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prettyboykatsuki · 9 months ago

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mindfuck. | sunday (hsr)

𖤓 tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, established d/s dynamic (implied to be 24/7), extremely submissive!reader, soft dom!sunday, mindfucking in a sense, extremely horny telepathic communication, sensation play (pain + pleasure), intesne, overstimulation, oral (f!recieving), penetration, misuse of aeonly abilities, very lovey-dovey in an insane way, lowk mutually codependent lol, 18+

𖤓 wc ; 4k. (this is.. wow)

𖤓 a/n ; this was not written with canon in mind. this was written with heart-eyes and wet pussy. if it does not make sense with his canon abilities, it is not my business !

everything in this dynamic is very consensual but sunday pushes reader a lot so it gets intense for them. they have aftercare !! but they are both insane so please be cautious!! i dont think it warrants dark content but it is . wild.

He won't put on airs in front of you.

Maybe it's because your lovers, as he describes it. Not partners because that implies equal control, not something so juvenile as your boyfriend. Lovers. Sunday refers to you unilaterally as his lover. As his.

As his lover, he remains ruthless. He doesn't lie though. He's frank with you to the point you wonder how he lies so easily with everyone else. He shows you the vulnerability of his grip strength, the intensity of his feelings for you. Sunday loves you. He won't put on airs about this.

Sunday loves you, so there's no need to worry about anything. Don't worry about the bed you sleep in, the clothes you wear, the things you eat. Sunday won't put on airs about wanting to let you have freedom. He doesn't even pretend like he'd be happy if something caused you to leave. He wouldn't tell you to find someone else should you grow sick of him.

Be with him. Let him love you. He'll carve something out of his heart and keep you there - conform to his ribs and listen to the sound of its beat. You're his lover. All his. Bone, blood, faith, religions - all his, always.

When Sunday is in a bad mood, you can always tell. Though his face remains indifferent - he's harder on you than he is usually. He's not often in a bad mood and the difference might look minor to anyone else. And identifying the source of his mood is arduous, because often it's him thinking himself into a corner. The worst of it comes when he convinces himself you want to leave him, even when you assure you have no such intentions.

Sunday is twisted. You know that. But you willingly handed him the chain to your leash. It's no doubt you're just as rotten.

His mood, though usually magnanimous - can become cold and ruthless and brutal on days like that.

There are three things that tell you that Sunday is in a bad mood when he visits your room today.

First, that he's meeting you in the real world and not in the dreamscape. Sunday doesn't like reality. If he's meeting you there - it means that he is wanting affirmation you are real despite everything, which is not a sign of him being very level-headed.

The second is that he's being affectionate. He comes to your door and kisses you on the lips before making you greet him. A deep kind of kiss, shared between average people. Lacking control and precision - all want.

The third is that he takes off his clothes when he closes the door behind. He makes you sit on the bed like always, but doesn't join you in his full attire. He doesn't make you get naked and come sit in his lap while he still has his suit on.

You have a routine about this after all. Sunday comes, makes you sit at his feet until he's pleased with your begging - makes you cum to the point of delirium than murmurs softly until you've sobered again. He'll talk to you afterwards. Lays in bed next to you and strokes your hair with absent fondness only after affording you pleasure. Only after paying him your worship.

But he skips the step entirely today and undresses. He's never undressed without you asking him. Always a reward.

You want to ask what exactly has him this desperate, but you're almost afraid to know. It's so unusual it jars you.

He has his back turned away from you on the bed where you sit. You're naked with the exception of a choker. Sunday is undressing in front of you, all without you asking. It feels like something you shouldn't look at, though he hasn't forbidden you from it explicitly.

You peek anyway, pushing away the guilt.

He undresses himself neatly. Slides the silk of his gloves off and lays them flat on the armchair nearby. He shrugs his white coat off, follows it. His fingers are beautiful and soft outside of their confines, and they unbutton his shirt dexterously. Off with his vest and his other attire - once his top half is bare he turns to you.

Despite yourself, you try to level your enthusiasm. You look down at the bed underneath you, only listening for his footsteps. Instead you find the hardness of your heartbeat, rising into your throat.

Your skin feels hot. He hasn't even touched you but you're wet, albeit afraid of what any of it means.

You feel your pulse quicken impossible when his hand brushes along your cheek. His fingers are long and slender, his nails as pristine as the rest of him.

"Look at me."

And so you do, picking your head up to gaze at him. His expression is unreadable, but different. "Is everything okay?"

That seems to shock him. He smiles that time, comfortably. "Everything is fine. Something came up. I thought I'd come see you."

"Oh well, I'm glad you came to see me," You say quickly and he smiles again even softer. "But, well. It's different."

"It is. Is that a problem?"

"No, no - I just. Are you upset?"

"Not with you," He's quick to assure. You love him, you think. It's things like that that make you love him. "Something annoyed me."

"Is that right," You look up at him and look closer. "Can I help you?"

You feel it then. There's a shift in his demeanor. He's pleased with the question, with your attitude. You feel his hand nearly tremble as he strokes you fondly. "You want to make me feel better?"

You feel strange. Skittish. "Y-yes. If that's alright."

"Aren't you very generous?" He replies. It sounds like praise, makes your stomach turn. "There's something I'd like to do with you. Will you allow me?"

You're not sure why he's asking. "You don't need to ask my permission for anything."

He shivers at that. You think he does. It's brief enough that you miss it. His eyes lid, thumb smoothing across your lower lip. "That's right. You're all mine, aren't you?"

You nod. "Uh-huh."

He smiles at you. Laughs, pleasant and warm and rich. It's an unfamiliar sound - almost carefree. It makes you happy to hear but you try not to let it show so he doesn't get conscious of it. Still, you smile. Stare down at the space underneath and glance at his naked torso and flush all over again.

"Then, allow me," He sits next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He grabs your hand tender and guides you into his lap. The amount of contact is so much unprepared, your knees feel weak. He allows you to straddle him, guides your arms around his neck. You can feel his gaze on you and you squirm but don't move.

"You're very nervous." He points out.

"You're," You feel like the Penacony will fall from underneath your feet "...touching me."

"You're so ruined already, over that?"

You nod. Of course you are. It's Sunday's body you're touching. He never allows you this much unless you've done something to please him greatly. Unless his mood is good. You're used to the silky cloth of his gloves even when he fucks you on his fingers, your cunt dripping onto his nice suit even when he's pleasuring you for hours. He reminds you of the miles between you doing that. A show of power.

So of course the sudden change in that distancing is alarming. Arousal keeps spiking every time you remember. It makes you feel stupid. You're touching his warm skin, seeing the sinew of his shoulders and the way he's built. His core soft and stable, everything dusted with rosy hues. He's slender and beautiful and elegant all over so of course you're wet between your legs, achy and unnerved by just how much your pussy seems to pine after his touch.

Your brain feels like it'll pour out of your ears, the words barely forming to speak.

"It's too much."

He doesn't say anything in reply. His fingers snake between your legs where you're stood on your knees - sliding down slick folds, tentative and amused. "You're so much wetter than usual," Then, with a breathlessness to his voice "Is it really making you feel this way to see me half naked?"

You lock eyes with him. You can't make yourself out in the reflection of his eyes but his face changes. It doesn't matter what you can see, because you know you look desperate. You can never hide how you feel from Sunday, but especially not like this. Vulnerable, you nod curtly - mouth fallen open.

"It's okay," He coos, which are not the words he normally chooses. He normally says that you'll be alright - which is different from this. Restlessness makes your skin prick. "Do you want to know why I'm in a bad mood?"

You nod.

"I thought of you running away," He says, which is typical. But it's too much for it to be just that so you wait. "Going back to your home planet to never return. It wasn't pleasant but I couldn't stop imagining it."

"...Was that really all?"

"Really all? Do you think there's something that would displease me more than that?"

"You really want me to stay with you." You say, less than ask.

"I treasure you," He murmurs, his voice is low. Cold, even - underneath layers of possession. "You are mine to treasure."

"Of course but," You want to look away from his eyes but you find that you cannot. "So much? Do you really?"

He smiles again. It doesn't reach his eyes. "More than you'll ever know." He reaches for your hand and holds them, smiles as you gasp. His lips brush along your knuckles. "So you'll trust me, won't you?"

"Yes. Whatever you want."

"Such dangerous words."

You don't ask he means by that. It wouldn't matter. Wouldn't make it any less true. The tight space that Sunday has carved for you is yours no matter how suffocating. It's yours and you would do so much to please him.

Sunday lets his fingers walk up the curve of your spine. You shiver, watching him. He's pleased somehow, and that's good you think. It's better than him being angry. His hand stops at the nape of your neck, cupping it and rubbing his thumb along your pulse.

"Let me in,"

You don't know what that means until you feel it. Two sensations press against you at the same time. Sunday's abilities - halovian and not. Your eyes close tight at the pressure in your skull, but Sunday's hand in the physical world soothes you. He's reaching you in two ways - two different ways. You know them now.

His powers feel different from his halovian abilities. His powers (or THEIR powers, you suppose) are piercing and needlepoint - never completely pleasant or intended to relieve. He uses them only occasion, and never for too long. The invocation is usually a test of some kind. Even as he mutters the words against your neck now, they illicit that kind of response. It makes your body pulsate. It's pain that only he can deliver and heal - pain that he gives to you, that is yours. It's not harsh enough to incapacitate.

But it's strong enough that the back of your teeth chatter. Your muscles pull, lurching forward to collapse in his arms. Like a hot iron searing your tongue - like a needle going through the softest part of it. Your first are closed into tightly as you allow him inside of your very being. Penetration that outweigh physical, violates you to the core and carves you out tenderly. You're awake and alive and ruined beyond whats mortal. It's not so intense usually. Allowing him to sink in the hollow blankness of your mind and dig his sharp claws into the soft matter. Jolts of electricity spatter along your insides - your mouth open with drool sliding down both end. HE is inside of you. HE intends to control you until he decides to stop.

You open your mouth to speak but the pressure is too strong. Another sensation follows you, then - just after you get used to the first. It's different. It's the gift he was born with, the pleasant throb of halovian telepathy.

You feel your jaw go slack at the overwhelming difference between pain. Complete, unyielding euphoria.

You moan. Your physical body reacts - your clit throbbing so hard it stings, making your entire lower body like it will melt off of you. With a shaky inhale, you feel the full breadth of Sunday's internal emotions. Possession and adoration knit themselves together and move like a caress over every inch of your body. Lightheaded from the pressure, your breathing strains.

There's not a single part of you Sunday is not touching intimately - fingers and palms and tongues. His physical hands, soft and placating rub your pussy and drive you to hysteria. His voice is whispering you words of comfort - to trust and hold on. His emotions twist and dominate yours and everything in you sings back in obedience. You want to cry. And you think you will after your adjusted enough to remember where you end and Sunday begins. If that ever happens. If it's possible experiencing the weight of this.

You're boneless underneath his touch. Your physical body and sensations reach heights far beyond and in true, utter desperation you call his name. You're not usually so spoiled but it's too much and you need him. "Sunday. Kiss me."

You can see yourself almost in third person. His laugh is smooth but breathy, as he lays you down on the mattress and leans over you. He kisses you as you've asked, long and deep - and doesn't pull away even as you lick desperately at his lips. Your nails are clenched into your hand, making them bleed.

He speaks to you clearly.

"You love me don't you?"

The words barely make it out of your mouth. Your heart is pounding. It's not like you can lie like this anyway, but you never would. "Yes. Yes, I love you."

He must feel it. Feels you as much as you feel him because he laughs near jovial and kisses you again. His soft lips slide against your shoulder, your collarbones. "Yes. I love you too. But you know that."

Yes. You do know. There's no way you couldn't.

Your entire body feels weak as Sunday lowers himself further and further. His mouth, warm and inviting - leaves open mouth kisses across the entire expanse of your body. Your nerves feel fried, like they're getting pulled like weeds and laid out.

You know what Sunday's mouth feels like well, but like this is too much. Too much to fast, your spine arches off the back of your bed as his breath ghosts over bare cunt. Gasping, you reach for the sheets behind you. No awareness of your surroundings can save you from it.

Ruthless as always, you feel his tongue slip against your folds and lose sight of the remaining threads of your consciousness. Sunday uses his abilities to stabilize you, says something about how you can't pass out yet. You whine at the back of throat but don't tell him to stop. He praises you for that with another long stripe against your clit.

Sunday is good at knowing your body. Pristine and precise to the point of being scary. He lays his tongue flat and latches himself on you, angular in leading you to your orgasm. Your body is so impossibly sensitive that he barely goes for a minute before you feel yourself shuddering in that familiar desperate way. His feelings come in a wave after that, a pink hue in your eyelids as he expresses his unending praise even after your incredibly premature orgasm.

"Sorry," You mutter, barely breathing as everything swirls inside of you. Your stomach flips. He puts his hand up to hold yours. "Didn't ask for permission."

He laughs at that, bright and pretty. He's pleased with you. You're practically vibrating from need. It's alright. You don't have to ask today."

"Are you...aah...sure?"

"Yes. It was polite of you to ask." He praises, and kisses the inside of your thigh. He licks your pussy again this time with deliberate slowness and you cry out his name. "You're so wet for me. So sweet. Should I use my hands at all or do you think you can take me as is, hm, my love?"

"Give it to me," You slur, unsure if you can hold out on it much longer. "Please, please, please."

"No need to beg. I do like to hear it though." He says, mostly to himself. He kisses you as another wave of sensation enraptures you and leave you limp. You feel it all again, strong to the point of feeling numb. Piercing pain followed by overwhelming, lovesick euphoria. Your body goes limp against the bed, fingers curling into the sheets.

Sunday coos at you. He guides your arms around his neck and guides your hands to his shoulders. "You can hurt me a little."

"Don't want to hurt you."

"I want you too," He says, and you think if you were sober enough it'd feel like a confession. "It's alright. You'll never be sharper than I can handle."

You whimper but concede, letting your nails dig into his flesh hard to keep yourself together. Sunday whispers praise against your neck as you go through the impossible motions of it. It's so much longer than he'd normally put you through his and your body is pushed to it's limits. You know that but he seems pleased with you. You want to please him.

"You're doing well." He praises, softer than ever. "A little more. Just a bit."

The world could be ending outside around you, but you would be completely clueless to it. The only thing, the only thought, the only consideration you can make towards Sunday. His adoration does not feel like the flicker of a candle, but like ball of light curling around itself. It is tight, and hot, and always at risk of exploding itself into something cosmic and unreachable. You wonder if it is possible to love too much, but tell yourself that isn't true.

Even as love makes a mess of you in the physical and metaphysical and all else. Even as it flays you open and guts you and licks you until you are all but hollow yearning, you don't think he loves you too much. You just think that he loves you. If Sunday is all the concentrated light in the universe, you are the eternal darkness meant to make him whole. Your love for him just as deep, like a void that never ends - certain, inevitable darkness.

Your tongue feels heave in your mouth as you kiss Sunday again. A lonesomeness comes every minute you spend apart, even brief. Sunday does not leave you alone for long.

Even as he prepares himself to feel you deeper, he whispers and talks to you. Placating praise leaves tears welling at the corners of your eyes but you nod and listen anyway. You wait for him.

"Take a deep breath." He tells you. He positions himself over you again - though you can barely see or understand as you open your eyes. You blink rapidly, trying to get a sense of his expression even as your mind is gripped at the corners and pulled taut at every edge. Color clouds your vision - hazy making your eyes glass over as you attempt to pry them open. Sunday appears before you like an Aeon in all their glory, beautiful and divine. You sniffle at the sight of him, whimpering at the sensation of his hands on your thighs.

"I love you," You whimper at the touch of his cool hands on your hot skin. "Love you,"

"I know," He says, sliding his cock along your folds with such unwavering affection it makes you gasp. The tip throbs along your clit, sticky with need and you whine. "Shh. I'm here."

You allow him whatever he wants. Your head feels full. Nodding, drunk and floating - you squeeze your eyes close as you feel the tip of Sunday's cock push through you. You wish you could see it better, though you've seen it before. Long and pretty, red tip and neat hair at the base. The sensation makes your tummy flutter, your hands up to his shoulders.

Your pussy weeps at the feeling of him finally entering you, something deep in your body begging for him. Your throat closes, eyes watering at the sensation of being so full as he starts to move. Slow but sure, not intended to pain you - restrained. Everything is full. Heart, body, mind - every inch of you harbors Sunday like he's made you in his image. Your lower half throbs and thrums, a euphoric outpour making your legs wrap around his waist. You don't want him to move. You want him to carve himself in you and stay forever.

Tears fall helplessly as he bottoms out. His waist is pretty, you think - as you see where his meets yours. You see his cock sheathed inside and your mouth drops open. Sunday grinds against you, hot as it touches your sweet spot. Never-ending in his chase to please you.

"Sunday," Your voice is hoarse as he moves his hands to rest between your bodies, thumb brushing along your clit. "I'll cum."

It's more than that. You think if you start, there's no way you're going to be able to stop. The thought frightens you almost. Sunday is quick to assure you.

"It's okay," He tells you, and keeps moving and touching to bring you to the very precipice without any mercy at all. "I know. Your body is mine and it's what I wanted. So," He glances up at you with as mile. "Give me what I ask of you."

Your lips form into a pout because you know you can't say no to that. You wonder why this is what he wants from you, but your brain is too scrambled to even try to deduce it.

Feeling an orgasm this way isn't something you've ever experienced in your life. You can't imagine you ever will again. That much pleasure and sensation, life-ruining - feels like falling through space with no assurance of when you'll crash. Just knowing it will come eventually. Your entire body lurches forward at the full sensation, bursting at the seams. Everything around you melts until you're left with nothing but hot white pleasure racketing along each of your exposed, frayed nerves. You fall away and into nothing. It feels so good you can't speak, can't think, can't do anything but let that nasty sob leave your lips in complete and utter ruin. You cry for Sunday - teary, snotty, pathetic, and you want to beg him for something though you aren't sure it's mercy.

He fucks you through it. The repetitive sensation of your body being fucked while you're lifeless makes your ears ring but Sunday fucks you anyway. Fucks you meaner than you though he was capable of, fucks you precise. Lets his cock fuck into you with such force your cunt is forced to remember him until death do you part. You can only feel Sunday. Every atom of you his, his his.

You spend so much time in that high, you barely know when it stops. Sunday fucks you to his own orgasm and you feel that inside of you too, which only makes you cry longer.

You know it's over when Sunday starts to pull away and you feel unimaginably hollow. Even though it was so hard on your body for the entire duration, you find yourself exhausted when you start to sober up and open your eyes. You see Sunday before closing them again. He is as beautiful as always.

You think you must pass out for a bit, because a breach of time comes where you see nothing but darkness. When you're awake - you're in a bath in the hotel bathroom.

Sunday has not left your side when you're awake again. He looks worried as he sits on the edge of the tub and waits for you.

The water is warm and comfortable. You are tired and very, very hungry. Sunday looks at you but doesn't realize you're awake even as you gaze at him. He seems sad and that saddens you.

"Sunday? Everything okay?"

His eyes open wide when he hears you speak. Your voice is barely there. He's still naked. You blink. "You're not wearing clothes."

He stares at you for a long, long time. And then, afterwards, his bare hand comes up to your cheek and cups your neck. He kisses you deeply, tenderly and it makes you sigh a little to feel. It's unusual. He laughs against your lips.

"I wanted to bathe with you," He says after a long while. You widen your eyes. "Is that okay?"

"Oh, uhm," You nod feeling self conscious. "That's fine."

"And," he holds your hand in the soapy water and lets his thumb smooth against your finger. "Let's eat together. After. Okay?"

You smile to yourself. "Uh-huh. Okay."

You love him you think. There's no such thing as too much. No matter how it would look to anyone else. You think Sunday loves you too. Enough to ruin you completely and put you back together again.

#sunday hsr x reader #sunday x reader #sunday hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #writing tag #ive gone completely insane #he is so complicated and i am so insane #they're so insane for each other HDFNJKFD

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hivemuthur · 23 days ago

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The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 10.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (we get a breather)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 6,2K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Grab another, while I work on requests. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, which is why it's a tad dramatic. A lot of mysteries get uncovered :') I suppose I should add diva!Viktor to tags, lol.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

“Why do you look so pale?” Hale had been in the middle of explaining his plan to survive Christmas in Sheffield when he finally took a proper look at you. Pale was an understatement.

“I’m not pale. Am I pale?” you asked, stealing a quick glance at yourself in the train station mirror. God, you were so pale. And you felt sick—guilt had been gnawing at you ever since you’d closed the door to Viktor’s room behind you.

“I was going to tell you all about my foolproof plan for getting through Sheffield unscathed this morbid season,” Hale said, trying to steady you as you leaned against the platform bench, “but I can see I’ll have to come up with something to get you through the train ride first.”

You sank onto the bench, hiding your head in your hands. “Hale, I’m scum. I’m such a fucking wanker. You won’t even want me to survive this train ride once I tell you what I’ve done.”

“Alright, that’s a tad dramatic, even for me,” Hale said, his voice rising slightly as the train approached the platform. He slung your bag over his shoulder and propped you up by the waist to guide you toward your carriage. “Our ride is here. Come on, I promise I won’t judge.”

You sat opposite him by the window, the muted rumble of the train filling the silence between you. Leaning forward, your voice barely above a whisper, you recounted everything, every detail that gnawed at you. You told him about the kiss in the lab, your fallout over the misuse of the word ‘casual,’ Viktor’s text message, the vulnerable conversation when he’d helped you with your project, your night together—and the moment of sheer panic that led you to leave. By the time you finished, your hands were trembling in your lap, and your throat felt raw from speaking so softly.

Hale exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his eyes fixed on you. His expression was a mixture of worry and a certain resigned understanding, like someone who had seen this kind of mess unfold too many times.

You stared out of the window, your reflection a ghostly pale figure against the frosted glass. “I… don’t know what to do,” you murmured. “Should I text him? I should text him.” You fumbled with your phone, your fingers shaking as you unlocked the screen. But what would you even say? I’m sorry? The words felt hollow, almost laughable. A bitter scoff escaped your lips.

“Let’s not do anything hasty,” Hale said, reaching across the table. He plucked the phone from your hands with surprising ease, ignoring your weak protest. Sliding it into his vest pocket, he placed both of his hands firmly over yours. “Look, I admit this doesn’t look… ideal,” he said carefully, his tone steady. “But it seems to me like you had your reasons to do it, hm? Even if they were shitty ones.”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat, and rubbing your temples. “I think I’m having another stroke.” Your voice cracked slightly, a mix of frustration and despair. “The worst part is, he was amazing, Hale. I mean, he was his usual smug dick at first, but then he just... he gave it up. Mid-act if you catch my meaning.”

Hale arched an eyebrow, leaning closer with a look of exaggerated curiosity. “Do you mean to tell me that your magical pussy turned the sad fart into a nice person?”

“Hale, please, I am dying here,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Oh, hush. You are not dying,” he said, waving off your dramatics with a flick of his hand. “You’ve just managed to create a deliciously awkward situation for yourself. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it now, so stop trying to fix it in your head.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “And what am I supposed to do? Just... sit here and wait for my shame to devour me?”

Hale shrugged, leaning back with an infuriatingly calm expression. “Here’s what I propose: we go home, endure the obligatory family nonsense, and then, after the festive madness is over, I will lay my noble sacrifice before the altar of Joanne’s suffering. I’ll take you to a pub, get you silly drunk, and we’ll figure out what the hell you’re going to do about Viktor then. Sound good?”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is. Now stop looking like a tragic Victorian ghost and try to relax for five minutes.” Hale grinned, nudging your foot with his under the table.

For the first time that day, you smiled. It was faint and fleeting, but it was there.

***

The obligatory festivities melted your brain. Joanne made a grand spectacle of your arrival, insisting on speaking Polish because she was ‘losing touch with her culture’ without you around. She also didn’t hesitate to comment on your ghastly appearance and, with her uncanny motherly intuition, immediately sensed there was heartbreak involved. However, seeing the deadly glare you shot her way, Joanne—against all her instincts—decided not to press the issue.

Your dad, Kier, cheerfully announced that you would be celebrating Yule the next day with 108 moon salutations. When you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly disappeared into the back of your skull, Kier simply added that it wasn’t a request. Still, he pulled you into a tight hug afterward and told you how glad he was to have you home.

Hale came to pick you up at 10 p.m., but Joanne insisted he stay for a drink. What started innocently enough quickly spiralled into a full-blown interrogation about why on earth he’d brought her daughter back in such a sorry state. Even Hale’s peace offerings of chakra-coded candles and a carefully curated bag of crystals, perfectly aligned with Joanne’s star chart, didn’t soften the onslaught.

You had to swoop in and evacuate him an hour later to avoid bloodshed. Hale, as usual, didn’t seem particularly rattled, but you knew better than to leave him to your mother’s merciless curiosity for a second longer.

When you strolled toward the pub where you’d spent most of your lunch breaks, it was buzzing with locals. “Ah, home sweet home,” Hale cooed, holding the door open for you to step inside first. It looked… exactly the same. Same posters, same battered stools, same scraped tables, same Britpop playing softly through the speakers. You didn’t even bother to scan the room; you simply hung your coat and marched toward your usual spots by the bar.

“You know, I meant it when I said we should all pack up together to go back for Christmas.”

Jayce’s smiling face suddenly appeared from behind you, freezing you mid-motion. Shit. Of course. You had completely forgotten.

“I’m so sorry! It completely slipped my mind,” you blurted, the words tumbling out too quickly as you leaned in for a quick hug—still rooted to your stool.

“Well, I’ll only believe you haven’t been trying to avoid me if you guys come sit with us,” he said, gesturing toward a table in the corner. Your stomach dropped. Two girls sat there, chatting. And… Viktor.

“We would love to,” Hale interjected smoothly, clearly catching on to your synaptic meltdown. “Let us just grab something to drink first,” he added with a wink at Jayce, draping an arm over your shoulders as the man returned to his table.

As soon as Jayce was out of earshot, Hale leaned in, his voice low. “Darling, I think we’ve got an emergency here. Do you want to run?”

“What? No! But…” you whisper-shouted, your voice tight with panic. “You said I had time!” You felt the clash of fight and flight warring in your chest, and judging by the lightness in your head, all the blood had drained from your face. “Hale, this is so bad. What do we do?”

“Relax. Breathe.” Hale’s eyes darted toward the table in the corner, then back to you. He straightened slightly, clearly piecing together an impromptu plan on the spot. His fingers drummed against the bar as if ticking off a list. “We have one drink, and then we say we need to get back to our families. Can you do that?” Seeing your mind clearly spiralling into overdrive again, he added, “Or we can run. I’m serious.”

“No. I can do it. I can do it.” The second time, your voice wavered, weakened. You could feel nausea climbing dangerously up your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing it back down. Gross.

You approached the table, your knees wobbling slightly beneath you as though they might betray you at any moment. Jayce stood up with his trademark beaming grin and gestured toward the two girls seated beside Viktor.

“This is my sister, Jane, and her friend, Ellie,” Jayce said proudly, motioning to each of them in turn. Jane was the perfect mirror image of Jayce. Tall, with sharp, angular features, she had the same broad smile and mischievous eyes that sparkled with a hint of trouble. Her hair, a shade darker than Jayce’s, fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the kind of effortlessly styled hair that looked like it was born from just a flick of a brush. Her presence exuded confidence, and the way she held herself, effortlessly poised, made it clear she was used to being the centre of attention.

Ellie, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more different. She was shorter than Jane, with a curvy figure that seemed to demand attention without trying. Her long, platinum blonde hair cascaded in waves around her shoulders, and she wore it like a halo, flirtatious and free. You had to hold in a sigh that was pushing itself onto your mouth.

Hale, ever the charmer, swept in with a flourish. “Hale Robertson,” he announced, taking each girl’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to their knuckles. “A pleasure to meet two such radiant young ladies. What have I done to deserve this?”

The girls giggled, charmed by his theatrics. You, meanwhile, barely managed to lift your hand in a weak wave. “Hi,” you mumbled, your voice almost drowned out by the background hum of the pub. You didn’t miss the way Viktor’s eyes flicked to you, catching every small movement.

Jayce pulled out a chair for you beside him, and you slid into it stiffly, grateful for the buffer. Hale claimed the spot to your left with an exaggerated flourish. The two seats flanking Viktor were already occupied by Jane and Ellie, who were deep in conversation with each other, oblivious to the tension crackling across the table.

Viktor sat back in his chair, his posture unusually casual—forced, almost. The faintest hint of a bitter smile ghosted across his face as he leaned forward slightly and said, “Hello, stranger.”

The words hit you like a sharp gust of icy wind. They burned through your ears, straight into your chest, leaving you momentarily breathless. You swallowed, forcing down the lump rising in your throat. He looked… tired. His face was pale, his golden eyes shadowed by exhaustion. But it was the way he carried himself that hurt the most—his every movement felt stiff, posed, like he was putting on a performance.

“What brings you here?” you managed to ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

Viktor shrugged one shoulder, his lips twitching faintly as though trying to form a smile. “Jayce invited me to partake in his family’s ‘loving Christmas privileges.’ How could I refuse such an offer?” His tone was light, but the edge of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

You opened your mouth to respond but found no words waiting for you. You stared at him for a moment, hoping he might read the apology you couldn’t quite bring yourself to say.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, the kind that seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. When Ellie’s voice cut through it, it hit you like a slap.

“Vik was just telling us about their PhD thesis, and I’d love to hear,” she placed her hand on Viktor’s forearm and batted her eyelashes at him, “more.” The sound of her voice almost brought your nausea back to the surface, and you had to gulp it down with a large sip of your beer.

The atmosphere at the table became tense as Viktor shifted, settling into his role of charming intellectual. His voice was smooth and measured as he began to explain the intricacies of their thesis, speaking in a tone that was both detached and effortlessly composed. His eyes, though, rarely left you. They hovered just long enough to make his smirk feel like a deliberate, calculated gesture. It was almost cruel, the way he played the part of the aloof academic, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that you deserved it. Every word, every glance, felt like a reminder of how far apart you were.

“...and, of course,” Viktor continued, his voice dripping with that subtle confidence, “the applications of our findings are endless, but it’s all theoretical for now, isn’t it?” His eyes flicked to you, his smirk widening just slightly as he watched your reaction.

Ellie, apparently smitten by Viktor’s charm, leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear as she whispered something too quiet for you to hear. Your stomach twisted, and a sudden, sharp anger surged up within you. You couldn’t stand the sight of it—Viktor, playing the part so effortlessly, and Ellie’s obvious attempt at getting his attention.

Without thinking, you stood up abruptly, knocking your chair slightly as you muttered, “Sorry, I need...” You didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, you turned quickly, your feet carrying you toward the coat rack.

Hale, who had been watching the exchange with a growing sense of tension, shot you a look, so you mouthed a soundless ‘I’ll be right back’ in his direction. You had to get some fresh air, feel the cold on your skin to quiet the anger simmering beneath it.

You started walking fast, your breathing even faster, when suddenly you paused. Get your shit together. You stood outside the bar, looking around for a place you could hide in. Your arms crossed against the biting cold, your breath misting in the frosty air. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you stomped from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the anger at your own stupidity. Jesus, fuck this guy. You’re so dumb.

You didn’t get far before you heard Viktor’s voice calling after you.

“What the hell is wrong with you, do I have to chase you again?” he shouted. He was trotting behind you, his coat open and scarf dangling haphazardly from his neck, as if he’d left in a rush.

You froze but didn’t turn around. Your jaw clenched as you fought to hold back the rush of hot tears threatening to spill out. You had been feeling awful for leaving him the way you did, but now, seeing him here, so calm and composed, it felt like all your guilt had been for nothing.

“You know, I was feeling like shit for leaving you, but I see that you’re back on track, keeping it casual, Vik,” you shot back, your voice colder than the air around you.

Viktor stepped closer, the snow beneath his boots squeaking. “Well, maybe I was so fucking heartbroken after you left I had to look for consolation somewhere else.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Viktor. Have a nice life.” Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

He grinned, that familiar, frustrating look on his face. Without warning, he scooped up a snowball and tossed it at you, hitting you square in the chest.

“Did you just…” you sputtered, wiping the snow off your coat.

Viktor’s smirk deepened, but his voice indicated he was hurt. “I could slap you if you weren’t a girl.” Oh, he could do so much more. The anger raging in his veins was burning away all reason, and you could see the fire in his eyes, as if he could picture himself shoving you into the snow and pulling your hair. And the fact that he was so pissed seemed to make him even angrier.

You raised an eyebrow, a sharp laugh escaping your lips. You stepped toward him, your voice low but challenging. “Please, be my guest,” you said, fuming. “Maybe it would be a fitting end to whatever game you’re playing.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he muttered, frustration flickering in his eyes. Then, without warning, Viktor scooped up a handful of snow and shoved it right into your face. The cold hit you like an actual slap, and for a second, you just stood there, frozen in shock.

You wiped your face and, with a quick flick of your wrist, returned the favour, launching snow straight into Viktor’s face.

You were in it now. The snowball fight escalated quickly as you pushed and shoved, slipping and tumbling in the snow. It wasn’t even a proper snowball fight—you were just scooping fistfuls of snow and throwing it directly into Viktor’s face, while he tried to keep you at arm’s length and shove snow down your collar.

The two of you both fell over, rolling in the cold, until you managed to straddle him, holding a final blow in your hand. You paused, laughter bubbling uncontrollably out of your mouth, your arm dropping to your side as your body flopped on top of Viktor’s. He started shaking with laughter too, the ridiculousness of the situation settling in.

“Are you aware that you just beat up a cripple?” Viktor asked, wheezing, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Your laughter faltered for a second, but you quickly regained your composure. “Not my finest moment, I admit,” you breathed out, lying on top of Viktor. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice softening, though you were still smiling.

“No! Why the fuck did you leave me?” Viktor’s face twisted with frustration as he rolled over and shoved you down into the snow, his body heavy with emotion.

You stared up at him, heart pounding, your thoughts a jumble. “I… I don’t know, I just…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

“You just what?” Viktor interrupted, his voice hard, his weight pushing you further down. “Got distracted again? I really was fucking heartbroken.” It sounded so stupid, but he really was. The sinking feeling that had taken over him in the morning hadn’t left, even now.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to process what he was saying. You thought you actually believed him, because you were also heartbroken, and it made your chest tighten. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze as you both lay there in the snow. “I just—I don’t know what to do with you, Viktor.”

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the cold forgotten, the snow around you disturbed by the fight that had taken place just a moment ago. Then Viktor sighed, his breath ragged, and he lay down beside you, staring up at the dark sky.

You turned your head to look at him. “You really were heartbroken?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “And I still don’t know what the hell to do with it.” After a moment of silence, he tried to get up on his own, only to slump back down into the snow. “Can you help a disabled man up?” He held his hand out to you.

“Yes, Jesus, sorry about that,” you smiled sheepishly as you pulled him back to his feet.

“I started it,” he smiled under his nose, not letting go of your hands. The feeling of your hands in his already felt alien. He had already pushed you out of his mind; he had gotten rid of you. It made him angry how quickly you were crawling back into his memory.

You noticed how cold and frostbitten his skin was and frowned, your breath catching as you took in his dishevelled appearance. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves, Viktor?” The question hung in the air between you—the very same question he once used to ask about something completely different.

“I got distracted running after a fucking stupid, dramatic girl,” he said firmly, brushing the snow off your coat with surprising care. His movements were sharp, but there was a tenderness in how his fingers lingered, as if his body couldn’t quite reconcile the anger bubbling inside him with the desperate need for contact. As his hands lingered, he tugged you closer, his golden eyes burning into yours. The words came out rough, raw. “And fuck you. You don’t get to do that now, not after you left me.”

“Do what?” Your voice was quieter now, unsure. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. Your head swirled with confusion, guilt, and a tight knot of fear, your hands shaking as you fumbled for control.

“You don’t get to play with my heart like that,” he said, his voice growing tight with frustration, a painful edge to it. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Play with your heart?” Your laugh was hollow, barely a sound, sharp and dismissive. You took a step back, your arms crossed against the cold as if it could shield you from the heat of his words. “What are you, a princess?”

“Yes, I’m a fucking princess!” Viktor snapped, his anger flaring up in an instant, but his eyes… his eyes softened just slightly, a vulnerability peeking through the cracks in them. “And you played me, and left me, after I literally begged you not to, which you also pointed out, and now I’m scared!”

Your throat tightened, your stomach a pit of dread, but you swallowed hard. “Viktor, I—”

“Don’t ‘Viktor, I’ me,” he interrupted, his tone harsh, but cracking. “I told you I know what it’s like. I know exactly what it’s like,” he moved closer again, leaning his face in to level with yours. “To have one special thing you keep safe and not let anyone touch it, because they might break it. You think you’re so cryptic, but I know you keep that one thing of yours close to your chest. I showed you mine, and you took yours away.”

The words hit you like another slap. The third one this evening. It was like getting scolded by a child. You broke my heart. I showed you mine, you took yours away. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your chest tightened painfully, and you wanted nothing more than to reach for him, but fear held you back. You could feel the icy gap between you and wanted to seal it desperately.

“Fuck. Fine.” Your voice was barely above a whisper now, trembling and weak. “I… I had a fucking stroke. I convinced myself it would be the same as… always. And then I had a stroke, and I left, standing in the corridor for half an hour, trying to go back to my room.” And it was, in its entirety, the truth.

“Well, fuck that!” Viktor’s voice cracked, another surge of white-hot anger breaking through his composure. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to slap you and kiss you. “I would’ve made you coffee and probably fucked you again before Christmas, but now you will never know!”

“What do you mean now?” you asked, your voice wavering. Your hands reached out, but you hesitated, unsure whether you were holding onto him or pushing him away.

“I’m not doing that again,” he spat, the words venomous but soaked in regret. “We’re clearly catastrophic together.”

A jolt of panic rushed through you, and before you could stop yourself, you caught him by his waist, holding onto him with an urgency that surprised even you. You buried your face in his coat, your forehead pressing against the fabric, your heart beating like a war drum in your chest. “Viktor—”

“What would you do so I’d forgive you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, but there was an unmistakable hint of longing behind it. His body stiffened under your touch, and yet, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he hooked his arms over yours, caging you in.

“Are you fucking with me?” you asked, breathless, a bitter laugh slipping from your lips, though it was filled with more confusion than anything else.

“Maybe,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk, but it was tainted with truth. Truth being, that he was incredibly hurt, not that he was fucking with you. Maybe a little.

You raised an eyebrow, your tone sharp to hide the warmth rising in your chest. “Why are you acting like an emotional paraplegic all the time?”

He snorted softly, though his expression darkened. “I don’t think you are allowed to say that. And you will forgive me, but the last time is on you—I will remind you; you are the one who fled the crime scene.”

“Yes, I don’t think you are ever going to let me forget that,” you admitted with a small huff, kicking at the snow. “I deserve that. What about all the other times, then? The teasing, the torment? You literally eating my face like I’m a fucking water fountain in the desert, and then trying to keep it casual?”

Viktor winced, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the way he avoided your gaze. “Jesus, I was giving you a way out. You really want to be with a guy with a cane?” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You were supposed to be a fling.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice cracking slightly.

“No, wait,” Viktor said quickly, holding up a hand as if to stop you from storming off again. His face softened, though his words stumbled out in a rush. “I… I am very uncomfortable around you.”

You blinked, your fists clenched at your sides. “Viktor, I hope this is going somewhere, because I swear to God, I feel like beating you up again.”

“Be my guest,” he said with a crooked grin, his tone low and teasing. “It was kind of hot.”

“Don’t push it.”

Viktor’s grin faded as his expression turned serious. His voice dropped, softer now, almost hesitant. “Well… you make me… stupid. I think about you all the fucking time. I don’t even look for you but somehow I always find you.” He laughed despite himself as you only blinked at him. “You got me into going to the parties; in itself, it deserves a prison sentence.” His voice cracked slightly as he continued. “And in the morning when you left, I felt so… hollow. So… I am giving you a way out.”

You stood in front of him, your cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe from the way he was looking at you. You let out a long sigh, your breath fogging in the icy air, and hugged your arms as if trying to hold yourself together.

“I’ll pass,” you said softly, the edge in your voice gone, replaced by something gentler. A quiet understanding painted your face as your lips curved into a faint smile. “I kind of want a… way in, rather than a way out.”

Viktor froze and just stared at you. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as his eyes searched yours. Finally, he gave a wry smile.

“It’s all fucking ugly there,” he said, his voice laced with quiet self-deprecation.

You took a step closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots. You shrugged lightly, your eyes never leaving his. “I’ll take my chances.” Your smile turned sly, playful. “And I like the cane. It’s kinky.”

Viktor’s jaw dropped slightly, caught between incredulity and exasperation. He let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I fucking hate you,” he muttered, but his voice betrayed it was, in fact, the opposite.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in one smooth motion, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss. It was fierce and unguarded, like all the emotions he had been holding back had finally broken free. The world around you—the cold, the snow, the biting wind—faded into nothing.

You melted into him, your hands gripping the front of his coat to steady yourself. You kissed him back with equal fervour, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest like it might burst.

Viktor’s arms hooked around you again, pulling you flush against him as you held onto his waist, your grip tight and needy. The cold air bit at your skin, but in that moment, the warmth between you burned hotter than any chill outside. His lips brushed against yours as he whispered the words, his breath mingling with yours in a heated exchange that sent shivers down your spine.

“You have to promise me you will never do that to me again,” he murmured softly, his voice a low, earnest whisper against your mouth.

Your heart raced as his lips barely touched yours, and you managed a small, teasing grin. “What, leave you all hot and bothered?” you asked, your voice thick with amusement. His lips twitched into a grin and he hugged you tighter, as if trying to choke the vow out of you. You sighed. “I promise I will never do that again.”

A small laugh escaped you, and then you met his gaze, eyes full of intent. “Promise you won’t do that again on your firstborn?” he asked softly, brushing his lips on yours.

You closed your eyes and whispered back, “I promise on my firstborn.” Not that you were planning to have any in the near future, but yes, he could have it.

His forehead still resting gently on yours, he whispered next, the intimacy of it wrapping you both in a cocoon of warmth. “Promise on your PhD thesis,” he said, voice quiet and serious.

Your laugh was light, a beautiful contrast to the intensity building between you. You rolled your eyes slightly but couldn’t help the sincerity in your voice. “I promise on my PhD thesis and thank you for having faith in me that such a thing will ever see the light of day.”

He chuckled softly at your response, but then his voice grew serious again, the affection heightening as he added, “Promise me on… my princess heart.”

You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his face, as though seeking the weight of his request. Your breath caught, the world outside of you fading into insignificance. His gaze was steady, unwavering. The silence stretched between you as you realised the depth of what he was asking.

Seeing your searching eyes, he murmured against your lips again, “You can have it if you promise on it.” He held his breath, waiting for your reply.

“I promise. On your heart and on mine,” you whispered back, your voice quiet and honest.

Viktor let out a long, relieved exhale and pulled your face to rest in the crook of his neck. “Good,” he breathed, a satisfied edge to his tone. “I almost had you kicked out, I’ll have you know.”

You tried to pull back slightly, a laugh bubbling out of you, but Viktor could feel your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?!”

“I was here first,” he said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. “You don’t get to make me miserable until the end of my PhD.”

You tightened your grip on his waist and inhaled him deeply. “You’re a fucking menace.”

Viktor’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time deeper, firmer. “You bet your ass I am. So be nice to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice full of satisfaction, as though he’d won some small victory. “I happen to have some very denigrating video material on you in my arsenal.”

“Viktor, what the hell?” you quirked your eyebrows, the worst kinds of ideas flashing through your head.

“Oh, none of that lot!” Viktor feigned mock offence, as if scandalised by the obscenity of your train of thought. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Though, it might be an interesting area to explore—ow!” He flinched as you smacked him on the head. “Technically, I am innocent. It was Jayce who committed the crime. I was merely… whispering into his ear while he did it.”

“Viktor, I am having the worst ideas in my head. Please spare me, or…” you whined, already preparing another fistful of snow in your hand.

Viktor raised his hands in mock surrender, huffing. “Alright! Do you remember Mel’s party?”

“Mel’s party? The one when you kissed me and then acted like an ass?” You paused mid-motion, your snow-filled fist dropping to your side as your mind began dissecting the events of that evening.

“Yes, yes, that one,” Viktor rolled his eyes. Mel had only thrown one party this semester; the clarification was entirely unnecessary. “Do you remember what you were doing before the party?” He smirked, his expression daring you to catch on.

“We were… cleaning the lab?” you replayed the evening in your head, slower than you wished. Then, the realisation hit you. “Oh my God.”

Viktor’s smirk bloomed into a fully-formed smug grin. You immediately wanted to wipe it off his face with every snowball you could muster.

“And you… recorded it? Viktor, you evil bastard! Where is it?!”

“You’ll have to ask nobleman Tallis, won’t you? Which means…” Viktor held out his hand for you to take. “You’ll have to come back to the bar with me.”

You ignored his outstretched hand completely. The force with which you stormed through the front door was enough to rival a dozen men. Viktor trotted after you, managing only a breathless, “Sorry, Jayce, she’s way faster than me,” as he entered the bar.

You were already looming over Jayce, leaning in close and whispering in a low, threatening voice, “Where is it, Jayce?”

“Where is what?” Jayce’s cheeks turned faintly pink at your proximity, though he had an idea of what you were talking about.

“The video. Show it to me, or I’ll have Mel take your head.” There was a dangerous glint in your eye, unrelenting.

Hale, seated nearby, leaned in with obvious interest. “Jayce Tallis,” he sang over the table, “have you done something… naughty?”

“The video? Oh… the video.” Jayce froze, throwing a questioning glance at Viktor, who had just pulled out a chair to sit next to you, abandoning his previous spot to Ellie’s disappointment.

“Look, I promise we didn’t show it to anyone,” Jayce pleaded weakly as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his gallery. He didn’t have to scroll far; it was in his favourites folder, nestled alongside funny pictures of Viktor sleeping during work hours and romantic shots of Mel.

You snatched the phone out of his hands, holding it inches from your face as you pressed play at full volume. Both Hale and Viktor leaned over your shoulders, eager to watch the masterpiece.

“Jayce, this is… atrocious,” you whispered, failing to suppress a grin at the shaky footage, muffled giggles, and snorts from Viktor and Jayce as they filmed.

“You weren’t joking when you said you were all of them at some point,” Hale mused, his eyes glued to the screen as a warm chuckle escaped him.

“It still eludes me how you’d use this to get me kicked out, Viktor,” you said, turning to him. Viktor’s face hovered close to your shoulder, his soft chuckle sending warm breaths against your cheek.

“Ah, you know… misuse of lab equipment, illegal gatherings. I could probably argue you were drunk while doing it. I’m very creative, you see.”

You could have kissed him right there for admitting he’d go to such lengths just to rid himself of you. Instead, you only huffed, a small act of defiance as his breath tickled your neck. “You are such a bastard.”

“Hmm, only if I care enough to be,” Viktor mused absentmindedly, clearly unaware of the two pairs of eyes fixed on him—Hale’s and Jayce’s, to be specific.

As the silence stretched uncomfortably, Viktor cleared his throat and took a seat next to you. “I believe that concludes our little misunderstanding, then.”

“Oh, hell no. I need this erased from my file, Mr. Tallis,” you said, handing the phone back to Jayce.

“Please don’t make it disappear. This is precious! I can send it to you and delete it from my phone but promise me we’ll watch it again in ten years,” Jayce pleaded. The thought of all of you still hanging out in a decade warmed your heart so much that you couldn’t suppress a smile.

“I accept your terms,” you stated firmly, a grin etched across your face.

“Jayce! You are leaving us defenceless! Exposed, even!” Viktor exclaimed, waving his hands dramatically as though the offence were truly grave.

“Oh, shut up, you warmonger,” Jayce retorted, pressing a hand into Viktor’s face with a laugh. “You can’t afford for me to lose my head, can you?”

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