#it was funny at first but. the more and more he said it the more it annoyed me

[legalandnotease]

Imagine if a person with PTSD had a bad dream and as a result of that dream, built up a cache of weapons. Then kept messing with one of the weapons that happened to be highly explosive. The weapon expoded, and the explosion destroyed his entire apartment block, killing everyone in it.

Guess what? He's still gonna be held responsible for what he did! PTSD is not a "get out of jail free" card.

Imagine if a person who ran a company which produced highly dangerous products was taking drugs, and as a result that they let health and safety standards slip. This results in major accident happened in their company which killed people.

Guess what? He's still gonna be held responsible, because taking drugs is not a get-out-of jail free card. In fact, a person in a position of responisibility knowingly taking drugs is going to be held more responsible because they knew those drugs could impact their capacity to make rational descisions, and still chose to take them.

If a person went out and killed a ton of people to "protect their family", they are still a mass murderer. If a person joined a terrorist organization to "stop their loved ones dying" they still joined a terrorist organization.

Tony's "good intentions" are an excuse. Thanos said he was trying to prevent the next masss extinction event. HYDRA said they were bringing peace and freedom to the world. If a person does something bad which causes mass death with good intentions, it does not make what they did good.

And no, Tony wasn't groomed. Iron Man 1 makes it very clear TOny knew what his father did, he was proud of it. He explicity cited his father's words to justify weapons manufacturing. "My father said the man with the biggest stick wins the fight"

Tony is 38 in Iron man

38

He is not a little child who had no idea what he was doing. He's a genius who is more than smart enough to know what missiles and bombs do.

He is a grown-ass adult who is more than capable of running a company.

Just because Tony died doing the first decent thing he ever did in his life, it does not exonerate him of all the damage and death that he caused before. It does not erase his support of fascists and authoritarian war criminals. it does not exonerate him of building weapon after weapon which repeatedly killed innocents. EDITH, the Iron Legion, Ultron.

It always amuses me how Tony fans try to use "trauma" as an excuse for Tony's actions when every single member of the Avengers team have PTSD, as do various other characters in the MCU. Yet not of them act like fuckwits and build WMDs every time they have a flashback. Bucky has PTSD: but if Bucky fans used PTSD as an excuse for everything he did, imagine the screeching.

But isn't it funny.... Bucky was a literal Prisoner of War, forced against his will and with his mind literally scrambled beyond recognition to kill Tony's parents. Literally captured, tortured and hypnotized into it. (The very things they use to excuse Tony's weapons manufacturing....)

Yet Tony fans still say that he was "100% responsible" and "his body did it" and therefore he deserves to die. (Tony's body built Ultron so I guess he's responsible too, by the same standards....)?

They don't blame the HYDRA handlers who planned the operation. They don't blame the person who told them about Stark's serum (which may well have been Stane) They blame the weapon who had no control, agency or capacity to make a choice being used by others for their ends.

They then have the audacity to tell you Tony was justified in trying to murder the man who he *knew* wasn't in control because he had hurt feelsies. (and of course Bucky is not deserving of redemption or a second chance because "he killed people"- as though Natasha, Clint and Tony didn't). All the while demanding that you forgive and forget Tony's destructive actions on the grounds that he "was trying to protect people" when he crushed women and children to death.

The selfsame Tony fans will then look you in the eye and tell you that because Tony had trauma and good intentions he is not to blame for doing things which caused millions of deaths. Even though he had a choice, agency and free will all the way.

Tony fans do not even have the self-awareness to comprehend their own double standards and hypocrisy/. All because they cannot bear the thought of Tony Sftark having flaws and being held responsible for the shit he did.

everyone always focuses on Sokovia and Ultron and Tony's involvement but no one ever thinks about how Bruce was also involved completely because they're both scientists. no one thinks about Wanda purposefully going in and digging in Tony's head, amplifying his PTSD and putting visions of all his friends dead in his head with the intent of making Tony create Ultron

Everyone always focuses on blaming Tony for the bomb that killed Wanda's parents but no one thinks about Tony being so shit faced he couldn't see straight at that time bec he was so deep in self-medicating his trauma that he could not even run his company and that it was Obidiah Stane that was the one in charge of the company and illegally selling the weapons that killed her parents

Everyone focuses on Tony selling weapons in the first movie but no one thinks about how it was Howard Starks company and that Tony was groomed from birth to run it and that he had tried multiple times to make something else of the company but was constantly shut down with guilt tripping until he was kidnapped and he forced the manufacturing to end

Everyone focuses on Tony being "conceited" and "arrogant" and not "caring about anyone but himself" but no one thinks about how every single action he makes in his movies are about protecting the people he loves and cares for. His biggest fear is his friends- not himself- dying. he goes into every battle he's in fully prepared to die and does make the sacrifice play many many times

everyone always focuses on what Tony did wrong, but no one thinks about how much he has grown and how he spends every single waking moment trying to be a better and better man who cares so deeply about everyone and is trying to protect everyone the only way he knows how- and that is with the brain and intellect that had been the only thing about Tony that was ever praised about

[babyleostuff]

⸻ first date with performance unit

[ 🍵 ] how they would spoil their partner, what they would be like taking them out for the first time & what they would plan to make them feel special

jun

place: cat/dog cafe

what they would do to make you feel special: he’d have your coffee/tea order + favourite baked goods memorised (to the point where if they didn’t have what you’d usually order, jun would know what you’d take instead)

what they would be like taking you out: jun would be the epitome of sweet and precious, because mans wouldn't be able to stop smiling. seriously, the grin he'd have on his face would be low-key concerning because how can someone smile for that long, but at the same time, he'd make you feel so at peace and comfy with his gentle persona

“they are so us,” jun giggled and pointed at two cats trying to claw each other's eyes out. 

you shook your head and took a sip from your cup. if it was anyone else you’d start wondering if they even liked you, because comparing you to a rather aggressive cat was not on your top 10 compliments list, nor was it something you’d like to hear on a first date.  

but the boy in front of you was far from “anyone else”.

“you’re feisty,” jun pointed at the black cat, “just like her.” 

before you could think through what you were about to say next, you blurted out, “well, at least now we know who’ll wear the pants in our relationship.” 

it was safe to say that jun looked like an angry tomato for the rest of the date.

hoshi

place: laser tag

what they would do to make you feel special:  if you’d end up on opposite teams, soonyoung would do anything to let your team win (he’d be so proud in thinking he was being sooo sneaky about it) because seeing you happy is so much better than winning (you’re the only exception though, anyone else - the fight is on)

what they would be like taking you out:  this man is too unpredictable to know for sure how he’d act, but generally speaking it could go either two ways: 1 - soonyoung would be filled with so much energy, beaming with happiness and just so much affection for you that you’d have a hard time knowing what he’d even be on about (lovingly), 2 - he’d turn into a stressed little guy that just wouldn’t be able to believe that he’s on a date with you??? you gorgeous creature said yes to go out with him??? no one pinch him, because if it’s still a dream he doesn’t want to wake up. this version of him would be quite quiet, but in a soonyoung way quiet

“stop!” you laughed, quickly looking back to see if hoshi was still running after you. 

and running he was. more like charging at you at full speed, to be honest, with a fake gun in his hand and devilish grin on his face. 

“you’re not going to get away this time!” he yelled back, getting closer to you with each step. and there was no way you’d outrun him, na-ah. 

“it’s not how you play this game,” you said and bursted out in a fit of laughter, as soonyoung wrapped his strong arms around your frame, engulfing you in a sweaty hug. 

“i don’t care,” he giggled, pulling you closer. “the game is over for me anyway, now that i’ve got you”. 

mingaho

place: painting class

what they would do to make you feel special: he’d be the best listener. i know that is the bare minimum, but at the same time the bare minimum is in hell so… yeah. you’ll never meet a better listener than hao, who could sit on the uncomfortable wooden chair, covered in paint and listen to you for ages

what they would be like taking you out: such a gentleman, to the point where you start wondering if it’s not a dream. gentle, funny, kind, understanding, charming - you could go on for forever trying to describe minghao. all of that said, though, hao would honestly be so so nervous, because come one… so many things could go wrong… and he seriously liked you. like really really liked you.

“how the hell did you manage to get your paints to look like that?” you pointed at hao’s palette that was full of pretty colours, unlike yours. unfortunately. 

“hm?” he mumbled and looked over at your station. you could see the smile forming on his gorgeous face, but since he was the textbook definition of a green flag, whatever you want to call it, he quickly composed himself and pointed at the paints in front of him. “just mix this and this.” 

“uh, yeah,” you huffed, “i did the same and mine looks like shit. literally.” 

this time he couldn’t help but laugh. “let me help, yeah?”

dino

place: a board game cafe

what they would do to make you feel special: he’d try his best to play all of your favorite board games, because one thing about chan - he sucks at understanding game rules (seriously, all of his brain cells would be sweating to understand the game). so it’d truly be heartwarming how this precious boy would try so hard to understand what would be going in front of him. 

what they would be like taking you out: stressed. and. nervous. as. fuck. he just doesn’t want to mess it up, okay? chan knows he’s handsome and pretty and funny and charming, BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER!!! all of his rational thinking flies out of the window whenever he’s around you, and “what were you saying, i was too busy staring at your beautiful eyes”. shakes like a leaf the whole time. 

you could clearly see a question mark forming above chan’s head, as you tried explaining the rules for the third time. usually, you’d be quite annoyed at the person for still not getting what you were saying, but he looked so adorable, with his big puppy eyes and all, that you had to stop yourself from cooing out loud. 

“i’m sorry,” chan said, looking down. “i’m just not the best at understanding games.” 

you leaned over the table and put your hand over his. his head whipped up so quickly you wondered whether he didn’t pull a muscle doing that. 

“it’s okay, channie,” you smiled at him. “we can play something else, y’know?” 

he shook his head, and scooted his chair to sit closer to you. “no, no. let’s try again. i promise i’ll get it this time”.

[holyblonded]

jealousy, jealousy | birds of a feather

pairings: paige bueckers x black!oc

summary: rocky schedules cause a drift in paige and cecilia’s relationship

warnings: jealous paige jealous paige jealous paige

notes: y’all i hate nova this time of year. everyone is on guard (rightfully so!) and tell me why i saw a tr*mp truck on my way to school 😐

Paige never considered herself the jealous type. Heck, she even bragged to many of her teammates that's the word didn't exist in her relationship. She loved Cecilia, Cecilia loved her. The same story for years now and everyone knew it. But, with the two of them both being in season and traveling, their window for their usual FaceTimes has shrunk and their texts have become brief. Paige's security in the relationship was shaken.

"Hi, I'm Cecilia and this is-" Cecilia pointed to her two friends on either side of her.

"Gavi-"

"and Pedri."

"And this is the best friends test," They all said together, Cecilia sounding much more upbeat than the other two.

"Here's how to the game goes, we all take turn asking questions and the other two write it down on the whiteboard so whoever gets it right, gets a point," Cecilia explained to the camera.

Cecilia grinned at the camera. "Alright, let's kick this off. First question: What's my favorite color?"

Gavi and Pedri scribbled furiously on their whiteboards before holding them up in unison.

"Yellow!" they both said at the same time, sounding like a rehearsed choir.

Cecilia clasped her hands together, looking touched. "Awww, you guys know me so well!"

Pedri smirked. "That was the easiest question ever."

"Don't get cocky," Cecilia shot back, flipping her cue card. "Here's a harder one: Who did I make my debut against?"

Both boys froze, their markers hovering over their boards.

"Uh... Sevilla?" Pedri guessed hesitantly.

"No, no, it was Espanyol," Gavi said with the confidence of someone who was absolutely wrong.

Cecilia gave them both a disappointed look. "Wrong and wrong. It was Real Madrid."

Gavi's eyebrows furrowed. "Your debut was El Clasico? That's crazy, why would they do that?"

"Cause I'm the greatest. But, yeah, no pressure or anything," Cecilia shrugged nonchalantly. "Just 90 minutes of running in the biggest game against Spain at the age of fourteen. Totally chill. Just another day being the best.”

"Shut up," Pedri rolled his eyes.

Cecilia laughed as she wiped the imaginary dust off her hands. "Okay, my turn's done. Gavi, you're up!"

Gavi smirked as he grabbed the question card in front of him. "Alright, let's see if you two actually know me. First question: What's my go-to meal after a hard match?”

Cecilia and Pedri immediately started scribbling on their whiteboards.

"Pizza," Cecilia said confidently, holding up her board.

"McDonald's," Pedri countered, grinning as he turned his board around.

Gavi pointed at Pedri. "He's right. McDonald's all the way."

Cecilia groaned. "Seriously? You're an elite athlete, and you're eating McNuggets after games? Nourish your body, dummy."

"Don't judge me, C," Gavi defended. "Next question: What's my biggest fear?"

Cecilia raised an eyebrow. "Oh, this is easy." She quickly wrote something down.

Pedri hesitated, tapping his marker against his chin before finally scribbling something.

"Alright, show me," Gavi demanded.

"Spiders," Cecilia said, flipping her board.

"Practice after a game with a lot of yellow cards," Pedri guessed, his grin wide and teasing.

Gavi's face dropped as Cecilia and Pedri laughed. "Haha, so funny Pedri, but the answer is spiders."

Cecilia pumped her fist in the air. "Finally, some points for me!"

"Alright, it's my turn," Pedri said, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. "Let's start with an easy one: What's my favorite TV show?"

Gavi rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, we all know this."

Cecilia wrote something down quickly, her tongue poking out in concentration.

"Ready? One, two, three!" Pedri called.

"Money Heist," Cecilia said, holding her board up.

"Money Heist," Gavi echoed, flipping his board.

Pedri nodded. "Yep. Too easy. Next question: How old was I when I scored my first professional goal?"

Cecilia furrowed her brow. "Ugh, this is a trick question. I know it."

"Why would it be a trick question?" Gavi asked, already writing.

"Because everything with Pedri is a trick question," Cecilia replied, jotting down her answer.

"Alright, answers?" Pedri said.

"Seventeen," Cecilia guessed.

"Sixteen," Gavi said confidently.

Pedri shook his head, grinning. "You're both wrong. I was seventeen and three months."

Cecilia groaned. "You're the worst. Who even remembers the months?"

Pedri smirked. "A winner, that's who."

After a few more rounds, the three friends were in tears from laughing, their boards covered in half-erased answers and doodles.

"So who won?" Gavi asked, leaning over to tally the scores.

Pedri squinted at the paper. "Cecilia. By half a point."

"What?" Gavi exclaimed. "That's rigged! She probably cheated."

Cecilia gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I'm just smarter than you two combined."

Pedri shrugged. "She's not wrong."

Gavi crossed his arms, pouting. "Next time, we're doing a test where I get to choose all the questions."

"Good luck with that," Cecilia teased. "We all know you'd still lose."

The video ended with the three of them laughing, Cecilia tossing an eraser at Gavi, who pretended to dodge it in slow motion.

Paige watched as the video faded to black, her chest filling with an indescribable feeling. A rather uncomfortable warmth accompanied by a sharp tug in her chest and a knot in her throat that made it hard to breathe.

"P," Nika called out. "You good?"

"Yeah," Paige's teeth were clenched. "I'm good."

Paige was head over heels for Cecilia and when they missed a day of talking, it felt like withdrawals. While Cecilia found this trait of Paige endearing, the same cannot be said for her teammates and friends.

"Paige! Shut the fuck up, please," Azzi groaned.

"I miss her, Azzi. My heart hurts," Paige complained as she clutched her chest dramatically. "My heart feels like it's going to explode."

"Let it," Nika mumbled in passing.

Paige sighed and trudged to her room throwing herself on the bed. She opened TikTok and went through her routine whenever she missed Cecilia, watching her edits.

Paige scrolled through the app enjoying the many thirst trap edits of her girlfriend when a certain in came across her screen. It's started out normal but a clip from an interview with Jana popped up and it turned on to a ship edit to the song Glue by Beabadoobee.

Paige knew she shouldn't have, but she clicked on the comments.

the ultimate barca couple 🗣️

they need to get together already 😭

bruh they are so cute

That same unsettling warmth filled Paige again. An uneasy, persistent ache grew in her stomach as she quickly swiped out of the app.

"Hey, Amor," Cecilia smiling face took up Paige's phone. Paige instantly sent her a smile yet. This is the first time she saw her girlfriend the whole week with their schedules keeping them apart.

"Hey, baby. I was thinking-" Paige was interrupted by a voice calling for Cecilia.

"Cari!" The voice of Ona Batlle rang through the small hallway where Cecilia was hiding. " Per què t'amagues aquí? (Why are you hiding here?)"

"Parlant amb la Paige sense que la Pina i la Patri em molestessin (Talking to Paige without Pina and Patri bothering me)," Cecilia answered as she smiled up at Ona from the floor.

"Okay, Cari," Ona planted a quick kiss on Cecilia's cheek before patting her head. "Assegureu-vos de dinar, d'acord. (Make sure to get lunch, okay.)"

"Si, si," Cecilia dismissed and swatted Ona's hands away before the older girl made her way to the cafeteria. "What were you saying, Amor?"

Paige gave her a tight lipped smile, with the unpleasant warmth filling her chest, "It's not important, don't worry about it, babe."

Paige tossed and turned, before she settled on her back, staring at her dorm ceiling. After a Google search and looking at advice videos on TikTok, Paige has chalked up the odd emotion she's been feeling was jealousy. She had never felt the feeling before in her relationship with Cecilia. With both of their careers taking off their usual everyday talks had dwindled down, and seeing Cecilia getting shipped with her teammates hurt Paige.

The blonde looked at her alarm clock that read 11:04 pm. She knew it was 5 in Barcelona but her brain moved on autopilot as she reached for her phone and dialed Cecilia's number. After the second ring, the call was answered by the groggy twenty year old.

"Amor? Are you okay?" Cecilia asked, attempting to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

"Are you in love with someone else?" Paige blurts out. Cecilia then sat up in bed, wide and awake.

"Amor, what?"

"Do you love Gavi or Pedri or Ona or anyone else in Spain?" Paige restated.

Cecilia shook her head, not comprehending what Paige could be asking right now. "What? Amor— no. There's no one else I love. What's been up with you lately? Háblame."

Paige sighed, her free hand coming up to rub at her temple as she tried to find the right words. "I don't even know where to start. It's just... lately, things have felt different, and I've been overthinking everything. You're all the way in Spain, and I'm here, and we barely get to talk like we used to. And then I see those videos of you with Gavi, Pedri, Ona, and your whole team..." She paused, her voice catching. "And I see the way people ship you with them, and it just... it hurts, Cece."

Cecilia's heart sank as she listened. "Paige," she said softly, her voice laced with concern.

"I know it's stupid, okay?" Paige continued, her words tumbling out now. "I know they're just your friends, and you're close with them because you spend so much time together, but I can't help it. I've never felt this... jealous before. And I hate feeling this way because I trust you—I do—but my brain just won't shut up."

Cecilia stayed quiet for a moment, letting Paige vent. Then, she took a deep breath and spoke, her tone calm but firm. "Amor, listen to me. You're the only person I love. You're my person. Always and forever. Not Gavi, not Pedri, not Ona—none of them. They're my friends, yes, and I love spending time with them, but it's not the same kind of love. What I feel for you? It's on a completely different level."

Paige sniffled softly, her fingers gripping her phone tightly. "But you're so far away, Cece. And they get to see you every day. They get to laugh with you, be around you, while I'm just... here. I feel like I'm losing you, even if I know that's not true."

"You're not losing me," Cecilia said with conviction, her voice softening again. "I promise, you're not. I know things have been tough lately with our schedules, and I hate that I can't talk to you as much as I want. But no matter how busy things get, you're always in my heart, Paige. I think about you every day, and I can't wait for the moment I can hold you again."

Paige let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just needed to hear that."

"And I'll remind you every day if you need me to," Cecilia said, a small smile creeping into her tone. "This is new for us, being apart for this long, not finding time to visit, but we're a team, remember? We'll figure it out, like we always do."

Paige finally let herself relax, the tension melting away from her body. "I love you, Cece. I'm sorry for being so insecure."

"Don't apologize for how you feel," Cecilia said. "It's okay to feel like this. Just talk to me, okay? No more holding it in until you're randomly calling me at five in the morning.”

Paige laughed softly, the sound making Cecilia's heart swell. "Deal."

"Good," Cecilia said warmly. "Now, get some sleep, Amor. I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll figure out a time to talk more often, okay?"

"Okay," Paige murmured, a soft smile forming on her lips. "Goodnight, Cece."

"Goodnight, mi amor. Sweet dreams."

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 13 - Five of Swords

summary : your first day spent in Demacia doesn't bring out the best of you.

content warnings : angst. like pull out the tissues angst. no comfort. also some flirting shit? oh and tension. a good meal overall i hope

word count : 8,2k

author's note : okay so i'm trying to survive classes and i tried writing this baby during the week while on the metro. it's quite a pain in the heart but hey dw it'll get better i promise.

NOT proofread for now

masterlist．．discord ．．playlist．．my ko-fi

The short journey to your place of residence prepared for the students had been deeply unbearable.

Demacians seemed to have a majority of water-related transport. You weren't really surprised, given that Demacia was known for its beaches and its inextricable links with the water that surrounded it for trade and tourism.

However, after that rather short night in a bed that wasn't very pleasant, you would have liked to have had a moment to settle down and enjoy a brief trip in a transport to observe the landscapes.

But walking was unavoidable. A horde of suitcase rollers were catching up on the white flagstones of the streets of the great city of Demacia. 

It was almost impossible to imagine the city as anything other than sunny. Its great white walls seemed incorruptibly pure, the sun bathing the sides of the citadel in resplendent light, while its blue slate domes gleamed in the sunlight like fish scales. 

You expected the city to have a cold atmosphere, an overly wise and tense staticity brought about by the strictness for which it was famous. But the markets were full of colour, crates full of exotic goods with colour combinations you only thought possible on paintings, rich fabrics and tourist attractions of all kinds bundling up in certain streets.

It was a city that combined the marine fluidity of its airs and waters with the formidable stability of its rocks and swords. It was almost impossible not to find a guard at every turn, to the point where it was almost more oppressive than reassuring. The sight of so many passers-by crossing the streets and their safety, however, softened the sensation.

And although you couldn't wait to take a shower and relax, the desire to wander the streets of this new place grew with every step you took. What a thrill it is to explore.

All this could have been superb, of course, if it hadn't been for a single factor that splashed mud all over this first immersion: Fiora.

Clinging to Viktor like a mussel to its rock, she had never stopped monopolising him and imposing her continuity. She pulled Viktor's suitcase like she was pulling a bin bag, pressing herself against him and laughing much more than necessary at every little interjection he made, often punctuating it with "What an interesting thing to say" or "Vikkie you're so funny!"

Vikkie, the nickname made your skin crawl with embarrassment. But what probably bothered you most was the fact that Viktor didn't do anything in particular to stop it. Was he just being polite? Or did he genuinely enjoy her company?

"Yes, she's always like that," Garen finally added with a sigh, his eyes visibly attentive to where yours were resting.

You sighed. "How long have you been handling her?"

He chuckled. "I think we're about to hit the second year in a row of a dreadfully thorny situation."

"Two years," you huffed, imagining what it would have been like if you and Viktor had carried on with that litter of stupid nemeses for so long.

"Yes ma'am," Garen nodded, himself seeming slightly surprised by this realisation.

"And has it always been like this?" 

"It gets worse when new things arrive and she wants said new things," he informed. "She needs to have her hands on the new, shiny toy."

"Is she a princess?" you questioned.

"Akin," Garen's gaze rested tiredly on Fiora's figure, raising his eyebrows, "she is the heir to one of the biggest families of Demacia."

"Damn," you whispered. "And she bites, I take it?"

"She is a fierce duellist, best one around here," grimaced Garen. "I wouldn't advise making any waves or tormenting her, she has a tendency to start useless gossip behind your back."

You nodded, taking in the information Garen had so graciously given you. "Crowns have strange effects on the heads they adorn."

He nodded, obviously finding your words accurate.

It didn't take you long to arrive at a building of at least six storeys, seemingly the same length as the point separating Zaun from Piltover and as wide as the length of The Young Prince. 

What had struck you so far was the geometry of the city. All the architecture of its streets was millimetre-perfect, everything mirroring each other almost impossibly perfectly like a surface on clear water. Arches of white stone criss-crossed in the air, no pillar was odd, and even the clothes of the residents were surgically symmetrical. It was almost disconcerting.

"The Hôtel Félixérie has graciously approved your accommodation as part of your stay," informed Madame Diane, turning to the group of students. "We'll leave you to drop off your belongings and take a moment to relax and get to know your room-mates a little better."

You'd imagined that the dormitories would be paired up again, and you'd probably expected the Piltover students to be with each other once more. However, Diane interrupted this train of thought.

"For fairly obvious reasons, the rooms will not be mixed. If your duos involve sex and gender differences, we will assign you to different rooms."

Their restrictions were totally acceptable, however, if the little gears in your brain weren't wrong, a terrible revelation took over.

You would have to share your room with Fiora.

You turned towards her, the latter already looking at you like a vermin to be eradicated, or the most useless thing this earth could have borne.

"Come forward, so we can allocate your rooms and take it into consideration."

So the group of students moved towards the teachers, your quartet staying back, Garen following to collect your room numbers. You reached Fiora, who was about your height, if perhaps a little shorter - which didn't stop her looking down on you for anything in the world.

So you watched her stature, her arm still firmly wrapped around Viktor.

You chuckled, observing the situation. "Are you going to sleep with him like he's your teddy bear? Or are you big enough to sleep without one."

Viktor turned to you, half surprised and half grateful. She arched an eyebrow at you, blowing out a laugh from her nose. "Scared of a child?"

"I'm not as spoiled of a kid as you," you replied.

"What is the ugly little thing saying?" she questioned.

"She's saying that you've got looks, and money," you remarked, "one of them is bound to run out."

She gave you a petty little smile. "Guess I'm rich in all cases. I still have twice more than you own."

"And twice more to lose," you pointed out, frowning, "and I don't lose."

She giggled, her upper lip rising in frustration. "So confident."

Your eyes looked her up and down, two thin slits under your eyebrows. "So ignorant."

"Viktor?" inquired Garen to cut short this obviously mindless discussion once he'd come back. "We're sharing the same room, do you need help with your belongings?"

The Zaunite's suitcase was still in Fiora's hand. She said nothing, ignoring you as she straightened her chin and let go of Viktor's arm as well as his luggage, exchanging a glance with Garen who seemed impassive to her attitude.

Viktor exchanged glances with you and then Garen. "No need," he confirmed politely.

"Alright," smiled Garen, turning to your little group, "we're all on the ground floor. Room 020 for Viktor and me, room 021 for you two,’ he explained as he handed you your keys, Fiora not even unlocking her arms from her chest to take the ones Garen was handing her.

"As if I was to share my room with someone like you," Fiora almost choked out.

"At least something we agree on," you breathed before pulling your suitcase towards the building.

You had only one thing on your mind: taking a shower and putting on clean clothes. Demacia had a warmer climate than Piltover, and although the sun wasn't high in the sky, the air was already hot, and your walk to the hotel didn't help the feeling.

The interior of the hotel was charming, managing to bring warmth to its ambience despite its cold bluish tones. It didn't take you long to find your room, shoving the key into the lock more hastily than you would have liked.

You pulled your suitcase onto a tiled floor with hexagonal stones alternating royal blue and creamy white, two thick beds next to each other already making you regret coming here just from the perspective of who would take the second one. You placed your suitcase on the side of the bed you'd settled on taking, removing your coat, which was already far too warm for your back and shoulders.

There was a knock at the door, and you turned to see Garen, his stature taking up almost all the light in the corridor in the silhouette of the door.

"Got the word from Madame Lolanthe," he began, "the Piltover students get a one hour break in their rooms before we come back to get you ready for the Academy visit."

"Okay," you nodded, getting rid of your scarf, "thank you for telling me."

"No problem," he smiled, leaning against the doorway, "You hold up to her well."

"Hold up to her?" you repeated, almost confused.

"That talk about the looks, and the money," he noted, "I know who's words I'll repeat whenever she gets on my nerves again."

You smiled. "One will buy you sympathy, the other will buy you the rest. Unfortunate that with her great wealth she can't buy me," you sighed, folding your scarf to lay it on the corner of your bed. "She doesn't seem to like it very much."

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's because she's never had someone come on her territory and impose themselves so easily."

You arched an eyebrow, a small sneer tugging at the corner of your lips. "I'm imposing?"

He chuckled. "To her? She won't ever admit it, but you're terrifying."

"And to you?" you questioned, "Am I any threat to the sublime of a Demacian student like you?"

He considered you for a moment. "That remains to be seen."

You smiled at him one more time, placing your suitcase on your bed to open it. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to engage in verbal fencing with you. So far at least you've given me no reason to do so," you explained as you took out your toiletries.

"I shall do everything in my power for it to remain as such," he confirmed, placing his hand on his chest solemnly and bowing his head slightly. "I'll leave you to your rest, see you in an hour."

"See you in an hour," you repeated simply as he disappeared from the doorway. 

He reminded you of Jayce, but wiser, more chivalrous than naive, more observant than questioning.

So you finally grabbed some new clothes and headed for the second room in your bedroom, which was undoubtedly the bathroom. Were you all so stinky that the Demacians urged you to shower at all costs? It would have been funny, an unnecessary rivalry in a programme that encouraged the exact opposite.

The bathroom was an elegant composition of blue, white and pearly grey mosaics. Two wash basins carved from rough white stone stood next to each other in front of a large oval horizontal mirror. In the corner to your left was the toilet, and in the corner to your right was the ivory-white bathtub.

You were almost tempted to pick up your suitcase and put it in the bathroom with you while you showered, just to make sure that the bratty Fiora didn't come poking around in it or doing anything stupid.

After all, in your belongings was an object that could potentially get you into a lot of trouble here if it were found: your tarot deck.

Demacia's little worry in this instance was a deep-seated aversion to magic and all that surrounds it. Who wouldn't be when the history of its people was rooted in magical wars and the terror that ensued? Petricite, the material from which their protection came from the trees of their forests, was undoubtedly in abundance in the walls surrounding you. It was almost oppressive, as if the air were less breathable, more contained than ever in a box.

You stripped off your clothes and slipped under the water, which must also have been filtered specifically for petricite. It seemed almost dry, leaving an unpleasantly light sensation on your skin as you soaped yourself up almost furiously.

Your thoughts returned to your Tarot deck. You just hoped that the energies wouldn't affect it, and that you wouldn't be caught red-handed. You would have to be discreet about this activity, however naive, to avoid any lightning strikes.

You took your time to prepare yourself. You put on some simple clothes for the rest of the day, something comfortable enough to move around in and not suffer from the heat, and rearranged your suitcase, making sure you looked perfectly presentable.

You left your room after slipping your suitcase under your bed, knocking on the door of your comrade to whom you hadn't been able to speak since you set foot on Demacian soil.

"Come in," answered the familiar accent behind the door.

You turned the handle, opening the door to find Viktor sitting on one of the two beds. He seemed to be busy placing a particular mechanism on his bad leg, a strap running from his lower thigh to the sole of his shoe. He was bent over, arranging a sort of screw-on part on the side of his knee.

The system seemed to be complex, an orthopaedic support made of metal and leather for better stability, no doubt, in the same way that corsets were worn for scoliosis.

You'd never seen him wear it before.

"Is it in preparation for the walk we're about to go on?" you questioned.

He sighed heavily, rearranging a belt against his thigh and trying to smooth the creases in his trousers under the pressure. "Mademoiselle Laurent's brisk walk doesn't seem to have been very kind," he raised his amber gaze to yours, "I fear the upcoming days might be more difficult than what I expected."

You sighed, taking a step forward into the bedroom. "Yeah," you nodded, "not sure how I will handle the whole Fiora thing... At least Garen's nice so far."

His eyes moved from yours to his thigh again, tightening another bolt. "Mhm."

"You guys got cool rooms!" Jayce's voice made you turn towards him, coming from the other end of the corridor, poking his head through the doorways. "Ours is all..." he grimaced, his eyes crinkling as his upper lip lifted to the side, "green."

"Got something against the green of nature, Talis?" you remarked, arching an eyebrow.

"Absolutely not!" he snapped, raising his hands in the air to clear his throat. "It's just that ours is... ugly."

"Do you miss the gold of Piltover already?"

"A bit."

"Have the Kirammans changed you so much? Unless... has Mel got you used to luxury?"

"I-" he almost choked, but before he could pull himself together and resume his sentence, he frowned, mouth open. His eyes flicked to a point in the void before turning to Viktor, with whom he exchanged a glance. "Do you think what she thinks?"

Viktor breathed in, holding his breath for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and sighing in agreement. Jayce looked like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Am I... a high-class hooker?"

You grinned, putting your hand on his shoulder and patting it. "I think there are worse realisations in life than this."

"True, but... how do you know for sure."

"It's not a wildly complex diagnosis," Viktor remarked as he grabbed his cane and straightened up. "First the bottles of champagne with more than one zero."

"Then the petits fours," you pointed out.

"And the new shirts piling up in the dressing room..." Viktor continued.

"Fine!" stopped Jayce. ‘Fine, I see your point,’ he straightened up, trying to puff out his chest as he pretended to deconstruct the image you'd given him, sighing in vain as he watched you with plaintive eyes, "this is so bad isn't it?"

"It's the end of the world," you grinned.

Viktor shook his head, playing disappointment. "What happened to my work partner?"

"Hey!" squeaked Jayce.

Viktor turned to you. "Did you know he leaves the apartments three nights out of four to go see Mel?"

"What?" Your mouth opened in a terrible mock shock as you put your hand to your chest comically, "that's heartbreaking."

"I know," sighed Viktor dramatically, "I end up starring at the pile of his new shirts in the corner while I kill myself on work."

"Jayce," you huffed, "how could you?"

"Stop this! You two!" begged Jayce.

You finally smiled and gave up the act. "Relax, gold suits you anyway."

"You guys are the worst," grumbled Jayce as you and Viktor exchanged playful glances.

You headed out of the hotel, meeting up with Sky who instantly came over to you.

"That Fiora's already got you in her sights," she muttered.

You sighed, looking around as if to see if she was spying on you, but if she was, she wasn't within earshot. "I know, it's like I'm attracting them all like a magnet. Let's hope it doesn't last any longer than that, otherwise this trip may quickly be robbed of its holiday quality."

When the rest hour came to an end, Madame Diane finally showed up again an exact hour as the time she had left you. Their organisation was finely measured, timed and unforgivable.

Fiora couldn't help but regain her position as the cling-on next to Viktor.

"Pulled out your fanciest shoes for me?" she giggled as her eyes roamed Viktor's aid.

He sighed, "If I have to keep up with you, this is more than needed."

She gave you a dark look, though it was different from the one she'd previously thrown at you so far. There was a sort of flash of malice, an unpleasant aspect of that of a chess player with a sick and evil strategy.

You took no further notice as the walk to the Demacian Academy began.

You passed various buildings, Diane telling you a few little facts about the history of the streets and specific places. Jayce made comments here and there.

"How do they build such edifices?" he asked, amazed by the city's architecture and its intricacies.

"By piling stones on top of each other," you replied, Garen smiling beside you, your eyes witnessing Viktor's cheekbones rising at your remark from your view of his back.

You finally reached the Demacia Academy. Its campus formed a pile of wings of buildings of varying sizes and architecture. 

"Each study environment," as Madame Diane pointed out as you walked through the Academy's gardens, "is separated into its own buildings. We are privileged and proud to be able to welcome all kinds of cultures and knowledge within our walls. Humanities, Engineering, Art, all forms of wisdom are welcomed without any hierarchy."

Your eyes roamed over the bluish domed roofs, wondering if from the inside these same tiles covered all the light or if their material was transparent like sunglasses.

"A single point joins the students who wish it," she raised her long index finger in the air, pointing to the sky as if the almighty sky bequeathed to her every truth about the globe.

Garen pressed his palm against your shoulder, your eyes resting on it as he whispered into your ear.

"See over there?" the index finger of his hand on your shoulder, seemingly engulfing you by its size, pointed in a direction you followed.

"Mhm?" you hummed, observing a flat area that wasn't concreted over and seemed to be covered in a long, black, loose carpet.

"That's the training area," his warm breath brushed against your ear, "me and Fiora meet there every morning."

"We want our students to stay healthy and to help each other," Diane recited aloud.

Garen huffed, continuing to murmur. "If you'd like to see her lose eventually, this is where the show's at."

"Lose?" you repeated in a whisper, your eyes drifting to Fiora next to Viktor, who just seemed to have turned his head away.

"Mhm," said Garen before straightening up and letting go of your shoulder, "I've heard that it's something you don't do."

You smiled, a little laughy breath escaping from your lungs. 

"Thus, we have a training area dedicated to this," Diane continued, "our students can go there whenever they like, it's a free field. Now, if you don't mind, we're going to continue..."

But you could barely register another sentence at the moment, your eyebrows furrowing as you began to move forward with the rest of the group. 

One thought remained in your mind, however. Something that had struck you suddenly, something that surprised you more than you would have thought: not a shiver had been born under Garen's breath on your skin.

It was strange, not a single hair standing on end, no heat rising to your cheeks. Nothing. 

It was only when the memory of Viktor's breath hit the back of your neck that it began to heat up.

You tried to pull yourself together, to ignore this information, and to ignore the warm sensation in your stomach as your eyes found Viktor's combed brown locks.

It's probably nothing,’ you tried to convince yourself.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly, exploring the library and some of the historic sites on campus. You had eaten in a charming restaurant near the hotel, while the Demacian students returned to their cafeterias and afternoon classes and Heimerdinger gave you a lesson on Demacia. He had preferred to postpone his lessons on Demacia to save them for the trip, for a better immersion and to truly submerge you in his lessons.

Fiora was glued to Viktor like a leech, as if when he let go of her arm he was going to fall face first onto the pavement. She kept sending you these petty little smiles, and you kept giving her a deeply neutral expression.

The night came earlier than expected, and you dreaded the idea of having to share this room, which was supposed to be so pure and perfect, with an oddball like her.

You were already strangely regretting the night you'd spent with Viktor. Admittedly, you hadn't always had the best of times when you were forced into close proximity, but that didn't detract from the fact that you had common ground and mutual respect.

Up until now, Fiora hadn't earned your respect.

And to your surprise, as the hours passed and you read in bed, she never came.

Many thoughts raced through your mind, tirelessly changing subjects and possibilities.

Was she with Viktor? you wondered.

No, Garen and Viktor went to bed together.

So where is the viper? Perhaps it's in its burrow, at home in who knows which grand Demacian mansion, in a bed with silk sheets and canopied curtains. Madame's sleep must not be damaged or altered in any way.

And that breath on your skin, that hadn't done anything to you? Why did it?

Sleep overtook you quickly though, overpowering your fiery spirit, Demacia's jet lag catching up with you faster than you thought possible.

When you awoke, it was early enough in the morning that the horizon was still a gradation of night leading towards the bright pearl of the sun. Your eyes found Fiora's bed empty and perfectly tucked in just as you had found it.

You took advantage of the fact that the city was still a little asleep to get out your tarot deck. You knocked on both sides, hoping to release whatever energy the petricite could have brought.

You performed your usual little ritual, and the card of the day turned out to be the five of swords. The little booklet provided you with the following information: 

Cruelty. Think about your actions and words. False accusations. Cowardice. Inflated ego at the expense of others. Taking advantage of others.

This is a warning card that reminds you of the power of your words and actions. An argument has ended and there is a winner, a loser, and a mediator. Who do you identify with on this card? Which character represents you at this precise moment? If you don't recognise yourself in this card, who or what does it remind you of? What lessons can you learn from this image?

You were sighing, an argument? It was probably because of yesterday with Fiora, because of what you had to learn from it.

So you got ready for the day, looking forward to meeting Garen on that famous training area. You had discussed the time at which him and the pretentious one would meet, deciding to join them a little later to let them do their training but above all to go there with a small group of students who intended to visit more of the university with their Demacian duos.

The days were to be split in two. In the morning, the Demacian students would be in class, while the Piltovian students would have their history lessons with Heimerdinger. The afternoons would be devoted to visiting Demacia, its monuments, museums and so on.

So you went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. There you met Viktor and Jayce, sharing their table. You helped yourself to the buffet in this luxury self-service restaurant before coming over to them.

"Good morning," greeted Viktor, sipping his coffee as his eyes were riveted on what appeared to be the local newspaper.

"Morning," you replied as you sat down at their table.

"You know," Jayce began with his mouth full, "I'm not usually a fan of switching foods but," he twitched his nose as he chewed energetically, "I gotta hand it to them, it's really good."

"You would eat flowers if they were edible," you remarked before bringing your own breakfast to your lips, nodding at the taste, though.

"Ah ha! See?" Jayce remarked at your expression.

You shrugged. "Not bad."

Actually, what you were chewing was delicious, but it wasn't hard to reach that level given your diet of mostly simple pasta and stir-fry in your flat.

"Come on," Jayce tried, turning to Viktor, "their coffee's good too."

The questioned man abandoned his reading of the newspaper, taking in hand a pastry covered in icing sugar. "I'll admit that it's not bad."

"Not bad?" you remarked, arching an eyebrow. "Better than mine?"

He chuckled. "Not possible."

You nodded. "Huh, I guess I'll just have to check for myself," you remarked, pressing your palm against the table as you prepared to get up and help yourself to the drink area.

"You can just drink from mine," suggested Viktor.

The pressure of your weight on your palm eased, turning your head towards him. "From yours?"

He watched you for a moment, then picked up his cup and placed it in front of you. "I don't know if I'll be able to finish it in one go," his back found the back of the seat, "so, we can share."

You considered the mug for a moment, observing the ring of foam that had dried and marked the inside of the cup, waiting to be drunk. It seemed sweet, like what Viktor used to drink.

You curled your fingers around its handle, the round, slightly flattened cup feeling pleasantly heavy in your hand. You brought it to your lips, blowing gently on its contents and noticing the previous mark of the sip Viktor had taken.

Your glance met his, moving from your mouth to your eyes, your lips resting where his had been moments before, before you took a sip without your gaze ever leaving each other's. 

His jaw seemed to tense for a moment as your tongue passed over your lower lip to catch the last few drops of coffee before placing the cup back on the table.

You nodded, raising your eyebrows. "Not bad."

Viktor's amber eyes had a strange blackness in them, pierced by a dark glint you couldn't make out that brought more warmth to your cheeks and neck than the coffee.

"I told you!" Jayce exclaimed, bringing you back to reality almost brutally.

What was going on? Why was the air suddenly so thick and tense?

Your eyes lowered to your breakfast, taking a small bite as you returned to Viktor gently through your eyelashes. His gaze was still on you, his long, slender fingers wrapping around the waist of the cup and bringing it to his mouth.

His eyes lit up with a strange satisfaction as your lips parted and his came to rest where yours had been only seconds ago. 

Your heart leapt in your chest as you engulfed your entire meal in one mouthful, preferring to find an excuse like this to the suffocation you were beginning to feel from the pounding of your heart against your ribs, which were suddenly too narrow to contain it.

Viktor looked at you, as surprised as he was amused by the suddenness of this behaviour.

"You look nervous," Jayce pointed out, "are you alright?"

You met his gaze, your eyes drifting over Viktor's for a moment as you swallowed your mouthful with difficulty. Quick, an excuse, or something.

"I'm going to try and train with the Demacian students," you explained.

Jayce's eyebrows rose, Viktor's frowned.

"You're about to try and train with them?" the taller one repeated, wiping the crumbs from his sweet tooth with the back of his hand, "the same students that have a training area and some of the best fighters in all Runeterra?"

You stuffed your mouth with another part of your breakfast, trying to take some strength for what would await. "Yes."

Breakfast continued simply until you finally decided to go to the Academy campus. The sun was higher in the sky, already warm as you made your way to the training ground.

A group of students were occupying various parts of the large area, a variety of wooden weapons clashing against each other in a waltz of energetic movements and grunts.

The small group of Piltovian students approached this area, some coming to meet up with their duet mates, others standing back to observe the scene.

You finally caught sight of Garen, busy at the moment against a mannequin, his stature seeming even more imposing that way. Dressed in a navy blue t-shirt with sweat stains on the collar and back, baggy black trousers and combat boots, he looked perfectly military.

When he met your eyes, he smiled at you, indicating with his fingers that you should come closer. You pointed your index finger at yourself, exchanging glances with Jayce and then Viktor.

"Don't look at me," the latter pointed out, "if I've got any place on this field it's as a training dummy."

You shrugged. "I'm sure you'd make an amazing fencer with your cane," you said before stepping forward when Garen came your way.

You reached him on the pitch, the feel of the ground softer and smoother than you would have thought. No doubt to reduce the damage of falls, which were bound to be numerous around here.

"Good morning," Garen greeted you when you reached him.

"Good morning," you pressed your lips into a thin line. "I think by coming here I've voluntarily signed my death warrant."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," he confirmed in a soft laugh, starting to move forward.

"Fiora isn't here?" you questioned, anxiously.

"She went ahead to get herself some water, she'll be back soon," he explained.

"Hope she takes her time," you sighed, "I'd like to... try training."

He turned to you in surprise. "Try training?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, "gotta get the full experience of this trip, I guess?"

He chuckled, nodding finally. "Alright, what would you like to try?"

"What's on the menu for bruises and sore muscles today?" 

"Hmm," he glanced at the few remaining wooden weapons, "let us try with a staff."

Your eyes followed his gaze, settling on one of the weapon bearers. A row of quarterstaffs was there, waiting to be retrieved. 

Fighting with wands, the joke was almost ridiculously simple if you thought back to the five of wands.

He picked one up, throwing it at you as you caught it in the air.

"Good reflexes," he remarked as he took one in turn, "it's going to be needed." He twirled the staff in his hand with ease, positioning himself in front of you. "Show me what you know."

You had distant memories of using a staff, of parrying, of attacking, even if you weren't an expert and wasn’t sure about your capacity on bringing them back to life.

You had to get it into your head that you weren't there to win, but to learn, to take in new information and rediscover what it meant to learn through interest rather than obligation.

You described a swing in the air, the wood hissing as Garen easily parried the blow, coming into your game. All he had to do was push a little harder against you so that the pressure made you tilt your balance and he took advantage of it to try a blow that you still managed to parry before stepping back and almost losing your balance.

"You're smaller than me, and probably faster," commented Garen, "use it to your advantage."

"How am I supposed to do that?" you questioned, tightening your grip around your staff in the hope that your muscle memory would do the job.

Garen repositioned himself, smiling slightly. "Surprise me."

You chuckled, tapping the tip of your stick on the ground twice before repositioning yourself, bending your knees and tensing your shoulders.

You trotted towards him a little, raising your staff in the air before deviating and giving a kick with your foot on his at the last moment to shift the balance. His grip was firmer on it than you thought, but the blow was enough to divert his attention to the gesture and you drove your stick into his foot, causing him to grunt as you tried to go around him to hit the back of his knees.

Realising your trick though, he changed his stance, pivoting towards you and swinging an arc through the air that you stepped back from in time, dodging his next blow by placing your palm on his staff to squeeze it and pull it towards you to bring him down.

But his weight of muscle won out over yours, so he used your initial idea to his advantage by pulling you towards him until your back was against his chest and he was holding his staff under your chin.

You felt his warm chest under the fabric of his T-shirt, his chest expanding and sinking against you as you felt the wood of his staff push your chin up until your eyes met his. He huffed, cracking a smile.

"You did good," he breathed, cracking a smile before the grip on your chin eased and he released you.

You took a step forward, turning to face him. "Just good?"

"Not satisfied with good?" he pointed out.

"No," you chuckled as you grabbed your staff with both hands, ready to attack again.

He smiled, changing position again. "Then do better, Piltie girl."

"Would you look at that?"

Your eyes rolled heavenward as you recognised this insufferable voice and turned to Fiora.

She was wearing a uniform similar to that of Garen. A dark plum turtleneck t-shirt with short sleeves, trousers less wide than Garen's, and perfectly polished boots.

She was equipped with her most mocking smile. "How did you end up here?"

You shrugged, letting one hand fall away from the staff before your arm dropped to your side. "I thought I'd come here for a holiday camp, but too bad the activities and organisers aren't great."

She giggled, her eyebrows arching as she turned to the remaining staff to pick one up. Some students stopped practising, observing the scene. Fiora undoubtedly had her own little reputation which she maintained proudly, and to see someone standing up to her must have been a novelty for many.

"Let's see what you're made of," she said, putting herself on guard against you.

You sighed. "I don't want to fight you," you remarked as you moved towards the receptacle to lay down your weapon.

But she prevented you from doing so by sending it flying further away from a single hit. You glared at her.

Her smile was evil, her eyebrows low over vicious eyes. "You're gonna have to pick it up if you want to put it back there."

"Fiora," Garen warned, "stop."

"It's fine," you assured him, watching Fiora's face change between satisfaction and impatience.

You knew she was trying to push you, to build up your frustration to get a reaction out of you. You didn't want to give her the pleasure.

You breathed a sigh, walking over to the staff on the ground before picking it up. But as you turned, you barely had time to reflexively place the staff in front of your face as a parry.

Fiora had just tried to attack you, and violently at that.

"Fight," she insisted as you took a step backwards. "Don't they teach you how to fight in Piltover?"

You huffed, trying to get round her as she circled after you like a predator around its prey. "Guess we swapped war for intellect," you pointed out, feeling more in the mood for a verbal joust than a physical one, "I can see how the lack of it is visibly affecting you."

Fiora frowned, pointing the end of her staff at you. "What did you just say?"

You smiled, getting caught up in the game. "Do I have to repeat it for you? Or break it down into digestible pieces for your little brain?"

She grunted before drawing rapid attacks in the air that you managed to parry and avoid until you crossed the wood and found yourselves close. 

"You are so lacking in intelligence that neither education nor experience has helped you to fill this gap in your nature," you taught her.

She punched you in the stomach before hitting you in the thigh with her staff, forcing you to your knees. You felt the tip of her staff under your chin, firm and raw as she looked down at you.

"Look at who's kneeling before me," she sneered as she exchanged smiles with the surrounding students.

You didn't let her get to you though. "Simply tying my shoes, your majesty."

The nickname seemed to irritate her in a less visible way than the others, but you could still make out the little muscle near her eye tense up.

She offered a simple blow of her nose in laughter, leaving you on the ground as her stick dislodged itself from your chin.

She then turned to her audience, rounding on you. ‘What a fierce little thing she is, isn't she?’ she quizzed.

You turned towards her, straightening up as you frowned.

"By your words I believe you called me ignorant, so I did a bit of digging." She wore a smile that was about to cause some serious errors. "You will be surprised to learn that," she turned to you with a wicked smile, "she's an orphan."

Your lips parted as your chest began to tighten in anger, the other students around you all glaring at you like a freak show.

"No one ever wanted her," Fiora went on as if she were presenting a tragic two-bit story, "until she got taken in by pity."

You wanted to rip her tongue out. How could she know? How dare she put it out there for everyone to see?

She hovered around you, addressing her audience to paint a pitiful picture. 

"Got a failure? Get another for half the price!" She sneered as she described dramatic gestures of demonstration, calming down on the theatrical though as she turned back to you, eyes half-closed with pretense and pointing at you with her staff. "So now," she resumed, tone condescending, "she tries to remove that tag off herself by being first everywhere!" She turned to the other pupils as if they were little children learning a lesson. 

Your knuckles had turned white from squeezing your fists so tight, your breathing quickening as your anger built.

She turned to face you. "As if that was going to change her nature."

"That's enough!" Garen growled as he approached her.

"What's wrong? I am simply stating facts," Fiora pointed out falsely, innocently.

Their conversation faded from your mind, however, as your frustration rose inside you. 

Who was it? Who was it that could have given her this information?

There were only three people who knew about this matter. Only three. Jayce, Sky...

And Viktor.

Viktor, who had spent his time in Fiora's company, who was always glued to his arm, who had had to give in to the fatigue and frustration of her questions by answering her about you while she was scheming against you.

There was only him.

Your body seemed to you like a suit of armour in a garden of white statues of purity, where the ruby-red roses of anger were allowed to overtake the metal covering your rage.

Clad in armour. 

Ready.

"You said you wanted to fight?" 

Your voice echoed through the air louder than you could have imagined, but loud enough that all heads turned towards you. Fiora smiled, having finally achieved her goal.

"You've changed your mind?"

"Yes." Your tone was firm, rigid.

"That is most delightful to hear," Fiora smiled, turning to her audience and raising her arms before regaining your gaze, "I'll even do you the honour of choosing your weapon."

"No weapons."

Your whole body tensed, your fingers twitching as your muscles seemed to prepare themselves for what was about to happen.

Fiora raised her eyebrows. "Fists? How barbaric.’

"Scared your fancy manicure can't handle it?"

It was asking everything in your power not to let your voice explode in the air, to remain calm and articulate.

All the same, Fiora seemed fascinated by your determination to continue to stand up to her, to refuse to give up, to abandon in the face of her.

"Careful Fiora," shouted one of the students, "I've heard she's a witch."

Had she finally infiltrated your room? Looked through your things while you were asleep? Or had she managed to hear about Selene and had already started to do her viper's work of spreading rumours? Either way, she was already on to you.

"Glad to know we're on the right territory to get rid of this kind of waste," smiled Fiora.

"You can't beat me," you put the staff back in its receptacle, moving away again to get ready, "only one person gets to have that honour."

Your eyes landed on Viktor, who was watching the scene with furrowed brows.

You readied your breath, stopping your heart from getting too big in your chest as your legs prepared to hold your balance.

"So eager," Fiora sighed with a stupid grin, stepping forward to place her staff, "I didn't know you would-"

But as soon as the staff was placed, your knuckles made hard contact with her cheek, sending her to the ground.

A wave of shocked murmurs took over the crowd as you stood, eyes lowered on Fiora as she leaned back to straighten herself on the floor, her perfectly smooth fringes slightly dishevelled revealing her wide eyes as she brought her palm to her cheek still warm from the blow.

"Get up," your voice was cold, trying to remain unwavering while your fist trembled. "You said you wanted a fight, so," your lips were full of rage, "fight."

Fiora snarled, springing to her feet and running at you with the breath of a bull seeing red. She tried to land a blow on your face to return the favour, but you dodged it and punched her in the stomach, her curling up as you grabbed her hair and she started screaming.

"You fucking bitch!" she cried.

She slapped you on the shoulder and you let go, throat rocky with wrath. "Yell at me again and I'll give you a proper reason to scream."

There was a dangerous growl in your voice, a grinding of a gear powering an old machine that was starting up again.

She came back at you, landing a blow on your leg in the hope of making you kneel again, but she was only marginally successful. She hit you in the jaw, causing you to back away slightly, before delivering a second blow to the cheekbone.

You didn't give her the honour of adding a third strike, offering her a violent punch in the throat that took her backwards as you took a slight leap and slammed your hand hard into her face, her grabbing your clothes and dragging you backwards as she fell.

Sitting on her abdomen, your two knees blocked her arms as you gained free reign over her guard.

You hit her once, twice, thrice, her cheek beginning to swell. Your blows increased in intensity, the tension in your fist not stopping you even if the bones in your hand broke.

"Stop this!" 

Two thick arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you out with difficulty as you struggled in vain.

Garen pulled you away from the body of Fiora, who had turned to spit a cloud of bloody spray onto the floor. Your eyes never let go of her, as if you were obsessed with your real aim of seeing her admit defeat.

"You," you snapped at her, regaining some calmness though, "you're the one that started spreading gossip about me behind my back aren't you?"

Fiora turned to you, breathless. "What?" Her voice was hoarse from your blow.

"Don't make me repeat myself," you threatened, fully aware that you hadn't hit any of her eardrums and that she could understand you perfectly well.

She breathed heavily. "Why does it matter?"

You approached slightly, fists still clenched as you watched her on the floor, pathetic.

"Just wanted to make sure you knew your place."

Fiora shook off the hands of the students who had just tried to help her off ofto the floor, her furious eyes finding you as she struggled to get to her feet.

You realised the extent of the damage your fury, your uncontrollable anger, had done. Fiora's face was red, one of her eyelids bulging as blood poured from her nose, joining the red on her lips and gums.

You could have gone on, made things worse. Who knows how far you could have gone? What irreversible damage you could have caused? What life you could have taken in your own anger?

The realisation hit you like an anvil.

Your eyes roamed the crowd, the faces of the frightened students.

I... I did this? you thought.

I made them look at me with... fear?

Your eyes found Fiora still on the ground, grunting in pain and coughing.

Monster.

That's all you were. A being incapable of overcoming the violence that had nourished her, of abandoning the bosom of this bitter mother who had cuddled her so much and made her grow.

Your gaze wandered over the rest of the pupils, until it met his.

Viktor's face was shocked.

No, please...

His lips were parted and his eyes wide as you felt your hands impossibly sticky with the hot blood they had spilled.

Please, don't look at me like that... Your heart was trembling. 

Not you.

You had to get out of here.

Hands clasped to your sides, you strode across the pitch, the few students even two metres away from you moving away as you passed.

I made them like this. Although this thought might have given some people a feeling of pride and power, you couldn't help but feel covered in a terrible shame.

You couldn't meet anyone's eyes as you made your way to the nearest water source, away from any eyes.

You turned the crank on a fountain to turn it on, your breath quickening with anxiety.

I have to get this off me.

You ran your hands frantically under the water, rubbing the reddened skin of your knuckles and trying to get rid of the blood that was already starting to dry.

You returned to the handle as the water subsided, your hand coming into contact with the blood you'd left behind when you turned it the first time.

You make everything dirty. Everywhere you go there will be blood if you go on.

You swallowed a sob as you tried to clean the crank and your hands again.

But nothing would wash the feeling away. Nothing could extinguish the fire still burning in your fingertips. Nothing could make you forget the warm, slimy sensation of the pain you'd committed, of the violence at the edge of your skin.

It's what you're made of.

You sat against the wall, banging both wet fists against your skull as if that would stop those thoughts from ruling your mind.

And he'd seen you. He saw you like this. Your violence coming to life before his eyes, reflected in an indecipherable Iris.

You put your head between your knees, tried to take a deep breath before you got up, your legs weak and trembling as you made your way back to the hotel.

Stupid, stupid crown.

✦﹒ previous chapter ✦﹒ next chapter

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch @cloufire @csolya @kathyholdsagrudge @furblrwurblr @potatointhedirt @atrocioushaircut @ren-ni @schrodingersraven @urmommt @enoojnij @stilinskisensation @emlovesya @soupsaurus @luvreadingfics @the-valars-sapphire @solbringer @adorabluesposts @pxszels @nerolovesseongjiyuk @cyberwears @cryptidcut @seohaepeachyun @danielsbackupglasses @2hiigh2cry @16novvs @cicadastoner @patchs-curiosity-corneriosity-corner @w41k3r-94290 @minniiv @roku907 @lumilarity @peachy-writings @disturbyn @ddandelionfluff @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @notyuralycat @glenn-slayer @k07ume @hexb0nes @ravngers @fushirika @glenn-slayer @watergirl13girl @graveyardtrain @theuclid

[theminecraftbee]

putting a pin in this for later because i can't figure out how to ficlet this at the moment: bigb would be SUCH a time loop protagonist, right? like he's already so weird, he may as well. and the thing is that i think he'd be weirdly chill about it at first, right? like "oh may as well relive this" and not really act towards changing things. and only after realizing it is really funny to mess with people based on future knowledge would he start really going at the whole Meddling Time Looper thing.

and the thing is: would anyone NOTICE? like how outrageous do you think he could take it before anyone said anything? not just because he's Already So Weird but because bigb is like, allergic to fully trusting people, so he would probably just be squirrely and suspicious and hiding it by default. he has no reason to think he has to hide it but like, why wouldn't he?

and he'd act so CHILL about it. even if he wasn't. it would be a WHOLE THING. i just think he'd be such a fun time loop protagonist. how many loops do you think he dedicates to his and cleo's rivalry. how many loops do you think he dedicates to just wandering off and doing something unrelated. how many loops does it take before he realizes that he's not that much more alone than before he started looping, and hey, that's--that's sure something to keep in mind, now isn't it?

idk i just think bigb timeloop. would be real good,

[bigmoon-is-bigwife]

Ros said the reason she thinks she become friends with Clown is because off stream she hit an enderman and almost died so she logged out and asked him to kill it and he did. This was after the first day where she had already lost 2/3 of her lives and that would have resulted in her permadeath had Clown not saved her. I think this was the moment it became very apparent to Clown that Ros was not very experienced in the game and could use some help. I think this is why Clown started checking in with her at the castle and gave her building blocks from the nether when she was too scared to go on one life.

Ros is a builder at heart and has openly admitted she has learned more about minecraft mechanics on The Realm than her entire time playing the game before. Clown has always seemed very careful to not be condescending with her but it is funny seeing some of that realization in real time that Ros is very new to playing survival minecraft with a risk of dying. I think he's so used to playing with more experienced players he forgot what an average player is like. I think one of the funniest moments was when he asked Ros "Are you eating rotten flesh???" and she responded with "No...it's raw chicken :(" and so he gave her some golden carrots because that is not good food. Soon after that Ros realized that golden carrots were way better and started making her own and now she's no longer starving all the time.

Ros has improved sooo much from the start of the server where she almost perma-died within like two days of the server and now she's more confident and less likely to die on own! And that is from learning from various players, including Clown. It's been so fun seeing their friendship grow from that chance encounter off stream. I think Ros's time on the server would have been very different had that not happened.

[coqhee]

𓍯 ⸝⸝ JUST A BET ╱ L.HS ONESHOT

IN WHICH ✷ you bet heeseung that you can find him his perfect girl ∘ ∘ ∘ more

희승 x f!r ― f2l angst fluff && jealousy cursing kissing oc usage highschool au heeseung x oc (not the end relationship) ⨯ 5OO4

em's note ★ wouldn't be a banger if i DIDN'T include angst, actually kinda fw this one heavyyyy lawl, cause yall ever help your situationship get w someone else haha.. ha. ha.

ALL YOUR LIFE YOU HAD KNOWN LEE HEEESUNG TO BE STOIC TOWARDS GIRLS.

somehow it seemed that every girl in your school was in love with heeseung. of course, that was an exaggeration, but somehow every single pretty popular girl you knew would just get flat rejected by heeseung. 

a simple “sorry, i don’t like you like that,” would be all he was given and it was in no time that rumors spread that heeseung just wasn’t into girls given his track record.

at this point, you began to feel bad for the girls, even worse for him that he couldn’t find the one.  just how could you not like them though. they were even sweet and kind, and didn’t even have a bad personality.

everyone surrounding the two of you seemed to be in a relationship except him and you.

you, because you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, and heeseung, well because he just couldn’t seem to find the one and didn’t seem to care to find the one.

at first it started as a joke, when you were hanging out in your room supposedly, ‘studying,’ when you told him “you’re so picky with girls, let me set you up with someone,” 

heeseung had raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, a skeptical smirk tugging at his lips. “and you think you can find me the one?” he teased, crossing his arms back further against the chair near your desk, “haha, very funny y/n,”

“i know i can,” you shot back, your confidence only half-feigned. “you just need someone who gets you, and clearly, you’re incapable of finding her yourself.”

heeseung rolled your eyes at your bullshit statement, he wasn’t buying a single second of it.

“great so then what's my type huh?” he asked, clearly amused with your antics.

you paused, his question catching you off guard. “your type?” you repeated, stalling for time as you racked your brain trying to think of what his type was.

heeseung leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked. “yeah, y/n. if you’re so sure you can find me ‘the one’, you must know what kind of girl i’m into.”

“oh, that’s easy,” you said quickly, refusing to let him see you falter. “someone smart, kind, sarcastic, funny—basically someone who can put up with your dumbass.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “so... basically you?”

you blinked, feeling your face heat up at his unexpected comment. “what? no! i meant someone like me, not me specifically,” you clarified, trying to sound dismissive. “i mean sort of? but like, not me obviously, you know?” you tried chuckling to brush off any arising emotions. 

afterall, he’s just your best friend. and everyone knows, don’t fall in love with your best friend or else it gets messy.

he laughed, the sound light and teasing. “relax, y/n, i’m just messing with you. but seriously, if you think you’ve got this all figured out, prove it. find her.”

“fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “give me a week. i’ll find you someone who’s exactly your type, and you’ll be thanking me when you two ride off into the sunset together.”

“deal,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “but just so you know, if you can’t pull this off, i’m never letting you live it down.”

“and if i do?” you countered, narrowing your eyes at him.

heeseung thought for a moment before shrugging. “then i owe you. big time. whatever you want.”

“you’re going to regret that,” you said, smirking as you stood up and grabbed your bag.

“we’ll see,” heeseung called after you, his voice laced with amusement.

the two of you went back to actually doing work, however, your mind raced with a mix of determination and unease. finding someone for heeseung sounded simple enough in theory—but why did the idea of him falling for someone else feel like a knot tightening in your chest?

─── ♡

HONESTLY, YOU WERE CONSIDERING JUST NOT SETTING HIM UP WITH ANYONE AND ADMITTING FAILURE.

while it would hurt seeing him getting along with one of your friends and potentially going out with them, you figured your pride would hurt more if you didn’t win this stupid bet. 

stupid you, stupid bet, stupid stakes, stupid prizes.

though, you wouldn’t let your own feelings get in the way of trying to make your best friend find his forever girl. that wouldn’t be fair—to him, to the girls he might actually click with, or even to yourself. you told yourself you were doing this out of genuine care, that it wasn’t some half-hearted attempt to distract yourself from the feelings you’d been burying for years.

maybe, just maybe, seeing him happy with someone else would finally push you to let go. watching him smile the way he always did when he was truly at ease, only this time with someone else by his side, might be the catalyst you needed to accept what you’d been trying to avoid: that heeseung would never see you the way you saw him.

you sighed, scrolling through your contacts in search of someone who might fit the impossible checklist you’d mentally created for heeseung. someone funny, smart, patient, and—above all—someone who wouldn’t make your chest ache every time they laughed together.

surely, that would make things easier. seeing him in love—real love—might make you realize that you weren’t the one for him, and that was okay. or at least, that’s what you told yourself. maybe in the process, you’d learn how to untangle your heart from his, stop feeling the way you did whenever he flashed that lopsided grin at you or leaned in just a little too close during your late-night study sessions.

maybe, for once, you could finally move on with your life.

but the thought of it stung in a way you didn’t want to admit. because deep down, you weren’t sure if seeing him happy with someone else would mend the ache in your chest—or make it worse.

your finger hovered over a name, one of your mutual friends who you thought might work. yeorin. she was sweet, easygoing, and had mentioned in passing that she thought heeseung was cute.

perfect. just…not for you.

your chest tightened at the thought, but you ignored it, convincing yourself it didn’t matter. this wasn’t about you. it was about him. so you texted her, casually suggesting a group hangout and strategically arranging it so she and heeseung would have plenty of time to talk.

the hangout itself seemed to go fine—or so you told yourself. you kept a careful eye on them from across the room, watching as they exchanged polite smiles and small talk. it didn’t hurt, not really, but you couldn’t deny the odd feeling that settled in your stomach when you saw the way yeorin laughed at his jokes.

you couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t happy when heeseung reported back to you, that she just “didn’t match his vibe,”

when heeseung reported back to you the next day, you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t relieved when he shrugged and said, “she just didn’t match my vibe.”

you raised an eyebrow, masking the quiet satisfaction bubbling up in your chest. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t know,” heeseung replied, leaning back against the cafeteria table. “she’s nice and all, but it felt... off. like, there wasn’t anything to talk about,”

you masked your relief with quick witted jabs at him, with a chuckle, “maybe you’re the common denominator, and you’re just faulty.

he gave you a mock glare before cracking a smile. “yeah, or maybe she’s just not my type. you’re the expert here, aren’t you? isn’t it your job to figure this out?”

you laughed, though your mind was already racing to come up with the next plan. this wasn’t going to be easy. “okay,” 

─── ♡

YOU WERE CONTENT WITH TRYING AND FAILING, UNTIL YOU FAILED YOURSELF AND INTRODUCED HIM TO HER.

weeks of casual scouting, setting up dates with mutual friends that you knew were into him, and analyzing potential matches later, you finally introduced heeseung to her—a sweet, bright girl named hyejin from your calculus class.

you’d always thought she’d be perfect for him. she was kind, outgoing, and had that same quiet confidence that heeseung carried himself with. to your surprise (and mild horror), the two of them hit it off almost immediately.

they even looked good together, more so than you and him would ever.

you’d watched from a distance during the group outing you’d orchestrated, pretending not to care as heeseung and hyejin laughed together, their conversation flowing effortlessly. heeseung’s usual guarded demeanor had softened, and for the first time, you saw him genuinely invested in getting to know someone.

“you’re really good at this matchmaking thing,” your friend karina had whispered, nudging your side as she caught you watching them.

you forced a smile, brushing it off. “i guess so. he deserves to be happy, you know? thank god finally, hate that guy,” you attempted to joke, feeling your throat go dry.

karina hummed sensing your mock laugh, but kept quiet.

the final straw came during another hangout between the three of you, which was just you third wheeling on a date. hyejin had been running late, and while you and heeseung waited for her to arrive, he seemed distracted, checking his phone every few minutes.

“nervous or something?” you joked, nudging him with your elbow.

heeseung smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “no, just...i don’t want her to feel left out when she gets here.”

“she’ll be fine,” you assured him, forcing a smile. “she likes you, remember? you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

when hyejin finally showed up, the way heeseung’s face lit up was all the confirmation you needed. you watched as he stood up to greet her, his usually calm demeanor breaking into a soft, boyish grin that you’d never seen directed at you.

and that’s when it hit you—this wasn’t just a game anymore. this wasn’t about proving you could find him the perfect girl. this was real, and heeseung was slipping further away from you with every passing day.

you kept up the charade, though. every time heeseung mentioned her name, you smiled and encouraged him, offering advice or teasing him about being “whipped” already.

“she’s different,” he’d said one afternoon when the two of you were hanging out in the library.

“different how?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach twisted.

“i don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “she’s just...easy to talk to. i feel like she actually gets me, you know?”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “that’s great, hee. i’m happy for you.”

“guess you won our bet huh,” he joked, his full attention on texting hyejin back the second his phone lit up with a text from her.

“yeah. guess i did,” you hummed, too distracted to even fully register what he was saying anymore, too focused on the way his eyes lit up just seeing her text.

─── ♡

YOU FIGURED THAT WAS THE END OF YOU AND HIM.

and you weren’t wrong to think so. you couldn’t bare to see him with her. every single time you did, you felt like smashing your head into a locker just to push away the thought of how you just weren’t her.

plus who would want their talking phase hanging around his girl best friend, and it’s not even like she didn’t invite you to their hangouts. cause she did. and it hurt you more knowing that she was doing it because she didn’t mind that. 

because she was perfect, and she wasn’t two faced or anything like how you somewhere deep down hoped she was. you wished you could have a reason to hate her. but in reality, you hated her because you couldn’t find a reason to.

you started pulling away, not all at once, but little by little—enough for heeseung to notice, but not enough for him to call you out on it. you skipped out on hangouts with their new couple group, citing homework or vague excuses about being busy. when heeseung texted, you’d reply late, blaming it on being “swamped with assignments.” you even started sitting a few rows away in class, pretending not to notice when he looked for you.

but the truth was, you were avoiding him because being around him—around them—hurt more than you could handle.

you couldn’t tell which hurt more, talking to him, or not talking to him at all. both equally felt like you were ripping your heart out of your chest and stabbing it with a fork over, and over, and over.

the worst part was, heeseung still checked in on you. he’d send you little messages asking if you were okay, reminding you not to skip meals, and forwarding memes to make you laugh. it made it harder, knowing he still cared in some way, but it wasn’t the way you wanted.

the hardest pill to swallow was you only had yourself to blame it on. not heeseung, not hyejin, or any of your other friends that said they looked cute together.

“you’re being ridiculous, you know,” karina said one afternoon as the two of you sat in your usual spot in the library.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, not looking up from your notes.

karina sighed, shutting her book with a dramatic thud. “you’re avoiding heeseung like he has the plague. do you really think he hasn’t noticed?”

“he doesn’t care,” you lied, the words bitter in your mouth. “he’s got hyejin now. he doesn’t need me around.”

karina frowned, leaning closer. “that’s not true, and you know it. just because he’s dating her doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about you. you’re his best friend, y/n. don’t throw that away because you’re jealous.”

you flinched at her bluntness but didn’t deny it. you hated how transparent you were, how easily karina could see through the wall you were trying to put up.

“it’s not jealousy,” you said finally, though even you didn’t believe it. “i just... i need space, from him, thats all.”

karina sighed again, but she didn’t press further. fine. but don’t let this space turn into a permanent gap, y/n. he’s going to notice eventually, and it’s going to hurt him too.”

her words stayed with you long after she left. maybe she was right, but you couldn’t help thinking it was better this way. better to let the distance grow now, while he had hyejin to lean on, than to risk clinging to something you’d already lost.

even though they weren’t officially dating, they might as well have been in your head the way you had took a step back from your friendship between the both of them.

so you kept your distance, even as it killed you to do so. you weren’t losing him, because you never had him. because if heeseung was happy with her, then wasn’t that enough?

─── ♡

THE NEXT TIME YOU SAW HEESEUNG FACE TO FACE WAS AT ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE GROUP OUTINGS.

you’d tried to avoid it, of course, but karina dragged you along, claiming you needed to “stop being a hermit” and “face your feelings head-on.” despite your protests, you found yourself sitting in a crowded booth at a diner, stuck between karina and jake while heeseung and hyejin sat directly across from you.

the whole setup was a slow burn of torture. heeseung was his usual self—laughing, teasing jake, and making jokes that made everyone around him burst into giggles. but you noticed the way his attention kept drifting to you, how he’d glance your way every so often as if trying to gauge what you were thinking.

you tried your best to put on your strongest face at least for tonight. pretend that everything that was fine.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” heeseung said suddenly, his voice cutting through the chatter.

you blinked, startled, as everyone’s eyes turned to you. “oh, uh, just tired,” you said, forcing a smile.

“y/n’s always tired,” jake chimed in, nudging you with his elbow. “or at least that’s her go-to excuse for everything.”

“it’s a good excuse,” you shot back, grateful for the distraction.

heeseung’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something unreadable in his expression, before hyejin said something to him, and his attention shifted back to her.

as the night went on, you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly hyejin fit into the group. she laughed at all the right moments, added just enough to the conversation without overshadowing anyone, and seemed to understand heeseung in a way that made your stomach twist.

you hated how perfect she was.

“gonna go pay,” you mumbled to karina, sliding out of the booth before anyone could stop you. might as well pick up the bill to make up for all the hangouts you had missed.

once at the front counter paying for your shitty overpriced meal, you looked at the mirror behind the counter, looking yourself in the eye.

“pull yourself together,” you muttered under your breath, closing your eyes taking a sigh, waiting for the people in front of you to finish paying.

when you opened your eyes, you noticed heeseung’s familiar figure behind you when you looked into the mirror. you looked him up and down from the side noticing how tense he seemed.

heeseung didn’t move. instead crossing his arms over his chest. “you’ve been avoiding me.”

you froze, your heart hammering in your chest. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “you barely text back, you skip out on plans, and now you won’t even look me in the eye. what’s going on, y/n?”

your throat tightened, and you looked away, pretending to focus on finding something in your bag, fumbling around with the chapstick, wallet, and candy wrapper still remnant in it. “nothing’s going on. you’re imagining things.”

“don’t do that,” he said, his voice softening. “don’t shut me out.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. for a moment, you thought about telling him the truth—about the jealousy, the hurt, and the feelings you’d been burying for years. but then you thought about hyejin, and how happy he seemed with her, and the words caught in your throat.

“i’m fine, heeseung,” you said finally, forcing a smile, looking him straight in the eye. “you don’t need to worry about me, go sit down at the table with karina, jake, and hyejin, i got the bill,”

“okay,” he said quietly. “but i’m here if you need me.”

as he left to go back to the table, your heart felt heavier than ever. because you knew you needed him. you just weren’t sure he needed you anymore.

─── ♡

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED WERE A BLUR OF AWKWARD SILENCES AND FORCED SMILES.

you continued to avoid heeseung as best as you could, half-heartedly pretending everything was fine, by smiling when you did happen to see him. but deep down, the weight of the distance between the two of you was starting to gnaw at you.

you couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t make specialized playlists about the breakup that never happened, since well. you were just never together. 

what surprised you the most was when hyejin asked you to go get coffee and chat. you weren’t close with her (or at least not anymore), and it confused you even more when she mentioned it would’ve just been the two of you. 

"hey," she greeted, her voice soft and calm. "glad you could make it."

“i just wanted to check in with you,” hyejin said, her eyes studying you with an understanding that made you feel both seen and vulnerable.

you slid into the seat across from her, still unsure of why she wanted to talk. "yeah i’m okay. what’s going on? you sounded like you really wanted to chat."

“well, it’s about…you,”

oh.

here's the part where she tells you that you need to stop being friends with heeseung and it’s getting in the way, and she’s not comfortable with him having extremely close female fri-

“thank you for introducing me to heeseung. he’s one hell of a guy, and so extremely kind. but, he’s not mine. i know it. i know his heart belongs to you,” she smiles, a grain of hurt coming from her voice, yet the way she grins, holding your hand in hers is more admirable than you could ever imagine.

you froze, your heart stopping for a moment. "what?" you managed to choke out, almost in disbelief. you couldn’t have heard her right. 

hyejin’s gaze softened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice quiet but firm. "y/n, I’ve seen it. the way he talks about you when you’re not around. it’s obvious. and i'm not blind to it. he’s been so incredibly worried that you’re pulling away, and it’s beyond just ‘worrying about a friend’,”

a cold wave of shock washed over you, mixing with a bitter sense of guilt that you hadn't known how to face. you felt like a coward. "but... but we’re just friends. we’ve been friends forever," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady. “i didn’t want to get in between you two,”

hyejin squeezed your hand gently, her expression still calm but filled with understanding. "y/n, you're not getting in between us," she said softly. "i know you care about him, and i know you’re trying not to ruin anything, but heeseung’s been in love with you for a while now. i can see it just by the way he talks about you, even when he's not trying to." she laughs as though she’s recalling a memory from the back of her mind.

"and you? what about you? you’re okay with this?" you asked, your voice almost breaking. it was hard to ask, but you had to. you couldn’t go on pretending like everything was fine when she had been involved too.

hyejin smiled, soft and understanding. "you’re my friend, y/n. and i want what’s best for you. if that means giving up heeseung, then i’ll do it. you don’t have to worry about me. he’s not mine, and he never was. i’m just glad i got to meet someone like him, but he’s always been yours in a way. i already broke it off with him, we’re just friends now."

there was something in her words, a sense of grace and strength that you didn’t know she had, and it made you feel even more guilty for holding onto your feelings for so long. but it also gave you the push you needed. hyejin had let go, and maybe it was finally time for you to do the same.

"thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "i didn’t expect this... i didn’t expect you to be so understanding."

hyejin gave you a small, warm smile. "of course. just promise me one thing?"

"anything."

"don’t let fear stop you from going after what you want. you deserve to be happy, y/n. you really do."

you nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle deep inside of you. there was still so much uncertainty, so many what-ifs, but for the first time in a long time, you felt ready to face them head-on.

─── ♡

NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT IT SEEMED.

as later that day, you found yourself sitting in your usual spot at the library, tapping your fingers against the table, waiting for heeseung. when he walked in, a casual smile on his face, your heart gave a little jump in your chest. but this time, it was different. you weren’t just happy to see him as a friend—you were hoping that maybe, just maybe, there could be more.

though, you knew from experience, it was better to not jump to conclusions and have high hopes.

he sat across from you, his usual laid-back demeanor in place, but there was something in his eyes that felt... different. maybe he was feeling it too. maybe he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

"so," he said, leaning back in his chair, his voice light but with an undercurrent of tension, "what’s up? you seemed a little off the last time we talked."

“i need to apologize. to you.”

he nodded slowly, unsure of what you were going to say and how he’d react.

“i’m sorry for distancing myself after you and hyejin got close. i should’ve been happy for the two of you, i mean hell, i set the two of you up, but i couldn’t find it in myself to.” you took a deep breath, pausing. 

"because," you continued, your voice wavering slightly, "i was too focused on my own feelings. i didn’t realize how much it was affecting me until i saw you two together. and honestly, i felt like i was losing you, even though i knew i had no right to. i let my jealousy get the best of me, and i shouldn't have." you looked down at the table, tapping your index finger to distract your hands from doing something stupid.

“y/n i-” he began to respond, not missing a beat. you shook your head before beginning again. “i need to do this for myself,” you mumbled.

“truth is, when i set you up with people, i figured i just needed to get over loving you, and i obviously didn’t see myself fit as i was just your best friend. thing is, i just didn’t get over loving you and i pushed myself away out of fear of fucking things up, i’ve been an asshole and haven’t been giving you the respect and kindness you or hyejin deserve, and i’m sorry. i completely understand if you still like her, but i just need to get it out there,” you gave some sort of snort, before exhaling now that everything is out. 

heeseung’s expression softened, and he took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh as he processed your words.

“can i speak now?” he asked softly. you slowly looked up and nodded, taking in the expression on his face, unable to clearly make out what would fall out of his mouth next.

heeseung leaned forward slightly, his eyes intense yet gentle as he searched yours for a moment, as if trying to make sure you were ready for what he was about to say.

“i never wanted to make you feel like you were just my best friend," he began, his voice steady but laced with something deeper. "i’ve always known how much you mean to me, and i’ve always cared about you more than i ever let on.”

 a knot formed in your stomach as his words sank in.

“the truth is, i was just as afraid as you. afraid of ruining everything between us. afraid of messing things up, because what if you didn’t feel the same way? what if we couldn’t go back to being just... us?” he continued, his gaze unwavering. 

“so i tried to convince myself that i didn’t feel what i felt for you. i never really dated anyone else, hoping that maybe there was still something between us. then, when you started setting me up with your friends, i thought maybe i just needed to move on, to let go of what i felt for you. but no matter what, it never went away.”

you blinked, feeling like your world had just shifted ever so slightly, as if everything that had been buried was slowly coming to the surface. "so, what are you saying?" you asked, barely above a whisper, your voice shaking slightly with the weight of it all.

heeseung gave you a soft, almost hesitant smile. "i'm saying that i want to stop pretending. i want to stop running away from this... from us." he paused, his eyes softening. "i’ve always wanted you. and if you’ll have me, i want to try. i don’t want to hold back anymore."

you took a breath, feeling the tightness in your chest slowly dissolve as you let his words settle over you. "okay," you whispered, your heart pounding as you squeezed his hand. "let's do this."

─── ♡

YOU’D SPENT THE NEXT FEW DAYS HANGING OUT WITH HIM LIKE OLD TIMES

sometimes you’d catch him glancing at you in a way you couldn’t quite place, and other times, he’d drop little remarks that seemed to hint at something more than just friendship. as if you hadn’t already established you were beyond friends. just…not exactly what type of relationship you had.

one evening, as you were both sitting on your rooftop, watching the sun dip below the horizon, heeseung nudged your shoulder with his own.

“so, this is weird, huh?” he said, voice low.

you laughed softly, nodding. “just a little. but we’ll figure it out.”

“yeah,” he agreed, his voice a little softer. “i think we already have.”

you turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. there was something in his eyes—a mix of vulnerability and certainty—that made your heart race. it wasn’t that he hadn’t always been a little guarded, but there was a clarity now. as if you were both stepping into something new, together.

heeseung leaned in a little further, his breath warm against your cheek. you could feel his eyes searching yours, looking for confirmation, for something more than words.

“you still want to try this?” he murmured.

without thinking, you reached up to place your hand gently against his cheek. “yeah. i think i do.”

the space between you closed, with his lips on yours, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

@ coqhee 2025. all rights reserved.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Breathe on your own - Lewis Hamilton

genre: fluff (bit of angst, but you guys know the drill by now, angst to constrast the fluff)

wordcount: +2k

a/n: I know i've been missing but I had to get a piece on this past week and how it felt to see Lewis get the love he deserves.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

“Babe, did I butcher it?” he asked, his voice tinged with self-doubt, and I knew exactly what he meant without needing clarification.

Lewis had dropped his bag by the entryway to our hotel room, the weariness of the day etched into his shoulders. But still, there was a quiet energy to him—a hum beneath the surface. He was turned to me, his brow furrowed in thought, though the corners of his lips quirked upward.

“Butcher what exactly?” I feigned ignorance, crossing my arms and leaning against the back of the couch, watching him closely.

“The italian.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I said ‘grazie mille’ to that grandpa on the lobby, but I think I got the accent all wrong. He looked at me funny.”

A soft laugh escaped me, one I didn’t try to hide.

He was so earnest, so uncharacteristically unsure of himself in this small way. It was adorable.

“You nailed it,” I assured him, stepping closer. “It’s just they don’t really expect you to understand them. That’s what threw him.”

He blinked at me, his lips parting as though he was about to protest, but then his expression shifted. He grinned, that slow, boyish grin I hadn’t seen in what felt like forever, and it nearly took my breath away.

“You sure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, playful now.

“Positive” I said firmly, reaching up to smooth the warms to his jumper. The fabric soft under my fingers, but his warmth was what I felt most. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. They adore you already… Maybe they always have”

He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction more, and for a moment, he just looked at me. Really looked at me, like he was searching for something and had found it.

“They were chanting” he said quietly, almost to himself. “For me. I never thought…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, as if the thought itself was too audacious to complete.

I smiled softly, brushing my hand along his arm. “You’re Lewis Hamilton. They know what you’re capable of.”

He hesitated, and I saw it then—the flicker of doubt that had plagued him for so long. But it was faint, almost extinguished.

“I just… I didn’t think I’d feel this way” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Driving that car, hearing them… it’s been so long…”

“Since what?” I prompted gently, though I thought I already knew the answer.

“Since I got to have fun out there” he said simply, and his gaze met mine again, raw and unguarded.

My chest tightened, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

There he was—the man I’d seen struggle and stumble, who’d carried the weight of expectations and doubts, both his own and others’, for far too long.

And here he was now, standing just a little taller, his voice a little steadier, the glint of hope returning to his eyes.

I stepped closer, slipping my arms around his waist, and he pulled me in without hesitation, his forehead resting lightly on mine.

“No matter where —Mclaren, Mercedes, or Ferrari— you’re still you. And you’re still everything they believe you are” I murmured against his lips.

And I felt the way he exhaled, the way his arms tightened around me.

It was enough. So much more than enough.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye now. “Grazie mille, amore” he said, his voice dipping into a mock-Italian accent that was horrendous and endearing all at once.

I laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “That one was terrible.”

“I’ll work on it,” he said, grinning and leaving me to head to the bathroom.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, his smile didn’t look forced.

And his joy was contagious yes, but beneath my own smile, I felt the weight of everything that had brought us here.

To the point of so much relief in a sincere smile.

As Lewis’s steps drifted faintly, I stayed frozen in place, the warmth of his smile lingering like a phantom touch.

I let my eyes close, but all it did was bring back memories. Memories I wished I could bury, ones that still sat heavy in the quiet corners of my mind.

It had started with a shift so small, I almost missed it.

The slight hesitation in his voice. The way he’d press his lips together after team meetings, his jaw tight as if he was physically holding back what he wanted to say. He had always been so composed, so unshakable in public.

But last year, cracks had formed in the armor he’d worn for so long.

I remembered one particular day, not long after he’d made his decision to leave Mercedes. It was a rare evening when he didn’t have an appearance or a debrief. We’d been sitting on the couch, half-watching something on TV, though neither of us was paying attention.

I had asked him how he was feeling—just a simple question.

“I’m tired, Y/n” he had admitted, his voice barely audible. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. It’s like… it’s like running in quicksand.”

I had reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his, and squeezed tightly, desperate to anchor him. “You’re not. It’s the car. It’s not you.”

But he had only shaken his head, his gaze distant. “I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”

It had crushed me to hear it, to see the man who had conquered the world so many times over doubt himself like that.

And yet, I couldn’t show him how scared I was, how deeply it hurt to see him lose faith. So I had buried my own fears, locked them away, and poured everything I had into lifting him up.

There were so many moments like that after though.

The time Toto made that offhand comment about drivers and their “expiration date.” Lewis had heard about it from a journalist, of all people. He brushed it to the side, didn’t say a word about it to anyone after, but he didn’t have to.

 I’d seen the tension in his posture, the way he picked at his food that day without eating much of it. He’d gone to bed early that night, and I’d lain awake for hours, rereading that book to find a different meaning, something that would say it was just a misunderstanding.

And then there was that factory visit—the one I could barely bring myself to think about even now. It had been his last as a driver, and I had gone with him, knowing he wouldn’t ask but needing to be there anyway.

He had been quiet that day, too quiet. As we walked through the familiar halls, shaking hands with staff, posing for photos, I watched him closely. His smile was polite, his words gracious, but there was no spark in his eyes. No pride.

When we left, he hadn’t said a word until we were in the car. And even then, it wasn’t much.

“They’ve been good to me,” he had murmured, staring out the window. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

I had nodded, unsure what to say, because what exactly does anyone say to that? No words could ease the weight of walking away from a team that had been his home for so long.

But the worst moments—the ones that haunted me the most—were the ones no one else saw.

The nights when he’d wake up in the early hours and just sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. The nights when he’d stare at himself in the mirror, not with the confidence I’d always known, but with doubt into every line of his face.

I had tried to held him through it all, whispering words of reassurance, even when I wasn’t sure he believed me.

Even when I wasn’t sure I believed myself.

And I couldn’t help but compare to how his eyes had lit up today, how he’d stood a little taller as the tifosi chanted his name.

Because they believe in him.

My mind was still caught in the grip of the past year—those heavy days, the unseen cracks Lewis had fought so hard to mend when a sound broke through the silence: soft, unassuming, yet unmistakable.

A hum.

It started low, barely a whisper, and then grew, wrapping itself around the air in the room.

My heart stuttered, the sound pulling me out of my spiral. I followed it to its source, finding Lewis in the mirror, silhouette highlighted by the towel in his waist.

“What’s that tune?” I asked, my voice cutting gently through the moment. He turned, startled, and then offered a sheepish grin, the kind that reached his eyes and melted years of tension off his face.

“Didn’t realize I was doing it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes sparkled, the weight they’d carried for so long noticeably lighter. “Guess it’s been a good day.”

I smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Good day doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

I headed to him and he helped me to sit on the marble counter. My hands resting loosely around his neck as he looked at me. “C’mon, spill. How are you really feeling?”

Lewis hesitated for a moment, his hands drawing lazy patterns on my thighs, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled deeply. The sound was more release than sigh, a letting go of something long held in.

“It’s… hard to put into words,” he began, his voice thoughtful. “I wasn’t sure how it would go. Driving for Ferrari…  What if I didn’t fit? What if they didn’t want me there for my driving?”

I stayed quiet, giving him space to find his rhythm. His fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath his calm exterior.

“But the tifosi…” He shook his head, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief. “They welcomed me like I’d always been one of theirs. Chanting my name, waving flags, shouting things I barely understood but could feel, you know? That… that was something else.”

“And the car?” I prompted softly.

A smile broke across his face, wide and unguarded. “The car,” he echoed, leaning back when letting a chuckle out. “Gosh I know they hate the SF23, but it felt good. Familiar in the ways that matter and different in the ways that make it exciting. For the first time in so long, I felt like… It reminded me that it wasn’t just me. The struggles, the frustrations… they weren’t just me.”

His voice grew softer, almost reverent. “And I know this is no confirmation of anything, but for the first time in ages, I’m not afraid to hope. I don’t know what’s ahead, but today… it felt like a start.”

My chest tightened, pride and relief in equal measure. I reached out, covering his hand with mine. “You deserved this,” I put simply. “Every bit of it.”

He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with mine. The warmth in his gaze was enough to light the room.

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand. “It’s good to feel like myself again” he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of everything left unspoken.

“It’s good to see you like this” I replied, my voice equally soft.

He tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “And the humming? You’re not gonna tease me about that?”

I grinned, leaning closer. “I’m saving that for later. Don’t you worry.”

His laughter echoed again, and in that moment, it felt like the room, the city, the whole world had exhaled along with him.

As he pulled me into his arms, humming that same tune against my ear, I closed my eyes, letting the sound wash over me. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt just as it should.

It was real—that lightness he was rediscovering, the hope that the best could still be to come.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend @unlikelystay @thesizzler

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[auggieblogs]

The brow incident | Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x fem! reader

Author’s note: Hiii, loves!!! Hope you all are doing good. My first Spencer fic and definitely not my last because I cannot for the love of god, get that man out of mind. I AM OBSESSED so please expect criminal minds fics in the future. Anywaysss, happy reading💗

Warning: sexual innuendos

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

“Spence,” you said sweetly, leaning against the back of the chair he had just sat in. “You know how much I love you, right?”

Spencer glanced up at you suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “Yes… and I feel like you’re about to weaponize that love against me.”

You grinned. “Not against you. For you. Your eyebrows, to be specific.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “We’ve talked about this, Y/N. They’re fine. They don’t need fixing.”

(For weeks, you’d been trying to convince him to let you fix his eyebrows. Not that they were bad, per se, but there was just a little untamed chaos there that you knew you could tame.)

“They’re not fine. You’ve got stray hairs everywhere, and it’s driving me insane. I just want to clean them up a little!”

“I’d like to remind you that I’m a grown man and perfectly capable of managing my own eyebrows,” he protested, even though you both knew he never did.

You sighed dramatically. “You’ve left me no choice.”

Before he could protest further, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him and effectively trapping him in the chair.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” he exclaimed, his hands instinctively moving to steady you at your waist.

“Taking matters into my own hands,” you said with a smirk, pulling a pair of tweezers out of your pocket.

Spencer groaned again, his cheeks flushing pink. “This is unfair. You’re using my inability to physically overpower you against me.”

“Correct,” you chirped. “Now, hold still.”

He muttered something about how this was a violation of his personal space, but he didn’t move. You leaned in, examining his brows with laser focus.

“Okay, this won’t hurt too much,” you promised, carefully plucking the first stray hair.

“OW!” he yelped, flinching.

“Oh, stop being a baby,” you teased, gripping his chin to steady him. “One down, a hundred to go.”

Spencer huffed, his hands instinctively resting on your waist to keep you balanced. “I don’t even know why this is necessary. No one’s looking at my eyebrows that closely.”

“I am,” you replied, plucking another hair.

“Lucky me,” he grumbled, but you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The next few minutes were filled with his exaggerated whining and your mock scolding, the both of you laughing more than anything else. But then, as you leaned in to focus on a particularly stubborn hair, you shifted slightly on his lap.

That’s when you felt it.

Your movements stilled, and you glanced down, realizing exactly what had happened. A slow grin spread across your face as you looked up at Spencer, whose cheeks were already turning a deep shade of red.

“Oh,” you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Don’t,” he warned, his tone a mix of mortification and desperation.

You burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. The sight of his flushed face and his clear discomfort was just too funny. “Oh my God, Spencer! This is hilarious.”

“It’s not hilarious,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he hid his face in his hands. “It’s biology. It’s involuntary.”

“Involuntary, huh?” you teased, leaning forward just enough to make him groan in protest. “So you’re saying this has nothing to do with me?”

“Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice a low warning. “This is serious.”

“It’s seriously funny,” you said, still laughing as you climbed off his lap, much to his relief—and apparent dismay.

But before you could move far, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. “You can’t just leave me like this,” he said, his voice soft but laced with need.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Leave you like what, Spence?”

“You know what,” he said, his pout returning full force. “You started this. You should finish it.”

His words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little longer. “Finish your eyebrows first?”

Spencer let out a groan, leaning back in the chair with a defeated look. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “And yet, you love me.”

He sighed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I do. Even when you’re torturing me.”

You grinned, stepping closer and letting your fingers trail along his jaw. “Tell you what, Dr. Reid. If you’re a good boy and let me finish your eyebrows, I’ll see what I can do about… your problem.”

His eyes darkened slightly at your tone, and he swallowed hard. “Deal.”

“Good,” you said with a wink, grabbing the tweezers again. “Now hold still.”

[libingan]

—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

[postmoderntongues]

This is actually perfectly developmentally appropriate behavior for adolescent and preadolescent males. They arent referencing sex to be threatening, they are referencing it because they find these new next-level swear words to be hilarious. Ive never heard more sexually degrading talk or casual threats of sexual violence not even in James Dean Gonzo Porn than i hear between 13-16 year old male friends. The things me and my male cousins used to say at that age would have made Ron Jeremy blush. If a construction worker had overheard us he would have descended from his scalpel and been morally obligated to explain to us why the things we were saying to each other were unacceptable. The mix-age spaces on the internet and way people talk and behavior behind the relative anonymity of a computer screen or on a multiplayer online gaming server is responsible for garden variety shocking teen banter getting more teeth, not porn IMHO. I didn't learn the word "skullfuck" from porn in 4th grade, I learned it fighting with a nazi on the gaiaonline debate board at 11 about why it was okay for me to have a black boyfriend. Me and the neighborhood boys including my own cousins threatened to rape each other all the time, rape threats were a casual expression of disagreement or an explicative when you were frustrated about having to be the one to retrieve a ball that was thrown off course or when you scored a really brutal goal playing "Barbarian Ball". I din't say it less than the males and I didn't have it said to me more than the males. The first time i ever even considered the gravity of the word "rape" was when I heard a Dane Cook stand up at 16 or so about how it wasn't a cool word to use the way we were using it and used it anyway all throughout college until my peers stopped and it started getting me ostracized.

I don't think they are literally sexualizing things bc they are aroused by them, pre-teens just find both sex and line-stepping REALLY funny like the whole thing as a concept. Sexual innuendo is the bread and butter of middle school humor. In my day wed respond to anything possible with "thats what she said" I think porn is causing a lot of new problems but Im not convinced this is one of them

I haaaaaate how porn-rotted men's brains are. You can't even have a normal conversation with most guys these days- especially Gen Z. Almost every word you say to these guys, they'll find a way to make it sexual. Seriously. With no context.

For example- I was telling a male I know about one of my friends who managed to convince an owner of a local bakery to give her one of his popular recipes. ALL I said was, "He wouldn't give her X (most popular recipe) so her gave her the Y." Of course... "that sounds weird!! hahahahaha! He gave her the Y."

Or when you mention the word "stuck" they follow it with something about step-brothers (absolutely vile). God forbid you say the word "size" in reference to anything!

...But noooooo, obviously, porn has no effect on the brain! It totally doesn't make men sexualize every single woman they see IRL.

[lgbtyrus]

Andi Mack Reunion Live Stream Mini Recap:

-Tyrus is still endgame and had the most perfect wedding ever

-Ambi is canon

-Kippen siblings is canon

-Luke did the rap apology that TJ sang to Buffy and still knew 95% of it

-They said there was basically an entire episode that got deleted where Bex went on a date with someone and Andi was NOT okay with it.

-They all said they'd return for a reunion- Asher the first to say yes.

-They watched a Lemon Boy edit together and Asher said it was a "beautiful edit" and Trent said it was made by a genius and he teared up

-Emily said "Amber loves lesbians"

-The cast sang the theme song acapella 🥺❣️

-Asher had originally said "no" to playing Jonah because he wouldn't play frisbee and they auditioned many more guys until they were like "fuck it let's teach him frisbee"

-Emily had auditioned for Andi but since they had locked in on giving Peyton the role of Andi, they wrote in Amber for Emily specifically 😭 It was because her agent called the producers to say, "We know she messed up the audition, but she'd really like to try again." And after this, Terri knew they had to write in Amber for her.

-They also wrote Iris for Molly

-Terri Minski said Luke's hair was a character in itself. They had told Terri that Luke was an Evangelist Christian, so she took Luke and his parents to lunch to talk about it because she was stressed out because TJ was going to be gay. She had told Luke and his parents what was happening and they cried, and she was so nervous, and they told her that they were so honored. Luke said he thought he was going to get fired because he only shot one episode and didn't understand why he was being taken to lunch.

-The guy whose audition video played before Trent's got the part for 20 seconds before Terri saw Trent's audition

-Terri said Lilan wore the weirdest audition outfit ever, and it was her good luck outfit.

-Terri called them "lighting in a bottle" because she's not sure she'll ever get someone as special as this cast together again

-Tyrus was NOT supposed to be canon, but they shot the scenes anyways. They had said, "We gave you one gay character, we're not going to give you TWO." But they fought hard for it, and they found allies that allowed it to happen.

-Disney is still saying that they are looking for the "new Andi Mack" and Terri is adamant that they already have it, and she would love more than anything to bring the cast back together again for a spin off

-Terri had wanted Andi to repeat the cycle LMAO. AKA, teen pregnancy. Disney said, "NO WAY!"

Here is a pic of the stream before Josh and Trent had to leave! Terri left after a few more questions, too.

DJ Fruity Live Performance

-Younger fans would see Emily and scream "Amber alert!" and run

-Luke uses an Andi Mack journal as his personal diary

-Bi Bex Canon. Lilan said something along the lines of: Did you not see the clothes she'd wear? Of course she's bi.

-They played a behind the scenes clip of the Tyrus bench scene. I screen recorded, but THERE IS LAG. I'm sure there is a better video out there, but here is this for now.

-Luke and Josh wrote an episode of Andi Mack where a blackout happens in Shadyside and nobody can use their phone. Everyone is forced to go outside. But they were too scared to pitch it so nothing ever came of it. They also wrote an outline for an Andi Mack movie.

It was an extremely long live stream, and they were entertaining and funny the entire time. They were able to raise $20k for the families affected by the LA fires, and you can still donate here if you'd like it's live for another week as of now, 1/26/25. I missed them and the Andi Mack magic so much. I hope they do this again in the future.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi I saw you wanted requests for older!eddie/sugar daddy!eddie and I have ideas! It’s a little sad so I’m sorry about that. Happy ending tho!

I can picture Eddie looking for a sugar baby because he’s had so much trouble with women in the past. He was always an outcast and he has a hard time believing someone wants to spend time with him. You’d been friendly (maybe like coworkers or neighbors) and when he offers the arrangement at first your like “you don’t need to pay me to spend time with you I like you” and you help him see how wonderful he is and show him how attractive he is.

Or alternatively (and way more smutty), you match on a sugar daddy/sugar baby site or chatroom or whatever and you and him have crazy good chemistry and then when you send him pics he’s like- holy shit it’s you the girl he’s been crushing on forever. Or maybe he doesn’t know you irl and the reader is a cam girl and Eddie pays for private zoom calls and you’re so surprised cause omg this client is so hot.

cw: MDNI (18+) Eddie receives a handjob, age gap (reader is 25 and Eddie is 40)

Eddie’s definitely the first to admit that he doesn’t have great luck in the dating department. He’s been on more dates than he can count, but for whatever reason, it never goes past more than one.

He doesn’t get it. He’s got the money and he thought the ladies loved that kind of thing. He’s even offered to buy them whatever they want, but that never seems to work as they often think he’s just flashing his wealth at them.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. He’s not asking for much either. He just wants someone who he can spend time with, someone he can spoil because he’s got more money that he knows what do with.

So when Steve and Robin suggest that he become a sugar daddy, he immediately thinks that’s the answer. It seems like the perfect arrangement. He gets what he wants and there’s no actual attachment. He just doesn’t know who he’d offer it up to.

When he sees you at your desk when he heads to his office, he decides you’re the perfect candidate. He’s constantly heard you complain about your financial situation to other girls in the building and has even seen you eyeing an expensive bag on your computer when he’s passed your desk.

He’s nervous when he finds you in the elevator on Monday morning. He was hoping at least a few extra minutes, but he supposes that this is as good a place as any since it’s just the two of you and no one is there to possibly eavesdrop.

You greet him politely like you always do and he greets you back in his awkward manner and then the rest of the ride to the top floor is quiet, so much so that you could definitely hear a pin drop.

He’s staring at you and he knows it’s creepy, but he can’t help it. You’re just so pretty in your dress pants and blazer, your makeup done so flawlessly. You always look so professional for work and he admires that about you.

He’d by lying if he said that he didn’t have a tiny crush on you. Okay, huge. The second you stepped foot into his office to interview for the position last year, he was taken aback by you. Not only did he think you were beautiful, but he also admired how smart and funny you were. So you were attractive and completely qualified for the position. Surely there had to be a catch in there somewhere, but there wasn’t. Your were just perfect.

But he hasn’t told anybody. He can’t. So he just bottles up his feelings and only lets them out with a sock and bottle of lotion when he gets home. He knows you probably (definitely) be grossed out by that so he doesn’t do it nearly as much anymore, just when he really needs the release.

Eddie’s not the most social person. In fact, the three years you’ve been working for the company, he can easily count on his hand how many times you’ve had a conversation that wasn’t about work. Sure, at first, you were an intern on an entirely different floor so he never saw you, but now he sees you five days a week so what’s his excuse?

What he doesn’t know, which is surprising since you’ve tried to make it very obvious, is that you like him too. And why wouldn’t you? Not only is he hot and a very rich CEO of a company, but he’s also so intelligent. You can see it when you listen to him during meetings. You’re supposed to be taking notes, and you do, sometimes, but really, most times you’re scribbling “y/n Munson” onto the page like a school girl. You’re so in love with him that sometimes, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

He’s beginning to think that’s maybe this is a bad idea, wondering if he should just find a sugar baby online. He’s older than you by fifteen years and he’s also your boss which wouldn’t look so good. But he’s speaking before he can stop himself so there’s no going back now.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says and you turn to him in confusion, your eyebrows furrowing.

“And what would that be?” You ask and you can see that he’s visibly nervous. He talks to so many celebrities on the daily and you’re the one who makes him nervous? That has never made sense to you.

“You can absolutely say no, but I just wanted to offer it up to you if you’re interested.” Now your interest is piqued. Is finally going to ask you to fuck him like you’ve been fantasizing about for years?

“What is it, Mr. Munson?” God, why does you calling him that always make him so fucking hard?

You’re looking at him with concern now, your hand on his shoulder as you step closer, so close that if he moves just a few inches, he could-no, he’s definitely not doing that.

“I-well-as you know, I have a lot of money.” You laugh at that. He’s one of the richest men in the world, of course he has money.

“Right,” you nod, wanting him to proceed. You’re on the edge of your seat, desperate to know what he wants to ask you and why he won’t just come out and say it.

“And it’s come too much for me to handle so I need someone to spend it on, a companion.”

“Okay,” you drag out the word, still unsure as to why he’s telling you this. You’re just his assistant.

“And I’d like that someone to be you.” Your eyes widen at his words. Surely you didn’t hear him right. There’s no way that he wants to give you some of his money. That just doesn’t make any sense. “I can provide you with anything you want or need. Rent? Done. Clothes, shoes, even if you just want some extra cash. But in return, I would like you to spend time with me.”

You’re staring at him like he’s got three heads so he’s quick to backtrack. He really doesn’t want to upset you. “But that’s not a requirement. If you just want the money-“

“Mr. Munson, that is so generous,” you cut him off, your other hand moving up to his other bicep as you step even closer, pulling him forward as you bring your lips to his ear. “But you don’t have to pay me to spend with you. I already like you.” You press a lingering kiss to his cheek then flee the elevator as the doors open.

He’s following you, hurrying to catch up with you. Instead of heading to your desk, though, you’re entering his office, looking back at him with a flirty look.

You open the door and hold it for him before letting it slam closed and locking it. When you turn, he’s all the way across the room, trying to make sense of what’s happening, but he just can’t.

He’s loosened his tie and his hair is even more of a mess than it usually is. You make your way over to him, taking him by the hands and pulling to you and wrapping his arms around your waist while your hands wind into his hair, giving his scalp and little scratch before pulling his head forward. Your lips slowly press to his and he gasps into your mouth before slowly melting into you.

You’re kissing him hungrily and he’s matching your energy as this is something that the two of you have wanted for so long. It’s everything you could have imagined and more, his lips just as soft as you had pictured.

Your tongue quickly swipes along his bottom lip as you push him against the window. He lets you inside and can’t stop himself from moaning. You swear you’re to come just from hearing it and once you press your body to his, you can see he’s already one step ahead on you as you feel his rock hard cock pressing against you.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” You ask and he whines, unable to get the words come out of his mouth as he nods enthusiastically.

You hurry over to his desk and look through his drawers until you find a bottle of lotion that you’re sure if for the exact purpose to lucky you. You then unbuckle his pants and pull them and his underwear down, his rock hard cock coming into view. You pump some of the lotion into your hand then go to town, pumping his his cock hard as he pressed himself even harder against the window, trying to grab onto whatever he can as a loud moan falls from his lips.

You slap your free hand over his mouth and his eyes flutter shut as pleasure courses through him. He’s sure he’s going to come any second.

“That’s it. Just like that,” you encourage him. “Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll clean you up.” He mumbles something against your hand and before you’re about to ask him what it is, there’s a loud knock at the door, the two of you staring at it in fear as you pull away quickly, letting Eddie put his pants back.

“We can continue this at my place tonight,” you wink. “I’ll message you my address, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods as you make your way to the door as Eddie heads towards his desk, sitting behind it to hide is still very hard cock.

You unlock and open the door and sure enough, Steve is standing on the other side of it, looking between you and Eddie curiously. As you head out of the office with your head low to hide your smile, all Steve can think about is how he owes Robin twenty dollars.

taglist: @the-witty-pen-name @k-yurieee

[little-jana]

"The Perfect First Date" (2)

Part 1

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x receptionist!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: drinking wine, reader wearing a dress

Words: 964

Summary: After weeks of playful teasing, you and Aaron Hotchner finally go on your first date.

The next few days pass with you stealing glances at Hotch every chance you get, your heart racing each time you remember his soft smile and the way he said "maybe" to your dinner suggestion. For once, you’re the one trying to keep things professional, but it’s impossible to ignore the way his gaze lingers on you a little longer, or the subtle warmth in his tone whenever he speaks to you.

On Friday afternoon, as you’re finishing up some paperwork at your desk, Hotch approaches. You don’t notice him at first, too busy typing, until his low voice breaks the silence.

“Still planning on holding me to that dinner?” he asks.

Your head snaps up, your breath catching at the sight of him standing there, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He’s watching you intently, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Of course,” you reply, trying to sound composed despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I didn’t forget,” he says softly. “How about tonight?”

Tonight. You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face. “Tonight works for me,” you say, your voice brighter than you intended.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says, nodding slightly before turning to leave. But just before he steps away, he glances back at you, his eyes warm and sincere. “Dress nicely.”

You spend the rest of the day in a whirlwind of excitement, wondering where he’s taking you and what the night will hold. When 7:00 p.m. rolls around, you’re waiting by your door in a sleek dress that hugs your figure in all the right places. You hear a knock, and when you open the door, your breath catches.

Hotch stands there in a perfectly tailored suit, holding a single red rose. His dark eyes sweep over you, and for a moment, you think you see him falter.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and genuine as he hands you the rose.

“Thank you,” you reply, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, Hotchner.”

He smirks, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

The car ride is quiet but comfortable, with soft music playing in the background as he drives. He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, only glancing over every so often with a faint smile that makes your heart flutter. When he finally pulls up to the restaurant, you’re stunned. It’s a cozy, upscale place with dim lighting and a romantic atmosphere.

“This is... wow,” you breathe as he opens the car door for you.

“I thought you’d like it,” he says simply, guiding you inside with his hand gently resting on the small of your back.

The dinner is perfect. Hotch is the perfect gentleman—pulling out your chair, pouring your wine, and making sure you’re comfortable. But what surprises you most is how easy it is to talk to him. The serious, stoic Hotch you know from work seems to melt away, replaced by someone softer, someone who listens intently and smiles often.

He tells you about his favorite books, his favorite vacation spot, and even a funny story about Jack trying to convince him to adopt a puppy. You find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks, and it’s clear he enjoys seeing you smile.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re leaning closer to him, your hand resting on the table just inches from his. “This is amazing,” you say softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “I didn’t think you had this side to you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replies, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’d like to change that.”

You smile, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone.

When dinner ends, he insists on paying, despite your protests. “I asked you out,” he says simply, sliding his credit card to the waiter. “It’s only fair.”

On the way back to your place, the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that speaks volumes. You glance over at him, admiring the way the passing streetlights illuminate his face, and you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world.

When he walks you to your door, you turn to face him, clutching the rose he gave you earlier. “Thank you for tonight,” you say softly. “It was... perfect.”

He steps closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You deserve perfect,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you can overthink it, you rise onto your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. He stills for a moment, and then his hand comes up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Goodnight,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly as you unlock your door.

As you step inside, you glance back one last time to see him standing there, his hands in his pockets and a small, almost bashful smile on his face. You close the door with your heart racing, already looking forward to the next time.

Because tonight wasn’t just perfect—it was the start of something real.

[loonsloon]

@into-the-jeggyverse, january 25, luck words: 955, cw: blood, but nothing too explicit

Yes, Regulus was aware that he had a bit of a crush on James Potter. After all, the guy was warming up to him fast. It was terrifying to admit, but after spending some time with James—not by his choice, mind you—they could maybe even call each other friends. It was unavoidable, though, because James was everywhere. And if he wasn’t, he’d always find a way to be.

Like right now.

Regulus had been helping Madam Pomfrey these past few days. It all started one random afternoon while he was delivering potions for Slughorn. After admitting that he was interested in becoming a healer, Pomfrey offered him the chance to learn basic healing spells under her guidance, and he agreed. So far, his duties were simple; some minor injuries, like a scraped knee, a bruised elbow, or a first-year’s sprained ankle after tripping on the moving staircase.

What he hadn’t anticipated, though, was how often his idiot brother and his even more idiotic friends would show up. They were in the hospital wing more often than clumsy first-years after flying lessons.

And here he is. James Potter. Bursting through the doors still fully dressed in quidditch gear, grinning ear to ear despite the blood oozing from his forehead. A Gryffindor-themed towel was pressed against the wound, doing nothing to stop the bleeding. Regulus swore his heart skipped a beat—whether from the sight of the blood or the way James’ shirt clung to his torso was debatable.

“Madam Pomfrey! I think I need stitches!” James exclaimed, glancing around for her.

“She’s not here,” Regulus sighed, and James’ eyes finally landed on him.

Moving the towel for a moment, James revealed a cut slicing through his eyebrow. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad, and it missed his eye entirely.

James’ grin somehow grew wider. Regulus was already regretting being here today.

“Reggie! I didn’t know you were in today,” James said cheerfully, jumping to sit on one of the beds, his feet swinging like an overexcited toddler. Regulus refused to admit that it was adorable. In fact, James and the word adorable had no business being in the same sentence.

“She went to get some potions. Barely anyone’s been in today. She’ll be back soon,” Regulus explained, turning his attention back to organizing the supply cabinet.

“Well, aren’t you training to be a healer? I know you can heal this; it has to be easier than Sirius’ broken nose last week!”

Yes, but Sirius is his brother. Regulus didn’t care if he fucked up his nose. It might’ve even been funny, considering how much Sirius loved to brag about it.

James, though? That was a different story entirely. There was no way Regulus could risk getting so close to him. He was terrified James might suddenly look at him and realize: Oh, so you’ve got bit of a crush on me, huh? And Regulus can’t have that happening.

“I’m not doing anything without Pomfrey’s approval. I haven’t perfected the stitching charms yet, and that looks like a nasty cut,” Regulus lied.

All of that was a lie. Regulus had already handled worse injuries without her. The cut wasn’t even that bad; the blood was only flowing because James was still sweating from practice. His body was literally, and figuratively, hot.

“It’s not that bad! Just a bit deep. C’mon, Reg, at least clean it up,” James pleaded, a cute pout on his face. He’d taken off his glasses and was now holding the towel across his right eye, somehow managing to look ridiculously endearing.

“Fine,” Regulus muttered, utterly defeated. James wasn’t going to leave him alone, so he might as well make himself useful.

“But I’m not stitching it up. You’ll have to wait for Poppy. I’ll just stop the bleeding and clean it up for her.”

He rolled over the medical trolley and stopped it in front of James, positioning himself between James’ sprawled knees. Grabbing gauze and alcohol, he prepared to clean the wound.

“Hi,” James said, smiling down at him. His dimples popped, and his grin was somehow even more genuine than usual.

Regulus felt the blush creeping up his cheeks but refused to show weakness.

“Hi, idiot.”

And there it was—that beautiful fucking laugh.

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”

“Something, something, Sirius accidentally hit you with his bat,” Regulus guessed, not bothering to look up. It wasn’t a difficult assumption; the two of them were a disaster in the air, always bickering and pushing each other.

“Hey, how did you know?”

“You’re predictable,” Regulus sighed, starting to dab at the wound with alcohol. James winced.

“That stings!”

“Don’t be a baby. It’s what you get for being careless,” Regulus muttered absentmindedly, still focused on cleaning the cut.

“Aw, do you care about me, Reggie?” James teased, leaning back to look him in the eye.

Regulus felt the heat rising again and glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. And stop calling me that, Potter. I told you I hate that nickname.”

Grabbing James by the shirt, he tugged him back into place to finish his work. Desperately trying to hide how flustered he was.

“Alright, alright,” James relented, settling down.

Finally, some silence. Regulus worked quickly, trying to ignore the way James’ knees kept brushing his sides, sending tingles up his spine.

After finishing the cleaning and stopping the bleeding with a quick charm, Regulus stepped back.

“There. You’re done,” he said, moving the trolley away from James’ reach before he could cause more problems.

“Aww, thanks, Reg. Aren’t you going to clean the rest of my face?” James asked, his tone playful, his cheeks still covered with dried blood.

Regulus shot him a glare. “Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

[swappermanent]

(Wet) Dream Come True (Frank's POV)

Read the original by @immortalmrwavell here.

You might be wondering why I decided to take Max’s body from him. Trust me, I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times since it happened. Was it selfish? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Well… not as much as you’d think.

When Max’s mom and I first got together, being a father figure wasn’t exactly in my plans. Sure, I cared for Max, but I was stepping into some big shoes. A stepdad is supposed to guide, support, and be there when things get tough, right? Well, how the hell do you guide someone through something like losing their mom? I wasn’t prepared for that. And Max—he may have been old enough to fend for himself at 20, but he wasn’t ready to face the world alone. I did my best, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I could keep holding everything together.

As the months went on, my mind started wandering to the past. What would it be like to be in my twenties again? To have that energy, that freedom? To feel like the world was yours for the taking? At first, it was just a fantasy I’d entertain when life got too heavy. A little daydream to escape reality. But then… something changed.

I came across this weird little magic shop while I was running errands. The kind of place you’d almost walk past without noticing, tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop. I don’t even know what drew me in, but once I stepped inside, I found something I couldn’t ignore: a remedy that could swap bodies. The old man behind the counter explained it to me in hushed tones, like he was letting me in on some ancient secret. There was one catch, though—it had to be a mutual swap. Both parties had to, at least on some level, want to know what it’d be like to live in the other’s shoes. After that, all bets were off.

Now, let’s be real—what 20-something would actually agree to give up their youth, even for a little while? Sure, I was attractive and muscular. I’ve kept myself in good shape over the years, but still, I was in my mid-thirties. Most young guys wouldn’t see that as a fair trade. That’s when I started thinking about Max.

I’d caught the way he looked at me, those lingering glances when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his cheeks would flush when I caught him staring, the awkward way he’d quickly change the subject. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had a thing for me. I mean, hell, I’m flattered. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could use that. Max wouldn’t just agree to the idea; he’d probably jump at the chance.

So, I decided to test the waters. One morning, over breakfast, I threw the idea out there casually, like it was just some funny hypothetical.

“This is gonna sound like a funny question,” I said, piercing a sausage with my fork, “but if you could choose to switch lives with me and have my body for however long, would you wanna do it?”

I kept my tone light, but I was watching him closely. The way he fidgeted in his seat, the way his cheeks turned pink as he tried to hide his reaction—it was all the confirmation I needed. His sheepish response, something about how it’d be “weird but interesting,” sealed the deal. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just curious; he wanted it. Maybe not consciously, but deep down, he wanted to know what it’d be like to be me.

That was all I needed to make it happen.

When the time came, I added the remedy to our coffee, making sure Max drank every last drop. Watching his body slump as the effects kicked in was surreal, but when I opened my eyes and saw myself sitting across from me, I knew it had worked. My plan had actually worked.

I wasted no time. I’d already packed a bag with everything I’d need to start fresh—clothes, cash, important documents, a few personal items. I didn’t even wait for Max to wake up. I just grabbed my stuff and walked out the door, not looking back.

---

That was five years ago. Five years since I walked out the door, leaving my old life—and my old body—behind.

Now, this sexy body I’m in, Max’s body—no, my body—is 26. And let me tell you, I’ve made the absolute most of it. It wasn’t always easy; the first few months were an adjustment. I had to figure out how to carry myself as a younger man, and I won’t lie, it took some time to get used to seeing my reflection. But as the years went on, I really leaned into it. I started growing out my hair, experimenting with different looks. These days, I like to dress a little more feminine now and then—just enough to turn a few heads. And honestly? I love spending as much time shirtless as possible. This body deserves to be shown off, and I’ve been having an all-around good time doing just that.

Of course, that means my old body—the one I left Max in—would now be about 41. I never bothered to reach out to him after the swap, and, frankly, I hadn’t heard anything from him either. Part of me assumed he was mad, which would make sense. I mean, I did steal his youth, his twenties—arguably some of the best years of his life. Maybe he couldn’t confront me because of that. Not that I spent much time thinking about him these days. My life was too good, and honestly, I didn’t have any regrets. I had the life I wanted.

At least, that was the case until today.

I was at the gym, doing my usual workout. It’s a gym known for its gay clientele—big, muscular guys who weren’t shy about flaunting what they had. My kind of place. I’d just finished a grueling set at the squat rack, sweat dripping down my chest as I racked the barbell. I grabbed a towel and started wiping myself down when this super muscular, hot guy walked up to me.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, “mind if I work in with you?” He had this knowing smirk on his face.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy eyeing him up. Thick, powerful arms, a wide chest, and legs that could probably crush a watermelon. He was older, but he had this ageless energy about him. Then, it clicked.

It was Max. In my old body.

My jaw practically hit the floor as I stared at him. “Max?” I said, disbelief dripping from my voice. “Is that you? You look… amazing.”

And he did. My old body hadn’t aged a day. In fact, it looked better than ever. He’d clearly been putting in work at the gym. My old body was practically glowing.

Max—or rather, my old body—grinned and crossed his arms over that broad chest. “It’s Frank,” he corrected, his tone smooth and confident. Then he flexed one of those massive biceps, his smirk growing. “But you’re damn right I look amazing.”

I stared at him, still a little stunned by how… okay he looked. Actually, not just okay—thriving. “I thought you’d be mad,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I kind of stole your youth. I figured you’d hate me for it.”

He let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back. Then, with that same cocky smirk, he raised one of those thick, muscular arms and took an exaggerated whiff of his armpit. “I was mad,” he admitted, “for maybe the first hour. But this…” He sniffed again, clearly enjoying his own musk. “…this helped me get over it.”

Before I could say anything, he casually ran a hand down to his crotch, grabbing his impressive bulge. “And this doesn’t hurt either,” he added with a wink, his tone dripping with smugness.

I couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over me. “So, uh,” I began, trying to steer the conversation before I got too distracted, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you in San Diego. Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

Frank shrugged, his body language as relaxed and confident as ever. “Just moved to town, actually. Needed a change of scenery. Figured this would be a good place to start.” He looked me up and down, clearly taking in how much I’d changed. “And now I know why this gym has such a reputation,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, well, I’ve been here a while. It’s a good spot.”

“Seems like it,” he said, his tone a little too casual, like he knew exactly how good he looked. “Anyway,” he continued, “we should grab a drink later, catch up. It’s been too long.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. “Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to sound just as nonchalant.

As he walked away to start his set, I couldn’t help but watch him. There was something about his casual cockiness, the way he carried himself with this slight earned arrogance, that was undeniably attractive. He wasn’t just comfortable in my old body—he loved it. And honestly? That made him even more appealing.

---

Later that night, we met up at a dive bar just a block away from his apartment. It wasn’t much—a little run-down, sticky floors, the smell of stale beer—but it had character, and it was quiet enough for a real conversation. When I walked in, I spotted him immediately. He was leaning casually against the bar, a beer already in hand, wearing my old Texas Tech T-shirt like it was made for him. It looked snug on his broad frame, the sleeves straining against his biceps, and for a second, I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Jealousy? Lust? Maybe all three.

“Nice shirt,” I said, sliding into the stool next to him.

He smirked, giving me a once-over. “Figured it’d be a nice touch. Thought it might bring back memories.”

I laughed, feeling oddly sheepish. “Yeah, well, it looks better on you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed internally. Was I… flirting? With my own body? I mean, technically, yeah, but how could I be this flustered? This was me, or at least it used to be. Yet here I was, stumbling over my words, feeling like a nervous wreck. Meanwhile, he—Frank, Max, whatever—was cool as a cucumber, his confidence practically radiating off him.

We ordered drinks, and he started asking me about my life. He was surprisingly attentive, hanging on to every word like he genuinely cared. It threw me off a little. “You’ve been busy,” he said after I told him about some of the things I’d been up to. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

Was it weird that he almost sounded… proud?

Then he started telling me about his life—what he’d been doing in my old body. Turns out he’d made good money over the past few years working as a fitness instructor part-time, balancing that with his job as a mechanic. And apparently, he’d built up an online following, which had blown up enough that he was now financially set.

“It’s funny,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I’d hate it at first, but I kinda love this life. It suits me.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my eyes trailing over his broad shoulders and confident posture. “It really does.”

As the drinks flowed, I found myself relaxing a little too much. I didn’t even realize I was flirting until it was too late. My hand kept finding excuses to touch his arm or brush against his thigh. At first, it was just playful, but one of those touches lingered a little too long. My hand stayed on his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t move away, and I didn’t either.

He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, that damn smirk spreading across his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’d think you were flirting with me.”

My face went red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something unintelligible. But before I could pull my hand back, he grabbed my thigh, his grip firm and deliberate.

“Usually,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, “I don’t go for twinks. But I think I can make an exception for you.” His hand slid just slightly higher, his smirk turning into something hungrier. “I mean, I know how fantastic that ass is. And I’d love to try it out for myself.”

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t find the words to respond. All I could do was stare at him, my heart pounding as his grip tightened slightly, his confidence swallowing the room whole.

Stay Tuned For Part 2