripping from a snake's mouth. He might get his ass kicked, but he will always be a smartass back. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.” It’s not much, but at least it gets most of the people to go back to their conversations; and their attention off of him. “Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me,” He whispers under his breath as his gaze lands on the terrifying trio that’s walking towards him, as the sea of kids move apart to let them through. It makes his stomach turn, and he quickly looks away and starts to go down an alternative hallway; a longer way to class but it’s away from them. Or, at least he hoped it’d go that way.

“Oh look, it’s my favorite faggot,” The leader, a red-head girl with even redder lipstick and a truly, evil grin purrs out, as her tail swishes behind her. The main reason he gets bullied, he’s one of the only humans in this school. It makes him an easy target.

“I’m your favorite? How sweet of you Lydia,” Stiles fakes astonishment as he stops his walking and turns around. “Scott, Jackson,” The lanky boy nods towards her two henchmen who follow her like she’s a goddess. “Can we skip the small tal-” The words get cut short as a fist marks contact his cheek and he stumbles back. Fear courses through his body as he instinctively reaches for his cheek.

“Come on, fight back,” Scott mocks, his normal brown eyes turning a violet color as the purple aura around him glows brighter. “Oh that’s right, you can’t because all you are is pathetic,” He steps closer, a malicious smirk as his prey attempts to make himself smaller. “Stupid,” Each word is like a knife, and Stiles preys that it’ll be over soon. “And a weak, little human,” It’s less of a human voice now, the words sounding eerily similar to a snake as the fangs become bigger. Scott grabs the human’s head and smashes it against the wall, a small dent now prominent in the wall. His fist retracts and he starts swinging, not stopping until the other is bloody and on the ground. “

“Scott, that’s enough,” Lydia demands, her eyes narrowing at the Naga until he backs away and back into his spot. “We don’t kill.” Those words make Stiles breathe, as much as he can as blood drips from his nose and lip. The black-haired boy leans against the wall, his vision blurring as he watches them walk away. Red colors his cheeks as he notices almost everyone watching. When they notice he’s looking they quickly go back to how they were and break apart when the bell rings.

It feels like hours, although it’s only been minutes as Stiles slumps against the wall, too sore to move. “No, Madison don’t look,” It comes out weak, barely even audible as his sister rushes to his side. “I’m okay, it’s just a little scratch,” It’s so far from the truth, he’s sure his nose is broken, his lip is split, and his dignity is bruised.

“Stiles, you can’t just let them keep doing this,” Her heart breaks, her blue eyes searching all over his face taking in the injuries. “

“I can’t do anything about it Mads,” He looks away from his sister, can’t even bring himself to look her in the eyes. It’s too embarrassing. “I’m human, they’re powerful supernatural beings who hate humans,” Sadly, it’s the truth and it’ll always be the truth.

“That’s not fair, you don’t deserve to get your ass beat just because you’re human,” She says it, and wholeheartedly believes it, however, she knows the reality of the situation. She’s always been smart for her age. She’s only fourteen.

“You can heal me but that’s it,” He sits up a little straighter, his ribs screaming at him in pain. “I still have some dignity left,” what was supposed to come out as a joke, comes out broken and scared. He watches Madison’s eyes turn pink as her hands touch his cheek. A warm, vibrant feeling washes through his body as his wounds slowly heal. “Thank you.” The statement isn’t much, only two words, but he means it with every fiber in his body. The young girl just smiles at him and helps him stand up.

“Go home today okay? I will get your work,” Even though she’s three grades below him, she has an amazing ability to manipulate people to get what she needs. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” The 18-year-old smiles and gives her a hug, before pulling away and walking towards the double doors and out to his Jeep. “Time for plan B,” A smile crawls its way up to his mouth and he digs in his pocket for his keys. This might have consequences, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He won’t be alone anymore.

#sterek #stiles stilinksi #derek hale #short story #multiple chapters #im high #modern au i guess?#based on a post i saw

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