#Conscious Commuting

[wickedzeevyln]

Unnecessary Dark of Being

Compound resentment is not a retirement plan. If the steering wheel had a neck, it would be looking at me as I choke it to its demise. Gak-gak-gak. Throaty gasps gurgling. My gaze locked on its googly eyes as light leaves them. Har! Har! Har! Stereotypical bad guy. Still gripping it like it owes me lunch money. The sun hasn’t even finished climbing the shady lurker resting in the east—still…

[asamis-jodhpurs]

truly a post for me and only me but god i need LbAN Torchwick and Sir Charles Descoteaux to speak to each other for just like twenty minutes

[mossistyping]

sorry I fell asleep and saw none of the drama. I had a cat on my lap and my boy won so 😌

[mainfaggot]

I was so anxious today even tho i was on top of my self care slash mental well being basics check-list... I suspect it was the caffeine on top of already worsening anxious Symptoms

[henry-dexter]

Exploring the E-Bike Industry: Why DYU's Folding E-Bikes Stand Out!

The e-bike industry is thriving, and one brand that is making waves is DYU. Known for their innovative designs and high-quality folding e-bikes, DYU is a fantastic choice for anyone looking to combine convenience with performance.

Folding e-bikes are particularly popular among urban commuters, as they provide an easy way to navigate through busy streets and can be conveniently stored in small spaces. DYU's folding models are not only lightweight but also packed with powerful features, making them ideal for both short trips and longer adventures.

One of the standout aspects of DYU's folding e-bikes is their user-friendly design. With quick folding mechanisms, riders can effortlessly transition from riding to storage in seconds. Plus, the sleek aesthetic of DYU bikes adds a modern touch to any commute.

Moreover, DYU prioritizes sustainability by offering electric bikes that reduce carbon footprints while providing an enjoyable riding experience. With impressive battery life and speed, these e-bikes are perfect for eco-conscious individuals.

If you're considering making a switch to an e-bike, DYU's folding models are definitely worth exploring. They represent a blend of practicality, style, and eco-friendliness that is hard to beat. Happy riding!

[anthonyfox4227]

The Joy of Riding: E-Bikes for Everyone

The e-bike industry is booming, and brands like DYU are leading the way in creating innovative foldable electric bikes that cater to the needs of commuters and adventure seekers alike. With their compact design, DYU e-bikes offer the perfect solution for those who want to save space and enjoy the convenience of easy storage.

Not only are these foldable electric bikes designed for practicality, but they also come equipped with powerful motors that make riding a breeze. Whether you're navigating busy city streets or enjoying a leisurely ride in the park, DYU e-bikes provide a smooth and enjoyable experience.

Moreover, the growing popularity of electric bikes promotes a healthier lifestyle and reduces carbon footprints, making them a fantastic choice for environmentally conscious riders. If you're considering a foldable electric bike, DYU is a brand that combines quality, style, and functionality. Embrace the future of transportation and enjoy the ride!

[irene-hanscom]

Exciting Developments in the E-Bike Industry: Spotlight on DYU

As a passionate advocate for sustainable transportation, I’m thrilled to share some positive insights about the e-bike industry, particularly focusing on the innovative brand DYU and its impact on the electric bicycle market.

DYU has been making waves with its stylish and efficient electric bicycles, which are perfect for navigating the bustling streets. Their models combine cutting-edge technology with user-friendly designs, making them accessible to riders of all experience levels. Whether you're commuting to work or enjoying a leisurely ride through the countryside, DYU e-bikes offer a fantastic solution that promotes a greener lifestyle.

One of the standout features of DYU electric bicycles is their impressive battery life, allowing riders to travel longer distances without the worry of running out of power. This is especially beneficial for those living in urban areas where traffic congestion can be a challenge. With a DYU e-bike, you can effortlessly zip through the city, reducing your carbon footprint while enjoying the fresh air.

Furthermore, DYU is committed to affordability, making electric bicycles available to a wider audience. With various financing options and competitive pricing, more people can experience the joy of riding an electric bicycle. This opens the door to healthier commuting options and fosters a community of environmentally conscious riders.

In conclusion, the e-bike industry is rapidly evolving, and DYU is at the forefront of this exciting change. With their dedication to quality, innovation, and sustainability, DYU is paving the way for a brighter future in transportation. If you're considering an electric bicycle, look no further than DYU for a fantastic riding experience!

[juliabush2450]

Exploring the Thriving E-Bike Industry with DYU's Electric Bike 750w

The e-bike industry is experiencing a remarkable surge, and one brand leading the charge is DYU. Known for their innovative designs and powerful performance, DYU's electric bikes stand out in the marketplace.

What sets DYU apart is their commitment to quality and user experience. Their electric bike models offer a smooth ride, allowing for effortless commuting and leisure outings. With robust motors, riders can easily tackle hills and long distances without breaking a sweat.

Moreover, DYU's electric bikes are environmentally friendly, providing a sustainable alternative to traditional transportation. As more people seek efficient and eco-conscious travel options, DYU is perfectly positioned to meet this growing demand.

In addition to performance, DYU prioritizes style and comfort. Their bikes are designed not just to function well but also to look great on the road. With a variety of colors and models, there’s a DYU electric bike for everyone.

Overall, the future of the e-bike industry looks bright with brands like DYU at the forefront, making electric biking accessible and enjoyable for all.

[benjokovar77]

The Rise of DYU E-Bikes in the UK

The e-bike industry in the UK is experiencing a surge in popularity, and one brand that's making waves is DYU. With their innovative designs and commitment to sustainability, DYU e-bikes are quickly becoming a favorite among eco-conscious commuters and outdoor enthusiasts alike.

DYU's e-bikes are not only stylish and practical but also packed with cutting-edge features that make cycling a breeze. From powerful electric motors to sleek designs, these bikes offer a seamless blend of performance and aesthetics. Whether you're navigating busy city streets or exploring scenic countryside trails, DYU e-bikes provide a smooth and exhilarating ride.

One of the standout features of DYU e-bikes is their long-lasting battery life, ensuring that you can go the extra mile without worrying about running out of power. Additionally, these bikes are designed with safety in mind, incorporating advanced braking systems and intuitive controls for a secure and enjoyable riding experience.

As the demand for environmentally friendly transportation solutions continues to grow, DYU e-bikes are poised to become a game-changer in the UK market. With their commitment to quality, innovation, and sustainability, DYU is leading the charge in the e-bike revolution, empowering individuals to embrace a greener and more efficient mode of transportation.

[cal-on]

Calon EV's Electric Two-Wheelers: The Future of Sustainable Transportation

Introduction: The Rise of Sustainable Electric Two-Wheelers

In an era where environmental consciousness is at the forefront of global conversations, sustainable electric two-wheelers are rapidly becoming a cornerstone of sustainable transportation. These vehicles are not just a trend but a necessary evolution in our transportation systems. Calon EV, a pioneering company in electric mobility, is leading the charge with its range of sustainable electric vehicles, designed to offer green commuting options in urban areas like Hyderabad.

As cities across the world grapple with pollution and traffic congestion, Calon EV's electric two-wheelers present a viable solution. They are eco-friendly, cost-effective, and perfectly suited for urban environments, making them a key player in the future of sustainable transportation.

The Future of Transportation with Calon EV

As urban centers like Hyderabad continue to grow, the need for sustainable transportation solutions becomes more pressing. Traditional fuel-powered vehicles contribute significantly to pollution, exacerbating the already critical issue of climate change. This is where Calon EV steps in, offering a range of sustainable electric two-wheelers that not only reduce emissions but also provide an efficient mode of transport.

Calon EV's mission is clear: to revolutionize urban mobility with eco-friendly electric scooters that are accessible, affordable, and above all, sustainable. By embracing green two-wheeler solutions, Calon EV is playing a crucial role in the shift towards a cleaner, more sustainable future.

How Electric Two-Wheelers Contribute to Sustainable Transport

The environmental benefits of sustainable electric two-wheelers are undeniable. These vehicles produce zero emissions, significantly reducing the carbon footprint associated with daily commuting. In cities like Hyderabad, where air quality is a growing concern, electric scooters from Calon EV provide a much-needed alternative to traditional modes of transportation.

Moreover, sustainable electric two-wheelers contribute to the reduction of noise pollution, another often overlooked aspect of urban living. The quiet operation of these vehicles enhances the quality of life in densely populated areas, making them a preferred choice for sustainable commuting.

Calon EV's focus on battery-powered two-wheelers aligns perfectly with global sustainability goals. The company's dedication to innovation in electric vehicle sustainability ensures that their products not only meet current needs but also anticipate future challenges in urban sustainable transport solutions.

Continue Reading: https://www.calonev.com/Calon-EV's-Electric-Two-Wheelers-The-Future-of-Sustainable-Transportation

[zomb13s]

Exploring the Future of Urban Mobility: A Test Ride with Cargaroo

Urban transportation is undergoing a revolution, with new technologies and services constantly reshaping how we navigate our cities. As a passionate advocate for sustainable and efficient transportation solutions, I recently had the opportunity to test ride a cutting-edge electric cargo bike provided by Cargaroo, accompanied by their innovative app. Join me on this journey as I share my…

[techdriveplay]

Sustainable Driving: Tips for Reducing Your Carbon Footprint

In the quest for a greener planet, sustainable driving stands out as a practical and impactful approach for individuals aiming to reduce their carbon footprint. With environmental concerns at an all-time high, adopting eco-friendly driving habits is more crucial than ever. This article delves into actionable tips that not only contribute to a healthier environment but also enhance the efficiency…

[heartswithinreach]

Sitting on LaDS lap

Xavier

Physical contact is nothing new for you two. You trust Xavier with your life on the battlefield and when you're fighting the evening commute.

The train is packed on your way home after fighting Wanderers all day but Xavier doesn't notice until he sits down and realizes the person sitting next to him isn't his partner.

But before he can give up his seat for you, you're sitting across his lap and resting your head on his shoulder. He watches you settle, amused and flustered by your boldness to do something like this in public.

"I don't think this is allowed for safety." He says gently, not wanting to wake you. "But if you're that tired..."

Xavier holds you close, making sure you don't fall off his lap from the movement of the train, and peacefully dozes with you until you're home.

Rafayel

“You’re supposed to be my bodyguard — why aren’t I sitting on your lap?”

Rafayel pouts mostly for show and so he doesn’t come across as too eager. He’s barely holding back from squeezing you in a tight hug, he didn’t expect you to be so soft.

But he also didn’t expect what he said would make you self conscious. Rafayel quickly pulls you back down when you try to get off of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, making sure you stay put.

“Relax, cutie. I was just joking. You can stay for as long as you want.”

But he will expect you to return the favor whenever he wants in the future. Especially if it’s at an event and he wants to rub your relationship in other peoples’ faces.

Zayne

His reaction depends on where you are and what the situation is.

If you sit on his lap while waiting to be seated at a restaurant, he’ll be unimpressed by the PDA but allow it so you’re both not sore from standing.

In the privacy of his or your apartment, you’re welcome to do whatever you like.

Every time you come near him in the early evening while he’s reading a book, he secretly hopes you’ll curl up on his lap. Your warmth is just the balm he needs after his shift at the hospital.

Zayne always worries about his evol in the back of his mind. What if his body temperature is too low and being so close is unpleasant for you? The only thing that’ll stop him from fretting and relax is if you play with his hair.

Sylus

Your ass hasn’t touched an actual chair in this man’s presence since you made your relationship official.

The first time you tried, he stopped reading his intel to ask, “What are you doing all the way over there, sweetie?” and patted his thigh. It couldn’t have been more obvious what he wanted.

Won’t stand for any “I’m too heavy” nonsense. He’s genuinely offended when you say that. Have you seen his physique? He waits until you’ve decided to give it a shot and then he's manhandling you onto his lap.

Pavlov dogs you into this routine until one day you just sit on his lap, completely unprompted, and he gives you the most infuriating, self-satisfied grin when you realize what you’ve done.

He’s won this small victory and he won’t let you forget it.

[electricparivahan]

शानदार इलेक्ट्रिक स्कूटर: Komaki Flora के खुशखबरी भरे फीचर्स, कीमत है सबसे कम

Komaki Flora: भारतीय बाजार में हाल ही में उतारे गए एक शानदार इलेक्ट्रिक स्कूटर के बारे में हम आपको बताने जा रहे हैं। रिपोर्ट्स के अनुसार, इस इलेक्ट्रिक स्कूटर की अब तक 20,000 से 25,000 यूनिट की सेल भी हो चुकी है। बजट में आने वाले इस इलेक्ट्रिक स्कूटर को ग्राहक द्वारा खूब पसंद किया जा रहा है और स्कूटर की परफ़ॉरमेंस भी उत्कृष्ट है। Telegram WhatsApp Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Instagram Komaki…

[gghostwriter]

Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet. 

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge. 

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

**

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side. 

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

**

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips. 

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.” 

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you. 

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much. 

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed. 

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door. 

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then. 

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face. 

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.” 

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade. 

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight. 

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. Uncharted waters for me, because I have no idea how many chapters it will come out as.

Reader is: British, Young Vic (get it?) theatre company director, working class, in her 30s, a control freak, a semi-conscious sub. Viktor is: Czech (as always), working in biotech with Jayce, working class, in his 30s, a control freak, a conscious dom.

MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this work contains: d/s dynamics between main characters (but who the fuck knows what Mel and Jayce are doing), love (attraction?) at first sight, no strings attached to lovers/strangers to lovers (so like reverse emotional slow burn?), lots of porn, angst, happy resolution. I will be adding kink warnings as they appear in the future chapters.

author’s note: Ok, so, um, hi! A Deer and a Man is ending, so something else has to begin. It’s like… a very freeform thing I’m doing here. Sort of about nothing, just relationships with d/s dynamics, because I want to play around with some kinks and stuff. I’m trying to make it make sense here, but not everything might, since it’s just my subjective take on things. It will have some d/s etiquette but not always, because I’m clumsy and my characters get infected with my clumsiness :v Nothing’s new really (hehe, get it?), some plot, some porn, some feelings. It’s basically me going to IKEA asking you if you wanna come and grab some vegan meatballs and the meatballs are smut in this :v So yeh, hi, welcome to another blurb of a mutlichap work.

Special thanks to my friends @rennethen and @strongfartzemergency for pre-reading this and enabling my brainrot. Artist is @petitesieste, just ahh ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Your eyes glaze over the computer screen, trying to memorize a list of poor souls to probe the next day. An ouroboros of theatre life has reached another mark, one where you must make a million decisions in a short span of time: Which plays will grace the stage, who’s performing in them, who’s directing, and who’s dressing all those people in their fancy costumes? And, most importantly, who’s paying for all of it?

So far, a successful year has set your bar even higher, with the next season looming in the golden light of August evenings. You don’t even have time to warm your bones in it—you have to think ahead, transport your brain to the future, to a cold January, when the real test begins for you. In truth, you don’t have time to do anything beneficial for your bones, and you’ve just learned to accept that your joints crack like dry wood every time you move.

A head peaks through the crack in your door, and you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Charlie,” you greet him, your nose still scrunched up by the screen. “I know, I know. I’m going, I just need a second.” You begin to rise from your chair but remain hunched over, extending your arm blindly toward the computer. “Did you bring my shoes?”

“Yes, and I’m not kicking you out,” says Charlie, passing you a pair of ballet flats. “But if you want a driver, well… he’s getting impatient.”

“That’s okay, I can commute,” you smile at him, taking the shoes and glancing at your watch. “It’s only Camden… oh, shit, it’s very late. You should, in fact, kick me out.” After a few hurried jumps while putting the shoes on, you're back to frantically picking up unrelated objects and shoving them into your purse: tissues, lipstick, random notes to review in the morning, and Mel’s gift—a seasonal Young Vic pass for her and her plus one.

“Where are you guys meeting?” he asks, passing you the rest of the things you will obviously want or need. It’s a seamless collaboration with Charlie. Since the very beginning, you two have been sharing a brain, and this is partly why nothing has collapsed yet. On the contrary—both you, as a theatre company director, and Charlie, as an assistant director, have been doing an amazing job, mending together a forthcoming approach and love for theatre. And this is all your head is at, despite the one evening of reprieve where you can share beers with friends in a pub that Mel has chosen completely out of character for herself. Which is why, instead of answering, you ask, “Do you really think we can do Hamlet?”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to do Hamlet?” Charlie parrots, passing you a coat with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it not a bit… on the nose? It’s my second year, and my brain’s steamed up so much that I’m doing Hamlet?”

Charlie chuckles softly, as he steps behind you to dress you up. “You are going to do a bitchin’ Hamlet. And now can you please go and have some fun for once?”

“This is fun, Charlie. Hamlet is fun,” you say, holding his arms and giving him a playful shake. “Fun!”

“Calm down, captain,” he grins, rolling his eyes. “Where are you guys going?”

“Ugh… World’s End?”

“World’s End?!” Charlie covers his mouth in feigned horror, his eyes wide. “This is so unlike Miss Medarda!” he whispers, shooting you an incredulous look.

“I know, Mel wanted casual,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. Then, as you move past him, you swat him lightly on the shoulder, seeking another round of uninhibited cackles. “Don’t be mean, Charlie!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, World’s fucking End, who would’ve thought. Let me fetch you a driver, my lady.”

You shake your head and scan your office one last time, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Figuratively, of course, since almost everything dear to your heart is actually being left behind. And even though it’s only for a couple of hours, not being in control is frightening.

On the other side of the coin are your friends, with Mel right up front. She’s been there since the very first second of your meeting—right after you yelled at a light technician, making him flinch and nearly fall off the ladder. You had immediately corrected yourself with, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But this lightwork is still shit. Please fix it. I ask you kindly.”

That was when Mel grinned, wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and whispered into your ear, “Okay. I want to be your friend.”

Since then, Mel has been one of the main patrons of your theatre company, and you—being a firm unbeliever in your own abilities—are convinced it’s largely her money and pep talks that have granted you the creative freedom that led to you becoming an artistic director. Your worlds collided fast and hard, and, being another person married to her work, she quickly became one of the closest people in your life.

Until Jayce.

Mel, being someone who treats every relationship as an investment, doesn’t limit her influence to the arts. So when her family decided to fund research grants for scientists from the Francis Crick Institute, you knew something was coming as soon as she justified the decision with, “And they are both very handsome.”

You know the urge very well—the ever-nagging need to have everything under control, to oversee every grain of sand that rolls through the waist of the hourglass, every second planned, every schedule so tight there is barely time to breathe. It’s one of the things that bonded the both of you.

So when Jayce came along—with his motivation stemming not from a sickening need for self-accomplishment or a desperate urge to prove something to the world, but from the purity of his own heart and a healthy curiosity—Mel began to crack. And then the disease spread to you.

Now, you actually rest. You spend your free Sundays socializing. You talk about things other than work. You’ve even been on a few unsuccessful dates. And it’s all Jayce’s fault.

You loved him for it immediately—the small crumbs of the outside world granted to you and Mel through his unabashed joy and excitement. Jayce made things fun, and turning your phone off—briefly relinquishing control—became a little less terrifying.

From there, your thoughts drift in different directions until your absent-minded stare at the moving lights outside the car window is interrupted. The driver, in a grumpy tone, informs you that you’ve arrived at your destination. You crack the joints in your hands before thanking him and bidding him goodnight.

The World’s End is all red from the outside, its glow bleeding onto the wet pavement. Through the glass, you spot the back of Mel’s heavily accessorized hairstyle, a head of intricate twists and gleaming accents. You glance at your reflection, and—well. You’ve seen better days.

Your mini skirt has twisted around, placing the slit exactly where you don’t want it, so you yank it back into place, cursing Charlie for not telling you. In the process, you notice a small eyelet in your tights, the hole widening with each step you take. No nail polish to stop it from spreading. You curse yourself for that one. Your shirt is crumpled at the stomach—a reminder of hours spent hunched over your desk. Your necklace has caught a bunch of stray hairs, which you pick out frantically as you stride toward the door. And the rest of your hair? An artistic mess, sculpted by an impatient hand that’s raked through it a hundred times too many today.

Once inside, Mel’s slender hand and a row of her impossibly white teeth beckon you forward as she stands up to give you a hug.

And the inside of The World's End is exactly what you would expect from a Camden pub—big, loud, and brimming with mismatched charm. The walls are cluttered with a collection of art that looks like it was bought in a rush at a local flea market. There's a hum of conversation mixing with the thrum of the music playing in the background, and the space itself is large, almost cavernous. The low ceiling and uneven, wooden floorboards give it an unpolished look that feels welcoming to some, but it's not exactly the kind of place you'd expect to see Mel at.

Mel, in contrast, belongs in a sleek, minimalistic bar, somewhere where the drinks are as carefully curated as the furniture, where everything is perfectly composed. Here, she’s lost in the midst of it all, a little too refined for the space, as if her sharp lines don’t quite align with the pub’s rough edges. The things we do for friends.

“Darling, I’m glad you made it,” she chirps, walking toward you and spreading her arms wide.

“Now I can say I’d go to the end of the world for you,” you murmur into her shoulder, squeezing her tight. Then, pulling back, you present a small envelope. “Happy birthday, love. Here—best possible seats.”

Mel’s brows lift as she takes the tickets, flipping them between her fingers. “You shouldn’t have,” she says, though the gleam in her eye betrays her excitement. “But thank you. You wouldn’t believe who Jayce has managed to drag along,” she murmurs into your ear.

“Oh, it can’t be,” you whisper back, scanning the table over her shoulder.

A few of her closest friends sit huddled together, deep in conversation and laughter. Then, Jayce’s broad frame, unmistakable even in the dim light. And next to him—

A pair of loose shoulders, wrapped in a red shirt stretched between two sharp blades. The nape of his neck, covered in a mess of brown curls. He leans on one hand, nodding along to whatever Jayce is saying, his profile cutting sharp against the glow of the street lights.

Viktor. The last man standing, the one seemingly immune to Jayce’s influence when it comes to making people step out of their comfort zones. And yet, here he is. Of all occasions, it’s Mel’s birthday that has somehow coaxed Viktor out of his self-imposed solitude. A horse you wouldn’t have bet on.

You are led to the table, where all the seats seem to be taken—until Viktor removes his cane from the empty stool beside him and gestures for you to sit between him and Jayce. As you lower yourself onto the stool, you take his hand briefly and say, “The smartest man in the room, finally in the room.”

“You must be talking about Jayce,” he counters, a glint of amusement in his eye. He holds your palm for just a moment longer than necessary before letting go. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply with a smile—until Mel’s head suddenly pokes between the two of you.

“What’s your poison, honey?” she asks. Only now do you notice her flushed cheeks and the way she’s completely disregarded the concept of personal space, her arm stretching beyond your shoulders to tug playfully at Jayce’s hair.

“A pint of bitter?” you say, startled.

She frowns slightly, but you quickly follow with, “Cheers,” hoping to steer her attention elsewhere. Her eyes squint at you, but she relents, giving Jayce’s back a clingy hug before strolling off to the bar. Only now Viktor’s hand releases yours.

He studies you for a moment before turning to his glass, giving you the chance to take a closer look—

The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the hollow between his collarbones, skin up to his neck is covered in a satin sheen of sweat. Tendons shift beneath it, blue veins threading along his throat. His hair is faintly damp around the ears, curling and plastering itself to his temples. From the side, his jaw forms nearly a perfect square.

You don’t dare to look higher.

Lower down, though, his sleeves are rolled up carelessly, exposing freckle-specked arms. You spot it by dropping your gaze naturally.

Mel was right. They are both very handsome.

As the birthday gal disappears toward the bar, you are left wedged between the two scientists, the noise of conversation assaulting your ears. Across the table, Amara leans in, her many rings clinking as she refills someone’s glass from a sweating bottle of wine. Beside her, Salo—always overdressed for the occasion, his blonde curls neatly combed back—gestures broadly mid-story, his voice animated. A few seats down, Mion, the youngest among them and always balancing the line between sharp and naive, listens intently while occasionally stealing olives from Mel’s abandoned plate.

"So," Jayce starts, shifting his weight so he can face you properly. “What’s keeping you so busy these days?”

You exhale, stretching your arms along the back of your seat, making your spine pop. “Wrapping up meetings with playwrights, directors, and actors—making sure everything aligns. Managing funding and sponsorships, finalising script choices.”

Salo whistles. “Sounds like a headache.”

“It’s a miracle she’s here at all,” Jayce adds, nursing his beer. “I half-expected her to send a regretful telegram from the depths of her desk.”

That earns a laugh from Amara, who nudges your foot under the table. “And what are the plays, then? What’s in?”

You rest your chin in your palm and do a mock countdown with the fingers of the other. “Further than the Furthest Thing, The Scottsboro Boys, A Streetcar Named Desire—possibly Hamlet.”

Mel, just returning with your beer, lets out a delighted gasp as she sets it down. “Hamlet? Oh, darling, tell me you’re doing it.”

“Calm yourself,” you warn, reaching for your drink. “I said possibly.”

She spreads her hands dramatically. “I can already see it now—the staging, the lighting—”

“Don’t start designing the posters just yet,” you cut in, but she’s grinning too widely to be discouraged. “I can still change my mind.”

“You know that’s a lot for one person,” Viktor remarks, leaning in from your right, his voice lower, meant just for the two of you. His pupils are darker, wider than the number of glasses of wine he’s had would suggest, assessing you from under hooded eyelids.

“I’ve always run through my life,” you say simply, tipping your glass toward him. “I do have help, though.” Viktor clicks his tongue, his mouth curving into a half-smile.

Before you can figure out what it means, Mion suddenly snaps her fingers. “Wait—how did you and Mel meet, anyway?”

Mel waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I saw her preparing Yerma, and it was love at first sight.”

“Love?” Salo lifts a brow.

“She was standing on stage, sleeves rolled up, arguing over how the chairs should be arranged.” Mel sighs theatrically. “Her diligence. Her eye for detail. I knew I had to have her.”

Jayce snorts. “And by ‘have her,’ you mean ‘fund her.’”

Mel grins. “Exactly.”

The table dissolves into laughter, glasses clinking. Conversations crisscross—Salo and Mion bickering over some technical aspect of stage production, and you don’t have the heart to correct them. Jayce launching into an enthusiastic recounting of an experiment gone wrong. Someone beside you leans in to talk, and for a moment, you lose the thread of conversation.

The haze of smoke, the warmth of alcohol-softened breaths, the layered voices—it all blurs. Next to you, Viktor is speaking, but his words are swallowed by the noise.

The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just the drink settling in. Sounds overlap and ring in your ears as exhaustion takes hold and you zone out. Somewhere nearby, a bottle of wine gets passed around, then discarded in the middle of the table, still within your reach. A voice cuts through the fog, softer, closer. Then sharper, clearer than before.

Foreshadowed by Viktor’s hand on your leg—his right palm rests on you, and the moment it does, you tilt toward him, only to find he’s done the same. His fingers press inward, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh. It’s a gentle invasion, entirely unprovocative, something that simply happens—natural. His left arm hovers over your backrest as his mouth nears your ear, and you can feel the tickle of his hair on your cheek.

“Pass me the wine.” A soft command, tilting toward a question at the end, firm and quiet all at once.

You reach for the bottle without looking, your eyes fixed on his throat as he breathes. The moment it comes close, his touch leaves your leg and finds your fingers instead. His skin brushes yours, spreading the sweat from the glass onto your own, and something coils low in your stomach.

“Good…” he murmurs, clipped, as if something else should follow. “Thank you.” And then his warmth is gone, leaving you painfully sober, achingly empty.

It’s one of the most agonising seconds of your life—except this time, there’s something sickly sweet curling around the edges, a lingering undertone that was missing from all the other agonising moments you’ve suffered through.

For the rest of the evening, your attention doesn’t waver, save for the necessary moments to put Mel in the spotlight.

Viktor lingers close. Not close enough to raise any eyebrows—everyone else is too busy bickering and laughing at Jayce’s anecdotes—but enough for you to notice and relish in it. His breath occasionally fans your face when he leans over you for the bottle, his knee bumps yours under the table. He sits tilted toward you, his arm hooked against your stool, and his eyes never leave you, one way or another. He bombards you with questions and answers yours without blinking.

"Where did you study?" you ask, lips glued to the rim of your glass, leaving an stamp of your lipstick there.

"Abroad," he says vaguely, tipping his head. "You?"

"England. Try again," you counter, not looking up, only baring your teeth to the remnants of a cocktail in your hand.

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his glass idly in his fingers before conceding, "Vigilant, of course. Very well—biochemistry at UTC Prague." He pauses, watching your reaction. "Then onward to Francis Crick through MSCA. Now—tell me yours." The last part, a command again, gentle and firm and you find yourself reciting in no time.

"Theatre and Performance at Goldsmiths," you reply, your words a little looser, the alcohol working its way through your veins.

"Ah, how prestigious," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"If you consider five years of bullying that, then yes," you slur, twirling your drink in your glass. His expression sharpens, brows lifting slightly in silent question. You sigh, meeting his gaze. "I got The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art scholarship. Before that, I led an utterly non-prestigious life in Staines."

"Hardworking girl," he purrs, and oh—his hand returns to your thigh, this time less inconspicuous as he drags a long finger up and stops just beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Where do you live?" he asks, his voice dipping lower, quieter, like the answer might be something just for him.

"Hackney," you answer immediately, then, seeing his knowing smile, feel the need to correct yourself. "The bad Hackney. You?"

"Eh, Islington," Viktor says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

Your mock jaw drop is immediate. "Unbelievable," you drawl. "And you dare to make fun of my fancy living?"

Viktor smirks, his fingers brushing your thigh before retreating. "You are making it up. But we can share a cab home then."

Something jumps in your chest at the thought of being locked in a tiny space alone with this man. And the cab driver, but, nevertheless. "I suppose we can. When do you want to go?" you ask, as steadily as you can manage right now.

He exhales slowly, then leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's go now."

You have to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull. In fact, with the mix of various alcohols cursing through your veins and the secretive glances he’s been giving you, you’d probably nod vigorously if he offered to fuck you on the bar.

You step away from the table, weaving through the crowded space as you pull out your phone. Your fingers tremble slightly—whether from the drinks or the anticipation, you can't tell. It doesn’t matter. The cab company confirms your ride is on its way, barely three minutes out.

When you return, Viktor is still lounging against the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his now-empty glass. He doesn’t look at you right away, but his body angles toward you the moment you step back into his space. You lean in just enough to let the scent of him—wine, sweet sweat and washing powder—settle into your senses before speaking.

“We have three minutes,” you say casually, as if not stopping yourself from clenching your thighs.

Viktor gives a small, knowing nod and starts shuffling around for his cane and coat. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a quiet efficiency to them, a preparedness that has you smiling.

From across the table, Mel lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re leaving already? I knew I shouldn’t have sat two workaholics together.”

Jayce snorts into his drink. “At least they lasted this long. I was expecting Viktor to slip out halfway through.”

Viktor hums in vague amusement, fastening the buttons of his coat. “And miss all your storytelling? Impossible.”

Mel rolls her eyes but grins. “Fine, fine. Go, be boring. Just don’t forget—” she waggles a finger at you—“you owe me a Hamlet.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Mel.”

With that, you feel Viktor’s hand brush lightly against the small of your back—an absentminded gesture, almost cautious, but it sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s raining again, and neither of you has an umbrella, so you huddle together under your purse until Viktor opens the door for you. You fall in with no grace whatsoever and slide your ass across the back seat to make space for him. He steps in slowly, throws his address to the driver, then slumps down beside you, looking at you expectantly.

For a moment, you freeze—until you realise everyone is waiting for your address. Mumbling out the street and number, you lean back, your shoulder blades pressing against his arm.

And oh. You know damn well you won’t be able to let this go beyond tonight—or that you shouldn’t be fucking around where you figuratively eat—but he smells good, and his eyes stay on you, dark and hungry. So you tip yourself into the crook of his shoulder, tilting your head up with an innocently pleading look.

Viktor chuckles, as if something has just been confirmed, and his slender hand finds its way between your thighs. His body shifts subtly, shielding you from the driver, who barely suppresses an eye roll in the rear-view mirror. His lips, burning with alcohol and want, close over yours. His tongue pushes inside, licking slow and deep along the row of your teeth. His fingers travel up your leg, stopping painfully close to where you ache for him most, and squeeze—just enough to brace himself as he leans in further.

You fumble with the buttons of his coat, slipping your hands beneath to tug his shirt free from his trousers. Another warm chuckle rumbles against your lips.

“So efficient,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to mouth at your ear. His breath is hot when he whispers, “Do you want to fuck here, or will you be a good girl and wait until we get home?”

A strangled moan escapes you, and your own hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Viktor grins against your skin.

“Good. Quiet,” he purrs, before dragging his tongue in a slick trail down your neck, stopping halfway to suck a bruise into your flesh.

Breath stumbles in your lungs when he stops, lips flushed, wet and red with your smeared lipstick, his teeth barely grazing your skin before he leans back to look at you. His fingers remain firm between your thighs, a teasing pressure that makes your legs tense and tremble beneath his touch.

Whatever has led you to this moment is not your usual behaviour, but somehow, you can’t be bothered to announce it. Long ago—somewhere after shitty date number five, or fifteen—you swore off bad sex for the sake of no sex and peace of mind. You grew tired of partners who were more tease than do, and the ones who assumed you’d thrive on organising everything in bed, just as you do at work.

You crave someone to take that pressure off you. Someone who would simply allow you to be dumb, even just for a few moments. To fuck your brains out so that poor strongest muscle of yours can replenish and breathe before you have to step back into the saddle and lead the chaotic orchestra of theatre technicians, actors, directors, and founders toward whatever critics deem a successful season. To take all the decision-making away and praise you for it.

And you have no guarantee that Viktor will do exactly that—other than the way his roaming hand squeezes your leg so firmly or the way his tongue, insistent and wanting, doesn’t ask permission before invading your mouth. The way he has stared at you the entire night has left you hotter and more bothered than anyone’s scrutiny ever has. And even if this is a mistake, it’s one you are willing to make. Your thighs shake at the thought, and Viktor gasps softly against your lips.

"You're trembling," he murmurs, voice low as the vowels roll thickly off his tongue. His free hand reaches up, pushing your hair aside. He trails his knuckles along your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly against your parted lips. "Cold, or something else?"

You give a breathy laugh, rolling your hips ever so slightly into his palm, chasing that friction. Viktor hums, pleased, before his fingers slip higher—just barely ghosting over the hanging-there nylons shielding your underwear. Your breath catches.

The cab rattles over a pothole, jolting you both, but neither of you pulls away. If anything, it only makes Viktor bolder. He shifts to face you fully, pressing you back into the seat as he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling languidly around yours. You taste wine and your own spit on him, and it makes you dizzy.

His hand abandons your thigh only to grab your wrist, dragging it to the front of his trousers, where he's already half-hard beneath the layers of fabric. "I want you," he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip before letting his forehead drop to yours.

You palm him through the material, pressing just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. The sound alone makes a fresh gush of lust bloom in your knickers.

Then—a pointed cough.

You both jolt as if caught doing something far more illicit than you already are.

"Islington," the cab driver announces dryly, eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Viktor huffs out a laugh, dragging his fingers through his already-mussed hair. "Do you want to come in?" he says, as if you hadn’t just been grinding against each other like reckless teenagers in the back of a cab.

You swallow, pulse still pounding in your ears. "Yes," you nod. "Yes."

“I suppose we will wrap up the ride here,” Viktor says reaching for his wallet and taking out one note too many to make up for whatever the poor man had to endure.

“Yeah, mate, I figured. Have a great night.”