#if you saw the first time i posted this set

[florestalio]

JUST FRIENDS — n.rk

albeit the lines of your friendship were quite blurred, it still confused you as to why riki was suddenly adamant on having your hair tie on his wrist at all times. given, you know, that it would be basically telling the world that the two of you were dating.

GENRE— fluff, highschool au, friends to lovers

WARNINGS— lots of touching, jealousy, mutual pining but they are both oblivious idiots, cursing, toxicity (they are huge haters imo), kissing, slight making out (?), let me know if I missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 6.4k

NOTE— fluff is my biggest enemy, so this was quite the challenge for me. bnd ver posted here!

YOU AND RIKI WERE CLOSE. Too close, according to the rest of your friends.

You both had been best friends since kindergarten, the story of your meeting never failing to tear a chuckle out of anyone who heard it.

You were three years old, having arrived at kindergarten a few minutes ago. You were scared to go and talk to the other kids — what if they were mean? What if they laughed at your pretty bows? What if they didn't want to play with you?

You sat in one corner, away from the other kids, playing with a small doll. Amidst your playing, you saw little feet approach you. You looked up, noticing a boy of your age. He stared right back at you, before pointing at you. “You are going to be my best friend!”

The boy had later introduced himself to be Riki, and you both had truly become best friends. The two of you were together through thick and thin, never leaving each other's side. There were no secrets between the two of you, the thought itself incredulous. You both were best friends, why on earth would you both hide something from each other?

Your bond was unbreakable, something that left many writhing in envy. How come you both were so close, never able to leave each other's side?

With a good bond, comes judgement. Judgement by others, assumptions about your true relationship.

While you both were close, not everyone knew that you both were best friends, right? To any stranger, you both were the embodiment of 'siblings, or dating?'.

While you both bickered and were playful enough to be termed as siblings, the way you both acted with each other, often left people confused.

See, your love language was physical touch, while his was acts of service. After spending so much time with each other for all these years, you both were bound to rub off on each other, weren't you?

His hand was almost always on your waist, or your shoulders — didn't matter where you guys were, or what you were doing — it was always there. If somehow he forgot to put his hand around you, you would loop your arm around his, or intertwine your hands. It was cute, definitely very cute, but — the extreme couple energy that you both excluded was insane.

It didn't help that you were often touching him, skinship being basically your second nature. You were always fixing his hair, his clothes, touching him while you were speaking to him, while you were laughing with him — how could you both expect anyone to believe that you weren't dating each other?

Not only that, both of you would often be seen giving each other random gifts, without it being a special occasion. You were often seen giving Riki a chocolate at a random time of the day, while he was often delivering milk to you. If anyone asked, he always had the same excuse: “She doesn't drink enough water, she needs to stay hydrated”, while you always said “he likes chocolates, is it so wrong of me to give chocolates to a friend?” Needless to say, they always backed off after that.

It was only after a certain set of incidents that everyone finally had something to confirm that yes, you both were indeed more than friends.

IT WAS A QUARTER PAST SEVEN IN THE MORNING, fifteen minutes left for the start of the first period. You and Riki had arrived at school just five minutes ago, with his hand around your waist as usual. The two of you were giggling at some tea you were spilling regarding a relationship between a senior and a sophmore, since you were physically incapable of keeping things from him. Just as you were getting to the good part of the gossip, one of Riki’s friends from the football team ran up to the two of you. Jake.

“Hey lovebirds!” Jake cheerily waved to the both of you, his tone teasing. You simply rolled your eyes with a smile, having gotten used to the antics of his friends. “Riki, dude, I'm gonna need a favour — one of our frontiers is absent, and none of the subs are available. Please help us out for today's match — I promise I'll make it up to you, even if we don't win. You will even have a customized jersey for the match, which you can keep with yourself permanently–!”

Riki hesitated, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “I don't know, I was planning on leaving early with ___ today, to get ice cream and all…”

You immediately pinched his hand that was around your waist. “He means yes, we can always reschedule the hangout.”

Jake's eyes lit up. “Really?! Thank you so much, you have no idea how desperately we needed another player — I'll go tell the others now, you can come and practice with us during recess!”

Just before he could leave, you halted him, getting out of Riki's grasp. “Jake, wait–”

He stopped on the spot, looking at you with a confused gaze. “Something wrong?”

You stepped forward, brushing some hair out of his face gently, smoothing the slightly messy hair on top of head. You took a step back. “There you go, the mess was bothering me.”

He blinked, a faint red coating his cheeks and creeping up his neck. He was well aware of your touchy nature, but this was the first time he was on the receiving end of it, hence his flustered state. “O-Oh, thanks — I- I'll go now–”

He quickly turned on his heel and left, a light jog evident in his retreating figure. You turned back towards Riki, a smile on your face. “Let's go to class, or else we might be late.”

He nodded, his arm looping around your waist once more, guiding you around the busy halls, to class. You couldn't help but notice the slightly tighter grip he had on your waist, or the way his expression was different than his usual when you turned back towards him.

CLASS WAS BORING AS USUAL. The two of you sat at the back of class, messing around as usual instead of studying. Yet, there was something amiss.

Usually, Riki was a lot more playful, a lot more relaxed and free around you. Currently however, there seemed to be an air of hesitation, reluctance around him. His smile didn't exactly reach his eyes, his laughter feeling forced.

‘Maybe he just isn't feeling it today?’ was what you thought, so you didn't bother asking. You knew if something was seriously bothering him, he would have told you already.

Before long, the bell rang, signifying recess. You quickly held Riki's hand, pulling him out of his seat, and racing into the hall. You both had already eaten in class, — how you both never get caught, is a mystery you're both yet to solve — so he would have the entire recess to practice with the rest of the football team for the match that was going to take place later on.

You both quickly navigate your way to the football ground, spotting Jake and the rest of the team doing lazy stretches to warm up first. He spotted the two of you quickly enough, waving and rushing over to where you both were standing.

“Hey,” he began, a grin adorning his face. “I'm so glad you didn't change your mind — ___, you can sit on the benches and watch if you'd like, I'm sure the others won't mind! Also, coach got the customized jersey done already — no idea how he got it done so quickly — it's there in the locker rooms, so you can change into that right now if you'd like!”

You admired his ability to yap continually without stopping, making you smile a little. You nodded in his direction, nudging Riki to go and change already, before quickly walking over to the benches and taking a seat.

Soon enough, Riki was back, adorning the jersey, making your jaw drop. You couldn't take your eyes off him — you had never seen him in attire similar to that before, but damn, he sure did look amazing.

Your face flushed slightly, as you quickly tried to snap out of these thoughts. Nope, that's your best friend, you're not going to think of him in that sense.

You watched as they all played, Riki surprisingly being able to keep pace with them. You never watched him play before, the sight drawing you in like a moth to a flame. His concentration was — were you blushing?! 

God, what was wrong with you? Had you been single for so long that the sight of your best friend simply practicing in the field had you all giddy?

The rest of the recess went on smoothly, with you trying not to concentrate on Riki too much, lest someone caught you with your cheeks on fire. God, you really needed to get yourself together.

Once practice was over, Riki quickly went to you, his usual smile back on face. You handed him a bottle of water, quickly wiping his sweat off him. He started babbling while you were doing so. “Did you see that? I did pretty good back there, right? Jake said that he was confident we would win the match today, and said I was better than the guy I'm subbing for! Isn't that great?”

You let out a hum, finishing wiping off his sweat. “Yea, you were amazing. C'mon now, we need to run, or else we will be late for history — you know how ma'am gets when someone is even two seconds late.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He didn't need to know that you weren't exactly watching much of what he was doing, or that you were only watching him.

AS SOON AS THE BELL FOR THE LAST PERIOD RANG, nearly the whole school raced to the grounds. All the players, including Riki, ran to the locker rooms to change, whereas the rest of the students quickly found the best seats possible.

You sat at the very front, a bottle of water and a towel already in your hands. You were a little tense for the match, since the opponent team seemed to be extremely well prepared. Still, you tried to not let your mind wander, focusing on Riki, as he came out of the locker rooms, into the field.

The match started. The opposing team was putting up a good defense, but Riki’s team was able to keep up. It was hard to watch, the many nearly-goals and nearly-fouls heightening your nerves. You tried to not let them get to your head, focusing instead on cheering for Riki.

Half time arrived soon enough, with both the teams having scored one goal each. Riki came straight to you, quickly taking the bottle from your hand, gulping it all down. He gave you a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I'm really nervous for the match. The opposing team is… starting to get angry. I don't think they expected us to keep up, so they were a little dumbfounded. But now they are simply pissed — they aren't exactly known for being the fairest when it comes to playing football, and winning.”

You bit your lip, wiping off his sweat with the towel. “But they can't use unfair means to win, can they? They will get a foul…”

Your words died down on your tongue once you noticed his grim expression. “If they somehow injured one of us, leaving us incapable of playing, what is one red card going to do? They have subs available, we don't. If one of us is out, the match would already be lost.”

You didn't know what to say in order to encourage or comfort him. You knew that the reputation of their opponents wasn't the best, but there was nothing anyone could do, other than to stay safe and try their best. So that's what you told him.

He gave you an amused smile. A teasing glint appeared in his eyes.“You sound worried. Are you scared that they might hurt me?”

You scowled at him. “This isn't a joke! They could actually injure you, can't you just give me your word that you will at least try to stay safe?”

He let out a small snicker, before giving you a mock salute. “Of course ma'am. Just do me a favour, will you?”

You tilted your head to the side. A favour? Now? You decided not to question it. “Sure I can. But it depends on what it is.”

He grinned at you, before pulling his jersey off him, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath. That explained why he was sweating more than the others. Who even wears two layers to a football match?

He shoved it in your chest. “Wear it, and cheer for me.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “No way! It's literally drenched in your sweat.”

He pouted, giving you a pleading look. “Please? For me? It's only for an hour and a half, can't you do it? I'll feel a lot more motivated then. C'mon, just do it, please–”

You groaned at his incessant begging. “Fine! I'll wear it — just… ugh, help me out with it–”

The grin on his face grew, as he quickly helped slide the jersey onto you. He proudly made you twirl for him, with you hiding your face in your hands from the utter embarrassment of it — but complying nonetheless. Unbeknownst to you, a smug smirk adorned his face, as he locked eyes with Jake in the process, who quickly looked away, his ears turning red at having been caught looking.

The whistle sounded again, signifying the start of the second half. Riki quickly left, the hurried ‘good luck!’ that you threw at him bringing a smile to his face.

You watched as he advanced into the field with renowned vigour, the determined expression on his face soothing your nerves slightly. You made sure to cheer for him even louder than before, the grin that he threw your way making it worth the looks that were shot in your direction.

But the opposing team did not relent. Eager to match Riki's newfound enthusiasm, they changed their strategies. The brutality in every move that they made caused your anxiety to spike. 

Riki's team, however, didn't let it deter them. Everyone was determined to win, to not succumb to the team that always tries to get their way through unfair means.

Speaking of unfair means, the attempts at making foul moves increased ten-fold. Many of the players in Riki's team were almost injured, but somehow they managed to avoid it at the last second. Why the referee wasn't giving any yellow cards, was beyond your imagination.

The clock was ticking down. Not a single goal had been made. The audience was starting to lose hope, the enthusiasm in their cheers starting to fade. You made sure to continue screaming, cheering them on as best as you could. In the midst of it all, Riki glanced at you. Upon seeing the expression on your face, he made it his personal mission to win. He had to, for you. He wasn't going to disappoint you, he swore to himself.

With a determined look, he surged forward, trying to get to the ball. Jake had the ball, and he locked eyes with him. Upon noticing the younger’s determined expression, he managed to pass the ball to him.

Riki caught the ball without any interceptions, quickly racing towards the goal. He skillfully avoided all the attempts to tackle him, running as fast as possible to the goal. The goalkeeper froze, upon noticing the expression on his face.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, he struck. With a sudden burst of strength, he kicked the ball, watching as it flew into the goalpost, the goalkeeper just narrowly missing it.

The sudden uproar that erupted was deafening to say the least. His teammates were hugging and whooping, patting him on the back. The exhilarating feeling that came from the win, made him feel lighter, as if he was on cloud nine.

His eyes searched for you, noticing you trying to get past the huge crowd towards him. He quickly navigated his way out of the crowd, making his way towards you. As soon as he was in front of you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you squeal, as he picked you up and spun you in the air. His grin was wide, your own grin almost as wide as his. “We won! We actually fucking won! Did you see my last goal? I looked cool right? I still can't believe I actually made the goal–”

In the midst of his yapping, one of your friends was wiping his sweat off for him. While you tried to not let it show, you couldn't help the jealousy that flared inside you at the intimate gesture. You were supposed to do it for him, not her. Riki didn't even seem to notice, too focused on telling you the details — as if you didn't witness it all by yourself.

Unable to bear the sight of her wiping off his sweat with a random towel, you grabbed his hand, pulling him away. You both set into a sprint, away from the people congratulating him.

As soon as you reached a somewhat secluded region of the school, you turned to him, your arms crossed over your chest. But before you could speak, he spoke first, his breathing coming in short pants. “Goddamn woman, I just won a match, you're already making me run again? Cut me some slack, will you?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his outburst. “Why did you let her do it?”

He looked at you, confused. “Huh? Let who do what…?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Her. You let her wipe off your sweat for you — don't tell me that you didn't notice it at all?!”

He still looked confused. “Huh? Someone did that? I didn't even realise — I was talking to you, so I was distracted, I guess. But why does it matter?”

You gave him a pointed look, frustration evident in your eyes. Why wasn't he getting it?! “‘Why does it matter?’ Because I'm your best friend! I always do it for you, so why would you let her do it as well? If I'm your best friend, then shouldn't I get treated as such? Shouldn't I be treated differently from the rest of our friends? Why are you letting her do something that only I do to you?”

His eyes widened, before he frowned. “I didn't even notice her doing it… but if I should treat you differently from the rest of our friends, shouldn't you do the same to me as well? Why should this be a one-sided arrangement?”

Now it was your time to frown. “One-sided? How is this one-sided?! I always treat you differently, how have I ever treated you similar to the rest of our friends?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don't know, maybe yesterday? When you fixed Jake's hair for him? Since when did you start fixing people's hair other than mine?”

You were at a loss for words. You simply opened and closed your mouth several times, like a fish out of water.

Riki spoke again. “How about this: I pay more attention to my surroundings, while you keep your hands to yourself? Don't go around touching other people's hair, that should be reserved for me only. Do we have a deal?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Fine. We have a deal.”

You usually didn't back down from fights that easily. But everything seemed to be different when it involved Riki.

TRUE TO YOUR DEAL, the two of you didn't treat others even remotely similar to how you treated each other anymore. Both of you grew much closer than before. People could easily pick up on the change in the air around the two of you, the shippers going slightly insane. When were the two of you going to announce your relationship officially?

Neither of you paid much attention to those silly rumours, always dismissing the teasing. Friends were allowed to be possessive of each other, were they not? Was it a crime to want some things to be just between you guys, and not for everyone else to know and judge?

Days went by the same, the teasing never stopped. But it was always there from the very beginning of your friendship, not just from classmates, but outsiders and family members as well. Both of you had grown used to it.

Recently, both you and Riki had noticed the trend of wearing hair ties on wrists. While it wasn't an uncommon sight for girls, it certainly was for boys. What do they need a hair tie for, when their hair is so short?

It was quickly discovered that the hair ties were actually of their girlfriends’, them wearing it on their wrists being a sign of commitment — and the general fact that they had a girlfriend.

Of course, it flared jealousy among those who weren't in a relationship — including you and Riki. Both of you glared in resentment at anyone who had a hair tie on their wrist, always greeting them with a bitchy eye roll. Both of you, like every other single person, loved to hate on couples, betting on when they would break up, if they were cheating on their partner, and whatnot. You both were always met with the same responses: ‘Just wait till you get into a relationship.’

Your responses were the same too. The same eye roll, paired with a pissed off comment, either mocking them, or talking about how neither of you would ever bother with dating anyone. Everytime, you both were met with an exchange of amused glances. Neither of you ever understood that they meant when you both would get together.

It started to get unbearable after a while, with almost everyone wearing a hair tie on their wrist. It was frankly starting to annoy Riki a lot, to the point that he snapped at his friends, which was uncharacteristic of him. It was only then that the guys gave him the obvious solution: to wear a hair tie as well.

Wearing a hair tie on his wrist was easier said than done. For Christ’s sake, he didn't have a girlfriend! Why would he wear a hair tie on his wrist, when he didn't have someone's to wear?

But then a crazy thought struck him. He may not have a girlfriend, but he definitely had a girl best friend. You. He could wear your hair tie on his wrist, right?

Turns out, you didn't share the same views as him.

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT. Where did you even get this crazy idea from?!”

Riki bit his lip, rubbing his nape sheepishly. “Well — the guys keep teasing me, so I got desperate, and… uhm…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes, and sighing. “Riki, you're aware that only couples wear hair ties on their wrists, right? We,” You gestured between the two of you. “are not a couple. You wearing my hair tie on your wrist would be indicating that I'm your girlfriend. Which I'm clearly not. Let's not give everyone another incentive to tease us, yea?”

He let out a groan. “Oh, c’mon, who cares what others think? We can just — make an excuse — tell them that I'm wearing it because you keep losing your hair ties, so I'm basically your hair tie holder. How does that sound?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “No one will ever buy that shitty excuse.”

He scowled at you. “Oh, like you could come up with something better.”

You nodded enthusiastically, although it was completely sarcastic. “Of course I can! We forget this conversation! Because we both know what the hair tie would indicate. Not just to others, but between us too.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I don't care. I'm going to wear one.”

You rolled your eyes. But before you could open your mouth to retort, Riki grabbed the hair tie that you used to meticulously tie your hair into a ponytail and pulled.

You watched in shock, as your hair came undone, your hair tie now in his hand. With a smug smirk, he wore it on his wrist, showing it to you proudly, before going off to his class. “Bye ___! See you after this period!”

Oh, he was definitely going to see you. Maybe two of you or even more, depending on how hard you punch him.

JUST AS EXPECTED, you both were on the receiving end of everyone’s teasing, becoming the new hot topic of your school. No matter how much you both tried to ignore it, it just didn’t work.

Questions about whether you both were secretly dating or not followed you both left and right, comments assuming the status of your relationship were thrown about casually — it was simply too much. None of your friends believed you either, their cheeky smiles and teasing comments following you both everywhere.

All because of Riki’s obsession with wanting to wear your hair tie.

At some point you both got sick of trying to clear up the accusations, just letting people think what they wanted to. After all, their assumptions and comments weren’t going to magically come true, just because they think a certain way.

Right?

THE TEASING HAD GOTTEN TO A POINT WHERE NEITHER OF YOU COULD STAND IT ANYMORE, causing you both to avoid people as much as possible. Did no one understand the concept of personal space anymore? Or did they forget that minding their own damn business would always be more fruitful than trying to gather tea about other people’s love lives, or lack thereof?

Most of the time, you both hung out in the library or rooftop, sometimes even resorting to taking refuge in the janitor’s closet, that’s how much you both were affected by the constant teasing. How come everyone was so damn invested in the love life of you both, when it didn’t even concern them in the slightest?

Today was no different. From the morning, all you both could hear were comments like ‘So when are you guys planning on making it official?’, ‘When will you both drop the bomb?’, ‘Don’t bother lying, it’s too obvious that you both are super into each other.’, etc., etc. Your fist was clenched tightly by your side, Riki’s grip on your waist also tighter than usual. The urge to punch them in the faces was extremely high. When were they going to get bored of teasing you both?

In order to escape them, Woohak steered you through the crowd, escaping into the stairway. The two of you quickly climbed up the stairs, going to the rooftop. You pushed the door to the terrace open, the cold wind whipping in your faces. Riki slammed the door shut behind him using his foot, his hand never leaving your waist.

You went towards the railing, leaning on top of it. Riki finally let go of your waist, leaning on the railing beside you. Neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze, and the majestic view of the cityscape beneath. The cars and people looked quite tiny from up there, like ants, which was to be expected, given that your school building was eight stories tall.

Suddenly, Riki cleared his throat. He spoke up, his voice low, eyes facing his front. “Do the rumours and the constant teasing bother you too much?”

You snapped your head towards him, your eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Where is this coming from?”

He looked at you. “You know, the constant questions and comments that are thrown in our way? It just — it got me thinking: ‘What if it all bothered you too much? What if our friendship isn’t worth all the comments and excessive teasing we face?’ Just stuff like that.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Oh my god — don’t you ever think like that, you hear me? Just because some people like to be annoying and poke their big ass nose in our goddamn business, doesn’t mean our friendship isn’t worth the trouble. Do you really care about other people’s opinions enough to end our friendship? Just like that?”

He quickly shook his head. “No no no, absolutely not — I just thought… actually, nevermind. I thought the rumours were making you uncomfortable, I’m glad I was wrong.”

A hint of a smile crept up your face, as you looked in front of you again. “A few silly comments can never make me break my friendship with you. You’re my best friend, aren’t you? Best friends are supposed to stick together, no matter what. Through thick and thin, all of our ups and downs Riki.”

He looked in front of him again, letting out a scoff, which was supposed to be an amused one, but it came out more bitter than intended. “Yea, best friends… that’s all we'll ever be…”

The last part was quiet, but you still heard it. The tips of your ears burned, a flush creeping up your neck. You quickly tried to change the subject. “L-Let’s try something.”

He furrowed his brows, looking at you again. “Try what?”

You bit your lip, quickly trying to think of something. “Uhm — let’s climb the railing and sit on it! Sounds fun, right?”

He raised a brow. “Absolutely not. That’s the stupidest, and most dangerous idea you’ve ever had, and that’s saying something.”

You pouted. “Come on, it’s not that bad — the railings are sturdy, we won’t fall.”

Riki firmly shook his head. “Nope. You want to climb it? Be my guest. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when you fall off and possibly break your leg. Or an arm. Or crack open your skull. Either way, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

You rolled your eyes, beginning to climb it up. “Oh shut up — I’m sure you would love to goad about it, if I fell off. You revel in my misery after all, don’t you–?”

You got cut off by a yelp of your own, your hand slipping. Riki immediately came to your rescue, pulling you off the railing. In complete and utter fear of the sudden momentary lapse of judgement that almost caused you to fall off the roof, you turned around, hugging him tightly.

He held you close, wrapping his own arms around your waist. He could feel your heart beating erratically in your chest, matching his own. He couldn’t believe how stupid and unaware of your surroundings you were.

He glared down at how you buried your head in his chest, in disbelief of your previous actions. You were shaking slightly in his hands, but he didn’t care. “Are you fucking insane?! You knew that was dangerous, why on earth would you still try to climb the damned railings? For the love of god, you could have fallen off and died!”

You meekly raised your head, preparing to retort, before freezing. He was so, so close. You could make out every single detail on his face, every freckle, every pore, every single blemish. Yet, he was so… mesmerizing.

Riki’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down at you. His voice took a softer edge, a gentle note evident in it. “Promise me that you will never…”

Too lost in his eyes, you didn’t hear him. His voice and every other noise faded to the background, your sole focus being on his eyes. They were pulling you in, drowning you in them. Like a siren luring an unsuspecting victim.

Your lips parted slightly, as you kept staring at him, his warm breath fanning your face. He swallowed hard, realizing exactly how close you were. The adrenaline pumping in his veins was fucking with his head, thoughts of what your lips would feel like against his filling his mind. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, the urge growing, before they quickly darted back up to your eyes, meeting your gaze once again. “Promise me.”

The words seemed to be stuck in your throat, which suddenly felt parched. “I…”

His breath hitched, eyes fixed on your parted lips once again. His heart was still racing, the world seeming to narrow down to just the two of you, standing flush together on the roof. “You…” He whispered, leaning just a fraction closer without realizing it. “You what?” It came out softer than intended, just a barely audible murmur.

You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting it with your saliva. The words tumbled out of your mouth, without you even realizing it. “God, you’re so pretty…”

Riki’s world seemed to stop, his mind going blank. His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “What did you say?” He whisper-hissed, leaning just a tad bit closer. His gaze flickered down to your lips again. The shift in the atmosphere around the two of you was becoming impossible to ignore, becoming electric with unsaid words and unacted-upon impulses.

You blinked, biting down on your lip. There was no going back now. “You’re pretty…”

His heart skipped a beat, then another, then another. He could barely believe what he was hearing — no one had ever called him ‘pretty’ before. Sure, he had heard other words: handsome, attractive, stunning, eye-catching — but ‘pretty’? Never did he hear that one before. But damn, he would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart race — probably more than the other praises ever did. It was a word typically reserved for women, but hearing it from you directed towards him? It made his brain short-circuit.

He asked you again, just to confirm. “Pretty?”

You nodded, no longer scared of his reaction. “Very much so.”

He felt his cheeks flush again at the unusual comment. He was blushing, and he never blushed. But everything seemed to be different when he was around you.

His mind was reeling, as he tried to process this new information. You, his best friend, thought he was pretty. He leaned even closer, his lips just a hair breath away from yours now. “You really think I’m pretty?” He whispered, his voice just barely audible.

You gulped, nodding. “Yea — yea, I do.”

His heart started pounding rapidly in his chest, his breathing shallow. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the closeness of your lips, the way you were looking up at him. It was starting to all fade out into white noise, the sound of his rapidly beating heart in his ears. His eyes zeroed in on your parted lips, and something in him snapped.

Throwing all rational thought out of the window, he closed the barely there gap between your both, softly pressing his lips to yours. Your lips were as soft as a cloud, feeling pillowy against his. The kiss was brief, barely more than a whisper. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was enough to make his heart jump out of his chest, into his throat. When he pulled back, his eyes were as wide as saucers, surprised by his own boldness. “I–”

You didn’t let him complete his sentence. You grabbed his face, cupping it with both hands, pulling his face towards yours again. You kissed him again, with a lot more vigour, pouring out your pent up feelings into the kiss.

He was caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the kiss, but he melted into it. His hands pulled you even closer, as if trying to meld your body into his. He parted his lips, deepening the kiss, as he felt your arms wrap around his neck, pulling you even closer.

One of his hands came up to your face, cupping it, tilting his own to further deepen the kiss. The lack of air was starting to hurt, despite how addicting your lips were. He pulled back slowly, not before gently biting down on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, before letting go of it with a pop.

You felt a little dazed, but still smiled up at him, your eyes slightly hazy and unfocused. He chuckled at your state, planting a kiss on top of your head. “Pretty, huh?”

Your cheeks grew warmer at the teasing undertone in his voice. “Shut up. I meant it, you know.”

His grin grew wider, as he kissed your cheek. “I know. I hope this is a good time to say that I like you? Like, I really fucking like you, I was just scared to confess because of the recent situation… with the excessive teasing and all… and, well, the fear of rejection.”

You hit his arm. “You silly goose — if I didn’t like you back, do you think I would behave the way I do with you? Absolutely not. You’re lucky I put up with your antics, you know.”

He rolled his eyes, although there was a smile on his face, one which he didn’t bother hiding. “You know, the hair tie was just a ploy? I just wanted any potential suitors to back off of you, but I didn’t expect people to react like… that.”

You let out a giggle. “I figured. It was honestly a really cute, albeit smart move on your part. Certainly made everyone back off… only to approach us with a different reason.”

He smiled down at you, his expression utterly lovesick. His eyes were practically resembling hearts. “D’you think if we announced it officially they would finally stop?”

You shrugged. “Probably not. Hopefully yes. But — in order to make it official, you need to ask me first, you know? Learn to be a gentleman, Riki.” The last bit was just you teasing him, something that he caught on to pretty quickly.

He playfully rolled his eyes, before speaking theatrically. “Fine — would you like to do the honour of becoming my girlfriend, ___? Wait no, scratch that — would you make me the happiest man alive by letting me take the position of your boyfriend?”

You scoffed in amusement at his dramatics, before pretending to think. “Take me out on a date first, then I will think of it.”

He gave you a smug grin, a determined glint in his eyes. “Deal.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST— @senascoooop

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #9— WRAPPED IN RED / lorenzo berkshire

december 27th

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary: surprising your beloved boyfriend in your favorite festive colors…

warnings: smut mdni, unprotected piv, degradation/praise, lingerie, nipple sucking, titty slapping (?), creampie, established relationship

words: 3.8k

a/n: sorry i’ve been kind of MIA the past two days bbs, i will get to my inbox soon <3 (forgot to do the taglist when i first posted this so i added it now!)

navigation ficmas masterlist

Lorenzo was always calm, always collected. He moved through life with the kind of ease that made everyone else envy him—a permanent smirk tugging at his lips, a lazy confidence in every stride. But tonight? Tonight, that composure was cracked, splintering with every passing second.

And it was your fault.

Because even while his friends laughed, argued, and passed bottles of Firewhisky around the table, Lorenzo didn’t see them. He didn’t hear the clink of glasses or the familiar banter filling the room. No, the only thing he saw was an X-ray version of you, his mind peeling back the thick-knit sweater and denim jeans you wore to reveal the little red-laced secret you’d shown him before everyone arrived.

 He couldn’t decide if he loved you or hated you in moments like this. Maybe both.

You sat beside him, close enough that your knee occasionally bumped his under the table. To everyone else, you looked effortlessly put together—an angel in your festive sweater and jeans, so soft, so sweet. But Lorenzo knew better. 

And he was trying to behave—Merlin, he was trying. But every subtle movement of yours, every time you reached for your glass of wine or leaned forward to laugh at one of Theo’s jokes, he felt the blood rush to his head and lower. You were a menace.

“You good, mate?” Blaise’s voice jolted him back to the moment. 

Lorenzo blinked, quickly plastering on a grin that he hoped didn’t look too strained. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Blaise shrugged, tipping his glass toward Lorenzo. “You just seem a little... distracted. Too much wine already?”

Before Lorenzo could answer, you chimed in, your voice light and teasing. “Oh, don’t blame the wine. Lorenzo’s just got a lot on his mind tonight.”

He glanced at you, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. You gave him an innocent smile, one that made his chest tighten and his fists clench under the table. 

Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Bet it’s work. You always get that look when you’re thinking about work.”

“Yeah,” Lorenzo muttered, forcing himself to look away from you. “Work.”

“Lighten up, Berkshire.” Pansy reached for the bottle to refill her glass. “It’s Christmas. No one wants to hear about whatever boring Ministry nonsense you’ve got going on.”

“It’s not boring,” Theo cut in, gesturing with his fork. “Enzo probably has a very important case. You know, like illegal broomstick modifications or... I don’t know, someone stealing cauldrons.”

The table burst into laughter, and even Lorenzo managed a weak chuckle. But his thoughts weren’t on the conversation. They were on you—on the way you crossed your legs, the way you kept tugging at your sweater like you were hiding something beneath. 

He barely registered when Mattheo passed him the tray of roast potatoes, only grabbing it when Theo nudged his shoulder. “You’re really out of it, mate.”

“I’m fine,” Lorenzo said quickly, setting the tray down with a bit more force than necessary. He glanced at the clock, then at the empty plates around the table. “Should we bring out dessert?”

You tilted your head, a slow smile curving your lips. “Dessert already? But the night’s just getting started, isn’t it?” 

If you weren’t sitting in a room full of people, Lorenzo would’ve kissed that smirk off your face—or done something else entirely. Instead, he swallowed hard, leaning back in his chair and gripping his glass like it might anchor him.  

“Don’t worry, love,” you said softly, just loud enough for him to hear. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you want... eventually.” 

Lorenzo groaned under his breath, earning a curious glance from Draco. This was going to be a long night.

The evening dragged on in fits and starts, each laugh and clink of glasses feeling like a small eternity. Lorenzo kept himself occupied pouring drinks, clearing plates, and chiming in on conversations when necessary, but his attention was always split. The rest of the group was far too absorbed in their own stories to notice the tension simmering beneath the surface—except for you. 

You leaned into every teasing word, every subtle graze of your fingers against his arm or leg, pushing his limits without saying a word. By the time Theo and Blaise started debating the best Quidditch team of the decade, Lorenzo was practically vibrating with the effort it took to keep his composure.

“Alright,” Pansy announced at last, standing and stretching her arms overhead. “I think that’s my cue to head out before Blaise starts drafting us for his imaginary team.”

“Imaginary?” Blaise shot back. “I could make the Cannons win if I had half a chance.”

Draco rolled his eyes, standing to help Pansy with her coat. “If Blaise keeps this up, we’ll all be here until morning.”

A flurry of goodbyes followed, with everyone exchanging hugs and well-wishes. You played the perfect hostess, ushering them out with a warm smile while Lorenzo stood stiffly at the door, offering little more than clipped nods. He was polite enough to keep up appearances, but you could see the strain in the set of his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders.

Finally, the door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt deafening.

You turned, leaning casually against the door as you looked at him. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Lorenzo said nothing at first, his eyes scanning your face before dropping lower—to the hem of your sweater, which you had just barely started to tug up before letting it fall again. The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker, more dangerous.

“Not bad?” His voice was low, quiet in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “You think that was not bad?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Everyone had a good time. What’s there to complain about?”

Lorenzo took a slow step forward, his gaze fixed on yours. “You know exactly what.”

You laughed softly, pushing off the door and sauntering past him toward the living room. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t, huh?” He was behind you in an instant, his hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist. The heat of his touch sent a jolt through you, and you turned to face him, your heart pounding. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’ve been driving me mad all night, love. And now you want to play coy?”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a sly smile. “I don’t know... maybe I just wanted to see if you could handle it.”

Lorenzo’s grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know you were treading on thin ice. “Handle it? Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’ve just started.”

Before you could respond, he released your wrist and stepped back, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin flush. He gestured toward the sweater with a flick of his fingers. “Go on, then. Show me.”

You hesitated for a moment, letting the tension stretch just long enough to tease him. The air between you felt thick, thick with something that wasn’t just anticipation, but need. Lorenzo was standing so still, his jaw clenched tight, his gaze trained on you like you were the only thing in the world. 

And you, of course, were taking your sweet time. You took a step forward, brushing your fingertips across the collar of his shirt. “What’s the matter, Enzo? You look a little... tense.”

He didn’t respond at first. His hands flexed at his sides, a muscle in his neck tensing as he tried—unsuccessfully—to hold onto whatever sliver of control he had left. But you could feel it, the way the air between you had shifted, crackling with something dangerous. 

Then, before you could blink, he was there—his large hands gripping your waist with bruising force, lifting you off the ground and throwing you over his shoulder without a word.

You gasped, more out of surprise than anything, but the playful smirk you wore didn’t falter. “Enzo! What—”

But he didn’t care to hear it. His steps were long and measured as he marched toward your bedroom, every move deliberate, as if he was on a mission. The door slammed behind him with a finality that made your stomach flutter with nervous excitement. 

Without giving you a chance to say another word, he dropped you onto the bed with a force that made the mattress bounce. The sound of your heart thudded in your chest, and for a split second, everything was quiet. 

Lorenzo stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like you were a puzzle he had to figure out. He dragged his gaze up and down your body, lingering on the way your sweater stretched across your chest, the hint of red lace peeking out from beneath it. His eyes darkened, almost black with hunger.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me tonight?” His voice was rough, ragged, and you could feel it, feel the restraint slipping away with every passing second.

You grinned, leaning back against the pillows like you didn’t have a care in the world. “I think I have a pretty good idea,” you teased, running your hand down your side, accentuating the way the fabric of your jeans hugged your hips. 

Lorenzo’s breath hitched. “You think it’s funny?” he growled. He didn’t wait for your response. He was done with your teasing, done with pretending to be patient. He reached down, yanking your sweater off over your head in one swift motion, the sound of fabric ripping filling the air. His hands were all over you now, rough and demanding, tracing the delicate lines of your body like he couldn’t get enough.

There, beneath it all, was the lingerie. Red lace that hugged your curves, teasing him even more than you had with your coy little glances and touches all night. The delicate lace barely covered your chest, and he could see it—see the way your nipples peeked through, hard and waiting for him. His eyes flicked up to yours, and for the briefest moment, he saw that glint of mischief in them.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he muttered, running his hand up your thigh, feeling the soft fabric of your jeans under his fingertips. “You think you can just walk around in front of me like this and not expect me to lose my mind?”

You tilted your head, your voice sweet yet laced with defiance. “Maybe you shouldn’t have invited everyone over then.” 

Lorenzo growled, shaking his head before he leaned over you, his lips trailing along your neck, tasting your skin with each breath. 

“You’re lucky I don’t tear this off right now,” he muttered against your skin. “But I’m going to enjoy this, I’m going to take my time, because you deserve every second of this.”

He traced the edge of your lingerie with his fingers, his touch so slow and deliberate it made your breath catch in your throat. You squirmed beneath him, desperate for more, but he wouldn’t give it to you—not yet. His lips moved lower, pressing kisses along your collarbone, down to the delicate swell of your chest where the lace barely contained your breasts.

You moaned softly, and it was enough. Lorenzo could feel the restraint inside of him snap.

Without warning, he yanked at the straps of your lingerie, pulling them down just enough to expose your breasts. His hands immediately moved to cup them, squeezing and kneading them with rough insistence. You gasped, arching into his touch as he leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The heat of his tongue and the way he sucked and nipped at you made your body tremble, your hands gripping his hair as you urged him on. 

He pulled away, his eyes flashing with something dark, something primal. “You wanted to tease me? Now you get to feel what it’s like when I can’t keep my hands off you.”

The next moments were a blur of frantic movement, his hands and lips devouring you, tearing at your clothes with such urgency you could barely keep up. But you didn’t mind. You wanted this, needed it, wanted to feel him lose himself in you. 

And soon, it wasn’t just about the teasing anymore. It was about claiming, about showing just how badly you had driven him to the edge.

He tugged your jeans down your legs with little care for the slow buildup he’d promised—he was done with that. You weren’t in the mood for waiting either. The moment your legs were bare, his hands were back, grazing over your skin like he couldn’t get enough. 

You let out a soft whimper when he knelt between your legs, eyes dark and focused on the lingerie that had driven him mad all night. The red lace, so simple, so soft, now felt like a taunt—a promise of what he hadn’t had, what he’d been denied for too long. He ran his hands along the edges of the fabric, just skimming the sides, before tugging it down slowly, exposing you to him fully.

Your breath hitched when the cool air hit your skin, and Lorenzo wasted no time, pressing his lips to your inner thighs, his breath warm and heavy against you. His hands were still on your tits, gripping and squeezing as he kissed and nipped his way closer, the anticipation making your body tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, before he finally pulled back to look at you fully. His eyes flickered between the lace remnants at your waist and your flushed face, a smile tugging at his lips, though it was filled with nothing but hunger. “You think you can tease me like this and get away with it?”

You couldn’t help the teasing grin that crossed your face. “Maybe I can.”

His gaze turned intense. "We'll see about that." He stood up quickly, pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his chest to you. The movement was fluid, almost predatory, and the way he reached for his trousers sent a thrill straight through you. The urgency in his actions was both exciting and nerve-wracking—he wasn’t just acting on desire, he was acting on something else too. Something deeper, something urgent.

Before you could even react, Lorenzo was back over you, pressing you into the bed with his body, pinning your arms above your head. His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, hot and demanding. You gasped into his mouth when you felt the pressure of him, hard and insistent, against your stomach. His body was tense, his every movement purposeful as he ground against you, unable to hold back.

You moaned against his lips, desperate for more, for something, anything. "Enzo..." you whispered, pulling your hands free to thread them through his hair, tugging him closer. "Please."

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Begging already?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. But there was something in his eyes—something softer that made your chest tighten. His hand moved to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin in a fleeting moment of tenderness before he returned to his more urgent touch.

You felt the heat between your legs intensify, an ache so deep it threatened to consume you, and you didn’t want to hold back anymore. "I want you, Enzo," you breathed, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Lorenzo’s smirk deepened, but there was a teasing, almost mocking quality to it as he looked down at you, eyes dark with desire. His voice was low, taunting, as he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours softly before pulling away, his breath hot against your cheek. 

“Patience, darling,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down your body again, barely skimming over the lace of your lingerie before he slid his hand between your legs. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your panties, teasing just enough to make your hips buck involuntarily.

You gasped, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you, but you didn’t get a chance to savor it. He moved faster, tugging at your panties just enough to expose you, fingers now teasing your sensitive skin, circling slowly, deliberately. 

“You’re so wet,” he said softly, almost in awe, as he dragged his fingers lower. The way he spoke sent another rush of heat through you. “I wonder if you’ve been like this all night, haven’t you? Wet and needy, waiting for me to touch you.”

His fingers slid inside you without warning, and you gasped, your back arching against the bed as you dug your fingers into the sheets. Lorenzo’s thumb found your clit, circling it in a rhythm that sent your mind spinning. His pace was slow at first, just enough to drive you wild, but he wasn’t gentle. Not tonight.

“You’re fucking dripping,” he muttered, the words laced with both admiration and amusement. “Aw, poor baby. Do you want me to make you cum?”

You could only moan in response, your body reacting to his every touch, every movement. His fingers curved inside you, pressing against that spot that made your vision blur and your chest tighten. He leaned down, kissing the side of your neck as you squirmed beneath him, desperate for more.

“I bet you’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low, rough purr against your skin. “Wondering when I’d finally take what’s mine.”

You nodded, barely able to focus, your breath coming in shallow gasps. His fingers increased their pace, the pressure in your core building higher, tighter, until you were on the edge of losing yourself.

But just as you felt yourself teetering, Lorenzo pulled his fingers away, leaving you breathless and aching. He lifted his head, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched your body writhe beneath him, desperately trying to find some relief.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Not tonight.”

Before you could protest, he pulled you up, your legs wrapping around him as he kissed you again, deep and forceful. You didn’t get a chance to catch your breath before his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You gasped as he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, the heat between you both palpable.

“Now,” he growled, “I’m going to make you feel it.”

With one swift movement, he thrust into you, and the world around you seemed to fade into nothing. The pleasure hit you instantly, a deep, overwhelming pressure that had you gasping for air. He didn’t hold back. His pace was brutal from the start, each thrust driving deeper, filling you completely. The way he moved, so forceful, so confident—it made everything inside you tighten.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning, your hands scrambling to grab at his back, pulling him closer. “Enzo… Please…”

“Please what?” he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I want to hear you beg for it.”

You swallowed hard, the words feeling like they were caught in your throat, but he was relentless. His thrusts were deep and unforgiving, each one hitting a new level of pleasure you hadn’t expected. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, slapping at your ass, as if marking you, claiming you. His lips were on your neck, biting, sucking, leaving bruises that only added to the fire burning inside you.

“Enzo…” you gasped again, unable to control the way your body moved against his. “Please, harder…”

He grinned against your skin, a breathless laugh escaping his lips. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

With a growl, he shifted his angle, pushing into you even deeper, his body slamming against yours with each thrust. You moaned louder, the sound filling the room as you felt the tension in your body intensify, the pressure building in ways you couldn’t control. His hand moved up to your chest, gripping at your breast through the lace, squeezing and pinching as he gave your nipple a sharp twist.

You gasped, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body, making everything inside you tighten even more. He laughed darkly, his breath heavy in your ear as he slapped at your tits, the sting of the contact making you wince, but the pleasure only grew. 

“You like that, don’t you?” he purred, slapping your tits again, harder this time. “Like it when I treat you like a little slut.”

The sting of the slap made you gasp, your body trembling beneath him, but it was all part of the overwhelming pleasure. Your breath came in ragged bursts as he alternated between slapping and groping your tits, squeezing them harshly through the lace, pulling at your nipple again with a cruel twist.

“Enzo, please…” you whimpered, unable to stop yourself from writhing beneath him, your body aching with need. “I can’t… I’m so close…”

“Close?” he repeated, a wicked grin forming on his lips as he slapped your tits again, the sound of his hand meeting your skin ringing in the air. “You want to come, sweetheart? You need to beg me for it.”

His thrusts grew more forceful, more erratic, as he continued to abuse your tits, slapping them with no mercy. The sting mixed with the pleasure, and you could feel yourself tightening again, your body responding to his every movement. You couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Please, Enzo… I need you to let me come,” you gasped, your voice desperate. 

With one final, deep thrust, he gave you what you wanted, and you exploded in waves of pleasure, your body seizing beneath him as you cried out his name. Lorenzo’s thrusts didn’t stop; he followed you, his own release coming in a sharp, breathless groan. He buried himself deep inside you, his fingers still squeezing your tits, almost as if to ground himself.

You both stayed there for a moment, still tangled together, breathless and satiated. Lorenzo leaned down, kissing your neck softly, his voice low and teasing.

“I love you,” he whispered, his hands softening their grip on your chest. “But don’t think for a second I’ll let you off that easy again.”

You smiled, the aftershocks of your orgasm still trembling through you. “Maybe next time I’ll make you wait longer.”

Lorenzo chuckled darkly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I’ll make sure you regret that.”

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

[missarchive]

cognitive dissonance pt 1 - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? tutor!spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: fluff, smut

content warnings: NSFW MDNI!! dry humping, fingering

word count: 5k

a/n: scheduled post as i am away at a new years music festival with my friends :] i will be back with you all in a few days <3

The first time you saw Spencer Reid was during a lecture hall mix-up in your second week at the university. You had rushed in, clutching your notebook and hoping to secure a spot before the professor started, only to find yourself in a room filled with students much older than you. At the center of it all, there he was—leaning casually against the podium, flipping through a worn-out book with an intensity that made the rest of the world blur around him.

He wasn’t the professor, but he might as well have been. His sharp, confident voice cut through the murmurs as he corrected an older man’s calculation on the whiteboard with such precision that the room seemed to collectively hold its breath. You’d learned his name that day from the whispers: Spencer Reid. The prodigy. The genius with more degrees than anyone knew what to do with.

From then on, he became a background character in your university life—a distant figure who seemed too brilliant, too out of reach, to exist in the same world as you. You heard the rumors, the awe-filled anecdotes: he’d started college as a child prodigy, aced every test like it was nothing, and was now juggling multiple Ph.D. programs.

Your own academic pursuits felt mundane in comparison. Sure, you worked hard, but you struggled. Like now, for instance, staring at the red marks slashing through your latest assignment—a problem set for your advanced statistics class.

“You’ve got potential, but you’re missing the fundamentals,” your professor said when you approached him after class, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “I’m assigning you a tutor.”

“A tutor?” you echoed, your stomach dropping. Group study sessions were bad enough; working one-on-one with someone felt like an invitation for them to witness your shortcomings up close.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a knowing smile. “You’ll be in good hands. I’ve paired you with one of the best.”

You didn’t know what to expect as you walked into the library that afternoon, clutching your notes so tightly your knuckles turned white. The email from your professor had given you nothing but a time and a name: Spencer Reid.

Your heart raced as you reached the designated table tucked into a quiet corner of the library. There he was, surrounded by open books and a tower of index cards, his familiar mop of brown hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled something into a notebook. He looked up when you approached, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you freeze in place.

“You’re here for tutoring?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected, though no less confident.

You nodded quickly, struggling to find your words. “Y-yeah, I’m… I’m Y/N. My professor said you’d be helping me with stats?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for you to sit. “Let’s get started, then.”

As you settled into the chair across from him, you couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into another universe—one where Spencer Reid wasn’t just the untouchable genius you’d admired from afar but someone real, someone tangible, someone who, for the first time, was looking directly at you.

You weren’t sure what you expected Spencer Reid’s tutoring style to be, but it certainly wasn’t this. You’d assumed he might be aloof, perhaps brisk, throwing around jargon you’d struggle to keep up with. Instead, he was patient—meticulously breaking down concepts into manageable pieces while his pen skated effortlessly across his notebook.

Not that you could focus on much of it.

His presence was… distracting. The way his long fingers tapped thoughtfully against the edge of the table, the faint crease between his brows when he explained something particularly tricky, the way his lips pursed as he considered your answer before gently redirecting you to the correct one. All of it sent your mind spiraling into a whirlwind of thoughts that had nothing to do with statistics.

“Does that make sense?” Spencer asked, tilting his head as his hazel eyes searched yours.

You blinked, realizing too late that you hadn’t heard a single word of his explanation. Heat rushed to your face as you fumbled for a response. “Um, yeah! Totally. Makes sense.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “Really? Then can you explain why we divide by the square root of the sample size in this calculation?”

Panic flared in your chest. “Oh, uh… because it… balances the equation?” you ventured weakly.

Spencer set his pen down, leaning back slightly as he studied you. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you, like he could see straight through the flustered exterior you were so desperately trying to hold together. And, knowing Spencer Reid, he probably could.

“You’re nervous,” he said, not unkindly, but with the clinical precision of someone stating a fact.

Your breath hitched. “What? No, I’m fine!” you lied, your voice raising an octave.

He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “A lot of people feel overwhelmed during one-on-one tutoring. It’s a different kind of pressure.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sincerity in his tone stopped you. He wasn’t mocking you or trying to make you feel small. If anything, he seemed… concerned.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he continued, his voice almost soothing now. “Because if you’re too focused on feeling self-conscious, it’s going to be harder for you to process the material.”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. Spencer smiled—a small, reassuring curve of his lips—and slid his notebook closer to you.

“Let’s try this,” he said, switching tactics. “Instead of diving into the calculations right away, let’s talk about what you’re struggling with conceptually. No pressure, no judgment. Just a conversation.”

That did help, marginally. His calm demeanor and methodical approach were like a balm to your frazzled nerves. But every now and then, he’d catch you staring at him for a beat too long, your mind wandering to thoughts that had nothing to do with statistics. Each time, his gaze would flicker with amusement, like he knew exactly what was going through your head but was too polite to say anything.

By the time the session ended, your brain felt like it had been wrung out like a sponge—not just from the math but from the sheer effort of keeping yourself together in his presence. As you packed up your things, Spencer handed you a few pages of handwritten notes.

“These should help,” he said, his voice still as calm and steady as ever. “And if you have questions before our next session, feel free to email me.”

You nodded, clutching the notes like a lifeline. “Thanks. I’ll, um… I’ll do that.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, warm and curious. And though you were mortified at how obvious your flustered state had been, a tiny part of you couldn’t help but hope he didn’t mind.

You were determined to be better this time. You’d spent hours poring over the notes Spencer had given you, even rewatching a few recorded lectures for good measure. If you couldn’t control the embarrassing way your brain short-circuited around him, the least you could do was come prepared.

But as you approached the table in the library’s corner and saw him already seated, legs crossed, pen twirling lazily between his fingers, you realized preparation could only take you so far. He looked up as you neared, his hazel eyes lighting up briefly in acknowledgment.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice sounding far too breathy for your liking.

“Hi,” he replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he motioned for you to sit. “Ready to dive in?”

You nodded quickly, lowering yourself into the chair and flipping open your notebook. Spencer wasted no time launching into a review of last session’s material, but as he began sketching out a new problem, you felt your focus slipping again.

It wasn’t your fault, really. Who could concentrate with him looking like that? His hair was slightly messier than last time, a few stray curls brushing against his forehead. He chewed absentmindedly on the cap of his pen as he thought, the motion inexplicably captivating. And when he leaned forward to jot down a formula, the faint scent of his cologne hit you, warm and woodsy, leaving your thoughts spiraling once more.

“Did you catch that?” Spencer’s voice cut through your haze. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring—again.

“S-sorry. What?” you stammered, gripping your pen like it might anchor you to reality.

His lips quirked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I was asking if you understood why we’re using a t-distribution here instead of a z-distribution.”

“Oh! Uh… yes?” you said uncertainly.

Spencer chuckled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “You’re lying.”

Your stomach dropped, and you immediately ducked your head, cheeks flaming. “I’m not lying,” you mumbled.

“You are,” he said, and though his tone was light, there was an unmistakable confidence in his words. “Your body language gave it away. You looked down and shifted in your chair when you answered, which is a pretty common tell.”

You groaned softly, mortified. “Okay, fine. I don’t know why we’re using it.”

“See? That’s progress.” He grinned, and you could swear there was a hint of mischief in his expression. “But I can’t help noticing that your attention seems… elsewhere.”

Your head snapped up at that, your wide eyes meeting his. “What? No! I’m paying attention.”

Spencer tilted his head, his smile widening slightly. “Really? Then why do you keep staring at me?”

Your heart practically stopped. “I’m not—I wasn’t—I mean—” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a flustered mess, and his grin only grew more pronounced.

“It’s fine,” he said smoothly, cutting off your babbling. “I just couldn’t help but notice. You’ve been doing it since last session.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I wasn’t staring,” you lied weakly.

His gaze held yours, unwavering and far too knowing. “You were,” he countered, his voice low and teasing now. “But I’m curious—why?”

“I wasn’t—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were only digging the hole deeper. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” His eyebrows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “About the statistics, or something else?”

You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole. “The statistics,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and almost smug. “If you say so.”

He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the table, and you felt the air shift between you. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer now, “it’s not a bad thing. People observe things they find interesting.”

The words hung in the air, and you swore your pulse echoed in your ears. You couldn’t tell if he was being matter-of-fact or if there was a deeper implication in his statement, but the knowing glint in his eyes kept you from relaxing.

“Let’s try again,” he said after a beat, tapping his pen against the notebook and effortlessly shifting the conversation back to math. But the playful smirk that lingered on his face for the rest of the session made it clear: he wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

When you arrived at your usual table in the library, Spencer was already there, meticulously arranging his materials. His long fingers smoothed out the corner of a page in his notebook, and he glanced up as you approached, offering a small smile that made your stomach flutter despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, sliding into your seat.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice warm and low. “Ready to tackle some more statistics?”

You nodded, pulling out your notebook and pen. He scooted his chair slightly closer—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you could feel the faintest brush of his knee against yours under the table. You froze for a moment, unsure if it was intentional, but Spencer didn’t react.

“Okay,” he began, leaning toward you to sketch out a problem. As he wrote, his shoulder nudged yours lightly. The contact was brief, but it left your skin tingling.

“Let’s start with this,” he said, his pen gliding smoothly across the page. “We’re calculating confidence intervals today. Do you remember the formula from last time?”

You stared at the problem, willing yourself to focus, but the warmth of his proximity made it difficult. “Uh… I think so?”

“Let me jog your memory,” he said. His hand moved toward your notebook, his fingers brushing against yours as he adjusted it to face him. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you.

“Sorry,” he said casually, his eyes flicking to yours for a moment. “Didn’t mean to invade your space.”

“No, it’s fine,” you replied quickly, your voice higher than usual. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that the contact had been accidental. But then he leaned even closer, his arm grazing yours as he explained the formula.

“See how the standard error fits into this part?” he asked, his voice calm and steady.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to. It was impossible to concentrate with the way his sleeve brushed against yours, the subtle movement sending a ripple of awareness through you.

“Let’s work through this part together,” Spencer continued, his tone patient. He slid his hand over the notebook, his fingers brushing against yours again as he pointed to a specific number. The touch lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, but his expression remained neutral, as though he hadn’t noticed.

You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or if you were imagining things. Either way, the warmth radiating from him was making your thoughts hazy.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you.

“Yeah! Totally fine,” you said quickly, though your face felt like it was on fire.

He smiled, his expression soft but unreadable. “Good. Let me know if I’m going too fast.”

You nodded, gripping your pen tightly to ground yourself. But Spencer didn’t make it easy. Every time he reached for the notebook or gestured toward your notes, his hand would brush against yours. Once, he leaned forward to grab a pen, his shoulder pressing lightly into yours for a moment that felt both casual and deliberate.

By the time the session was over, your nerves were shot. Spencer handed you a fresh set of notes, his fingers grazing yours yet again as he passed them over.

“These should help,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “You’re doing better than you think, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the notes to your chest.

“Same time next week?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

You nodded, too flustered to say much else. As you walked away, you replayed the session in your mind, questioning every subtle touch, every quiet moment of proximity. Was it intentional, or were you imagining things?

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell—and that you didn’t really mind either way.

You weren’t sure why you’d agreed to have Spencer tutor you at your place. The library felt safer somehow, more neutral. But when he’d suggested it—citing the possibility of fewer distractions—you’d found yourself nodding without a second thought.

Now, as you sat across from him at your small dining table, you were second-guessing every decision that had led to this moment.

“Nice place,” Spencer said as he set his bag down and took in the cozy, slightly cluttered room. His eyes lingered on a stack of books by the couch. “Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you replied, fidgeting with your pen. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting company, so it’s kind of messy.”

He gave you a small smile, his gaze warm and easy. “It’s fine. Ready to get started?”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to focus on something—anything—other than the fact that Spencer Reid, in all his impossibly distracting glory, was sitting in your home.

For the first few minutes, you managed to keep things professional. Spencer explained a complex concept with his usual precision, and you actually managed to follow along. But then he leaned closer, pointing out a detail in your notes, and you felt that now-familiar flutter in your chest.

“You’ve got the right idea,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You just need to be more precise here.”

He tapped the edge of the page, his hand brushing yours in the process. The contact was brief but enough to make your breath hitch.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing up at you with those impossibly perceptive eyes.

“Yeah, fine,” you said quickly, though your voice betrayed you.

Spencer’s lips quirked, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours under the table. It felt so casual, so natural, that you couldn’t decide if it was intentional.

For a while, he kept his focus on the notes, but his proximity seemed to grow with each passing moment. The air between you felt charged, like static electricity, and you could feel your resolve slipping.

“So,” Spencer said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and studying you with an intensity that made your pulse race, “how are you finding these sessions so far?”

“They’re good,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Really helpful.”

“Helpful,” he repeated, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “You sure about that?”

“Of course,” you replied, glancing up at him.

His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear. “You seem… distracted sometimes.”

“I’m not distracted,” you said defensively, though the heat rising to your cheeks said otherwise.

Spencer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge unmistakable. “Are you sure? Because I get the feeling you’ve been paying more attention to me than the math.”

Your stomach flipped, and you looked down, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s not true,” you muttered.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his tone soft but insistent.

Before you could respond, he reached out, his fingers grazing yours as he took the pen from your hand. The movement was slow, deliberate, and it left your skin buzzing.

“Relax,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just helping.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. He leaned closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice shaky.

“Yes?” he murmured, his gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest of moments.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The tension between you was palpable, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

Spencer’s hand moved slightly, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, the touch lingered, deliberate and unmistakable. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice low and steady.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself leaning ever so slightly toward him, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a slow, careful movement, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hand resting lightly on yours as he tilted his head. The kiss, when it came, was soft and tentative, like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned into him, your heart pounding as you let yourself get lost in the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of curiosity and something deeper.

“Still distracted?” he asked, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words hung in the air. You couldn’t decide if the heat coursing through you was from the kiss or the way he was looking at you—like you were the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever encountered.

“Very,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened slightly, but it wasn’t the smug grin you expected. It was softer, almost tender, though his eyes still carried that flicker of mischief.

“Maybe we should take a break,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost inviting.

You nodded, your breath catching as he stood and motioned toward the couch in the living room. You followed him, your nerves on edge but your body moving of its own accord.

The moment you sat down, the tension between you snapped like a rubber band. Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though giving you one last chance to stop him, before leaning in again.

This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His lips met yours with more certainty, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as the kiss grew more fervent.

Spencer shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours as his free hand settled on your waist. The pressure was light, grounding, but it sent a shiver down your spine all the same. His thumb traced a small, absent-minded circle against your side, and the simple motion made your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him to angle the kiss more deeply. He responded immediately, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer. The world outside your apartment ceased to exist, leaving only the heat of his body and the intoxicating pull of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Spencer’s forehead rested lightly against yours, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath.

“I think,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than usual, “we’ve officially crossed into not studying territory.”

You laughed softly, your hands still clutching the front of his shirt. “You think?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. His fingers lingered on your waist, and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re full of surprises, you know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Me?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who—”

Before you could finish, he kissed you again, effectively silencing any protest. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. You sighed against his lips, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as you gave in to the moment.

Spencer’s hands, steady but careful, slid down from your waist to rest on your hips. He shifted closer, and you felt the subtle press of his body against yours, his touch firm but never overwhelming. When his knee nudged between your legs, your breath hitched, the pressure sparking a warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

You froze for half a second, unsure if the movement had been intentional, but Spencer didn’t pull back. Instead, his lips moved against yours with more intent, and his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, guiding you just enough for the tension between you to crackle and deepen.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders more tightly as you let yourself lean into him.

Encouraged by your response, Spencer deepened the kiss, his knee pressing more firmly between your thighs. The sensation was maddeningly slow, his movements deliberate and measured as though he was testing every reaction. You gasped softly, and he swallowed the sound with a small, satisfied hum.

His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against your ribs just beneath the hem of your shirt. The touch was gentle, but the heat of his palms against your skin left you trembling.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “I’m going to ask you a question from one of our sessions. If you get it right, I’ll keep going. If you don’t…” His hands stilled against your skin, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk growing. “Well, I’ll have to stop.”

Your mouth went dry. Was he serious? The challenge in his eyes told you he absolutely was.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice shaky with anticipation and a tinge of frustration.

“Hm?” he prompted, his hands sliding down slightly but remaining just beneath your shirt, a silent reminder of what was at stake. “What’s the formula for calculating a confidence interval?”

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to recall the formula you’d seen so many times in your notes. But all you could focus on was the way his fingers were still, waiting, as though they held the key to your ability to think.

“Um,” you began, your voice faltering. “It’s, uh, the mean… plus or minus… the critical value?”

Spencer’s smirk widened, his head tilting slightly as though he was considering your answer. “Close,” he said, his hands retreating slightly. “But not quite. Want to try again?”

“No, wait!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing as you tried to focus. “The mean plus or minus the critical value times the standard error?”

He hummed softly, his fingers resuming their slow circles. “There it is,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “See? You can focus when you want to.”

Your heart pounded as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the underside of your bra. The sensation was enough to make your breath hitch, but you barely had time to react before he spoke again.

“Next question,” he said, his tone taking on a slightly firmer edge. “What’s the first step in solving a regression problem?”

Your brain felt like it had been set on fire. How were you supposed to remember academic concepts when his hands were touching you like this?

“I—I think…” you stammered, biting your lip as you tried to focus. “The first step is… identifying the variables?”

Spencer’s brow lifted, his expression a mix of amusement and approval. “Good,” he said, his hands sliding back down to your waist. “But don’t forget to check your assumptions first. Details matter.”

You let out a soft whine of frustration, but the sound turned into a gasp as his knee pressed gently between your legs again, reigniting the fire building in your core.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he spoke. “But I think you can do better.”

The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your resolve crumbling under the weight of his attention.

“What’s the difference between Type I and Type II errors?” he asked, his tone almost clinical despite the heat radiating from him.

“Type I is… rejecting a true null hypothesis,” you managed, your voice shaky. “And Type II is failing to reject a false one.”

Spencer grinned, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Excellent,” he said softly. “You’re such a quick learner when you try.”

The praise made your heart race, warmth blooming in your chest as his words sank in. You barely had a chance to respond before his hand slid lower, resting on the bare skin just above the waistband of your pants.

“You deserve a reward,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.

“A reward?” you managed, your voice breathless and unsteady.

He chuckled softly, his lips moving to your neck, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin. “For all your hard work,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers toying with the elastic of your waistband. “Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

Your only response was a soft, shaky nod, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as though it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Good girl,” he said, the words barely above a whisper, but they sent a jolt through your entire body.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, his touch deliberate and teasing as he traced the edge of your panties. He paused for a moment, his lips ghosting over your ear as he murmured, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with certainty.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand slipped lower, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your panties to find your most sensitive spot. The first touch was light, almost experimental, but it was enough to make you gasp softly, your body arching into him.

“That’s it,” Spencer murmured, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. “You’re doing so well.”

His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to leave you trembling in his grasp. His other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your head slightly so he could capture your lips in another searing kiss.

The contrast between his steady, controlled movements and the growing intensity of his kisses was intoxicating, leaving you completely at his mercy. He broke the kiss just long enough to study your face, his eyes dark with desire but filled with a surprising tenderness.

“Look at you,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

The praise made your cheeks flush, but before you could respond, his fingers pressed more firmly against you, drawing a soft whimper from your lips.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight kiss. “So responsive. So perfect.”

His words and touch combined left you completely undone, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. All you could do was cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

taglist: @opheliahotchner

[akascow]

UGHHH the way viktor was afraid of people forgetting his accomplishments and how his memory will be short lived only for it to ACTUALLY HAPPEN is SO FUCKING HEARTBREAKING

because he was never included in the hextech credits, his name isnt as publically known and ppl will only see him as That One Guy who started a cult and tried to take over the world or smth (IF that. like do most people even know thats viktor in there or is it just another Piltover’s nameless baddie of the week to them… sad)

and the FEW people who knew him and his contribution to hextech are either just dead or probably saw him as a villain as their last memory of him, was he even worth saving in their mind??

the ONLYYYY person who understood him and loved him for who he was (other than sky ofc, who also died lmao) was taken with him in death, so viktor’s story wont even live on in honor for how he truly was and what he really stood for, bc jayce is the only one who can accurately describe him post-mortem

and people will probably think jayce (THE GOLDEN BOY, MAN OF PROGRESS in the eyes of piltover) died trying to fight him bc no one knows what their conversation was about before they went out, or how jayce was willing to sacrifice himself too because he shares blame in it all, so theyll likely just villainize viktor for that as well, 'the one who killed jayce talis- creator of hextech'

and no one is alive to mourn him :( so fucking depressing

also i dont blame jayce for 'taking all the credit' like some people do lol ive seen ppl say he was egotistical and taking it all in for himself and pushing viktor aside, but he literally always says viktor is his partner and never implies that HE ALONE developed hextech or that hes the sole creator in it all

like its always been 'OUR inventions' and 'my PARTNER' and 'WE created this' whenever jayce talks about hextech. he literally corrects viktor from "your [jayce's] hextech dream" to "our hextech dream" the very first night they partner up bc, despite knowing this man for maybe 4 hours max, he already recognizes the importance of their partnership and that hes not the sole idea-man in this project anymore

i think that whole negative idea was probably developed from jayce signing every single page in his notes,, but itd make more sense to me that he'd do that- not out of arrogance- but he might share the same fear that viktor has: in being forgotten for his work... so he signs every page making sure no one can take a piece out of context and pass it as their own years down the line, or erase the possibility that forget the origin of the creator, especially in a world where a species like yordels are seemingly immortal, names hold a lot of weight as time withers tangible things away

and im assuming jayce recognizes that the fact that being from the undercity could have easily silenced viktor's ideas and contributions in the eyes of the public, and jayce doesnt want to diminish his work towards it. two very important lines jayce hears from viktor that night are "do you think i want to spend my whole life as an assistant" and "a poor kid from the undercity, no one believed in me, i was an outcast the moment i stepped foot in piltover" and he probably took those to heart (paraphrasing those quotes bc i have the memory of a goldfish or smth)

i feel like its moreso piltover to blame (? imo) lmao they set up jayce as the golden boy, and piltover is all about names and status and wealth. they very obviously discriminate against zaunites (and viktor himself states that too) like yeah we dont see the whole process of The Man of Progress being made,, BUT viktor expresses how he doesnt want to go out in front of people in Progress Day, so jayce is very much just respecting his wishes and boundaries to not drag him up there when hes clearly uncomfortable at the thought yk?

viktor might also recognize himself that piltover will use his knowledge as a celebrity idol for people to look at rather than as an actual scientist for people to acknowledge and appreciate. he wants to be known for what he did, not a soulless face for people to gawk at. makes sense tho, irl u usually dont remember celebrity actions unless theyre negative, but you do remember scientist's accomplishments rather than what they look like

ppl bring up the hexgate blueprints at the end and how it only has Jayce's name on it as another argument and idk i feel like it has multiple things to stem off that before getting to the 'jayce took credit for everything' idea?

maybe they were changed after the whole cult incident, like viktor's name taken off, which yeah thats obviously depressing in itself. i think its more likely bc piltover wont want their whole gimmick to be associated with that incident, rather than jayce purposefully leaving viktor's name out of it... thats probably the strongest explanation imo. we gotta remember viktor is quite literally jayce's best friend- do you really think jayce would take away his best friend's accomplishments like that? lets be real yall HAHA

my own guess is that jayce was actually the sole designer in the hexgate design, and while they can share custody, maybe viktor doesnt take credit for things that werent his ? like yeah they worked on the hextech ideas together but it could be more like jayce drew up the plans and viktor helped with the science of it idk, but thatd explain why only jayce's name would be on it (in a non depressing way that kind of makes sense), bc jayce designed the hexgates specifically

maybe viktor didnt want his name on it either bc reasons i said above, tho this is unlikely to me bc he probably wouldnt want his name taken off if he was scared about legacy erasure,, but these are just theories idk

anyway i think blaming jayce for viktor's erasure is kind of - uhm -stupid because jayce has always made it his goal to not just save viktor but to include viktor every time he brings up hextech in conversation, whether it calls for his mention or not. because jayce knows drilling viktor's name association as co-contributer to hextech into the heads of other people is important, considering viktor's background, and jayce's own current social status as the golden boy: the leverage he holds when he speaks. people will listen lol

[villainbait]

honestly out of all the LIs (who all have their own special and beautiful dynamic with their MC), sylus’s interactions always feel so husband-coded. everything about them screams “married for centuries”. i wonder if a soul exchange in the dragon tradition is equivalent to marriage.

because genuinely every time i see sylus interact with MC they’ve always got their air of married domesticity around them. now even with this upcoming card it’s like a wedding night-esque scenario where he carries his bride to his room. even in the myth MC’s dreams of a life with him are so… domestic life coded

it’s so sweet. and such a cool subversion because on the surface sylus doesn’t seem like the husband type but he’s the softest, most hesitant, most tender. like he’s confident but so… passive(?). giving MC the space to set the pace.

i actually was so happy for them when i saw the trailer! the dragon babies finally get to share the love they always craved and dreamed of.

So sorry for late response anon, I promptly passed out after posting those pictures. I agree, MC and Sylus have always had that old soul connection. I think that's why it hurt him so much when they first met when MC was so vitriolic and hateful because he was expecting the connection to be there as it (presumably) had been in the past. Their relationship has so much complexity and depth, which I love to explore and talk about.

You're totally right too. They have this easy camaraderie about them which is why I love Sylus so much. He's like a prickly pear on the outside but as you said he ends up being the most tender and thoughtful person towards MC. The way he anticipates her needs and immediately puts her comfort and safety first is nothing short of beautiful in my opinion.

I also am very happy about the trailer. For all it's spice, I'm so glad that this moment for them is soft (especially compared against the eagerness and need of the other three LI who have been so patient and restrained). I think it sets a really lovely tone for all the LIs, but especially Sylus and MC.

[queer-enderdragon]

tbh dont sweat it, im just passionate abt birds as a side effect of really really Really liking wings,

anyways—late welcome to tumblr! many call it a hellsite due. Several Things. some of them being the eternally broken state of the site that is Not as noticeable casually, but once you know, you know 🧍‍♂️ but if you want a place where you can be 10 times more nuts and genuine about your interests, a place that is 3 out of 5 times ignored and/or forgotten by the rest of the internet and it's influences, and Also a place to ramble to your heart's content with enough words to (LEGIT]) fit the entirety of Frankenstein in a single post, youre in the right place

Let's start with what i mentioned in tags (which is kind of a secondary way of talking, that unlike adding words To the post itself im like im doing rn, is akin to whispering to the Original Poster (op) or the previous reblogger) of the blog themes:

Blog themes are, first of, activated in your Blog settings, not in the account settings, and it comes with the archive, which is exactly that: the blog archive that can show you Every Single Post that exists in your blog, original or reblogged, including private posts that are only seen by you. And actually, because you can also search in your archive by tag, many have created for themselves tag systems, from basic ones (simple stuff, like are most art tags or someone tagging "cats" and "image" in posts that have images and perhaps a kitty cat) to pretty meticulous ones (think dewey's decimal system. yeah.) (even tho searching tags sometimes doesnt work too well still...)

Second of, once the blog theme is available at [your url].tumblr.com, you can either go search for themes on the site in specific tags (like #theme hunter, #blog themes, #tumblr themes, etc), go to another person's blog and see who did their theme to get that one or a different one from that same theme creator or just. directly make your own if you have some knowledge on html, css and a bit of javascript. If it was made by someone else, its usually pretty easy to edit, and you can do the same with your side pages, where some people put their blog info, about, tag lists or anything really (tho, once i saw someone turn a side page into a space-invaders inspired webgame.... with scores...?)

Also, if you want some privacy, in your main blog settings you can toggle a thing to hide your likes and following. Really, nobody here minds that sorta thing, we dont even know most ppl follower count unless they share it voluntarily. And if anyone Ever tries to moralize keeping likes and following visible, saying that ppl hiding them are suspicious, you can just block them and thats that. blocking here is pretty normal and it doesnt even Show if you blocked someone

tho, speaking of, you can only follow and like from your main blog, even if you can block from other blogs,

here on tumblr, you can have a... indefinite number of blogs? i dont Think i remember seeing anyone testing the limit for that Yet. but tbh, you can have just your main blog and put everything there, or have a few dozen of active blogs

for example, i have this side blog for mcyt and minecraft, my main is more for anything and all, i also have a few fandom specific blogs like a mlp one and undertale/deltarune one. and maybe there Is a post limit of 250 post per day that applies to your main And side blogs, is an account thing, but if you dont have the queue running with like. 5 of those to the maximum of post from the queue per day, you'll be fine (and. be careful deleting sideblogs, if easier to just go to the Members option of a side blog and leave it, than trying to delete it in that specific blog settings. there has been some issues with that second thing Also deleting your main blog, and if your main is gone, everything else too)

and before i jump to more general, site wide tips, all of this was as important to note, the queue (+ scheduling posts) is one of the strongest things about this place. because you can fill your queue up to 1k posts of anything you want, and make it so between certain hrs it posts a number of posts, so you dont have to spam ppl with, for example, art, even if you perfectly can. you can also pause the queue if you want to tag your reblogs for your own tag system, n then unpause, but really, this blog and any other in your account is Your house, your city, we all r just visiting. go nuts

...anyways, in terms of culture in this site, the two most important things are: reblogs and your dashboard

first, keep in mind that while this site is definitely Social, this is not a social media website, is a Blogging website. So reblogging is The most important thing here. you can reblog stuff once, twice, 100+ times every day for a month or longer and is Completely fine. if you dont want to see something, block the tag or the word and it'll be gone from your sight. but if you Do like it, and unless the poster says not to, you can reblog it

dont worry about reblogging Really old things btw. you can turn on timestamps for posts and you'll notice how sometimes people bring back posts from 2018, 2015 or even all way back to 2010 or 2008. it keeps the post circulating and the site alive

and actually, im not sure how much you know of this, but while there Is some kind of algorithm on tumblr with things based in your likes, if you have that option toggled on, the best way to experience tumblr and learn all the little things that comes with it is letting the people Be the algorithm, including yourself. that means instead of letting your likes define your dashboard, follow as many people as you want (the limit is 5k), turn on that reverse chronological dashboard, and interact with others too with reblogs. also, reblogging is really good in the sense that if the original post is deleted, your reblog will still be up unless you delete that post too

ive been in this site for almost 8 years, and ive found that you will find good and bad here the longer you stay, like with anything else, but you can also just... curate your experience more easily than in other places, and with how bad everything else is rn.... thats pretty nice :o

last thing, but you can Also ask any questions: play around with things. your settings, your blog theme, how you interact with the site. i know it feels obvious, but unless it says "delete [thing]?" or it makes something pop up a "are you sure? this will do [thing]" is fine. be silly, nothing will explode

what do u think of my grian design be honest <3

[callivich]

@dazzle02 was looking for fics from Ian’s POV. This got me rereading some Ian POV fics I love and then I went down a rabbit hole. I thought I might as well do a rec list. So here’s some of my favourites and some newly discovered gems- it’s a mix of AU and canon divergent/compliant. Enjoy! 💖 If I get some time, I’ll do a Mickey POV list too!

I hit the link limit with this first post so there’s a reblog with more, don’t miss that. I’d love to know everyone’s favourite Ian POV fics so feel free to reblog with your own recs!

Map of the World by westernredcedar

Ian Gallagher knows a lot of geography.

Intro to Quantum Dating by @spoonfulstar

another college au

Everything About You by @gallavichy

Retelling of Like Real People Do from the perspective of Ian. In hopes of saving for his future, Ian Gallagher works nights on kestrel, an iOS app specializing in paid sex services. The rules there are pretty simple: appeal to your clientbase, build fantasies, and maintain appropriate boundaries. This is the story of how Ian breaks every damn rule and falls in love with Mickey Milkovich.

Darkness comes before the Dawn by @creepkinginc @ian-galagher @transmurderbug

Frank's done it again and this time, his actions have consequences in the form of a curse. How to break it is a mystery, as is the quiet, raven haired stranger that shares the woods with Ian. If they want to survive, they have to learn how to make darkness and silence go hand in hand.

hysteria by serenfire

Ian throws the first punch.

oh, deceiver, is it worth it? by segs

ian thinks he'll want to remember this forever, even though he won't.

What Goes Up by ArtsyAfrodite

He’d sling Appletinis tonight for the big tips, and dance on the diamonds he saw in the floor. He glued a smile over the sadness that long settled in the freckles you could barely see now. But he was happy, he was.

Just Enough Time by osointricate

Ian thought he knew what was coming, but he had no idea. This is Ian's point of view on his bipolar disorder.

this is the essence of love and failure by misandrywitch

“You’re sick,” Mickey says. “Hospital,” Mickey says. And your body is numb and your heart is breaking and you run.

put my faith in this hole in the ground by @gardenerian

He stands at the plot for a while before he begins working. This is it. After weeks of internet searches and sketches in his notepad, it’s time to put it all into action. Ian closes his eyes against the afternoon sun, breathes in the smell of dirt and greenery. Thinks about that giver of dreams. Opens them, squeezes the trowel in his hand. He works. He works well. And then: there it is. A goal accomplished. A beginning.

a mountain at my gates by @gardenerian

Ian loves serving cold gin and champagne to the laughing flappers that visit his family's speakeasy. Even as the Gallaghers struggle to build an empire, he thinks the only thing missing is a lover to dance with. Desperate to get out from under his father's thumb, Mickey sets out to undermine the already thriving Milkovich empire. Tasked with taking the Gallagher operation out, Mickey knows to expect violence and danger. But he never could have expected Ian.

to the thawing wind by @gardenerian

Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road.

pulling a fiona by littlemoretouchme

"Pulling a Monica. What a fucking joke. His whole life, he’s been pulling a Fiona." [Small moments between Ian and Fiona over the years, based off Cameron Monaghan saying "Fiona and Ian, who were, in many ways, the most stable components of the family… they were the ones who were consistently employed and taking care of people… are now the least stable."]

The Shirt by AlyCalypso

Ian wears Mickey's shirt by accident the first time. But then he wears it again, and again.

Not Your Mother's Love Story by orphan_account

Alternate S7 ending. The phone dinged. Missed call. Ian waited to see if there was a voicemail. He didn't know if he was going to listen to it, if Mickey left a voicemail. Part of him thought he kind of owed it to Mickey. Part of him was sure that if he heard Mickey's voice one more time, if he remembered the way he sounded when he said Ian's name, he was going to fall right back into everything he was trying to escape. There weren't any more dings. No voicemail. Nothing. It should have made Ian feel better.

Selfless Acts of the Illegal Variety by @abundanceofnots

The last thing Ian Gallagher thought he'd be at 19 is married—and to a grumpy Ukrainian bouncer called Mickey who's barely said ten words to him since they first met, no less. But when a rare chance at love knocks on your door, you don't just send the cute guy in dire need of a green card back to his homophobic father in Kyiv, right?

Undead Agents of Chaos by @abundanceofnots

Ian is fourteen when he discovers a comic book series called Undead Agents of Chaos. It’s going to take years before he’ll know what it’s like to lose a heart. First, he has to find out how it feels to have it beat out hard against his ribcage as he stands on the corner of a street, having just produced the most embarrassing sound of his life. It all starts with an unlikely friend.

Part 1 & 5 of Scenes from a Marriage by @abundanceofnots

Hilarity, love and banter ensue as Ian and Mickey navigate their life together as husbands.

young and stupid (left wide open) by @sam-loves-seb

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Mickey barks with no bite. “Can you hear me?” Ian looks up and blinks slowly at Mickey. “Sorry—what?” “Jesus,” Mickey mutters, looking over Ian with a furrowed brow. “I said are you alright?” And, like, half of him wants to say yeah, I’m fine, just forget this ever happened and get your pants off, but the other half of him wants to say no, I’m a mess, can you just come and sit next to me for a while. He doesn’t end up saying either of those things; he doesn’t even come close. // 1x09: what happens after “I need to see you” and “I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

walk away, walk away by @sam-loves-seb

Mickey half-shrugs incredulously at him with glassy eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. Ian just blinks back at him, thoroughly lost. Mickey’s jaw twitches. “Is this the end?” Ian shakes his head. “The end of what?” “Of us.” // post-canon: ian and mickey have their first big fight as a married couple.

if i could never give you peace by @sam-loves-seb

“You need to get over him,” Lip tells him. “I know,” Ian sighs. “It’s been two months.” “It’s been two years.” And that, more than anything, just makes the rumbling in Ian’s chest pound on his ribs even harder. Because, yeah—it’s been two years since they broke up, but somehow their parting at the border felt more like an ending than their breakup ever did. // post-7x11: ian feels unsettled ever since he left mickey at the mexico border.

hold tight to your umbrella by @sam-loves-seb

Because he is fine. Really, it’s nothing. It’s not that bad. He’s just tired, fatigued from the day and the racing thoughts in his head. It’s nothing he hasn’t felt on a normal day before. It’s nothing for Mickey to worry about. “You sure?” Mickey asks, wrapping his arms around Ian’s waist, hands trapped between Ian’s back and the couch. “Yeah,” Ian tells him, nodding a bit. “I think so.” He’s being honest when he says it, but that doesn’t necessarily make it true. // post-canon: ian isn’t feeling quite like himself these days.

i'd like to be my old self again (but i'm still trying to find it) by @sam-loves-seb

Mickey runs his hand over his mouth, staring at the closet and the arrangement of shirts and jackets that looks no more and no less organized than before. “You feelin’ okay?” Something prickles at the back of Ian’s neck. “I feel fine,” he answers, shaking it off. “Why?”“You don’t feel… off?” Ian scoffs. “Because I did the laundry and cleaned the apartment a little bit?” “No… yes?” Mickey winces.“Mickey. What the hell are you even saying?” // post-canon: ian is feeling better, until he’s not.

The Buzz Under His Skin by @palepinkgoat

Set in early S4. See end for mental illness warning/notes. This is definitely not what Ian meant to have happen. He had no idea what this would really be like, when he imagined it. But he never even really imagined it. It was like he snapped his fingers,and he's just here, and this guy is here, and now this is here. Happening. (or: Ian's manic thoughts tend to circle back to one blue-eyed boy.)

Before the Dawn by missmichellebelle

Mickey holds him tighter, and Ian wonders how he can feel like he’s breaking apart into a thousand pieces while being held together.

Rage Against the Dying of the Light by missmichellebelle

Ian still remembers his first visit to therapy, where he expected the chaise lounge for him to lay on and the constant sound of someone scribbling notes. What he’d gotten instead was a regular love seat, and when he’d tried to lay down on it, his therapist had given a startled little laugh and told him that it was, “Quite unnecessary, really.” She never took notes. She never even held a clipboard. She just clasped her hands in her lap and gave Ian her full attention.

superman (dumb fucking magnets) by ArtsyAfrodite

Yeah, Ian wants to be just like him. At least he’ll stick to something, point his arms towards anything.

gotta wait for you, honey by @biblionerd07

Ian's been counting down to his 30th birthday.

every time I think I've lost my way by @biblionerd07

Ian wakes up alone on a road in the woods, and he has to decide if he's going to stay or go.

fix me up by @biblionerd07

Mickey has a lot of scars. Ian has a lot of feelings about those scars.

when you get there you'll know by @biblionerd07

Ian gets out of prison 352 days before Mickey does. They do their best to make it through.

something so wretched about this by @onthepyre

five times ian thought about kissing mickey and one time he actually did

Wishbone by @fangirl-on-fire3

There’s something building, bubbles rolling across frothing water, heat and sound and thick steam curling like an impenetrable wall of humidity over the city. Each time Mickey comes into the store, gives him that predatory look, the rope of tension between them tightens, laden with the tantalizing possibility of more. For someone so stubborn, Mickey's about as flighty as a deer. The slightest threat of a kiss, even Ian looking at his lips for a second too long, always has him bolting.

take your shoes off in the back of my van by @fangirl-on-fire3

After, with the bleachers trickling a slow shower of dust above them, layers of sweat still clinging to their skin, Mickey says, “I missed you.”A storm of starlings break free in Ian’s chest, lurching his heart sideways. It’s beating so fast it might crash straight through his ribs in a violent, bloody mess. “You did?” “Yeah, man. Had to do all the fucking in prison.” Ian wilts.

Something So Pleasant About That Place by @haunted-phantom-student

Five time Ian thinks Mickey is there, and one time he actually is.

Always Darkest Before the Dawn by @haunted-phantom-student

Every time Ian feels himself going low, there’s a moment, a very distinct moment, a moment that confirms that no, he isn’t just tired after a long few days.

I Didn't Know It at Fifteen by @haunted-phantom-student

For a long time, Ian would have said that the thing with Kash started on the tenth of May. He always remembered the exact date because it was the day after his fifteenth birthday, the day he’d come into work with a new mix CD, courtesy of Lip, and a busted nose, courtesy of his father.

Love That's Laid Beside Me by @we-couch

ian's pov of the morning/day after

Glow by @we-couch

Character study of Ian over the years. (s1-7)

Apartment 4A by @we-couch

When the chaos of the Gallagher home gets to be too much, Ian decides to move out. He answers a roommate ad, and gets more than he bargained for.

keeper of the prize by @squidyyy23

Ian and Mickey, growing and learning as they become domino champions, hustle their way through their prison sentences.

Ristretto by @howlinchickhowl

Ian works the late shift at the Tamp and Grind. It's not what he always planned to be doing at 22, but it's a steady paycheck and he doesn't hate it. When he gains a new colleague with a wicked sense of humor and a sinfully hot boyfriend, he starts to think maybe he should be trying to do more with his life than perfecting his latte art.

Love, like a river by @howlinchickhowl

And it’s as Ian’s turning properly to look at him so that Mickey can fully appreciate the eye-roll that Ian feels is the necessary response to his husband being his own special brand of idiot that Mickey’s eyes start to bug in panic and his free hand slaps quickly over his mouth. He’s gonna boot again. Mickey doesn't drink enough water on hot days and Ian thinks that's dumb, but he loves him anyway.

elevator music by @iansfreckles

He’s late, he’s covered in coffee, and he’s trapped in an elevator with the biggest asshole he’s ever met in his life. (Fifteen minutes ago, Ian Gallagher slept through his alarm — and things have only gotten worse since then. OR: Ian moves out on his own, makes an impression on his new neighbor, and learns a thing or two about forgiveness.

details in the fabric by @iansfreckles

Pulling that EMT jacket on for the first time feels a little bit like donning a super suit. Like gearing up to take on the world. (OR Ian's life, as told through clothes)

we'll be a fine line (we'll be alright) by @iansfreckles

“Tried to get a job today. Didn’t work out.” Ian, feeling stiff as a board as he settled beside Mickey on their bed, let out a tight breath. “I know,” he replied after a moment, trying to be patient. He shifted to lay on his back, pointedly not looking to the man beside him, instead staring up at the dark ceiling. “I was there, remember? With the other minimum-wage earning, rotten-pig-smelling bozos.” Alright, so maybe he was hitting petty a little more than patient, tonight. Sue him. (Or an alternate ending to 11x02, where Ian and Mickey actually resolve some tensions)

a sort of fairytale by redkay

By the time Ian is tossed out of the army and makes his reluctant way home, Mickey is long gone.

Sweetpea by @whatthebodygraspsnot

Sweetpea, the stray that eats his neighbors flowers, is a little asshole of a cat. But Ian still hopes to win her over with treats from his lunch and rambling conversation as he tends to his failing garden. Just as he thinks he's starting to get her to like him, everything flips on its head. You see, Sweetpea is not a normal cat. And Sweetpea is not a she.

Customer Satisfaction by @whatthebodygraspsnot

For someone who works at a sex shop, Ian’s love life is tragically dead. That is, until a hot, flirty, tatted up customer decides to enroll in their product review program for the cash. Ian gathers the toys and takes him to the back room for their first session. He’s always kept things very professional at this job - no problems discussing sex-related things at all. But how the hell is he supposed to keep his cool behind the camera and ask corporate’s review questions when he’s got the hottest guy on the planet playing with himself just a few feet away?

How To Bag A Baddie by @whatthebodygraspsnot

Getting a text from a stranger threatening to bash his kneecaps in isn’t something Ian planned for tonight. But he’s intrigued. Call it morbid curiosity, fed by both ends as their conversation continues well past “you’ve got the wrong number”. The more he uncovers about this mystery guy, the more he likes, and the more he wants. Especially when he learns he's not the only one gunning for him. Ian is about to have a very interesting night.

@hornygaythug by @whatthebodygraspsnot

Ian's roommate is pretty. Ian's roommate is kind of an asshole. Ian's roommate posts pictures of himself online and Ian swears to god he's got it under control.

ligature by @catgrassplantdad

It was only a matter of time before they finally hit this moment, before they finally felt like they had enough experience to try this.

sink in by @catgrassplantdad

The pursuits of a married couple just trying to take a damn bath. Why is this so hard to accomplish?

Icarus Is Online by @mishervellous

AnonMate is all everyone is talking about. Ian wants in on it.

I Am the Walls of My Home by @mishervellous

Ian’s journey towards healing and self-acceptance.

Five Times Mickey Wears Ian's Clothes and One Time Ian Wears Mickey's by @teatimeallovertown

A brief look at the journey of Mickey and Ian through the clothes they share

Pink + White by @flamingbluepanda

Ian and Mickey reunite, separate, and reunite again.  (Or, The Early Season 10 Prison Arc we Deserved(TM) )

how to love by proval

Mickey's body's been a bit quieter for a while now, no longer wracked through with those heaving sobs. But Ian gets the feeling if he leaves they'll start up again. Ian POV gap filler for 11x09. Starts after the end of 11x08.

Stages by @dreamylyfe-x

It’s nice for married couples to share interests and experiences. But they didn’t really need their dads to die one after the other like this.

Risk by @dreamylyfe-x

Ian and Mickey figuring out marriage, and each other, in the middle of a global crisis. Canon compliant to the end of season 10.

'Til the Day My Life is Through by @ianrightsonly

Ian is devastated by the thought of Mickey not remembering their first wedding anniversary. He should know better than to ever doubt his husband.

Baby, That's What Makes Us... by @ianrightsonly Ian says no more sex until Mickey gets a job. Mickey says no more sex until Ian gets over himself. Easier said than done, when you’re married and sharing the same bed.

Every Time We Say Goodbye by @ianrightsonly

Ian remembers every kiss he’s ever shared with Mickey. The quick pecks on the cheek; the frantic, biting and bruising makeouts; the slow, languid movements of their mouths against one another. He remembers them all, and he thinks of them often. This kiss though, it’s one of his favorites.

Claim by @gallavictorious

Mickey wants back into Ian's life. Ian wonders if, and how, to let him. Or, the one where the boys conduct their meaningful conversations not by talking but by having sex.

Foreign Country by @gallavictorious

Never returning had not been a conscious choice. Neither was going back. Ian, Kash and Grab, and the memories of good times and bad - and most of all of Mickey.

All You Wanna Do series by @usercelestial

explorations of ians sexual trauma

I Got This by @usercelestial

ian learns to accept help or three times ian deals with it on his own and one time he doesn't have to

The waves come forward, we are traveling together by sadwhales

Ian remembers the first time Mickey ever smiled at him. or, On the night of their wedding, Ian and Mickey talk a little bit about the past, and surprisingly, their feelings.

life of the party by framboise

In which Ian and Mickey are domestic bitches, and deal with some of Ian's memories of those lost months working in the clubs.

These Undomesticated Wilds by @arrowflier

When Ian Gallagher left Chicago behind him to traipse aimlessly through the wilderness, he was hoping to find himself--the self that he had lost when his bipolar diagnosis had his family treating him with kid gloves and his boyfriend annoyed with his melancholic acceptance of his new life. He wasn't looking for a rescue. But when he's injured on a hike through the woods in southern Indiana, a rescue is what he gets. And if he's lucky, he might find a little more than he was looking for.

Bold Will Hold by @smokey-mickey

Ian tries to play it cool as he’s greeted with bright blue eyes standing out against pale skin. Ian can see the edges of tattoos poking out of his jacket at his neck and wrists, and a simple silver nose ring in his right nostril. Awkward yet adorable Tattoo AU.

body and mind by @unbridgeabledistances

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot, tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He's desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for an absence, doesn’t really stop. or, ian’s body image through the years (based on the tumblr prompt: ian struggling with eating once they move to the west side)

kings of the southside by @unbridgeabledistances

The storefronts on the block were different now— fragile minimalist displays and organic coffee shops uprooting the aged wooden bar signs with peeling paint and bullet holes— but against all odds, and with everyone else moving on, he and Mickey had decided to stay. (or, a canon divergent fic in which ian and mickey stay on the southside and take over the alibi)

we’re the center of our universe by @unbridgeabledistances

It wasn’t like Ian wanted to bring up the conversation again, about monogamy and boundaries and fuck-knows-what-else; but these past few weeks had been hard, like something cavernous was cracking and splintering between them. Their banter had slowly turned less and less humorous, and more pointed and jagged, about who was the breadwinner and who was the “man”; and even though they’d patched it up and built small bridges between them, and had hung off of each other’s bodies at Lip’s apartment the night Ian had brought up the monogamy conversation for the first time, Ian couldn’t help but feel the weight of the things unsaid wriggling and rustling inside him, like a germinating seed about to bloom. or, a communicative little one-shot of ian and mickey discussing their boundaries and processing traumas

The Second-Time Commitment by ListenListen223

Ian levels out after a manic episode, 74 hours into an involuntary hospitalization. Mickey won't bust him out, and insists that he got him to the best hospital in Chicago, so Ian better get better. Surrounded by people who think that the stuff they've been through is maybe a little bit serious, Ian and Mickey have to decide what's worth talking about, and what to leave on the South side. At least for the next 70 hours.

Because…You’re My Husband by @wildxwired

“Monica would have loved today.”

Last of a Dying Breed by @wildxwired

After the death of his sociopathic PO, Ian’s sent to work at XK9, the dog rescue that gives second chances to the unwanted pets and ex-cons of the southside — and it just so happens to be run by the most unlikely success story of them all.

There Are Places You Belong by @livinginsunnyhell

He knew he had his siblings, but sometimes they were so caught up in their own stuff, they couldn’t be there in the way he needed. Mickey was. Mickey always had been. He was his home after all. Ian and Mickey adjust to the West Side and grow closer in their second year of marriage.

your voice is the sound of sirens (to a house on fire) by hypernomad

Ian learns how to read; he never really learns how to stop. When he’s six, he reads Alice in Wonderland and wonders, vaguely, if Lewis Carroll was actually predicting the life of a certain freckled redhead in Chicago with an alcoholic father and an erratic mother. It certainly seems that way at times. His life is a psychedelic mess of being left at the roadside with his brother and sisters, being “given” to random women in the street by his stoned mother, and blinking ash out of his eyes after his father drunkenly throws an ashtray at him for looking like his uncle. The thought is fleeting and he shakes it away as quickly as it comes.

saut dans le vide, my lover by armsoftheocean

When Ian sees Mickey’s smiling response, he can’t help but smile wider with his eyes lighting up and he knows he looks fucking ridiculous; beaming as if Mickey had handed him the key to the universe, but his heart is thrumming with happiness and fuck, he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even give a shit. 

[yappaccinocookie]

they kidnapped me!

Heya! I just want a story of cookies going into your world, shrunk you down into a size of a cookie but you still remain as human, and you were pretty scared that anything in earthbread could kill you but rather...they decide to take care of you! (Especially some cookies too)

this request was lovely oh my gosh, how come i never did this?! sorry for the delay I have been gone for a long time. there are not that much characters, since I wrote for the ancients like in the last post I decided to not write for them although this prompt is so fitting for them. also, nothing here is meant to be romantic it's strictly plotanic because dough x flesh isn't really my thing...

LOWERCASE INTENDED!!

you weren’t sure what was more terrifying: the fact that you had been shrunk down to the size of a cookie or that the cookies themselves were the ones who did it.

it all started when you stumbled upon a strange glowing object in your home. you didn’t even get a chance to touch it before a group of cookies appeared out of nowhere, looking at you with wide eyes and murmuring amongst themselves. one of them muttered something about “balancing the scales” and, before you could react, everything went blurry.

when you came to, you were no longer towering over the cookies. in fact, they were towering over you. your hands were still human, your body still the same—but you were their size now, and the world around you felt impossibly big and dangerous. "uh oh?" you heard one of them say.

"dude, what did you do to me!? im tiny!" you say, or maybe squeaked. your voice was embarrassingly high pitch now. the cookies melted in panic

"d—dont worry were gonna take good care of you! our world is full of candy." you weren’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting or terrifying.

Espresso —

"Well?..."

espresso clicked his tongue, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. “calm down,” he said, as if that were the easiest thing in the world. “you’re not the first anomaly i’ve dealt with.”

despite his sharp tone, he quickly set to work creating solutions for your new size. he built a small platform for you to stand on while he worked and even crafted a tiny cup for you to sit in. “this should keep you from getting underfoot,” he muttered, clearly more focused on solving the problem than comforting you.

while he wasn’t exactly warm, he did make sure you were safe at all times. “you’re fragile like this,” he said bluntly. “try not to get yourself killed while i figure this out.”

he's responsible, but very boring to be around. espresso is not the best care–taker, he's straight forward and doesn't sugar coat anything despite the sweet ingredients he's made with (other than espresso)

Latte —

"So much misfortune, are you alright?"

latte gasped when she saw you, immediately kneeling to your level. “oh no, you poor thing!” she said, her voice full of concern. “this must be so overwhelming for you.”

she wasted no time casting protection spells around you, ensuring nothing could harm you while you adjusted. she even used her magic to create a soft bubble-like barrier for you to rest in.

“i know this isn’t ideal,” she said gently, “but we’ll figure it out together. for now, just focus on staying safe, okay?” her warmth and patience made it easier to trust her, even in such a strange situation.

latte is like the mom friend who gives you a safety lecture and bakes you cookies afterward. unfortunately, she also has a tendency to overthink things, which means you’re probably stuck listening to her brainstorm solutions for hours while you sit in your little magic bubble.

Caramel Arrow —

caramel arrow cookie stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “this… is going to be a problem,” she said finally.

she didn’t waste time sugarcoating things, immediately taking charge of your safety. “you’re too small to fend for yourself,” she said matter-of-factly. “stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”

she fashioned a small carrier out of her cloak, tucking you inside so you could travel with her. while her demeanor was serious, you noticed how she always made sure to keep you in her line of sight, her sharp eyes scanning for any potential threats.

caramel arrow doesn’t mean to be intimidating, but she has the energy of someone who’s always ready for battle. she’s the type to keep you safe while also making you feel like you’re in a military training camp. “don’t touch that. don’t wander off. and definitely don’t make noise.” stricter than my mama, at this point don't do anything.

Crunchy Chip —

crunchy chip cookie frowned when he saw you, his wolf sniffing at your tiny form curiously. “you’re… smaller than i expected,” he muttered.

he wasn’t one for words, but his actions spoke volumes. he quickly ensured you were safe, his wolf often curling up around you protectively. “stay close to me,” he said gruffly. “the world’s dangerous at your size.”

though his tone was harsh, he went out of his way to make sure you were comfortable, even sharing his rations with you. “don’t make me regret this,” he muttered, though his actions showed he genuinely cared.

crunchy chip’s wolf is more affectionate than he is. you’ve caught the wolf trying to lick your face more than once, while crunchy chip just stands there, awkwardly pretending he doesn’t see it. compared to your wolves when u went outside normally, this wolf smelt very edible...

Moonlight —

moonlight cookie’s expression softened when she saw you, her glow casting a calming light over your tiny form. “oh, little one,” she said softly, her voice like a lullaby. “you must be so frightened.”

she used her magic to create a serene, dreamlike space for you to rest, ensuring nothing could harm you. “here, you are safe,” she said, her tone soothing.

she treated you with gentle kindness, often sitting with you and sharing stories of earthbread to help ease your fears. “you are far from home,” she said softly, “but you are not alone.”

moonlight cookie’s magic is so relaxing that you’ve accidentally fallen asleep mid-conversation more than once. she doesn’t mind, but you’re starting to wonder if she’s doing it on purpose to keep you from stressing out.

Clover —

clover cookie’s eyes widened when he saw you, his harp nearly slipping from his hands. “oh dear! you’ve been… reduced!” he exclaimed, kneeling to your level with genuine concern.

he immediately began to sing a soothing melody, hoping to calm your nerves. “there’s no need to fear,” he assured you, his voice gentle and reassuring. “we’ll find a way to fix this, but for now, let’s focus on keeping you safe.”

clover fashioned a small pouch from his satchel and carefully placed you inside, humming softly as he carried you around. “don’t worry,” he said with a smile. “i’ll make sure nothing harms you.”

clover’s idea of “keeping you safe” involves serenading you at every opportunity, even if it’s not entirely necessary. you’ve had to politely remind him that a song won’t stop a cakehound from chasing you, but he insists it’s for morale.

moral of the story: get espresso cookie...

[florestalio]

HAIR TIE AGENDA — k.wh

albeit the lines of your friendship were quite blurred, it still confused you as to why woonhak was suddenly adamant on having your hair tie on his wrist at all times. given, you know, that it would be basically telling the world that the two of you were dating.

GENRE— fluff, highschool au, friends to lovers

WARNINGS— lots of touching, jealousy, mutual pining but they are both oblivious idiots, cursing, toxicity (they are huge haters imo), kissing, slight making out (?), let me know if I missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 6.4k

NOTE— fluff is my biggest enemy, so this was quite the challenge for me. enha ver posted here!

YOU AND WOONHAK WERE CLOSE. Too close, according to the rest of your friends.

You both had been best friends since kindergarten, the story of your meeting never failing to tear a chuckle out of anyone who heard it.

You were three years old, having arrived at kindergarten a few minutes ago. You were scared to go and talk to the other kids — what if they were mean? What if they laughed at your pretty bows? What if they didn't want to play with you?

You sat in one corner, away from the other kids, playing with a small doll. Amidst your playing, you saw little feet approach you. You looked up, noticing a boy of your age. He stared right back at you, before pointing at you. “You are going to be my best friend!”

The boy had later introduced himself to be Woonhak, and you both had truly become best friends. The two of you were together through thick and thin, never leaving each other's side. There were no secrets between the two of you, the thought itself incredulous. You both were best friends, why on earth would you both hide something from each other?

Your bond was unbreakable, something that left many writhing in envy. How come you both were so close, never able to leave each other's side?

With a good bond, comes judgement. Judgement by others, assumptions about your true relationship.

While you both were close, not everyone knew that you both were best friends, right? To any stranger, you both were the embodiment of 'siblings, or dating?'.

While you both bickered and were playful enough to be termed as siblings, the way you both acted with each other, often left people confused.

See, your love language was physical touch, while his was acts of service. After spending so much time with each other for all these years, you both were bound to rub off on each other, weren't you?

His hand was almost always on your waist, or your shoulders — didn't matter where you guys were, or what you were doing — it was always there. If somehow he forgot to put his hand around you, you would loop your arm around his, or intertwine your hands. It was cute, definitely very cute, but — the extreme couple energy that you both excluded was insane.

It didn't help that you were often touching him, skinship being basically your second nature. You were always fixing his hair, his clothes, touching him while you were speaking to him, while you were laughing with him — how could you both expect anyone to believe that you weren't dating each other?

Not only that, both of you would often be seen giving each other random gifts, without it being a special occasion. You were often seen giving Woonhak a chocolate at a random time of the day, while he was often delivering milk to you. If anyone asked, he always had the same excuse: “She doesn't drink enough water, she needs to stay hydrated”, while you always said “he likes chocolates, is it so wrong of me to give chocolates to a friend?” Needless to say, they always backed off after that.

It was only after a certain set of incidents that everyone finally had something to confirm that yes, you both were indeed more than friends.

IT WAS A QUARTER PAST SEVEN IN THE MORNING, fifteen minutes left for the start of the first period. You and Woonhak had arrived at school just five minutes ago, with his hand around your waist as usual. The two of you were giggling at some tea you were spilling regarding a relationship between a senior and a sophmore, since you were physically incapable of keeping things from him. Just as you were getting to the good part of the gossip, one of Woonhak’s friends from the football team ran up to the two of you. Jaehyun.

“Hey lovebirds!” Jaehyun cheerily waved to the both of you, his tone teasing. You simply rolled your eyes with a smile, having gotten used to the antics of his friends. “Woonhak, dude, I'm gonna need a favour — one of our frontiers is absent, and none of the subs are available. Please help us out for today's match — I promise I'll make it up to you, even if we don't win. You will even have a customized jersey for the match, which you can keep with yourself permanently–!”

Woonhak hesitated, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “I don't know, I was planning on leaving early with ___ today, to get ice cream and all…”

You immediately pinched his hand that was around your waist. “He means yes, we can always reschedule the hangout.”

Jaehyun's eyes lit up. “Really?! Thank you so much, you have no idea how desperately we needed another player — I'll go tell the others now, you can come and practice with us during recess!”

Just before he could leave, you halted him, getting out of Woonhak's grasp. “Jaehyun, wait–”

He stopped on the spot, looking at you with a confused gaze. “Something wrong?”

You stepped forward, brushing some hair out of his face gently, smoothing the slightly messy hair on top of head. You took a step back. “There you go, the mess was bothering me.”

He blinked, a faint red coating his cheeks and creeping up his neck. He was well aware of your touchy nature, but this was the first time he was on the receiving end of it, hence his flustered state. “O-Oh, thanks — I- I'll go now–”

He quickly turned on his heel and left, a light jog evident in his retreating figure. You turned back towards Woonhak, a smile on your face. “Let's go to class, or else we might be late.”

He nodded, his arm looping around your waist once more, guiding you around the busy halls, to class. You couldn't help but notice the slightly tighter grip he had on your waist, or the way his expression was different than his usual when you turned back towards him.

CLASS WAS BORING AS USUAL. The two of you sat at the back of class, messing around as usual instead of studying. Yet, there was something amiss.

Usually, Woonhak was a lot more playful, a lot more relaxed and free around you. Currently however, there seemed to be an air of hesitation, reluctance around him. His smile didn't exactly reach his eyes, his laughter feeling forced.

‘Maybe he just isn't feeling it today?’ was what you thought, so you didn't bother asking. You knew if something was seriously bothering him, he would have told you already.

Before long, the bell rang, signifying recess. You quickly held Woonhak's hand, pulling him out of his seat, and racing into the hall. You both had already eaten in class, — how you both never get caught, is a mystery you're both yet to solve — so he would have the entire recess to practice with the rest of the football team for the match that was going to take place later on.

You both quickly navigate your way to the football ground, spotting Jaehyun and the rest of the team doing lazy stretches to warm up first. He spotted the two of you quickly enough, waving and rushing over to where you both were standing.

“Hey,” he began, a grin adorning his face. “I'm so glad you didn't change your mind — ___, you can sit on the benches and watch if you'd like, I'm sure the others won't mind! Also, coach got the customized jersey done already — no idea how he got it done so quickly — it's there in the locker rooms, so you can change into that right now if you'd like!”

You admired his ability to yap continually without stopping, making you smile a little. You nodded in his direction, nudging Woonhak to go and change already, before quickly walking over to the benches and taking a seat.

Soon enough, Woonhak was back, adorning the jersey, making your jaw drop. You couldn't take your eyes off him — you had never seen him in attire similar to that before, but damn, he sure did look amazing.

Your face flushed slightly, as you quickly tried to snap out of these thoughts. Nope, that's your best friend, you're not going to think of him in that sense.

You watched as they all played, Woonhak surprisingly being able to keep pace with them. You never watched him play before, the sight drawing you in like a moth to a flame. His concentration was — were you blushing?! 

God, what was wrong with you? Had you been single for so long that the sight of your best friend simply practicing in the field had you all giddy?

The rest of the recess went on smoothly, with you trying not to concentrate on Woonhak too much, lest someone caught you with your cheeks on fire. God, you really needed to get yourself together.

Once practice was over, Woonhak quickly went to you, his usual smile back on face. You handed him a bottle of water, quickly wiping his sweat off him. He started babbling while you were doing so. “Did you see that? I did pretty good back there, right? Jaehyun said that he was confident we would win the match today, and said I was better than the guy I'm subbing for! Isn't that great?”

You let out a hum, finishing wiping off his sweat. “Yea, you were amazing. C'mon now, we need to run, or else we will be late for history — you know how ma'am gets when someone is even two seconds late.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He didn't need to know that you weren't exactly watching much of what he was doing, or that you were only watching him.

AS SOON AS THE BELL FOR THE LAST PERIOD RANG, nearly the whole school raced to the grounds. All the players, including Woonhak, ran to the locker rooms to change, whereas the rest of the students quickly found the best seats possible.

You sat at the very front, a bottle of water and a towel already in your hands. You were a little tense for the match, since the opponent team seemed to be extremely well prepared. Still, you tried to not let your mind wander, focusing on Woonhak, as he came out of the locker rooms, into the field.

The match started. The opposing team was putting up a good defense, but Woonhak’s team was able to keep up. It was hard to watch, the many nearly-goals and nearly-fouls heightening your nerves. You tried to not let them get to your head, focusing instead on cheering for Woonhak.

Half time arrived soon enough, with both the teams having scored one goal each. Woonhak came straight to you, quickly taking the bottle from your hand, gulping it all down. He gave you a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I'm really nervous for the match. The opposing team is… starting to get angry. I don't think they expected us to keep up, so they were a little dumbfounded. But now they are simply pissed — they aren't exactly known for being the fairest when it comes to playing football, and winning.”

You bit your lip, wiping off his sweat with the towel. “But they can't use unfair means to win, can they? They will get a foul…”

Your words died down on your tongue once you noticed his grim expression. “If they somehow injured one of us, leaving us incapable of playing, what is one red card going to do? They have subs available, we don't. If one of us is out, the match would already be lost.”

You didn't know what to say in order to encourage or comfort him. You knew that the reputation of their opponents wasn't the best, but there was nothing anyone could do, other than to stay safe and try their best. So that's what you told him.

He gave you an amused smile. A teasing glint appeared in his eyes.“You sound worried. Are you scared that they might hurt me?”

You scowled at him. “This isn't a joke! They could actually injure you, can't you just give me your word that you will at least try to stay safe?”

He let out a small snicker, before giving you a mock salute. “Of course ma'am. Just do me a favour, will you?”

You tilted your head to the side. A favour? Now? You decided not to question it. “Sure I can. But it depends on what it is.”

He grinned at you, before pulling his jersey off him, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath. That explained why he was sweating more than the others. Who even wears two layers to a football match?

He shoved it in your chest. “Wear it, and cheer for me.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “No way! It's literally drenched in your sweat.”

He pouted, giving you a pleading look. “Please? For me? It's only for an hour and a half, can't you do it? I'll feel a lot more motivated then. C'mon, just do it, please–”

You groaned at his incessant begging. “Fine! I'll wear it — just… ugh, help me out with it–”

The grin on his face grew, as he quickly helped slide the jersey onto you. He proudly made you twirl for him, with you hiding your face in your hands from the utter embarrassment of it — but complying nonetheless. Unbeknownst to you, a smug smirk adorned his face, as he locked eyes with Jaehyun in the process, who quickly looked away, his ears turning red at having been caught looking.

The whistle sounded again, signifying the start of the second half. Woonhak quickly left, the hurried ‘good luck!’ that you threw at him bringing a smile to his face.

You watched as he advanced into the field with renowned vigour, the determined expression on his face soothing your nerves slightly. You made sure to cheer for him even louder than before, the grin that he threw your way making it worth the looks that were shot in your direction.

But the opposing team did not relent. Eager to match Woonhak's newfound enthusiasm, they changed their strategies. The brutality in every move that they made caused your anxiety to spike. 

Woonhak's team, however, didn't let it deter them. Everyone was determined to win, to not succumb to the team that always tries to get their way through unfair means.

Speaking of unfair means, the attempts at making foul moves increased ten-fold. Many of the players in Woonhak's team were almost injured, but somehow they managed to avoid it at the last second. Why the referee wasn't giving any yellow cards, was beyond your imagination.

The clock was ticking down. Not a single goal had been made. The audience was starting to lose hope, the enthusiasm in their cheers starting to fade. You made sure to continue screaming, cheering them on as best as you could. In the midst of it all, Woonhak glanced at you. Upon seeing the expression on your face, he made it his personal mission to win. He had to, for you. He wasn't going to disappoint you, he swore to himself.

With a determined look, he surged forward, trying to get to the ball. Jaehyun had the ball, and he locked eyes with him. Upon noticing the younger’s determined expression, he managed to pass the ball to him.

Woonhak caught the ball without any interceptions, quickly racing towards the goal. He skillfully avoided all the attempts to tackle him, running as fast as possible to the goal. The goalkeeper froze, upon noticing the expression on his face.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, he struck. With a sudden burst of strength, he kicked the ball, watching as it flew into the goalpost, the goalkeeper just narrowly missing it.

The sudden uproar that erupted was deafening to say the least. His teammates were hugging and whooping, patting him on the back. The exhilarating feeling that came from the win, made him feel lighter, as if he was on cloud nine.

His eyes searched for you, noticing you trying to get past the huge crowd towards him. He quickly navigated his way out of the crowd, making his way towards you. As soon as he was in front of you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, making you squeal, as he picked you up and spun you in the air. His grin was wide, your own grin almost as wide as his. “We won! We actually fucking won! Did you see my last goal? I looked cool right? I still can't believe I actually made the goal–”

In the midst of his yapping, one of your friends was wiping his sweat off for him. While you tried to not let it show, you couldn't help the jealousy that flared inside you at the intimate gesture. You were supposed to do it for him, not her. Woonhak didn't even seem to notice, too focused on telling you the details — as if you didn't witness it all by yourself.

Unable to bear the sight of her wiping off his sweat with a random towel, you grabbed his hand, pulling him away. You both set into a sprint, away from the people congratulating him.

As soon as you reached a somewhat secluded region of the school, you turned to him, your arms crossed over your chest. But before you could speak, he spoke first, his breathing coming in short pants. “Goddamn woman, I just won a match, you're already making me run again? Cut me some slack, will you?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his outburst. “Why did you let her do it?”

He looked at you, confused. “Huh? Let who do what…?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Her. You let her wipe off your sweat for you — don't tell me that you didn't notice it at all?!”

He still looked confused. “Huh? Someone did that? I didn't even realise — I was talking to you, so I was distracted, I guess. But why does it matter?”

You gave him a pointed look, frustration evident in your eyes. Why wasn't he getting it?! “‘Why does it matter?’ Because I'm your best friend! I always do it for you, so why would you let her do it as well? If I'm your best friend, then shouldn't I get treated as such? Shouldn't I be treated differently from the rest of our friends? Why are you letting her do something that only I do to you?”

His eyes widened, before he frowned. “I didn't even notice her doing it… but if I should treat you differently from the rest of our friends, shouldn't you do the same to me as well? Why should this be a one-sided arrangement?”

Now it was your time to frown. “One-sided? How is this one-sided?! I always treat you differently, how have I ever treated you similar to the rest of our friends?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I don't know, maybe yesterday? When you fixed Jaehyun's hair for him? Since when did you start fixing people's hair other than mine?”

You were at a loss for words. You simply opened and closed your mouth several times, like a fish out of water.

Woonhak spoke again. “How about this: I pay more attention to my surroundings, while you keep your hands to yourself? Don't go around touching other people's hair, that should be reserved for me only. Do we have a deal?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Fine. We have a deal.”

You usually didn't back down from fights that easily. But everything seemed to be different when it involved Woonhak.

TRUE TO YOUR DEAL, the two of you didn't treat others even remotely similar to how you treated each other anymore. Both of you grew much closer than before. People could easily pick up on the change in the air around the two of you, the shippers going slightly insane. When were the two of you going to announce your relationship officially?

Neither of you paid much attention to those silly rumours, always dismissing the teasing. Friends were allowed to be possessive of each other, were they not? Was it a crime to want some things to be just between you guys, and not for everyone else to know and judge?

Days went by the same, the teasing never stopped. But it was always there from the very beginning of your friendship, not just from classmates, but outsiders and family members as well. Both of you had grown used to it.

Recently, both you and Woonhak had noticed the trend of wearing hair ties on wrists. While it wasn't an uncommon sight for girls, it certainly was for boys. What do they need a hair tie for, when their hair is so short?

It was quickly discovered that the hair ties were actually of their girlfriends’, them wearing it on their wrists being a sign of commitment — and the general fact that they had a girlfriend.

Of course, it flared jealousy among those who weren't in a relationship — including you and Woonhak. Both of you glared in resentment at anyone who had a hair tie on their wrist, always greeting them with a bitchy eye roll. Both of you, like every other single person, loved to hate on couples, betting on when they would break up, if they were cheating on their partner, and whatnot. You both were always met with the same responses: ‘Just wait till you get into a relationship.’

Your responses were the same too. The same eye roll, paired with a pissed off comment, either mocking them, or talking about how neither of you would ever bother with dating anyone. Everytime, you both were met with an exchange of amused glances. Neither of you ever understood that they meant when you both would get together.

It started to get unbearable after a while, with almost everyone wearing a hair tie on their wrist. It was frankly starting to annoy Woonhak a lot, to the point that he snapped at his friends, which was uncharacteristic of him. It was only then that the guys gave him the obvious solution: to wear a hair tie as well.

Wearing a hair tie on his wrist was easier said than done. For Christ’s sake, he didn't have a girlfriend! Why would he wear a hair tie on his wrist, when he didn't have someone's to wear?

But then a crazy thought struck him. He may not have a girlfriend, but he definitely had a girl best friend. You. He could wear your hair tie on his wrist, right?

Turns out, you didn't share the same views as him.

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT. Where did you even get this crazy idea from?!”

Woonhak bit his lip, rubbing his nape sheepishly. “Well — the guys keep teasing me, so I got desperate, and… uhm…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes, and sighing. “Woonhak, you're aware that only couples wear hair ties on their wrists, right? We,” You gestured between the two of you. “are not a couple. You wearing my hair tie on your wrist would be indicating that I'm your girlfriend. Which I'm clearly not. Let's not give everyone another incentive to tease us, yea?”

He let out a groan. “Oh, c’mon, who cares what others think? We can just — make an excuse — tell them that I'm wearing it because you keep losing your hair ties, so I'm basically your hair tie holder. How does that sound?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “No one will ever buy that shitty excuse.”

He scowled at you. “Oh, like you could come up with something better.”

You nodded enthusiastically, although it was completely sarcastic. “Of course I can! We forget this conversation! Because we both know what the hair tie would indicate. Not just to others, but between us too.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I don't care. I'm going to wear one.”

You rolled your eyes. But before you could open your mouth to retort, Woonhak grabbed the hair tie that you used to meticulously tie your hair into a ponytail and pulled.

You watched in shock, as your hair came undone, your hair tie now in his hand. With a smug smirk, he wore it on his wrist, showing it to you proudly, before going off to his class. “Bye ___! See you after this period!”

Oh, he was definitely going to see you. Maybe two of you or even more, depending on how hard you punch him.

—

JUST AS EXPECTED, you both were on the receiving end of everyone’s teasing, becoming the new hot topic of your school. No matter how much you both tried to ignore it, it just didn’t work.

Questions about whether you both were secretly dating or not followed you both left and right, comments assuming the status of your relationship were thrown about casually — it was simply too much. None of your friends believed you either, their cheeky smiles and teasing comments following you both everywhere.

All because of Woonhak’s obsession with wanting to wear your hair tie.

At some point you both got sick of trying to clear up the accusations, just letting people think what they wanted to. After all, their assumptions and comments weren’t going to magically come true, just because they think a certain way.

Right?

THE TEASING HAD GOTTEN TO A POINT WHERE NEITHER OF YOU COULD STAND IT ANYMORE, causing you both to avoid people as much as possible. Did no one understand the concept of personal space anymore? Or did they forget that minding their own damn business would always be more fruitful than trying to gather tea about other people’s love lives, or lack thereof?

Most of the time, you both hung out in the library or rooftop, sometimes even resorting to taking refuge in the janitor’s closet, that’s how much you both were affected by the constant teasing. How come everyone was so damn invested in the love life of you both, when it didn’t even concern them in the slightest?

Today was no different. From the morning, all you both could hear were comments like ‘So when are you guys planning on making it official?’, ‘When will you both drop the bomb?’, ‘Don’t bother lying, it’s too obvious that you both are super into each other.’, etc., etc. Your fist was clenched tightly by your side, Woonhak’s grip on your waist also tighter than usual. The urge to punch them in the faces was extremely high. When were they going to get bored of teasing you both?

In order to escape them, Woohak steered you through the crowd, escaping into the stairway. The two of you quickly climbed up the stairs, going to the rooftop. You pushed the door to the terrace open, the cold wind whipping in your faces. Woonhak slammed the door shut behind him using his foot, his hand never leaving your waist.

You went towards the railing, leaning on top of it. Woonhak finally let go of your waist, leaning on the railing beside you. Neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze, and the majestic view of the cityscape beneath. The cars and people looked quite tiny from up there, like ants, which was to be expected, given that your school building was eight stories tall.

Suddenly, Woonhak cleared his throat. He spoke up, his voice low, eyes facing his front. “Do the rumours and the constant teasing bother you too much?”

You snapped your head towards him, your eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Where is this coming from?”

He looked at you. “You know, the constant questions and comments that are thrown in our way? It just — it got me thinking: ‘What if it all bothered you too much? What if our friendship isn’t worth all the comments and excessive teasing we face?’ Just stuff like that.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Oh my god — don’t you ever think like that, you hear me? Just because some people like to be annoying and poke their big ass nose in our goddamn business, doesn’t mean our friendship isn’t worth the trouble. Do you really care about other people’s opinions enough to end our friendship? Just like that?”

He quickly shook his head. “No no no, absolutely not — I just thought… actually, nevermind. I thought the rumours were making you uncomfortable, I’m glad I was wrong.”

A hint of a smile crept up your face, as you looked in front of you again. “A few silly comments can never make me break my friendship with you. You’re my best friend, aren’t you? Best friends are supposed to stick together, no matter what. Through thick and thin, all of our ups and downs Woonhak.”

He looked in front of him again, letting out a scoff, which was supposed to be an amused one, but it came out more bitter than intended. “Yea, best friends… that’s all we'll ever be…”

The last part was quiet, but you still heard it. The tips of your ears burned, a flush creeping up your neck. You quickly tried to change the subject. “L-Let’s try something.”

He furrowed his brows, looking at you again. “Try what?”

You bit your lip, quickly trying to think of something. “Uhm — let’s climb the railing and sit on it! Sounds fun, right?”

He raised a brow. “Absolutely not. That’s the stupidest, and most dangerous idea you’ve ever had, and that’s saying something.”

You pouted. “Come on, it’s not that bad — the railings are sturdy, we won’t fall.”

Woonhak firmly shook his head. “Nope. You want to climb it? Be my guest. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when you fall off and possibly break your leg. Or an arm. Or crack open your skull. Either way, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

You rolled your eyes, beginning to climb it up. “Oh shut up — I’m sure you would love to goad about it, if I fell off. You revel in my misery after all, don’t you–?”

You got cut off by a yelp of your own, your hand slipping. Woonhak immediately came to your rescue, pulling you off the railing. In complete and utter fear of the sudden momentary lapse of judgement that almost caused you to fall off the roof, you turned around, hugging him tightly.

He held you close, wrapping his own arms around your waist. He could feel your heart beating erratically in your chest, matching his own. He couldn’t believe how stupid and unaware of your surroundings you were.

He glared down at how you buried your head in his chest, in disbelief of your previous actions. You were shaking slightly in his hands, but he didn’t care. “Are you fucking insane?! You knew that was dangerous, why on earth would you still try to climb the damned railings? For the love of god, you could have fallen off and died!”

You meekly raised your head, preparing to retort, before freezing. He was so, so close. You could make out every single detail on his face, every freckle, every pore, every single blemish. Yet, he was so… mesmerizing.

Woonhak’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down at you. His voice took a softer edge, a gentle note evident in it. “Promise me that you will never…”

Too lost in his eyes, you didn’t hear him. His voice and every other noise faded to the background, your sole focus being on his eyes. They were pulling you in, drowning you in them. Like a siren luring an unsuspecting victim.

Your lips parted slightly, as you kept staring at him, his warm breath fanning your face. He swallowed hard, realizing exactly how close you were. The adrenaline pumping in his veins was fucking with his head, thoughts of what your lips would feel like against his filling his mind. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, the urge growing, before they quickly darted back up to your eyes, meeting your gaze once again. “Promise me.”

The words seemed to be stuck in your throat, which suddenly felt parched. “I…”

His breath hitched, eyes fixed on your parted lips once again. His heart was still racing, the world seeming to narrow down to just the two of you, standing flush together on the roof. “You…” He whispered, leaning just a fraction closer without realizing it. “You what?” It came out softer than intended, just a barely audible murmur.

You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting it with your saliva. The words tumbled out of your mouth, without you even realizing it. “God, you’re so pretty…”

Woonhak’s world seemed to stop, his mind going blank. His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “What did you say?” He whisper-hissed, leaning just a tad bit closer. His gaze flickered down to your lips again. The shift in the atmosphere around the two of you was becoming impossible to ignore, becoming electric with unsaid words and unacted-upon impulses.

You blinked, biting down on your lip. There was no going back now. “You’re pretty…”

His heart skipped a beat, then another, then another. He could barely believe what he was hearing — no one had ever called him ‘pretty’ before. Sure, he had heard other words: handsome, attractive, stunning, eye-catching — but ‘pretty’? Never did he hear that one before. But damn, he would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart race — probably more than the other praises ever did. It was a word typically reserved for women, but hearing it from you directed towards him? It made his brain short-circuit.

He asked you again, just to confirm. “Pretty?”

You nodded, no longer scared of his reaction. “Very much so.”

He felt his cheeks flush again at the unusual comment. He was blushing, and he never blushed. But everything seemed to be different when he was around you.

His mind was reeling, as he tried to process this new information. You, his best friend, thought he was pretty. He leaned even closer, his lips just a hair breath away from yours now. “You really think I’m pretty?” He whispered, his voice just barely audible.

You gulped, nodding. “Yea — yea, I do.”

His heart started pounding rapidly in his chest, his breathing shallow. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the closeness of your lips, the way you were looking up at him. It was starting to all fade out into white noise, the sound of his rapidly beating heart in his ears. His eyes zeroed in on your parted lips, and something in him snapped.

Throwing all rational thought out of the window, he closed the barely there gap between your both, softly pressing his lips to yours. Your lips were as soft as a cloud, feeling pillowy against his. The kiss was brief, barely more than a whisper. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was enough to make his heart jump out of his chest, into his throat. When he pulled back, his eyes were as wide as saucers, surprised by his own boldness. “I–”

You didn’t let him complete his sentence. You grabbed his face, cupping it with both hands, pulling his face towards yours again. You kissed him again, with a lot more vigour, pouring out your pent up feelings into the kiss.

He was caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the kiss, but he melted into it. His hands pulled you even closer, as if trying to meld your body into his. He parted his lips, deepening the kiss, as he felt your arms wrap around his neck, pulling you even closer.

One of his hands came up to your face, cupping it, tilting his own to further deepen the kiss. The lack of air was starting to hurt, despite how addicting your lips were. He pulled back slowly, not before gently biting down on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, before letting go of it with a pop.

You felt a little dazed, but still smiled up at him, your eyes slightly hazy and unfocused. He chuckled at your state, planting a kiss on top of your head. “Pretty, huh?”

Your cheeks grew warmer at the teasing undertone in his voice. “Shut up. I meant it, you know.”

His grin grew wider, as he kissed your cheek. “I know. I hope this is a good time to say that I like you? Like, I really fucking like you, I was just scared to confess because of the recent situation… with the excessive teasing and all… and, well, the fear of rejection.”

You hit his arm. “You silly goose — if I didn’t like you back, do you think I would behave the way I do with you? Absolutely not. You’re lucky I put up with your antics, you know.”

He rolled his eyes, although there was a smile on his face, one which he didn’t bother hiding. “You know, the hair tie was just a ploy? I just wanted any potential suitors to back off of you, but I didn’t expect people to react like… that.”

You let out a giggle. “I figured. It was honestly a really cute, albeit smart move on your part. Certainly made everyone back off… only to approach us with a different reason.”

He smiled down at you, his expression utterly lovesick. His eyes were practically resembling hearts. “D’you think if we announced it officially they would finally stop?”

You shrugged. “Probably not. Hopefully yes. But — in order to make it official, you need to ask me first, you know? Learn to be a gentleman, Woonhak.” The last bit was just you teasing him, something that he caught on to pretty quickly.

He playfully rolled his eyes, before speaking theatrically. “Fine — would you like to do the honour of becoming my girlfriend, ___? Wait no, scratch that — would you make me the happiest man alive by letting me take the position of your boyfriend?”

You scoffed in amusement at his dramatics, before pretending to think. “Take me out on a date first, then I will think of it.”

He gave you a smug grin, a determined glint in his eyes. “Deal.”

[hartnellwho]

OMG, so much to talk about here and lots of it will be spoilery for anyone who hasn't listened (IN WHICH CASE YOU SHOULD!) so I'm putting it all under a big cut here...

I'm still so bitter about the "the Doctor got us there on the first go" cop out. Like; they could've left a gap for more stories but didn't and it's such a waste.

I'm torn between two different headcanons to give Oliver more stories.

The first and most simple is the Doctor didn't get them there on the first go, he couldn't and made excuses for why it didn't work every where they went. Eventually he gave up trying to get them there, but eventually he realised he had to try, got it right and immediately acted like it was the first try because it was the first try... of this set of tries. Steven of course knew and by this point so did Oliver better than to try and correct him.

The other is a lot more complicated, but I enjoy the idea of it a lot more... when Four manages to defeat the Vardans in The Invasion of Time he puts them in a time loop. Which to me sounds like what the Time Lords did to the War Lords in The War Games. And what was said there...

"A force field has been placed around you, and around your planet, so that your warlike people will remain prisoners forever. You have been found guilty of all charges, and you and your murderous associates will be dematerialised. It will be as though you had never existed."

So after the Vardans have this done to them they were retroactively never on Grace Alone. The Doctor, Steven and Oliver arrive to a fully crewed station in no trouble and have to conspire to cause/create/fake the criminal records they saw in the future that made them come there in the first place.

I've posted about this idea before here. But I've pondered trying to expand it into a brief fanfic. But the problem is I'm not a great writer and haven't even tried to make fanfic before. But I just love the idea so much I want to spread it, haha.

As to the idea that Oliver had to have a tragic ending because of where he fits chronologically... I originally wholeheartedly accepted that idea as it was explained in the CD extras. Like: it was sad he had to die, but he did have to die 'to fit the tone of that era'.

What changed my mind to the polar opposite was another CC, called The Vardan Invasion of Mirth. it is set in the time where Steven is the sole companion so must be after the Oliver trilogy and before The Massacre. Steven even knows the Vardans so must have faced them before.

But what happened: no mentions of or any thought given to Oliver, the Vardans easily defeated and a happy ending.

I was so pissed off, I hated it so much and I still don't consider it canon.

But the main thing it did was destroy the argument that things have to fit the tone of the era. If the people in this story could get a happy ending in a story set in the same era then why couldn't Oliver?

Oliver getting a happy ending could've been a brief light in an otherwise dark era. A small hope spot that says even in hard times things can sometimes work out or go well.

So yeah; I no longer feel like Oliver "had to" die and so am a lot more bitter and upset about the fact that he did. it feels like the bury your gays trope in action.

I'd just love if BF retconned his death away and gave us new stories with this team: go full cast with Steven Noonan as One even. Or do another CC but with Oliver as the narrator so we can get in his head and Steven as the guest voice rather than the main!

The First Doctor and companions Oliver and Steven. Admittedly, I do need to listen to these stories... Whoops!

[silentreigns]

Typical Colapinto fan. "I don't want Jack dropped because I don't want my boy at that team!" How about "I don't want Jack dropped because Jack is an excellent driver in his own right who's worked his ass off for that seat and should be given the chance to show it"? You'd destroy any career for your Colapinto. It's not enough to leave hate for Jack on every Alpine post, huh?

Need you to read what I wrote carefully. I don't want Jack to fail even if it means Colapinto gets another chance. But it doesn't matter what I want. Alpine are only giving Jack 5 races to catch up to Pierre which is a huge thing to ask for. If he doesn't deliver, and the chances are high, they're kicking him out. The Alpine higher-ups (Flavio Briatore) do not have faith in Jack. But Flavio has teased the possibility of Franco joining Alpine, and has spoken positively about him. Put the pieces together, Jack is being set up to fail so he can be replaced by either Franco or Paul Aron.

If anything, I'm mad that Franco is being treated as just a marketing tool by a lot of F1 fans and some of the paddock, and not being taken seriously because of his racecraft. That's my main problem with this situation. Yes he's charismatic and funny, but his actual skills behind the wheel are what we should be discussing more. I'm guilty of this myself and will try to do better in the future.

Lots of drivers on the grid, like Checo and Lewis, have spoken positively about how good Franco's doing. A year ago Franco was struggling to find sponsorships to fund his F2 campaign. And then he was a F2 rookie who got a lot less preparation before stepping up to F1 compared to others. The first time I ever heard of Franco was when he did that Free Practice in Silverstone. A couple of months later he was finishing out the season. It's crazy how much his life has changed in such a short time. If I never saw the hashtags his fans trended to raise awareness about his situation, I doubt I would have cared much or known about what was going on with his career. People get annoyed with Argentinians commenting under every official post to hire Franco but it was them bombarding the comments that made me realize how passionate his fans are. With that being said, Franco has shown enough for him to have a full-time seat and I want him to have that as his fan. No I wouldn't want it to be at the expense of Jack, but if that's what's gotta happen then it is what it is. Also I don't comment hate on posts where drivers could potentially see it because that's corny. I don't need the drivers to know that I exist and being irrelevant is peaceful.

[tinytinyblogs]

Can you write something for yandere!skz where they are the reader best friend and they find her going on a date or texting / hanging with another guy? They love her romantically, it's just they're not dating because you know ... friendzone lol

You Don't Need Anyone Else But Me

They wouldn't allow you to think of them as just a friend or let anyone else have you.

Hyung line, Maknae line (coming soon)

💬 I’m posting this a bit late, and realizing it’s the last story I’ll share in 2024, I just want to say thank you once again for all the requests and feedback—your support means so much!

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan noticed you texting someone else, and though his expression remained calm, a storm was brewing behind his composed demeanor. He didn’t say anything at first, simply watching out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like you were hiding it, but that didn’t make it any easier for him. Every time he saw you typing away with a soft smile or noticed the screen lighting up with another notification, his chest tightened. He kept his distance, but inside, his mind was racing. At first, he convinced himself it wasn’t worth reacting to. You had your own life, your own friends, and he didn’t want to seem possessive—at least not openly. But he couldn’t resist the temptation to look over your shoulder when he thought you weren’t paying attention or find a reason to glance at your phone when you set it down. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he found a way to monitor your texts without you noticing. Each message he read felt like a dagger to his chest. The casual words, the emojis, the tone—he hated all of it. His fingers curled tightly around his own phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. More than once, he had to stop himself from smashing it out of sheer frustration.

After days of silent agony, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. One evening, as you sat on the couch scrolling through your messages, he leaned over casually, his tone light and conversational. “Who’s that?” he asked, keeping his voice steady despite the tension in his chest. You glanced up briefly, not thinking much of the question. “Just a friend,” you replied with a small shrug before returning your attention to the screen. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he nodded. “Just a friend, huh?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Even if that was the truth, the idea of you giving anyone else your time, your attention, made his blood boil. For a moment, he just sat there, watching you text, his jaw tightening. The room felt heavier, the air more charged. Finally, his voice broke the silence again, low and calm but carrying an unsettling weight. “So... what are we?” You paused, looking up at him in confusion. “Friends,” you said simply, offering another nonchalant shrug before returning to your phone. That was the final straw.

The second you glanced back at the screen, he moved. In one swift motion, he snatched the phone from your hands and hurled it across the room. The sharp sound of it colliding with the wall echoed, followed by the unmistakable crunch of plastic and glass shattering. You stared in stunned silence as the remnants of your phone clattered to the floor. When you looked back at him, his expression had shifted entirely. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, unyielding intensity. “Wrong answer, darling,” he said, his voice low and dripping with menace. There was a dangerous edge to his tone that sent a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours, daring you to look away. He leaned in slightly, his lips curling into a faint, almost mocking smile. “Try again,” he demanded, his voice soft but laced with a threat. “What are we?” The room was utterly silent, the weight of his presence pressing down on you as you struggled to find your voice. The person standing before you was no longer the kind, reassuring Chan you thought you knew—this was someone who would do anything to keep you by his side, no matter the cost.

Minho

Minho’s sharp eyes flicker to your phone as you type away, completely engrossed in your conversation. The soft smile playing on your lips as you stare at the screen makes his chest tighten, though he doesn’t let it show. He remains composed, calm, and collected, his expression betraying nothing. Silently, he observes, pretending not to care. You don’t even notice the way his sharp gaze traces every movement, catching the name and bits of the chat whenever the screen lights up. For Minho, life is meant to be orderly, controlled, and simple. He doesn’t like unnecessary complications or disruptions, and right now, this person you’re texting is an unwelcome disturbance. It’s not jealousy—at least, not in the way most people would understand it. To him, it’s about maintaining balance and control. A smile flickers on his lips, but it isn’t a warm or reassuring smile. It’s calculated, knowing. You think he’ll just let it go, that he’ll sit idly by while you let someone else occupy your attention? That’s cute. But Minho doesn’t tolerate things—or people—that threaten the order of his carefully constructed world. And in that world, you belong to him. He lets you enjoy your little conversation for now, even playing along with your obliviousness.

He pretends not to notice as you giggle softly at the messages, but in his mind, he’s already made his decision. He’ll deal with it, efficiently and thoroughly. He’s not the type to create unnecessary drama, but when the time comes, he knows exactly how to make sure this “friendship” of yours is dealt with. The next day, your texting buddy gets an unexpected visitor. Minho arrives at their door, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. The slight curve of his lips might be mistaken for friendliness at first glance, but there’s something off about it, something chilling. His voice is calm, polite even, as he speaks to them, but there’s an unspoken warning in every word. The intensity in his gaze leaves no room for misunderstanding. By the time Minho leaves, the person knows better than to contact you again. Whatever charm or quiet menace he uses to mask his darker intentions, it’s devastatingly effective. Meanwhile, you remain oblivious, sitting with your phone later that evening, confused. The texts have stopped. No replies, no notifications. You’re left staring at the empty screen, wondering what went wrong. That’s when Minho makes his move. He doesn’t say a word at first, just silently watching as you frown at your phone. Then, like a shadow, he steps behind you, his presence looming but quiet. When you finally turn around, startled by the intensity of his closeness, he traps you in place.

His arms cage you against the nearest surface, leaving no room for escape. His face is close, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath. His dark eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. His slight smirk sends a chill down your spine, a perfect balance of amusement and something much darker. “He’s not worth waiting for,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and steady. The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, sending a shiver through you. “Why can’t you see that I’m always here for you?” There’s a softness in his tone, but it’s deceptive. Beneath the surface, there’s an unyielding finality, a truth that you can’t ignore. The way he looks at you, as if you’re the only thing in his world, is overwhelming. You try to process his words, but the sheer force of his presence makes it hard to think straight. His closeness, the intensity of his gaze—it’s all too much. Minho tilts his head slightly, studying your expression with quiet amusement. “You don’t need anyone else,” he continues, his voice soft yet firm. “I’ll take care of everything, so you don’t have to.” The tension in the air is suffocating, the unspoken truth in his words impossible to ignore. There’s no escape from him—not that he would let you go anyway. To him, you’re the center of his carefully constructed world, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

Changbin

Changbin’s behavior has taken a noticeable turn lately. At first, it was subtle—him sitting closer than usual, always leaning in to hear your thoughts or opinions, and laughing as he playfully took your phone out of your hands. It seemed harmless at first, just him being his usual teasing self. But over time, the teasing became more frequent, and his hold on your attention grew tighter. He’s constantly hovering now, his presence impossible to ignore. Every notification from your phone earns a sharp glance from him, his eyes darting to the screen before you can even react. You notice the way his body tenses slightly at the sound, his jaw tightening before he schools his features back into a grin. “Who is it?” he’d ask casually, though his tone always carries a subtle edge. If you hesitate to answer, he doesn’t push too hard, but you can feel the weight of his stare. More often than not, he’ll find a way to redirect your focus back to him, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes your phone, tossing it onto the couch or placing it somewhere out of reach. “You don’t need that right now,” he’d say with a laugh. “I’m way more fun, aren’t I?”

Sometimes, you catch him staring—not at you, but at your phone—with an expression you can’t quite read. It’s not jealousy, not entirely, but something more possessive, more calculating. His demeanor shifts whenever a message comes in, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shakes it off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. What you don’t know is that Changbin has been working behind the scenes, his determination taking him down a path you wouldn’t have imagined. Step by step, he’s piecing together information about the person you’ve been texting. A quick glance at your screen here, a casual question there—it’s all he needs to get their number. When he finally gets it, it feels like a small victory, the first step in his carefully crafted plan. He doesn’t waste time. Behind your back, he initiates contact, his tone friendly but firm as he makes his intentions clear to this person. The conversations are short, but Changbin’s words have an impact. Slowly but surely, your messages from this person become less frequent, their replies shorter and more distant until, eventually, they stop altogether. You notice the change, confused by the sudden silence from someone you used to talk to so often.

“Weird,” you mutter to yourself, but Changbin only smiles, his expression smug yet unreadable. To him, this is a victory—a testament to his persistence and the lengths he’s willing to go to for you. “Why? You no longer texting anyone?” he asks one day, his voice light but laced with satisfaction. He steps closer, his fingers reaching out to gently tilt your chin so you’re looking directly at him. “I told you they don’t know you as well as I do.” There’s something both comforting and unsettling in his gaze, the way his dark eyes seem to see right through you. His thumb brushes against your cheek in a gesture so tender it sends shivers down your spine. “And for me,” he continues, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone, “I care for you the most. More than I probably should.” His words linger in the air, heavy with meaning, as his hand caresses your cheek with a touch so gentle it’s almost disarming. You try to focus on his words, but it’s hard when his gaze is so intense, so unwavering. The weight of his presence feels suffocating, yet there’s an undeniable pull, as though his world is the only place you should be. Changbin isn’t just pulling you closer physically—he’s drawing you into his world, a place where he’s the only one who truly understands and cares for you.

Hyunjin

Everything spiraled when Hyunjin discovered you were texting someone else. At first, it was disbelief—a quiet, unsettling pang in his chest that grew heavier with each passing second. But the true blow came when he realized you didn’t see him as anything more than a friend. His carefully constructed fantasy of you and him felt like it was falling apart. Hyunjin wasn’t one to let it end there. His mind raced, desperately piecing together a way to reclaim what he believed was his. He couldn’t accept this reality, so he decided to bend it to his will. Each step was carefully calculated, his determination unwavering. Getting rid of that person you were texting wasn’t just an idea—it became his mission. He didn’t rely on obvious tactics like scaring them away; no, that would’ve been too crude. Instead, he crafted a more subtle, insidious plan, weaving a web of lies designed to trap you. Hyunjin’s natural charisma made it easy to spread rumors. Fabricated stories about this person’s character found their way to your ears, whispered through mutual acquaintances and amplified by the people around you. He planted seeds of doubt, ensuring that even your friends began to echo his concerns.

The world started to feel unsafe, untrustworthy—except for him. When you finally asked him about what you’d heard, his response was heartbreakingly vulnerable. His soft eyes brimmed with concern, his voice trembling just enough to tug at your heartstrings. “I don’t want you to get hurt by the wrong person,” he whispered, his tone so genuine it was impossible to ignore. “They’re not good for you. Please, believe me.” Hyunjin was a master manipulator, wielding his vulnerability like a weapon. He knew exactly how to guilt-trip you, how to make you question your own instincts. His innocent façade was so convincing that even you, who thought you knew him well, couldn’t see through it. Over time, the person you were texting began to pull away. Their messages grew infrequent, distant, until one day, they stopped entirely. You didn’t understand why—until you began to notice how others talked about them. The judgment in their voices mirrored everything Hyunjin had warned you about, reinforcing his narrative. Confused and hurt, you turned to Hyunjin for comfort. “I warned you,” he murmured, his hands gentle as they reached for yours. “I just want to protect you.” His words felt like a balm, his gaze filled with a mix of tenderness and quiet triumph.

Little by little, you started to rely on him more. The walls he built around you didn’t feel like a trap—they felt like a safe haven. His presence was comforting, his attention all-encompassing. And just as he’d planned, you began to see him differently—not just as a friend, but as something more. “Promise me,” he whispered one evening, his voice low and filled with quiet desperation. “Promise you’ll always be here for me.” His eyes searched yours, and without hesitation, you nodded, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “I promise.” That was all he needed. Hyunjin’s lips curved into a soft smile, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Good,” he said, his voice soothing, almost hypnotic. “Because I’ll always be here for you, too. I’ll protect you from everything—even yourself, if I have to.” You didn’t realize it then, but you’d walked straight into his trap. The doubts, the rumors, the guilt—it had all been part of his carefully laid plan to bring you closer to him. Now, with you by his side, Hyunjin made it his mission to ensure you’d never leave. He didn’t just want you to love him—he wanted you to believe you couldn’t exist without him. To him, this was how it was always meant to be.

[lightdancingwords]

Come Find Me - Part Ten - Final

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Series Summary: You are a new arrival to Big Sky, Montana, and found gainful employment with the local insurance department next door to the sheriff’s department. A whole new life with your past haunting you, while Beau is still dealing with the entanglements with his ex-wife. Can either of you succeed in overcoming your ghosts?

Word Count: 1,365

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, mentions domestic violence/intimate partner violence, vague description of 18+ content (barely smut, but warning is here)

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Please see this post regarding future story posts. This is the finale chapter! I have a Supernatural one in mind for my next series! I’m sorry this one was short, but it just happened that way.

Divider: credit to @tsunami-of-tears

Chapter Ten: The Declaration

After Beau left to drop Emily off at Carla’s, you made a beeline for your car, taking out your overnight bag. You went inside Beau’s trailer, once again marveling at how spartan it looked. He kept it simple, plain. He was rarely inside, so he was practical. Yet, he gave you flowers, pure decoration. It made you smile.

You paused outside the door to his bedroom. You had made a decision, but it was still a rather big decision. In realizing just how much he meant to you, in how much you loved him, you wanted to take the next step.

You realized you wanted to be with him in a physical, intimate way. Beau was going to have the surprise of his life when he came back. On a whim, when you’d packed the overnight bag, you also packed a lingerie set, a lacy negligee. You didn’t think you’d use it, but you were feeling romantic. Now you were feeling grateful you’d thought of it.

You felt your nerves tingle as you decided to go inside Beau’s bedroom. You marveled that the tall Texan could fit in such a short bed, but you were glad it was wide enough. You glanced around, spotting a photo of him and Emily, and smiled.

God, you loved him. You were hopelessly, irrevocably, in love with him.

—

For the first time in several years, basically since his divorce, Beau was handling Christmas well. Holidays were difficult, seeing Carla with Avery, Emily preferring her mother… but now? Now since he met Y/N, he was eager. Freed, even. As though finally moving on, and he was, at last.

He pulled into his designated parking area, and saw that Y/N wasn’t in the yard anymore. He hoped she’d finally feel comfortable to go in and out of his trailer as she desired, even though they never talked about exchanging keys. She’d slept outside for weeks before they became an item, so he knew it was a rather unconventional beginning.

He got out of the truck, and headed to the trailer. He paused as he entered, as he was surprised he didn’t see Y/N in the kitchen or living room. “Darlin’?” he called out.

“In the bedroom,” she returned.

His brows lifted, and he stepped in the bedroom, wondering what he’d find. A part of him was hopeful, but reserved, aware of the trauma she carried. Another part of him was thrilled at a potential time together. The rest of him was just intrigued.

He saw her sitting on the edge of his bed, a silky piece of clothing beside her. “Darlin’?”

—

You looked up at him and smiled faintly, your heart clenching. You’d chickened out on putting on the negligee. It wasn’t in you to be ‘sexy’, not really. Even though Beau made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world by the way he looked at you, it was out of character for you to dress in sexy lingerie.

“Hey.”

“You okay, darlin’?” he asked, coming to sit next to you, wrapping an arm around you to hold you close. “You look like your stomach’s killin’ ya.”

“That’s a pretty accurate description,” you said with a half-laugh. “I, um… I was trying…” You paused, pinched the bridge of your nose. “God. I feel stupid now.”

“Hey, ya ain’t stupid, darlin’,” he murmured. You leaned against him, drew on his steady warmth and strong heartbeat. “Maybe for hookin’ up with me, but ya ain’t stupid in general.”

You laughed and he smiled. You knew instantly that joke was designed to make you smile. “But we haven’t hooked up yet, not in the way the vernacular means.”

“Look at ya all fancy,” he teased.

“Beau,” you murmured his name, looked up at him to catch his gaze. Your heartbeat was amazingly steady as you took him in. His fringe hair fell into his eyes, his beard all neat and trimmed. It was his eyes, as usual, that captivated you, that mossy green. This incredible, sweet man with the Texan drawl. His adoration was clear as day.

“Yeah, darlin’?” he whispered, his fingers lightly brushing your cheeks.

The words came out before you could do anything about them. “I love you.”

His eyes widen slightly, then darken with emotion. “I love you too, darlin’,” he replied, his voice low and soft.

The room was bathed in soft, golden light from the bedside lamp, its glow casting gentle shadows on the walls. You sat facing each other, your breaths mingling in the quiet space. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of your words—“I love you”—still hanging in the air, fragile and beautiful. He reached out first, his fingertips brushing your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch, leaning into his palm as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand slid to cradle your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone with reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver through you. Your eyes opened, meeting his, and the emotion there—vulnerability, longing, devotion—stole your breath. “I’ve never felt this way before,” you admitted, your voice trembling but steady with truth. “I’m… nervous.” “Me too,” he whispered, his smile soft and reassuring. “But I don’t wanna rush this. I just want ya, darlin’.” You smiled back, your heart swelling with a warmth that felt almost too big for your chest. Slowly, you reached for him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. He leaned down, their foreheads touching as their breaths synchronized, grounding them in the moment. When their lips met, it was tender—an exploration, not a conquest. His kiss was slow and gentle, a silent promise of care and patience. You kissed him back, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. They moved together without haste, shedding layers of clothing like barriers dissolving between them. His hands found the scar on your abdomen, a mark you’d long been self-conscious about. Your breath caught as his fingers traced it, reverent rather than hesitant. “It’s part of ya, darlin’,” he said softly, meeting your gaze. “And I love every part of ya.” Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, and you cupped his face, pulling him into a deeper kiss. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you. The bed was soft beneath them as you lay down together, your bodies aligning in a way that felt as natural as breathing. Every touch, every kiss, was unhurried and full of meaning. His hands caressed you as if memorizing you, and you let yourself open to him, your own hands exploring the contours of his body. You moved together like a tide meeting the shore—gentle, inevitable, and profoundly connected. When you finally joined, it wasn’t about lust but about love—an expression of everything you felt for each other. You held each other close, your movements slow and deliberate, your breaths mingling as you whispered each other’s names. In the end, it wasn’t the act itself that mattered but the way you looked at each other—the way your love had deepened, woven into every glance and touch. As you lay entwined, your hearts beating in unison, you knew this was more than a moment; it was a beginning.

—

You lay in Beau’s arms, your cheek resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. You idly traced the contours of his chest, content. “I don’t want to get up.”

He smiled, his hand lightly grazing your back. “Neither do I, darlin’.”

“I guess we could stay all day,” you murmured, taking a deep breath, settling comfortably.

“You could stay all night, darlin’,” he said, tugging you closer. “In fact, stay in my life forever if ya want.”

You smiled warmly. “Maybe I will.”

He closed his eyes with a contented smile on his face. “I’d like that, darlin’. I’d like that very much.”

You curled closer to him, your eyes half-closed. You were at peace. It was though you finally came home.

The End… for now.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind

[celestialmoondragon]

On Eurylochus in Epic: the Musical

Hey, guys! I've been struggling to put this together since Thunder Saga because the amount of Eurylochus hate I saw after that saga just really stuck in my craw. Now, to be clear, I'm not pointing fingers or saying it was everyone, and a lot of it tapered off so I think it was just a gut reaction after the Saga came out but I've always identified more with Eurylochus while everyone else seems to fall over Polites. 

Not that I have a problem with Polites or anything. I just find the 'blindly optimistic sunshine character' to be rather irritatingly naive most of the time? Again, I identify with Eurylochus’s character & philosophy. I'm not trying to prove he’s better in any way. I've just been trying to put together something to articulate why I think Eury deserves more love.

So here is what I’ve been affectionately calling ‘The Eurylochus Apologist Post.’

Full Speed Ahead:

This song sets up the relationship between Ody, Eury & Poli. It's clear it's a dynamic they're used to: Eury & Poly providing seemingly opposing arguments and Ody finding a sensible middle ground between them. I've seen posts saying it's the Devil & Angel on Ody's shoulders but I don't like that argument because it assigns a moral value to their arguments that isn't there. I think the reason this has worked so far is because Ody sits between them, balancing their viewpoints as both pessimistic caution and blind optimism could be dangerous to their survival solely on their own.

Eury's argument for theft feels extreme, sure, but keep in mind these men just got out of a 10-year war. He's not arguing because he wants aggression or slaughter. Later songs show him going out of his way to avoid conflict enough that an argument could be made for his cowardice although I don't believe that to be the case. Here, he thinks a quick in-and-out is a safer, more cautious approach when dealing with the unknown residents of an unknown island.

I would argue that Poli's desire to openly trust strangers is a more unusual philosophy post-war. And maybe his blind optimism has helped the men keep their spirits up. (Everything's changed since Polites.) But Ody says 'No, let's give them a chance at a peaceful resolution.' 

Both songs before this have shown us how tired of violence & death Ody is but some people read this as him agreeing wholesale with Poli's philosophy which is not the case as he's by far the most cautious of the two in Open Arms. It's only as a result of Poli's death that he tries to be kind to Polythemus, perhaps in honor of his friend. But also simply to spite Athena, who's been rather aggressively telling him he's wrong, and Ody is nothing if not a petty bitch.

Back to Eury tho.

Luck Runs Out:

Eury expresses his doubt after Poli's death. Yeah, they've worked together for at least 10 years and possibly grew up together, but the Polythemus incident is the first time that Ody's cleverness fails. The first time their crew actually dies as Ody's managed to keep them all safe the entire war. And their personal friend was the very first. He sees their mortality for possibly the first time. 

He expresses this throughout Storm. He was CAUTIOUS in Full Speed Ahead, yeah, but the level of defeatism in Storm is extreme. And nearly right after, while he's still struggling, Ody wants to try his tricks on a GOD? There's no indication that he knows about Ody's personal relationship with Athena. All he could see is his friend being arrogant enough to stroll right up to a GOD like it's nothing right after they lost their best friend and several others to a monster. A God is a more dangerous opponent than a monster. (Don't you know how dangerous the gods are?) 

So he tries to articulate his feelings and worries and what does Ody do? Dismisses them. Entirely. Or at least that's what it feels like to Eury. This is something he wasn't doing before. It's also here that we see Ody parrot Poli's philosophy. This is a huge out-of-character shift in their dynamic. Ody isn't playing the middle ground anymore, a mix between trust and caution, the best of both. He's now the other extreme and the dynamic doesn't work with only two points of the triangle.

Now, Eury isn't perfect. He definitely should have expressed his doubts in private where the crew couldn't hear them argue. And Ody does try to reassure him but it's coming from this place of ego & optimism. Eury feels like he doesn't get it. They're both talking at each other but not getting through. And to put the cherry on top, after Ody pulls him aside, all Eury hears is that his concerns don't matter. It isn't necessarily what Ody means. Ody, I think, just wants to caution him about making the crew doubt his leadership but, to Eury, Ody's words come across as 'I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing and you're just going to have to deal.' Which, again, is not how their dynamic works before. Ody fully hears him out in Full Speed Ahead and incorporates his advice into the final plan.

But he isn't doing that here. Eury's final okay is him giving up on trying to get through to Ody right now. Without other events, they might have had a chance to talk about it later and actually reconcile but neither of them are in a state to do so right now.

Keep Your Friends Close:

The captain comes back from an ill-advised talk with a GOD with a mysterious bag that he claims has to stay closed. The crew is agitated by the winions claiming its treasure and the harrowing events of the cave and storm. Remember, Eury's backing vocals are the crew. He speaks for them. While there might have been members who think Ody was lying about the contents, I don't think Eury opened the bag out of a sense of greed. There's been no indication that he's greedy at all. But the crew is growing increasingly agitated and the Captain is obsessing over the bag to the point that he stays awake for 9 days. That's weird. That's out of character. 

People act like the wind bag reveal and his 'sudden' distrust came out of nowhere but the entire first half of the Storm Saga shows their relationship deteriorating. Should Eury have given him the benefit of the doubt considering their years of friendship a trust? Probably. I'm not saying Eury is perfect.

Maybe I'm assigning a thought process that isn't there, but if I were in that position? I'd be worried. Not just about the captain's judgment being impaired from lack of sleep but also there's no telling if the God told Ody the truth about the contents of the bag. I think Eury still trusts Ody but what if Ody's the one being tricked? The crew is agitated, his captain & friend is acting strange, they've got a mysterious bag with unknown contents... 

Of course, he opened the bag.

Eury has always, always been worried about the safety of the crew.

One argument I've seen the most is that if he hadn't opened the bag, Poseidon wouldn't have caught them and the 557 men wouldn't have died before they got to Ithaca. Well, I would argue that there's no indication Poseidon couldn't get them on Ithaca even if they had made it, but that's not really relevant.

They. Did. Not. Know. He. Was. Chasing. Them.

While Ody does question the origin of the storm, (Is it nature or Divine or a blessing in disguise?), it's more idle speculation. That line exists more as a hint to the audience that something is afoot more than an indicator that Ody's figured out, out of nowhere with no context, that the god of the sea is hunting them. With the benefits of hindsight, we the audience know they wouldn't have died, but within the story, the characters didn't have any clue and I don't feel it's fair to blame Eury. 

Puppeteer

Eury tries to fess up immediately. Eury tries to tell Ody his mistake as soon as possible but Ody is, once again, not in a state to hear him out. That isn't either of their faults at all but it does erode their relationship further. It's unclear if he's seeking absolvement, atonement, or just reassurance, but what is clear is that the guilt festers until he blurts it out at the absolute worst time in Scylla. 

Eury gets a lot of flack for proposing they leave the men captured by Circe. Is it necessarily the morally correct choice to abandon their crew? No, and I won't say it is. But his decision is perfectly in line with his character. 

(Look at all we've lost and all we've learned.

Every single cost is so much more than what we've earned.

Think about the men we have left before there's none.

Let's just cut our losses, you and I, and let's run.)

He's begging & pleading for Ody to not through them up against another foe they can't win against. He's saying 'look, we've lost nearly everyone. It's okay if we're cowards here because we won't have anything left if we fail again.'

Now this is somewhat speculative on my part, but If Eury was really a coward or really didn't care about Ody, he probably could have convinced the crew left on the ship to cut and run while Ody confronted Circe alone. All he would have to do is use the same argument he tried on Ody. I think the narrative decision to make Eury's backing instrument the crew tells us pretty clearly that they'll side with him. It's shown most obviously in Mutiny, of course, but it's first demonstrated in Luck Runs Out.

Different Beast

Eury is technically not in this song except for the fact that he is. Because Eury reflecting the crew works both ways. He is the crew & the crew is him. Now the crew, including him, are all on board with Ody's change. Eury wouldn't have left the sirens to chase them or attack others either. He thinks their viewpoints are aligned again, not the Ody has gotten to the opposite extreme of 'only I have to survive.' Not Ody realizes this either.

Scylla

This is were Eury breaks. He blurts out the truth that's been eating him alive at the worst moment. He thinks he's in a good place to confess and try to talk to Ody again because as far as he knows, they're just sailing through a dark cavern. He has no idea Scylla is there until they're attacked. Even when Ody instructs him to light torches, he probably thinks it's because it's dark.

And then she starts eating the crew Ody deliberately made her target. Whether Eury was one of the intended targets doesn't matter, in my opinion, as much as Eury realizes that Ody's new philosophy for survival doesn't include the crew. 

I've seen speculation that Scylla has some sort of truth-compelling power but I believe it was terrible timing myself. The framing of Scylla leaves the audience speculating who she's talking to until it's revealed at the end that it's Ody. Her 'breaking the bonds you have made' line comes after Eury's confession not because she's compelling the truth but because she knows what response Ody's gonna have. She knows him because only someone like her would brave her lair. (We're the same, you and I.)

Mutiny

This is by far the most complicated bit and I'm not going to pretend Eury isn't a bit of a hypocrite here. I think he would have made the same choice to sacrifice 6 men if it came down to it, since he was willing to leave some of them on Circe's Island, but I don't think Eury does. He thinks he's always made the most pragmatic, logical choices for the crew's overall survival. He sees Ody's compromised mental state in Luck Runs Out/Keep Your Friends Closer but he didn't necessarily see his own then or now.

So he rounds on Ody. Ody deliberately forced them onto a dangerous path that would see some of them dead without telling them the risks. Eury 'for the crew' lochus can't believe that after all the risks he's taken to save them all, Ody would suddenly decide they don't matter.

(If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame) is a line I've seen people use to argue Eury's hypocrisy but I've always interpreted it differently. He isn't saying 'You're the captain so everything that's happened is your fault,' he's saying 'If you want to keep secrets and throw your crew away, you can't blame them for fighting back.' I believe this to be the case because it comes after (You miss your wife so bad, you trade the lives of your own crew.) 

Between the two is Ody's line (Don't make me fight you, brother, you know you'd have done the same) and, as I said earlier, I firmly believe Eury would have done the same in Ody's place. But he can't see his own hypocrisy. Whereas Ody was too compromised to see Eury's POV in Luck Runs Out, Eury is now too compromised to see Ody's.

How do we know this?

Because Mutiny begins to mirror Luck Runs Out. The crew parrots Eury's lines, fully and completely taking his side and after Ody passes out and they get to Helios's Island, the lyrics constantly call back to Luck Runs Out although not precisely in the same order. For example:

Luck Runs Out:

Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do.

You've heard the legends of the island in the sky, this proves they're true

We're in the home of the wind god

We don't know for sure

How many floating islands have you seen before?

This is the home of the wind god.

And what's your plan?

I'm gonna climb to the top and ask 'em for a hand.

Mutiny:

Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do.

Ody, we're never gonna get to make it home

You know it's true

You don't know that's true

This is the home of the Sun God

But if you kill his cattle, who knows what he'll send?

This is the home of the Sun God

I'm tired, my friend

But we're so close to home, this can't be where it ends.

-----

This continues the entire second half of Mutiny but I’m honestly not a skilled enough musician to recognize every little motif and note. But the two songs feel very similar except that now Eury is the one that can’t hear what Ody is telling him. I hesitate to include this information because it’s not explicitly stated in the musical but the reason he kills the cow in the original is because either the starving crew will survive and can build a temple to Helios in Ithaca or the gods will kill them quickly. Not only would starving be a slow, painful death but it's not a glorious end for soldiers and warriors.

Regardless of whether you choose to include this information in his motivation, it’s clear he’s done. He’s shattered and broken and Ody’s reassurance is too little, too late. The crew is, in his mind, either going to starve to death or die trying to get home and he’s quickly realizing he doesn’t know which is better. He hates that the situation and his relationship with Ody has come to this. He’s no longer angry, just resigned and exhausted. He doesn’t know how to solve their problems and can’t trust that Ody cares enough to try either. So why does he fall back in line so easily when Ody orders the crew to flee?

Because, despite everything, he wants to trust his friend. He wants to go back to when it was the three of them and they trusted each other with no reservations. Which brings us to his last lines in Thunder Bringer. 

Eury: Captain?

Ody: I have to see her.

Eury: But we’ll die.

Ody: I know.

I saw a lot of people getting particularly angry at this because he’d brought the wrath of Zeus down on them and is now begging Ody to sacrifice himself instead of the crew. But I don’t read it that way at all. We’ve heard him plead & beg. He pleads firstly Luck Runs Out and begs broken on his knees in Mutiny and this line doesn’t sound like either. 

This is resignation.

Mutiny shows us that he’s already given up. He’s ready to die. He’s not begging for his life. The crew questions Ody, reprising the chorus of Just A Man the same way they did when they questioned his decision to kill the Infant. Because that’s what Eury’s asking. 

Can you live with the fact you killed us?

Not because he wants to live but because he wants Ody to be able to.

In conclusion, Eurylochus is a flawed but entirely HUMAN character with a very consistent internal logic the entire time & he doesn't deserve to be treated like the conniving, fickle friend to Ody that some people paint him as.

[casino-lights]

So I wrote a love letter to the Wigmaker Job.

If you ever saw that snippet I posted with Illario putting on eyeliner and playfully roasting Lucanis, this is part one of that full fic! This is also the first meeting between Illario and Lidia. There's at least one swordfight, some rooftop parkour later, and perhaps most importantly, the Dellamortes fucking around at a party. A typical Saturday night for an Antivan Crow.

you can read some here or the full thing on ao3 here!

Somehow, Lucanis agreed to let his cousin help him again. Even after the mess the wigmaker job had become, he still buckled when faced with Illario’s knowing smile and a chant of please, cousin, think of all the fun we had last time! He had to admit, Illario’s presence did help time go by faster, and this job could require a lengthy wait. And besides, Lucanis couldn’t possibly keep his socialite cousin away from a ball in their home country even if he had refused.

So there he stood, dressed in the Antivan Crows interpretation of a sharp black suit, beside Illario as he peacocked in front of the mirror in the attic room they shared in the inn. Lucanis watched his cousin trace a finger along his own jawline, turning his face left and right, before smugly straightening his back and adjusting the collar of his navy brocade vest. He preened the sleeves of his silver silk shirt until they billowed just right, dangled the chain of his watch tantalizingly from his breast pocket, and fastened a feather-shaped, gem-set silver pin to the opposite lapel.

Lucanis sighed and turned away, pacing the room as Illario tightly lined his waterlines.

“You know, nothing says you can’t take pride in your appearance too,” Illario said, his voice deepened by the angle of his chin as he fanned out his eyelashes. “You could make those eyes stand out, maybe pick up more than just a target tonight, eh?”

“If you fuss over your face much longer, we won’t even get that far,” Lucanis muttered before fastening his cape to his shoulder with a silver crow skull clasp.

Illario scoffed. “Some of us actually like to display what the Maker gave us rather than hide it with that scruff you call a beard.”

“I think it suits me.”

“And I thought your jawline suited you, too, but clearly you disagreed.”

“I can still see it.” Allowing himself a smirk, Lucanis added, “You just hate that you never liked yourself with proper stubble.”

Illario rolled his eyes and turned away from the mirror. “Ah, but you did take my advice on the cape. Excellent. Shall we?”

“If you’ve finished admiring yourself, certainly.”

“I’m never finished admiring myself, cousin.” Illario winked and pulled on a pair of supple leather gloves stitched with silver thread. “But we should go before our ‘fashionably late’ becomes ‘actually late.’”

The inn was sparsely populated as they left, but the streets, as always, were bustling. Antiva City was always densely packed, especially at night, and despite the merchants’ ball being hosted nearby, plenty of people were still making their way through the district. Clearly, none of the expected guests were important enough to warrant shutting down even the nearest avenue.

As the Crows approached, they noted several carriages stopped outside the stately hotel hosting the ball. Lucanis nodded toward an especially luxurious one, lavishly decorated with purple curtains, gold trim, crystal drop ornaments, and oil lanterns.

“Our target?” Illario asked eagerly, subtly glancing into the carriage.

“Possibly.”

“You will tell me who we’re after eventually, won’t you?”

Lucanis hummed. “He’ll be upstairs in one of the state rooms. We can go up now or scan the ballroom for him - your choice.”

Illario sighed through his nose. “I would be better able to identify him if I knew who he was.”

“You never read my dossiers,” Lucanis complained. “Devi Santuono. Merchant prince - made his fortune selling jewelry to nobility, then married into it later. He deals in magical artifacts now, but he’s been known to sell fakes to less discerning clientele.”

“So… a mage?”

“Not according to my findings.”

Illario flashed a smile at the doorman as he followed Lucanis into the foyer. “Why hire the Demon of Vyrantium?” he asked, voice low enough and smile tight enough to avoid suspicion. “Seems a waste of your talents.”

“Perhaps. But Caterina mentioned a special request and a tidy sum.”

“Hmm. Upfront?”

“Upfront.”

A second doorman, guarding the entrance to the ballroom, checked their tickets and nodded at them approvingly. Illario thanked him as he held open the heavy doors for them, and they crossed the threshold into the warmly-lit, sweet-smelling room. The banquet had yet to be served, so the long tables were instead laden with punch, wine, and untouched porcelain plates, and the chairs sat mostly empty as the guests took the opportunity to mix and mingle.

Several of them turned to look at the Dellamortes as the doorman announced their pseudonyms. They resumed their conversations promptly thereafter, paying the two no mind as their chosen names were unremarkable in Antiva City’s merchant circles. Still, more than a few smiled back at Illario when he met them with his own dazzling grin.

Lucanis scanned the room, noting the many exits, clear sight lines, and profound lack of choke points. He saw no sign of the target so far, but the night was young and the crowd was thick. They had plenty of time.

Illario glided effortlessly through the ballroom, making his way toward an elven servant with fresh glasses of wine and punch on a tray. He collected a red and did a sweeping circuit of the ballroom before returning to Lucanis, and sipped his drink before frowning slightly.

“Hmm. Cheaper than I’d expect for such a nice ball.”

“Poisoned?”

Illario chuckled dryly. “It might taste better if it were.”

“No sign of the target,” Lucanis murmured as he scanned the room again. “And I think that woman over there is the passenger of the carriage we saw outside.”

Illario raised his eyebrows over the rim of his glass. “Oh?”

“Her crystal earrings and brooch match the carriage decor. Likely new money - perhaps even a client of our jeweler.”

After a swallow and another small grimace, Illario offered, “I can ask. Newly rich women love being asked who did their jewelry.” 

“Also, Lady Josephine Montilyet is here,” Lucanis added, casting his eyes toward an attractive woman in a striking lavender gown surrounded by at least half a dozen enraptured guests.

“I noticed,” Illario replied. “Looking especially lovely this evening, too.”

“And a fine draw for any wandering eyes.”

Illario barely contained a cough and smacked his lips quietly. “This gets worse with each sip.”

“Then stop drinking it,” Lucanis said with an irritated edge to his voice.

“I can’t make it obvious that I know better wines.” He drained the last of his glass in one large swallow before setting it down on the nearest table. “Here’s hoping the punch is better.”

Lucanis glared at him. “Don’t get drunk before we find Santuono.”

“Relax,” Illario soothed with an easy grin. “The evening has only just begun. Didn’t you say he’d be in his room? Why don’t we just slip out while everyone is enraptured by Lady Montilyet, kill our man, and be back in time for dinner?”

After a look in Josephine’s direction, and satisfied by the amount of attention she commanded, Lucanis nodded once, and he and Illario followed the wall to the nearest exit.

AO3

[vidavalor]

I think you're both right. With the exception of the The Flood scene that @foxyj33l mentioned-- which was one of their first scenes together-- Crowley has historically always approached Aziraphale on Aziraphale's left... when in public, anyway. This is something that the show slowly teaches us subtly in visuals throughout S1 and that retroactively makes this scene below from 1.01 make more sense:

Aziraphale heard the chime of the arrival of a supernatural being when he had his eyes closed while breathing in the sushi. He assumed that it was Crowley, whom he was expecting. In the moment just before the above gif, Aziraphale opened his eyes with a bit of an intimate smile on his face while looking to his left, all because he assumed that Crowley would be there. Instead, there's no Crowley-- and there also happens to be a mirror on the wall.

So, Aziraphale sees Gabriel on his right first in the mirror before turning to look at him and Gabriel, from where he was standing, saw Aziraphale's initial reaction in the mirror. The scene is also setting up the parallels of Gabriel mirroring both Aziraphale and the absent Crowley but it's also showing just how accustomed to Crowley approaching from Aziraphale's left Aziraphale has become over time.

This is what makes the show of Crowley entering Give Me Coffee in 2.01 interesting. The shot is from behind Aziraphale so Aziraphale, sensing Crowley the way that people just sense someone behind them, looks to what is Aziraphale's left, expecting Crowley to come around the table from that side. Instead, Crowley does something really rare from what we've seen-- he approaches from Aziraphale's right. Why might Crowley have done that?

It would seem to go along with the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale's habits of intentionally standing/sitting/walking in the same pattern in public but switching that up in private, which is something @tickety-boooo and I have been looking at in some posts linked below, should you be interested. 😊 (Tickety, we keep finding more scenes! lol)

I love Crowley's little, intentional brushes in greeting that would look accidental to anyone watching. 💘