D-gteeths - Greatness Calling...

HEHEHEHEHEHE

Charley and Yuri!!!

sooo into school spirits at the moment hehe

Billy loves when you get cockdumb

you’re that fucked out that all you can do is smile as he pounds into you

asks you questions whilst your eyes glaze over, “what’ve ya been doin’ today then darlin’?” he doesn’t stop fucking you as he asks, smirking down at you as you try to process the question- swears he can see the cogs in your head turning

“i uh-oh fuck butch- i had a coffee with a friend”

“oh yeah? what kinda coffee did ya have, baby?”

he drags his hands down your damp body to grip your hips to fuck into you harder, when you don’t respond- he slaps your clit and has to grit his teeth when he feels you clench around him

“c’mon lovey, answer my questions or else i won’t let you come”

you start reeling off what you’ve done during the day through moans, half of it is gibberish because butcher’s cock is hitting your gspot perfectly

:) i need him so bad :)

“Did you see the way that little girl looked at me? Kids. Little kids. They grow up believing that they can be a hero if they drive a sword into the heart of anything different. And I’m the monster? I don’t know what’s scarier. The fact that everyone in this kingdom wants to run a sword through my heart or that sometimes I just wanna let ‘em.” “We have to get you out of here. Over the wall. We won’t stop until we find some place safe, okay? We’ll go. Together. No matter what we do, we can’t change the way people see us.” “You changed the way you see me... Didn’t you?

NIMONA (2023), based on the comic by ND Stevenson, who came out as transgender in 2022

So... on my other account (where I post all my writing stuff) I can't comment, get no views (I averaged 100) and it's like super weird? I'm relatively new to tumblr. Someone help, what's happening.

to the anon who just asked me if i ever shut up

no bitch i do not lmfao

ok reverse the TROPE !!!!!! sugar-mommy!f!reader x retired!simon <333 (18+)

he got discharged on a medical injury. his knee flares up now, phantom pains that shoot up his leg and pinch his spine. he feels like a failure--a lieutenant in his prime, and now he has to acclimate to civilian life and grit his teeth instead of drown the voices in his head out with gunfire.

he's been deployed as much as he could be just to stay away from this kind of place. so he didn't have to get on a train, or take the tube. so he didn't have to think about looking over his shoulder in the shops or learn how to pay a wifi bill. he hates going to the doctor's office, and he hates learning how to properly open his bank account, just to learn that there's nearly nothing in it.

the numbers just dwindle before his very eyes. the rent is too high, even in his shitty studio. when did cable cost that much? why can't he go to the pub for just a few pounds anymore? where is the compensation for giving more than a decade of his life in service of his country just to have to wait in fucking lines to get his medication and argue over the phone about where all his fucking money went.

maybe he never had any. maybe it's all lost somewhere. he'd ask his former captain, but he's halfway across the world, and over his dead body would he hold a hand out and ask for charity when he's 36 years old.

"don't get that one."

simon turns his head, a snarl caught in his throat. there's a pretty thing standing beside him, also staring at the array of ramen packages in focus. you take the orange package out of his hand and put it back on the shelf before reaching for a different package. it's got japanese characters on it, so he can't read the label, but you smile up at him.

"this one is way better. good price for it, too."

"'s more expensive."

"yeah, but you get eight packets in this one. that one only gives you five."

at the till, you notice him subtly counting the notes in his wallet. you pretend not to notice, rocking back and forth on your heels, but just as he picks up his bag to leave, you speak up.

"you wanna get a drink? on me."

and fuck, he could use a bourbon. on the first one, he thought your presence was pleasantly tolerable. by the fourth, he's staring down your shirt, dark eyes mapping out what the curves of your breasts might look like in the palm of his big hand. by the sixth, you're pressed up against a sticky bathroom wall and holding on for dear life as he pounds into you from behind, knickers in his back pocket, manicured nails digging slits into his tattooed forearm.

you sink those claws in that night; and you do not let go.

the third night you ask him out, he sees your flat for the first time. in a nice building downtown, doorman holding the door open for you. the elevator ride is long enough for him to see the tops of buildings, and when you step inside your flat, he swallows hard when he realizes you are way out of his league.

gorgeous leather seats and couch. large tv with surround sound. a french kitchen with a gas stove. your flat is filled with knickknacks and candles, low yellow lights and wonderful collections of art and little glass vases and sculptures. your home is filled with warmth, and you don't belong with him.

just as he thinks about backing out of the place, you turn and grip the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. you touch your nose to his over his mask, smiling, and you push the door closed behind him and press him up against it.

"so, which room do you wanna christen first? i thought we could start in the kitchen."

you're a woman that knows what she wants, he'll give you that; and he doesn't have it in him to say no.

the sun wakes him up in the morning. he doesn't remember falling asleep--he doesn't like to make staying over a habit. when he sits up on his elbows, he takes a deep breath, realizing his back hurts a lot less. the mattress of your bed is wonderful, much more supportive than the flat mess he has on the floor in his own place, and he blinks himself awake when you come out of the bathroom.

you're freshly dressed, makeup on, and you're putting on your jewelry when you see him. you smile at him, coming towards the bed, and you bend down to kiss where his mouth would be under the mask.

"good morning, simon. sleep well?"

"mmm..."

you take that as a yes, cupping his jaw, and you kiss him over his mask again before going to get some shoes from your closet. he doesn't comment on the fact that when you open it, he realizes the closet there is only for shoes...

"you hungry, baby? want some breakfast?"

"i--oh..." simon lays back down when his back tweaks, and you reach for him when you see him fall back in the mirror. you smooth a hand down the side of his body, frowning.

"why don't you stay in bed? i'll have my assistant bring you something."

"no, tha's--"

"i'm not asking, simon, i'm telling you," you coo. you pick up one of his hands and trace one of his scars with your finger. you have long, almond-shaped nails. there's pretty chrome nail art over the wine red color you wear, and he focuses on it as you kiss his knuckles gently. "will you wait for me to come home?"

"where y'goin'?"

"gotta work, honey," you wink down at him. "and i want you to be here when i get back."

"tha' so?"

"mhm," you smile. "right here. in my bed--" you lift the covers a little and peek, giggling as you put it back down after getting a glimpse at his cock resting against his lower stomach. "just like this, simon."

he doesn't remember if he ever goes back to his flat. he thinks he went one more time, to grab a few bottles of his medication, but the tick in his knee hadn't been so bad with the great physical therapy you started paying for and the warm massages you gave him every night.

and his back--your bed always contours perfectly against the muscles of his back, and he finds himself sleeping a full seven hours every single night.

not to mention his new work outs. simon hadn't been to the gym much since coming home, but he knows he must be burning hundreds of calories with you. you test his limits. as soon as you're home, you jump on him, and the stress relief your pussy brings him is just what he needs to get the edge off. you're a fiend, especially after a rough day, and the way you bounce on his cock in every room of your flat keeps him up at night sometimes with the most glorious wet dreams.

you're up late that night. you're curled up on the couch in one of simon's shirts and a glass of red wine, and there's a mountain of papers around you that you're focusing on reading. you have a huge presentation tomorrow, and everything needs to be perfect. simon comes into the living room, shirtless, and you smile when you see him standing there. he's wearing the new sweats you got him, but you can't focus on that too much when you're staring at his pudgy, toned stomach and his nice pecs. you bite your lip, taking a long sip of your wine, and simon hikes up his mask to take a bite out of his bowl of ice cream.

"gonna be up late tonight?" he asks, and you nod. "want me to sit with ya?" you nod again, lifting up your legs, and when he takes a seat next to you, you drape them across his lap. you lean over to give his scarred cheek a kiss, and when you turn back to your paperwork, a thought comes across your mind.

"we should get married," you say softly, circling a note over something. simon keeps eating, as if what you said doesn't phase him.

"why's tha', love?"

"tax benefits."

"mmm..." simon drops one of his hands and thumbs against your ankle. the flat is warm. his stomach is full. his body hurts less, and his heart aches with something nice. "olright then."

you smile.

"good. cause i already bought the ring."

Amen.

one thing white people in fandom will do is protect their own even when that person is clearly in the wrong. which i why i don’t believe for a second that y’all want to be allies. some of y’all don’t want to put in the work to become a better person at all. someone brings up a certain topic and y’all wanna be dismissive about it or you’ll try to derail because it makes you uncomfortable. fuck off

mail-order bride x simon "ghost" riley masterlist

banner by @cynicalrosebud

this story is meant to be open-ended and vague. a collection of scenarios between simon and his mail-ordered bride.

cw: this piece isn't necessarily nsfw or dark, but i will not promise it won't contain these themes as these pieces are literally posted on the spot with random prompts (18+)

early delivery

no privacy

help wanted

get off my lawn

views

quiet hours

expectations

necessity

no past

laundry day

stars align

comfort place

summer heat

movie night

mirror thoughts

left behind

it's orange

oopsies

plan b

besties

lunch date

reality

dinner date

honesty

make a wish

open book

wants and needs

the same sky

no control

easy

show off

tactical

perfect height

too pretty

before

googly eyes

in every life

helping hand

a past life

#mail-order tag (lore + more lmao)

Neon lights

hi babes!!!! not sure what this is but here ya go✨✨✨

Viktor x gender neutral reader, 5k words

modern no magic au, viktor is still disabled but not actively dying au, everyone is an academy student because i said so. this will be a two part story!

summary: The last exams of the season are over in the Academy, and people are celebrating. Jayce, Mel and Viktor have a victorious pub quiz team, and after your classmates stand you up, you join them. And end up spending the night sitting in Viktor's lap.

Warnings: bar scene, implied drinking/alcohol but no-one's really drunk. also i think i might have accidentally given the reader anxiety

Tags: @writingmysanity

It’ll be fun, they’d said. You have to come, they’d said. Let’s all go, they’d said. 

And then they, your stupid traitorous classmates, dared not to show up. Which you, of course, only found out after dragging your sorry ass to the bar. 

It was a statistical miracle none of them were there, really. Celebrating the end of exam season was standard custom, and usually everyone flooded to the closest bars and nightclubs, probably increasing their nightly revenue by at least 500%. 

The place was packed, as usual, but you just couldn’t find any of the people that had participated in talking you into coming. 

Maybe they’re just not here yet, your brain offers only semi-helpfully, and you only semi-believe it. The quiet unsettling anxiety of being alone in a place where everyone else had someone to talk to starts to creep up on you, and a part of you starts to regret leaving home in the first place. For a moment, you wonder if they could have done this to you on purpose, but that doesn’t make much sense, so you try to abandon that particular train of thought. 

It was loud, the floors were sticky, and your clothes were getting more uncomfortable by the minute. You could have been home reading. Watching a movie. Playing a game. Something. Something familiar, something quiet, something comfortable. 

An annoying little echo of something one of your friends – real friends, not ones that stood you up at bars – had said to you once plays out in your head. 

Doing things is good for you. 

Don’t be alone all the time. 

You sigh a little to yourself. 

Ugh, fine, you think, and then you take a deep breath, squish that creeping anxiety like an annoying bug, and walk to the bar. 

You were already there. 

You might as well try to have some fun. There was supposed to be a pub quiz later – with only topics that no-one would have to learn in school – and that seemed interesting. Maybe you could get something good to drink, find a nice corner, and try that. One person teams were allowed, if you remembered correctly. 

The bar is crowded, with everyone wanting drinks and refills and trying to hit on the bartenders, so you have to wait a while before you can order, but that’s fine. At least you have something to do. 

Leaning on the counter, you look around as you wait your turn. The place was full of students; some of whom you recognized but didn’t really know, people you had seen around but never talked to, a few you’d shared classes or lab shifts with but no longer remembered the names of. 

It makes you feel a little better that to them, you were probably just another nameless face in the crowd, just like they were to you. 

Slowly, you get used to the surroundings, the too-loud mind numbing music and soft-sticky floors, people bumping into you occasionally. It all fades into a background mush of a steady hum and droning of the bass.

When it’s finally your turn, you order something that had a strange name and a funny color, and that was definitely overpriced. But everything there was, so you try not to dwell on it. Your drink comes with a purple glow stick and turns out to be sweet, ambiguously fruity, and so good that a part of you was disappointed. 

You’d want more of those. 

Dammit. 

You tuck that thought to the back of your head – a problem for future you – and walk away from the counter, making space for other people waiting to order. You’re not sure if the whole drink is purple, or if that’s just the glow stick, but you decide that that doesn’t really matter.

Looking for a free spot away from the loudspeakers, you successfully make it to a far corner without spilling your drink or crashing into anybody, which was, in itself, a victory of sorts. 

And then you almost spill your drink anyway when someone calls your name. Loudly. 

It’s Jayce. One of the more familiar faces on campus. You’d had some classes with him, seen him around, in events and workshops and at the library. He was the kind of person that seemed to be everywhere, so really, you weren’t that surprised to see him. He could pop up at the lab, or in an office or a hallway somewhere, or a fundraiser or a gala or a competition at any given moment, smile politely and stop for some smalltalk, and then continue on his way. He was everywhere and he was friends with everybody, at least on some level, it seemed. Most often he was in the company of one of two people, though; 

Mel, who was currently sitting on his lap, 

or Viktor, who was sitting next to them, avoiding being squished between Jayce and the wall. The three of them were on a two-person couch, in one of the far corners.

You gather yourself and slip closer to them, grateful to have somewhere to go and someone to hang out with.

Mel being there didn’t surprise you. She was – not shockingly – also the type of person that seemed to be everywhere or at least have some contacts there, so her participation in social events wasn’t out of the ordinary. She was studying something in the realm of political science, you weren’t sure of the details, but you had already mentally accepted the possibility that she would probably be running for president someday. 

Viktor, however? Viktor didn’t…do this. Not that you knew, at least. You’d shared classes with him, too, and he was in the lab more often than not. You weren’t exactly sure what he did as a student and what he did as a teacher’s assistant, the line between the two seemed to be a bit hazy, and he also seemed to have some independent job working at the lab. He’d talked about it before, but you were pretty sure you still didn’t know all of it. 

He was the type of person that would just casually say I have to go tend to the porous silicon now, excuse me, and never explain what the porous silicon was for, because apparently that part was obvious.

Or, you know, he’d reveal himself as working as a teacher’s assistant only after you’d only complained to him about the poor quality the class had been organized in. 

At least he had had fun with that one.

And at least he’d agreed. 

So, when you saw him, it was usually either in the lab, in the library, or out somewhere getting coffee. Most of your interactions consisted of lab-related things, or homework, or complaining about the inconvenient and too-short hours places such as the library, the cafeteria, or the coffee shops were open.

This was not a place you expected to see him in. 

“Care to join our team?” Mel asks, pulling you out of your thoughts, “We could use a fourth.”

Ah. 

The pub quiz. 

That made sense. 

You relax a little as you get out of the crowd properly and close enough to talk to them without having to shout. “Sure,” You say, giving them a smile, “Sounds fun.” 

Then, you lick your lips and swallow, looking over the room quickly again. “I was supposed to come here with some classmates but I think they might have stood me up.” 

Mel hums a little in response, Jayce frowns, and Viktor looks almost a little offended on your behalf. 

“Well, we’re more than happy to have you on our team.” Mel continues, “Do you happen to have any obscure areas of expertise that might be useful?”

You smile at her. “I guess we’ll have to see.” 

“Last chance to google something.” Jayce says, already looking down at his phone.

You furrow your brows, a little amused, and look at Viktor. “Do you guys usually prepare for this a lot?” You ask, “You know the winners get like, a coupon for drinks, not their weight in gold and half the kingdom?”

Viktor smiles a little. “Yes,” He answers, leaning forward slightly, “but it’s more fun if you win.” 

“Besides,” Jayce adds, still not looking up from his phone, “free drinks.” 

“And –” Viktor nods, even though Jayce can’t see him, “if we get enough of those coupons, isn’t it kind of like getting half the kingdom?”

“Oh, so you’re playing the long game then,” You smile, “going to win, what, for the next couple of decades and drink for free?”

“Give or take.” He answers, “Not sure where this place is valued at. Might take less than a decade. This isn’t exactly a high-class establishment.”

“But it is popular,” Mel interjects, sounding like she’s only half-serious, “students bring in a lot of money. Not compared to some other places, but still.”

Jayce hums in agreement, shifting a little in his place as he puts his phone away. He only needs to point towards the nearest table before Mel leans over, grabs a piece of paper that was, apparently, their answer sheet, and modifies their team to include four, not three people. 

“You should sit,” She says, as she’s writing, and for a second you just look at her. 

Where? is the obvious question your brain immediately supplies, you three barely fit there and there’s no free seats anywhere. 

Before you can ask, she looks up at you and answers. 

By gesturing towards Viktor. 

“It would make me look better if you sat on his lap, too.” Mel continues, like it’s the most reasonable thing ever, “That way I won’t stand out as much and look stupid on my own. Besides, we’ll all be close to each other that way. Easier to conspire.”

For a moment, you stare at her. 

And then you stare at Viktor, who is, slowly but steadily, turning slightly red. 

“Hang on,” Jayce says, “you think sitting on my lap makes you look stupid?”

Mel smiles and leans back against him. “Depends on the context.” Mel answers, before turning her attention back to you, and to Viktor. 

Who clears his throat. 

“I mean – if you want –” He says, and it’s exactly as much of a coherent sentence as you were expecting. It’s exactly as much of a coherent sentence as you would have been capable of in his place. 

“Are you sure?” You ask him, slightly hesitant. This was, this whole situation and where it was going, wildly uncharted waters. Yes, you were friends or – or something, you were closer to him than you were to anyone else there, but sitting in his lap was not something you had expected to happen. 

And – yes, you were not opposed to the idea, not at all, but – 

“Yes,” He answers, “don’t worry, you won’t break me.” 

“He’s tougher than he looks.” Jayce agrees, and for a second, you just let yourself feel everything around you. 

The music. The sticky floor. The aftertaste of the sugary sweet drink in your mouth. The way Viktor was looking at you. 

The moment. 

You mentally strangle the hesitant anxiety pooling at the bottom of your stomach, shrug softly with one shoulder, and take a few steps to stand directly in front of Viktor, your knees brushing his. Handing your drink to Mel for safekeeping, you carefully settle into his lap, barely daring to breathe, making sure not to knock over the cane that was leaning against the wall next to him. 

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” You ask him quietly, leaning back slightly so he could hear you better, “You should tell me if I am.”

He swallows – you can feel it. “Eh, no –” He says, and his voice is so close that it surprises you, “ – you’re not. Don’t worry.” 

You exhale, slowly, and try your best to relax. 

Trying is the best you can do, though – feeling him pressed against you is causing way too many thoughts and feelings to happen for you to truly focus on anything else. He was warm, and firm, and you could feel his breathing, and you were sitting in his lap. 

You were. In his lap. 

You were not even going to let your brain go there. 

No, this was a normal, casual situation, and you were going to be cool about it. So what if you had a crush on him? So what if you could feel him pressed against your back, your ass –

“Good.” Mel says, smiling as she hands your drink back to you. You take it, carefully, trying not to move too much in case it’d make him uncomfortable. 

You were going to be cool about this. 

You came here to have fun, and that’s what you were going to do. 

“Thanks.” You tell her, giving her a smile and trying your best to act normal about the whole situation. 

“What is that?” She asks, motioning towards your drink with one hand, “It looks good.” 

“Oh.” You answer, looking down at your drink again, racking your brain for the name of it, “Something new, I think? It was called, uh, Krypton?” 

“Right, they’re doing that periodic table thing.” Jayce comments.

“Naming drinks after elements?” Mel asks, “Why?”

“Probably because a lot of nerds frequent this place.” Viktor answers, and again, his voice is so close that it’s like he’s talking directly into your ear. You can feel it, the words rumbling through his chest. 

“What’s it taste like?” Mel continues, ignoring his comment, “Krypton?”

You hum thoughtfully, and take a sip. 

“I would hope not.” Viktor answers while you’re trying to figure out what it does taste like.

“Krypton doesn’t taste like anything.” He continues, “That’d be a pretty sad drink.”

You can’t help smiling at his answer. 

“Why do you know that?” You ask, leaning closer to him again, tilting back your head slightly. 

You can’t see it, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. 

“I know a lot of things. You'd be surprised.” He says. 

Quietly. 

Just for you. 

Before you let yourself get too focused on what his voice sounds like that – close and quiet, so close – you take a breath and turn to look at Mel again. 

“I think it tastes like lemon and rose.” 

She lifts her eyebrows and nods thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to try that once we get our kingdom’s worth of free drinks.”

“Wasn’t it half a kingdom?” Jayce asks, reaching for his own drink on the table.

“I’m optimistic.” Mel answers, smiling. 

“Is krypton purple?” Jayce then continues, now, you’re assuming, to Viktor. 

He hums in answer, and you can feel it. Every slow second of his chest reverberating against your spine, you could feel it resonate in your rib cage, and then when he speaks, it’s no better. His voice is so close that it’s all you could focus on, etching the sound of it into permanent memory without even trying. 

“It glows purple,” He says, “if you run a high enough voltage electric current through it. It’s colorless, normally, but for the sake of argument I guess we can say that it’s purple, yes.”

“Huh.” Jayce answers, leaning back in his seat. 

Viktor mirrors his movement, and you can feel him shift under you. 

His hand brushes your side, and then settles by your waist, a weight so light you half think you’re imagining it.

That, inevitably, reminds your entire body of the position you were in, which was extremely close to him. and you need to focus a lot of your energy on not combusting on the spot. You had never been so close to him before – why would you have been, you were friends – and this was… a whole lot of entirely new sensations. 

He was so close. 

What was he thinking? What was he feeling?

Was it as much as you were feeling?

You were acutely aware of every single point of contact between your bodies, and you were trying not to think about it too much, but, well, that’s just impossible. He was so close, and you could still feel his every breath, feel his every word rumble through his chest, and – 

Mel says something to you, pulling your focus back to her. She’s explaining how the quiz works, what the rules are, and you try your best to listen. 

In the background, though, Jayce and Viktor are talking something about circuit boards, and you can feel his every word. And it is wonderful and heavy and almost unfair, how he’s so close and not closer. How he’s talking like this, every word brushing past your ear, and you know it’s not really what it feels like. This isn’t for you, you’re just there. 

But…he wouldn’t have agreed to this if he didn’t want you there, right? He wasn’t a person that did things he didn’t want to do. He didn’t stay in situations he didn’t like. And he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be. 

He hums in response to something Jayce had said, and leans closer to you.

Closer to the table. 

“Can you hand me my drink?” He asks, voice quiet, and very close to your ear. Smooth, and gentle, and low, it goes straight to the pit of your stomach. You can feel him nod towards the table, and, presumably, the one half-full glass there.

For a single heartbeat, you just revel in that feeling. And then you let go of that and lean towards the table, putting down your own drink and grabbing what must have been his.

“Yeah,” You exhale, and hold it out to him carefully. “here.” 

His hand snakes past you, and his fingers brush yours, careful as ever as he takes the drink from you. “Thank you.” He breathes, so close you can feel his breath on your cheek, and you have to suppress a shiver. 

And then he’s back to talking about the circuit boards – something about heat resistant coating and trying to find a new way to attach some wires – and you listen. Try not to feel guilty about how much you were enjoying every second. 

They go back and forth for a moment, going through ideas, and you listen. You’re not sure what it’s about, not anything you were familiar with. Probably not course work, then.

You reach over to the table to grab your own drink again, and then settle back against him. He’s mid-sentence, saying something about mechanical stress – No, that won’t work, it will put too much stress on the wires – and you sip your drink, trying to figure out what they were talking about. They both probably knew more about engineering than you did, but you were still curious. 

“What’s the problem?” You ask, leaning back against his chest and tilting your head up, closer to him. 

He breathes out a quiet hum before explaining. 

“We want to connect two circuit boards in moving parts,” He explains, “which means it needs to be more durable than it is now. The solder keeps breaking, and the wires would get damaged in the long run.” 

You hum thoughtfully, trying to get a hold of the problem. “What have you tried so far?”

“Additional joints,” Jayce answers, and you can feel Viktor nod. 

“Heat resistant coating, it protects the wires.” Viktor adds.

“...But not the connections.” You continue the thought, nodding.

“Right.” Viktor agrees, “The components are small, the solder can’t take the stress.” 

You hum thoughtfully, thinking it through. “Right.” 

And then you lean towards Mel, and the answer sheet for the oncoming quiz. “Gimme.” You reach towards the paper, “The pen, too.”

She looks surprised, and you roll your eyes a little. “I’m going to use the blank side.” You reassure her, and slowly, she hands you the paper and the pen.

“Have you tried putting any kind of casing around the connection?” You ask, “What’s the geometry like?”

“Eh–” He starts, leaning closer to see the paper, “No. And it’s flat.” Then, he shifts a little, “Do we have space for casings?” 

That’s aimed towards Jayce, and while he thinks, you draw a tentative sketch of what you were thinking. If the soldered connections were the brittle part but the wire itself could be coated, they could build a protective casing around the connection, and let the wire go through it. 

“If we move around the components a bit,” Jayce answers, “then I think so, yeah?”

You can feel Viktor nod slowly, and he leans closer, to look at the paper over your shoulder. 

“Would something like this work?” You ask, knowing he was watching, studying it. You lean back and put down the pen, giving him a better view of what you’d drawn. 

He hums thoughtfully, and his breath hits your cheek, the low rumble of his voice feeling like it wraps itself around your spine and drips straight into your core. 

You do your best to ignore it. 

“Could work.” He says quietly, before reaching for the pen. You tug it closer for him to reach, and he takes it, and scribbles something down to the paper, too. 

“We have three wires,” He mutters, drawing three small lines inside your model of the casing. “we’d need to –” He trails off, and you assume that at this point, he’s mainly talking to himself. That’s okay by you; you just listen to his voice and watch as he draws with quick, nimble fingers. His breathing is deep and steady, and you can feel all of it.

He keeps sketching, and then exhales deeply, shifting slightly again. “That could work. We could try that.” He says, thoughtfully, lifting the paper from the table and looking at it for a moment before handing it to Jayce. “What do you think?” 

You smile, proud of yourself for potentially solving their problem, and Jayce looks over the sketch, squinting in the low lighting. 

As Viktor leans back to his original spot, you settle against him again – and his hand grips your hip, hard, holding you in place. 

“Please don’t say anything.” He whispers, quiet and breathy, directly into your ear. Closer than at any point before.

For one fast heartbeat, you’re confused. 

And then you realize what’s going on; in the new position, you’re pressed against him again.

“I can’t–” He continues through his teeth, voice still so quiet you barely make it out, and the sentence ends in a quiet, frustrated groan. "...control this, at the moment."

You can feel his breathing, now considerably less relaxed than before, and – you’re pretty sure you could even feel his heartbeat, fast and pounding against you. 

Unless that was your own. You weren’t sure.

You could feel every inch of him pressed against you. 

Including what was definitely an erection. 

The realization makes heat flood through you, and with it, a few anxious knots somewhere deep inside you dissolve. 

One, he definitely wasn’t uncomfortable with you being in his lap, then, at least not in the way you’d feared, and two; you weren’t the only one feeling like this. Feeling like your skin was tingling, like you wanted to drink in every second of this and burn it to your memory, your focus honing in on every point of contact.

You glance over at Jayce and Mel – both studying the drawing now. 

Good. 

You smile a little to yourself. 

“Circuit boards, then?” You whisper, tilting your head so that you were talking only to him, “That’s what does it for you?” 

He exhales a small, slightly-strangled chuckle, and briefly drops his head on your shoulder. 

“Right.” He mutters. “That’s what this is about. Absolutely doesn’t have anything to do with you.” 

He still sounds like he’s whispering through gritted teeth, and for a moment, you feel genuinely sorry for him. 

But not so sorry that it would cancel out everything else you were feeling about him.

This was the guy you’d had a crush on for – far too long. And here he was. Like this. Because of you. 

You were on uncharted waters, for sure; teetering on the edge of something. 

And you wanted to know what was on the other side. 

“If it makes you feel better,” You say slowly, quietly, letting your fingers brush his thigh, “I’ve been turned on since I sat here and felt you pressed against me like this, heard your voice so close.”

You can feel him take a deep, slightly-shaky breath. “No,” He mutters, “that definitely does not make me feel better. Or, it does, but that’s not good, it also means it’s going to be a lot more difficult to –” He swallows. "Compose myself again."

“Sorry.” You breathe out. 

You’re not sorry. Not really. And he knows it; you can hear it in the half groan - half sigh that he makes. 

“How am I supposed to focus on anything,” He whispers, “like this, when you’re right there?”

“Sorry.” You try again, and it’s not sincere this time, either. 

“This is torture.” 

“The good kind?”

He swallows, and his hand on your hip flexes, tightening the grip.

“The best.”

You look over to Jayce and Mel again. They’re talking about something, you can’t hear what it is, but that’s just good. It means that odds are they couldn’t have heard anything of your conversation either. 

Mel gets your attention first, asking you to go to the bathroom with her before the quiz – apparently she needs a buffer to make sure she doesn’t get caught in any conversations – and as she explains this, Viktor’s grip on your hip loosens, and he sighs quietly. 

“Sorry.” You breathe in his direction, this time more sincerely. 

In response, he lets out a long exhale, and shifts a little as you get up. 

You feel genuinely bad for him now, but at this point, there wasn’t much you could do. 

At least there was a table in front of him. 

Mel tells the boys to watch your drinks as she pulls you along. The people had moved to the tables, mostly, in anticipation of the quiz, and the bathroom wasn’t as crowded as it could have been. You don’t even need to wait in line. 

“Still no sign of your friends?” Mel asks, casually, as she’s checking her makeup in the mirror.

“No,” You answer, “but they’re not really my friends. Just classmates.”

She hums in answer. Then, she changes the topic, as smoothly as she does everything else. 

“How’s it going with Viktor?” She asks, and coming from her, it sounds casual. Like a totally normal question. 

You don’t know how to give her a normal answer, though. 

She glances at you, waiting. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, which is stupid, because the question doesn’t really leave much up for interpretation.

She lifts a single eyebrow. “I mean,” She says, slowly, “you two fit together like nuts and bolts, the boy has had a massive thing for you for ages, and you’re sitting in his lap.” She lists, “So, how’s it going?” 

You swallow, trying to think of something to say. 

“Good,” You start, “good, I guess?” 

That was true. It definitely wasn’t going badly. It was weird and new and you wanted to speak to him somewhere where you could be alone, but whatever this weird new thing was it definitely wasn’t bad. 

She hums again. Looks at you for a moment, before turning back to her reflection. “Good.” She echoes, “He deserves good things.” She adds, “And so do you.” 

You nod a little, not sure how to answer.

She doesn’t wait for an answer before walking out. "Come on."

Right. 

Now you just needed to go back out there, sit on his lap for the rest of the night without spontaneously combusting, and figure out where to go from there. 

That was going to be fun.

Part 2