#they need to no longer be able to hide their emotions for a while

[madbard]

I have so many thoughts about post-canon human Loop, many of which revolve around their acting skills and adjusting to having a face again.

They got so used to fake-smiling during their loops but at this point it’s been… however many months where not only did they not have a mouth, they also weren’t talking to anyone but another version of themself. Not too hard to be mysterious and unreadable in that situation.

But for them to be human again and have access to the full range of expressions that come with that is such a funny idea for me because no way they are being mysterious now.

Imagine they’re traveling with the party and stumble across something triggering. The party asks them if they’re ok and they respond with the classic “I’M FINE (in severe distress)” Siffrin smile and everyone’s faces just drop.

Siffrin: “… does it really look like that?”

Odile: “Essentially, though this is somehow worse.”

Loop, hiding their face in their hands: “WHAT?!”

[lqveharrington]

Family Tree | D.M.

summary: Eleven years after the second wizarding war, you find yourself making lifelong decisions on platform 9¾ once more.

pairing: ex!draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: a LONG fic, daughter’s name is melody, talks about the war, abandonment, pregnancy, implied sex, cursing, hufflepuff slander (i’m a hufflepuff, i’m sorry), Pansy being a fun aunt & friend, teddy lupin mention being the coolest second cousin, melody is a mischievous child, teddy doesn’t like his god father, cursing, mainly angst with some fluff

a/n: i love him, your honor (he was truly my first love) this took way longer than i thought it would, so sorry 🙏

Years after you fought alongside Harry Potter to defend Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding World from Voldemort’s wrath, you found yourself packing trunks for Hogwarts once more. However, the trunks you packed were no longer yours. They contained unhoused robes and new textbooks that weren’t marked with your doodles and annotations. The pet carrier didn’t hold your own owl, but instead your daughter’s snowy owl.

Eleven years old. It was finally time for your daughter to attend Hogwarts.

The entire morning — the entire week — she would go on about finally being able to learn the spells and charms that protected the witches and wizards from evil. Just like you.

When you held her hand tightly to enter platform 9¾, she would continue to talk about seeing all the ghosts and paintings that were mentioned in all your stories. Of course, you never told her all the adventures you endured. She didn’t need to know where the Room of Requirements was.

“—And Moaning Myrtle! Is she as annoying as you said she was? I hope she isn’t. I want to ask her so many questions about you—“

“Melody, my love, you can’t bother the ghosts all the time. Hogwarts is a school.” You run your fingers through her platinum blonde hair and smile playfully when she scrunched her nose at you. You dusted off her shoulders and tilted your head, “What?”

“But it’s a magical school, mum. Shouldn’t I be able to ask questions if I have any?” She challenged you with a raised brow, pushing your hand away and adjusting her perfect hair — much like her father. She always wanted to be absolutely flawless, even when presented in front of you.

Your heart clenched at how similar Melody was to her father. Her smile and her mannerisms were all the same. It felt like you were eleven again and meeting him for the first time. The only difference between him and Melody was her eyes. She was born with your eyes — the ones filled with so much emotion with every single look.

Glancing down at your watch, you sighed and cocked your head to the side, fixating your gaze on the train that once took you to a place where you found everything and everyone you loved. Where you found him.

“Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back every chance I get.” Melody took your hand in hers and squeezed, noticing your far off look. Her thumb traced the silver ring you wore on your left hand. She never knew what the M stood for on your ring — she always assumed it was for her name.

“I promise I’ll send an owl every week.”

“I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before your eyes caught a book being dropped by a young boy — who looked an awful lot like Tonks and Remus. Shaking your head, you bent to pick the book up and handed it to your daughter. “Can you quickly run and hand this to that young man? But come straight back. I want to properly say goodbye before you leave me forever.”

Melody rolled her eyes at your antics, but nothing could hide the smile that came with it. She made swift steps over to the boy before he boarded the train, eyes widening curiously when he faced her. The boy’s hair turned a bright pink as he thanked her, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?” Melody whispered in excitement and watched his hair turned an electric blue. Her grin widened, recalling what you told her a while ago. “My mum says my aunt was one!”

The boy finally took a good look at Melody, a light bulb going off in his head when he realized who he was talking to. He recognized her the Black Family tree back at 12 Grimmauld Place. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was when his friends pulled him into the train without a single glance to whoever he was talking to.

Melody furrowed her brows in confusion before huffing, perfectly styled hair whipping behind her as she left to find you before boarding the express herself. She thought all Hufflepuffs were supposed to be sweet, but these Hufflepuffs seemed to ignore her like she was nothing but an itty bitty fairy.

She hoped she wasn’t put into Hufflepuff.

“My mum was one of the hero’s at Hogwarts.” She muttered to herself and — once again — flicked a piece of her blonde hair behind her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a collision of trolleys to her left. “I’ll tell her all about this.”

Melody made a quick turn to where she last left you before slamming into someone, nearly toppling over from the sheer force. She caught the person’s arm and yanked herself back before she could fall on her arse, mentally cursing herself for not looking at her surroundings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She muttered and dusted herself off from invisible dust, looking up at the person only to find a man staring at her with a shocked expression. Was he really that offended by it? He was an adult and she was merely eleven.

The man blinked before shaking his head, schooling his shocked expression to one of nonchalance instead. He looked around and tilted his head at the girl standing in front of him, examining her face like she was someone he recognized before. This girl reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to love dearly.

Melody pursed her lips and rocked on the heel of her Mary Jane’s, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with his staring, but she wasn’t comfortable either. Just as Melody was about to excuse herself from the man, she heard your familiar voice ring out, making her visibly relax despite your tone.

“Where were you? I told you to come straight back.” You rushed over to her and ran your fingers through her hair once more, unaware of your surroundings. You were so worried she had left before saying goodbye and it absolutely haunted you.

She looked back at the blonde man behind you for a split second before tilting her head down to the floor. Melody knew that you were waiting for an answer — she just had to suck up the embarrassment.

“I was coming to find you when I knocked into that man.” She gestured behind you and held back a whine when you tilted her head to check her for any cuts and bruises.

Melody made eye contact with the same person she knocked into again and hid her face in your jumper, hating that all the attention kept going back to her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

“Mum.”

You sigh softly and turn your attention to the man, still carding your fingers through Melody’s hair. You kept your eyes trained on her until she relaxed, finally looking up to meet the said person when years of memories hit you like a freight train.

“I’m so sorry about Melody. She usually isn’t this distracted — Draco?”

Your throat closed up at the sight of him — Draco Malfoy.

It was your Draco. The one who promised to love you his entire life; the one who promised to never leave your side; the one who left you alone with nothing but a broken heart and an unborn daughter.

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He felt horrible leaving you alone all these years, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain to you why he left so abruptly. Especially when you were about to drop your daughter — his daughter — off to Hogwarts.

Everything felt so overwhelming for the small family.

The whistling of the Hogwarts' Express immediately caught Melody's ears, her eyes widening at how little time she had left with you before departing for the next few months until holiday.

“Mum, the express is going to leave soon.” Melody’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, her small hand squeezing your ringed hand — which didn’t escape Draco’s gaze.

You cupped her face with both hands, kissing her forehead. This would be the first time you would be away from her for so long and you didn’t know if you could handle the separation.

“When you have time, send me an owl right away. Include your house in the parchment, alright? Be safe and make smart decisions.“ You instructed.

“I will.” She locked a pinky around yours before wrapping her arms around your neck, breathing in your familiar scent one last time. “I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.” You held her tightly and made the horrible mistake of meeting Draco’s eyes. You looked away faster than he could mark the emotion in your eyes. “Now get on that train before it leaves without you.”

Melody ran on the train and found a compartment occupied by a couple of other first years, smiling when you waved to her as the Hogwarts’ Express left platform 9¾.

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” Draco spoke and pushed his hair back — the initial shock finally settling in his chest.

You sigh and turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. Although it had been years, the warmth from his gaze still filled you and you hated it. You hated that all the love you had for him was still stored away.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He narrowed his eyes at your deflection but answered truthfully. He might as well begin with the truth before anything else.

“I’m the auror assigned to protect the wizards and witches at this platform.” Draco responded before glancing at his watch, frowning at the time it read back. “I’ll be back—“

You put your hand up and stopped his excuses, shaking your head and frowning. Pulling out your own wand, you pointed it at his chest and glared. You would never let yourself be fooled twice.

“That’s what you’re good at doing, Draco.” You tapped your wand on his chest, your heart screaming to stop but your mind blocked out every emotion you felt for him besides pure rage. “You’re good at leaving. That’s all I know about you, and that’s all Melody will ever know about her father.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides but made no effort to stop you. He could tell — your eyes betraying your every emotion — that you needed to reprimand him. He could see the way you wanted to scream and shout everything you kept bottled in your mind. Every single memory you had with him building up, ready to explode with any wrong move.

“Love—“

“You have no right.” You whisper at the nickname and shake your head at him, apparating away.

Melody watched in trepidation as first years were sorted into a house after Professor McGonagall read off their names from a long roll of parchment. Each and every one of them grinning brightly at the rest of the student body when the Sorting Hat screamed their respective houses out. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to be sorted.

After all, her mother blessed her with a last name that wouldn’t take ages to be called up.

“Bellemont, Melody!”

She beamed at the professors as she made her up onto the wooden stool, flicking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. Melody wasn’t sure what to expect when the hat fell, but she knew she would rather move to America than be sorted in Hufflepuff like that group of boys she met at the station. They were all rude except for the Metamorphmagus she held an actual conversation with.

“A Malfoy who isn’t a Malfoy.” The Sorting Hat murmured to itself — and knowingly — Melody. “Clearly, you haven’t been raised with the pureblooded status quo. Perhaps your mother’s doing… But you have your father’s confidence and pride…”

Melody’s face twisted in confusion at the hat’s words. Who was Malfoy? Was that her father? Maybe her grandmother’s previous last name? She didn’t understand the hat, and as if it read her mind — which it could — clarified for the young witch.

“Your father was a broken soul.” The hat tutted and swished around her head like it was revisiting old memories of her parents. “Your mother wormed her way into his heart until she mended him.”

She blinked and looked over at McGonagall, who merely smiled at her. Melody pursed her lips and looked out into the crowd, hoping to find any kind of familiar face. Unfortunately, all her aunts and uncles decided to have children only a few years ago.

Melody frowned as the hat continued to make random comments about her parents, ultimately boring her from the ceremony. She wasn’t sure what the hat was going on about you and her father, but she was sure to send an owl to you soon.

“Nevertheless, your father and mother were in the same house.” The Sorting Hat commented before shouting its decision for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. “SLYTHERIN!”

Melody gave the applauding hall a tight-lipped smile as she walked over to the Slytherin table, finding an empty seat beside an enthusiastic prefect. She was ecstatic to be in the same house as her mother, of course, but now only one thing circled her mind. She didn’t feel the need to ever know about this before. You were all she ever needed. Yet the Sorting Hat planted something in her head, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Who was her father? And who is Malfoy?

“I’ve been getting the same question back from Melody in every single letter. This is starting to get ridiculous.” You throw the recent letter you received from Melody on the kitchen counter, rubbing your face in frustration. “What the hell happened at Hogwarts for her to suddenly be interested in who her father is?”

On a normal day, Melody would never pester you about who her father was. Now, it felt like you got a letter everyday about who her father was. You weren’t sure what the best move was. Either way you went, everything would change drastically.

Pansy shrugged and read the letter, raising her brows at the perfect cursive that could rival Draco’s. “Maybe it’s time you should tell her. It’s been eleven years, and she’s old enough to know about him.“

You spun the stupid Malfoy ring on your finger and huffed. “It’s not about how old she is. I just don’t want her to know that Draco essentially abandoned her. Granted, he left before I could even tell him.” You glared at the silver ring. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull the piece of jewelry off. “Besides, she already met Draco. It’ll complicate the entire situation if I try to explain it now.”

“Wait — when did Melody meet Draco?” She furrowed her brows and sat up at the new information. Pansy squinted at your expression before gasping, nearly jumping out of her chair at the realization. “At the platform?”

“Yes.” You groan and bury your head in your hands. Even if you did want Melody to know about her father at some point, you didn’t want it to be like that. She doesn’t deserve such an abrupt change right before she hopped on the express for Hogwarts. “Melody bumped into him trying to find me.”

Pansy sighed and took your hands in hers, watching your reaction very closely. “It’s better that you tell her about Draco rather than someone else tell her. I don’t doubt you’ll make the right call about all of this, but please tell her sooner rather than later.” Pansy squeezed your hands and sent you a small smile.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced toward the moving photograph you hung on the wall. It was a picture of you, Pansy, and Blaise right before Draco’s final quidditch game. You were laughing at something Blaise said, but the photo only played that far into the memory before resetting.

Pansy caught your gaze and waved her wand over to the frame, changing the length of the moving photograph. Instead of you laughing at something Blaise said, you were pulling an unamused Draco to sit beside you for the photo.

Your heart clenched at the sight, finally giving into your daughter’s pleads.

“I’ll tell Melody when she comes home for the holidays. I don’t want her to find out via owl.” You sigh and wave your hand toward the photograph, setting it back to the way it was originally.

The photo was taunting you to look back over, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore.

You could always tell yourself you wanted nothing to do with Draco, but everyone knew that you would run back if you found the perfect reason to. Maybe Melody was your perfect reason.

“Melody, wait!”

The girl turned to the sound of her name — blonde locks flawlessly following through — and her arms tightened around the textbooks she held. Out of all the people at Hogwarts, she least expected to see the boy from the train station jogging toward her. She looked behind him for his friends — if you could even call them friends — but it was just the boy. The Metamorphmagus boy.

“Yes?” She tilted her head and creased her eyebrows when his hair turned a horrid shade of green. The color made her feel uneasy, forcing her to wait until it faded back to its original state to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know your — er — name.”

The boy blinked before sticking his hand out, shaking her hand profusely. “I’m Teddy Lupin. I’m so sorry about my friends back on the express months ago. They found an unoccupied compartment and wanted to claim it before someone else took it.”

Melody slowly nodded and glanced at her leather watch, frowning when she realized she was already seconds late to a study session with a couple of first years she befriended. She pursed her lips and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Was that all you needed me for? I need to study for a charms exam.”

“Well — uhm — I don’t want you to not study, but I wanted to ask you if this was you. If it’s not, it looks scarily like you and has the exact same name. Except the last name matches my uncle’s — “

Melody barely processed the rest of his rambling as Teddy pulled out a photograph of a wall she couldn��t recognize. There were bits and pieces of the wall that were burnt and faces that were skeletons rather than perfectly painted — perfectly detailed — faces. It seemed like the wall went on forever until she glanced at the very bottom right.

Melody’s breath lodged in her throat as she read the last name painted beside her legal first name. Her eyes followed the family tree branch up to find — not her mother — but her father’s face painted on the wall. Although your face wasn’t painted, your name was still written underneath one—

“Draco Malfoy.” She whispered and looked up at Teddy with a shocked expression, hands gripping the photograph in confusion.

There was the last name the Sorting Hat kept muttering.

It was the same man she met at the platform months ago. The color of his hair — and the way you acted around him — should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was indeed her father. Melody shook her head and gave Teddy back the photo, determined to understand why you chose to hide this from her for so long.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me figure the rest of this out, would you?”

The wind breezing through platform 9¾ from the Hogwarts’ Express sent your hair flying through the air and your arms tightening around yourself. You were picking Melody up for the holidays and made the awful decision to not bring a stupid coat — thinking you could get out within minutes.

Silently cursing from how cold it was, you watch the students stream out of the train until you saw the platinum blonde hair you knew belonged to your daughter. Instantly, her eyes met yours and she ran. She ran until she knocked herself into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over.

“Hi, mum.” She murmured into your neck and pulled herself impossibly closer. She tucked her chin in your shoulder, letting herself melt in your arms. “I missed you.”

You blinked away suppressed tears and kissed the side of her head. You didn’t realize how much you missed your sweet girl until she was in your arms again. “I missed you too, my love.”

You adjusted her Slytherin scarf — proudly, you might add — around her neck before pressing a kiss in her hair. You would make the most out of the two weeks you had with her if it was the last thing you did.

The commotion of the platform left the both of you unfazed as you went to grab her trunk from the express. You shrunk the trunk before tucking it away in your pocket, sending Melody a grin when she rolled her eyes at you. But as you went to leave the platform, Melody tugged you back in place with wide eyes.

You furrowed your brows and stared at her with a confused expression, hands ready to grab your wand in case she saw something that was potentially threatening. “What—?”

“Melody!” A boy ran over to your daughter and put a hand up as he took deep breaths, hair flashing many different colors before settling on purple. “I couldn’t find you after you left the compartment.”

You tilted your head at the sudden arrival of a boy before recognizing the face. You could recognize that face anywhere. After all, he was a spitting image of Remus and Tonks.

“Mum, this is Teddy Lupin.” Melody gestured to the tall boy and pushed up on her tippy toes to look past him, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Teddy.” You shake his hand and gently pull Melody back, eyeing her suspiciously before speaking to the young boy once more. “I haven’t seen you since you were an itty bitty baby.”

Teddy felt his heart kick up at the thought of you knowing him before now. You must’ve known him from when he was a mere baby. You probably knew his parents and who his parents were.

“You knew my parents?” He breathed with eyes shimmering with interest.

“Of course, I did. Your father taught me in my third year, and I absolutely adored your mother.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sighed, shaking away the thought of him being orphaned at such a young age. You would forever curse Voldemort for destroying so many families. “How are your studies going, Teddy? I heard—”

“Must we explain everything, mum?” Melody whined and interrupted your friendly demeanor. She didn’t want to stay at the platform any longer than you, but she needed to be here until he showed up, and she didn’t want to spend all that time listening to you being extra polite. It felt weird.

“Did you bring—?”

“He’s making his way over.” Teddy waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes, slight annoyance filling them. Not because of her but because of his uncle.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time trying to find Teddy after he all but ran toward Melody the second he saw her blonde hair over crowds of reunited families. Although, he had to admit that his uncle was far better on time management than his god father. Harry Potter could save the entire wizarding world yet he still was late to all of Teddy’s milestones.

“He’s making his way through the crowds, although he was quite skeptic on why I suddenly asked him about dinner.”

You looked between the two and knitted your brows together. You knew Melody invited someone over for dinner, but you didn’t expect another person. So who was the other?

Before either of the two could speak, you interrupted with a stern tone. “Him who?”

“Ted, you can’t wander off and not tell me who we’re going to have dinner with — Oh, fuck me.” Draco caught up to his nephew, who he found standing beside the woman he loved all these years. He didn’t think running into you twice at the platform in one year would even be possible.

“Shit.” You mutter and quickly avert your eyes from staring at his disheveled figure, forcing your heart to steady itself.

Looking down at the two children, you crossed your arms and raised a brow. You couldn’t help but think the both of them planned it — and by the looks of their guilty faces — you knew you were right.

“What did you two do?”

Teddy folded before Melody could even utter a single syllable. He jabbed a finger in her direction as his hair turned a bright pink. “Melody did it.”

“Gee, thanks.” The said girl pushed his hand away from her face and met your questioning gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have surprised either of you, but she wanted the truth without you stepping on eggshells every single time. “Uhm…”

You tilted your head and waited for her to continue, feeling Draco’s looming presence right beside you. He was equally as confused by the ambush but was willing to listen to his daughter.

Melody nervously played with the ends of her hair before spilling everything, shutting her eyes tightly when she heard how selfish her plan truly was. If something horrible came out of this, it would’ve been her fault that you were upset and her father would never want to see her again.

“I just really want to know the truth! Teddy showed me the Black Family Tree a while ago and — well — I saw me on there connected to who I suppose my father is. And when I realized it was the same person we saw here, I knew I had to find a way to see him again. I want to know who my dad is, I want to really know him.”

Draco’s face twisted into surprise and looked over at Teddy for confirmation only to whip his head back to Melody.

“And your name was written underneath his, mum.”

Instinctively, you hid your left hand under your arm and bit the inside of your cheek. Though you weren’t officially married to Draco, his family signet indicated that you were promised to one another. Whether you decided to continue with the marriage or not wasn’t a controlling factor.

“You know he’s your father, what else is there to say?”

Melody peeled her eyes open and frowned. You were getting so defensive and she still didn’t know why you never told her about her father. Even Draco looked hurt by your words.

“Why did you never tell me?” She spoke softly — afraid that the only thing she’s ever known could fall apart in an instant. She loved you, but what you kept from her seemed so unfair.

“I promise I was going to tell you this week.” You matched her tone and pursed your lips when you saw her eyes swimming with sadness.

Melody shifted her attention to her father and crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with the same confidence he had at her age. “Did you come to the station on purpose?”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head, tucking his hands into his front pockets, fidgeting from habit. He hated confrontation. “No, I’m an auror stationed here when students head back to Hogwarts and come back.”

Melody looked to Teddy for confirmation — much like her father — and received a curt nod back, making her bite her lip in frustration. Neither of them was giving her the information she wanted needed. All she saw was the tension and the underlying love of two different people.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, she could press on and continue bothering them. But on the other —

“I didn’t even know your mother was pregnant.”

You perked up at the mention and glared at the blonde, eyes filled with the same anger and disappointment he saw months ago. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to protect you.” Draco narrowed his eyes at you, his tone challenging yours.

Melody took a small step back. This wasn’t how she planned this to go, but this was more information she received than from the last eleven years.

“You made that decision yourself.” You whispered, voice cracking with hurt. The walls you carefully built around old memories chipped away as you recalled them all — each moment flashing in your mind. “I could’ve helped, Dray. Instead, you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

Draco furrowed his brows together and shook his head — you were always so stubborn and so correct. “You could’ve gotten killed—“

“I would have died to stay with you.” You instinctively grabbed his hand. “Do you know how long I waited? How long I used to stay up — wondering if you would ever come back?” The tears began to well up as you continued to speak, voice trembling and hands shaking.

Draco quietly listened and stared down at your ringed finger, his family signet shining for all the wizarding world to see. He promised to marry you — to take you away from the mess of the past.

Yet he still left.

“I was praying to whoever was out there for you to come find me.” You quietly spoke and finally dropped his hand. “You left me with nothing.”

The both of you stared at one another with unspoken apologies. No matter how long it’s been, you could still read him and he could still read you. To one another, it was like reading a childhood book that could be recited front to back.

After seconds of stiff silence, you turned back to Melody and Teddy — handing your daughter the miniature trunk and keys to your car. “Melody, take Teddy and wait in the car.”

“Mum—“

“Now.” You cut her off and watch her and Teddy leave the platform. Steadying your breathing once more, you looked back at Draco and twisted your ring. “Do you even have anything to say?”

He looked between your eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, voice small like the seventeen year old Death Eater he once was.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with so much emotion you swore you could see the colors surrounding him. “I’m so sorry I left without saying anything.”

A noise threatened to leave your lips, but you made no effort to leave your position nor say anything.

“But I was vowed to follow my father’s footsteps by becoming a Death Eater.” He took your hand in his and traced the familiar lines across your palm, effectively calming him and you. “Waking up beside you brought me comfort in all the torture they made me endure. I knew you didn’t deserve to suffer with me, so I left.”

Draco watched your hand delicately hover his arm where the mark was, biting his tongue when you thumbed the space below — something you used to do back in sixth year when he got so overwhelmed with his mission.

“I can’t ever take back the day I decided to leave and never show up again, but I don’t regret it.”

You silently absorbed his words and sniffled — signs that were so clear to Draco about what was to come. He tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, giving you a weak smile.

“You raised an excellent daughter without me.” He tired to cheer you up but frowned when he saw the shimmer of a singular tear streak down your face.

“I needed you.” You frustratedly wipe your tear and look away, knowing that the vulnerability of your heart was completely at stake. “Dray, I was seventeen too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the both of you — so young and restrained by everything.

“I was pregnant and terrified. I didn’t know if I could even raise a child on my own.” You breathed and looked up at the glass roofing, pushing the rest of the tears away. “Imagine how different our life would be if you just stayed.”

Another tear escaped and — suddenly — your barriers crumbled. The mere thought of raising Melody on your own without Draco consumed your every being. And somehow — even with just you — she ended up exactly like her father.

“Yes, Melody is amazing, but I really needed you.”

Draco caught your eyes and instantly pulled you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin — refusing to let go of you ever again. His heart continued to break at your silent sobs, each sniffle and hiccup chiseling the crack that formed years ago.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and repeated it like a mantra, voice raw with so much sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

“I needed you, Draco.” You sobbed and breathed in his familiar scent as you buried your face in his chest. You gripped the lapels of his suit, eyes squeezed shut as if you were afraid he would disappear again. “For more than eleven years, I needed you.”

“I needed you too.” Draco whispered and tilted your head up, thumbing your streaked face. His heart ached from all the time he missed out on. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like ages before you pulled away from him. The only sounds that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and the hisses of the express. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your jumper, mouth moving before your heart and mind could catch up.

“Would you still have dinner with us? I’m sure you’ve been here all day waiting for the arrival of the express.”

Finally listening to your own words, your freeze before slowly meeting his eyes. You were more shocked at yourself than his answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you and Melody.” He answered truthfully before waving his free hand around with the smallest smile on his face. “And Teddy.”

You match his expression and tilt your head to the right, wringing your hands together. “Maybe you could finally get to know Melody.”

Draco’s lips curled into a fully blown smile, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with delight at the idea of finally knowing his one and only daughter. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” You say softly and — for the first time in a long time — hide the rising warmth forming on your cheek.

Draco Malfoy. The biggest love and loss of your life.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[katiekatdragon27]

Guys you don't understand how much I love these two. (Oh yeah, and Finn's there too)

Glisten: Awww~ Shrimpo, you remembered Shrimpo: B*tch I'm in LOVE with you, of course I REMEMBERED! Glisten: What!? Wait really?? This is very sudden wow! (You said you were straight?) Shrimpo: AAAAAAAAAA

Finn: (yapping) Shrimpo and Glisten: SHUT THE F*CK UP, FINN!! Shrimpo and Glisten: ... Shrimpo and Glisten: (kissing)

The first comic takes place before the two started dating. Shrimpo is really really really bad at expressing emotions other than anger and frustration, so anytime he tries to express anything, he just blurts out his feelings without thinking. Then he gets second-hand embarrassment lol. Glisten was pretty aware that Shrimpo liked him before, but he's pretending to be surprised to make Shrimpo "feel better" (also to mildly embarrass him lol).

Also, I think that Shrimpo and Glisten bonding over hating Finn is very based and true. They need that autistic man to SHUT UP/silly

I think Shrimpo and Finn are very cousin coded. Not close enough to be siblings but definitely got some familial genes going on imo (plz don't shoot me Shrimpbowl shippers🙏🙏🙏) Doesn't stop Shrimpo from being violent towards Finn tho, and Finn does nothing to deter it lol (he finds it funny). Also, Glisten throws no punches bc he doesn't want to get his hands dirty.

Finn: Sooooo?? How was the daaaate~ Finn: No need to be such a clam about it! Shrimpo: I'M SO KILLING YOU!

The second image takes place the day after this post lol. Shrimpo is recovering from a hangover covered in lipstick kisses and super conflicting emotions and Finn is NOT helping.

On the other end, I've been thinking about Shimmer a lot lol. So here is a doodle of her with her "sister aunt" Toodles, and Pebbles.

They all get along super well. In this pic, Toodles is like 12ish and Shimmer is 4 (but her weird biology made her age up to like 7 here). Pebble is pebble, that's all you need to know.

Also, I was in a horror-ish mood earlier so here are some Twisteds <33 (below cut cuz kinda scary):

I love you angst comfort. My sib pointed out while playing one day that Shrimpo looked traumatized as a Twisted, which like, fair, but it make me think.

Glisten: "They say you are not here anymore. But I think you are."

I had this silly idea that Twisted Shrimpo was infected by Dandy personally, and that whole conflict got Shrimpo's lower jaw ripped off. He is very violent and volatile, and very hard to calm down. But, when he runs into a twisting Glisten alone and scared, he comforts him (to the best of his ability).

Since Glisten is still able to be somewhat conscious, he realizes that the Twisteds are actually not completely gone like he originally thought, and it helps him keep his sanity longer, hoping for a way out for everyone.

Willpower is a crazy thing.

On the complete opposite note, I love you horrifying freak of ichor child.

Since Shimmer was made from the ichor itself with no sort of skeleton or solid foundation, her condition is very unstable. And the problem is that her body is affected by her emotions. On a bad day, she can suffer from lots of pain and her body literally melting away. That's when she hides out and waits for her body to stabilize again.

When she completely twists, her body completely falls apart, becoming a puddle of ichor on the ground. If she was an encounterable twisted, she would work like Sprout's puddle root things, but easier to maneuver around and avoid. Also, her antenna glow.

Mini yap session aside, I think I cooked on the art lol.

Anyways, the og images lol:

Have a good one pookies!

[astroyongie]

✗♡✗♡ +18 Next Partner Reading ✗♡✗♡

Note: Hey everyone! February is the month of love and for that I have prepared some special readings and also games! We will start this one with this incredible reading! next up with be soft love, which will be the opposite and focused on romanticism <33 Please enjoy!

-> Reading done with: The Magical Erotic Tarot

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

-> Take a moment to breathe and focus. Choose the image you feel the most attracted to and enjoy!

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ- ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɴᴀᴋᴇ

-> 9 of wands, the chariot, 6 of wands

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: The first thing that strikes me in this reading is the fact that they are obsessed with you in all shapes and forms. They love your lips, your tummy. The way you, speak the way you move. Your future partner will love to show you off to the people yet he keeps things between the two of you quite discreet. They perceive you as someone so soft, so innocent. Might call you "little dove", "my bird", "bunny". You truly are someone they cannot leave without, as they have been manifesting you for longer than you have been.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: There's definitely so much passion in here, and your dynamic has a fun side of two coins. In one moment your partner will be the type to take you everywhere with them, long car rides, soft talks, pillow talks. Them drawing soft patterns in your back while you are relaxing. Yet, they would also not be scared to punish you, push you right into the bed, on your tummy when you are acting like a brat. Spanking your ass if you dare to raise your voice at them. They excel domination and respect and your dynamic would show exactly that.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: A ass person. They won't hide it and their kinks would all be around that. For the dynamic of your intimate sessions there's a lot going on. Body worshiping, spank play, ass dropping, anal, punishment play. but also overstimulation and denial depending on their mood and liking, soft degradation as well. The dynamic in the relationship also shows inside the bedroom. But this person truly would have always their hands one your, as they can't keep it to themselves

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ- ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ

-> 8 of swords, 2 of wands, the magician

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: They probably desire you much than you desire them, and that's because their need of emotional connection is linked to their physical connection. They perceive you as someone who is seductive, someone who has caught them and now they have no issue out of this relationship, this passion, this desire. They perceive you as someone they need to possess, to own, to keep away from prying eyes. That's how much obsessed they are over you

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: You both actually have a very good dynamic, one that is flirty, teasing despite also being able to be serious when its needed. You would be the type of couple that share food, cook for one another. when you go out to eat, you can rub your feet/leg on them and they would respond. there's so much chemistry, passion and romanticism. there's no secrets, you both are able to speak to one another without hiding things

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: This is all about learning things with each other. There's a possibility that this person will have your virginity and you theirs in most cases. in other cases, it indicates someone with a lot of experience, and they will make are to show you everything they know. Threesomes, exhibitionism, voyeurism, body worship, exchange of roles and kinks related to pushing forward and exploring without boundaries. that's how much comfortable you are with them.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ- ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴍᴇɢʀᴀɴᴀᴛᴇ

-> The Lovers, The Knight of swords, The Sun

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: I think they perceive you as the one that will fix their heart, their ego. The one person that they found that will make it all go away and make it feel right. It feels like they would be obsessed with your style, the way you dress and act. they love your chest/breast area as well. For some of you, this person is probably in a relationship but they will leave their partner for you because the chemistry and the attraction toward you is way greater than with who they are currently.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: Okay this dynamic is quite interesting, we have here a partner that is quite dominating in the relationship. the type that will take command on things, that will dictate the relationship and provide for you. It seems like they want the other people know you belong to them, and that they are here for you. It's a dynamic where you are mostly being babied, cared for.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: There's such a good dynamic here, the sex is so hot, so passionate where you feel yourself like the happiest person in there. Some kinks I am able to perceive is hair pulling, whips, voyeurism as well. perhaps some loving missionary, naked skin agaisnt skin smash, because they need to feel you close and there. It's a sex that is truly connected and where you both take care of one another.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ- ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴅʟᴇꜱ

-> 9 of swords, The Priestess, 10 of pentacles

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: You are someone they finds very broken yet so sensual. They probably have this idea of "I need to fix them" as they see you as a little person who just needs to feel loved. They get protective of you rather quickly in the relationship, they want you close and crave you. They love your scent and your hips/waist. they would always want to have their hands in there

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: The dynamic is beautiful and the way they put you in a pedestal, you have honestly won this one. To them, you are everything, innocent and young, soft and so fragile. They would are for you, while also giving you your independence and the space to make decisions for yourself. You would mostly lead In the relationship. It's a dynamic where you both respect and learn with one another.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: Definitely calls you "kitten" in the bedroom, very "pussy drunk" type of person when it comes to you. they love to strip you naked, have their mouth in your neck and mark you up. They will worship you, kiss your body up and down for their own amusement and pleasure. feed you fruits, buy you the prettiest sets of lace. Mirror sex or like having a mirror in the roof would be also a thing it seems

ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜰɪᴠᴇ- ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏꜱᴇꜱ

-> knight of wands, the judgment, 7 of cups

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: Their perception of you is quite interesting Ig I must say. the cards show that they see you as someone they can grow old with, someone they want to adventure in the world with, someone they want to share their life with. They love your voice, your breasts/chest area as well. The type to think you are a precious diamond that can only be polish by their own fingers

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: ah, "ride or die" type of thing it seems. Like I said earlier they are the type of person who want you for life so they have made sure they treat you as the mother/father of their children, like a husband/wife material. This person treats you right, provides to a certain extent but their love for you is priority. they will always defend you, no matter what.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: there's a lot of riding sex in here, also you against their chest with they use their hands and mouth. Breeding kink, bondage and age play can be things they are into. They love making out before and during the sex, their lips on your as there's thrusts coming in and out. they are quite romantic as well inside the bedroom, slow passionate sex is preferred by them than the rough one.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜱɪx- ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴘꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ

-> 3 of swords, page of cups, 10 of swords

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: they see you as the person that saved them after a heartbreak. It feels like this person has been wishing for love and a partner after a huge disappointment, and the moment they saw you everything made sense. they are obsessed with you. their hand always on your thigh as they talk to you. they will serenade you because to them, you are someone who deserves all the efforts

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: Such a romantic dynamic honestly, this person and you are the type to write hand letters, notes, texts often and leave them around/send them when you least expect them to. They might call you "kitten" in some cases. A dynamic where they would stay up late until you come home, until you need them. the type that is jealous and would try to be around you every time, because there's some trust issues alongside the desire they have for you

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: mutual masturbation can be a thing inside the bedroom, soft music in the background as well, voyeurism or exhibitionism (the fear of getting caught is what I am sensing). Threesomes can be a thing or like you being attached while your partner smashes someone else (this only in certain cases). there's a lot of make up sex, making your cry during it, forcing yourself to look at your reflection as well. boob play, a intimacy that can so times get a little rough depending on both your energy

[eveningepiphany]

only would happen to us | H.S oneshot

summary: you and harry just got stuck up on the tower bridge in london and it’s clear sometimes feelings are just too hard to ignore

warnings: smut! bandmate harry, fluff, heights, unplanned confession, making out, trying to hide it from everyone, REALLY CUTE CAR SCENE, tension, fingering, dirty talk, vague reference to choking, protected p in v sec, talk of unprotected sex, frat boy harry just being too hot.

a/n: this is a longer smutshot with a bit of plot, took me MONTHS of coming back and forth from this draft, but it’s so so cute I think you’re gonna love these two!

not heavily edited, may be some typos, just want to post it so bad and its 2am HAHA

———

A deep, almost shaky exhale passes through your lungs and out past your lips. Your own numb hands coming to your waist underneath the thick knitted sweater that hung baggy over your frame, meeting the tight harness fitted over your jeans. It was so cold outside that with each breath out, there was a pale cloud that got puffed out with it. The kind you’d see on a crisp morning while walking to school as a kid, and pretend you were exhaling a long drag of a cigarette.

It’s weird to see something such as the air from deep in your lungs in a way you never normally do. Something that is typically invisible, in the exact right conditions, can be suddenly tangible. The air you exhale always there, regardless of whether you can see it or not. But on a night like tonight it’s no longer able to be ignored.

How one individual might perceive it can be starkly different to another. What is perhaps an annoying reminder of the cold to one person— is a thrilling reminder of their state of aliveness to another.

You believe in the latter. Despite it highlighting how freezing cold you feel, it makes your heart sing. Right now, you’re alive, living in this very moment. Your breath is the very proof that you’re here, experiencing something few other people understand.

The mosaic of London city lights can be seen all around you, reflecting on the swell of water that consumes the far drop below your feet.

Gratitude floats through your mind at the tight harness wrapped around your middle, attaching to the safety line behind you. Otherwise just looking down would make you loose your balance, and that's not a fall you want to experience.

Filming music videos, you’ve learnt, is no joke. Considering you’re 200 feet in the sky above the river Thames on London’s most famous bridge.

“M’pretty sure I’ve just frozen my balls off.” Louis shivers out, earning a snort from Liam who has his hands shoved under his arms— in attempt to warm them up— beside him.

The camera crew have filmed the shots planned, and a few extras for behind the scenes footage, but everything that needed to be taken has now been ticked off, and the rest of the team are beginning to get ready for the band to come back down.

“And here i was just thinking how surreal it is to be up here,” You sigh out with sarcastic whimsy, “Louis sure knows how to put it into words…”

Niall pipes in, “Best view in the whole city and Louis is talking about his junk.”

Everyone up there let’s out a belly laugh at Niall’s quip. It’s an oddly touching moment. Just the six of you feeling like you’re on top of the world, laughing at a joke about Louis dick.

A very fitting theme for a bunch of still-teenagers, you think to yourself. Heartwarming in its own odd way that makes you smile. Eyes flitting from the skyline in front of you back to the band, attempting to take in every small detail that’s painting the wondrous view ahead of you.

You’re glad you went up first, it means you can see all their faces at once when you look to the left. The toothy grins, lit up eyes, and red, wind kissed cheeks.

Especially Harry, who beside you, looks absolutely elated to be up there. The glimmer in his eye's is possessing an emotion in your chest that's admittedly different tonight in comparison to any other.

Maybe it was just your surroundings, but you’re convinced this is the most beautiful he’s ever looked. His brown curls were tousled back from the breeze, lips flushed from the cold. The big khaki jacket cast over his broad shoulders is bundling him up, yet he was still shivering slightly.

Somehow now— even in London's coldest months—his skin still appears tan. Like if you reached out and touched it, it would thrum with the warmth of his blood. A heat you want to settle into with your entire body and soul.

Forcibly, you have to tear your gaze away from him. Reminding yourself that he is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. Not someone for you to be staring at as if there was something to be entertained.

Besides, you’ve spent months gaslighting yourself into the belief it’s simply because you work together so closely. Of course your brain is trying to tell you that there’s something there!

Hell, you’ve heard the horror stories from your girls back home. Problematic shit almost always happens when they fuck around with male colleagues at their jobs. You’ve even said to them, “Is he hot, or is it just because he’s a guy at your work?”

And while your relationship with Harry is arguably a lot more personal than just two colleagues, surely the theory still applies— you’re only so attracted to him because you both work together. That’s it…

Not at all the fact he is definitely the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen.

Shaking your head— as if the physical movement will stop the internal battle between the voices in your head, you focus your eyes back to the city. Trying to memorise this beautiful sight instead, and commit each red set of break lights, and every yellow glow of someone’s window to the mental picture you’ve taken.

You wish you could know how many people are looking at the Tower bridge right now. If they have any idea that there’s 6 idiots up the top of it. It casts a familiar, deep set of wonder over you.

Are they cooking dinner, watching tv, or staring out at the world just like you? who are they with, why are they with them?

Just the notion that all the people in that city are out there, living a life as shockingly intricate, and beautiful as your own makes your heart clench. It’s a feeling you want to hold forever.

Harry notices from next to you the look on your face. He sees this look often, he knows how deep of a thinker you are. When your lips part in the slightest bit, displaying that sense of earnest shock— and your big eyes search the scene in front of them as if it might disappear on the very next blink.

You do it at airports, in every new city you visit, and onstage too— you do it almost everywhere, come to think of it.

His own mouth slants into a warm smile, even Niall has glanced over and shared a quiet chuckle at your ability to just slip into your mind every time something unreal happens to the six of you.

“Alright— we’re gonna get you guys down one by one!” A crew member's call pulls you out of your trance. Harry is almost sad to see the captivation on your face get snapped away in an instant, making him divert his attention away from you so he doesn’t get caught staring.

Given that you were the first of them to go up, you’d be the last to be lowered down. Zayn however was the last to go up, and arguably the hardest of everyone to convince to get up here.

Despite looking like he could conquer anything, and any challenge, he is scared easily of new things. Like going on a plane for the first time, or being lifted to the top of tower bridge and held by only a harness.

“Thank god—“ he sighs a chuckle, running an anxious hand through his hair as he slowly starts to shuffle along the narrow edge you’re all standing on.

“People pay good money t'do stuff like this, is the real kicker.” Liam nudges him, earning a playful eye roll from Zayn at his dig.

“Don’ get me wrong, s’beautiful, but im out of here. Back to solid ground where I belong.” He points to the mechanism that will lower him back down to the platform underneath where the crew is, hand then coming back to cling to the X shaped beams behind you all.

From what you were all told, it’s actually for maintenance… a large steel cage of sorts. One that’s clunky on the way up and down, and can’t carry more than two bodies a time— at best.

You hear the sigh of relief Zayn lets out as he steps onto the solid metal— sliding the carabiner out of the cable holding you all to the bridge. Waving a hand down to the crew to lower the lift, shouting down to them, “good to go, thank you lads!”

Once it’s back up, Liam goes down next, smiling pridefully as he gets onto the platform. Everyone knows this is a night you’ll all never forget.

Next is Louis, who does a salute to you all, “see you all on the other side,” leaving with a wink as he unclips himself once he’s in the cage.

Niall cleared his throat to shout, “Goodnight London, I bloody love ya!”

However, this is where things start to go awry. Because the platform doesn’t come back up as you and Harry had both been anticipating… causing you to both share a confused look as the final two up on the bridge.

“What the fuck…?” The two of you hear a worker cuss in annoyance, clear to you a slight commotion is going on below. It’s a very faint murmur of concerned, and also annoyed voices, that you’re straining to hear over the wind.

But suddenly Niall can be heard, loud and clear. Whatever it is can’t be that serious, because Niall is giggling? You and Harry both are leaning your heads to try and hear properly. Eventually he sounds like he’s having a full laughing fit, followed by a loud bellow of his amused tone that echoes all the way up to the two of you, “…So they’re stuck up there?”

Your heads snap to one another, locking eyes as you realise why the platform hasn’t come back up yet. Your cold hand comes over your mouth in shock trying to cover up your dropped jaw, warm breath ghosting over the red tips of your fingers.

“Fuckin— there’s no way…” Harry frowns, shaking his head, “He has to be tryin’ t’pull one over on us.”

"Gave the team 10 bucks t'act like its broken..." He murmurs to himself, pursing his lips as his head shakes in disbelief.

A part of you wishes that was the case, but your gut is telling you that its not. That sensation confirmed when your phone starts ringing in your back pocket.

Carefully, you pull it out of your pocket and glance to the screen, gesturing it over to Harry. Georgie, a part of your management team was calling you. He was a short, wiry red-haired man in his late thirties, who had a really lovely husband that would bake the band cookies with their son, Thomas.

With a sigh, you answer the call— putting it on speaker and shuffling closer to Harry so he can hear what he says.

Shoulder to shoulder, he leans his head down to listen, curls brushing the top of your head.

“Hello?” You say as you hear shuffling behind the phone, biting your bottom lip with your teeth as you wait for Georgie to actually talk to you.

Finally you hear him clear his throat with a short apology, “Okay— Y/N, Harry?”

He asks this as if it weren't abundantly obvious you were the only two people up there for him to be speaking to. It makes Harry palm his forward with a slight roll of his green eyes, “Georgie, what’s goin’ on?”

Annoyed look good on him, you thought. The way his brows pinched together and his lips formed a harsh line, jaw clenching tightly.

“Don’t panic but—“

“Oh, fucks sake, we’re gonna die up here, aren’t we?” You immediately interrupted, free hand coming up to your mouth as you take the nail of your thumb between your teeth.

“No, No!” He repeats, and you know he’s down there tapping his foot on the ground like he always does in conversations.

He’s either genuinely confident, or doing a really good job at faking it as he states, “All is well— just a minor inconvenience, is all…”

Harry and you say nothing though, waiting for him to fill the silence with an explanation of what exactly is happening down there.

“The cage lift has… uh,” his tone falters as he tries to find a way to explain the situation, “It’s had a bit of an issue. It’s not going up— we’ve got people on the way to fix it, so don’t worry.”

“They think it’s a combination of the cold night and the fact it’s not been used in a few weeks… but I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you guys down.”

Niall and Louis can be heard laughing in the back, and you feel at ease knowing the bridge isn’t about to collapse under your feet. You’re safe, just stuck up there for a little longer than planned.

“Wait till the media gets a hold of this,” Harry shakes his head, but a tiny relieved smile cracks now he also knows what’s going on— and likely at the boys cackling through the line.

“For now, just hold tight. I know it’s cold but atleast there’s two of you up there—“ you both shoot each other a confused look, “And I’ll call you when the blokes with their big tools are here to fix the lift and send it up…”

“Right… so in the meantime we just stay up here. On the top of a 200ft ledge?” You clarify, stupefied at the situation you've landed yourself in.

“Uhm, yep… I’ll call you guys back when I know more.” He replied curtly, before bidding a quick goodbye and hanging up.

Given the height you’re situated at, you don’t waste any time tucking your phone safely back into the pocket of your jeans. Glancing over to Harry who is smiling out at the city, “At least you’ve got a bit more time to try and memorise all this, hey?”

“Or we’re living our last hours up here before we die of hypothermia…”

A chuckle comes from him, where he nudges your shoulder with his, “C’mon Y/N, I think they’d airlift us off the bridge before it came to that point.”

"Now that would be a news story about us," you slant your gaze to him, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, “And that's at least true, I'm just being dramatic considering the situation.”

His lips curve into a smile, shaking his head with amusement, “We’re gonna get the biggest I told you so from Zayn.”

The wind blows your hair in all directions as it randomly pushes a strong gust against you, making you reach up to try and tame it back down.

“Whose fucking idea was it to leave my hair down,” you complain, despite it actually being your own. Harrys own hand comes to try and brush it out of your squinted eyes, quietly humming, “y’shivering, love.”

The way he is so gently pushing the hair from your face, paired with the hushed pet name makes you look up to him, “And so are you…”

Internally, you are cursing. Cursing right now whatever greater force has planted your ass in this set of circumstances. Stuck up here, in arguably the most romantic spot you could be put into. Together. Right at the time the resolve you've tried so hard to maintain that Harry is 'just a friend', is starting to crash and burn.

“C’mere.” He says, the lilt in his accent is deep from the crisp air, casually wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you towards him. Just the action alone makes your whole body heat up, and your praying your cheeks are already red enough to hide the blush that's creeping hot up your neck…

Your cheek meets his shoulder, nose bumping his collarbone as he tucks you in the space between his arm and his side, the hand around your waist splaying over the knit of your sweater. He smells so good, masculine… the scent woodsy, but with an undertone of warm spices. You try not to draw in an obvious inhale against the collar of his shirt.

You adored how close a connection two of you shared, but you also hated it. Hated it because there’s no hesitancy in the way his hand curls around your side and lets your body lean into his. The this is just what friends do mentality. Especially in a situation like this, where the action can simply be justified by that, and that alone. It kills you feeling him like this, warm and gentle against your cold body, and trying to pretend like it isn't currently making your insides squirm.

“If this ledge weren’t so bloody thin, I’d wrap you up with m’jacket.” He admits, looking down at you.

He cant help but unknowingly make it worse for you.

Lips forming a thin line, you try to bite back the smile that's forcing it's way onto your face. The image playing off in your mind no matter how hard you try to wipe it. Stood here, arms slid around his toned middle, meeting together at the small of his back. oh god...

Your own hands have unconsciously braced themselves on the outer edge of his jacket, gripping it for dear life as you try to calm your racing heart.

Eyes veering outwards as you look at the scene in front of you, “it’s okay... its cold, but at least its beautiful.”

His own eyes are trailing the profile of your face, heart thrumming underneath his chest as an almost welcome heat spreads through him. He’s made a mistake pulling you into him, he should’ve known he’d bitten off more than he could chew. That he’d want more, to feel more of you than he already is.

When suddenly nothing is more appealing than leaning down and nudging your nose with his, to let your head tilt for him, so he can press a warm kiss against your mouth.

“So beautiful,” he quietly parrots, but he’s not thinking about the view.

Forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat carefully. A tiny chuckle escaping in the silence that had enveloped the two of you as you stared out at the city.

“Only this would happen to us.” He suddenly says, and you feel him draw in a deep inhale. Confused in what context he means it, you turn your head to look up at him with a puzzled smile, “What do you mean?”

“I can almost bet a thousand bucks we are probably the first and only people t'ever have this happen t'them. Somehow I find it fitting.”

“Pretty special... if you think of it like that.” You mutter, nodding slowly.

“No one can even see us, and there's a whole city out there—“ he gestures out with his finger, “that doesn’t know we’re up here.”

A morbid laugh bubbles from your throat, "I know were not gonna die up here, but if we were, I can't really imagine what the last thing I would want to do would be." You feel his chest rumble with a chuckle, and he's shaking his head at you.

His voice is completely normal as he ponders the thought, "Well... we’re kind of limited with what we can do because of these." His hand finds the hem of his white t-shirt, peeling the material above his belly button. It's intention to gesture to the harness flush around his middle. Your eyes however... they veer to the tan skin of his stomach, and the dark tattooed ferns that adorn his hips and bracket the dusting of hair that trails up from the band of his Calvin Klein briefs. Only graced with the sight for a few fleeting seconds before it disappears behind the white fabric once again.

You almost about choke on nothing. Having to force your throat to swallow before a bout of laughter rattles out of you without you able to stop it, "The harnesses?'

Your obviously answered question makes his brows furrow, and mouth quirk into a confused sort of smile. It only makes you laugh more, hand coming up to scrape down your face as a desperate attempt to ground your brain.

But, fuck— what he just said, you're banking it was an entirely innocent comment, and that's exactly what is causing the confusion at your disheveled reaction. But he quite literally doesn't realise what insinuation you thought he was making. And that you are imagining all kinds of depraved scenes without ability to stop.

A parallel of you only a minute earlier, he begins, "What do you—"

The pang of realisation hits him.

"...oh."

His words die where they were in his voice box, stomach churning the second he clocks onto your almost guilty laugh. The sound drips with warmth as it enters his ears.

He rolls his eyes, but suddenly his cheeks feel hot as a blush spreads across them no matter how hard he tries to will it away, "That is not what I meant! Of course you would think that."

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, knocking your elbow against the side of his ribs, "What are you trying to say about me?"

You've taken a small step back from him, hand coming to your chest as a mimic of your fake shock. You know how dangerous this is getting, and quickly at that. Breaching into uncharted territory.

"That your head is stuck in the gutter." He mumbles, blinking fast as he avoids meeting eyes with you as if you'd be able to simply see the thoughts plagued in his head now.

"It is not, you're the one that worded it weird!" You tease, arms crossing. It is truly like the rest of the world has fallen away, and like you are the only two people alive right now.

"Is so," he argues passionately back, "So far in the gutter, in fact, tell pennywise i say hi."

You burst out with a laugh, trying to tuck your cold hands between your upper arm and ribcage, "Gross, Harry. I fucking hate clowns."

"And mind you, I said nothing! You came to this conclusion on your own."

"Okay Y/N, What conclusion is it tha’ I'm coming to, if y'would be so gracious to enlighten me." Checkmate.

He's smiling now, you are red, embarrassed or worked up, or perhaps a heated mixture of both.

The ball is back in your court, and you struggle to get your mouth to move properly, "I— You cant— Don't turn this back on me!"

Suddenly, he tumbles his own inner thoughts out of his lips before he can halt them, they sound with a rasp, "Darling, you're the one having deluded n’dirty thoughts 200ft up n'the sky."

God. Does this count as foreplay to the mile high club? And fucking hell, his voice sounds too deep right now. The way his thick accent rolls the words out. Its making your head hurt.

Your earlier resolve is officially gone. It's thrown itself off the ledge of this bridge and is falling the very far drop to the bottom. And you know what, pretty sure your self respect is going with it. Between the two of them, it will be loud enough to probably hear the impact they make when they hit the water at full force.

"Probably the first person to be doing that up here, too." The words are gritted out of you as your heart pounds in your chest.

You hear the inhale he takes, deep— as if he's trying to ground himself, hold back whatever is transpiring right here, right now.

"Do have even half the idea of how badly I want t'kiss you right now?"

Your head snaps from where it was, tearing your eyes from where they'd locked onto the city skyline in attempt to distract yourself from the trouble you're about to get into. A part of you deep down realises how bad this could get quickly, how absolutely irreversible this conversation is.

And that regardless if something or nothing comes of it, you are never going to function the same. Laying in bed staring at the celling you'll see his face, next time you're on stage you'll feel your stomach drop when he looks at you, when you're in a room with him you'll cease to be able to function.

His green eyes have literally pinned you where you stand, wind toying with your hair as your lips are parted in shock.

"You don't mean that..." you stare at him, shaking your head slowly. Trying to back out of this, attempting to give him a moment to throw the blanket back over what he was uncovering.

He frowns, almost offended, as if doubting him is the worst thing there is in the world. Taking a brief step forward to fully face you, "Y/N, I would have you backed up against these beams if I wasn't literally restrained from doing so."

"What— Harry, what about—" At this rate, you're mustering up any excuse to rationalise what is happening right now, "I'm pretty sure there's strict rules against this in our contracts— you know?"

"Fuck the contracts." He immediately replies, disregarding that as a point entirely. His hand coming up to brush the brown curls that have been blown in front of his intense gaze, "Could care less 'bout them, not like we haven't broken a million other things in them."

True. You can think of several things between you and the band. You're still employed, if that says anything.

"The things I would do to you if I knew no one would interrupt" He takes another step closer to you, close enough you can reach out and touch him, "then well see about me not meaning any of this."

His voice, the absoluteness in his tone makes your head spin. Resolve slipping, cracking, completely dissipating from where it was being grappled in your palms two seconds prior to this conversation starting.

You feel like you're floating outside of your own body as your hands find the bottom of his white shirt, lifting it until you can wrap your fingers around the black harness taut around his middle. Slowly, you pull it until he is forced to step closer to you.

His heart stutters at the action... it's arguably the hottest thing a girl has ever done to him— beating a tug of belt loops or a belt by a mile. This was personal.

"This is still a problem, as you said earlier." You drawl quietly. Tone void of any indicative of emotion, the only thing he gets any intel from being the blush that's deepened on your cheeks.

There's a few ticks of silence when his chin dips to follow the action that's led your cold hands underneath his shirt, the way he stares the only point of physical contact between the two of you. But god, when your stare flickers up to him and he meets it with his own— his stomach jolts. Eyes squeezing shut as his forehead drops down, hesitating before pressing ever so slightly against your own, "Y'are too much, love."

His hands sliding up to meet your jaw, your low voice echoes out a plea, "Well, it would be a waste if we didn't."

Referring to the kiss of course, it does feel like it would be a missed opportunity to surpass right now. As, in all fairness you'll never be able to have a first kiss with Harry in a more memorable place. So even if the idea is stupid, It could be justified by that alone...

You feel his chest rumble with a deep chuckle, his lips pulling into a smile, "We'd regret it... if we didn't."

"We’d always wonder.” You nod, tone bearing on certainty as the two of you knowingly come to the biggest reach of a justification you could.

His fingers coil around your jawline, and you can feel his warm breath gently panning across your skin. It makes your eyes flutter closed, feeling his thumb ghost over your bottom lip. Eliciting a shudder that runs straight up your spine, making him smile with pride.

Tipping your chin up, he brushes his mouth over the corner of your lips. Catching them just slightly, “I’d always be thinking about what your mouth would feel like against mine,”

“And then you’d just end up kissing me anyway,” you chuckle quietly, “just in a probably less cool place.”

“Mhmm,” the low hum of agreement rumbles from his throat as finally he bears his mouth down against your own. The press of warm lips against yours making your whole body sing.

Cold was no longer a feeling in you, there was only a hot tingling sensation that’s shot through your limbs as his mouth lingers in hesitation for a moment before moving to kiss lightly against the fullness of your bottom lip.

He nearly groans when you regain enough control over yourself to actively kiss him back, leaning into his touch.

The excitement spreads through you both like wildfire— you’re kissing each other on the top of a world famous bridge. Cars below, and mentionably the crew members also underneath, have no idea. No idea the fact your hands are skating up his white shirt further until you’re palming the hard slabs of muscle over his abdomen. Not even a clue that one of his hands has taking sanctuary on your hip bone, tugging your body into his.

Your mouths work against each other, tongues suddenly getting involved when he squeezes a hand along your ribs making your lips part. His warm tongue gliding into your mouth just enough for you to taste him slightly.

“Harry,” his name is whined against his mouth, nails clawing over the skin of his chest.

“Fuck—“ he bites out, tongue lulling against your bottom lip, greedily trying to taste more of you.

The action alone is enough to make your knees nearly give out, “I need—“

Your desperate words are cut off, the sound of your phone ringing bringing you both to an instant halt.

There’s a shared look, both taking in what you’ve done to one another. Left standing here with eyes half lidded and lips swollen— looking entirely, wholeheartedly, fucked.

A tortured sigh comes from you as he promptly leans back down and kisses your mouth. If it had anything to do with you, you'd let the call ring out just to have more of this. He is more sensible than that, clearly. As his hand comes to the back pocket of your jeans, sliding your buzzing phone out into his palm.

Wanting to whine when he pulls away, a part of you is battling all your logic and is begging to stay up here with him. For how long? You don’t care, forever as far as you’re concerned. Fighting the urge to just grab your phone and throw it off the ledge, purely so his hands can busy themselves on your skin again.

Harry clears his throat before tapping the accept button, hoping to god he can muster a normal sounding voice.

Georgie’s voice comes through first, less shuffling on his end of the phone this time— indicating some higher level of organisation in comparison to earlier, you assume.

“Harry, Y/N! Platforms on its way up you two, everything okay?”

“Yep, Georgie,” he nods, pursing his lips as his eyes find your to pin you with a stare, “things are good.”

A small laugh and he replies, “Well— I can’t really tell if you’re bein’ sarcastic but I’ll take it.”

“Anyway, once it’s up there we’ve been told strictly to keep it one at a time to come down just to be on the safe side so it doesn’t malfunction again.”

“Very reassuring…” Harry drawls with slight grimace, glancing over to where the metal cage is rising up.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” he scolds playfully over the speakers, making Harry roll his eyes— but a playful smile falls on his lips.

“See you soon, thanks for saving us Georgie, I owe ya one.”

You finally lean towards the phone, “I second this, thank you.”

“Not a worry, didn’t want that much paperwork on a Friday night.” He teases, before ending the call with a quick ‘see you soon.’

Harry’s eyes return to you. Your lips part and draw in a hushed gasp as he leans back into your space. Hands slowly sliding around your middle. Making that same breath catch in the middle of your throat as he pulls you in, slowly, almost sensually as his eyes drop to your lips.

He lingers against you, a tease, you already know it.

Proving you right, he deposits your phone back safely into your back pocket, applying a few gentle taps to the swell of your ass as he leans back again.

"H." is all you can say, and at this point it comes from you as almost a whine. But it saying exactly what you want without having to even tell him.

A grin is plastered on his handsome face at the blush that’s already torn its way back through you. His bashful smirk mirroring that of two teenagers that have sneaked a kiss before going back to their friends or family.

Which is exactly what he does, struggling not to smile against your mouth as he presses warmly, firmly against you. Giving you exactly what you wanted.

Allowing you both as much time as reasonably possible to soak in the feeling before he starts to pull away, your body almost instinctually following his movement— leaning further, pecking against his mouth until he steadies your shoulders with his hands.

A soft chuckle breathily escaped him, heart nearly melting inside his chest as your wide, wild eyes stare up at him. A tiny, smile on your own mouth now, one he reaches up to thumb delicately over.

The touch is earnest and makes you nearly sink into yourself— or better yet, sink into him.

A light hum of pleasure, and then he pulls away, turning to start walking along the ledge.

Carefully, you both shuffle to where the platform is now fully stationary. As he takes a step onto it, feet planting solidly onto the metal, you see a sense of relief on his face. Hands working to unbuckle the carabiner, and his eyes flitting back to yours.

You’re staring at his hands… the way they seamlessly open the clasp. You’ve always been drawn to them, the firm tendons that run into his fingers. He catches you doing this, and whether or not he knows you’re ogling the stature of his hands, the smirk on his face is all consuming.

You roll your eyes bashfully at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms all in an attempt to be normal about this. But struggling to come across to him as unaffected by this whole ordeal.

He is having none of it.

“M’not done with you, love. Not even close.”

And that’s the last thing he said before the platform started the trip back down. Suddenly you are alone up here once again. The moment of solitude very sobering in a situation as such.

Unbelievable to consider that if you told yourself two hours ago that by the end of the night, you had made out with Harry up here, you would’ve believed sooner that you were having hallucinations than actually thought it were true.

Your brain is going over it and over it, like a flashbulb memory, all you can think about is him, and what you’d just done.

“Fuck sakes.” You cursed, hand coming up over your eyes in attempt to quell the thoughts.

It was closest to a face palm. Your palm immediately clapped over your eyes. It’s to no use though, as even behind the darkness of shut and covered eyelids you could still see him, still feel him. The sensation of his fingers softly grazing over the skin of your ribcage, slipped tentatively underneath the knit of your sweater. The heat of his tongue lulling gently into your mouth.

M’not done with you, love. Not even close…

The sound of his voice, even if it’s simply the imagination of it in your own head, it reignited the heat in your stomach— if it ever truly went away— making it churn with heavy desire. Almost worse than earlier, now that you had to stand here and suffer through it stationary.

Dragging your heavy hand up to take place in your hair, you push the loose strands out of your face, and tug at its roots.

With now open eyes, the city stared back at you. Supplying you with a mocking silence. As if to imply, I saw what you just did. Watched you kiss someone you shouldn’t, and not even just once by any means. You went back for more even after it stopped. Got your hands and feelings involved.

You attempted to smooth your hair down, annoyed that your guilt has conjured into the city of London taking over your internal monologue. It was messy as you combed your fingers through it, but whether it was Harry or the wind, you’re hoping that— and the rest of your disheveled appearance— can be attributed to the cold and wind entirely.

Which suddenly, that cold felt so much harsher now Harry was no longer up there with you. Either it was his body heat pressed against you that heated you up, or kissing him had that much of an affect on you. Tragically, you’re ball parking that it’s a torturously attractive combination of them both.

When the platform thankfully returns up, you steal a final glance out at the Thames and London. Definitely a sight you’ll have burned into your mind for the rest of your life.

Stepping onto the platform, you felt equal parts relief and anxiety. God forbid people can sense something is different between you two… and this is not a situation you’ve ever been in before. Who knows your own capacity to hold a convincing lie about something like this.

The second you’re down all the way and the platform meets the ground, you’re greeted with a flurry of workers and people from the crew. All chorusing questions of ‘are you okay?’ to you as if you’d been up there for days without food or water.

Tamara, one of the women on the styling teams, rushed up to you with a thick black coat, shawling it over you and rubbing your shoulders, “here lovie, y'shaking like a leaf you poor thing... this’ll warm you up.”

Her lower lip pouted out in sympathy for you, her dark curls of hair casting over her eyes as she spoke “Gosh, you look so cold, the wind up there must’ve been so chilly… your cheeks are all red— and your hair's all over the place."

At least she was attributing it all to the cold wind, and wasn't immediately aware you'd just snogged with your bandmate up there. Either way the slight shake to your hands was the last of your worries, and your gaze has landed on Harry— but he was already looking at you.

His stare said it all really, the look of we have unfinished business all over his face. The tiny curve to the corner of his mouth that may go unnoticed to everyone else but you. Possibly because you had his tongue in your mouth less than half an hour ago, but still— you pick up on it all the same.

Georgie is fussing over him currently, and Harry takes a second to break the eye contact the two of you held, pausing to let out a breathy laugh as he turns to Georgie, “And surely after all this excitement we get to go back to the hotel room— no more crazy behind the scenes to film?”

Tamara’s ears perk and she overhears him, nodding as she rubs your shoulder, “we’ve already got a car down there to get you back to the hotel."

You thank god for the bridge being closed to traffic, entirely unable to imagine trying to trudge through hordes of tourists and potentially fans just to get back to a car.

Several people escort you and harry down the stairs to where a black car is parked opposite to the exit.

Tamara opens the door for you both, and you share a look before scooting into the backseats. Georgie gets into the front passenger seat, greeting the driver politely. Already clued in on the mishap on the bridge, they waste no time having a relieved laugh about you both getting down in one piece.

The heater is already cranking in the black car, heating your skin. Harry pats the middle seat with his hand, giving you a look. It lingered like an unspoken sentence in the glimmer of his green eyes, and the tiny upwards tilt to the corner of his mouth.

Next to me, it said.

Like it was less question, and more that he needed you next to him more than anything else in the world right now.

And as you’re coming to realise, this look on his face can pretty much get you to do anything. It’s only telling how far that alone could take you. So you silently settle into the middle seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself. Buckling it in, feeling Harry’s thigh gently press against your own.

There are so many unspoken words floating in the air between you two. Things you want to say, things you want to do, all suspended above you. Making you wonder if Georgie— who is rugged up in the front seat and is apparently accompanying you both on the ride back to the hotel— can sense it too.

However, he seems oblivious despite your expectation for him to be the opposite. He pays no additional mind to you both, other her than the slight dart of his eyes to your body taking up the middle seat instead of the window seat behind him.

Your teeth are working over the skin on the corner of your lower lip as you’re driving back towards central London. Delmar, the driver whose name you’ve overheard in passing as Georgie and him acquainted, is weaving back into the thick of the cities traffic as you’re off the closed bridge.

Harry’s eyes are cast outside the window, but his hands are deciding to play a dangerous game. Simply at the fact he cannot help himself. He’s aware that Georgie is distracted, and is taking the opportunity to innocently flex his knuckles against your knee. Breaching the gap from where his hand rests atop his own. The warm city lights are cutting a deep shadow across his jaw, outlining the smirk on his side profile.

It conveys his need to touch you, that your body filling up the space next to him is not enough. Although you have to hold back an exasperated sigh at his actions, and how he is only making this worse for you, you end up sliding your hand down your thigh, slowly and carefully.

It's likely that you're just as bad as him, because you brush your hand against his— Nothing but your pinky stretched out, grazing his. Both of your eyes shifting upwards to lock with each other, then back to Georgie. A silent acknowledgment at how careful the two of you have to be right now.

Slowly, you link your pinky around his own, catching his ring finger too as he curls them against you. The delicate touch is somehow a head-spinning mix of sincere and beautiful, but also so insanely attractive.

He's smiling, a wide grin that his free hand attempts to cover as his elbow rests on the car door. Covering the dimples you wanted to take in, allowing you only the sight of slightly crinkled eyes from how hard he's smiling underneath the palm of his hand. To put it simply, right now he looks like an art piece. His chocolate curls over his forehead, and the smile on his face you know that you're the cause of. Hands brushing together, hidden between the both of you— all in the back of a car, trying to hide it like true teenagers.

It's sudden when you realise you are in the exact same state, struggling to disguise the curve of your mouth from not only Harry, but the other two people in the vehicle. Trying to press your lips together as he plays with your fingers. Hands soft and warm against yours, your eyes casting down to where they're joint together between the two of your knees. Just barely. Small enough a move to ensure you're the only two that know about it, but also enough to make your stomach churn with need.

I want his mouth on mine again, your brain chimes.

Before your brain can send you spiraling back into the memory of you two kissing, the sound of your name from the front seat cuts through it.

"Y/N, You were up there, tell Delmar what it was like!"

Snapping your gaze back to Georgie, he serves a unintentional reality check for you.

"Oh, uhm—" Shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts, you endeavor to form a coherent sentence. Harry's hand gently, and as discretely as possible, slides out of yours, taking its place back on his own thigh. If you were to look, you'd see that the smile on his face has somehow gotten wider, as if the aspect of being nearly caught out in the backseat of the car is the most amusing thing in the world.

Amplified by him listening to you stumble over your words, that too is endearingly hilarious. A true gentlemen.

However, you're now unable to find the words for what happened up there that don't relate to having someone kissing you over and over again.

"Well, you can imagine it was beautiful," A tiny, pained chuckle comes out of you, "London is... massive— from up there, y'know?"

God. You sound like such an idiot, you already know that.

The driver laughs and nods at your attempt to tell the story, voice warm and sincere as he replies, "Some things can be hard to put into words, I understand."

You take a moment to realign your thoughts, come up with anything better than 'London is... massive'.

Finally smiling back at him, you draw in a breath, trying to articulate the feeling prior to getting distracted up there with your bandmates mouth, "Well, the city lights are kind of like a warm sky of stars... Hard to believe that there's so many people in London when you look at it from that high up."

He hums at your much better description of the sight, and of course— just as anyone would, he curiously asks a few more questions.

Such as 'how long were you up there? were you scared?' All of which Georgie unfortunately does not swoop in on to steer the conversation again, as he too wants to hear the experience from you.

Delmar does eventually cast his attention to Harry's broad frame in the rear view mirror, quizzing him on his own outlook on the event, making you thankful to have a second to breath and not be skirting around the fact you made out with the person sitting currently right next to you.

He handles the questions with tragic ease— or at the very least it comes off that way— but you can hear how he is still trying not to laugh. And the way he's knocking your thigh with his every chance he gets when the eyes in the front of the car aren't on either of you.

The streets and the traffic within them get busier as the hotel the band is staying at draws close. Delmar weaving into the back lot so you can both get inside discreetly, not forgetting to thank you for the pleasurable chat. His kind words you both smile, and Harry isn't shy to also gives his gracious appreciation, "Drive was a dream, thank you mate, 'ave a lovely rest of your night."

His hand comes to open the car door, allowing him to slide out— But once he's standing, he gestured out his palm for you to take as your feet come to the asphalt below. The smirk on his face as you take it is enough to make you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the effect it has on you.

He leans discretely down to your ear, speaking only loud enough for you both to hear, "I know I will."

A wink to you, and it feels like your knees are going to give out simply where you stand. He gives it a squeeze before breaking off to shut the car door, and walk over to where Georgie is standing.

“Tamara told me they’ve got hot chocolates prepared in the foyer for you two.” Georgie informs you both, typing quickly back to Tamara on his phone before leading you both in through the back entrance of the hotel. Harry’s hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket as you walk beside him, likely to stop himself from caving and trying to grab your hand or arm in his as you walk behind Georgie.

The air is contrastingly cold compared to the warm car, which brings another bout of relief when you to get back into the heated hotel lobby.

Surely enough, a short, older lady comes out from a kitchen area upon you all entering. Promptly walking up to Georgie with a tray with 3 large cups filled with the sweet beverage. He gasps in excitement as she approaches, remarking sweetly that "Tam even got me one, what a sweetheart!"

"Bet thats the real reason y'came back with us." Harry teases, then nods in greeting to the lady holding the tray of drinks, "Thanks for these, love."

Even she looks up at him with a big grin. Reminding you of the way the elderly ladies talked about the boys when you were filming earlier for this music video. Harry— and all the others— just have that charm about them. Clearly it lacks a generational age limit. And you know what, you cant even blame her. She gets it.

"Not a worry darling's, buzz us if you all need anything else,” You give her a smile as she reaches to pat your arm, “it should warm everyone up.”

“Thank you so much.” You affirm as you clasp the hot cup from the tray.

Heading towards the posh elevator, Georgie presses the up button and is talking to Harry about tomorrow, how he has a fitting for a suit. Something about an awards show. You're struggling to pay attention, as you know all three of you are headed to the same floor. Not only does Georgie have to think you're going back to your respective rooms for the night, but if any of the other boys waited up for you two, there is no way you're going to get to be alone tonight.

Harry is busy entertaining Georgie's itinerary as you step into the elevator, his hand reaching for the '32' button on the control panel. The descent up each floor feels like it drags on forever, anticipation for how this is going to play out genuinely killing you.

When the large silver doors open to the 32nd floor, all of you walk out in tandem onto the tiled hallway. Your rooms are all pooled together at the start of the hall, meaning there’s hardly any further to walk once you’re out of the elevator.

Your own keycard for your room is in your phone case, so you reach to pop the case off and slide it out as you come to a stop outside the large white doors of your room.

"Well," You clear your throat, eyes darting between Harry and Georgie, "Glad we all survived that ordeal, I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow."

A small buzz sounds from the sensor as you hold the card over it, a small green light flashing.

“Mhm, tomorrow.” Harry affirms casually, casting a sly nod your way from where he stands on the opposite side of the hallway. Standing outside his own room, fishing out a keycard from deep in the pocket of his jeans.

Georgie, who is happily and unknowingly pushing open his own door, chuckles at your comment, "Definitely glad, see you two in the morning."

With a small smile, he makes sure to squeeze in a a final reminder to Harry, "H, half ten tomorrow, don't forget."

The two of you have both slid inside your respective hotel rooms as Harry laughs quietly, replying to him, "Wouldn't dare."

Waiting, your free hand clutches the door. Admiring his face in the warm glow of the hall lights, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on the room Georgie was disappearing into. As you watch, you’re taking a sip of your hot chocolate when his gaze finally darts to yours as the click of a door sounds up the hall.

Now you’re just looking at each other, tension in the air thick and warm. He’s smiling as he mimics your behaviour, taking a leisurely drink from his own cup without breaking eye contact.

Given the few seconds of silence, you are certain that no one is going to disturb you, and a sense of relief washes over you. Finally. Other than the pounding of your heart in your chest, everything around you is quiet. You peak your head around the smooth rim of the doorframe, all the doors were shut, and the rooms were hushed.

By some grace of god, not only has one of your managers gone to bed without any hunch as to what’s going on, but the rest of your bandmates too. And it really is just the two of you.

Harry’s gaze is burning into with an equal grin when you look back to him. Revelling in the privilege he feels watching you step quietly back into the hall, turning your body to very gingerly tug your door closed again.

You cannot be closing the gap between you both fast enough, you’re practically running across the hall, shoes lightly clacking against the tiles to reach him before this perfect opportunity could be interrupted by a single soul. Pursing your lips as you step across the threshold of his door and the hallway, forcing back a laugh that’s bubbling in your chest at the situation.

Not wasting a second more, you invade his space. Leaning into the curve of his body where his arm is braced against the door he’s holding open.

“Hi…” Your hand reaches up to meet the back of his neck, where it cranes to look down to meet your eyes.

“Hey, baby,” he rasps, eyes fluttering as he takes you in. The black of his pupils have blown out over the mosaic of emerald green surrounding them, dilated in what can only be described as sheer anticipation. Conveying the want and need he feels without having to speak more than a word. That alone is something you can’t handle for half a moment longer, because suddenly your hand sinks into the soft curls at his nape, and you’re pulling to tug his head further down. Moulding your lips together in a single, rushed movement.

There’s no words that can do justice the feeling that explodes in your chest. Little buds of heat bloom and flower in there faster than you can keep up with, kicking your lungs into a pant as his tongue can’t help but get involved immediately— lulling over the fullness of your bottom lip. The firm press of a single kiss had promptly melted into a plethora, one after the other as your lips show no mercy against one another.

You have to physically focus to keep the cup from slipping from your grip. A nearly impossible feat when his tongue is invading the gap between your top and bottom lip, gliding into your mouth with a hum from his throat at the taste of you. Warm and chocolatey, a flavour he wants to sink in.

Harry too tastes of the warm drink, a sweet contrast to earlier— when your tongue tingled from the spearmint on his breath. Your body leans into his. More, more, more, your brain is practically begging. Naturally it causes him to stumble back as your chest is arching to press against his own. The softness of your body makes him want to groan, and his hand almost instinctually leaves its hold on the doorframe to meet the dip of your waist. Supporting your stature as he pulls you to follow each step back he takes.

With a loud slam, the door falls shut, eliciting a slight flinch and laugh from you both. Like you didn’t expect it. As if natural consequences don’t exist right now, and the world around you is falling away with every press of lips against skin. There is no actions causing reactions, except the ones happening solely between the two of your bodies.

“Oh god—“ You sputter a strained laugh, hand stroking along his jawline as your eyes dart to the now shut door. It’s thrown the room into darkness, except for the faint glow London’s city lights have provide from his window on the opposite side of the room. “So much for being discrete… and quiet.”

This lighting bought the sharp shadows back onto his face, but this time you can finally touch them— revel in them.

“You’ll be more worried about quiet later, darling.” His voice comes low against your cheek, hand on your hip. Guiding you backward until the small of your back meets the cool countertop of the kitchenette.

His words bring that familiar, pleasure-filled roll into your stomach. Drawing out a tiny whine from your throat as he smirks against your flushed skin. Placing a peck against your cheekbone, he lingers for a few seconds. Letting the warmth of his lips burn a mark into the very nerves they touch, before pulling back to take a swig of the hot chocolate between his hands. Using his free one to now guide your own cup towards your mouth.

As your big eyes look up to him, he breaks his lips from the lid to speak, “drink s’more, it’ll be a cold chocolate by the time we come back to it.”

Chuckling around the edge of the cup, you press your mouth to it and let the sweet and warm liquid trail down your throat. He watches intently, the way you swallow it down— knuckles coming to run from the base of your throat upwards, tracing along the hook of your jaw.

He has to stifle a groan at the sight of you, the way your throat bobs with your red cheeks and messy hair. It translates instead through the clench of his jaw, and fluttering shut of his green eyes. The expression makes your stomach flip, not only warm from the hot chocolate, but from the arousal that’s sparking heat in every part of your body it can tangibly reach.

“Fuck— H,” you say, turning to push the takeaway cup on the counter behind you, “You’re so fucking beautiful, look at you.”

Finally, that groan escapes him simply at your words. Furthering into something more as now both of your hands run up his white shirt. No longer stopped by the barrier of a body harness, you skate along the taut, firm muscles of his abdomen in one long stroke.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” he curses, eyes darting down to meet where your hands have slid up his shirt— again, for the second time tonight.

It’s a much more heated parallel of earlier, one he takes no hesitancy to act on. Leaning into your touch, he turns briefly to place his cup adjacent to yours on the bench top. Feeling your nails scratch along his abs, he is quick to move so he’s facing you again, planting his lips back on your own and reigniting the fiery kiss.

With two free hands now, he runs them up your hips, firmly pulling you against him as he walks you away from the kitchenette. Your feet stumble along with his long strides, brain struggling to pay attention to anything other than the drag of his hot kiss against you.

It’s clear all resolve is lost to you both, and when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the cool comforter… “Im gonna wreck you, love… if you’ll let me.” The depraved words are whispered against your lips.

His body presses you down, you have to sit now, thighs meeting the bed and your lips disconnecting. The sudden distance causes you to whine, “Harry—“

“You’re going to have to tell m’too stop.” He rasps, the heat of his palms travelling up under your sweater. However this time, they traverse higher than just your ribcage— ghosting over the sides of your breasts.

The sight is obscene on its own, despite all articles of clothing still being on. The tension around you both is crowding the air to the point your lungs are heaving to bring any oxygen left into them.

Finally, your brain manages to string a sentence together, “I won’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t think you realise what you’ve done to me.”

The urgency held in your words starkly highlights how fast your need for him has snowballed. You’ve gone from wanting just his lips, to wanting every inch of him. Needing his body pressed against yours, pressed into you. You grasp his hips and tug him to stand between your parted legs.

Once you’d done that, if that hadn’t thrown your last handful of caution to the wind, your fingers now reach for the hem of your sweater.

This was a greenlight. It was a go ahead to cross a line that you both knew shouldn’t be crossed. As it was no longer just words. Not just strung up whispers that imply a want, it was an action that affirmed it. One that drags a growl from him once your hands have shucked the knit from your body, leaving you in just bra and jeans, “pretty little thing y’are.”

“We’re making a mistake, probably,” you pant out, reaching your arms up to his shoulders, grabbing the collar of his jacket to slowly slide it off him. The thick fabric hitting the floor with a gentle thump, “but I don’t fucking care.”

“Mistake is already long done baby, we made that hours ago when we first did this.” He finally cranes down again, pressing a wet kiss against you, making you almost moan.

“Fuck it,” I rasp, “I need you Harry, I wanna do this. Don’t care how stupid we are for it.”

Breaking away from the kiss, his eyes bore down at you as his jaw forms a hard line, “You want this? Need y’to say it…”

His sentence trails off, allowing you a moment to verbalise a yes. A seek for certain consent turns you on even more.

“If it’s not already obvious,” your response comes out in a breathy, almost tortured chuckle, “I do, H.”

It’s like his expression flips. As if his gaze darkens, and now all he wants is to make you feel everything he possibly can, “Right, darling— gonna have to be quiet tonight, though.”

Tonight. God— in your head this implied a want for this to go on for more than just one night. That it’s not just a one and done situation. Your body reels at the imagery it creates in your head.

The picture that shows more than tonight, the two of you sneaking around all over again. Fucking him in his dressing room before soundchecks, in dark hotel rooms, climbing into his bunk on the bus…

And right now, somehow that’s all you want for your future.

“I can…” you nod, “I’ll be quiet if it means I get you, please.”

Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears, the plea so desperate that it comes from you in a tone you’ve simply never heard before. In response, his hands make quick work of your bra as they skate up the skin of your back to meet the clasp— shedding it off your body with a gentle groan.

He lowers you down with his arms, letting your back meet the mattress as he closely follows with his mouth on your neck.

“Already being so good for me,” he rumbles, voice so deep it has you nearly seeing stars, “will y’let me turn the lamp on baby? Want to see you, properly.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, eyes fluttering shut as you nod. He wants to revel in your body, see every reaction it has to offer— and that’s enough to have goosebumps rattle up your skin.

However, your nod alone doesn’t satisfy him.

His hands run up your waist, skirting up your ribcage as his lips instead move down. Mouthing over your clavicle, “Words, love…” making you whine out when his sucks lightly over the skin.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes… yes turn the lamp on…” The words almost shudder out your chest, evoking a smirk from him against your collarbone.

“Good girl.”

His words are foreplay enough on their own with the way his sweet accent twists them out. They replay over and over again as some part of your brain registers the sound of his feet walking across the floor, and the lamp flicking on. Casting a warm glow across the room.

“Want to see you too...”

The sentence comes out of you airy, as if you’re floating. When turns around to come back to you, he audibly groans just at the sight of you. The way your skin is peppered with goosebumps and nipples perked from the cool air of the hotel room.

His steps take him quickly back to you, your eyes big as they stare up at him, hair fanned across the duvet. He reaches a hand to run lightly over your hip, “God, you are fucking divine.”

Shyly, you smile. A part feeling so out of place as you watch him looking at you. Knowing Harry is perceiving you right now— your body from the chest up entirely naked— seeing you in a way he never has before. In attempt to even the playing field slightly, you reach for the white tee that’s fitted across his chest, tugging the hem of it so he gets the hint.

As he peels it off his torso and you want to cry. The abs on his chest are in front of you, along with every inch of tan skin that’s littered in the dark ink. Secretly, his tattoos have always been something you’ve wanted to trace your tongue over. An urge you’ve been denying since he got the first one, and it’s only grown since… the idea of re-carving the lines of the butterfly that sits in the middle of his abdomen with the heat of your mouth… or perhaps lower over the laurels that bloom from the band of his jeans.

“You look so good… so beautiful, H.” Is all you manage to groan out. Your legs part instinctively as you spew out compliments, letting him step between your thighs again. Filling the space like the piece of a puzzle, he slots perfectly between them.

Wasting no time before taking his lips to your breast, kissing over you and making your back arch. Hands coming back to the dark curls on his head, lacing into them as his mouth works delicately over you.

The whimpers that are echoed around the room are enough to drive him insane. Tiny whines and pleas of his name coming from you as your hands tangle further into his hair— pulling at the soft roots. Your body is reacting to his touch like it’s lighting a fire inside of you.

“Harry— fuck—“ when he looks up to you, he sees your flushed cheeks and screwed shut eyes. That paired with the slight upturn of your brows as your hips suddenly— and desperately— grind into him is enough to make him nearly loose it. He’s unable to take it anymore, and seeing you like this is utterly corrupting him.

His kisses work a trail back up your neck and jaw, meeting your eager lips before muttering with hot breath against you, “Y’are unbelievable, love. Gonna completely ruin myself in you…”

His hands are nearly shaking as he presses his hips flush to your core.

“Ohh—“ your voice croons out as you feel him, the hardness snug between your legs. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever felt. Your whole body practically gives out just from that simple action alone.

He is truly going to ruin you and himself in the process.

And happily, you’ll let him.

His fingers ghost down your stomach, over your naval to pop the button of your jeans open with a single hand. Watching his plump bottom lip come between his teeth as your hips instinctively rise upwards to help him slide the tight fabric down your frame.

“That’s m’girl,” he murmurs, patting your exposed hipbone as he slips yours jeans off you. The way his pupils have blown out as he peels them below your core, eyes meeting the fabric of your panties.

“What’s all this?” Once your pants are stripped from your legs, his fingers take place gently to press between your parted thighs. Delicately drifting over the wetness that’s seeped through your already thin pair of underwear.

“T-the panties, or the state that they’re in?” You manage to croak out in amusement, tone tight as he touches over the most sensitive parts of you.

“Because arguably, both are for you.”

“For me…” He hums, “Skimpy pair of panties, and the fact y’ve wet them all the way through… both of those things are all f’me, love?”

His finger plucks underneath the seam of your underwear, yanking the lacy material forwards before letting it snap back into place. Only making you moan aloud, “Fuck—“

“It’s been—“ his thumb runs against you, firmer this time, breaking your voice, “it’s been a long night—“

To your admission he only smirks, unbuttoning his own jeans— again, all with the talent of a single hand. As his other is busy with the ministrations it’s working over your clothed core.

“Mm, wouldn’t want to drag it out any longer, hey baby?” His playful voice making you practically clench… “or should I make you come a couple of time first…”

Suddenly, he’s shucked his own jeans off and kicked them over into the haphazardly made pile of other clothes on the floor. And the simple but absolutely mouth watering pair of CK briefs is all he’s left in. His hard cock filling up the space in them, making it abundantly clear he’s working with a lot tonight.

He leans back into your ear, feeling your legs wrap around the backs of his thighs like you’re trying to mould the two of you together, “Could work over your pretty pussy with m’fingers, get it nice and wet.”

The filth from his mouth only makes you moan, tightening your legs and finally feeling the length of his cock back against your cunt.

There’s few layers between you now, and his hands meet your hips to hold you in place flush with himself, “fuck—“

“Could play with you using my mouth for a bit—“ he bites out, already struggling to regulate his breath, “reckon you’d loose it the second I got m’lips around your clit.”

Jesus Christ.

“H— please—“ your words are desperate, voice growing louder.

“Or does my pretty girl just want my cock? Is it too much for you to wait before y’have me— y’just need to be filled up now?”

You rub firmly up against him, a long drag that has him muffling a groan into your neck— teeth grazing the skin of your ear as he revels in the feeling entirely.

“Want it now,” you conclude, “can’t stop thinking about you just stretching me out.”

“God— you are such a fucking tease, y’don’t even realise it,” he growls, kicking back into action as his rough hands travel down your side to hook into your panties.

“Laying here, begging for my cock like a good girl.” The rasp in your voice only makes you more turned on… and the pet name— that in itself is enough to keep you here all night. All things he’s about to witness first hand as he steps back so he can work your underwear off your body.

“Lift y’hips up, dove, let me see your pretty cunt.”

He moans at the sight.

Your panties aren’t even off you and he’s moaning like he’s a starved man.

“Fuck, baby.” There’s a desperate sound to him as he sees your swollen cunt, green eyes raking over the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. Unblinking, scared as if you might disappear.

His own moans kick you off too, making you whine out your own plea, “God— Harry, please…”

He manages to get the panties off you, and now he’s able to spread your legs and really look at you. Hands coming between your knees to part them.

You’re a mess.

A complete and utter mess.

“Hiding this gorgeous cunt from me for so long, never knew you’d get this wet f’me.” He groans, fingers coming to your cunt and spreading you open, “puffy clit looks like it’s been wanting attention for hours, darling.”

The sensation ripples through you body, washing up your spine with a chill that he can almost see, “I— shit…” your voice shudders, “feels like it.”

“Kills me thinking you were this ready for me when we were in the car, or god— on that fucking bridge.”

He swirls his thumb over your clit, your arousal glistening on the pad of his finger. You’re begging before you can stop yourself, backs of your legs tightening around his as you groan, “Harry, please, don’t tease me.”

This pulls a chuckle from his chest, rumbling as he flicking over you gently, “M’not teasing y’baby, just enjoying you.”

His finger slowly dips inside of you, “S’this better, this what my girl wanted?”

“Fuckk…” you roll against his hand, feeling him work a second one into you at your reaction. Relishing the feeling of you around his fingers, the wetness he can’t believe he’s managed to be the cause of.

Never in a million years did he imagine the two of you would be in a situation like this, yet here you are. Breath panting out of lungs as he smirks down at you, watching your brows knit together with every slow curl of his long fingers.

Suddenly, he verbalises this, “Never thought I’d get you under me like this, that I’d get to see you all worked up for me.”

“I—“ you bite your lip as his thumb comes back to gently stroke your clit while his other fingers ease in and out of you. The pace excruciatingly slow, considering you just wanted him to flip you over and fuck you senseless— but is causing a deep winding in the pit of your stomach.

It’s another moment where your mouth and brain struggle to match up, but finally, you push out a reply, “I’ve always been denying that I’ve wanted this… but fuck.”

“Mm?” He hums, cocking a brow and urging you to keep talking with a quicker thrust of his fingers, “Care to tell me more, love, about these thoughts of yours?”

“Always pretended I didn’t, but fuck I’ve wanted to have you—“ he hooks his fingers, “B-but— fuck, Harry— I’ve wanted your cock for so long…”

His mouth is suddenly on yours, a rough and messy exchange— tongues running over lips, teeth grazing already kiss swollen mouths. It’s a kiss that you’re both groaning into, yours perpetuated as his fingers slide out from between your core.

An unwelcome emptiness to your body, especially given the pleasure it was slowly building up for you.

However, this is no longer an issue when he leans to your ear, “I have condoms, baby— just say the words.”

“Yes, yes, please—“ you croak out, hands running up his bare back before he doesn’t waste any time breaking away from you.

Trying to make it quick as you lie there awaiting his return, a hand running between your own legs in the meantime.

He comes back with a small square packet, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees the sight of you. When he thinks there’s no way his cock could get harder, he’s proved wrong when he catches glimpse of your own fingers pushed into you.

“So desperate,” he almost growls as he walks over, pushing boxers down his thighs without a second thought. A moan escaping you at the sight of his thick cock springing up, lust driving the both of you now— its deep hooks sunk into you in their entirety.

“They don’t feel the same though, do they?” He asks, eyes dark as his hand runs down the middle of his stomach to come wrap around his length and slowly stroke over it, “don’t hear you moaning like you were five minutes ago.”

“Fucking hell,” your hips feel like they’re on fire, another roll against your own hand but he’s right, “no, nothing is as good…”

“I have a feeling we’re going to fuck ourselves up here,” he pauses, taking the wrapper of the condom between his teeth and tearing it. Hand rolling it over his length— his teeth sucking his bottom lip between them at the sensitivity. His nose sighs out a breath after a moment, glancing back over to you, continuing on from what he was saying a moment prior, “tha’ no matter how hard we try we’re always gonna want this.”

His hands gesture between the two of you, and despite how many problems that idea alone could spell you, you nod feverishly, “I’ll have it… I’ll take it that way if it means I get to have you.”

With that, he’s stepping forward and taking the space between your thighs, “guess the damage is already done, anyway.”

His breath is laboured as he pulls your ass forward, cock pressed against your core.

“You tell me baby,” Harry sighs out, leaning his body over yours again from where he stands at the edge of the bed, lips grazing your cheek in a soft but heated movement, “tell me just how you want it.”

There’s an element of tenderness and care in the way the hushed words fan warmly across your face. Intimate with the way the two of you are pressed together… almost as close as you can get. One step away from being two halves that form some kind of messy, beautiful whole.

Your hands embrace the moment, sliding between your chests to cradle his jaw. A tiny laugh coming from you as his gaze flickers down to your breasts, and how they’ve pushed together from your arms. As a silent acknowledgment of your giggling at him, he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance.

And oh god, he is beautiful.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Plain and simple, the words come from your hushed voice, “Want you just like this, H.”

His lips part, looking at you.

“Want you close, just want you to fuck me.”

And how could he ever say no to that.

A hand wrapping around his cock, he carefully lines himself up with you, leaning back to kiss you as he slowly, so very slowly, pushes into you.

There’s a gasp that immediately comes from you, and a moan that rumbles from him. Shared between the fraction of space between your lips, opened both in shock and pleasure.

“Fucking hell—“ his voice is so deep as he leans his forehead to yours, hair messily cascading over it, “so tight ‘round me.”

“Harry— f— shit…” you can’t even complete a sentence, even with the litany of profanities that are echoing in the chambers of your head.

“That feel good?” He asks, hand coming to your waist as he slides further into you, finally reaching the thick middle of his cock.

“Mmm…” only able to nod, your hips are rolling on their own accord now. The slight pinch of him stretching you out, paired with that pleasurable fullness that neither of your fingers could come close to.

His body straightens up at the buck of your cunt against him, “D—fuck—dontfuckingmove—“

It feels like all the blood in his body has deviated in two directions. Firstly, into his head, making him feel so lightheaded the room is nearly slanted. And secondly, straight to his cock, pulsing inside of you so hard you can feel it.

You moan at the sensation, and at the rough clamp of his fingers around your hips— attempting to still them, “baby, don’t… just— just need a moment, or I’m gonna come before I can even ruin you…”

“Already ruined,” you pant, eyes coming to his as sweat starts to dampen your skin— a light sheen over your glowy complexion.

“So fucking filthy.” He mutters, looking down between the two of you.

His cock half pushed inside you he’s certain is the best view he’s ever seen. Better than any view from the top of a bridge, a mountain, or any other landmark in the world.

Your swollen, glistening cunt wrapped around him, already leaking arousal more arousal now he’s got his cock in you. Reacting as you’ve never been touched before.

Slowly, he manages to get himself fully inside of you, and is starting to make small thrusts— hips gently hitting against yours as he draws in and out of you. A low, intense groan escaping him with each movement. And it’s good to know it feels just as insane for him as it does for you, because right now— even with just his length rutting at such a gradual pace inside of you, you’re already melting.

Every inch of your body is tingling as his name comes from your lips in the form of a desperate moan, “Harry….”

A harder thrust, and your hands are wringing the white comforter as you legs wrap tighter around his middle.

He wants to imprint the shape of your body on this duvet, and frame the scrunches from your curled fists like art pieces. Just to know that what he did to you, and how it made you feel was entirely real. Not something he dreamed up. That the words leaving your lips are no figment of depraved imagination.

“I'm so fucking wet… I’m sorry— I'm making a mess.” You whine, body shaking. You feel out of control, every reaction coming from your body that of a primal instinct you can't wrap any element of authority over.

The sweet cadence of your voice as you shift beneath him... that in itself makes him feel like if he blinks, he’s suddenly going to wake up. Alone in a hotel room, in need of a cold, cold shower. Making his head spin, and it effortlessly swindles his sense of reality from him.

His hands splay on your hips, the hint of possessive nature in him you felt as they coil and tighten around the skin there. Anchoring where you lay as he cements himself in reality.

“No baby—“ he scolds at your apology, “y'dont 'ave to apologise. Being such a good girl f’me… feel you clenching me so hard already.”

An unbridled moan tears from your chest as he takes it upon himself to pull almost all the way out of your cunt, and then swiftly drive back into you.

“Fuckkk!” It’s a high pitched moan, the exact thing he wants to hear more of, even though the two of you should be trying a lot harder to be quiet. It still manages drags out a groan of him in response.

“Have to— shittt… have to be quiet darling…” he reminds, head tossing back as he suddenly picks up the pace between your legs.

“Feels so good, H… your cock is filling me up feels so fucking good—“

“N’ya takin’ it so bloody well,” he slaps lightly at your ass, suddenly grabbing it to cant your hips upward, “never been fucked this good, have you?”

In truth, you haven't. Never has it felt like every nerve-ending on your body is tingling, and like any more from him and you would simply break.

“N-no, Harry.” your head physically shakes, arms using any strength you have left to come behind you, and prop yourself up onto your elbows. Desperately, you want to see him inside of you, and what he's done to you.

He smirks at this, watching your eyes meet where he's stretching you out between your legs. The way your eyes flutter shut and roll back just at the sight. A visual accompanying the feeling is almost too much for you to process.

"Tha's it baby, take a look... see what I'm doing, how my cock is making y'feel so good."

A clench around his cock, and he grunts with another deeper thrust into you. Its sudden and abundantly clear that he’s starting to loose himself in you, unable to stop his mouth from spewing every dirty thing his brain produces, “C'mon, love. Beg me for it.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to stop.”

Your core is fluttering around him now, succinctly timed to each press of his cock, “Harry—“

The words however don’t come, only whines and moans as his cock pushes deeper into you with each stroke.

“Don’t make me get rough.” His tone is a sweet contradiction to his words, and he only juxtaposes them further with the feather-like touch of his fingers against your breast, "Or is that what my girl wants, wants me to get rough? Use you a little. Let me be selfish with this pussy and take it how I want.”

Curling his fingers around your breast, he squeezes gently, making you bite down on your lip to stifle the cry that was threatening to come out.

“Rough, be rough… can take it.” You pant out, arms giving out again as your back hits the mattress. Unable to support your weight, but still managing to reach up and tug his face to yours. He folds his body over yours to comply with the pull of your hands. Chest to chest, his cock is starting to slam harder into you, deeper— hitting places you were unaware of as his pelvis stimulates your clit from this new angle.

Turning to mush, the moans are bubbling out faster than you’re able to hold them back, your mouth resting parted against his cheekbone. His ears hearing each and every sound with complete pleasure.

“Shh, such a loud girl.” He says, but its hardly a scold or instruction to quieten down. It speaks more like an invitation, to let him hear more of you, no matter the consequences it could bring after the fact.

Infact, his own voice is beginning to sound strained, like another rough clench of your cunt and he's would to come straight into the condom wrapped around his cock.

You want him to come desperately. Your body perhaps wants it even more— doing things to tip him closer and closer to the edge you're both teetering on without even consciously noticing it.

Legs tightening around his waist, arms holding him as close as physically possible, nails clawing at the firm muscles of his back. As if there were a way to fuse the two of your frames together.

“God… it’s so fucking good… I feel so good.”

“Pretty girl, about to come all over my cock." He grinds out, feeling you pulse around his length, "About to wake the whole floor up, aren't you?"

The sound of him fucking you is enough— each slide of himself into your slick arousal that’s soaked both your cunt and his cock is louder than the next. But god, oh god, its hand that slowly wraps around the column of your neck that completely undoes you.

He doesn't press down, the touch is actually quite tender. But even the semblance of control it represents in your mind rips a moan from you as your core tightens, a hot budding sensation in the pit of your stomach. His slender fingers gliding up slowly— a stark contrast to the pace he's taking between your legs— thumb stroking the hook of your jaw with just a tad more pressure behind it.

Your impending orgasm feels like a pot that is just about to boil over the edge. It's making your whole body shake, "Sh— Shit! Harryyy, im gonna—"

"Mhm, baby, it's okay, i know," He whispers hoarsly into your ear, "Dont worry, y'can come, let it all go around my cock."

"Ohh— Oh god!" Your syllables draw out as you moan, eyes screwing shut as suddenly all the pressure between your hips explodes, "come with me."

The plea spills from your lips as your body clenches around him, making him moan with you. In an instant response to your words, you feel his thrusts turn messy and harsh inside you. Your name a loud drawn out whine that echoes around the room as he gives into your ask without a single question.

The two of your moan completely in sync as a shared blanket of ecstasy and euphoria casts over you both. The moment maybe lasted a minute, or really no more than two. But it felt endless, as if time and reality ceased to exist when you both finished with each other. His cock released into the condom, but his thighs stuttered against yours either way, as if he were filling your cunt with his orgasm. A groan rattling from him when your legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him flush to you. You know he knows that's exactly what you were wishing were happening right now. Playing along with it to satiate the sick craving for it within you as you still pulsated around his length.

Expletive's are the only things coming from your mouths other than whines. Your orgasms gradually subsiding from the heated high that was all consuming to a low hum that lingers in your bones. Still, you're holding his hips to yours as if to keep him inside of you.

Logistically, a condom was the appropriate thing to do for first and very unplanned time together, but of course right now you wish otherwise.

"Fuckkk, dirty girl," He growls out finally, pressing a hot kiss to your smiling mouth, "Acting like im filling you up?"

Hand sliding up to your cup your jaw fully now, he cranes his thumb out and is pulling on your lip, waiting for your brain to slowly start working enough to generate a sensical reply.

"Is that wrong?"

"Fuck, no. it's so hot." His voice is low as he kisses you again, letting your mouths work against each other again in a sensual kiss.

"Can't help it, H," You try to justify anyways, "cock feels so good inside me, was wishing I got your come..."

“Didn’t know you wanted it angel,” he whispers in a pant.

“Mhm, neither,” you hum against his mouth, “till I just realised how good it made me feel imagining your finishing inside of me.”

"Gonna make me hard again..." He sighs out with a shake of his head, "'Nother night baby, can fill you up anywhere y'like."

Anywhere. God.

Images of his cock filling your mouth makes you shudder with need. A thing you are keenly interested in trying… and since clearly he’s insinuating this could happen again…

"Want this again?" You ask, a slightly serious tone taking over your voice as he slowly peels off you, feeling your legs loosen from around him as his cock softens.

A smile blossoms on his lips at the way your big eyes gaze up to him, "Again, and again."

"If it wasn't obvious already, love."

A blush was conjuring on your cheeks out of nowhere, "I— Okay... good. Because I do too."

"Who knows—" He begins, pausing with a slight wince as he slides out of you. There’s a lull in what he was saying for a moment, when he leans down to kiss your cheek, walking over to a bin to dispose of the used condom that was just wrapped over him.

He also goes and grabs the two take away cups from the counter, wasting no more time before coming back to you. Finally resuming his prior conversation, “Drink this and then maybe we can squeeze another round in before we have t'sneak you back to your room."

"Think we woke anyone?" You giggle, sitting up to take the cup from his hand thats gestured out to you.

"Wouldn't rule it out." He snorts, "we can worry about what lie we'll tell later, if anyone asks."

"But," he takes a small sip from his cup, still staring at you, "either way, right now, i dont care."

"I want you." His voice is certain, "So, rest of tha' is irrelevant to me."

"C'mere," Hand wrapping around his bicep, pulling him onto the bed with you. The mattress sinks with his weight on top of it, his firm frame that was only just on top of you moments before... You lean forward and peck his mouth with yours. One he doesn't want to end as soon as it does, his mouth chasing yours as you pull back far too soon for his liking. Clearly, you're in the same boat as him, unable to find it in yourself to care about anything other than him. That in this very moment as you have him, real and in front of you, he is yours. "Fuck, then. Lets just do it."

"Think we already did, love." He chuckles, letting the innuendo come out with a rasp. Unbelievable, he is.

You can only shake your head, suppressing a grin as you bring the once-hot hot chocolate to your lips. The liquid is lukewarm at best, but somehow nothing has ever tasted better— except maybe his mouth.

———

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, this has been in the works in my drafts for SO long. pls let me know what you think! ily, thank you for your support and hopefully will post some more writing soon lovelies🤍

[gdinthehouseee]

Neon Secrets - Part 1: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: ji-yong catches you getting in your own head so he decides to shake things up and bring you along for a much needed late-night drive

word count: 5180

tags: fluff, denial, idiots in love - everyone can see it but them type stuff

ao3 link -- part 2

All was silent in the rooftop practice room, save for the soft scratching of a charcoal pencil against paper. You sat curled up on the couch near the window, your notebook balanced on your knee, fingers gripping the pencil tightly. But the page in front of you remained mostly blank—just a few scratched-out lines and half-finished rhymes that didn’t feel right.

Sleep couldn’t seem to get a hold of you tonight—your mind raced with the same thoughts, replaying them over and over until they became a blur of frustration. You stared at the clock, wishing for a few hours of peace, but the ticking echoed in your ears, only adding to your agitation. 

The quiet hum of the building surrounded you, but inside your mind, chaos churned. The notebook’s blank pages mocking your every attempt to find the right words. Your thoughts were too scattered—too many ideas, too many emotions—but none of them seemed to come together. The pressure to create something meaningful weighed heavily on you, and the longer you sat there, the more frustrated you became. Naturally. You hated this feeling of being stuck, of not being able to tap into the creative flow that usually came so naturally. You had written countless lyrics before, but tonight, nothing felt right. Every word you jotted down felt forced, out of place, as if the inspiration you once had was slipping away. The longer you tried, the more you doubted yourself. What if you were losing your touch? What if your career was over before it truly had time to blossom?

"You look miserable."

You jumped slightly at the voice, snapping your head toward the doorway. Ji-yong leaned against the frame, his arms crossed and his dark eyes almost staring into your soul.

Your heart pounded, and not just because he’d startled you. "Keep your voice down," you hissed and motioned for him to come in, glancing toward the hallway. "People are sleeping."

He scoffed but lowered his voice as he stepped inside. "Relax, it’s just us up here. Unless you think someone’s hiding in the storage closet, waiting to snitch on you."

As much as you rolled your eyes, there was nothing you could do to hide the subtle smile forming on your lips. Hoping he didn’t see, you elected to return your gaze to the notebook. "What do you want?"

Ji-yong flopped onto the couch behind you. "To rescue you from whatever creative hell you’re stuck in." He glanced at the page over your shoulder, tilting his head. "Writer’s block?"

A long sigh escaped your throat. "More like ‘everything I write sounds terrible.’ I should just go to bed and try again tomorrow, but I can’t even do that for whatever reason, so I’m just kinda… stuck here, I guess.”

He was quiet for a second before drumming his fingers against the couch. "Or…"

"Or?"

"We sneak out."

You stiffened for a second, before turning around to face him. Only to realise he had leaned closer towards you. 

"You’re insane. You know everyone is asleep in the next room, right? And most of the staff? One wrong move and—"

Ji-yong held up his hands in mock surrender. "I get it, I get it. But that’s what makes it fun." A playful smile tugged on his lips. "Come on. You’re stuck, I’m bored, and the walls in this place are suffocating right now. Let’s get some air."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. This was stupid. Reckless. If anyone saw you, rumours would spread like wildfire. But at the same time… the idea of slipping away, of leaving all the pressure behind, if only for a little while—

"Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you." You quickly stood up, moving towards the door. You didn’t even bother closing the notebook or tucking the chair back under the desk. A dangerous move.

Ji-yong grinned even wider than before, already on his feet. "Deal."

He reached the door before you could, grabbed the handle and opened it for you to walk through, his typical mischievous grin never leaving his face. “Ladies first.” 

“Such a gentleman.” You quipped and walked through, not after checking the hallway first of course.

And just like that, the two of you were sneaking through the hallways, hearts racing with every quiet step.

The tension in the air was palpable as the two of you stood in the hallway, the soft sounds of your footsteps echoing against the polished floor. Ji-yong’s eyes were gleaming with excitement. 

"You sure you're up for this?" He whispered, glancing around as if expecting someone to appear out of nowhere.

You hesitated, your gaze flicking nervously to the security cameras overhead. The building was still buzzing with activity, but most of the staff would be asleep by now. Still, the thought of getting caught was enough to make your heart race. "This is risky," you muttered, trying to stay calm. "If we get caught, we're in trouble."

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against hers as he took a step closer. "That's what makes it fun," he said with a wink. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it attractive. Unfortunately for you, he was incredibly charming.

"Come on, I know the way."

The two of you moved quickly but quietly, sticking close to the walls to avoid being seen. The dim lighting in the hallways made it harder to spot you both, and every sound seemed amplified as you tiptoed past the security desk. The guard was hunched over, lost in the glow of his phone screen, completely unaware of the two figures sneaking past. Your pulse quickened as you tried to cover up your breathing as much as you could, but Ji-yong kept a steady pace, signalling you to stay low as you made your way toward the exit.

As you neared the door, Ji-yong reached for the handle, his hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through them. He glanced at you one last time, a playful smile tugging at his lips once more. "Ready?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, biting back a grin. "Just don’t get us caught."

“You know I won’t.”

With one final look around, he pushed the door open, and you slipped into the cool night air, your hearts still racing but filled with the thrill of your daring escape. The moment you had stepped through the exit and carefully closed the door behind you, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a sprint toward the car parked just down the street. The night air was crisp against the mostly bare skin of your arms and legs, the sound of your hurried footsteps filled the silence. Neither of you spoke—just the occasional glance over your shoulders to truly make sure no one had followed, accidentally making eye contact here and there.

Ji-yong reached the car first, fumbling with his keys as he yanked the door open. “Hurry,” he hissed, motioning for you to get in. You certainly didn’t need to be told twice. You practically dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you just as he did the same on his side. For a moment, you both sat there, frozen, chests rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. The street outside was quiet, undisturbed. You made it.

And then, as if on cue, you turned to each other, eyes wide with the weight of what you had just pulled off.

Silence.

Then—laughter.

It started as a breathless chuckle from Ji-yong, but the absurdity of the situation caught up with both of you, and soon enough, you were doubled over, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. You pressed an ice-cold hand to your burning face, gasping for air between giggles. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

He leaned back against the headrest, grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I know, right? That was way too close.” He turned to look at you again, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You looked so scared back there.”

“Excuse me?” You began, “I was being cautious. Someone has to be the responsible one here.”

“And yet, here you are, sneaking out in the middle of the night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but, once again, couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips and the blood rushing to your cheeks. The adrenaline still buzzed in your veins, mixing with the warmth of the moment. Ji-yong shifted in his seat, tilting his head slightly as he studied you for a moment. His laughter had faded, but his expression softened, something unreadable flickering across his face before briefly looking away.

The laughter had faded, but the buzz of excitement still lingered in the air. He tapped his fingers absent-mindedly against the steering wheel. “So,” he said, glancing over at you. “Where to? Or was the plan just to run away with nowhere to go?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment, leaning back in your seat as you gazed out the window. “Honestly? I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

That made him chuckle. “Wow. Such faith in us.”

“I’m just saying, the odds weren’t exactly in our favour. But I guess you do have a way of getting people to do reckless things.”

“People?”

“Me. Specifically me.” You laughed.

His grin never left his face as he started the car, the soft rumble filling the quiet space. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering outside the windows, casting moving shadows across your faces. The world beyond the car felt distant, like a dream you were slipping through unnoticed. It was rare—to have a moment like this, away from expectations, away from the prying eyes of fans, staff, and friends alike.

Ji-yong snuck a glance at you when you weren’t looking. You were tracing patterns on your arm, brows slightly furrowed in thought. He wondered what was on your mind. He wondered if you had any idea how often he caught himself watching you like this—memorizing the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought, the way you pressed your lips together when you were frustrated.

And if you knew, what would you think about the way Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung teased him for it?

Ji-yong could still hear them now—Taeyang shaking his head with an amused smirk, Daesung’s knowing glances, and Seunghyun’s relentless, dramatic sighs. Just confess already, you’re embarrassing yourself. They never let him live it down, always pointing out the way his attention lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he always found an excuse to be around you. And as much as he brushed them off, he knew they weren’t wrong. The thought made his ears burn.

It had started one evening in the studio. Ji-yong had been half-listening to a new beat, scrolling through his phone when Seunghyun leaned over his shoulder with a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Hyung,” Ji-yong muttered without looking up, already knowing what was coming.

“What is this?” Seunghyun said dramatically, tapping the screen of Ji-yong’s phone. “You’re literally smiling at your messages right now. Are you in high school?”

Ji-yong scoffed and pulled his phone away, locking it. “Mind your business.”

Daesung, sprawled out on the couch, grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Taeyang let out a knowing chuckle from his spot near the desk, looking up from his own phone. “It’s always her.”

Seunghyun wasn’t letting this go. He leaned in closer, studying Ji-yong’s face. “Look at him. He’s already getting defensive. Next, he’s gonna say she’s just a friend—”

“But she is just a friend,” Ji-yong cut in quickly. Too quickly.

The room went silent for about half a second before all three of them burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, this is bad,” Taeyang teased, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen Ji-yong lie so poorly in my life.”

Daesung grinned, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Bro, you don’t even talk about your crushes, but you think we haven’t noticed how different you act around her?”

“Different how?” Ji-yong challenged, crossing his arms.

“You get all… soft.”

Ji-yong rolled his eyes. “I do not get soft.”

“You do,” Taeyang confirmed. “Like earlier today, when she came by to drop off something for the manager? You barely spoke, but the second she left, you smiled to yourself like some lovesick teenager.”

“I—” Ji-yong stopped, trying to come up with a defence, but all three of them were already grinning at him. Busted.

Seunghyun clapped him on the back with a knowing look. “You’re screwed, bro.”

Ji-yong swallowed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. No. That was the last thing he needed. If you ever heard them talk like that, would you laugh? Would you tease him too? Or worse—would you start noticing the way he looked at you? The way he felt? And, as a result, would you distance yourself from him?

He had never planned for this—to care this much.

At first, it had been simple: late-night studio sessions, teasing exchanges, fleeting moments that he told himself meant nothing. But then he started noticing the way you made the air feel lighter, the way being around you felt like a break from the noise of everything else. And now, sitting here with you, watching the city pass by in the glow of streetlights, he realized he had been in trouble for a while.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “So… what were you writing earlier?”

“A whole lot of nothing. Or… trying to write something, but nothing came out right.”

He glanced at her. “Typical writer’s block.”

“Feels more like an identity crisis,” you muttered, half-joking. “I don’t know. I just kept overthinking everything. Like… what if I don’t have anything meaningful to say anymore?”

He frowned at that, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “That’s not true. You always have something to say.”

You let out a small laugh, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “You sound so sure.”

“Because I am,” he said, glancing at you again before turning back to the road. “You’re one of the most passionate people I know. Even when you don’t say anything, you’re thinking—feeling. That’s what makes you good.” His voice was steady, sure. “You just don’t see yourself the way I do.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words.

He must have realized what he said, because his fingers drummed nervously against the wheel, and he cleared his throat. “I mean—uh, the way people who know you do.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, watching as he kept his eyes firmly on the road, as if avoiding your gaze would erase what had just slipped out. A warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Ji-yong.”

He shook his head quickly, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just figured something out.”

You tilted her head slightly, as if considering. “Maybe I did.”

He groaned, quickly running a hand through his hair. “This is why I don’t say things.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, but there was no denying the way your heart was now racing for an entirely different reason. Trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, you decided to change the subject when you realised he hadn’t explained why he was awake when he found you.

“Y’know, you never said why you were up so late.”

Ji-yong blinked, as if caught off guard. “Ah… I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? Is your reason dumber than mine?”

“No, just…” He hesitated before sighing. “Not that interesting.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He hesitated again, longer this time, before answering. “Because my brain is a pain in the ass.”

That made you pause. “What do you mean?”

He let out a short, quiet laugh, but there was no humour in it. “I think too much. About everything. I’ll be exhausted, lying in bed, and suddenly my brain decides it’s time to overanalyse every stupid thing I’ve ever said, every choice I’ve ever made, every possible way I could screw something up.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s like I can never just… be.”

“You mean like anxiety?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like I panic, I just—” He sighed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “I second-guess myself a lot. Get stuck in my own head. It’s frustrating because I know it’s dumb, but I can’t turn it off.”

Something about the way he said it—the exhaustion behind his words—made your chest tighten.

“Why didn’t you just say this earlier?” you asked softly. The car came to a stop as you reached a red light.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to make it about me. You already seemed frustrated.”

“That’s stupid,” you said without thinking.

Ji-yong finally turned to you, caught between amusement and exasperation. “Excuse me?”

“You do it all the time,” you said, shaking your head. “You act like you have to be the one keeping everyone else together, but who’s doing that for you?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the question. His fingers drummed idly on the wheel, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in a voice quieter than before, he said:

“You.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Ji-yong let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the way the air in the car felt different—thicker, heavier. “Realize what?”

He glanced at you again, something unreadable in his gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something else, something more, but instead, he just shook his head with a small smile. The traffic light finally turned green and he continued driving.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

But you wouldn’t forget. Not now. Not when the weight of his words settled deep into your chest, shifting something inside you that you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet. And judging by the way Ji-yong gripped the wheel like his life depended on it, staring straight ahead, neither was he.

At some point, the heavy weight of the conversation had lifted, giving way to laughter and much lighter topics. The city stretched out around you, a blur of neon signs and empty streets as Ji-yong drove aimlessly, neither of you wanting to break the spell of the night just yet.

The two of you talked about ridiculous things—the worst stage outfits you’d ever worn, the most embarrassing moments caught on camera, the weirdest fan gifts he had ever received. He nearly swerved when he burst out laughing at your dramatic re-enactment of a failed dance move during rehearsal, and you doubled over when he confessed to once getting trapped in a bathroom before a concert and having to be rescued by the rest of the guys and a few staff members.

The car was filled with easy conversation, the kind that only came when time didn’t seem to matter. But time did matter. And neither of you realized just how much until Ji-yong absently checked the dashboard clock.

“Shit.”

“What?” You turned to him, still grinning from your last joke.

He gestured toward the clock. 4:32 AM.

Your stomach dropped. “No way.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “We are so screwed.”

It took a second for the panic to fully settle in, but when it did, it was instant. You sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. “We have to get back now.”

He was already turning the car around, the easy-going vibe of the night replaced with frantic energy. “We better pray no one’s up yet.”

Your heart pounded as you mentally mapped out the best way to sneak back in, every possibility of getting caught flashing through your head. Staff members were early risers, and some of your groupmates tended to wake up for morning workouts. If even one person saw you—

“We can’t go through the front,” you said quickly. “There’s a security camera right at the entrance.”

Ji-yong nodded. “Back door. Less cameras, but we have to be fast.”

You could already imagine the absolute chaos if either of your groups or, worse, the company found out about this. You and Ji-yong locked eyes, truly realizing at the same time just how risky this had been.

Then, for some reason—maybe from sheer exhaustion, maybe from the ridiculousness of the situation—you both started laughing. Quiet at first, then full-on, uncontrollable laughter just like at the very beginning of this little side quest.

“This is so bad,” he shook his head.

You wiped the happy tears that were forming in your eyes. “If we survive this, we’re never doing this again.”

That was a lie. You both knew it.

And as the car sped through the empty streets, the first hints of morning light creeping onto the horizon, you knew this night—this feeling—was one neither of you would forget. By the time you had pulled into the parking lot, the sky had started to shift from deep navy to the softest hints of morning blue. Every second that passed made the risk of getting caught even worse.

You both moved quickly, slipping out of the car and sticking to the shadows as you made your way to the back entrance of the building. He pulled open the door as quietly as possible, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges.

“Go, go, go,” you whispered, pushing him inside.

The hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made every tiny sound feel deafening. You pressed your back against the wall, Ji-yong right next to you as you both listened for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

You exchanged a glance, and without a word, started moving.

The first challenge was the stairwell—safer than the elevators, but the risk of running into someone was still high. He went first, taking the steps two at a time, while you followed as quickly and quietly as possible. Every creak of the stairs made your pulse spike.

Halfway up, you heard a noise—a distant door closing somewhere above you. You both froze.

Ji-yong grabbed your wrist and pulled you down into a crouch against the railing, barely breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut, silently praying whoever it was wasn’t coming down the stairs. The footsteps paused, then faded away in the opposite direction.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Ji-yong turned to you, eyes wide. “That was too close,” he mouthed.

You nodded frantically, your heart still hammering.

The two of you moved again, finally reaching your floor. Ji-yong peeked down the hallway before gesturing for you to follow. Your dorms were now just a few doors away, and you could practically feel freedom within reach.

You made it to the door first, pressing a hand against it for stability as you exhaled. Ji-yong stopped next to you, running a hand through his hair, a tired but exhilarated grin tugging at his lips.

“We actually made it,” you whispered.

He smirked. “You doubted me?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Ji-yong opened the door. As you stepped inside, you immediately realized you weren’t alone. The familiar voices of Taeyang and Daesung were already drifting through the room, and the instant you both walked in, the entire space fell silent.

The kitchen lights flickered overhead as you and Ji-yong froze. There, sitting casually in the lounge area, were the familiar faces of your group and his—Seunghyun leaning against the counter, a couple girls from your own group scattered around the couches, and Daesung and Taeyang, clearly wide awake.

You couldn’t even hide. You hadn’t even stepped inside before they all turned toward you.

“Well, well, well…” Taeyang’s voice rang through the silence, a grin tugging at his lips. “Look who decided to join us at five in the morning.”

Ji-yong cleared his throat, taking a step back, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flicked toward you, silently pleading for a way out. “We… just went for a walk.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow from where he stood, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A walk?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you couldn’t find any words. The guilt, the tension, the fact that everyone was wide awake and clearly waiting for you two to walk in made it impossible to lie.

“You two are really bad at hiding,” Daesung chuckled from his seat on the couch. “Did you think no one would notice?”

Ji-yong rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, giving you a small, apologetic smile. “We didn’t exactly plan on getting caught.”

“Oh, but you were planning on sneaking in here, right?” One of the girls from your group smirked from the kitchen counter. “Because it’s not like we’re all waiting in here for you to walk in.”

Taeyang folded his arms, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You really thought you could just walk in and slip by us, huh?”

You let out a long sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that there was no escape now. “I guess we’re busted.”

Ji-yong leaned against the doorframe, shrugging with a small smile. “Guess so.”

Seunghyun leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he studied you both. “So, what exactly were you two talking about?”

You froze, unsure of how to answer. Ji-yong shifted next to you, glancing down at his shoes nervously.

“Oh, you know,” he said with an awkward chuckle, “just random stuff.”

Seunghyun snorted, clearly not buying it. “Random stuff, huh?” He shot you a look that you could read too easily. “I’m sure it was really random.”

“I bet it was super interesting,” Taeyang added with a raised eyebrow. “Just you two, talking the whole night away. So what was the real topic of conversation?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you avoided their gazes. “Nothing important,” you muttered, hoping to avoid the topic.

Seunghyun grinned from his spot, clearly enjoying every second. “Oh, we know it wasn’t nothing important.” He exchanged a knowing glance with Daesung, and the teasing only grew stronger. “In fact, I’d say it was pretty obvious.”

Taeyang tilted his head, glancing at Ji-yong with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, because you two are definitely good at hiding it.”

“Hiding what?” You shot back, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice faltered slightly.

Ji-yong quickly cleared his throat, standing up straighter. “We’re just really good friends,” he insisted, his voice a little sharper than before, as if to convince not just them but himself too. He gave a small, forced smile. “Nothing more than that.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Mm-hmm. Just friends? Sure.”

“Not this again,” Daesung laughed mostly to himself. Again? What did he mean by again?

“You guys are ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, trying to downplay the awkward tension growing between you and Ji-yong.

“Well, we’re not the only ones who think it’s pretty clear,” one of the girls from your group said with a knowing grin. “But if you insist…”

Ji-yong rubbed the back of his neck again, his smile faltering. “I mean it. We’re just friends. It’s not that deep.”

Seunghyun looked at you both for a long moment, still not convinced. “Sure, Ji-yong. You’re just friends,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “But I’m telling you, it’s pretty obvious to all of us.”

“You’re really good at pretending,” Taeyang said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You quickly changed the subject, desperate to get away from this conversation. “Well, we didn’t exactly plan on getting caught by everyone in the kitchen.”

“I mean, it’s not like you tried very hard to hide it,” Daesung said, unable to keep his chuckle to himself. “You two always look like you’re in your own little world.”

Ji-yong sighed, a bit of frustration leaking into his voice. “Can we not make this a thing?” He shot a glance at you, but you weren’t sure what he was thinking—was he upset with the teasing, or was he frustrated about something else?

Seunghyun raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright, we’ll drop it for now. But you know we’re not buying the ‘just friends’ act.”

You quickly turned toward your room, eager to escape the conversation. “Guess we’ll work on pretending better next time.”

Ji-yong followed suit, offering a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll do better,” he said, his voice lacking his usual confidence.

As you slipped into your room, heart still racing from the teasing, you exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling lingering in your chest. It was ridiculous, really. Ji-yong was Ji-yong. One of the most sought-after idols in the industry, effortlessly charismatic, always surrounded by people who adored him. There was no way he’d look at you like that. You were just his friend—one of the few people he could relax around without the weight of expectations. And maybe that was why it stung a little. Because no matter how much your heart stuttered when he looked at you, you were certain he didn’t see you the same way.

Ji-yong barely mumbled, just out of earshot from you, before slipping into his own room, shutting the door behind him a little too quickly. He let out a quiet breath, leaning against it for a moment, rubbing his face with both hands. Why did it bother him so much? The way the others teased, the way they all acted like something between you two was so obvious. Maybe to them, it was. But to Ji-yong, it wasn’t even a possibility. You had never once looked at him like that, not in the way he caught himself looking at you. And why would you?

He sighed, pushing off the door and running a hand through his hair before collapsing onto his bed. You deserve someone better—someone who wasn’t always stuck in his own head, someone who wouldn’t second-guess everything the way he did. Someone who wasn’t him.

And so, just like every other night where his thoughts threatened to betray him, he shut them down before they could get any further. Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that whatever he felt for you… it wasn’t something you’d ever return. If only he knew this is exactly what you were thinking about him, just on the other side of the wall. So close yet so far.

But that would be the least of both of your problems when you finally found out that a video of you and Ji-yong, with your hands intertwined, running to the car had gone viral. 

taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added!!):

@thanosscross

[lustlovehart]

Hiii! I've never done this before but... What if Scara and reader had a fight... Like a fight fight... and reader was seriously injured due to him being blinded be emotions... What do you think would the aftermath of this...?

A/n: Yet again, another ask that i was originally gonna js give a short thought to, turned into something longer *sigh* (I need to stop doing this).

Summary: [Angst/Comfort ] He could never say sorry, even in the moments it mattered.

Warnings: Harm to reader, Scars, Unrealistic Writing of getting hit with lightning

During his time in the fatui, no one exactly had the galls of stopping his rampages. The balladeer is quite famed for his regular intervals of anger, you’re no stranger to it yourself, you’ve seen him mad. it’s just…

Hes never been angry towards you.

You’d get the occasionally scoff every now and then if you uttered something he found foolish, but never has he lashed out at you to such a degree. Not to this level. He’s painfully reminded by his ignorance as soon as his hand crafted eyes lay sight upon your bare form, a body, a human body, covered in scars from lightning. Lightning he inherited, lightning he engaged, lightning he struck you with.

There’s no doubt, the silence is defeaning while you sit with him in the empty room, waiting for one of the medical professionals in the fatui to check on you.

He’s silent. It’s rare. He’s never been quiet for more than 5 minutes with you. He’s either complaining or attempting to make small talk a vast majority of the time, typically the former. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t even stare at you like he always does. You’re about to break the silence before the harbinger breaks it for you.

“You don’t look okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his vision trained on the white tile at his feet.

“Yeah. you struck me with lightning.”

…

“oh.”

It doesn’t hit you until he releases a quiet ‘oh’ from his mouth. Something you probably know better than anyone else that has been on teyvat within his 500 year lifespan.

This man can not say sorry.

“oh? Oh? Kunikuzushi put your pride away for one second.” you don’t try to hide the frustration in your voice. You truly did not mind the eccentricities the puppet in front of you holds, you never did, not even when you first met him.

He still doesn’t answer but you can see the way his face winces and widens in the same moment. Seems he got way too accustomed to ‘Kuni’ and ‘Scara’ to remember that you do in fact remember his given name.

“What else should I say to you? I’ll strike harder next time?” He isn’t getting mad, he was only infuriated earlier, but not now. You can see his demeanor start changing. Whether it be in the direction you want it to go, you’re not sure yet.

“Maybe a sorry? An apology? A “oh forgive me [Name] I love you so much?” He doesn’t answer you, he only scoffs and fall back onto the back of his chair. You don’t miss the way his fingers dig into the cloth of his clothing, probably using it as a replacement for human skin.

The man can’t breathe, but you can hear him inhale and exhale before his next words.

“i don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to- well not at you.” It comes out softer than the other words hes said to you the entire period of time in the room. His eyes are finally off the floor, trying their best to maintain contact with your own.

Once again, all thats left between the space of you two, is silence. You look away from him for a moment, fiddling with the blanket draped over your legs. You’d like to assume that’s the closest you’ll get to an ‘I’m sorry from him’, but you can’t accept that, so you don’t reply. Ever since waking up, you never were able to see the scars on your body, only the ones on your arms. You wonder if they look hideous.

Your hand reaches behind you to your back, your fingers grazing whatever part you assume suffers scarring.

“Are you worried about how it looks?”

“No, not at all, fighting is commonplace in the fatui.”

“Lying isn’t good, you told me that yourself didn’t you?” Damn him and his pristine memory. You can never remember where you leave your keys yet he can remember things you’ve said to him years ago?

…

“No matter how scarred and beaten you are you’re still [Name] are you not?” With the way he’s looking at you, you’re sure this is another thing he’d want to keep out of the publics knowledge. “Even without your face i’d strike someone down for you in an instant.”

“Oh like you did to me?”

“…” Seems the sweet moment was ruined. You don’t mind though, it’s funny to you.

The weeks that followed still held some tension. You’d refused to see him for awhile. When asked by some trembling lower subordinate, one in which the harbinger had personally sent, why you weren’t seeing him, your reply made the soldier fear for his own downfall.

“He’s insufferable right now. I’ll talk to him when he shows me he’s not a man child who can’t admit his faults.” You’ve always been able to put up with his outbursts, but right now, you realize maybe you should turn up your attitude with him.

After that unfortunate event, not unfortunate for you, for the fatuss, your days have seemingly been more dull. You’ve forgotten just how eccentric the balladeer is. Waking up never seemed so boring, the puppet would either be by your side in the early mornings, or knocking on the door ready to whisk you away.

Seems that routine is coming back.

“Oh? Have you finally swallowed your ego-“

“I’m sorry.”

Seems he couldn’t go any longer without you, how sweet.

Tagging this, I was super confused if this could be characterized as angst w/ comfort or fluff. I just did both though.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

shikanoin heizou alphabet

For our 3000 follower celebration! (CLOSED NOW)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Honestly, Heizou is great at calming you down, helping you fall asleep if you need to. His gentle voice, slightly gravelly from all of the commotion earlier, helps you feel at peace after so much excitement.

He likes to touch your hair and your face after sex. Gently brushing his fingers against your cheeks, tracing the shape of your features while you chat about anything and everything.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's rather proud of his chest and general torso area. Heizou keeps himself fit for his line of work, so while it's unrealistic to have a six pack all of the time, his abdominal muscles are still solid and very strong!

Of yours, I think he'd be a thigh kind of man. It really doesn't matter how thin or thick your thighs are, he loves them no matter what!

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Definitely picture him as someone who ejaculates prematurely 🥴

Baby boy feels sorry for not being able to hold out for longer, but you shush him quickly, kissing away those thoughts as you continue to touch him.

Heizou's cum is extra sticky, and it's fun to see it stick to his thighs and fingers~

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

While he would call you a pervert for doing this, Heizou secretly jerks off to the thought of you sniffing his underwear or using them to masturbate. Just thinking about the dirty fabric wrapped around your cock — or, even better, pressed against your nose while you furiously jack off — makes his cock weep, ruining his train of thought during work 🤭

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Definitely no stranger to sex, he's had many years of experience now. Also had a lot of fun experimenting with different kinks in the past, so Heizou's knowledge is pretty wide.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

Cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, idk if facesitting counts as a position, but he likes that too. Heizou also enjoys having his legs over your shoulders when you fuck.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

More on the goofy side, especially with him being such a tease. Pick-up lines during sex is a frequent occurrence. He will literally ask if you're single while you're giving him a blowjob–

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Bushy!! Heizou would have such a cute, curly bush 🤤

His hair is thick, curly, and fluffy too! His pubic hair grows quickly as well.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Quite intimate, but what did you expect from Heizou?

Of course he wants to take it slow, really feel your skin against his, and soak in the emotions in the moment.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He uses dildos to masturbate often, riding them or slowly fucking himself with one. He likes to watch himself in a mirror too, hooking one arm under his knee and spreading himself open to get the best view 😋

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bondage, being blindfolded, possibly into wax play, orgasm denial, chastity, and edging too~

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

While he claims that it's "too risky 😨" Heizou enjoys being railed up against a tree or something else you're hiding behind on a stakeout. Semi-public spaces are his fave~

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It's not too hard to turn him on, as long as you know the right spots to run your fingers along. *coughs* his sides and the backs of his arms *coughs*

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bloodplay or anything particularly painful. I can't picture him being into piss either, it's just not for him 😅

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Extremely good at giving head, you almost can't picture a human being so skilled?!?! Heizou is incredibly seductive and dedicated to sucking your cock, it's impressive!

I think he would prefer to give rather than receive, but if you offer to return the favor, he wouldn't turn you down.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual for the win! Heizou wants to savor every touch, tracing your skin and memorizing it underneath his fingertips. He wants to savor the way your hands wrap around his thighs when you eat him out, gasping when your tongue pushes past that ring of muscles and plunges inside of his sensitive body. I mean, you're just so dreamy, how is he supposed to rush through sex and miss any part of this wonderful experience? :(

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Heizou is fine with them, as long as you can makeout too.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

A little bit, yeah. With locations especially, Heizou will get pretty risky. He's normally up for trying all sorts of new and exciting things, anything to spice it up once in a while~

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

I think he'd have a good amount of stamina. He can normally ride you for a while, endure edging or otherwise drawn out orgasms, and handle multiple rounds without issue.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Oh, yes, Heizou loves toys and accessories! Dildos are a classic, great for stuffing himself with whenever the mood hits. Some good old rope is another thing he enjoys using. Obviously, y'all own a couple chastity cages. I can also picture Heizou absolutely melting if you used a fleshlight on his caged dick 😵‍💫

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, Heizou… he loves to tease and be teased. It's just in his nature to act that way.

He tends to teasingly flirt with you all the time, in private and in public, as well as in the middle of sex.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

God he has the prettiest moans, so lovely~

His noises are more breathy when you edge him, and he babbles more when you do that. When you play with his cock while it's locked in chastity, he tends to whine more, and hide his face in the crook of your neck if possible.

It's rare that Heizou is ever quiet during sex, even when you're in public and there's a chance that you might get caught, he still can't keep himself quiet.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Personally, I think Heizou would make an amazing camboy. He could be your twink cockslut fantasy if you give him the opportunity ❤️

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Heizou has, like… a pornstar cock. I don't know if that makes sense, but I just think his cock would be really pretty. He's a solid 5 inches. No foreskin, unfortunately. 😔

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's pretty high, though he goes through periods of not wanting sex as much too. It's like a cycle — craves sex and intimacy for a week or two, then he needs cuddles and a recharge period for another week or two.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I can picture Heizou being the type of person to take a short snooze after sex, but not necessarily every time. As I mentioned, his stamina is quite impressive, so falling asleep isn't something that he does often. Just a quick nap to recharge his energy every once in a while.

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.16.

viktorxfemale!reader very explicit as usual, Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST

word count: 13,5K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: angst, angst, angst. And then nothing out of the ordinary, have a surprise for this one, there is no kink malpractice so you can all feel comfortable :v

author’s note: As usual, playlist here, translations at the bottom, and artist is @petitesieste ♡ @doggrowth I can't really thank you enough, so just know that your hype about this was one of the things that sustained me through the journey. And thank you everyone, it's been insane four months with this fic. I am truly floored by the love it received. See ya around!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Despite having an in-depth understanding of the alchemy of anger, it eludes Viktor how he got livid so quickly. Certainty doesn’t wash over him in one gush of sweat to the back; it dribbles annoyingly, like well-delivered bastinado.

Your texts were too scarce to keep his nerves at bay. Your smile is too thin when you step through his threshold. Your work-blabber too precise, too rehearsed to be entirely innocent.

And from that point forward, Viktor floats from one emotion to another. Dread slaps him cold and violent when he hears the word regroup, and the justifications that follow. He defends himself with a tone matching the temperature you’ve inflicted on his chest—until you call him out on cruelty.

He tries to reason then. Retreats to his calculating self, one of the strongest versions of him. Counts out all his good deeds as if they’re tokens to be exchanged for love. But truthfully, Viktor can’t hide that something inside him has just snapped in half, and he’s worried it will scare you even further away.

He’s ready to compromise—to ease down on meetings and texts and calls until you find a space where you are able to bring yourself to honesty, and maybe one day tell him what this is really about.

An inch away from telling you I see you. I love you. I know you, you call him out on his human need for closeness, and the current pulls him back toward anger.

Simmering with hot tears, he replays every time he let you be—and scowls internally. He’s lost a spiritual battle with complacency if, after four months of this, you still can’t be honest with him.

He lets you kiss him once. Twice. And then decides: if you’ve leaned into the ugly part of yourself, he can do the same. It’s no longer a current now—just a natural downwelling in the ocean of his own disquiet.

He can hear your sobs from the stairwell, even as you slam the door shut behind you. Feeling like an open wound, Viktor stays drilled into the floor, trying to swallow the tangy spit gathering in his mouth after it got scorched with him telling you to go.

For a while, he breathes with his eyes closed. Goes over everything in his head. Wonders if you got home safely and how much time has passed since you left. When the tension wrung tight in his muscles makes his thigh flare up, he drags himself to the bedroom. As soon as his face touches the pillow, his body coils into an embryo and his mouth releases a silent sob.

Viktor doesn’t really cry often. Not because he feels little—he feels in orchestral swells—but because tears mark the moment the baton slips from his hand. He learned that young. His mother dabbed his cheeks, told him softness was a virtue; his father, one evening when the boy’s leg hurt too loudly, simply straightened him with a look and said, The world forgives a lot, but not a grown man’s tears—especially when the man already leans on a stick. From then on, crying became a solitary indulgence, rationed to the rare night Jayce found him drunk on pain or to the locked bathroom where water could pass for grief.

Now, alone in the dark, the old rule fractures. The tears arrive small and stunned, drying almost as soon as they fall, salt tight on his cheeks. They leave behind that hard bolus in the throat—a lump he can’t swallow or cough clear. He hitches a breath, eyelashes knotting, half-ashamed of the sound. He isn’t sure what he’s mourning: your absence, his failure, the stupid hope he’d nursed all week. Maybe it’s simpler—anger that has nowhere else to leak. So he lets the scant tears run their brief course, hot and useless, while his fists stay balled under his chin like a child’s, as if clenching could hold the rest of him together.

When sleep finally drags him under, it sluices the room of light but leaves the taste of your mouth—salt-sweet, desperate apology—bitter on his tongue. Red was the only clean word he had; he does not regret saying it. What he resents, as consciousness unspools into dream, is himself: the slow drift he’d allowed, the signs he catalogued but never named, the way hope made him clumsy.

By dawn the anger has doubled back, a closed circuit burning itself out on his ribs. You are merely the spark; the current is all his—impossible standards arcing against the tender parts. He wakes gritty-eyed, leg locked tight, pillow damp. Phone blank. The urge to text safe home? lances through him, but he lets it scorch and pass. Still angry, he notes, almost clinically. Good. Better than begging.

Sunday he sulks like a bad hinge: every movement creaks. He limps room to room, grunts at the kettle, snarls at the crutch and canes when they clatter. By afternoon he’s seated on the couch, shoulders knotted, the crumpled copy of The Memorandum in his lap. Pages ruck up under his thumbs—your margin notes, tiny scribblings he read like blessings. Now the paper squeaks as he squeezes it, and the only sound in the flat is the dry, silent sob that breaks in his chest but never quite clears his throat.

You notice the absence of the booklet on Saturday, right after you get home and dump your bag out on the kitchen table—keys, lip-balm, rehearsal schedules, loose change—and the stack of stapled pages is nowhere. A dull, hollow click in your chest: it’s left on his night-stand, wedged under an empty mug. 

It was meant to be a surprise—tiny, scrappy fringe performance, sixty seats, your half-secret gift to say I think about you often, I love this part of you. Now it feels juvenile, a school-girl handing in homework nobody asked for.

Here, there is nothing of him. No bite-mark blooming beneath a collar, no fading bruise you can push for comfort. Your skin, diligent traitor, has healed too quickly; even the ache in your ass has resolved to a memory. The rational shard of brain reminds you that if Viktor says I’ll call, he will—but if the call is to snip the last thread, you won’t be allowed to beg for a souvenir.

You don’t bother with the mirror. One glance would finish you: puffy eyes, blotched throat, a smear of mascara dried like soot. Instead you pace the narrow flat—couch, sink, couch again—trying to resurrect the steel that told him let’s regroup. The argument is gone; what remains is a howl, wide as a chasm. His mouth, stone-cold on the safeword, keeps replaying in the meat of your mind. You’d asked him once, what were his limits. Now you know: he will endure eye-rolls, snot oozing from your nose when you can’t take another inch of cock, a display of sluttiness staged to make him jealous, every filthy demand that starts with fuck my and ends with an assigned body part—save the one where you act like a stranger and call it sensible. That, apparently, is the line. You crossed it wearing a smile that wasn’t yours, and the price is this room, echoing with nothing that smells of him.

Chest still bucking with the leftover currents of sobs, you lurch through the flat in search of anything that might stand in for Viktor.

A hair-brush—not the right heft, but it will do. You fold forward, try to land the strokes where his palm would fall. The bristles snap against skin, a dull, petulant sting that means nothing without the breathy good girl trailing after it. You swing harder; the ache builds, but it’s all noise, no music.

Next attempt: teeth. You clamp down on the soft under-swell of your own forearm, hoping for crescents, for proof, for permanence. Your bite is too shallow, canines too blunt; it raises a faint pink ridge that fades before your eyes.

There’s nothing left but the simplest humiliation. Fingers shove beneath underwear, two knuckles grinding, the other hand at your throat—pressure you’ve seen him measure to the millimetre. It should empty you, siphon the poison off, but a neon warning sears the inside of your skull: What are you doing?

Everything collapses. You drop where you stand, back against the couch, knees barking against the floorboards, and sob until the ribs ache again—ugly, inconsolable sobs that strip your throat raw and leave you with nothing but the echo of his name, caught in the dark like a moth that can’t find the window.

In a world where poverty rivals leprosy, you’ve proved yourself a thousand times over. You stayed just below the surface—patient, observant—waiting for the rest to drown themselves, letting the weight of their coins drag them under. A few of the darlings survived, later bending to kiss your feet, but that mass-drowning was crucial: their bloated bodies became your rafts, letting you rise.

People can force themselves to fit where they don’t belong. Even a fat man can survive thin ice if he endures the humiliation of spreading himself flat. A poor girl can survive public school if she stays invisible long enough to snatch scholarships and swallows the slurs that follow.

But in a world where caution reads as cruelty, you are suddenly out of your depth. You’d called it mercy in your head—offering to regroup, trimming the thing before it frayed—yet the moment the word left your mouth you watched it hit him like a bullet, a neat, steaming hole opening his ribs.

You’ve seen Viktor teary with laughter, fucked out so damn well the irises rolled back catering you to a weirdly sexy, ghastly view of his whites; you have never seen him like that—face slack, breath arrested, grief rushing up unfiltered. Your stammered clarifications only packed the wound, dressing it with gauze made of panic. A single mis-chosen kindness, a dormitive principle in a fresh syringe: it numbed nothing, it only stopped the strongest muscle. Pretty phrasing, ugly phrasing—it comes down to the same plain sentence beating in your skull: you just broke his heart.

Nobody to judge you—beyond some god, if it’s even out there—you nearly crawl upstairs to bed, body begging for softness, brain refusing to halt the self-inflicted persecution. You fall face-flat, one leg slumped off the mattress, praying your snot-clogged breath won’t suffocate you in the night—or that it does.

Sunday is catatonic. You wake with a gaping need for Viktor’s angular body to smother yours, to have him splayed flat until you can count his ribs by the way they press into your belly; to feel his hands mould to your sides, carving the dip of your hips deeper. You spend the holy day paralysed in bed, face glued to the cell-phone screen, thumb working itself raw—typing, deleting, hovering—practising such fierce restraint over the send button that, by evening, the joint won’t even pop properly.

You cling to his promise of calling as the new week begins, then damn your past self for building a machine so efficient you have nothing left to busy your hands. So you make your body the substitute: wall-to-wall meetings, endless walk-throughs, pep talks delivered with missionary zeal to every electrician and understudy who crosses your path. From the mezzanine you look like the textbook picture of a tireless director—notes in one hand, headset in the other—while inside, hydrochloric acid eats slow tunnels through gut and heart.

Meals shrink to sips of burnt coffee and ulcer-bright energy drinks. The stabbing under your ribs? Stress, you insist, and the omnipresent urge to heave the whole damned universe out of your throat. Days smear into a cheap film montage: fierce heroine accepts every crisis with a stitched-on smile, nails the lighting cue, fields the donor call, signs off on costumes—then checks her phone in the wings, hope flaring and dying in the time it takes the screen to stay blank.

On Friday, Mel appears in your doorway like a stage-hand who’s lost the plot—huge grin, coat still half on, car keys dangling. You clock the performance in one glance: the smile’s painted, the eyes are all business.

“Save it,” you mutter, signing the last requisition. “You’d never survive callbacks with that face.”

She snorts, palms flat on your desk as if she could pry you loose by leverage alone. “Charlie,” she calls sweetly over her shoulder, “Director’s got a hard out in five.” Charlie—bless him—snaps a salute and vanishes, shutting the door with a click that leaves no escape.

“You’re being abducted,” Mel announces. “One drink, two at most. Doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t recall appointing you my physician,” you dead-pan, but she’s already collecting your coat, your bag, your half-drained coffee like props from a scene change.

Outside, the air tastes of wet concrete and spent adrenaline. You let her shepherd you down the block, each step peeling away the theatre’s fluorescent cling. She keeps a light hand at your elbow—no lecture, just ballast.

The pub is low-ceilinged, wood-warmed, mercifully dim and completely not fitting for someone like Mel, but it’s the first best spot. She plants you in a corner booth, orders something dark for herself and a gin for you, then waits until the silence starts to ring.

“Talk,” she says, soft but immovable.

You pick at the cardboard coaster, scabbed with old spills. Words feel like rusted hinges, yet they come: the fuck-ups, the panic, the no-contact. Viktor’s face. You don’t name the fear; it’s there, anyway, hanging between the pint glasses.

Mel listens the way good friends do—shoulders squared against the weight, eyes steady, not flinching when your own glass trembles. When you trail off, she nudges the gin across the table.

“Drink,” she instructs. “Hydrate the tragedies.”

You manage a laugh—weak, unexpected, but real. It scrapes something loose in your chest, and for the first time all week you breathe without tasting acid.

It does absolutely nothing in the department of perpetual terror of being abandoned, but does allow you to force down a bucket of chips and fall asleep listening to robotic voice of an online translator repeating “I love you,” in Czech.

Viktor’s week hasn’t been any kinder. He stalks the lab like a man carrying splinters under every fingernail—snaps at interns for breathing too close to the centrifuge, curses a pipette into early retirement when it drips on the bench. Jayce clocks the tempo by noon on Monday: glassware clinks harder, Viktor’s cane thumps wider arcs, and there’s a new bruise blooming on the stainless lid of the -80 °C freezer that no one will admit came from his elbow.

Tuesday, Jayce corners him at the autoclave—steam hissing, goggles fogged. “Hey, V. Hip again?” he asks, too casual to be casual.

Viktor tries the usual dodge. “Weather.” A shrug, a wince. “And incompetent hands.”

“That hip excuse is past its sell-by,” Jayce murmurs. He folds his arms, blocking the aisle with six-feet-plus of practiced immovability. “Talk.”

The word scrapes Viktor raw. He leans on the cane, shoulders pulled tight. “We… argued,” he says at last, voice pitched low, like admitting to a lab accident still under investigation. “It’s on... hiatus.”

Jayce’s brow knits until the two arches all but fuse—one disapproving caterpillar. “And you’ve been marinating in misery since?”

Viktor exhales, all brittle edges. He tells Jayce he needs some time to think, to crack this. Jayce reassures him it’s going to be fine with a clasp of a large hand on a bony shoulder and a smile so warm that, for a moment, the corners of Viktor’s lips twitch upward—then fall back down.

Truthfully, Viktor is still very angry with the entire universe. He points this anger in all directions and is fully aware it slows him down. So he waits until it simmers. Then, he reasons, he’ll be able to think clearly, dissect the whole misunderstanding, and present you with a perfect solution.

On Friday evening Viktor eyes the copy of The Memorandum after coming face-to-face with the random objects you’ve left in his apartment. Among baggy T-shirts and warm socks you never wear, he finds a pair of knickers—and from that point forward things just happen to him.

He sits on the bed and inhales. Blood forces its way down his cock involuntarily, and before he knows it Viktor is splayed on the mattress, hand down his pants, fisting bitterly while his mouth and nose fill with the narcotic scent of his favourite spot on this planet.

He wonders how many more times he’ll have to touch himself like this—rough, ashamed, balls clenched by sorrow—to thoughts of the ideal version of you. Is it fair to keep that version, to hold you up to it, when he’s spent four months convincing you you’re good enough as you are? He tries to harness the malice into something productive, retracing every moment he’s failed.

Emptying you of intrusive thoughts by filling you up with his cum has never failed, so he crosses that one off the list. Pushing the soggy safeword out of you—even though it felt like a sliver in the throat—did bear fruit; he wouldn’t take it back. It happens; it’s a learning curve. Disappearing for a week to lick the wounds of his malfunctioning flesh—he’s not proud of that, but it earned him the very good badge and an epic blowjob. That’s when he felt loved by you for the first time. He wouldn’t give it up, even though the sight of you crumbling in the kitchen is one of Viktor’s least favourites.

That’s where he stops—he should have pushed then, peeled back the layers to see what hurt was hiding. He should have questioned why the vanishing of something casual sent you into high-alert, made you claw from the cocoon. And then, of course, there’s the car. The desecrated driver’s seat reminds him of that evening every time he has to drive. He’s dealt with it—punished, kissed better—but something icy coils in Viktor’s stomach, telling him that perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted the incident as mere propellant to your I love you. The confession eclipsed how barricaded you are when it comes to speaking plainly.

Viktor rolls to his stomach, shoving the pillow aside. The waistband of his pants drags over hip-bones gone sharp with wanting; he works them halfway down and presses his face into the scrap of cotton you left behind. Your scent is faint, almost theoretical, but it sends a low voltage through his spine. Fists knot into the sheet, he ruts letting memory supply the heat of your body.

“Milovaná… miluji tě,” he whispers into the fabric, voice breaking. “Chybíš mi, má lásko.” I miss you. My love, I miss you.

The words melt into a ragged groan as release punches out of him—hot, sudden, blooming between boxer-cloth and mattress like a palm-sized spill of sunlight. For a heartbeat there’s only the throb, the emptying, the ghost of you under his tongue.

Post-nut clarity snaps the room into brutal focus. Suddenly the answer to where the compromise lies presents itself to him. Breathing hard, he reaches for his phone—half intent on confessing, half on erasing the impulse—and sees a new message from Mel:

Before you scoff... not intervening, just looking out for my friends. She’ll be home this weekend.Do with this what you wish.

The glow of the screen strobes across his damp cheek. Viktor wipes his hand on the sheet, pulls his pants back up with a shaky exhale, and stares at the text until the words steady into possibility.

Stars aligned, he thinks idly. And even though Viktor knows he’s stepping into the same river twice, he decides he needs you unprepared—no over-manufactured explanations, no speeches, no excuses, just you, pure and raw. He texts Mel back: Thank you for the tip.

Morning finds him rehearsing the plan like a theorem, turning every angle for fracture. Either this works, or one of you quits and plays trad-spouse—a laughable option, and certainly not yours. He settles on clothes that are neutral: nothing calculated to charm, nothing you’ve called a favourite. The hip flares; he ponders the crutch problem—wood or metal? Leaving it behind would be vanity, taking it might tilt the field with pity. Integrity wins: the crutch comes, plain aluminium, no appeal for sympathy.

Preparation takes so long the late-November light is already bruising toward dusk when he finally steps out, your copy of The Memorandum tucked beneath his arm—an escape hatch if words fail.

He knows the way by heart from that single evening. Another half-hour of dusk traffic puts him outside your block; he slots the car into the exact space where everything went wrong once. Your windows glow. For a beat he wonders if he should have brought flowers—and whether arriving unannounced makes him a creep. His palms are welded to the steering wheel, leaving damp ghosts when he pries them free. A cigarette would help, or vodka, but he has neither, only the thump of his heart in his throat.

The place is one of those narrow Hackney terraces—Victorian brick, two storeys, each slice of house glued side-to-side with the next. The mortar is soot-stained, window-frames a tired white; wheelie-bins huddle at the curb like gossiping pensioners. Your door, he realises now, is a brave red—paint scuffed at hip-level, brass letterbox dulled by London rain. A single upstairs sash spills lamplight onto the street, warm as theatre footlights. He wonders if there’s a handkerchief bit of yard out back where you keep the miscellaneous or drink furtive morning coffee, manually relaxes his shoulders, then takes the three shallow steps to that red door.

Knock. Nothing—imaginary belt tightening round his neck. He smooths the collar of his jumper, knocks again.

Footsteps, soft and barefoot. The door opens.

For a second you look gut-punched; then the mask slides on. “Hi,” you say, voice level, hands buried in the sleeves of an ancient hoodie.

Viktor wobbles on the crutch, exhales; the sound catches in his throat. “Hi yourself. Can I come in?”

You stare, unblinking. When the knock first sounded you considered doing what children do when parents aren’t home—pretend the flat is empty, hide under a blanket, breathe through cotton. Worst nightmare, greatest wish: the torment ends, but it finds you messy-haired and drowning in the ugliest sweatshirt you own. Still, it’s Viktor standing at the end of the silence, so you manage, “Y-yes. Of course.”

He follows, head slightly bowed, eyes everywhere. The hallway is narrow, overfull: coats stacked three deep on tired hooks, a small tide-pool of shoes along the skirting. Every spare patch of wall is postered and framed—proof that thirty meant trading Blu-Tack for glass. Low amber light spills from what he guesses is the lounge; a tight stair angles upward, probably to your bed. He draws breath to speak—

“How have you—”

“—Do you want tea?”

The words collide. You flinch, half-laugh, half-wince. Viktor tilts his head. “If you’d rather we go straight to it—”

“Please,” you whisper, already backing toward the kitchen. Still, habit wins: kettle filled, switched on, the rattle of teaspoons.

He lingers in the doorway, scanning. Little wooden table squeezed between fridge and wall; cupboards with coloured-glass panes reveal a riot of mismatched mugs. “I’ve come with a mundane solution to what seems a very tangled calamity,” he says to your back, voice low. “But first we need to talk. Really talk. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” You drop the tea-bags—rat tails of string curling over cup rims. Yours already holds a slug of milk—something, Viktor thinks, best never confessed to anyone English.

You hand him the mug, fingers brushing his for half a second longer than manners allow, then retreat to the counter—hardened clay shield held tight to your ribs. Steam rises between you. The hush is weighty, almost chemical, before Viktor draws one deliberate breath and breaks it.

“Have I been too severe with you?” His voice is calm on the surface, but the question trembles so much it makes the inside of the cup quiver as he lifts it, the mug picking up his pulse.

Tea nearly goes down the wrong way; you cough once, twice, blink blind. He’s asking outright, no soft lead-in, and the words jam in your throat. At last you manage a clipped, “What—?” pulse hammering at the hinge of your jaw.

Viktor steps closer, sets his cup on the table with surgeon’s care. “Have I been too strict? Too raw? Did I push you to do something you never wanted?” Each clause is a bead on wire, counted off with the same steady cadence he uses when calming your lungs after a scene.

“That’s not— Why are you asking me this?” Your voice catches on the word asking, shredded by surprise and an edge of hurt.

“Because I have to know that it’s not me you are afraid of,” he says, the calm cracking, earnest spilling through. “Please, answer me.”

The room tunnels to the two of you. “No,” you breathe, shaking your head hard enough to sting. “You haven’t.”

Viktor exhales, relieved. He folds one palm under his armpit as if bracing. “All right. Pretend last week never happened, no fallout, clean slate.” His eyes search your face, naked hope and a flick of self-contempt for needing it. “When you look at me now—what’s the first thing you want to do?”

Your lips part, stall. “Viktor, I—” Words snarl in the doorway of your mouth. “Can you at least tell me what you’re doing?”

“Can you trust me?” he says, voice dropping. “Even if it’s the last time.”

You swallow, feel the answer rise from somewhere behind bruised ribs. “I… I want to kiss you.” The confession is barely sound, but it rolls through the quiet like thunder far off, undeniable and alive.

Viktor’s fingers drum once on the rim of his cup on the table, then still. The question leaves him quiet-voiced, almost casual, but his gaze pins you where you stand. “Why don’t you?”

You shift, mug clutched to your ribs. “Because I’m—” You clear your throat, cheeks hot.

A single brow rises. “Yes?” The prompt is gentle, but it presses.

“Because I’m… scared.” The confession tastes metallic on your tongue.

He inclines his head, trying to catch your eyes. “What are you scared of?”

Your stare skates off to the cluttered fridge magnets. “That you don’t want me to.” The admission is a featherweight thing.

“If I don’t, I’ll tell you,” he says, tone even, patient. “And you’ll respect it. What do you want?”

Hands tightening, you force the syllables out. “I want to kiss you.”

A slow breath lifts his shoulders. “I don’t want you to kiss me now.” He watches the words hit, then adds, softer, “How does that make you feel?”

“Rejected.” It slips before pride can dam it; you feel the flush climb your throat.

Viktor nods once, as though logging data. “Do you understand that love isn’t expressed only through physical affection?”

Heat spikes behind your eyes. “Did you come here to play mind tricks on me?”

“Not at all.” He rolls the crutch in his hand, so his palms face you, empty. “I’m trying to show you something—and I thought if speaking’s hard, answering might be easier. Do you know that touch isn’t the sole language of love?”

You huff, a brittle laugh. “Viktor, I’m not a child. Of course I do.”

“Then why,” he asks, voice threading with quiet urgency, “do you think I don’t want you to kiss me now?”

“Because,” you mutter, heartbeat loud in your ears. With a small hop you settle onto the counter, knees knocking together, “you’re angry with me.”

Viktor shakes his head. “No.” His tone stays even, but the tremor in his fingers betrays strain. “If I let you kiss me, I’ll fold. Then I’ll fuck you, things will feel fixed, and we still won’t talk. I need the talk, or we lose this.” He takes one step closer, palms open. “That’s a boundary—it’s healthy, necessary. I’m telling you because I respect you, not because I’m angry.” His voice drops. “I told you once: I don’t get angry at you. Only at myself.”

“That’s worse,” you whisper, scrubbing at your eyes. “You make me feel even more guilty.”

“I’m not making you guilty; you’re doing that yourself.” His shoulders sag; he exhales through his nose. “I’ve every right to be angry with my own complacency—my fear. Why do you feel guilty?”

“Because… I—I fucked it up.” The confession rips out on a sob; tears slip, hot and sudden, dotting the sweatshirt where your fists knot in the fabric. You hunch tighter, as if you could tuck the sound back inside your ribs.

“Don’t cry.” He says your name, firm but gentle, and reaches for your hand, fingers threading through yours. “Look at me—breathe. Now: why do you think you ‘fucked it up’?”

“Because I’m scared,” you repeat, voice thinned to wire. You feel him wait—utterly still, utterly patient—until the words can walk.

When he asks again, “What are you scared of?” it lands different: not interrogation, but invitation. He eases closer, bends so only he can hear, and the kitchen hush feels like an operating theatre—your chest cracked open under white light.

Exhale. “That I’ll… depend on you.” The admission quivers in the space between his mouth and your ear. “And you’ll leave when I fail you.” Saying it feels like pushing bone through skin; your pulse roars, colours bloom behind your eyelids. Viktor draws a trembling breath of his own—recognition, relief, a hint of something like awe—because he knows this is the marrow, the place it actually hurts, and you have rested it in his bare hands.

You balance on the lip of the counter, legs dangling. It feels like confessing on a precipice. Viktor’s close enough that the heat of his body raises a prickle along your shins, but he doesn’t touch—only waits, eyes steady, as if holding out a cloak for whatever jagged thing you’ll hand him.

He brushes a strand from your cheek, knuckle barely grazing skin. “Fail me how?” His voice is paper-soft, but the question lodges in your chest.

“By not making time.” The words scrape out, one by one. “By working too much—by putting the work first. By…” Your shoulders cave, breath hitching. “I don’t know—just by being the way I am.”

“What did I tell you that first morning?” The volume drops again; you feel it more than hear it.

A long exhale. “That you’d take only what I give.”

“And you don’t believe it?”

“I have no idea,” you whisper, throat closing. “I definitely don’t deserve it. Or rather—you deserve more.”

Viktor’s mouth quirks, pained. “Maybe I’ve been too lax with you,” he muses. His eyes study your face, as if reading footnotes in the dark. “The week without you was—hard. I shouldn’t have come unannounced.”

You draw breath to protest, but he lifts a finger. “Let me finish. Parts of me—important parts—are dependent on you. That’s normal. That’s human.” His palm comes up, cradling your jaw, thumb resting in the soft groove beneath your ear. “I overstepped. But your silence helped it grow teeth. If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I stumble in the dark.”

“You didn’t make a mistake,” you insist. “I panicked.”

“What triggered it?”

Your gaze drops to his chest; words snag on every heartbeat. “I—” You swallow, try again. “I have never broken up with anyone. I’m the one who gets left. And I’m always honest—from the start—about my life. They say it’s fine, they say they love me, but then—”

“They show up at work unannounced,” he finishes for you, voice low and raw.

“Among other things,” you murmur, ashamed.

A beat stretches. Then his thumb brushes the damp track of a tear you hadn’t noticed. “I am sorry,” Viktor breathes, syllables fractured with sincerity. He puts his crutch aside and takes your face in both hands, patient as sunrise. “Sorry I made the old ghosts louder.”

“Viktor,” you plead, voice cracking, tears all back to welling.

“I am,” he murmurs. “And I am sorry for not talking to you for a week. But I have used this week to think about us.” Viktor speaks so carefully, so softly that the word us makes it nearly impossible to honour his request not to kiss him.

“And the only thing that came to me is”—his forehead rests against yours as he draws a bracing breath—“that I love you more than anything you could do wrong.”

This—this right there, a secret ingredient that no one else figured out, only him. The vocal acknowledgement of your flaws being a reality, and then the reality of being loved despite. Somehow this means more to you than all the praise and all the confessions, because you find yourself truly believing him.

Breath arrested, tears sliding down your cheeks from eyes open so wide your socket muscles begin to ache, you breathe—

“Why?”

“Because, you are,” Viktor stammers, closes his eyes. “You are very good,” he says through a nervous chuckle. “But you need to talk to me, or this won’t work, do you understand me?”

“I’m so sorry.” Finally you find a way to animate your arms. They come to wrap around his neck and pull him so close you can whisper into his ear, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“Don’t.” He cradles the base of your skull and rocks you both. Bodies fit as though made for the groove: his hips between your thighs, his nose buried into the safety of your clavicle. “We’ll get through it, but you have to work with me, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod, resting your head on his shoulder. Silence pools. Then: “What about you?”

“Are you asking my weak spots?”

“Yes.”

“Clearly: not knowing things,” Viktor admits, smile tilting. “Being out of control,” he adds, fingertips tracing the back of your neck.

You pull away just enough to look him in the eye. “And what is your mundane solution?”

It’s Viktor’s turn to stare. His hands still and he blinks a few times. It’s now or never, he tells himself. Test the theory, check the virtue of his genius and affinity for simple answers to complex questions. He draws a breath and whispers into your mouth, “Move in with me.”

To his utter terror, you freeze completely. Lips part and Viktor worries he just gave you a stroke, by the look on your face. It’s blank and perilous, so he fumbles for further explanations to support his plea. “It’s... less commuting. And we would still have evenings together. Or nights. Islington is closer to Southbank than Hackney, and you already… oh, you don’t like the idea?”

“Viktor,” you manage.

“What?”

You cradle his face with both hands. Trembling fingers trace his features—his brows, cheekbones, mouth, as if you have just discovered him. “Why are you so good? Why are you so good I—” you mumble, utterly stunned, “I can’t be this good, I don’t know how—”

“You are good,” Viktor says, seizing your hands in his, kissing your knuckles. “Shh—come here.” He draws you in until chests meet.

“I love you,” you say, fisting his jumper. “I’m so, so scared.”

“What of?”

“Of all this”—you bow your head, looking down—“I am ashamed to take all of this”—your palms flatten on his chest, heartbeat obvious underneath—“all that you are giving, I—”

“No, don’t be,” he kisses your forehead. “Tell me what you need. Don’t ask for it, just tell me.”

“Love me,” you breathe into his mouth, opening for a kiss that brings life, “love me and,” tongue out, an offering, when you tell him, “don’t leave me, I beg you don’t leave me.”

“My darling girl,” Viktor exhales, “where would I go?”

You snort a phlegmy chuckle. “God, I missed you so much. It hurts to be without you.”

“I know. It hurt me too,” he says, taking a long whiff of your skin. “What is it going to be, then?”

“Christ, yes,” you hug him tightly—legs locked around his hips, arms around his neck. “I’ll move to Islington for you.”

Viktor draws a breath through this full-body shackle as if he’s just been born. “Ah, there she is,” he manages through the squeeze. “Working-class girl convinced to move to a nice neighbourhood,” he teases, but it’s all fondness. “Tragedy in three acts.”

“Not forced,” you raise a finger. “Convinced.”

You release him and look properly for the first time this evening—his face tired but relaxed; eyes wider since he stepped inside; forehead lines softened, smile lines deeper. You see him as he is: benevolent and tender and firm. And so utterly in love. “You can do anything you want with me,” you tell him.

“Anything?”

A slow nod, eyes locked.

“Kiss me.”

You brush your nose against his, hover—lips a hair’s breadth from each other. At first it’s the dry whisper of mouth on mouth, a shared breath. Viktor’s palms find your waist, thumbs dig into soft flesh of your sides. You part for him by degrees, letting the warmth bloom—his lower lip caught between yours, then released; the soft scrape of stubble grazing your chin.

He deepens it by tilting your head, tongue asking, then tasting. Your fingers slide up the back of his neck, thread into hair; you anchor there, answering the coaxing pull with a languid stroke of your own. A sigh—yours, or his—spills into the curve of the kiss.

Viktor’s hands slide lower, cupping your ass, steering the angle until you feel the slow, sure roll of his hips. Heat gathers where his fingers press; the kiss lengthens, each seal and part a promise: deeper, slower, more. When you finally break, breath mingling, the room feels newly mapped—its centre fixed wherever your mouths might meet again.

“I want to make love to you in your bed,” he breathes, eyes closed. “Spit in your mouth. Manhandle you. Humiliate you a bit.” His tongue flicks out to wet the drought of his mouth. “Fuck you while telling you how much I love you. How much I missed all of you,” he says, leaving a slick trail along your jaw. “Your beautiful mind.” A hand closes around your throat. “Your sweet cunt.” Another teases between your legs. “Your heart next to mine.”

Your hips buck into his, palms come to rest on his chest—two parts of you fighting against each other. “I should shower first,” you whisper, timid.

The smile that slices Viktor’s face is merciless. “No, no.” He shakes his head, wicked. “I want you dirty,” he mutters, licking a stripe of hot adoration into your throat. When you wince, he scolds, “I wasn’t asking. Take me to your bedroom.”

“It’s upstairs,” you murmur.

Viktor hooks his crutch under one arm, threads his free fingers through yours. The climb is slow, narrow-stair slow: one step, plant the crutch, draw breath, next step. You stay beside him, shoulder brushing shoulder, pretending it’s to steady him when really you’re steadying yourself.

He scans everything—posters layered like sediment, snapshots of Jayce and Mel, a younger you tucked between parents who look startled by the flash. Diplomas, framed reviews, a chipped trophy from some long-ago youth festival. He drinks it in, and you feel sixteen again, smuggling a boy up to your room in Staines, terrified he’ll see the mess and think less of you.

The bedroom is exactly that mess: clothes puddled, books stacked in geological strata, duvet kicked halfway to the floor. Viktor’s gaze lingers, soft with recognition. Eclectic, chaotic, principled chaos—a traveller’s camp you try to make home when hours allow. He loves it; you can tell by the way his mouth almost smiles.

At the threshold you turn, heart hammering.

“What do you want?” he asks—voice low, searching.

Your palm cups the swell behind his fly. “I want to—” you swallow, heat rushing up your neck—���lie down? I want to—”

For a moment there Viktor forgets who he is and considers splaying himself flat on the floor so you can have your way with him. But seeing your expression he rules with this kind of willingness he can extract nothing but absolute obedience from you and the opportunity is just too tempting. “You can do that from your knees,” he says, tone warm. His crutch rests against the wardrobe; he waits. “Colour?”

“Green.” Your knees meet carpet, toes curled under, the crooked soles he’s kissed and cherished tilting up behind. Fingers work his belt—leather hisses, buckle clinks. You pull it out of the loops and hand the strip of it up; he takes it.

Tug trousers and briefs together; fabric slides. His cock spills free, half-hard, glossy at the tip. So pretty already. You nose the soft heft of his balls, mouth him in that in-between state—soft enough to coax wider, firm enough to make your jaw stretch. Tongue traces the seam of his balls; his groan drops through his body like a stone.

“Fu-huuck.” The sound shears from Viktor—half-laugh, half-groan. His palm brackets the back of your skull and eases you in until the musk at his root ghosts your breath. “Just look at you,” he husks, hips rocking. “From a polite ‘not opposed’… to this.” A belt dangles from his fingers, lazy threat, gleaming promise. “Wilful creature.”

He drags the leather across your nape like a ribbon of heat, then lets it hang—a dark medallion—while his other hand tilts your chin. His voice frays to a slur. “Do you trust me to keep you?”

Your eyes swim. You hum around him—yes, yes—throat vibrating along the thickening length. The pulse of it kicks against your tongue, punches a helpless curse from his chest.

Outside observers would take this snapshot and swear it’s deviant: the lover arriving unannounced, interrogating, then pinning the other to their knees. They’d never taste the sweetness threaded through the shame. They’d never grasp how twin flames, chipped by distance, flare brighter the moment they collide.

You’ve longed for this: the raw scrape of carpet under your kneecaps, the tomorrow-bruise at the hinge of your jaw, the ache in your throat that no fever can mimic. But mostly you’ve missed the way Viktor looks down at you—like every fragment of you finally makes sense under his gaze.

Gag. Breathe. Gag again. Each choke is a Morse-code confession: I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. Your nails ruck the skin at his hips, begging More of you. All of you. Now.

And Viktor reads your touch like a language only two of you speak. Belt hung from your neck, his spine bows, shadowed muscles signing. Fingers gentle at your cheeks, he feeds himself deeper, slow, until your nose meets the soft thatch at his base and your lungs drink in the warm salt of him. Home.

He crumbles—dissolves on your tongue—trying his best to keep it together, but your heat nearly lacerates him. “No taps?” he rasps, hoping for a reprieve. Then, steadier: “Come, my love.” He reaches for your hands. “Undress me.”

You comply, slow and ceremonial. The jumper lifts first; dragging soft wool over his raised arms; static snaps his hair into stray halos. Buttons follow—each tiny pop exposing more pallor, more rise-and-fall of ribs. You nudge trousers and briefs to mid-calves. Viktor’s eyes flutter, the dark of them gone nebular with want.

His patience breaks. Fist curling in your sweatshirt, he peels the cotton up and off in one long tug. Before the fabric clears, his mouth claims the underside of your breast—teeth, tongue, a sting that turns molten as you arch. Fingers tunnel through his hair, pulling him closer. A hand slides down the front of your shorts, spreads flat over soaked cotton, middle finger easing seam to skin.

A pleased hum vibrates into your chest. “So wet already,” he murmurs, voice like split velvet. “Have you been leaking for me all week?”

“How could I not,” you manage, pulse thumping at your throat “when you’re so damn breathtaking? Not that I’m doing much breathing around you.”

“Smart mouth.” A sigh, then: “always knows where to cut.” He chuckles, low and menacing, though boyish blush peppers his cheeks. “You know where smart-assing gets you, hmm?”

“Fun places?” You gamble, rocking into the heat of his palm.

“Hm.” Viktor eases the belt’s tongue back through the buckle, tightening it snug enough that you feel every slow drag of leather. He’s tired, you hear it in the sanded edges of his breath, but his cock twitches, half-hard, bobs and drools, still glossy from your mouth’s work. “Fun for me,” he goes on, lifting your chin with the leash until you meet his gaze, “and we’ll see how fun three hours of edging is for you… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” There’s pout in it, but the sound breaks on quiet relief: he isn’t leaving.

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, tugging until you’re nose-to-nose. “An installment plan for brats. Tonight I’ve planned something else.”

The word planned makes you soften; you press your face to his, hands smoothing up his chest, tenderness sneaking in.

He shudders, the simple touch nearly enough to crack whatever discipline holds. “What’s this?” he whispers, catching your wrist. “No more attitude?”

“It’s not gone,” you murmur. “Just…moderated.” The admission earns a soft laugh you feel in the cage of his ribs.

Fingers trace your cheek, reverent and teasing all at once. Then, sweet as a lullaby: “Bed. All fours.” A playful slap lands on your ass, sending heat skittering.

The rest of his clothes fall in a careless drift. You kick free of your shorts, shuffle onto the mattress, knees and palms planted firmly, leaving you all exposed for him. Your pulse climbs, the belt swings between your breasts, warm from his hand.

Viktor draws his trousers down, cock hanging heavy, but pauses. He just watches, drinking you in, as though every freckle and bruise is proof he’s home. The sight alone makes him throb; he closes his fist once at the base to calm the ache. Bed springs sigh as he rests his crutch within reach and sits behind you. When you arch, expecting him to slide in, he only trails knuckles down the centre of you, feather-light, maddening.

Both hands spread as he kneads your ass, sinks his teeth into the swell until you gasp. “Do you have any idea how many brat points you’ve racked up?” His breath skims the bite.

You risk it: “I don’t know—fifty?”

A hoarse chuckle. “It was three. Now it’s four.”

“Four spanks? That all you’ve got?” you taunt, dropping to your forearms, cheek to the sheet, gaze dragging back to meet his.

“Not spanks,” he murmurs, teasing the end of the belt. “Orgasms.”

“V—” The name breaks into a whine as his mouth seals to you. It isn’t the quick reclaim of a starving man; it’s slow savouring, a litany of little nuzzles and licks, as if every second apart must be kissed away one taste at a time. Shame prickles up your spine; your hips try a timid retreat, self-conscious of sweat, of your skin being scented with a whole day of bed-rotting.

Viktor breaks for a breath, lips slick, eyes dark. “Are you worried you’re too dirty for me, my girl?” He reaches between your legs for a playful tug on the belt looped at your throat. “Let’s fuck that shame out, shall we?” He dives again, tongue flattened, dragging from the swell of your entrance to the fluttering pulse below. Between strokes he plants small, sloppy kisses—wet pops that make you jolt. “You are so sweet anyway,” he murmurs against swollen flesh, the words a vibration that buzzes straight to bone.

You feel the softness of his tongue eager for solace, his exhaustion in the tremor of his breath, his devotion in the way he holds your hips like a priceless thing.

Your breaths hitch, then stabilize—trust settling in your muscles—and with each pass of his tongue you give up a fraction more of the fear that chased you all week. Beneath you, the bed smells like detergent and dust; behind you, Viktor smells like his shampoo and the warm musk of man who’s been missing you too hard to sleep.

Two fingers slide in beside his tongue; the stretch spears a moan from deep in your throat. “Sorry,” you gasp, startled by your own volume.

“Don’t you dare,” he chides, lips shining. “I want every sound.” He crooks those fingers just right, just there, and the apology melts to a raw, fractured cry. Heat spreads, slick pooling; his palm grows wet as he rocks, pads brushing that hidden knot again, again, until nerves spark white. Your cunt grips, pulses; he groans into you like it’s sustenance, letting your slick run over his knuckles, down his wrist.

Pressure builds—blissful and destructive. You plant your forearms, spine arching, crown of your head sinking into the quilt as your body bows. A single, high keen rips loose; hips buck, chasing the last perfect drag of his tongue. Release hits—full, grateful—muscles clamping around his fingers while your chest sinks into the mattress, breath punched out in ragged bursts.

And Viktor doesn’t fucking stop. “That’s one,” he warns softly, voice gravelled with pride and promise, lips brushing where you beg for a break. He kisses your lips as if they were your mouth. Torn between enduring and wriggling away, you whimper into the sheet, and he finds some mercy in him. It’s shaped like three fingers and the loop of the belt tightening around your throat, but his tongue finally leaves you.

As soon as you become fuller, hunger rears its ugly head up again. You’re reminded what it is like with him—what it is like to have the fat of a muscle claimed by his teeth, his fingers plunged deep and wide, and from every touch devotion bleeds. He fucks you slow with his hand and tightens the leash. “Tap the bed if you need to breathe,” he says, thumb brushing your abused clit.

And so it goes, the ritual of taking you apart and putting you back together. Viktor is a careful engineer. He enjoys the process more than the finish line and understands that perfecting it will be his life’s work. He thrusts straight in and out, spreading his fingers once deep inside, coaxing slick to drool out of you. Control in all aspects, acute to every shiver of skin, he watches: the side of your face reddening from the collar up, your mouth hanging agape drawing shallow breaths, sweat pearling the well of your back. The scent of your heat, sweet and cloying on the walls of his throat, he memorizes.

He feels like a god, having something so fierce yielding to him, and he hasn’t even had to use his cock yet. “Má sladká lásko,” Viktor coos, sweet love dripping off his tongue. “Podívej, jak se mi rozpadáš v rukou,” he mutters, all to himself—Look at yourself, how you fall apart in my hands—as if you could observe your own undoing.

One palm wrapped with the belt twice, he prepares to release you—trying to time another influx of pleasure with allowing you to draw a full breath. He watches your hands fisting the sheet, anticipates. Wrist working itself to exertion, thumb a steady pressure on your clit, Viktor drinks in the sight of you coiling and writhing with eyes wide open, wicked smile on his face. “Come for me,” he says, letting go of the leash, and you break for him so hard your knees slide and mouth drools. Lovely, Viktor thinks.

Your whimpers dissolve into nonsense—small, frantic vowels that even you can’t translate. Viktor strokes the side of your thigh, thumb light on your pulse.

“What do you need from me, my dear girl?” His voice is velvet-rough, half command, half concern.

“Please… I’ve been good,” you breathe, though the words blur behind a hitch of want. You have no idea what you’re asking for. Just him, just something him, anything him.

A low hum in his chest. “Have you?” His brow lifts, reminding, reproving. “Last time I saw you, you were quite mean to me. Are you sorry?”

“Yes,” it rushes out, raw and immediate. “I’m so sorry. Please—I need you close, please.” You roll onto your back, arms reaching, palms open like a child asking to be lifted.

He comes, slow, knees sliding between yours until the length of him hovers, heat to heat. “I haven’t even fucked you yet, moje děvče,” he murmurs, smug curved into every syllable—yet the moment he sees your face, hubris softens. Eyes huge, mouth parted, you look breakable in the lamplight: all trust, all ache.

Something in him buckles. Viktor braces on his elbows, caging you without weight, forehead brushing yours. He breathes you in—sweat, salt, traces of himself—and lets the exhale fall across your lips like confession.

“I love you,” he says, voice no bigger than a sigh, shaking with candour. “I love you so terribly.”

You make a sound, soft and pained, and shackle him with your arms and legs. The missing part of you returns—Viktor’s weight on your chest and stomach, his hips digging into yours, his ribs pressing dents into your skin. Now you can breathe. “I love you,” you tell him, all trembling. “Můj milovaný.”

Viktor’s eyes fog with water and he laughs to cover the stumbling of breath, but the cackle lands too high-pitched to hide anything. “What are you doing to me?” he mutters into your neck, squeezing his lids shut. Můj milovaný. My beloved. He’s had you in his chest already, and somehow you’ve just found a way to crawl deeper.

You nudge him with your nose. “Fuck me. Please, I feel so empty.”

He huffs an exhale and reaches down to the hinge of your knee, guiding your leg up. Your calf presses against his shoulder and his hip is cushioned on the back of your thigh. Clever contraption, like only Viktor can devise. With gravity working in his favour, he fists himself at the base and drags the whole length of his cock through your wet core.

“Well, of course,” Viktor says, trying to sound unbothered. “We are still two orgasms short, I believe.”

But you’re so sex-drunk you don’t rise to the tease. Your fingers slide into his hair—tender, wanting—and you kiss him so sweetly Viktor sighs into your mouth and slides his cock right inside you with a punched-out groan.

“Oh god, yes.” The words hiss out like steam, all you’ve ever wanted condensed to this single ache of being filled. Your heel digs into the small of his back, urging him deeper; Viktor answers with a shaky laugh, delighted, overwhelmed.

He loosens the leather loop—decides he wants the work done by his own hands. One palm wraps your jaw, thumb pressing your chin down. “Open,” he murmurs. You do, obedient as breath. He spits—warm, dull salt—and it lands on your waiting tongue. “Swallow.”

The command coincides with a slow surge of his hips: he sinks to the root, holds, rolls. Each grind drags his navel across your clit, sparks flaring back to full fire. Your folded thigh meets your chest; leverage tightens the fit until you can feel his pulse inside the walls of you.

He kisses you then—no finesse, just need—tongue sweeping flat, tasting his claim. Two fingers hook past your lower lip, keeping your mouth open as he begins the rhythm: draw back, drive in, grind. ��My gorgeous girl,” he rasps, breath fanning your cheek, “how I love you.” Another thrust, deep, just deep. “I’ll fuck it into you,”—a stronger drive—“until it’s the only truth you know.”

The rhythm turns to wet thunder—thick, dragging glides that end in a roll so devastating you jolt on the mattress. Every push rocks your ribcage against his, every withdrawal sears a band of raw need up your spine.

Viktor’s fingers stay hooked in your mouth, lips stretched wide around them. His other hand collars your throat—pulse trapped under the pad of his thumb—squeezing soft, releasing, squeezing again. Air and blood flutter; the world tunnels to the throb where he lives inside you.

For him it’s gut-wrenching bliss: the slick heat of you gripping, unclenching, tugging him back from the brink only to fling him closer the next stroke. Sweat drips off his jaw onto your chest; each tremor in your walls makes him grunt, helpless, a low gravel that vibrates through your sternum.

Your neck arches—an offering without thought—mouth opening wider as he rocks you up the slope of one more climax. Pleasure skitters along every raw nerve, almost too sharp. You try to shake your head, words garbled around his hand, vision blurred with tears. “I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coos, voice molten gravel. “One more. I’ll let the last one slide—just give me this.” The promise lands like heat on bare skin.

He feels the tell-tale flutter, tightens his hand, drives in hard and stays, pelvis grinding your clit in ruthless circles. “Come on, my darling—let me feel it, show me.” His mouth finds your ear, spills filth dipped in sugar.

Body protesting, your brain soaks every syllable like a sponge, a neural rewire. “Miláčku,” he whispers, “you get so tender with me. Is it only for me?”

“Yes,” comes a mouthed breath, barely making it out through your throat cinched tight. Cunt squeezes, chasing that high, almost there, you can almost feel it, almost touch it.

“Ano, just like that—” Fingers corded at your throat stroke the frantic beat. “Milk me, show me whose girl you are,” he says, and to enforce it he slides deeper, the glide greedy, grateful.

You bend to his will—muscles tightening, trying to pull him farther inside. Viktor’s laugh roughens, small and stunned.

He rocks, measured torture: out, in, the burn of fullness followed by relief and back again. Palm slickened by your mouth skims down, thumb circling the slick crest of your clit until your breath breaks against his lips. “Ah, fuck—” he sighs, strained, control fraying, “naplním tě až po okraj.” A ragged thrust punctuates the promise. “Tomorrow you’ll walk with me sliding down your thighs,” Viktor breathes along your jaw, lips hot, scorching your skin.

The words hit that excruciating spot the same instant his cock does, and the coil snaps. You seize around him, a sob ripping free as everything locks then shatters—heat rolling out in brutal waves. Your hands flail, then slide down his damp face to clutch his chest, nails slipping on sweat-slick skin.

Viktor moans—loud, raw—eyes rolling back while your aftershocks pulse around him. He rides it out, hips jerking through the clutch of your orgasm, desperate to empty every ounce of himself into the quaking hold of you, until the room is just harsh breath and the wet sound of bodies finally, blissfully, spent.

Your throat gets released and the way he moves, it threatens a loss. Before Viktor can lift, you cling to him with a soft whimper. “No,” you whisper. “Stay. Stay, please.”

“Darling, I need to sit. Wait,” he tells you, and you let go in an instant, neediness battling reason. He eyes your face, and it becomes clear that it would be the greatest tragedy for you if he pulled out now. So, with massive effort—humouring your fragile brain—Viktor guides you to roll over onto him, bend your legs, and sit up to straddle his hips. You pull his arms to help him, wrap your legs around his waist, and glue yourself to his chest. Pleased that he has managed to stay inside, you purr into his shoulder.

“How are you?” Viktor asks, smoothing damp strands from your temple and ridding your throat of the belt.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to four,” you murmur, your mouth shaping apology against the hollow of his collarbone.

“You were wonderful,” he answers, tilting your chin until your eyes meet. The look you give him is all glaze and afterglow, yet his brow still knits—double-checking. “Are you dropping?”

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head, fingers combing back through his sweat-dark curls. A breathy laugh slips out. “I think I dropped and got yanked right back up in the middle.”

His own chuckle rumbles through your ribs. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no.” You trace the angle of his cheekbone, feather-light. “Viktor, you are amazing.” He mirrors the gesture, thumb skating your bottom lip, eyes vacant. “Are you all right?” you ask him. He nods, pressing two fingers past your lips, letting you taste the salt and musk of what you just were.

“Yes,” he murmurs while you suck softly, and it’s all just so gentle. “Just stiff—and tired.” His eyes stay on yours, half-dazed, as though the simple act of your tongue licking at his knuckles is a lullaby. The moment hangs, tender as damp linen.

You release him with a quiet pop. “Will you stay?” It lands between you, fragile. You tuck your face against his jaw and clarify, barely louder than a breath: “For the night. With me.”

Viktor’s grin flares—wide, unguarded, all teeth and relief. He nods, keeps nodding as his mouth finds yours again—slow, sealing the promise. “Yes,” he breathes into you. “Yes.”

You stay joined until his pulse ebbs and the heat inside you cools. When the first tremor of exhaustion shakes your thighs, you push up onto your knees. Viktor’s softening cock slips free with a wet gasp, and you whine at the emptiness. He follows the sound with his hands, palms wide, smearing the thick mix that leaks from you down the curve of each thigh.

“So pretty,” he croons, thumb painting lazy crescents in the mess. The praise punches straight to your chest.

“Shower?” you ask, half-hopeful, half-bashful.

“That depends,” Viktor says, eyebrow hitching. “Must I conquer those stairs again?”

You snort, stepping off the mattress on unsteady feet. “Relax, old man. This establishment boasts two bathrooms. One’s right down the hall.”

“In that case—” He eases upright, and you offer an arm; he leans on you the way a weary pilgrim leans on a shrine, scoops up his crutch, and lets you guide him across the landing—both of you naked, flushed, ridiculous with contentment.

The upstairs bath is a time capsule: tiny flower-print tiles, avocado sink, plants crowding a fog-filmed window. While you unstack fresh towels, Viktor drifts, touching everything like a blind man mapping Braille. A squat perfume flask catches him; he pops the cap, inhales, and for an instant you watch Soho flicker behind his eyes—angry neon, jealous whiskey, the way he’d fucked you open against the cold sink. All so different now.

“Already snooping?” you tease, hip nudging his.

“Just preparing,” he answers, dry, replacing the bottle. “I’d like to know what I’ll smell like when I emerge from this very girly bathroom.”

You roll your eyes—but when you slide the shower door open he discovers the real evidence: the same shower gel he uses standing at attention among your bottles. He lifts it, brow arched in gentle accusation.

“What?” you mutter, cheeks hot. “I… missed you.” For a moment Viktor looks like he’s going to disintegrate right there.

A spike of worry flares—you can almost see the picture forming in his head: you alone, bathing in his scent, listening to a robotic voice reciting I love you in Czech while you cry yourself to sleep. Not far from the truth, and the shame prickles under your ribs.

But he only melts, stupidly lovestruck, blind to the pathetic tableau you fear. “You,” he says, voice thick with fond disbelief, “are so unbearably sweet.” Water beats down, rolling off your joined foreheads as he kisses you—slow, drowning, the steam wrapping two bodies into one.

Back in the bedroom, you lie tucked beneath his shoulder, Viktor’s fingertips drawing idling paths across your temple, his mouth occasionally brushing your brow.

“Shit,” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums, already half-asleep, a wordless hm?

“We’re really going to live together.”

“Having second thoughts?” A lazy smile ghosts his lips.

“No. Just—” You huff a breath. “I’ve never lived with anyone. Not properly. Parents, then uni dorms, but that’s different.”

He nuzzles your hair. “It’s like living alone, but there’s one more person.”

“You don’t say, genius.” A helpless laugh slips out.

Viktor chuckles, chest rumbling under your cheek. “We’ll figure it out, lásko. One cupboard at a time.”

You close your eyes, heart settling. “One cupboard at a time.”

Sleep takes you mid-sentence, the two of you poured together like cooling metal: limbs heavy, breath slow, nothing left to dream.

Dawn pries a crack of light across the ceiling. You surface alone—sheet strangled round your waist, cheek mashed to the mattress. When your hand reaches sideways it finds only cool linen. Panic snaps you upright, the world still syruped with sleep: it didn’t happen, you imagined him, he left.

You stumble naked toward the doorway, vision grainy, heart clanging. The hallway tilts—until Viktor steps through, hair messy, crutch tucked under one arm, a glass of water in the other.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

Air rushes out of you. “Oh, thank god.” You clamp around him, forehead to his collarbone, arms locked. “I thought… I thought you weren’t here.”

He wedges the glass onto the dresser, frees his hand, sets the crutch aside. Long palms coast to your shoulders, firm enough to anchor. “I’m here. Bathroom run, that’s all. I have you.”

You shiver, half-awake, a raw black-hole pull of need you have no name for. Viktor tips your chin, checks your eyes, then turns his hands palm-up, inviting.

You place yours against them—curled, shaking—and he begins the silent mapping. Thumb tracing the life-line in your left hand, fore-finger wandering the tendons of your wrist, up the warm, secret channel of the inner forearm. Slow, careful cartography: pulse points, freckles, the faint ridge of an old stage burn. He never stops looking at you until your gaze wavers, lids lowering under the weight of it. Then his eyes close too, and the sight of you is traded for a study in touch alone.

Faces drift together until brow brushes brow, every breath shared. Blind now, you read him by fingertips: knuckles grown blunt from canes, the pale silvery rope of a childhood scar, the stubborn rise of tendon over bone. Your hands skim higher, relearning the gentle slope of deltoid and the tense narrow column of his throat. With each pass you feel the flutter of his swallow, the quiet vow that he’ll stay right here—anchoring you spine-deep while panic leaks from your ribs like steam.

For Viktor the moment is pure privilege, a holy unbuttoning done with feather-light strokes. Each line your searching fingers draw across his chest is a sentence in the language only the two of you speak: I missed you. I trust you. I know you. Miluji tě. He answers in the same tongue—thumb circling the delicate knobs of your vertebrae, two fingers dipping to trace the curve where hip meets belly. You imagine a thread running from his nerve endings to yours; every place he touches tugs you up from the undertow of fear, breath by careful breath.

By the time your palms settle flat to his heart and his to yours, the room has stilled. Outside, sparrows fuss in the guttering; inside, two heartbeats strike the same slow meter. You rest your forehead to his and exhale. Nothing more is required—no apology, no eloquence—just skin humming against skin while dawn irons the last wrinkles from the night.

—

Darling, please tell me you’re at least on the way? 

Viktor thumbs the text beneath the linen-draped table, half-listening while Salo reenacts his latest fallout with Lucian in widescreen detail. A bead of saliva arcs off Salo’s lip, sputters on Viktor’s phone like a bug on a windshield.

Based on the last eighteen months Viktor can proudly say his solution has almost worked wonders. He has learned quite a lot—most of it stitched straight into daily life, plain as laundry. First: you are constitutionally late, but never disastrously so. If it’s just the two of you, you keep it under fifteen minutes—hard-won knowledge after two brat-point debacles that finished with your knees shaking and his hand stinging. For parties he grants a wider margin; tonight you’re twenty minutes behind and counting.

He’s learned you’ll skip meals until someone—usually him—hands you a plate, that left to your own devices you subsist on caffeine and air, and when you do brave the stove your cooking style is sacrificial: vegetables flung to their deaths in a scorching pan and declared done in sixty seconds.

He’s learned the mess you leave isn’t chaos but code: stacks of scripts here (urgent), clumps of orphan socks there (ignore), a drift of marker-scribbled Post-its everywhere (essential). He’s learned that moving house ranks up there with death and divorce for sheer psychic carnage, and he never wants to test the top two if he can help it. He is convinced you two will stay in Islington until you both die or England falls apart.

The flat—your flat now—has taken the lesson too. Viktor’s sparse geometry has sprouted life: framed production posters bloom along the corridor, a leaning tower of paperbacks colonises the living-room corner, your grandmother’s chipped sugar bowl keeps his glucose tabs company on the coffee table. No walls repainted, no furniture swapped—just strata of you laid tenderly over him.

Somehow—without a single wall knocked through—the flat has begun to look settled. Your watches line the hall table beside Viktor’s neat tray of keys; mismatched mugs crowd the open shelves; rehearsal scripts lean against his engineering journals, their spines tilting together like late-night conspirators. His canes stay tucked, orderly, in the wardrobe, but your sewing box sprawls under the window, a half-strung guitar propped beside it. 

Hackney’s old clutter always felt like you were camping—here today, packed tomorrow—while Viktor’s Islington had been all practical lines. The two halves fuse now into lived-in disorder with an underlying logic: your softness over his structure, his order under your mess. Together they give the rooms what neither place had managed alone—not a way-station, not a showcase, but the unmistakable warmth of something finally, confidently called home. The place exhales warmer, as if a second heartbeat started in the night and the rooms decided to keep it.

Sweat is already percolating through the back of Viktor’s shirt, sketching a perfect, almost-tubular outline of his spine.

I’ll be there in a quarter tops. Is Salo giving you a hard time, my love? you text while elbowing through the Friday evening crowd on the tube line stairs.

Like you wouldn’t imagine. Let’s say Lucian is with us in spirit at all times, comes Viktor’s text and you huff a laugh that bounces off the tile walls.

A year and a half of a fully functional relationship is not a line you ever expected on your résumé. You moved to Islington in February last year, right after locking next season’s programme. There were casualties: Viktor demanded a sacrifice pile of ‘stuff you don’t need’ since ‘his flat isn’t a warehouse.’ After one spirited duel for independence—and several theatrical farewells to Hackney’s dubious prestige—you obliged.

Living together turns out to be mostly co-existing: breathing beside each other at desks, in the kitchen, on the sofa. Jayce and Mel adjusted without commentary (saving any shock and triumph for private debriefs) and now remain civil during double-dates. You haul half your paperwork home. Sex is better when you don’t have to sprint to rehearsal straight afterward—when you can roll from lying on the desk to sitting at it, even if sitting hurts. No sex is also better when there is a warm body next to you in the bed.

You’re getting bolder about sharing, though unprompted honesty is still a work-in-progress. You did manage to stage a tiny community-branch run of The Memorandum just for Viktor; he snorted through Act One and nearly pissed himself laughing in the front row through lesson scenes, then gave you the best head of your life in the lighting cupboard afterward.

Showers are an alternating ritual—sometimes long, soapy reverence under one stream, sometimes brisk solo scrubs with the door left ajar so a hand can snake in and tug a laugh from the other. The day you brought home a folding shower-chair Viktor balked—until you rode him on it hard enough to snap its leg. (He grumbled all the way to the hardware shop for a sturdier model; you still keep the splintered one, a trophy, behind the wardrobe.) 

Nights begin braided together, limbs knotted tight, his nose in your hair, your calf over his hip; ten minutes later you’ve drift-rolled apart, only to reach back and lace fingers in the dark—a slack little promise that the anchor’s still there. Meals are non-negotiable now: if he isn’t at the table you forget to eat, and if you forget, he appears with toast and orders. 

Exact obedience remains elusive—baiting him is half the game—but when you push too far he retreats, cool and quiet, a punishment that always stings him first. The détente comes quickly: a hushed apology brushed across his collarbone, his answering growl of “lesson rescheduled,” and—before you can gloat—Viktor decides the quickest way to re-establish order is with your ankles over his shoulders and his cock teaching the curriculum instead. Through all this, you’ve learned a fair amount of Czech; sadly, none of Viktor’s go-to phrases are suitable for starting a casual conversation at the bar.

When you surface at Camden Town, the air is so hot and thick you could chew it. Thunder broods; sweat glues your thighs together as you trot the cobbles toward The World’s End. Last year Mel’s fancy Fitzrovia birthday dinner was a flop, so she decreed the cult pub—site of your first spark with Viktor—her permanent venue. If it birthed one miracle, maybe it holds more.

Inside, you press a finger to your lips; Mel grins and shuts up. Viktor sits with his back to the door, a dark sweat-halo on his shirt. You weave between tables and wrap him from behind—damp cotton to damp cotton.

“I’ve come to rescue you from your misery,” you murmur against his ear.

He tilts his head, nips your earlobe. “How thoughtful. Sit between me and this clown or there’ll be manslaughter by blunt object,” he hums, twirling the cane like evidence. You kiss the corner of his mouth, circle the table, and present Mel’s gift—while Viktor’s eyes track you the whole way, glowing like you’re the only cool breeze in the room.

Conversation wraps around all of you. Small interrogation and a few drinks in, Viktor stretches—trying to look casual—and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “I’m melting, I think I’m going to step outside for a moment,” he says, all nonchalant.

You stroke the inside of his thigh. “I’ll come with you.”

Mel arches a brow, glass poised. “Trying to flee, lovebirds?”

“Just grabbing a breath of lovely Camden air.” You grin. “We’ll be right back.”

Wind gathers; the first drops spatter the pavement as you and Viktor step outside. In a heartbeat he props the cane against the wall, loops his arms around your waist, and pulls you into a sloppy kiss. “Much better,” he murmurs into your mouth. Beer and sweat salt his lips; damp curls cling behind his ears; his eyes spark gold in the street-lamps. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore two years ago.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, teasing.

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “You look pretty today.”

“Pretty?” He raises a brow.

“Yes, pretty.”

“Good.” He noses along your cheek. “I’ll need every advantage I can get tonight.” Rain thickens above the tiny stripe of metal roof, beginning to drip through holes in it, heat bleeding into petrichor and the smell wet asphalt.

“What’s happening tonight?” you ask, lips brushing his.

“Do you know what day it is?” Viktor’s kiss goes deeper.

“Mel’s birthday?”

“Mhm,” he hums, “and?”

You break the kiss but stay close, tapping a finger to your mouth. “Oh, do you mean… I’ve read that it’s World Plant Milk Day, is that the one?”

“Brat,” Viktor laughs, biting your lip. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” You kiss him back. “You love me—madly, absolutely, helplessly.” Your hands roam his chest and neck, settling to cradle his cheeks, thumbs stroking the prominent bones. “You are completely obsessed with me.”

“That I am,” Viktor says, smoothing your hair, palms landing on your shoulders. “Tomorrow will be the anniversary of our first date,” he adds, quieter now, face suddenly serious. “And I thought…”—he steadies himself with a breath; you watch, pensive—“I thought it’s all going… quite well, despite not always being perfect. And, eh—”

“What do you mean it’s not always perfect?” you tease.

He hovers under the little shelter of corrugated tin, weight shifting as though the ground keeps tilting a degree left, a degree right. The sound of him clearing his throat cracks. 

“Oh, stop it, will you,” he chuckles—nervous, papery. His thumb strokes your neck as if permission lies there.“I thought—” a sharp breath through his nose, and then—

“—would you like to get married? To me?”

You freeze: dropped jaw, eyes blown wide, clogging with water in an instant. All the noise on Camden High Street seems to rush out past your ears.

Viktor’s pulse hammers in his palms; you feel the tremor of it. He fills the silence, words tumbling. “You’d be mine on paper, and I’d be yours… I thought it romantic, no?” A slanted smile that doesn’t quite settle.

You just look at him. Lightning flickers behind the clouds, and for one long breath you’re back at this doorway two years ago: same pub sign buzzing, same rain-thick air, same man pretending nonchalance while his heart rips stitches. Then, it was trying on the casual skin. Now it’s Viktor offering everything, and the circle closes like a clasp.

He waits, shifts—nervous—because you still haven’t answered. Fingers flex on your shoulders, almost pulling away, and his brows pinch as if bracing for the fall.

You nod, once, and a tear slips down your cheek. With that small overflow, your body animates itself and you cling to him, rain slanting everywhere but the narrow space you share under the awning. “Viktor, you insane bastard—did you plan this?” you whisper, crying.

“Yes,” he laughs, breathy. “I even have a ring.” He reaches for his pocket, but you seize the hand and kiss his knuckles. “Which is why it was imperative that you show up,” he finishes, slightly stunned.

“What if I wouldn’t step outside with you?” You smooth his rain-damp shirt, voice tight, still counting the heartbeats it took to hear those words.

“I’d feign near collapse and demand your assistance.” Viktor answers all abashed, as if the plan had been rehearsed a hundred times inside his skull; his thumb skims the water from your cheekbone.

“You want to be my husband?” Breath wavers through your lips; you cup his face like fragile glass, searching for any hint of jest and finding none.

“Very much so. Do you want to be my wife?” His eyes hold yours, bare and solemn, the storm-light catching on lashes.

“God, yes,” you exhale. “Yes, yes, yes.” Your arms circle his neck, clinging, and Viktor exhales—shaky, grateful—before folding you into the hush beneath the shitty roof.

You’re gone far longer than a breather. You’re gone until it’s obvious the awning is a decoy, offering no rain protection, so sweat mingles with the downpour and your clothes cling wetter than before. You’re gone until your lips ache from kissing and all that’s left is standing there, holding him—right up to the moment Mel texts to ask if something has happened.

To stand here—rain threading your hair to his fingers, his heart drumming steady against your ribs—is to understand the old riddle at last: love and knowledge are the same bright blade, two edges meeting in a single gleam. Viktor learned the map of you—every deadline-frenzied tic, every tender ache you never named—and instead of recoiling, he sharpened his devotion on those contours until it rang truer, cleaner; you, in turn, traced his hollows and hinges, the brittle places he hides behind humor and steel, and discovered that with each secret exposed your hunger to keep him grew. 

What binds you now is not blind adoration but the fierce, ordinary miracle of recognition: the more intimately you’re known, the more ferociously you’re loved; the more ferociously you’re loved, the safer you are to be known.

“I love you so terribly,” you breathe against the damp collar of his shirt.

“Moje snoubenka,” he answers, kissing the corner of your eye. “Moja milovaná.” A brush to your nose. “Moje děvče.” The last word is promised into the curve of your jaw. He cups your face, sets a long kiss on your forehead, and—voice rough with relief—murmurs, “Don’t be such a sap.”

—

okay, these two didn't make it into the text (the rest you should know already!) naplním tě až po okraj - I'll fill you up to the brim moje snoubenka - my fiancé :')

[dustofthedailylife]

It Must Be Love

-> Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Blade, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gepard, Welt x (gn!) Reader

Summary: When they realized they had feelings for you...

Tags: Fluff, SFW, mention of injuries (Blade), just them realizing they're completely smitten

A/N: My last fic before my Japan vacation! I got a lot more in my WIP stash that I'll get to after. Excited to get to that when I'm back, or maybe I can finish one or the other fic in the evening on my vacation when I'm in bed. We'll see. Stay amazing until then! <3

BLADE

When you joined the Stellaron Hunters he shot down your every attempt of trying to get to know him and stayed clear of you. He was curt and only ever spoke with you if it was necessary. In his opinion, there was no need for you two to be acquainted. And it would be for your own good anyway.

It wasn’t until you came back gravely injured from a mission and were passed out for days, that he wouldn’t leave your side.

He sat on the armchair in your room most of the time, and was either sleeping or meditating with his eyes closed. He occasionally switched your bandages and cleaned your wounds while insisting he’d be the only one to do it. After all, he involuntarily had quite the expertise with injuries himself.

And when the day you began to stir awake again finally came, and he heard the quiet plea for water come over your parched lips, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

He told himself over and over again that he didn’t care about anyone and wouldn’t dare to allow himself to care anymore. In fact, he may have even thought he wasn’t capable of it anymore. But feelings are often beyond one's control or rational explanation. And deep down he had always known that he cared deeply about you. 

He had only steered clear of you because it had been evident to him, that if he allowed himself to care, there would be no going back. Alas, it now was too late for that as well. Yet it did not matter any longer. All he cared about was that you were still alive.

“Never get hurt like this again.” He scolded with a voice seemingly devoid of any emotion, as he lifted a bottle of water to your lips so you could drink. 

But despite the underlying sharp tone in his voice, there was sincere concern in his eyes only a few people ever got to see. And he knew he was no longer able to hide it.

DAN HENG

Himeko brought you along one day and introduced you to the Astral Express Crew as their newest member, a bundle of energy much like March. And everyone seems ecstatic to welcome you aboard. Everyone but Dan Heng. He curtly introduced himself without shaking your outstretched hand, before vanishing back to his room again without another word.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t find you attractive, but Alas, he couldn’t allow himself to get closer. One more person on the Express only meant there were more people he had to keep secrets from. Besides, you seemed just as lively and energetic as March was, and if he was sure of one thing it’s that one March was already enough. So that was even more reason to steer clear of you for his own peace of mind.

So in turn he tried keeping you at an arm's length. The only problem however was, that you apparently weren’t deterred by his cold demeanor and practically threw yourself at him at every chance you got.

You would often knock on his door to bring him some freshly brewed tea, rummage through the archive or call him quirky nicknames you came up with. He could only roll his eyes at them, but secretly he began to like them and caught himself smiling whenever he thought of them. 

At first, he managed to remain distanced and only spoke to you when it was strictly necessary, but he soon began to warm up more and more. Until he would eventually find himself beginning to crave your presence every day.

And it was when he found himself looking at the empty chair you used to sit on almost every evening now, that he became aware of his feelings for you. The naggings and nicknames that used to bother him, now made his heart beat quicker and a tingly feeling made itself known in his stomach.

The simple image of your smile made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. The sound of your voice always managed to soothe his nerves. And your absence made him feel incomplete.

It was then he had to admit to himself that there was no longer any point in denying it. He had inevitably fallen for you.

JING YUAN

When there was more administrative work to do on the Luofu due to the recent happenings, Qingzu, who was assisting Jing Yuan with the additional workload, proposed to hire someone else to help as well. To be precise, help with caring for the general’s lion, since it was usually Qingzu’s task. But since she was preoccupied with other matters right now, there was a distinct lack of time.

And that’s when you were hired.

You were tasked to care for Mimi in Qingzu’s stead from hereon out and seemed to immediately get along with the animal quite well, too. It certainly put Jing Yuan’s mind at ease to know that his lion was adequately cared for.

One day, when Jing Yuan returned earlier than usual from his duties he found you peacefully asleep on the sofa, your head comfortably nestled in the fur of the equally asleep lion. But he didn’t dare to disturb your slumber and returned to his desk with a smile on his face since he too felt the weight of sleep oftentimes throughout the day.

Once you awoke you practically jumped up when you saw him sitting at his desk already, ushering a shy “Oh, General. I didn’t expect you to be back home at such a time already. Forgive me.”

He just let out a soft chuckle in reply, assuring you that there was no need to worry and that it actually put his mind at ease that you got along so well with Mimi.

After this, he made a conscious effort to come back home earlier more often. And every time, without fail, he would find you sleeping together with his lion in the afternoon sun. Your peaceful expression and the quiet purr of his lion truly was a sight for sore eyes 

And if his lion loved you, what was he supposed to feel if not the same?

GEPARD

Gepard saw you for the first time when he stopped by his sister's workshop. He caught a quick glimpse of you before you vanished into the side room of the workshop again.

Of course, his sister immediately caught him staring. Because he stood there stunned and only stared holes into the door you vanished through. 

If Serval was good at one thing, it was reading Gepard like a book. And she only needed one look at his face to know exactly what he was thinking. Of course, she took the opportunity to tease him about it with a big grin across her face, much to the embarrassment of Gepard who only cleared his throat and diverted the topic, unable to hide the red blooming across his cheeks.

He soon found out that you were a singer and songwriter and that you and Serval sometimes performed together in a local club. And he found himself venturing there on his off days to watch your show. 

Serval introduced you to him and eventually, you began to become closer. Asking him if he would come to your next gig as well. And of course, he did. In fact, he did so often that he had all your songs memorized down to a T now and often found himself humming them absentmindedly throughout the day. 

And suddenly, as one of his subordinates asked him which song he keeps humming all the time now, he became aware of the feelings he harbored for you.

The warm, prickly feeling within his chest. The way his heartbeat quickened, or the corners of his mouth turned upwards involuntarily whenever he saw you, talked to you, or thought of you.

It was undeniable. He had fallen in love in love with you.

WELT

Welt and you were just colleagues. At least that's what he was trying to convince himself of at first. 

Research and worries about your mission often woke you up at night recently, so you often got up to brew a fresh pot of coffee. And Welt found you sitting in an armchair in the parlor car one night when he, too, got up in the middle of the night because his thoughts had kept him awake.

You offered him a cup of coffee as well before you sat back down. Each just sipped their coffee in silence. You gazed at the stars outside of the window of the Express while he tried to read some book to keep his mind off the thoughts that had kept him awake.

Yet, he found himself unable to concentrate on it and instead stole glances at you while rattling his brain about what he could talk about with you.

Eventually, you were the first one to break the silence. Initiating a conversation about the vastness of the universe and the thing that are yet beyond any human comprehension. Asking questions no man knew an answer to yet. And he was more than happy to indulge in the conversation. 

You ended up talking until the morning hours that night without the conversation ever dying down. He enjoyed the talk you had so much, he found himself thinking about it for weeks after.

Long deep talks over a fresh pot of coffee in the middle of the night should soon become a habit for both of you.

And he came to crave them so much that he even started setting an alarm at night and went to check if you were there again as well. And most of the time you were. 

One night, when he looked at you and saw the light of the stars reflect in your eyes once again, he too had to admit he was looking straight at a star himself.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about HSR or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[sapphicautumn]

Afterthought. EW.

synopsis: Ellie and you go on your regular scheduled patrol, but when danger is found, it leaves you both in shambles - realising you could lose each other at any time.

Pairing: Bestfriend!ellie x Fem reader. WLW

Contents: fluff, friends2lovers? Smut. Emotional constipation. Swearing, and whatever else lmk if I forgor 💀

A/N: hey! This is actually my first ever time writing on tumblr, I’m usually a silent reader of the tags, so this is a bit nerve wracking for me lol. There’s not a lot of Bella Ramsey Ellie fics on here- so I hope you like it. I am writing on my phone as I’m currently on the train ride home- ignore any typos, that’s on my tired ass. If you enjoy, please reblog and thank you for reading 🥨

Men and minors DNI

“You don’t need to collect every flower you see, you know that? Right?”

Ellie’s voice teased, guiding shimmer as she rode the brown horse around you, eyes gazing down as she tried to bite a smile back.

“Let me be” your voice hummed, picking up dandelions from the ground. You kept a book back at home in Jackson with stamped flowers you find on patrol. It always provided some form of comfort? That although there’s so much evil in this current situation of the world, beauty still grows.

Ellie didn’t get it. She didn’t get a lot of things, but that’s why you love her.

“Cmonnn get back on the damn horse, patrol will last forever the longer you drag it out” Her voice rang, pulling the lead of the horse to a halt. She always spoke in what others would call a sarcastic tone, but it was what you knew her to always sound like. It’s just Ellie, she’s not intimidating to you. Quite the contrary.

You both met 3 years ago now, when you had joined Jackson with just your mom in search of a safe haven. Being close in age, you found yourself hanging with Dina first, who eventually introduced you to her own group of friends; Jesse & Ellie.

You all would hang out every night basically, spending time at each others houses, or at the tipsy bison, or even sometimes hiding behind jesses house while he attempted to roll joints that never quite came out the way you guys wanted.

“You should be kicked out of the town for that” dina would say, gesturing to the pathetic roll that laid in front of her.

Somewhere along the way, Jesse and Dina found themselves getting closer. Them starting to date wasn’t a shock to Ellie and you. It was obvious how much they liked each other. Previous group activities turned into paired plans of just you and her, it provided you to grow quite close.

She was always gruff and protective of her own self. The walls she built were tall and made of thick brick. Although not thick enough apparently, as your soft exterior was able to chisel in, seeing a side of Ellie most of the town doesn’t take time to know.

If anyone were to ask, you’d say Ellie is your best friend, your patrol buddy, Curtis to your viper. The list goes on.

Ellie on the other hand, …..feels like a perverted creep, as there’s a side you could have never guessed possessed the girls mind….and journal.

“She’s too sweet…I don’t even think she’s into girls and I’m being so weird!!!!! I probably scare her omg, don’t realise I look at her too long until she says sumthing…She didn’t want to hang out tonight. I think her being “sick” was an excuse”

Her hand would cramp as she pressed the pencil harder to the paper, writing at her desk in the comfort of Joel’s garage.

“We were at the bar just yesterday. I walked behind her to get to my seat. Her hair smelled like vanilla. How does she do that?? Jesse and her talked about some stupid show idk the name. He looked at her like he wanted her. He has dina. I’m in no position to be jealous but LITERALLY fuck off j-“

Ellie’s eyes widened, the tip of her pencil snapping with the force of which she wrote. It’s time for bed anyways.

She never planned on telling you, in fact, she got used to the idea of dying a single lady, if it meant you also died one. Think among the lines of “if I can’t have you, no one will”. Yeah. That’s what she’s got going on.

So she bit her tongue anytime she saw you dress up cute for events, trying to be nonchalant whenever you’d bake her and Joel banana bread, or when she’d get home after a night at the bar, trying to smack out the imaginary of what you’d look like on her bed from within her brain. What the fuck is wrong with you? And why’re you so ….you? She almost wish you weren’t in Jackson so she wouldn’t have to worry about having a crush that felt so juvenile it made her itch to the core.

Lips. Are. Sealed.

The two of you rode shimmer down the designated path, the grass worn down from how many people have came down this exact way within the past few weeks.

“I think we should check out the abandoned house over there” your hand would gesture across before resuming to holding Ellie’s waist.

“I mean…we really don’t need to, you insist on all these side quests and-”

“Ellie I know damn well you got nothing better to do once we get back except for sleep. I wanna go check. Maybe there’s something cool in there?” You interrupt.

With a scoff, she parks the horse across the way, hopping off and absent mindlessly reaching up to help you slide off, her fingers gently holding your hand and hip. “There we go..”

You smile gently, adjusting your coat and clearing your voice. “Well. Let’s go”, your boots guide you to the old, broken down wooded house, the appearance of it so ghastly that it’s leaving Ellie wondering if it’ll collapse on you both.

“What do you think is in there?” She began, a little hint of snark in her tone as she protectively followed right behind you, hands wanting to keep you next to her, but she digressed to them on her holster.

“I dunno” you shrug, eyes looking back at the girl. “Some porn?”

“You’re a fucking idiot. I think Eugene’s old stash is plenty, that fucker had like 40 tapes in that cabinet and-”

“Wait shut the fuck up” you wave your hand at her, listening to some distant sound upstairs. You smirk.

“This is a bad idea” she whispers, “maybe we should just head back? Don’t go upstairs”

“Oh I’m going upstairs”

Your Ellie’s biggest migraine with legs. Of course- she follows you. The stairs creak, making her eyes scrunch with cringe, thinking about the possibility of a clicker being upstairs, hearing every footstep you both made. She tapped her flash light, illuminating the area as they reached the top.

You pulled out your pistol, holding it cautiously. Despite your soft exterior, you lived for this shit. Ellie would think you were the immune one with the fearlessness you displayed on patrols.

You scanned all the rooms, finding to be disappointed. “Ellie?”

She left the bathroom, the cabinet was raided, there’s nothing even here worth the trip. “This place is empty”

You huff, looking around. “But i heard something, I swear. It sounded like footsteps”

Once Ellie walked into, what you both assumed used to be a bedroom, she met back up with you. “Maybe it was wind? The windows broken, and the wood is old”

With a sigh, you examine the space, lowering the gun. Your eyes dart to the beside table, opening it. There’s some old photographs inside. “Els, cmere”

She knelt on the creaky floor, her flashlight shining on the Polaroids you pulled out. Ellie couldn’t help but smile at them, as such few photos showcased a story to the house they sat in.

“A family lived here” you whispered, seeing a man and woman, smiling as they bundled together for the picture. A few shuffles and you come across another of a newborn baby laying on the same fabric of the bed your back presses against. “Aw…”

Ellie’s lips curled, “I wonder what happened to them” she whispered

“Me too….” You flipped the back to see the date. 2012. These people could be in Jackson? Or somewhere far away…or maybe you’ve already encountered their infected forms on prior patrols. It always is a sickening reminder that the brainless threats you kill daily used to be people with stories. Someone’s baby.

Ellie noticed the tone change, her hand brushing out to comfort you. “I’m sure they are ok, don’t dwell on it.” Her tatted arm rubbed your back, making you shiver a bit.

“Maybe.”

She took the photos and put them back in the drawer, shutting it. “Let’s just go, Tommy is gonna be mad we took another detour.” As she stood, she exhaled, “damn, my knees”

Your eyes glanced as she walked out, snickering quietly at how much of an old man this 19 year old was. “I told you to stop sitting on your legs, it is a bad habit”

With a roll of eyes, ellie waves you off, the two of you making the way back down the stairs you came up earlier. “Sorry you didn’t get your porn. If it helps I’m sure Jesse has something he’d be willing to give up”

You smile knowingly, “you always act like I hang out with him. He’s with Dina, dumbass”

“You two aren’t close? You seem it” she mumbled, almost annoyingly. Her pistol sliding back into the leg holster.

You watched her back, thinking. “You think I like him or something?”

“Did I say that?” Her hands held up in defence.

“I feel like your kinda hinting at that, els. I wouldn’t do that to Dina. Besides, Jesse is farrrrr from…my type”

She raised a brow, mumbling “your type?” Her body turned to face you, but there you were already wandering into another part of the room. Your like a dog that needs to be guided where to go on it’s walk. “Can you just come back here, damnit”

“Look!” you held up the yarn, smiling. You had a little hobby of knitting blankets…hats…scarfs. You’d even make stuff for the damn horses at the stables. Finding yarn was equivalent to ellie finding weed. Very exciting.

Ellie sighed, “ok great, that’s great, good. Now let’s-”

“There’s some more over here” your feet led you behind the wall, into the shared room. You opened up the storage closet, coming face to face with something you’ve never seen before. Before you could pull your gun back out, the infected pushes you across the room to the floor, jumping on you. Your arms tried to push and shield, “ELLIE!!!”

The girl jumped at the noise, running around the corner to see what she thought was a clicker on top of you. “What the fuck!!!!??” She panted, quickly fumbling to grab anything, her knife is what she reached first.

Your screams intensified as the creature leaned down, your faces were close, you couldn’t identify the thing, you were too fucking focused on NOT getting bit.

Within seconds, Ellie’s knife is brought around to the throat, slicing it and tossing the lifeless body to the side, the room quiet except for your pants, your brush with possible death leaving you in a state of shock.

You’ve patrolled a lot, and never been this close.

Almost too nervous to ask, ellie kneeled and spoke, shakily, “fuck….you bit? You ok??” Her heartbeat was in her ears. This is why she wanted to leave, not even be here in the first place.

“Y-yea-yeah. I- sorry, I j-”

“Shh I got you” she folded the knife, frowning as her hands helped scoop you up to your feet. Legs almost buckling.

“I don’t know what that is” you whisper, looking down at the bleeding out infected now on the wood floor.

“Me neither,…I’ve never seen that.”

“It was like..h-hiding, infected d-dont hide”

She simply nods, too focused on your state of being. “Cmon…”

The two of you are led out back to the fresh air. Shimmer eating some of the grass before Ellie beckons the horse over. With the natural lighting she identifies how pale your face was, heart breaking, feeling like she didn’t protect you enough. Her eyes scan over again, reassuring herself you didn’t get bit or scratched.

Her arms helped hoist you upon the saddle of the animal, before scooping herself up in front of you. “Just hold on to me, I’m heading back”

The ride was quiet for the most part, your hands trembling as they secured yourself around Ellie’s hips.

“How we doing?” She mumbled, making it over the hill. Jackson’s walls were within eyes reach.

“I don’t feel good”

Ellie bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on the horses lead. “Yeah that was….that was scary huh?” She whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re ok, physically”

Your head leaned against the back of your friends denim green jacket, still feeling a bit spooked. You lived a sheltered lifestyle within the town, mostly working in the stables. Patrol wasn’t weekly for you, ellie brought you along sometimes because of her own selfish reasons, to be close with you.

Now that stupid crush of hers almost got you killed. She almost lost you, the realisation hitting her as she checked inside the gates, helping you off the horse.

“Your back early, did you log the sheets?” Maria spoke, coming over.

“I- we had an incident” ellie spoke, helping adjust your belongings on your body without turning to see the woman. “We’re fine, but there’s definitely some…weird shit going on near the lake up north. Maybe send a group out tomorrow”

Maria was confused by the ominous wording, before even getting to question further, ellie was leading you away. The older woman sighed and looked at her husband, Tommy, handing him the lead of the horse so he could put shimmer in her pen and feed her.

Unlocking the door, she gently helped you inside her garage turned mini apartment a la ellie. Joel let her have her own space, it wasn’t huge, it wasn’t great, but it was Ellie’s, and it was comforting. You both have spent a lot of time in here before now, but for some reason as your boots guide you inside, it feels smaller.

The poor girl is more frightened than you are, patting out the bed, frantic about you. “Here, lay down. Do you want something to eat? Uh, fuck maybe I have some crackers and jam, let me check”

Gaining the courage to speak, you raise your hand, body laid on the bed. “Ellie, I’m fine. Just give me a second.”

She swallows a little hard, nodding. “Sorry.”

You slide the black boots off, tossing them to the floor as your knees are guided to your chest, thinking about what could’ve happened if you did get bit.

Ellie sits in her desk chair, watching you carefully. Eyes grazing along your fragile figure, selfishly so.

“Would you have shot me?”

She blinks “what?”

Taking a moment to look over at her, the garage dimly lit. “If I got bit, and turned into one of those ….things…” your voice shakes a little, “would you have shot me?”

Ellie’s a bit taken back, she takes her coat off and puts it on the hanger nearby, her hands rubbing her thighs in thought. “I…I dunno….I probably couldn’t…i-if im being honest”

“I don’t talk about it much, but it worries me, that one day I won’t be able to escape them” you admit, knees hugged gently as you rest your head against them. “If you weren’t there-….”

She walked over cautiously and sat in front of you, the cushion of the bed sinking with her weight. “But I was…yeah?”

The emotions come out, you felt dramatic. It’s easy to forgot how dangerous shit gets when you stay in your room and collect flowers. “Yea….thank you. For uh..saving me” a stupid stray tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it quickly, knowing you’ve never cried in front of Ellie before. She smiles softly, trying to reassure the pretty girl sitting in front of her.

“I’d never let you get hurt…I’ll always protect you”

You flutter your eyes shut. Something inside you stirring.

“Unfortunately you’re stuck with me” ellie added on, her finger reaching out to rub the side of her wrist, experimentally.

A quiet laugh escaped your mouth, watery eyes opening once more to meet Ellie’s gaze. “That’s not a bad thing…I mean, I quite literally can’t exist out there on my own. It’s kinda pathetic” you sniffled, looking down at Ellie’s comforter. The plaid sheets giving your eyes something to look at rather than her.

“Hey…it’s not pathetic. It’s not ..it’s not fair we have to live this way. Some people aren’t used to it, doesn’t make you weak for not being prepared”

The silky wave of her voice made something in your heart flutter, something about Ellie being gentle with you made you become absolute putty. It was rare she didn’t showcase her tough exterior. I suppose it’s safe to say the close call shot some fear into the both of you.

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

You watched her again, swallowing. “I’ll be more careful”

With a soft nod, she links her pinky with yours, her gaze down at the interlocked fingers. A soft smile appearing across her face. Truth? She’s scared shitless right now. Vulnerable is not her thing, but it feels fitting with you. Why? She’s fucked.

Sometimes it’s known that heightened emotions of fear can make people think about deeper evaluations of their life. The room was filled with thoughts, racing hearts and hormones.

Your eyes met your joint pinky finger, you brought up your hands slowly, pressing your lips to them.

Ellie watched. Carefully.

You made sure to look at her as you turned her hand, opening it as your lips pressed against the home of her palm. Ellie almost nutted.

“Ellie, I just-”

Before your whispers could become a finished sentence, ellie sprung forward and captured your bottom lip within hers, suckling gently, her calloused and roughed up hands cupping the soft contrast of your rose coloured cheeks.

Your hands immediately shot up to hold each of her wrists, pulling your head back softly with a pant. Your eyes met. There wasn’t awkwardness, and in fact, you didn’t question why your best friend kissed you. There was an unspoken understanding. An unspoken need, you could say. Ellie’s gentle pants met yours, pressing her forehead against you.

Her body heat gave off a wave of arousal within you, one you never knew even existed. Your hands gently lifted her chin, nodding as you watched her eyes….her nose…her lips.

You kissed again, and it was different than the first one. Hungry mouths clashed against one another as you both fought for control. Needing to be closer to each other…to feel you. To feel her.

She ever so gently shoved you back against her pillows. Oh how many times she’s felt dirty, imagining how you’d lay here with her hands rubbing over you, making you feel good. Her own prideful narcissism picturing how she would make you cum, assuming you’d become obsessed and drunken by her touch, and her touch alone.

The imagery compared to what’s real now, is nothing. It’s better, way better. Your hair was so fucking beautiful and sprawled against her pillow, chest rising with uneven breaths as Ellie moved, pressing her knee between your jean covered core. The way your eyelashes fluttered up at her with desire, mouth slightly ajar.

How would she ever move on from that?

Her chapped lips met your soft ones once more, hand gently rubbing along your jaw and neck as she moved to kiss below your ear. With quiet but desperate pants, your hand holding her nape. “Ellie…yes” your voice was airy and sweet, fuck, the sound alone could make Ellie willingly kneel and provide for you. She’d become a housewife and shit, if it meant she’d be able to hear the softness of the moans leaving your fucking lips every day.

She attacked your neck, a mix of kissing, licking and gentle bites. Her knee rutted into you, all you could do is allow it; hands gripping Ellie’s tshirt, as if she’d melt into you. It was hardly recognisable, the movements your body followed, chasing after Ellie’s graze, head tilting back into the pillow, eyebrows raised and eyes shut. “I need you to touch me”

She sat back, you could almost see some of the nervousness return to her gaze for a slight moment before she shook, nodding. “What do you want I’ll do anything ….” She sounds so fucking needy, you could basically feel your underwear sticking to you at this point. “Cmon baby tell me and I’ll do it”

The whispers kissed your ear, you frantically found words, spitting them out in what you thought sounded pathetic. “I- want you to-” you sat up, pausing as you unbuttoned your jeans, overwhelmed.

“Yeah?” She asked, wanting to make sure you wanted her touch. You frantically nodded, taking her hand and guiding it to your jean waistline. She exhales a shakily laugh, almost not believing the power she has right now. She sat up, fingers tugging the fabric down your hips.

The jeans were thrown off the side of the bed, mixing with Ellie’s laundry scattered across the floor. You were the one to take your underwear off, adding it to the pile.

Ellie almost had an aneurism. You were soaked, dripping down the inner part of your thigh- part of her mind wanted to take a mental image and begin drawing it into her horny journal to save it for later. Another part of her wanted to believe she’s the first to be lucky enough to taste it.

“Oh…fuck…” tough fingers ran their way from your hips …to your thighs, parting them more. She had so many things she wanted to say, to make you feel important and loved.

She would tell you later. Her lips met your pussy.

Arching your chest up on the bed, you couldn’t even bare to look down at the girl between your legs, you’re best friend. The moan you let out was of pleasure, but more importantly one of relief. “Aaah…Mmph” hips squirmed around, bucking your folds further against Ellie’s tongue.

To be fair, she’s never eaten a girl out before, but she’s too prideful to admit she learned how from those damn porn tapes Eugene hoarded. She would tell herself she’d probably do it better than a guy, after all, she had the same parts. She knows what feels good.

And yeah, she’s right to think that, with the way you desperately cling to the sheet below you, eyes stuck up on her ceiling. Tiny glow in the dark star stickers are up there, capturing your gaze.

Ellie worked you, moaning against your core, moving her head side to side to try something she saw before, hoping it felt as amazing as it looked. Your arousal tasted sweet, blessing her tongue like dessert and her nose like incense.

She even closed her eyes, focusing on making you cum, the goal to taste it right here on her bed making her dizzy. She rutted her own hips against the mattress, selfishly getting off on your reaction.

“Ellie…els…baby” your whimpers were shy, gathering strength to prop the pillow, sitting up and looking down. You clenched at the sight, she was so into it, sucking your soul out as if she’d never have the opportunity again after this night ended.

You lazily tilted your head to your shoulder, furrowed eyebrows and mouth open, you reached your hands out to ever so lightly brush the brown hair out of Ellie’s face. “That’s good, right…right there ok?”

Praise only made her tongue work harder, despite the tired muscle aching. She made the mistake of gazing up at you, capturing how fucked out you looked. “Mmmph” the vibration of Ellie’s moan against your pussy made you jolt, legs threatening to close against either side of her head. “No…keep them open” her face backed up from your core- chin glistening with your wetness.

Ellie doubled down, using her elbow to keep your thighs apart and out of her way, her focused expression directly on her two fingers, gathering slick as they enter your needy entrance.

“Ahhfuckohmygod” your hand clings to her shoulder as Ellie begins to finger you. She reached upward, knowing what felt good on her as she confidently aimed for a ridged patch amongst your warm walls.

You clenched tightly as she found it. A burning in your lower stomach as you’ve never felt before. “Shit-”

“Mmm…’s that it? Found it didn’t i?” She cockily mumbled, more so to herself. Her own pants becoming uncomfortable, she was so wet.

You bucked up, meeting her fingers thrusts each time. Ellie went deeper, you could see the beads of sweat developing on her hairline. She was determined to make you cum harder than you thought you could.

“Stop closing them baby…” she spit, frustrated as she tried to pay attention to the way your hole sucked her fingers in so needily. You’ve been needing this for a while. Poor thing.

“I’m gonna cum” you whisper, tears filling up the bottom of your vision, making her appearance blurry. You blissfully shut them, mouth agape as endless, nonsensical, words and please fled out.

If you were to look at yourself right now without the horny facade blocking your thinking, you’d probably be ashamed.

But right now? You’re loving it.

Ellie’s strong tattooed arm leans up and pressed on your lower stomach, adding pressure to the spot she reached inside. By the sound of your choked out gasp, she was unsure if she was hurting you. “Oh” she panicked and began to move away, your grasp grabbed her and kept her in place. “No, no no no keep going I’m gonna cum”

Oh. Oh.

With the reassurance, the brunette continues her ministrations, moving to kitty lick against your clit, the feeling of her all fucking over and in you was overwhelming. You cried, not out of sadness, out of desperation.

You gripped her for dear life, hands leaning a bright white mark against the skin of her forearm. “Ohhh I’m cumming”

You lifted your hips a bit, ellie pushed them down as she finished the job, feeling the warmth and movement of your body finishing. It was beautiful, she did that, and she was gonna be cocky about this until the day she died.

“Yesyesyes…yes….”

Ellie smirked against you at the needy tone of your voice, she felt you pulsate and tighten, her wrist soaked…the bed beneath you no longer sanitary to sleep on. She looked up again to see your overwhelmed and exhausted face, she panted, removing her fingers as she pressed her forehead against your thigh, holding onto you as she came.

She came from WATCHING YOU cum. Ellie Williams, everybody.

You would’ve poked fun if you didn’t find it so hot. She rode her hips out against the bed, softly whispering something you couldn’t make out.

Letting the moment sit for a while, your hand gently rubbed her arm, beckoning her to come up to you, she obliged and carefully sat over you, rubbing the skin under your white shirt. “Are you ok…?” There’s your ellie.

With a nod, “I’m ok…I’m good. Are you?” You raised a brow, fingers brushing under her eyes and over her cheek. Ellie nodded, smiling shyly. How dare she be shy right now. “Yeah…”

She cutely nuzzles her nose against yours, fluttering her eyes shut. She peppered gentle soft kisses along your face. Who knew she was a sap after sex….

There’s still some shock within the atmosphere of the poorly lit garage. The air smelling of sweat and sex. This will need to be talked about, but there’s an absent agreement to just be present tonight. Ellie stands up, shakily guiding her legs over to the bathroom as you laid, trying to understand what just happened.

After a moment, you hear the water run. She comes out with a wet cloth, sitting beside you with hesitant eyes. She gestures the cloth up lazily and mumbles, eyes going to your pussy. “Gonna wash…”

The coldness almost makes you hiss, but you welcome the soft and delicate act of her cleaning up. “Thanks…”. The cloth is tossed to the basket, before she climbs next to you, putting a clean blanket over your lower body. Her doe eyes scan over your face, your features as you mimic the action.

“I mean..you’re staying right?” Ellie’s tone is an airy…blissfully dreamy whisper.

You bite your bottom lip, fingers tracing the girls jawline. “I can’t really walk right now to be honest. I think it was your plan to keep me here.” The joke makes Ellie’s eyes crinkle with laughter, her palm rubbing the curve of your hip.

“Alright…I’ll get you some clothes…we can get comfy and sleep…” her voice is hushed against your neck.

Your fingers ran over the back of Ellie’s shirt, eyelashes fluttering your vision as the calmness of the moment overtook you. Suddenly the biggest issue was no longer almost dying earlier, it was falling in love with your best friend.

You both were hopeless, and maybe it wasn’t the worst thing to happen.

<3

[charlie-ver]

Hey, you, the trans man reading this - I love you. I know there's posts like this, but I got down a bad rabbit hole last night and I think there's not enough nice posts towards trans men (:

I don't care if you've finished you transition, on won't be ever able to reach the changes you would like. I don't care if you've been on T for years, or just started, or won't be for some years, or can't or don't want to be. I do not care how you dress. I don't care if you want to be pregnant and have children one day. I don't care if you want hysterectomy and don't even want to freeze your eggs (Hell knows I am not freezing anything). I do not care if you want bottom surgery or if you love what you were born with. Because it doesn't matter and doesn't take away from your identity.

Gay trans men? You aren't just confused straight girls. You are valid in your gender AND sexuality. Straight trans men? You aren't a betrayal the moment you are no longer misgendered. You're still welcome in lgbtqia+ spaces. Because you're a part of our community. One does not lose their place the moment they are perceived and cis or cishet.

Cis men have heard it before, but they won't admit it. All this "if you like x you must be a girl" really just feels like repackaged "if you like x you must be gay". Wanna hear a secret?

HOBBIES, JOBS AND FAVORITE THINGS DO NOT HAVE GENDER.

I like botanical gardens. I love plants. I like looking at clothing, room decor, fabric stores sometimes catch my eye. Because I am am artist, and I take inspiration from these and many more things. Plant care and gardening is not a "red flag" for a trans man in my humble and trans opinion, but it's a sign that you have love to give. And that's beautiful. Just like liking these things does not indicate that a man is gay, it does not mean that your internal identity is any different.

Do not let the world put rails on your patch to your own masculinity. And if you have to hide, that's okay. If you can only be yourself online, that's okay. Trans people will always be here. Trans men will always be here. The best thing you can do is to live as safely as you can. I know this can come off as condescending from a European who has nothing to fear personally, except violence for one month in the year, because my way of being trans isn't "obvious", but I try to take it that my safety means I can try to reassure the rest of you, while you can just focus on your own misery and don't have to be strong for anyone but yourself.

If you need a safe place to went, come to my asks. If you don't want me to post them and just read them, that's ok. You can be angry, you can vent, you can cry, do whatever you need, but, obviously, no transphobia or anything (: Special love goes out to trans men who are of the aroace spectrum, because honestly, the aroace discourse never seems to die, it's just dismissed. Reminds me of something. Hm (: I wonder.

Anyhow. Come to me to cry, for a virtual hug, for a distraction, if you'd like. Feel free to ask for art. Want me to draw your trans characters with flags? I can do that, for free, for you. Ask or dm is enough (: Art and listening is the best I can do, but I'll do my best to do it well.

I love you. You deserve to live, you deserve to be happy, and you also are wholly entitled to cry, to complain, to be sad, angry, loud, afraid. You are a human being with emotions, you deserve to feel them. Nobody can tell you what your internal identity, what your gender is. Because nobody else can know that. Only you can.

So let me repeat: It does not matter how you dress, whether you are on T, whether you want surgeries or love your body as is, whether you are skinny, fat, or muscular, what accessories and clothes you wear, how your voice sounds, how you act, how you carry yourself and what you like. The only thing that matters is how you feel. And while we're at it, yes, you may change your mind, but it still doesn't invalidate your identity in the moment. There was a time where I thought I was biromantic, but I dropped that because I wasn't, and nobody gave me shit for it. Because nobody should. Whatever you feel right now? Valid. Do you identify at a trans man but don't use he/him? Valid. Do you identify with more genders? Are you maybe a man only sometimes? Or are you more at the same time? All of that is valid, if you feel like a man in some aspect or on some part, you are one, if that's a label you want. If your gender makes more sense as a man, then yeah, you are one. Nothing else but how you feel matters.

I love you, and again, I'm here for you if you need that. I can only listen and draw a little something for you, but maybe that's enough for some. If it can help a bit, I can do it for you.

Anyone derailing this post will be blocked. I have no patience for derailers.

[thestoryteller-thedreamer]

Angsty Lloyd Headcanon Time

He has a resting sad face.

As a kid, he was always smirking because he had some mischievous prank up his sleeves.

But when he was aged up, Lloyd got used to constantly feeling sad and stressed. With the pressure of fighting his dad and saving the world resting on his shoulders, he never really had a chance to be happy.

It became such a habit that even when he's feeling fine, Lloyd looks like he's on the brink of tears.

It took the others a while to get used to it. They were constantly asking if he was okay, if he needed anything, if they'd hurt his feelings on accident, if he wanted a hug. Eventually, they came to accept that Lloyd just has a sad expression most of the time.

But when Arin and Sora first move into the monastery, they don't know that yet. They think they are disappointing Lloyd or that he is really depressed all the time. It's not until they meet up with Kai and Nya that they figure it out.

Arin and Sora both finish a training exercise, and ask Lloyd how they did. Lloyd tells them they were fantastic, but his smile quickly fades back to the same sad look as before. So Nya and Kai take them aside and explain that Lloyd is actually very proud of them.

Sora came from Imperium, where people were encouraged to hide their strong emotions. She quickly learns to pick up on Lloyd's mannerisms, and is able to read his feelings easier.

But Arin doesn't entirely buy it. He grew up in Ninjago, where displays of emotions are more encouraged. He was raised by parents who supported all of his feelings. To him, Lloyd is very disappointed, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't perfect Spinjitzu or manifest an Elemental Power like Sora.

When Arin leaves, Lloyd recedes inside himself. He does his best to keep it together, but Nya and Kai both notice that his sad expression stays around even longer than it did before.

[tillsfan]

new official arts analysis..

i really like how. doll-like sua looks here. i love when vivimeng depict sua as a husk of a person, dehumanizing her because she really had nothing without mizi.

the sua on the right seems very content, leaning into her reflection. she honestly seems kind of proud in my opinion. this is her satisfied with her decisionto sacrifice herself without mizi’s knowledge, content with the happy lives they lived while they could live it. sua was accepting of her death, happy it would be her and not mizi, because she KNOWS she wouldn’t survive on her own. mizi is strong, sua isn’t. we also know sua is very selfish. maybe she looks so content because she knows mizi will continue to think of her? maybe she’s aware of the impact this would have on mizi, how she will never leave mizi’s mind, making it easier to accept her own sacrifice.

the sua on the left is creepy, soulless. i always imagined this version of sua is mizi’s current perception of her.. sua was still an angel in her eyes, she was literally mizi’s god, but mizi didn’t know as much about sua as she thought. she knew nothing at all. the sua she knows now is not the sua she knew previously, the innocent and happy sua she grew up with. she’s a shell of a person now, haunting mizi’s mind. did sua plan this? how did she know this would happen? why didn’t she tell me? why did she lie to me? i’m sure questions like these are circling in mizi’s mind, never to be answered.

ivan looks. deranged. to start. he’s way more focused on the camera than sua, looking down on us. also unlike sua, he’s sweating and crying(?), and is leaning away from the reflection. this immediately pushes the fact that ivan didn’t exactly plan his death like sua did hers. we’ll never truly know what was going through his mind, but i always felt like his lash out at till was an impulsive decision. he knew one of them was going to die, and when he saw till no longer fighting, he realized the reality that he wouldn’t be able to keep on going without till. so he ran, letting out all his emotions in his final moments. he is also a very selfish character, so i feel he’s ecstatic that in the end, he got to leave a lasting impression on till like he wanted. either that, or he’s grateful he finally got to let out all his emotions towards till, making till suffer yet saving him in his final moments.

another detail i noticed is that the ivan’s hands aren’t touching each other like sua’s, his hands have their backs faced to each other. the ivan on the left isn’t ivan’s true nature, it’s the facade he’s known to have showed those around him. he’s detached from this persona he put up, therefore not touching his palms. he’s also looking at us like he KNOWS something we don’t. unreliable narrator ivan strikes again.

okay so till’s is SIGNIFICANTLY different than both ivan and sua’s. he’s the only one facing away from us, the blood on him not visible. the side of his injury is also facing away from us. there’s also a lack of branding on him. i feel this is the most obvious piece we’ve gotten signifying that he’s going to be alive. they’re deliberately hiding any way for us to see the aftermath of his injury.. vivimeng has been treating till’s supposed death So much more differently than they’ve treated the other characters deaths. in his final comic, his post ‘death’ official art, and now this (which i will elaborate more on in a different post. i have an 10+ paragraph long analysis on why i believe till is alive LOL..)

his reflection is also not a normal mirror—it’s a true mirror. the hand placement isn’t mirrored like ivan and sua’s, it’s as if he’s directly holding out to the till in front of him. i believe he has a true mirror because he has always been true to himself. he never put up a facade or lied like ivan and sua did, as he never needed to. he was always his most authentic self, not only living for another person like the other true, but also for himself. we don’t see the mirror till’s expression, but we can see his mouth. he’s frowning, showing a lack of acceptance to his fate. i genuinely think he’s going to be okay. he’s a fighter, even in this photo, he’s still fighting. he refuses to accept that it’s his time to go, not sparing us a mere glance of assertion regarding his death.

note that i’m not saying these are the true meanings! just how i interpreted it. <3

[pia-nor481]

She…what? Chapter One

Lando norris x reader (hints at Daniel ricciardo x reader

1.7k words | Series Masterlist

"Pardon?" Lando exasperated, looking towards his friend. They were sat in his hotel room, even now, no longer teammates, they made a point to go out together, or at least see each other every week. "I'm serious." Daniel replied, unsure as to why his friend reacted in such a way. "I'm not doubting you, I'm having issue comprehending what you've said." Lando spoke quietly, taking a sip of his drink. "She gives the best blow jobs." Daniel stated simply, looking at Lando's raised eyebrow. "Good for you man, but why are you telling me this?" He stood up quickly, to retrieve another drink, and hide his slightly red face. "Come on, I know you've not been laid for a while, plus I think you'd quite like her." Lando was at a loss for words, he walked back towards the bed as slow as possible, it wasn't strange for them to talk about their most recent hook up, but it was never like this. "I'm sorry, you're asking me to fuck some girl you're seeing?" Daniel's immediate response was to roll his eyes, not understanding Lando's struggle. "No, well I'm not seeing her per say. It's a little agreement of sorts."

"So she's a hooker?" Lando said, sounding slightly disappointed, not that he wouldn't be up for it, he was just expecting something different. "No, god no. She's a girl I've been sleeping with? yes. Do I pay for it? No. But it's not a relationship either. It's kind of hard to explain." Lando was sipping his drink throughout Daniel's small speech, he gained a small amount of clarity.

So here Lando was, currently hungover, after a night in a club post race, it was four in the afternoon and he was panicking slightly. Daniel had given him a room number and said that he'd understand everything when he was through the door, but it took a while for him to knock. Realistically, what was he supposed to say? His whole body was filled with a mix of emotions that made it hard to function, he was nervous, shy, and slightly embarrassed. He'd never spoken to anyone with in this context before, so to say he was struggling would be an understatement. The shuffling behind the door got louder and louder until he was met with a beautiful woman. "Hello?" Lando was stunned, she was truly enticing, especially when she spoke. "And who are you?" She said with a warm and sweet tone, a light smile adorning her face. "Lando." He struggled to get his words out, he could see why Daniel would not stop speaking about her. "You're Daniel's friend?" She turned away from him, walking further into the hotel room. It was only now Lando was able to see her fully; She adorned a silk robe, one that framed her so well. She poured him a glass of wine that he took, but chose not to drink. "Yes, I am."

"So, Lando, What did he tell you?" She emphasised his name, making eye contact with him, sipping her drink slowly. "To be honest not much." He looked almost bashful as the words left his mouth. "What would you like to know?" she practically whispered, moving closer, then placing her hand on his knee. She pursed her lips slightly as she began to run her hand further up his leg, making it harder for Lando to think. "What this really is, or what it will be." In all honesty, he didn't know how to act, or what to say. "Whatever you want, well, with in reason....Just not tonight." She jumped up rather quickly, swaying her hips as she walked to the other side of the room, pouring another drink. "Why?" Desperation laced his voice, eyes wide. "There is a lot of things we must sort first, and that will take quite some time." While her back was turned, Lando took this as an opportunity to look around the room. Claiming it was vast would be an understatement. Filled with the hotel's finest furniture with the lights set to a dim, sensual level would be the best way to describe it. But, this coupled with just the sight on her, was slowly turning Lando on. "What do we need to sort out?" His patience was wearing thin, but he was yearning for her already. She paused for a moment, but Lando was too focused on the mirror on the ceiling. "I have to learn about what you like, and you about my limits... You will also have to sign an NDA, no matter your decision." He was surprised with her proposition. 

"NDA?" Lando needed her to elucidate, why would she need him to sign such a thing, and not just the other way around. "You are not the only one with things to lose." She stopped speaking again, and walked into another room, leaving Lando to his thoughts; He had no right to ask about her personal life at this moment in time, however, that didn't stop his curiosity. What did she have to lose? How did she get into this situation? All those questions would go unanswered for a long while. He began to hear her footsteps once again, this time there was a paper in her grasp. "I'll give you a while to read through it." Lando had never read something so fast in all of his life, and so, was quick to reach for a pen. He was feeling warm, but not as dizzy as before, he was certain in is sobriety.  "So....Where do we start?" the driver had never asked so many questions in one day, but he just couldn't help it. He tried not to asked closed questions as he wanted o hear her seraphic voice. "Tell me about what you like, Lando, I promise I wont judge." She winked as she sat beside him again, keeping her body closer than before. He knew what she was asking but he just could not form a coherent response. His brain became foggy, but she waited for a while, trying to coerce him into relaxing slightly. "Let's start simple, do you have any kinks that you have? Or would like to try? It can only be a few for now." She tried not to overwhelm him, knowing this can be quite the stressful situation. With how personal this is, she knew that no matter how confident or extroverted the person was, it would still be very hard. His nerves were overt, so she began to run her hand over his arm and shoulder, waiting for a response. "Um...I like blindfolds...and...mirrors." He was hesitant, but as soon as he saw the smile on her face, his shoulders lowered slightly. "Well, isn't that convenient." 

Lando pulled her closer, practically forcing her into his lap, not that she wasn't pleased with the gesture; happy with his confidence back, she let him speak. "Anything I need to know about you?" His hands slowly danced up her back, trailing along her vertebrae. "A few things, I don't have many hard NOs. But you'll get to find out about that at a later date. I will say, I use the traffic light system. I'm guessing you're familiar with it?" His hands travel back down, groping her ass. "Yeah...Woah, you are responsive." He could feel her shifting in his lap more frequently now. "So, hows this supposed to work?" Lando began to move his hips slightly meeting hers. "I call you, or you call me, and if I'm not busy, you will have my room number, and we go from there." Lando smiled ear to ear, squeezing her thighs slightly rough, testing the waters. "If you're not busy?" He said in jest. "Yes Lando, I'm in very high demand." She laughed lightly, grinding harder. "Oh, so I'm one of the lucky few?" Lando's lips met her neck rather quickly, he began kissing and sucking lightly. "Exactly....Knew I'd like you." He laughed into her skin, waiting for another statement, but it never came. 

She pulled away from him, and he was once again dumbfounded. Lando licked his lips as his eyes raked over her body, he was so excited. But doesn't like to be teased. "Oh come on Sweetheart. Don't do this to me." He stood up, walking towards her, but she just backed away, walking towards the actual bedroom. "Oh Lando, I can't give you everything now, then nothing will be bring you back." She giggled, eyeing him up, she was excited to play with him. But it would be better if she made him wait. "Such a tease, I'll be punishing you for that." He threatened her with an opposing tone. Lando reached for his phone resting on the table as she spoke. "I look forward to it." She said in a sultry tone, backing away from his view. Lando walked towards the hotel door, feeling his phone buzz in his hand. 

"Considering how long you've been, I'd say you liked her" -Daniel 

Lando chuckled, choosing to leave his friend on read, the walk to his hotel room was short, it was only now that he noticed how close her and Daniel's rooms were. Lando continued to ponder until he was met with the number 303. He knocked lightly, knowing his friend was waiting. "So... What happened?" Daniel said, ushering him into the hotel room. Lando was hesitant to say, he was unaware of what happened with them, and didn't want to either say something he's not supposed to, or upset Daniel in anyway. It was a sensitive topic, and although he signed the non-disclosure agreement stating that he could discuss this with Daniel, it all felt a little strange. "We discussed a few things, and she had me sign an NDA. But other than that, not much." Daniel smirked, looking back towards Lando, offering him another drink. "That's good, you were gone for quite some time, so I'm guessing you liked her." Lando nodded, looking away for a brief moment, "Yeah, we uh...made out a little bit." He didn't know how to feel, so many emotions were running through his body, it was making it hard to focus, his hands were shaking slightly, and his eyes unfocused. Lando felt almost intoxicated with her. "Just wait until you're in her mouth." 

Chapter Two

[shanksbaby]

They are jealous - Borsalino, Kuzan

extabilished relationship

he saw you talking to one of your coworkers, he had never seen him, so he must have been a new recruit. Well, he didn't like him at all anyway, especially the way he was looking at you and standing next to you.

ugh, who does he think he is? He had thought as he stared fixedly at the scene

and the worst thing was that you were too immersed in talking to him than to notice the admiral's presence behind you, with a not at all pleased expression. In fact he seemed to get more annoyed every minute at seeing you together

the other marines, however, have seen it, and they continually look between Kizaru and you and the other recruit, their faces somewhere between nervous and curious, being able only to sense their admiral's emotions.

Borsalino at some point can no longer stand to see you like thisand therefore approaches the two of you. His expression becomes relaxed again as does his voice, although you know better and sense a slight annoyance behind his apparent relaxation.

Sorry for the interruption, but i need miss Y\N.

as mentioned above, sensing the annoyance behind his seemingly calm smile, you follow him without a word, yet you cannot hide an amusement at seeing him annoyed at something so silly

he takes you into his office, locks the porete to prevent you from being disturbed, approaches you with a plush stride, and when he drops with his face you tweak gently his nose

My my someone is jealous

has no problem admitting that he is, in fact he doesn't seem embarrassed at all

he tells you exactly what bothered him: that recruit and how he was around you, how he looked at you. You reiterated to him that you were simply guiding him to the beginnings of his residency in the Navy Headquarters.

and that it was the first time you had met him

his full lips capture you in a passionate kiss, apologizing for acting like an idiot, and make a big deal than it was-

that day you both decided to visit another town (more specifically you were tired of being on that island full of pirates, and you wanted to visit somewhere, Kuzan simply followed you even though he preferred to stay over). The former admiral as was often the case had ignored his captain's orders and left with you.

obviously traveled with Kuzan's bike in the middle of the ocean.

you spent a whole day touring the town you came to, with mutterings from the tenth captain of Blackbeard's crew about how the bed would have been better (plus some definitely suggestive comments about what might have happened on the bed)

But it was all in all a day off from that island for both of us. You then went to a local bar, deciding to have a drink and some food. You decided home to eat and then Kuzan went to order and pay.

in the meantime a man of about thirty years old approached you and started flirting with you, thinking you were single, he even offered you a drink. Obviously you weren't interested, and while you were about to refuse him your boyfriend arrives, he hugs you and says in a particularly annoyed voice

Sorry buddy, but the lady here is taken

immediately the man leaves, probably recognizing Kuzan as a former navy admiral. The latter moves away from you and sits next to you, not saying anything, rather looking in front. You look at him amused, making him turn his face towards you, you tweak gently his nose

My my someone is jealous

he immediately denies it, saying that he did it for you, because you seemed annoyed by his advances, which makes you smile even more. After all he looks so cute while he denies his jealousy

he seems annoyed by your smiling and teasing him for being jealous (and he is not -agreeing to him). So, he kisses you on the lips, he says to shut you up but you know it's for something else, his hands search for your waist and then squeeze it to himself