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daveth-isnt-dead · 20 days ago

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Overlock Stitch Part 3/?

Summary:

Viktor is just trying his best to survive his years as a student at the academy when a girl studying textiles suddenly begs him to let her tailor his uniform. She is right, it doesn't fit, but he isn't in the business of accepting charity from strangers. "Please?" She asks, "It would be fully anonymous on your part and we would both be better off." Then again, but with feeling, "please?" Viktor eyes her again and against his better judgement, presents an undeserved olive branch, "Will you be here tomorrow?" Her smile is so wide it almost makes him want to recoil. He wonders if her cheeks hurt.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 3,991

Read on AO3

She doesn't see Viktor for a few weeks after that, he came by to collect his uniform and allowed her to take her photos before offering little more than a curt 'thank you' and disappearing through the door. She tries her best not to be too hurt by this, after all, one forced, awkward interaction where she could accidentally stab him with a pin at any moment is not exactly the usual first step in making friends. Not that she has ever been good at following that particular rule-book anyway.

If she pokes her head out at the right time on Thursday she sometimes still catches him on his walk through the fine art wing. One time she was brave enough to wave at him, but he either didn't see her, or did and pretended he didn't. Regardless, she couldn't find the courage to try again. The few times she has seen him, she hasn't been able to resist admiring how utterly stunning he looks in his properly fitting uniform. She just hopes that is has helped somehow, that he gets fewer stares in the hallways and most importantly, that the alterations she made to his trousers make it easier for him to get ready in the mornings. Especially now that the cold outside is biting.

It's still another fortnight before her final assignment for the term is due and she has been working on cataloguing both photos and sketches for all the tailoring work she has done. It is mostly alterations made for her father, some fittings for classmates, one wedding dress alteration, and the work she did for Viktor. The photos of his uniform turned out nicely despite her difficulties getting the film into the camera. Her heart does perform a traitorous little flutter each time she glances at any of them, the photo of his waistline post-tailoring is especially perilous, she tries not to look at it.

It's early evening and the sun has already well set outside the academy, but she knows that she wont get any more work done if she goes back to her dorm. Her radiator has been playing up and she has been avoiding contacting academy maintenance about it for the last few months. She doesn't feel like she belongs here half the time already, the last thing she needs is the academy thinking she is some sort of nuisance. With how cold it is tonight, all she will manage to do back home is climb into bed. So she stays late in the warm textiles workshop, sketching and annotating in preparation for her assignment. It's also nice to have the place to herself, even for just a few hours. She is usually forced to engage in exhausting faux polite conversation with Eliza and her other classmates. It gives her a headache, makes her teeth hurt. She has grown quite comfortable in the silence, sitting in the low light of her worktable's lamp as she works to arrange her portfolio. So the sound of the door to the workshop opening has her yelping and knocking half her photos and sketches off the desk. She whips around, quickly trying to come up with a polite way to tell whatever classmate has interrupted her to get lost, only to freeze in place when she sees that it is Viktor lurking in the doorway.

"Hello!" She squeaks, immediately regretting everything about her delivery of the single word.

Viktor's brows draw together, "Hello. I-" His eyes dart down to the pile of photos at her feet, "I am sorry for startling you."

Oh. She hadn't been expecting an apology. A nervous giggle escapes her, "It's alright, really! I'm easily startled."

Viktor laughs too, it's warm and sounds surprisingly genuine, "Yes, you certainly are."

They both sit in a lingering, uncomfortable silence for a moment. She can't manage to figure out why exactly he is standing here in the workshop, can't think of what she is supposed to say, what he wants her to say.

"I'm-"

"You-"

They both laugh at the failed start, and the energy in the room feels suddenly lighter. Viktor inclines his head towards her, "You first."

"Oh, okay, um." She chews her lower lip, it had been easier to say when it was off the cuff, but now that she's had a moment to think about it, she suddenly feels like it is far too presumptuous, "I'm happy to see you again, that's all." she says quickly, picking at her cuticles.

Viktor hums, his intense eyes peeling back her layers again. It makes her hands grow clammy.

"You did an impressive job with my uniform. That is what I was going to say." He replies.

Her stomach flips and she clutches her hands tightly in her lap, "Th-Thank you, I'm glad." She's nervous and her mouth moves faster than her brain, "I've been thinking about you, I-I mean, your uniform and I was really hoping that it had helped. It means everything to me, it really does."

An almost smirk tugs at the corners of Viktor's mouth, "You have been thinking about me?"

Sudden heat rushes to her cheeks, "About you uniform! That's what I said!"

Viktor shrugs a shoulder, "Suit yourself." he takes a few steps forward, allowing the door to slide shut behind him, "What are your going rates when it comes to favours?" He asks evenly.

She blinks at him, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"Topsiders rarely offer an act of kindness without a charge. The values and complicated, payment does not come back until months down the line when they need something from you." He steps over to her, ducking down and collecting her mess of photographs into a neat pile before handing it back to her, "One of my classmates gave me directions to my first lecture and then about two months later he all but ordered me to complete his assignment for him. I would not assign those two acts equal value, personally, though, maybe topsiders have found a way to charge interest on favours, it would not surprise me."

He speaks clearly, succinctly, and she realises that this is the most he has ever said to her, by a wide margin.

She swallows, hoping that she knows the right way to respond, "Eliza, my classmate, brought me a pastry before the end of first semester last year. She still holds it over my head anytime she needs something from me. The funny thing is, had she just been genuinely friendly to me, I would have helped without the need for threatening pretence." She gains the confidence to meet Viktor's eyes and finds his appraising expression encouraging, "It's exhausting, playing these games every day. I'm just not cut out for it. So my going rates for favours is complimentary, as it should be."

Viktor's lips quirk up in a smile, wide enough that for the first time, she catches a glimpse of his teeth. They're crooked, lacking the benefits of modern Piltover dentistry and she is enchanted by them, can't help picturing the shape of the imprint his bite would leave behind

"That is good." He says with a nod, "Very good."

He leans against her worktable, peering down at where she still sits in her chair, she gulps, averting her eyes, "I take it you need something from me, then?"

Viktor turns his head and crosses his arms. His open, almost playful posture tightens into something far more self conscious.

"I meant what I said." he beings, rapping his fingers against his arm, "My uniform is far more comfortable now and those eh, alterations you made were very-" He brow creases, "Accommodating.'

She can feel herself relaxing, unfurling almost, hearing that her work had managed to help, that it had meant something to someone.

Viktor looks at her out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "I told you I was not interested in charity when we first spoke and that is still true, but I am hoping you might be interested in getting some more practice, as it were."

She smiles wide, she can't help it, "Do you want more alterations? Is that what you're saying?

Viktor's next smile is shockingly warm, "Ah, there is that spark of yours. Yes, the rest of my wardrobe now feels woefully inept."

She quickly darts her eyes up to the clock and back, "The wing is going to be closed in a few hours, it's probably not enough time…but I would love to! Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

Viktor barks a laugh, "I did not mean now."

Her enthusiasm gets away from her, she can't help it, "But if you have time now, then we could, or I mean, you could always-" too familiar, too familiar by far, she freezes, staring down at her toes, "Sorry. Never mind, I'm just overexcited, forget all of that."

Viktor's brows draw together and his jaw tightens, "Stop doing that around me, I am not one of your Piltie classmates, I despise it just as much as you do." He spits, "Do not dissimulate, just tell me what you want, is it really so difficult?"

It is. It is. Every bone in her body tenses and panics and tells her that this is exactly the sort of thing that makes one a social pariah, that gets them ridiculed by classmates for seeing friendship where there is none. She balls her hands into fists, sucks in a deep breath and says, "I have sewing supplies in my dorm. If you would like me to do the alterations now, you can come back with me."

When Viktor doesn't immediately start laughing at her, she gains enough courage to look up at him. His expression is thoughtful and not at all mocking. At the sight of him, all the nervous, electric tension suddenly melts from her body. Unlearning years of Piltover fake politeness feels a bit like pulling out rotten teeth. Painful at first, but a relief afterwards.

Viktor thinks her offer over a little longer, casting a considering glance in the direction of the clock before returning his attention to her, "I would have to collect my things first. Give me your address, I'll meet you there."

~~~

Viktor barely understands why he agreed to this. Locking his door behind himself and preparing to navigate the maze-like block of dorms under the cover of darkness. It is a clear night, at least, the moon provides a good deal of light and like the rest of the Piltover's streets, the footpaths surrounding the dorms are lit with streetlights, casting a pale orange light across the ground. His leg complains when he starts walking in the cold air, less than it was complaining yesterday, if that was not the case he definitely would have turned her down. But it's a rare good day and so much of the student body seems to wish they were anywhere other than the academy that speaking with someone who actually cares about what they are studying is refreshing.

Her block of dorms actually ends up being quite a bit closer than the main academy buildings are, so Viktor is at least grateful for that despite the confusion he feels at his own sudden acquiescence. Agreeing to her first tailoring felt a lot like peeling back his fingernails, it was painful, it ached, it was shameful. So what changed, really? She doesn't have any sort of ill intent, that much is plain as day, but there is still no real reason for him to be trudging himself through the cold air in the dark of night. This could have been handled in the morning. It should have been, but when she smiles the way she does, the way that makes his cheeks hurt empathically, he finds it difficult not to keep that smile lit as long as possible. It's far realer than any of that achingly false pretence she slips in and out of, maybe her smile reminds him of home. Just a little.

The set of buttons she had affixed into the inseam of his trousers were another reason he agreed. It was a defensive mechanism, to far understate just how useful he had found them in even just the past few weeks. Despite her insistence that she doesn't charge for favours like so many Pilties do, he still can't shake the feeling that letting her know just how much he owes her would be dangerous. Because he does owe her, he owes her a great deal. Every evening when the cold has left his leg stiff and uncooperative, when he would usually need to spend almost half an hour massaging muscles before being able to undress for bed, he was instead able to unsnap the fasteners with one tug, and the trousers would slide right off. He had been fine without her help, he would have continued being fine without it. But now, he is more than fine, just a little bit, an almost inscrutable amount, a decimal place somewhere within the nebulous number defining just how bad a day can be. It is a small change, but it is one he has noticed and that is significant.

Her dorm is one of the street-facing buildings and on the ground floor, which makes it easy to find. The lights are on in the windows and as she had described very explicitly, there are several bunches of dried flowers hanging from the door frame. Viktor also almost knocks over a dish of water on the doorstep that he can only assume she has left out for the cats he sometimes sees roaming around the academy grounds. The groundskeepers are always trying to chase the cats off campus, but it's no wonder they keep coming back if she is doting on them the way he is certain she is.

She comes to the door just a few seconds after he knocks. He hears the sound of a chain-lock frantically undoing and then the door quickly swings open.

"Hello!" She exclaims in her usual rush, out of breath and smiling wide. Her hair is down, still awkwardly kinked from being in an up-do all day and kicking up around her collarbone. Viktor finds that he likes it a lot more this way and doesn't appreciate how that thought twists at his gut.

"Hello, yourself." He replies, peering past her into the softly lit room beyond.

She follows his line of sight with a whip of messy hair, laughing a little before turning back and chewing her lower lip, it's chapped and red in places, it gives the impression that she is nervously chewing more often than not, "I tidied before you got here. I don't really ever have people over"

He doesn't doubt it. She is dithering in the front door like she isn't even sure how to welcome him inside. Viktor saves her the trouble, taking another step closer and peering down at her. She blinks again, in that mousy way and he inclines his head towards the doorway, "May I come in?"

Her wide smile comes back, "Yes! Please do!" and she quickly presses herself against the wall, motioning for Viktor to walk in through the gap.

He had been hoping for her to vacate the doorway entirely, but the way she clings to the wall and sucks in all her vital organs does at least give him enough room to squeeze past her and into the dorm. From what he can see, it seems to be the same layout as his own room but in reverse, the small kitchenette is off to the left and there's a rickety looking wooden divider separating the small alcove where her bed is from the rest of the dorm. Viktor hears the door lock behind him and she darts out and around him, standing expectantly in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. She is especially nervous now, it's all over her face.

"Do, um-" her face pinches, it's as if she is trying to remember exactly what she has been taught to say when she has a guest over, "Do you want something to drink? I only have tea, unfortunately, coffee makes me nauseous."

"Tea would be fine." Viktor says, eyeing the large collection of dried flowers in various cups and vases throughout the room, "you don't keep any living plants?"

She blinks, "Um, no I don't. I always over water them and kill them."

Not forgetful, then. Viktor muses, just overly doting.

"I'll go brew the tea, then." She says quickly, "Take a seat on the sofa if you want, oh! and leave your clothes that need altering on the armchair, I'll get to them in a moment."

Viktor nods and watches as she darts her way over to the kitchenette and starts heating some water on the stove. She's still in her uniform, he can only assume that she was so busy tidying that she didn't have any time to change. He finds the armchair sitting by the radiator and removes the clothes from his bag, folding them over the armrest. Now that he is standing so close to it, he realises that there is no heat at all emanating from the radiator, the room is at least marginally warmer than outside, warm enough that he didn't notice anything was wrong at first. He peers over his shoulder, she is in the middle of reaching for a pair of matching teacups from the top shelf, he decides not to bother her. Instead he rests his cane against the armchair and crouches down, careful with the weight distribution on his right leg. It still hurts enough for him to wince involuntarily, but it could be far worse. He turns the valve carefully and finds no resistance.

"Are you having problems with your radiator?" He asks

He hears her squeak from across the room, followed by quick footsteps and the sound of her putting a jar of sugar down on the coffee table, "Yes, I'm sorry. Are you cold? I have blankets."

"No. No I am okay for the moment." He turns to look at her over his shoulder, her cheeks flush involuntarily at the attention, "How long have you been experiencing these issues?"

"Since it started getting cold this year, it hasn't been much of a problem until now because it hasn't been too chilly." She shrugs, "I just, I don't know, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you noticed anything strange when you try to turn it on?"

"Um, it sometimes makes sounds? Creaking or hissing. I was worried I might break it so I've mostly taken to leaving it off."

"Aha. You must have air in the pipes." He stands from the ground, "I can fix it."

"W-Wait! You don't-" She sputters, chasing after him as he heads over to her kitchen

"Your boiler should be in the bottom of the pantry, if your dorm is the same as mine." He says quickly, deciding that it's best to cut her polite refusal off at the root instead of entertaining it, "I'll need to turn it off for a moment"

She stares at him open mouthed for a moment, but then seems to decide pushing back isn't worth it and follows after him, dithering over his shoulder as he crouches down, using the second to last shelf in the pantry for balance and turning off the gas. His heart races when he realises that she is leaning in so close to him that he can feel her hair brushing against the side of his neck.

"Can I help somehow?" She asks quietly, he can feel her breath in his ear.

Viktor swallows, clenches and un-clenches his hands, "Do you have a Flathead screwdriver?"

She shifts backward, and he suddenly feels like he can breathe again, "I have a fork that works in a pinch! Let me see if I can find it."

He peers over his shoulder and waits until he can see that she is busy digging through the drawers before pulling himself back to his feet. His leg complains, a little worse than the first time, but only marginally. He is glad she wasn't watching. As he steps towards her, she whips around with one of her enormous smiles, clutching a fork in her hand.

"This should do the trick, I had to tighten the towel rack in my bathroom and it worked a charm."

Viktor feels that urge again, the one in the base of his stomach that wants him to soften in the warmth of her gaze. The same urge that begged him to call her Myšičko last time they spoke despite the cloying affection behind the diminutive word, "Thank you." He says instead, taking the fork from her outstretched hand and walking back over to the radiator. Resting a hand on it, he finds it quite cool, it must have been that way for a long time based on when she says it stopped working, but turning off the boiler practically negates the possibility of him burning his hands. Working quickly, Viktor sticks the square end of the fork into the screw keeping the bleed valve sealed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when he realises just how perfectly the fork fits.

"Well you were not kidding about this fork working in- what was it you said? A pinch?"

He hears a laugh from somewhere behind him, the teapot on the stove must have finished boiling because when he looks backward he sees her pouring tea at the kitchen bench, "I told you!"

He exhales an amused breath, "So you did."

It only takes a few turns to loosen the bleed valve enough for air to begin escaping, just as he has expected. After a few seconds a thin stream of water spills down from the valve and Viktor quickly re-tightens the screw before any further water gets lost. Easy.

He stands from the floor with a wince, using the armrest of the chair for balance, "That should work now. Give it a few minutes and then we can turn the boiler back on." He grabs his cane and readjusts himself, turning to see that she is crossing the room with both cups of tea, gently resting them on the coffee table.

"I-" She starts, eyes darting around the room skittishly, "Thank you. I didn't mean to invite you over to fix things for me."

"No." Viktor says, unable to help the smile climbing up his cheeks as he rounds the coffee table and takes a seat on the sofa, crossing his right leg over his left, "In fact, I think you'll find I came around so you would fix something." He shrugs, "I suppose I was feeling generous."

Generous is too non-committal a term for how he is feeling. How he has been feeling all evening. Warm? Comfortable? Something in that realm. Something ill-advised and guaranteed to end in suffering, that's what the terrified voice in the back of his head says, the one that always hears alarm bells where there aren't any.

"Oh! Yes! I'm sorry!" She says in a near panic, darting over to the desk up against the wall and grabbing an embroidered sewing kit, "I was so busy with the tea and being a good host and- wait, you don't have anywhere to be do you?" and then faster, almost out of breath, "You can leave if you need to! I can drop everything off at your dorm tomorrow!"

Viktor leans forward and scoops several spoons of sugar into one of the teacups before grabbing it by the handle and sinking backward into the sofa. He takes a sip and suddenly finds that he doesn't feel like going anywhere at all, "No rush." He says, surprised to realise he means it, "I am all yours."

#bree writes occasionally #overlock stitch #viktor x reader #viktor/reader #arcane x reader #arcane/reader

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daveth-isnt-dead · 2 months ago

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Overlock Stitch Part 2/?

Summary:

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader

Word Count: 5,311

Read on AO3

She manages to shove her embarrassment down long enough to get the photos taken, organising them into a neat stack and then leaving them on her worktable for later. Viktor has gone back to not talking very much at all, wordlessly adjusting his stance for her photos but otherwise just peering down at her quietly. His eyes are coolly intelligent and piercing, she has to avoid making eye contact or she completely looses her focus.

Her hands shake when she picks up her pins, sticking a few into the pincushion on her wrist for easier access, "I'll start with your shirt, if that's alright."

Viktor nods and continues watching intently as she takes a tentative step forward and reaches for his wrist. She notices his knuckles tighten when her fingers brush against him, but she tries her best to ignore it. The cuffs on his shirt are a touch too long, so she exhales an even breath out through her nose and folds the fabric of his sleeve up under itself so she can raise the cuff and pin along the seam-line.

Her voice shakes, but talking makes her feel less nervous, "It's best to make all the alterations against the existing seam, that way no one can tell you've had any tailoring done at all." she grabs a few more pins from her pincushion and works to adjust the loose fabric around his elbow, "That's why most of my classmates prefer to do design work, because if you're a good tailor, no one will ever notice you."

Viktor hums at that, it's a pleasant sound. Oddly warm.

Since he doesn't seem to mind her talking, she keeps doing it, "The forearm of your shirt fits pretty well, but the upper arm will need some work. Just-" her brow furrows as she pins along the seam all the way up his arm, "Just try to stay still, I haven't um, I haven't had much of a chance to do alterations on a person."

"Ah, I am a test subject, then?"

She isn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke, but it makes her laugh and she lets it, "I suppose so? Most of the other students I've done work for only ask for cosmetic alterations, minor, usually. I've had plenty of practice on mannequins though, so just don't breathe and it'll be fine."

This time Viktor laughs, a gentle chuckle the rises up and out from his chest. Hearing it is like an achievement in and of itself and she can't help the shy smile that tugs at the corners of her lips.

"Hey, no laughing either or you'll get a pin in the ribs."

He exhales an amused breath and then says, "Yes, of course, my apologies."

She moves onto his second arm, feeling much more confident this time. Part of her wants to express just how grateful she is that Viktor even agreed to meeting with her today, but anxiety churning in her gut worries about coming on too strong, too desperate. So she keeps her mouth shut, adjusting his cuff and then pinning up the length of his arm the same as the previous.

"There." She says, quietly admiring her own handiwork, "Much better already. Um, I will need you to hop down from the platform for just a moment, I won't be able to reach your shoulders while you're up there."

As before, Viktor follows her directions quickly and without complaint, she does notice the way he braces his cane on the floor before stepping down and tries her best to avert her eyes when his brows draw together in what is clearly a wince of pain. She resists the urge to apologise again, because she gets the sense he doesn't like when she does that, even though the word sorry escapes her more often than breath does. Like it's perpetually waiting in her lungs.

"Thank you." She says instead, which is marginally better. Viktor just nods in response.

Her heart jumps a little when she steps towards him again, assessing his waistcoat first. It's too long, and loose around his chest. It will need quite a bit of work, and presuming the shirt underneath is the same size, it will need just about the same amount. She hums, eyeing the upward jut of his left shoulder, debating if she can account for his uneven stance when pinning just to save herself from having to ask any invasive questions. In the end, she decides against it, getting the job done properly will be worth the momentary embarrassment. No matter how much her hands shake at the thought.

"I'll need your shoulders at neutral when I'm pinning, or it will end up wonky." She begins shakily, wringing her hands together. Then, with trepidation she adds, "will you be alright to stand without your cane for a few minutes?"

Viktor tilts his head back and forth, weighing the question before giving her a curt nod.

"Okay!" She says, relieved that he didn't seem at all offended by her question and reaching out to take the cane from him.

The moment her fingers brush against it, Viktor yanks back from her, every muscle in his body tensing, his eyes fiery and jaw set in a challenging line. The inhale and exhale of his breath is sharp, a furious punch of his chest and the grip he has on the cane turns his knuckles white.

She has no idea how to break the thick and painful silence, her hand still half raised in the air because she is worried that even lowering it back to her side might seem like a threat. Her mouth opens and closes, as she tries to figure out what she has done wrong, what to say or do to fix this. The arch of his brow is dangerous, threatening, but with her eyes locked to his in a frozen panic, she can't help but notice how pretty their colour is. Even if the intensity of his gaze makes her nearly want to turn and run from the room.

"Never take it from me." He hisses between gritted teeth, "You Pilties think that you can just take whatever you want whenever you want, but you cannot ever take this from me, do you understand? Never."

Her heart thumps wildly in her chest and she suddenly remembers yesterday when he asked if she thought he was dangerous. He is all sharp angles, looming over her with a posture that screams violence. But he doesn't move, he just keeps on staring at her and maybe because she takes the time to look, she thinks that she sees something like fear hiding behind his eyes.

She takes a deep breath and tries to keep her voice even when she says, "I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry."

He doesn't offer false platitudes, doesn't tell her that it's fine, or that she doesn't need to apologise. Doesn't insinuate that there will be no harm done so long as she offers him a favour in return for his silence, instead he bites a quick, "Do not do that again." and it's equal parts refreshing and terrifying.

"Yes, I won't. I'm sorry"

The tension leaves his shoulders a little, but she can tell he is still wound tight, "Go get the stool." He says quickly, inclining his head towards the tall stool by Eliza's project. She does as asked, bringing it over and placing it next to him. He leans the cane against it, well within arm's reach. It's only now, when the intensity in the room has begun to dissipate, that she realises exactly what she did when she snatched his cane from him. It's not just an object, it is his mobility and she had just tried to take it away without permission.

She picks at her cuticles, once again getting the sense that a plethora of apologies will not have the desired effect, not matter how desperately she wants to let them loose. Instead she takes a deep breath in through her nose and endeavours to prove that she is at least capable of not making the same mistake twice, "Is it alright if I get back to doing the alterations?" she asks quietly, adding on a quick, "You can leave if you want, I'd understand if you did."

"No. I'd rather you finish what you started." Viktor answers, short sharp and polite enough but no politer.

Relief rushes through her, not an irreparable mistake, then. She's so glad. Even though she offered for him to leave, she has no idea what she would have done if he had. So she doesn't bother wasting time on hypotheticals, instead she clamps a couple of pins between her teeth and positions herself on top of the platform behind Viktor to get a better look at his waistcoat, "Stay still, just like before." she slurs around the pins in her mouth, quickly working to adjust the seams across the width of his shoulders. He needs a good inch removed before the hemline sits at the appropriate spot on his hips and she is quick to pin both sides evenly.

"Much better." She says quietly to herself, "Would you mind taking your waistcoat off now? Then I can pin your shirt and you'll be free to stand with your cane again."

He doesn't reply, just starts carefully removing the garment, being sure not to poke himself with any of the pins on the sleeves of his shirt. When removed, Viktor hangs the waistcoat on the same stool where his cane is resting and then returns to standing straight.

"You're okay to keep standing a little longer, right?" She ventures cautiously, "You aren't in any pain?"

Viktor scoffs, "I am always in some degree of pain." one of his hands waves through the air in a vague gesture, "Though if it ever becomes noteworthy, I will be sure to inform you."

A hot lick of shame travels up the length of her spine and she can't help wondering why she had even asked such a stupid question. Her mouth begins to form the shape the word sorry-

"I would prefer you did not apologise." Viktor says before she gets the chance, "If you were to apologise for all the things wrong with me we would be here all day."

"Oh." Is all she is able to say. She doesn't much like his assertion that there is something wrong with him, multiple somethings, even, but she can't even begin to formulate a sentence that could properly convey that without making things worse somehow. So she doesn't bother trying, "I won't then."

Viktor nods once, "Good."

She wordlessly begins pinning the excess fabric on his shirt. His shoulders are quite broad, at least proportionally, it's honestly a shame that he has been walking around in such an ill-fitting uniform for so long. She tries not to think about it too much, but even now she can tell that he will look quite captivating in properly tailored garments.

It's only when she steps back down from the platform and returns to his front that she realises how much of a relief it was standing behind him. Viktor's eyes unsettle her with their summer-gold brilliance. His gaze is so sharp and intelligent that it feels like her insides are being slowly unspooled anytime she gains enough confidence to meet it.

"Okay, your shoulders are all done." She says quietly.

Viktor quickly grabs his cane again, settling into what is clearly a more comfortable stance. She doesn't talk much when she works on pinning the sides of his shirt, only once to ask him to put his waistcoat back on so she can pin that too. Then twice to make sure he stays still while she pins up the side of his ribcage. As close as she is standing, she can hear the rasp of his breath in his chest, the way it shudders out from him on each exhale. She really isn't used to tailoring clothes for strangers, her hands shake from the proximity and her heart thunders in her chest when she accidentally brushes her knuckles against the side of his waist.

"Sorry." She mutters before she can stop it.

Viktor sounds tired when he replies, "Please just be careful."

"O-Of course, sorry"

"And stop apologising."

She flinches, "Yes, sorry-"

Viktor says her name, it's the first time he has done it, she half thought he may have forgotten what it was. She pauses in the middle of adjusting his waistline, peering up at him. They are very close to each-other, so close that she can see how well bitten his lips are, notice the length of his eyelashes.

"You are like a frightened little mouse, has anyone ever told you that before?" He asks.

She feels her cheeks flushing, "Y-Yes, though never so kindly."

Viktor hums, she is close enough that she hears the sound rumble through his chest, "Are you nearly finished?"

"Oh! Yes! Nearly!" She quickly returns her hands to task, "Just a pin or two on this side and then I can move onto your trousers."

The quiet returns like a blanket, the silence awkward and heavy. She feels the urge to break it, to talk aloud to herself just to fill the void with something. She doesn't instead she just chews on her lower lip as she finishes adjusting the seams under Viktor's left arm.

"Done?" He asks.

She nods, "Yes, thank you. Would you mind hopping back up onto the platform? Just so I don't have to lay down on the floor to get at your ankles."

Mercifully, that makes Viktor smile, just a little. It's barely a tug at the corners of his mouth, but she drinks it down anyway. He doesn't offer a response, though, just returns to his spot on the platform and watches her intently as she grabs a few more pins and sticks them into her pincushion.

"Your trousers do seem especially loose." Now that his waistcoat sits at the right spot she can see his belt tugged tightly around his hips to keep them from falling down, "Could you take your belt off? I'll start there."

Viktor seems apprehensive at first, but then does as asked. He lays the belt over the seat of the stool he was resting his cane against before. Without the belt, the waistband of the trousers gape almost wide open, many many inches of extra fabric. She tries not to think too much about how slim his hips are, swallowing thickly as she begins to adjust the sides and back of the waistband so it will at least stay up.

Nervously, she starts talking, "Um, technically, the uniform trousers should be worn with braces, not a belt. We should have a couple laying around in the back of the workshop, we have a lot of abandoned accessories." She sucks in a breath as she pins the right side of his trousers tight, the base of her palm brushing against his protruding hipbone, "They probably won't be the right colour, but so long as you don't take off your waistcoat no one will notice."

Viktor scoffs, lifting his right arm to give her more space at his hip, "And what would I owe you?"

She peers up at him, he has his head turned away from her, his jaw tight, "Nothing! I promise! People just leave them behind and don't come back for them, we even have a couple from the theatre department that they don't need anymore." she exhales an uneven breath and starts working to adjust the seams down the side of his thigh, "And I suppose if someone does notice, I can just tell them I lost it, it wouldn't be a big deal."

Viktor doesn't respond for a long time, she makes it all the way down to his knee before he does, "I suppose I will take them, then."

She lets out a relieved sigh, "That's good. I'm glad."

He stays quiet again while she pins down the rest of his leg. She does note that he favours the left one, so she is very careful when manipulating the fabric on his right. He shifts uncomfortably once or twice, but doesn't tell her to stop and he did promise to tell her if his pain was noteworthy, so all she can do is take him at his word and assume that he is fine. When she is at his ankles, she quickly grabs her low stool and places it at the edge of the platform to make the last few pins a bit easier.

She eyes the tight fabric at his calves, now that the seams have been adjusted, chewing on her lower lip when she realises that an idea has struck and there is no way to tell if it is a good one or a bad one. Inserting the last pin at the cuff on his right leg, she inhales a deep breath and forces herself to remember why she is here.

"Do you have trouble getting your trousers on and off?" She blurts before she can regret it.

Viktor glares down at her, "Excuse me?"

She panics, "The ankles of your trousers will be much tighter when I finish the alterations, if you already struggle to get them on and off, it will be far more difficult now and- and I think I have something I can do to help. If that's okay?"

"I agreed to let you tailor my uniform." Viktor says firmly, "Nothing more."

Her pulse rushes, the words just keep coming, "I just want to help, I promise! My father lost an arm in a skirmish seven years ago and I started modifying his clothing for him, first just for appearances and then eventually for convenience, to make it easier for him to undress on his own." She explains, hoping that her reasoning will make more sense to him now, that he will understand that she isn't trying to mock him or pity him.

Viktor scowls, and it is not the reaction she was expecting, "A skirmish." He bites, his posture suddenly looming and sharp all over again, "Your father must be an enforcer, then."

She can hear the sound of her own heart beating in her ears, her throat turns dry as she peers up at him from the floor, trying to meet the roiling gold fury in his eyes. A familiar lie dances on the tip of her tongue, years of practice make it difficult to ignore, but because he isn't from here, because he doesn't offer candy-coated lies, maybe just because he is Viktor, she finds herself for once telling the truth.

"A skirmish with an enforcer." She corrects, and the words feel clunky and uncomfortable in her mouth.

For a beat they just stare at each other, Viktor eyes are suddenly wide and vulnerable, darting frantically across her face as if something in her appearance will make it all make sense. Her hands tremble where they are still gripping the fabric of his trousers and she can almost hear the echo of her heartbeat reverberating through the room. It's a weight off her shoulders, to have told someone, after years of lying and pretending. She isn't sure Viktor understands the significance of it, but she hopes he does.

Viktor's mouth opens and closes a few times, struggling to find his words. Eventually, he says, "Your father, he's…" the words from the undercity go unsaid, but the weight of them still hangs oppressive in there air, she feels like she might choke on them.

"Yes." She answers, averting her eyes, "Y-You can't tell anyone, you know what the people here are like, they'll eat me alive and I'm not-" not brave like you are, she thinks, but that feels far too bold, far too personal, "I just want to finish my studies in peace." Is what she says instead.

~~~

Peering down at her now, Viktor realises that everything begins to make sense. The way she cowers like a mouse as if the world itself is a cat out to get her, the way she desperately tries and fails to fit in, the fact that she dared to speak to him at all, even if it looks like she is preparing to bolt every time she does it.

"Have you even been to Zaun?" He asks, though it is more of a test than a question.

Her brow creases and he expects her to answer what's Zaun? but instead she just says, "No, at least not since I've been old enough to remember."

It was an easy test, but even still, Viktor hadn't really expected her to pass it, "We are not similar at all then, are we?"

She looks thoughtful, for a moment, chewing on her lower lip, "Not in present company, no." she inclines her head to the door, "Out there though, we might as well be neighbours. The line they draw it's-"

"Definitive." He finishes for her, "You are either on one side or the other, Pilties are not big fans of grey area. At least, not when it comes to Zaun."

The expression she offers him next is half a smile, half a wince, "Yeah, they aren't"

Viktor isn't sure how he is supposed to feel about her, part of him rushes upward from somewhere deep in his stomach, desperate to fall to his knees and plead for her to show him something, anything that reminds him of home, to let her shaking hands sink into his chest and hold his heart tightly between them. The other part, the intelligent part, the part he actually has control over, begs him to not break his composure. She isn't like him, not really. Her breath is even and clear, her lungs expand and recede in great, nervous gulps that his own would stutter and rattle the whole way through. Aside from her nervous disposition, unkempt hair and overall mousy appearance, there is nothing that truly others her from the other topsiders. That makes the third part of him, the loudest part, want to bare his teeth, to grab her by the throat and shake her for daring to share his heritage but nothing else, for having working lungs and working legs, for having anything to hide behind.

"Viktor?" She whispers quietly, her brows pinched together in what he can only interpret in concern.

He makes a choice then, a middle ground. Gripping tightly to the handle of his cane, he asks, "What kind of, help were you offering, exactly?"

She brightens just a little, he really only notices it in her eyes, the way they shine.

"I can alter the inseam of your trousers for you, so that you can undo them at the ankle." She jumps from her stool and moves quickly over to her worktable, digging quickly through an open sewing kit, "I have snap fasteners, they're easier to undo than buttons and I can very easily hide them in your inseam, no one would ever see them, but it should make things easier for you."

She steps back over to him, slowly and holds out a small metal tin. Inside Viktor can see a collection of small rings, various pieces that must combine together to make the fastener.

"Show me." Viktor finds himself responding, pushing the tin back towards her, "Where would they go?"

She blinks at him again, a nervous little smile tugging at her lips that makes him feel slightly better, "Y-Yes! Of course!" She crouches down and reaches out with a finger, running it gently up the inside of his right leg, stopping halfway up his calf. His skin prickles at the sensation, even through the fabric of his trousers, "So it would be from the cuff up to here, I'll loosen the seam on the outside of the leg to offer more space on the inside, unpick the inseam and add a series of snap fasteners the whole way up. They just snap shut, and all you should need to do to undo them is tug on either side of the fabric." She grabs the inside of his trousers, tugging quickly twice, "Just like that."

Even loose as they are, it has been a struggle to work his leg in and out the ankles of the trousers. Especially now that the weather has turned cold. He shifts his foot slightly, feeling how tight the tailoring will leave the garment and feels a familiar angry ache building in his gut, picturing himself struggling into his own clothes every morning. He peers down at her again, at her wide, expectant eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, with nerves or with something else, her poorly styled hair coming loose from it's up-do and strands of it are hanging loose around her face. Nothing in her expression is mocking, or pitying, if anything she looks hopeful.

"Would it…take much longer?" He asks.

Her smile is back in full force, the one that makes her mouth seem too big for her face, the achingly bright one, "Not at all! Maybe an extra hour at most."

Viktor darts his eyes to the clock on the wall, he would like to get some studying done today, "If I return before sunset, would it be finished?"

"Yes, yes! Absolutely it would." She lets out a laugh that sounds nearly exhilarated, "Thank you so much for trusting me, it means- well, I guess it means everything."

It might just have been so long since he has seen someone so passionate about what they do, but a smile tugs at the corner of Viktor mouth, unbidden, "Now, now. I never agreed, did I?"

Her mouth snaps shut, eyes widening.

He laughs and puts a stop to her fretting before it starts, "Don't worry, I was just teasing, you have my permission."

She laughs now, loudly, inelegantly. It's only halfway through her fit that she catches herself, hiding her mouth behind a hand, "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just so relieved." she takes a deep breath, holding a hand to her chest to calm down, "Thank you again, I mean it."

Viktor shrugs, "Eh, I did not really do anything."

She snorts then and Viktor finds himself enamoured by it, "You let me do some actual alterations for once, it's important to me at least." Then, as if remembering something, her eyebrows jump, "Oh! just a second." She darts back over to the sewing kit and returns with what Viktor recognises as a seam-ripper, "I'll quickly undo the inseam on your trousers now, that way it will be easier for you to take them off before you leave."

She returns to her stool, shuffling forward so she can more easily get her hands between his legs. Viktor turns his head to the side, finding the proximity easier to deal with if he doesn't have to actually look at her. He's already learned that she talks when she is nervous, so he isn't surprised when she starts speaking again, but oddly, he finds he doesn't mind it much at all.

"I started using the snap fasteners for my father, because they are much easier for him to do up and undo with only one arm. My mother used to help him with his clothes, and she didn't mind doing it, but his independence meant a lot to him and I wanted to help."

Curiosity gets the better of him and Viktor asks, "Did he tell you much about the undercity?"

"A lot, actually." He feels her moving to pick some stitches further up his leg, "I think he misses it, but he hasn't had much of a chance to go back. My mother works and I'm studying here, it just, makes it easier if we don't really talk about it."

Viktor feels himself bristle at that, the angry part of him that is always so loud rears its ugly head again, "Do you have no pride in your heritage?" he spits, and only half regrets it.

She laughs bitterly, inclining her head towards the door again, "Not nearly enough to make it worthwhile facing all of them "

Viktor scoffs, "You're a coward, then."

"I know" She replies quietly, "and you aren't."

Viktor is surprised how much he likes that assertion. He has heard from a few misguided, well meaning topsiders how brave he is for being here, but the meaning is different. How brave he must be, they say, to live the way he has for so long, how fucking brave he is to walk around with a limp and a cane, how hard his life must have been.

That is not what she is saying and he knows it. How brave you are, she says, to put up with all this Piltie, obfuscating, bullshit, day after day. How brave you are to not have already ripped their throats out with your teeth, to not have set this entire building on fire. That is what she thinks he is brave for and that feels good.

"All done." She says softly, unpicking the last stitch, "Just, um, just be careful not to tear it, or poke yourself with any of the pins." she gestures to a section of the room closed off by a curtain, "You can change in there and just leave the uniform with me on the way out."

~~~

She watches silently as Viktor walks to the changing room, grabbing his bag on the way and slinging it over his shoulder. Once he is out of sight, she takes a long, deep breath in through her nose and tries to calm her breathing. This could have gone better, but it could also have gone a lot worse. She sighs, peering shyly at the curtain Viktor is changing behind. One day she will be able to give something back, re-open her father's shop, do something that matters something more than frivolities, more than lace and silk.

Quietly, she starts tidying her leftover pins and returning them to her workbench. Then she removes the canvas cover from her sewing machine, it's much fancier than the one she has at home, not as loud as she works the pedal. She had gotten so used to the way her father's old machine would stick, how it would sometimes catch and tangle on loose threads. This newer thing, she keeps waiting for it to bite her, for it to realise she is different the same way her classmates did so quickly.

Her head snaps at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, and the sight of Viktor emerging in something other than his uniform. Whatever he is wearing clearly wasn't purchased in Piltover, it's mostly brown and green, with a few purple touches here and there. More importantly than any of that, other than the trousers being a few inches too short, it fits him perfectly. Her eyes dart to the narrow dip of his waist, the broad stretch of his shoulders. She had been right, he is captivating.

All she can do is watch as he steps back over to her, holding out the neatly folded pile of his uniform, "Just before sunset, yes?" he clarifies.

She swallows, taking the pile from him, "Y-Yes, that's right. I'll be here."

"Alright." Viktor leans down just a little, enough that his eyes meet hers, "Then I will see you later, Myšičko"

Her heart thunders behind her ribs and she clutches his uniform tightly to her chest, watching as he turns on his heel and heads back out the door, desperate to ask what he had just called her, but too shocked to get the words out.

The door clicks shut behind him and she hopes not just to see him later, but to see him again and again and again.

#viktor x reader #viktor/reader #arcane x reader #bree writes occasionally #overlock stitch

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