#because they’re all I think about for a set time

[raebiis]

I was thinking about this last night, so I’ll share the idea I had here:

Organized crime- not (explicitly) the mafia bc that’s just gauche. But their roots are the same. This is temporarily from the love interest’s POV, so I’ll refer to them as MC for now. Also, this was more meant to be a sort of ‘warning’ to the MC but they’re drawn in anyway- it gets much worse when romance is involved… tbh I just love a good toxic relationship.

The MC (who I personally imagined as Al Pacino’s Micheal Corleone- a little fanfic just for me- but to each their own) is witness to an argument between two sisters. One is the ‘leader’ and the other is… not ignorant, but also not completely informed.

The other is a recovering addict who relapsed and the leader found out about it. The leader confronts the other and there’s an ensuing argument/one sided screaming fest while the other cries and tries to shift blame.

She blames it on her longtime boyfriend (there’s history there).

It’s a mistake.

“Oh,” leader says, suddenly calm. And why does she look a little amused? “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” cries other, unable to recognize the danger through her tears.

“Are you absolutely positive that it’s his fault?” Leader clarifies. “And this is how you want this to go?”

“Yes,” other insists.

“Okay,” leader says, and leans in to press a kiss to others head, “then just rest here and I’ll take care of it.”

And other would know better, should know better, if not for the relief of leader no longer being upset with her.

It’s only when leader pulls a gun from the drawer next to her that other catches on. But it’s too late, leader has already silently ordered the goons to keep other there and out of the way.

Other is begging, pleading, but her words fall on deaf ears. Leader brushes past MC on her way out, and MC turns to watch her out of the window.

Other’s boyfriend is outside, having just exited the shed out back. He looks up at Leader and begins to smile before she raises the gun- his face hardly has time to shift in horror before-

!!!

Leader takes her time meandering back to the house, other’s wails can be heard all the way down to the lake at the bottom of the hill the house sits on.

When leader enters again, MC can feel their heart racing and they take a measured step back. But leader doesn’t even notice them.

She sets the gun aside and goes to her sister, gathering her in her arms and shushing her tears.

“It’s alright,” says leader, “don’t worry. I’ve taken care of the problem. You can start to really work on recovery, now.”

And other blubbers out something that sounds a lot like a confession to having lied. Her boyfriend was innocent?

Leader’s smile is unsettling when she pulls back and cradles her sister’s crying face (she already knew). “Don’t say that, other. Because if he wasn’t the source of the infection?”

Her thumbs press deeply into the hinge of her sister’s jaw, and her smile is long gone by now.

“That means I’ll just have to cut deeper.”

And other has a look on their face- understanding, despair, and the unconditional love of siblings forged in fire. Other knows to forgive leader is to invite more pain, but how could she not? Leader is her sister, and her sister has been by her side all these years. And her sister isn’t always terrible. Most of the time she’s kind, generous, gentle…. That’s gotta mean something. It has to make up for all the times leader is cruel.

Doesn’t it?

(And, of course, we see the same happen to MC. They’ve seen the warning signs, but leader at her best is just so charming and so loving- how could they ever not love her? Why, even in her most wicked moments leader is only expressing the depth of their unfathomable love. Leader hurts them to save them. Right?)

fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

[gf2bellamy]

Can you write about reader and Spencer’s wedding night and him helping reader take down her hair and wash off her makeup and take off her dress. And reader and Spencer being goofy and practicing calling each other husband and wife because they’re new titles that they’re so excited to use

wedding night — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader saying she's suffocating in her dress?😭 a/n: i hope i did your request justice !! <3 i hope you like it <333 ( i wanna be married to spencer so bad oh my god )

You stood behind Spencer, your fingers resting lightly against his back as you waited—not so patiently—for him to unlock the hotel room door. 

“Hurry up,” you huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I need to get out of this tight dress.” 

Spencer fumbled slightly with the keycard, mumbling something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you in first. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamps casting a warm ambiance over the space. Rose petals were scattered across the bed—a sweet surprise you hadn't expected—and the faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air. 

You barely had time to take it all in before Spencer turned to you, his eyes sweeping over you with the kind of admiration that made your breath catch. 

“You look beautiful,” he said softly. 

Something in the way he said it made your heart melt. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a statement filled with pure admiration, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were his. 

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “Thank you, Spencer.” 

But then you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “But you’re going to have to appreciate my beauty without it now because I’m about to suffocate in this dress.” 

You turned around, exposing the intricate lacework of the back, and pulled your hair to one side.

There was a brief pause before you felt his fingers graze the zipper at the top of your dress. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, and the warmth of his hands sent a shiver down your spine. 

He took his time, carefully pulling the zipper down inch by inch, revealing the bare skin of your back. His fingers brushed against you ever so slightly, and despite the fact that you had been with him for years—had just married him today—his touch still made you shiver. 

Spencer let out a quiet breath, and you swore you could feel the warmth of it against your shoulder. 

“You have no idea how breathtaking you are,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

You turned your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror across the room. His gaze wasn’t just admiring—it was adoring. Like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. 

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you reached back, taking one of his hands in yours. “I think I do,” you said, squeezing his fingers gently. “Because you always make me feel that way.” 

Spencer exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, his lips lingering there for a moment. 

You smiled softly, the warmth of the moment still lingering between you and Spencer. But as the cool air hit your back from the half-open zipper, reality set in—you needed to get out of this dress completely and into something comfortable. 

Your eyes flickered around the room, searching for your bags. “Where did Penelope put our stuff?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Spencer. 

You were practically dreaming of slipping into one of his shirts—something soft, loose, and big enough to drown you in warmth. The thought alone made you sigh in relief. 

Spencer, still standing behind you, let his hand drop from your back, his fingers briefly brushing against your skin before he turned to scan the room. It didn’t take long for him to spot the neatly placed bags by the bed, courtesy of Penelope’s insistence on handling every little detail. 

Without a word, he walked over, unzipping one of the suitcases and pulling out a familiar button-down shirt. He held it out to you, his fingers lightly gripping the fabric. “Here,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours. 

You smiled, taking it from him, your fingers brushing briefly. As he turned away to shrug off his suit jacket, you wasted no time in stepping out of the gown. The heavy fabric pooled at your feet, and you sighed in relief as the pressure around your torso was finally gone. 

Slipping Spencer’s shirt over your head, you felt instant comfort. It smelled like him—clean, warm, and familiar. The fabric hung loosely over your frame, the sleeves falling just past your wrists. You buttoned it up halfway before rolling the cuffs slightly, already feeling cozier than you had all night. 

By the time you turned back around, Spencer was standing near the dresser, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. 

You couldn’t help but admire him for a second—how even after all these years, just looking at him could send warmth fluttering through your chest. 

Spencer glanced up just in time to catch you staring, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “You look good in my shirt,” he murmured, his voice softer than before. 

You grinned, hugging yourself slightly as you rocked on your heels. “I love��your shirts. I think I might steal this one permanently.” 

You turned away from Spencer with a smile, heading into the bathroom. The moment you stepped inside, your eyes widened in pure awe. 

“Wow,” you breathed out, staring at the luxurious space in front of you. 

Spencer, hearing your reaction, quickly pulled on something more comfortable before following you inside. “What—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows raising slightly as he took in the enormous bathroom. 

The walls were lined with elegant marble, a massive soaking tub sat in one corner, and a glass-enclosed rain shower took up nearly half the space. But what really caught your attention was the mirror—the biggest bathroom mirror you had ever seen. 

“I have never seen a bathroom this big,” you marveled, still taking it all in. 

Spencer chuckled softly behind you. “I think this is bigger than my first apartment.” 

Your gaze shifted to the countertop, and your heart swelled at what you saw. Lined up neatly beside the sink were a variety of makeup removers, cotton pads, and skincare essentials—things you hadn’t packed. 

“Oh my God,” you sighed happily, pressing a hand to your chest. “The girls are angels.” 

Penelope, JJ, and Emily must have planned this—always looking out for you, always making sure you had everything you needed. It was such a small gesture, yet it made you feel so loved. 

You reached for one of the makeup removers, ready to start wiping away the remnants of the long day, but before you could, Spencer stepped closer. 

“Let me help you,” he murmured, gently taking the bottle from your hands. 

You blinked up at him, a little surprised, but you didn’t protest. Instead, you let out a soft hum, leaning back slightly against the counter as he got to work. 

Spencer carefully poured the remover onto a cotton pad, then reached up, his fingers grazing your jaw as he began to wipe away the makeup with slow, featherlight strokes. 

His touch was so delicate—as if he was handling something rare and precious. His gaze was focused, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, and the warmth of his fingertips against your skin sent tiny shivers down your spine. 

You couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto your lips. 

“Spencer?” you murmured. 

His eyes flickered to yours, pausing his movements slightly. “Hmm?” 

A grin tugged at your lips as you stared at him, really stared at him. The man standing in front of you—the man who was so impossibly brilliant, kind, and completely yours. 

“You know you’re my husband now?” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you grinned at the word. 

Spencer’s lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. He resumed his gentle strokes, wiping away the last traces of your makeup before whispering, “Yes.” 

He tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in the softest caress. 

“And you’re my wife now,” he murmured. 

Your heart melted. 

Hearing that word from him—knowing that it was real, that you were truly his and he was yours—made you want to throw your arms around him and never let go. 

You bit your lip, happiness bubbling up inside you like an uncontrollable wave. “Say it again,” you whispered. 

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hands still cradling your face. He leaned in, pressing the lightest of kisses to your forehead before whispering against your skin: 

“My wife.” 

Your stomach fluttered, and you grinned at the sound of it. Wife. You were his wife. 

Spencer paused for a moment, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. Then, without a word, he set the makeup wipe aside and reached up, his fingers finding the pins holding your hair in place. 

You sighed as he carefully pulled them out one by one, loosening the strands from the elaborate style they had been twisted into all day. His fingers worked through your hair, letting it cascade freely around your shoulders. 

When he was done, he ran his hands through it gently, smoothing it out before tucking a stray piece behind your ear. 

“There,” he murmured, his voice laced with something deep and fond. “Perfect.” 

You met his gaze, your heart swelling at the sight of him—of you together, standing in this quiet moment as husband and wife. 

Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against him. You let your hands rest on his back, leaning into his warmth. 

“I think I could get used to this,” you whispered. 

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his embrace tightening slightly. “Me too,” he murmured. “For the rest of my life.” 

[i-dared-myself]

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off. 

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair. 

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes? 

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps. 

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man. 

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing. 

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[foreveia]

take two ⤨ iwaizumi hajime

⨭ genre; fluff, idiots to lovers but like they're actually so dumb

⨭ pairing; iwaizumi x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 5.7k

⨭ descriptions; your boss has been trying to set you up with her son for months, but as it turns out at the holiday party... you've already met him before.

⨭ warnings; explicit language and dialogue, no graphic content tho, alcohol

⨭ a/n; fun little short fic to fill the fix to publish something lolol enjoy this iwa love dump as i work on my next long fic (tell me in the comments if y'all like these better)

one.

There are exactly three things you know to be true about Iwaizumi Emi:

She is the best divorce attorney in Tohoku, possibly the country.

She is the kind of woman who could negotiate her way out of murder charges and secure the victim’s house in the settlement.

She is, without a doubt, trying to set you up with her son.

You respect her. You admire her. You are, on occasion, lowkey terrified of her.

Which is why you’re currently sitting at your desk, nodding at all the appropriate intervals while she breezes through yet another pitch about why her son and you are, in her professional opinion, a perfect match.

“He’s back from Irvine for the summer,” she says, skimming a property settlement document like it personally offended her. She tosses it onto your pile nonchalantly, and you let out a short sigh because it’s just more backend filing to do and, despite your adoration for your career path and real passion towards legal work, entry jobs in the firm are mostly busy work. “I really think you’ll like him. He’s—”

You tune out. Not in an obvious way, of course—no, you’re a professional. You sprinkle in the occasional mmhmm and sounds great so she doesn’t catch on, but this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve heard this pitch before—multiple times. Hajime is intelligent, responsible, not an idiot like some of these men out here, blah blah blah.

It’s not that you have anything against him, really. It’s just that you’ve spent months perfecting the art of dodging your boss’s matchmaking attempts, and frankly, you don’t have the energy to entertain her latest scheme.

“You’re finally going to meet him at the firm’s ball this weekend,” Emi continues, finally looking up from her paperwork, her smile entirely too satisfied.

You blink. “Oh.”

“He’s excited to meet you too.”

Now that is new. Usually, these monologues are strictly one-sided—I told him about you! and You two will get along so well! But he’s excited to meet you too? That’s an escalation. That’s a game-changer. That means he knows about you. He has an opinion about you.

You resist the urge to groan. Instead, you summon a polite, professional smile—the same one you use when dealing with particularly insufferable clients. “Looking forward to it,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the woman who could single-handedly end your career if she wanted to?

In reality, the only thing you’re looking forward to about the ball is the open bar. Being in your early twenties means being woefully broke, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of unlimited free alcohol wasn’t a strong motivator.

So, you strike a deal with yourself: you’ll put on a fancy dress, endure painful heels, and let Emi parade you in front of her son like a prize show poodle—all in exchange for an endless supply of pinot noir, cocktail shrimp, and, if you play your cards right, an entire bottle of champagne to sneak home in your purse.

It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

two.

Because you’re an adult with an absolutely thriving social life (read: you have two friends who are willing to tolerate your bullshit after 6 PM), you, Yachi, and Kiyoko are now seated at your favorite little izakaya, wedged into a corner booth with plates of karaage and a pitcher of beer between you. 

Kiyoko is talking about wedding venues. Because she’s engaged. To Tanaka. Which is objectively insane because in your head, they’re still in that “grossly obsessed with each other but pretending they’re just friends” phase, even though they’ve been together for years. The whole thing is a crime against single people everywhere, but you are supportive because your already jaw-dropping friend is somehow glowing even brighter now that she has a fat rock on her ring finger. She looks lighter, happier. She deserves it.

Yachi, meanwhile, is explaining—between delicate sips of her beer—that she’s too swamped with work to even think about dating. Which, yeah. Fair. The woman works harder than most people you know, so you respect it.

Then, as the conversation naturally shifts to your love life (as it always does, because you’re the group’s designated mess), you sigh, sinking into your seat dramatically.

“I haven’t had sex in months.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kiyoko and Yachi both roll their eyes in unison, like they rehearsed it.

“Oh my God,” Yachi mutters.

“You cannot still be caught up on GDD,” Kiyoko says flatly, pouring herself another drink.

“Okay, first of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “it is not about him. It’s just a general fact about my current state of being.”

“Uh-huh,” Kiyoko hums, entirely unconvinced.

“Second of all,” you continue, undeterred, “GDD was life-changing, and I feel like I should be allowed to mourn the lack of that level of—of excellence in my life.”

“Life-changing,” Yachi repeats, deadpan. “You hooked up with him once.”

“Yeah, and my life was changed.”

GDD—Good Dick Dude, as he has been dubbed by your dear, unsupportive friends—was a guy you hooked up with in January after a truly legendary New Year’s Eve party.

The night itself had been pure chaos. Hinata had somehow scored an invite to this insane rooftop party—one of those bougie, exclusive, if-you-know-you-know events where you absolutely do not belong but somehow manage to fake it enough to get through the door. He’d gotten a few plus-ones, which is how you ended up there, sipping champagne you definitely couldn’t afford and making out with a guy who, to this day, remains one of the most mind-blowing hookups of your entire life.

Gorgeous, buff, and dangerous with his hands. The kind of guy who knew exactly what he was doing, which, honestly? A rarity these days. You barely remember his name—something short, easy to moan—but you do remember his stupidly perfect smirk and the way he all but ruined you against the nearest flat surface.

But then the party ended, the night faded into a haze, and you never saw him again.

Which is fine. It’s fine. Really.

You’re definitely not still thinking about it.

Kiyoko takes a sip of her beer, unimpressed. “You’ve been on, what? Five Hinge dates since then? Six?”

“Seven,” Yachi corrects.

You point at her. “Exactly.”

Kiyoko gives you a long, slow blink.

“I mean that as proof that I am not hung up on him!” you clarify. “I’ve been trying, okay? But the bar is in hell. Do you know how many ‘we should get drinks’ texts I get from guys who put crypto investor in their bios?”

Kiyoko sighs. “Okay, but let’s be real—are you actually giving any of these guys a chance?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Frown. “I mean… like… conceptually?”

“Right.”

Yachi, forever gentle but devastatingly perceptive, tilts her head at you. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that maybe none of these guys are measuring up because you’re subconsciously comparing them to him?”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

Is it ridiculous?

Because, okay, maybe—just maybe—no one has quite lived up to that night. And maybe you’re being a little unfair to the dating pool by expecting every single guy to have that same kind of chemistry with you. And maybe you do occasionally find yourself staring at random ceilings, wondering where GDD is now and if he even remembers you.

But still. That doesn’t mean anything.

You’re pretty sure.

“I hate you guys,” you grumble, stabbing aggressively at a piece of karaage.

Yachi pats your hand sympathetically. “We know.”

Kiyoko, ever the queen of smooth topic transitions, nudges the conversation in a new direction. “Speaking of your questionable taste in men, your boss is still trying to set you up with her son, correct?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the booth. “Unfortunately, yes. And now, apparently, he’s excited to meet me.”

Yachi perks up. “Wait, so you are meeting him?”

“At the firm’s ball this weekend,” you say, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get a little wine drunk, take advantage of the seafood bar.”

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re not going to entertain the idea of this Hajime guy at all?”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

Yachi hums, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s about to say something devastatingly reasonable. “I mean… what if Emi’s right?”

You blink. “What?”

“What if this is it?” she says, half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. “Like, what if you meet him and he’s actually your soulmate? Imagine if this whole time, your boss has been playing the long game, orchestrating your love story like some kind of corporate fairy godmother.”

You snort. Loudly. “Right. Because that’s totally my luck.”

Kiyoko and Yachi exchange a knowing look, but they let it go.

You take another sip of your beer, shaking your head. Hajime Iwaizumi—whoever he is—is not the love of your life.

That would be insane.

three.

You had to pull out your graduate school formal gown from the back of your closet for this, but wow, you really forgot just how good you look in red.

Your day-to-day work attire consists of pantsuits and button-ups, neatly tucked into cautiously ironed trousers, so you’ve honestly forgotten how nice it is to get dressed up once in a while. There’s something about slipping into a gown that fits like a dream, sweeping your hair up just right, and swiping on that perfect shade of lipstick that makes you feel invincible. Like you could negotiate a million-dollar deal, steal the firm’s best clients, and seduce someone’s husband all in the same breath.

Not that you would, obviously.

Probably.

The venue is ridiculous in the way all law firm events are ridiculous—held in a ballroom large enough to house a small country, chandeliers dripping in gold, servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne and fancy bruschetta topped with fucking caviar of all things. All this just to celebrate another year of making money off people’s divorces. Incredible the way capitalism works.

You’ve barely made it through your first glass of wine before Emi finds you.

“There she is,” she croons, linking her arm through yours. She looks positively radiant in an emerald gown, diamonds at her ears, and the kind of effortless elegance that comes from winning. You’d respect it more if she weren’t actively dragging you toward your inevitable doom. “Come on, sweetheart. Hajime’s here, and I cannot wait for you two to finally meet.”

You bite back a sigh, because of course. No warm-up period, no buffer—just straight to the matchmaking. “Can’t I get a few more drinks in me first?”

She waves a hand, utterly dismissing your complaints. “You’ll like him. I know you will.”

You doubt it. But you let her lead you anyway, mostly because you know resisting is pointless: your boss has the world’s most spell-blinding smile and enough charm to always get her way. Emi always wins.

She stops near the bar, where a man stands with his back to you, broad shoulders wrapped in a sharp black suit, one hand resting on the counter as he talks with someone just out of view.

Emi squeezes your hand. “Hajime,” she calls, her voice warm.

The man turns.

And every thought in your head immediately ceases to exist.

Because standing before you, looking unfairly good in a tailored suit and sipping from a glass of whiskey like he isn’t single-handedly ruining your life, is GDD.

Good Dick Dude.

Hajime Iwaizumi is Good Dick Dude.

Your brain short-circuits. This is not happening. This is some kind of fever dream, a cruel trick played by the universe to punish you for your sins.

Hajime’s sharp green eyes land on you, recognition flickering behind them, and then—oh no. 

He smirks. Like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind right now. Like he remembers everything.

Emi, completely unaware of your crisis, beams. “Hajime, this is the associate I’ve been telling you about.”

His mischievous, more than just amused smile widens. “Oh, I know who she is.”

Your soul leaves your body.

Because that voice? That voice is the same one that had whispered filth against your neck four months ago. The same voice that had laughed when you moaned his name. The same voice that had ruined you in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from.

You are going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of this godforsaken gala.

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he says smoothly, offering a hand. His palm is rough when you take it—calloused, strong, a stark reminder of exactly where those hands have been. His grip is firm, steady, and entirely too knowing.

You swallow, pasting on the best Oh wow, I am totally not spiraling internally smile you can manage. “Yeah,” you say weakly. “We’ve met.”

“Oh!” Emi beams, clasping her hands together like she’s just delighted by this new revelation. “That’s wonderful! I knew you two would get along.”

You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a strangled choke. Hajime is still watching you, head tilted slightly, like he’s enjoying this: like he can see the exact moment you realize how deeply, horrifically screwed you are. Because there is no way Emi knows. She’s too composed, too pleased. If she had any inkling that her son and her associate had met four months ago in a completely inappropriate context, she’d have you both buried in litigation faster than you could say conflict of interest.

Which means Hajime is choosing to be a menace.

God, you’re going to kill him.

“Hajime just got back from Irvine a few days ago, for the start of his summer break,” Emi continues, completely oblivious to the absolute war waging behind your polite smile. “I’ve been telling him all about you, of course.”

You almost choke on your drink. “You have?”

“Of course I have!” Emi nods enthusiastically. “She’s one of the brightest associates we have, Hajime. Sharp, diligent, absolutely ruthless in negotiations—she reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

Your lips twitch. You do enjoy being compared to the most terrifying woman you’ve ever met, so it’s really too bad that this entire situation has you currently dying inside.

Hajime hums, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah,” he says, voice dipping just slightly. “She’s definitely memorable.”

Your entire body lights on fire.

Memorable.

Oh, he’s being insufferable on purpose.

Emi sighs happily, taking a sip of her champagne. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

You want to scream. You want to throw your drink in Hajime’s face. You want to rewind time and never step foot into that rooftop party.

Instead, you just smile tightly. “Mm-hmm.”

Hajime grins at your suffering. “So,” he says, tilting his glass in your direction, “how have you been?”

You resist the urge to kick him in the shins. “Busy,” you say, voice clipped. “Working.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that does sound like you.”

You stiffen. Hajime, you realize, is having the time of his life watching you squirm. And it’s only going to get worse.

Because Emi suddenly claps her hands together, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh! I should leave you two to chat,” she says. “Get to know each other properly.”

Oh. Oh no. Emi. Emi, please.

But before you can protest, she winks at you—winks, like she’s a fairy godmother orchestrating the perfect romance—and disappears back into the crowd.

And just like that, you are alone with him.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So,” he says, smirking, “I see you haven’t forgotten me.”

Your jaw clenches. “You smug little—”

“You look good,” he interrupts smoothly, scanning you from head to toe. His gaze lingers, appreciative but blatantly teasing. “Red suits you.”

God, you want to strangle him. You cross your arms, willing yourself to stay calm. “You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

He tilts his head, as if contemplating. “Well,” he says, “it wasn’t confirmed until I saw you.”

You glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” He grins. “Not a chance.”

You hate him. You hate that he looks so effortlessly good in a suit. You hate that his voice is still just as devastating as you remember. You hate that even now, months later, you can still feel the phantom weight of his hands on your hips, the rough scrape of his callouses against your skin, the way he had murmured just like that, baby against your ear—

You inhale sharply. Nope. Absolutely not. We are not thinking about that right now.

Hajime, unfortunately, definitely knows what you’re thinking about. His smirk is downright criminal. “So,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice low, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of blushing. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughs, warm and amused, and you are horribly aware that this night is only just beginning.

four.

Hajime happens to actually be a pretty intelligent and funny person, which is making it much, much harder to dodge his attempts at flirting and his mother’s attempts at forced-proximity matchmaking.

It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to sip your wine, endure some polite small talk, and then fade into the crowd before Emi could corner you into any serious you’d make such a beautiful couple talk. But instead, you’re somehow still here, talking to him, because Hajime Iwaizumi is annoyingly easy to talk to.

Which is not fair. It’s not fair at all, actually.

He makes it look effortless, like this isn’t completely unhinged, like it’s not absolutely deranged that your boss has spent months trying to set you up with a man who has already—

You take a sip of your wine. You are not going to finish that thought.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, looking entirely too entertained by this whole situation. “You seem tense.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t argue. “Hey, could be worse,” he says. “At least my mom has good taste.”

You choke on your sip, feeling the bubbles tingle in your nose and really regretting every life decision you’ve made in the last six months. “Oh, my God.”

He laughs, tilting his glass in a mock toast.

You squint at him, wary and slightly annoyed, unable to fathom how he’s not also dying at this situation. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, all easy amusement. “I’m just saying—this could be a lot worse. Imagine if she was trying to set you up with someone actually terrible.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, swirling your wine. “You’re already pretty high on my list of worst-case scenarios.”

“See, now that hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ll live.”

Before Hajime can respond—before you can regain any sense of control over this conversation—Emi appears out of nowhere, her eyes shining.

“There you two are!” she says, absolutely beaming. “It’s time for the first dance!”

You freeze.

Hajime—the absolute traitor—just raises an eyebrow. “First dance?”

“Yes! It’s tradition,” Emi says, already ushering you toward the ballroom floor. “Senior partners and their dates open the dance floor—it’s been that way for years.”

You dig your heels into the floor. “But I’m not—”

“Now, sweetheart,” Emi interrupts, entirely ignoring your panic, “you wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you?”

You stare at her, betrayed.

She smiles.

Oh, she planned this.

Hajime, standing beside you, lets out a quiet, amused sigh before draining the last of his whiskey. “Well,” he says, offering you a hand, “guess we should give the people what they want.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “That’s why you’re still holding my hand.”

You drop it immediately.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from leading you on to the dance floor. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you gently to the center of the ballroom; you’re struggling to ignore the far too many pairs of eyes on you two as he rearranges your arms around his neck.

And—oh, hell.

You forgot how solid he is.

His grip is firm but steady, his palm warm where it rests against your back. He moves easily, like this isn’t completely ridiculous, like your brain isn’t currently melting out of your ears.

“Relax,” Hajime murmurs.

You scowl. “I am relaxed.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, totally.”

You hate him. You hate the way he’s looking at you—amused, interested, entirely too smug for someone who has already ruined your life once.

He leads you into a slow, easy step, and goddamn it, of course he’s good at this, too. His movements are effortless, confident. He keeps the rhythm perfectly, and you hate that you match him so well.

He tilts his head, watching you. “You’re thinking really hard about something.”

“No, I’m not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right. So you’re definitely not thinking about how good I am at this.”

You promptly step on his foot. He laughs, and it ignites your hatefire even more.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“I was going to say you look good tonight,” he muses, unfazed. “But now I don’t know if you deserve the compliment.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Hajime smirks. “Touchy.”

He spins you as the music hits a crescendo, dropping you abruptly into a dip that catches you heavily off-guard. It makes you lock your fingers tighter around his neck, and when he lifts you back up, you nearly slam right into his very, very firm chest (what the hell, is this man made entirely of protein?), face first.

“What the fuck?” you huff, a little winded. “You are actually a horrible human being.”

Hajime hums, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with something too smug, too entertained. “You keep saying that,” he muses, voice low enough that it barely carries past the space between you, “but I think you just like having someone to complain about.”

Before you can deliver a scathing reply, he tugs you a fraction closer. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but you feel it—the shift of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, the way your body slots against his just enough for warmth to pass between you.

Your breath catches, and it’s infuriating how he notices. How his hold tightens, like he can read every single thought running through your head and is thrilled by it.

“You’re such a dick,” you frown, shifting slightly, trying to put some space between you.

Hajime chuckles, and the sound is entirely too satisfied. His mouth is right by your ear, so you practically feel it more than you really hear it, when he murmurs, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because that—that—is not fair.

That is the kind of thing a man should not be allowed to say in that voice, in that low, teasing rumble, into your ear, while holding you against him like this.

It happens before you can even think about it.

Before you can register that you are, in fact, in the middle of a ballroom at your company’s annual gala. Before you can process the reality that Emi is somewhere in this crowd, and she has already been insufferable about this whole ordeal.

Before any of that can hit you, you grab the lapels of his stupidly well-fitted suit, tilt your chin up, and kiss him.

It’s instant, sharp, devastating. Your hands tighten against his chest as you crash into him, and Hajime—because he is the worst person alive—immediately reacts.

One hand presses firm into your back, the other finding its way to your jaw, fingers curling just slightly as he deepens the kiss without hesitation. His lips are warm, just the right mix of soft and steady, and when he angles his head just so—his nose brushing against yours, his thumb skimming your cheek—you feel yourself sink, like he’s pulling you under and you don’t even mind drowning.

It should not be this good.

It should not set your pulse racing like this, make you forget for a single, damning second that this is the worst possible thing you could be doing right now.

But it does. And for just a moment, nothing else exists. Not the party. Not the music. Not the fact that literally everyone is watching you right now. Just the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his fingers at your back, the way he exhales sharply like he wasn’t expecting this either, but he’s not about to stop it, not for anything in the world. 

And then you remember where you are.

You rip yourself away, blinking rapidly, your brain racing to catch up with what you just did.

And that is the moment you hear it: the loudest, most delighted squeal of your entire existence.

Your stomach plummets.

Because standing at the edge of the ballroom, her hands clasped together in sheer glee, is none other than Emi Iwaizumi herself. And she is positively vibrating with joy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushes, and the way she looks at you is the exact way someone would look at their child who just announced they were getting married. “I knew it! I knew you two would be perfect together!”

Your soul leaves your body. You stare at her, horrified. You slowly turn back to Hajime—who, because he is an absolute menace, is still standing entirely too close, still holding you just slightly like he isn’t ready to let go.

And he is smiling.

The kind of smile that says I win. The kind of smile that says he is absolutely going to remind you of this for the rest of your natural life.

You physically have to stop yourself from shoving him away.

Instead, you inhale, sharp and deep, and will yourself to stay calm. Emi is still talking. She is still gushing. And you cannot deal with whatever she’s about to say next, so before she can so much as breathe, you turn back to Hajime, seize his wrist, and drag him off the dance floor, because if you don’t get away from this immediately, you are actually going to die of secondhand embarrassment and shame.

five.

This is because of your dry spell.

Your dry spell is the reason why your entire sense of self-control and awareness have gone out the window, and the reason why, now that you and Hajime have successfully escaped the ballroom onto the balcony, he is doubled over laughing and you are actually freaking out.

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, pressing your hands to your face. The cool night air does nothing to soothe the absolute catastrophe unfolding inside your brain. “I kissed you. I kissed you in front of everyone.”

Hajime straightens, still grinning like an asshole. “Yeah,” he says, entirely too pleased. “You did.”

You drop your hands, glaring. “Fuck you, dude. You’re not helping.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t aware I needed to.”

You let out an incoherent noise of distress.

Hajime, because he is insufferable, just leans against the balcony railing, watching you unravel like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all night. His tie is slightly loosened now, his jacket unbuttoned, and somehow, he looks even better like this—a little rumpled, a little amused, looking at you like he already knows how this is going to end. 

That is actually unacceptable.

“This is your fault,” you snap, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You goaded me into it.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I made you kiss me?”

“Yes,” you declare, with full conviction, even though you definitely grabbed him first. “You set me up.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You really can’t handle taking the L, huh?”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “I just don’t want to.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying very hard not to laugh again. “So you kissed me against your will?”

“Yes.”

Hajime tilts his head, amused. “Interesting. Because you seemed pretty into it.”

Your jaw drops. “I—you—shut up.”

He chuckles, and God, his voice is all warm and low and pleased with himself, and you really need to get it together before you do something stupid again.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and shifting your focus to the city skyline instead. Sendai stretches out before you in a sea of golden lights, a stark contrast to the absolute nightmare happening in your head. 

This is fine. You can recover from this. You just have to never, ever acknowledge it again.

You square your shoulders, turning back to him. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to go back inside, pretend this never happened, and move on with our lives.”

Hajime hums, considering. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

You squint. “What do you mean that’s not gonna work?”

He pushes off the railing, taking a step closer—too close, enough that you feel it again, that ridiculous, stupid warmth that shouldn’t still be there after all this time. “I mean,” he says, slow, deliberate, “you’re acting like that kiss was a mistake.”

You blink. “Because it was.”

He lifts a single eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, but it comes out way too defensive, and Hajime knows it.

He grins. You decide that you hate him.

“I’m sure,” you insist, crossing your arms tighter, like that will somehow make this whole situation less insufferable. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. A lapse in judgment. That’s it.”

Hajime tilts his head, thoughtful. “Okay. So if I kissed you again right now, you wouldn’t like it.”

Your entire brain short-circuits. The audacity. The unbelievable nerve.

You gape at him. “You wouldn’t.”

His grin widens. “Wouldn’t I?”

You hate how smug he looks. You hate that your stomach flips at the idea of it. You hate that you don’t immediately shut it down.

He watches your expression carefully, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, like he won’t actually do it unless you give him some kind of sign. Which is so much worse, because it means he’s giving you the chance to say no, to walk away, to end this before it can spiral any further.

But you don’t.

And that—more than the kiss itself, more than Emi’s squealing, more than the public spectacle you just made—is what finally sends you into full-blown panic mode.

You do want him to kiss you again.

You stare at him, pulse thrumming, brain caught in a violent tug-of-war between denial and desire. And Hajime? Hajime is watching you with the patience of someone who knows he’s already won.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

You scowl. “Say what?”

“That you want me to kiss you again.”

Your jaw clenches. He’s baiting you, letting you choose, waiting for you to meet him halfway. You exhale sharply, tilting your chin up. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His mouth twitches. “Not an answer.”

“Fine,” you snap. “I want you to kiss me again.”

Hajime grins. “That’s all I needed.”

And then, he does.

This time, it’s slower, deeper, not rushed by the heat of the moment. He takes his time, like he’s savoring it, like he’s memorizing the way you melt into him. And you? You let him. Because, goddamn it, you were never winning this battle.

When you finally pull away, breathless, he smirks down at you. “See? Not a mistake.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He laughs, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead that feels far more intimate than a casual pair of friends-with-benefits should. You, scandalized, shove him away, but Hajime just grins, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, pressing your fingers to your forehead, like that will somehow stop the ridiculous heat crawling up your neck.

Hajime hums, smug. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You are still standing here. You could have left, could have walked back into that ballroom and pretended this entire thing never happened. But instead, you’re here. On this balcony. With him.

You shift, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “So… what now?”

Hajime leans back against the railing. “Dunno. Guess that depends on you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like you already have an answer?”

“Because I do,” he says plainly, in a way so nonchalant and effortless it could only be said like that by him. 

You exhale sharply, tilting your head up to the sky, like the stars might have some kind of solution for this. “You know this is gonna be a thing now, right?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “A thing?”

“Yeah,” you say, making a vague gesture between the two of you. “A thing. Emi’s gonna lose her mind. She’s probably already telling the senior partners that her matchmaking career is a success.”

Hajime laughs, the sound easy, effortless. “Yeah. She probably is.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Probably not.”

You squint at him. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

Hajime shrugs, then reaches for your hand, tugging you forward so suddenly that you nearly stumble into him. His hands slide down to your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress. “I could,” he murmurs, close, too close, “but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

You scowl. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, smug, “you still kissed me. Twice, actually.”

You glare. “Stop counting.”

“No promises.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to his chest in sheer exasperation. “This is my villain origin story.”

Hajime just laughs, wrapping his arms fully around you, and you hate—hate—that it feels nice, that it feels right.

“Hajime,” you say, voice muffled against his suit jacket.

“Yeah?”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze. “If we’re doing this, you are legally required to make it up to me with at least two fancy dates. Minimum.”

Hajime smirks, like he was already planning on it. “Deal.”

“And no getting too smug about this, either,” you squint.

He tilts his head. “Define ‘too smug.’”

You groan, shoving at his chest. “God, I hate you.”

Hajime just catches your wrist and grins, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your knuckles. “Sure you do.”

You really don’t. And both of you know that very well, because he has his mother’s spell-blinding smile and you have always been a sucker for them both.

⨭ closing; churned this out over one 3 hour writing sesh bc i got this idea in my head and had to see it through. not proofread and very very hastily written, but i like her anyway. #comment #reblog #lemme know ur thoughts mwah xoxo

[somanyquestions-featuringanxiety]

Thx for the tag!! Here we go…

1. The Umbrella Academy, Angel The Series and Torchwood

2. They’re long and pale pink and have sparkly hedgehogs on them!

3. I LOVE smoothies, especially anything with berries!

4. Usually a pretty dress, sometimes a nice skirt and top

5. Eggs are amazing in all forms, but my fav is soft boiled with soldiers!

6. A bookmark?? Like a normal person???

7. My wardrobe is very colourful, I’m not really sure!

8. I don’t really collect anything, though I like to own copies of my favourite books

9. I have a comforting playlist which is my go to, and I find the smell of lavender calming too :)

10. Like the ones that ask you what you most relate to or what you feel best represents you

11. No, but I think glasses are super pretty!

12. I love her kindness and genuine love and concern for me and all her other friends, it’s really beautiful

13. Pen all the way, and it has to be blue or black!

14. Definitely my mum’s house and specifically my bedroom, but also probably my school

15. I have ZERO house plants because I have ZERO gardening skills, but I have a few fake plants (I KNOW ITS CHEATING BUT I CANNOT KEEP ANY PLANTS ALIVE OK 😭)

16. My fav hoodie is pink and fluffy and has rabbits on the back!!! I’ve had it for around four years I think, and one time I wore it camping and a small chunk of burning wood flew from the campfire and landed on my sleeve, so now it’s got a hole, but I still love it :D

17. A bunch of ink refills for my fav pens

18. Honestly anything in the renaissance era, specifically anything Leonardo da Vinci related, I’m super nerdy about him lol

19. That time two years ago when me and a friend dressed up as Aziraphale and Crowley (I got to be Aziraphale!!!)

20. Tbh I’m really good at maths, but idk which kind (she says while on the verge of tears due to a maths problem)

21. I’m not much of an artist but like I already said ik a huge nerd about Leonardo da Vinci so I guess his works interest me? I do like the renaissance style

22. Iced!

23. Whatever I feel like that day! It varies all the time, but my go to is anything by The Crane Wives (my fav band)

24. Don’t have my licence yet

25. No, and I don’t think I’ll ever get any (maybe my ears pierced if I ever get over my INTENSE fear of needles)

26. I am not particularly good at cooking or baking, but I do like to bake the occasional cake or some biscuits!

27. My home keys are on a keychain with a clear shell thing full of water and blue glitter, it’s really pretty!

28. My swimming level is like… not drowning. But I’m weak as fuck, have no coordination, terrible technique and I’m slow as hell

29. I had a TON of Lego when I was younger, and most of it is disassembled in boxes now except my fav sets which were all the Harry Potter ones, especially the burrow!

30. Yes, one side is uniform, T-shirts, long pants and skirts, the other is everything else, and within both sides everything is sorted by colour

31. I’ve genuinely got no idea, I hardly ever watch music videos

32. I’d probably do some pale pink streaks!

33. Headphones all the way!!!

34. Yes

35. A rabbit a very crafty friend of mine crocheted for me , except one of its arms is almost completely falling off now since it’s over a year old and I cannot sew for the life of me

36. I like to think l’m pretty good at air hockey, though I don’t know how accurate that is

37. I can stand it, but I prefer to have it just be me while either watching tv or listening to music while doing it

38. My fav show ever is Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and though some of my friends have watched a bit none of them really like it and it makes me so sad :(

39. Watching doctor who and eating dinner

40. Idk, probs willow trees (because I ADORE willow from BTVS but also because they’re pretty)

41. Coconut vanilla!

42. I have a few, like cookie run kingdom and geometry dash, but I haven’t played them in ages

43. Definitely on, but I’ve been curious about what it’s like with the lights off

44. Stick it in my purse and hope I remember it’s there when I need it (I don’t)

45. Yeah it’s pretty good! Definitely fluctuates a lot though depending on the speed and size I’m writing and how much effort I can be bothered to put into it

46. I don’t know if this is the latest but my fav band was introduced to me via a friend, and it was one of the best things to ever happen to me

47. Short, easy, pretty walks? Yes. Hilly hike things where’s its stupidly hot, ugly and the middle of nowhere? Absolutely not

48. Yes, a pretty pink bowl with cool patterns on it

49. Sit in bed and read!! Bonus points if it’s cold enough for an open fire

50. Under one soft blanket, in soft loose long sleeved pyjamas, a bit of background noise coming from outside my room but nothing loud, cool temperature, knowing I have no alarm tmrw

Whew, did them all!

No pressure tags (I know this was long but it’s super fun!)

@niamhings @amy-harper @hawthorne-swift-enthusiasttt @yourlocalchronicdaydreamer @yourlocalwhovian @n3rdchi1d + anyone who wants to!

50 Questions Just Because

What are three shows in your watchlist that you’ve been meaning to get to?

Describe your favorite pair of socks

Do you like smoothies?

What do you wear when you have to dress nicely?

How do you like your eggs?

What do you use to keep your place when you’re reading a book?

What color dominates your closet?

Do you collect anything? If so, what?

What sounds or scents calm you down?

What’s your favorite kind of uquiz question? (Lyric, color, aesthetic, etc)

Do you wear glasses or contacts?

What’s something about your best friend that you love?

Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil?

What are some places where you feel most at home?

Do you have any houseplants? Do any of them have names?

Describe your favorite hoodie. How long have you had it? What makes it unique?

What’s the last thing you ordered online?

What’s one historical event that you would have liked to have witnessed?

What’s your favorite Halloween costume from when you were a kid?

What kind of math are you best at?

What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? If you don’t know any that’s ok!

Iced or hot drinks?

Which songs do you like to sing in the shower?

Are you a good driver?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Are there any that you want?

Can you cook or bake? If so, what are some of your specialties?

Do you have any keychains on your home or car keys? Describe them!

Can you swim very well? Do you like swimming?

Did you play with Legos as a kid? What was your favorite set?

Is your closet organized? If so, how?

What’s the last music video you watched?

If you could dye your hair any color, regardless of how you think it would look, what color would you choose?

Headphones or earbuds?

Can you read analog clocks?

Describe your favorite stuffed animal, either now or from when you were a kid.

What’s an arcade or table game (air hockey, ping pong, etc) that you’re really good at?

Do you mind if others are in the kitchen when you’re cooking or baking?

What’s one show you watch or musician you listen to that your friends know nothing about?

What was the best part of your day today?

What’s your favorite kind of tree?

What scent is your deodorant?

Do you have any games on your phone? If so, which one(s) is/are your favorite?

Do you shower with the lights on or off?

What do you do with spare change?

Do you have good handwriting?

What’s the last thing a friend recommended to you that you looked into and actually liked?

Do you like to go on walks?

Do you have a favorite plate or bowl?

What’s your favorite thing to do when it’s raining?

Describe your perfect sleeping conditions

[tricoloreddango]

Phainon with chubby reader headcanons

contents: female reader / fluff and smut / insecurity and comfort / possessiveness / protectiveness / clingy behavior / mentions of marriage / riding / oral fem receiving / 69 position / cockwarming / soft and rough sex / service dom / period sex / aftercare / not suitable for minors

[Mydei version] [back to m.list]

SFW

—You are constantly made to be flustered. No, he won’t spare you any compliments, making sure they’re as poetic and detailed as possible. He’ll go as far as telling you how much he’d worship a statue made in the image of your body, leaving offerings for his ‘goddess’. But even if he can’t sculpt, he’ll gladly paint you if you give him a permission.

—Phainon wasn’t afraid to be constantly touching you, enjoying the physicality of you under his palms; being in public never stopped him from touching you either—he was just more subtle about it. He didn’t mean anything naughty (unless in a right setting), he just liked the fact you were there with him. Having your hip stroked or your waist wrapped with his arm, or even sleeping with his hand under your clothes just to feel your warmth was an everyday thing.

—Whenever you feel insecure, he’s not the one to just say “nah, don’t worry” and some compliment. He much preferred to get to the bottom of your insecurity and talk you through it until you no longer feel as if it was that bad—no matter how many times it takes you to fully solidify the fact in your head.

—Let him buy pretty or flattering clothes for you. One on hand, he didn’t like others having a clear view of your body; on the other hand, he wanted your shape to be enhanced and decorated—especially for others to agree with him that he’s indeed a lucky man.

—Phainon loved to take you to swimming sessions, somewhere by more isolated pools. His favorite part was you lying next to him on the blanket, the sun warming your skin, your body in a swimsuit and him having an excuse to spread open kisses onto your uncovered skin. You’ll make his heart flutter a lot if you giggle happily.

—Please let him rest on your stomach. He really liked taking a nap with him between your thighs, wanting an occasion to feel your soft body under him. You probably will feel ticklish with his warm breath teasing your skin, but he’ll fall asleep into a nap very quickly.

—All kinds of bodies were worshipped on Amphoreus, but should anyone end up spilling unpleasantries for your ears to hear you’ll have nothing to worry about. He’ll make sure to call out this person, not afraid to embarrass them in public either.

—Did I mention how clingy he is? On top of that, you’ll hear “I love you” on every occasion possible.

—Phainon knew you two should get to know each other well first. However, the ideas of marriage will fill his head rather quickly just in the beginning of your relationship… simply because he had feelings for you a long time before, and probably chased you for just as long.

—Teasing was just a big part of his personality. That’s why he liked to act like he’s your husband already, with that being done in front of others (it’s beneficial to him anyway, as no other man will think you’re an option anymore). Other form tease came from his touch you in small amounts throughout the day, just to get bit breathy and thinking of him.

Not to mention asking things such as “and who’s this pretty girl, huh?” or “what would you do if I was to kiss you all of the sudden?”—all whispered right into your ear, leaving him with a satisfied flicker in his eyes at your provoked tremble.

NSFW:

—He’ll set any warm and fuzzy setting you wish to have. Candles, essential oils, massage oil? You’ve got it. Sex wasn’t some mindless or animalistic ritual to him. He wasn’t using you, he was making love to you.

—You’re being fondled everywhere and I mean everywhere. He’ll become a whiny creature if he has to separate his hands from your body for even a second. It’s like during the day where he can’t keep his hands away from you, with a difference that this time it’s done in a really desperate and erotic way.

—He loved when you get on top of him. Any weight was enough for him to handle; he loved to see your beautiful body being exposed when you were sitting on him. He’ll squeeze and knead your flesh, while spilling out praises and encouragements.

—Every part of you was sweet, that’s why your pussy was no different. Phainon couldn’t get enough of eating you out on everyday basis, sometimes even stopping you in the middle of something just to drop down on his knees to pleasure you. You’re cooking? Great, turn off the stove for a moment and turn around to face him, before you spread your legs for him to sit between. It will be a perfect argument for him to touch and feel your thick thighs.

—69 position was arguably one of the best in his humble opinion. He could feel the weight of your body, the flesh of your chub against him on the bed; while you both exchange the beautiful act of mouthy-pleasuring like two true lovers. He’d service you anyway, yet he adored you wanting to make him feel good as well. Really, you were growing more and more lovable to Phainon everyday.

—Another perfect position was you both on your sides, with him either behind you or in front of you. He’ll hold you regardless, wanting sex to be something more than just fucking. He craved the intimacy with you… which of course didn’t mean he didn’t get rough with you occasionally, especially if he stared at you throughout the day than usual and needed to release his tension.

—Romantic gestures didn’t have to be cliche. One of his idea was you cockwarming him to sleep, in case cuddling wasn’t enough.

—Forgive him if he sometimes sounds too loud (high pitched even) or if he squeezes your hand too tightly (an intimate gesture he couldn’t deny himself of). It’s just that every time you laid each other on your shared bed, he was becoming a man thirsty, desperate and weaker than ever…. you’ll kill him too if you choose to be same amount of loud or squeeze violently around his cock. Perhaps you’ll force loud vulgar words from his mouth as well.

—He didn’t care if you or someone else found it nasty, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with you during your bleeding. It’s just a matter of placing a towel under you for him. He’ll gladly help you with your cramps by pushing orgasms out of you, and the fact you’d let him trust with your body even on your vulnerable time of the month made him feel a step closer to you. It’s just another way of him fully accepting you.

—Aftercare was as intense as possible. You need water? He’s already on his way. A towel was ready next to the bed. If you feel cold, he’ll keep you warm or help you dress up. Any soreness you had, he’ll gladly massage (and feel your plumpness with that). Not to mention all the pretty praises you’ll hear, even through your ears ringing post-orgasm.

[lazysoulwriter]

Between the Lenses and the Track -Charles Leclerc.

hes so....

The first time you met Charles Leclerc, it wasn’t exactly glamorous. You were adjusting your camera settings in the Ferrari garage, focused on the telemetry screens reflecting off your lens, when a hand suddenly appeared in your frame, waving dramatically. You lowered your camera just in time to see Charles grinning at you.

“Got the shot?” he asked, playful as ever.

“Ruined it, actually,” you deadpanned, tilting your head. “You owe me a better one.”

From that day on, Charles made it his mission to provide you with ‘better’ shots—though most of them consisted of him making faces, posing ridiculously, or sending you exaggerated winks through your lens. It became a running joke between you two, a small part of your routine in the fast-paced world of Formula 1.

But somewhere along the way, your dynamic began to make headlines.

'Charles Leclerc’s Mystery Woman—Just a Photographer or Something More?’

'Flirty Glances in the Paddock—What’s Going On Between Ferrari’s Golden Boy and F1’s Shutter Queen?’

It was ridiculous. You were just friends, but neither of you ever bothered correcting the assumptions. If anything, Charles found it hilarious.

“Should we address the rumors?” you asked once, scrolling through yet another speculative article.

“I think we should fuel them,” he smirked. “Keep them on their toes.”

So, the flirting turned into an unspoken game. Post-race interviews? Charles would sneak in a comment about how he only pushes for pole position because he knows you get the best shots from there. Press conferences? If you were nearby, he’d find a way to mention your name. Once, he even called you his ‘good luck charm’ on live television, winking directly at your camera.

The fans ate it up.

It was harmless, right?

Until it wasn’t.

—

It happened in the backstage area of a Grand Prix weekend. The session had ended, and most of the paddock was clearing out. You were sorting through the hundreds of pictures on your camera when you heard footsteps approaching.

“Busy as always,” Charles teased, leaning against the table beside you.

“Unlike some people, I actually work,” you quipped without looking up.

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “And here I was about to invite you to dinner as a thank-you for all the flattering angles.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Flattering? You make my job harder with all those stupid faces.”

“I give you personality,” he defended.

You turned to him, shaking your head with amusement. It was always like this—effortless teasing, easy chemistry. But then his gaze lingered just a little too long, his smirk fading into something softer, something more intent.

Your breath caught.

It was just Charles. Your Charles. The same guy who made dumb jokes and dramatically posed every time he saw your camera pointed his way. But suddenly, standing here in the quiet, the air between you had shifted. It felt heavier. Loaded.

His fingers brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to make your skin burn.

“Careful,” you murmured, trying to keep the teasing tone, but your voice came out weaker than intended. “The media’s watching even when they’re not.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Let them watch.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t playful, wasn’t a joke or another inside reference to keep up the act. It was slow, deliberate, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

You let yourself melt into it, into the warmth of his lips, the way his hand came up to cup the side of your face like he’d wanted to do it for longer than he’d ever admit.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was hammering. Charles, however, just grinned.

“So,” he said, voice still low. “Should we fuel the rumors some more?”

You laughed, breathless. “I think we just did.”

[flwrkid14]

I was reading the two posts about Tim's Christmas list, and just thought of the Bat Family noticing how happy Tim is.

Maybe Damian sees the new brushes and asks why Tim has Stephanie's things?

"Oh no, those aren't her's. They're mine. Danny got them for me cause they were on my list. I've needed a new set for a few years, but I only remember when I'm on a mission and needs to use them. Isn't he so sweet? And he got me really good quality ones, too!"

Or Jason mocking Tim for finally getting new hoodies. And instead of huffing or quipping back, Tim just brightens. Smiling in a way Jason's never seen.

"Danny got them for me! They're so soft. There's some of my favorite gifts from him! It's honestly nice to have new clothes that aren't formal. I'm so happy he read my list." And kinda just bounces away.

Maybe Bruce asking if Tim finally got new cups for his office?

"Danny's so sweet, isn't he? He found my list for Christmas and decided to get me a few mugs and thermoses. It's great I don't have to worry about accidentally cutting my mouth open again." 😊

Or Stephanie (who was injured on patrol and Tim's Nest, with apartment on top, was the closest place she could get to.) commenting on the fact that Tim has a lot of blankets, pillows, and plushies.

"Danny got them for me for Christmas I love how soft and warm everything is. He even found a plushie of a sleeping ghost! It's weighted, has a heating feature, and is made of glow in the dark fabric. Matter of fact, almost all the plushies and blankets he got me were weighted! Just like I had written on my list. They make me feel so loved. After all, he wants me to feel warm and safe, what's more considerate than that?"

Cass looks for Tim, knowing he's staying in the manor overnight because of a gala the next day. She hears music coming from the bathroom, but the light isn't on. So she goes in to turn it off, just in case Tim accidentally left it on. Only to see that there is a light on. A music box made to look like a record player spinning a vinyl, projecting blue light to look like you were underwater. Tim was in the bathtub, with the music box on the rim.

After the kerfuffle of them realizing Cass walked in on Tim taking a bath, and Tim getting dressed quickly, Cassandra asks him where he got it? It's cute and sounds really nice.

"Oh, it's a gift from Danny. He gave me it for Christmas. He knows I like cute things like that. And it's nice to listen to. He even got me this cat eared fluffy hairband for when I do my skincare or makeup! So cute, right?" 🥰

And slowly, all of them realize they never got Tim what he wanted. They try to justify it by saying he put tech on the list, but they look back through past lists and realize Tim changed his list because no one ever got him what he put on the list.

omg, I love your take on my posts! Your writing is so good! And you're absolutely right—the batfamily realizing their oversight and coming to terms with is such an interesting angle to explore! I like the way you went about it, especially all the times Tim kept mentioning the items were from his list!!

That said, I also wanted to address something that a lot of people were frustrated about when reading my original post.. many were upset with the family for not reading Tim’s list, wondering if they lost it or ignored it on purpose. I realize I didn’t provide enough context on my post for how the list actually functions!

The christmas lists in the batfamily aren’t necessarily meant to be followed to the letter—they’re more of a reference in case someone doesn’t know what to get. For example, Damian’s interests are pretty well known (art supplies, things for his animals, weapons), so most of the family can buy him something without needing to check his list. But for someone like Alfred or Bruce, where their preferences might be harder to pin down, the list serves as a guide.

With Tim, the family assumes they already know what he likes. They don’t think they need to check his list because, in their minds, they already understand him. So they keep giving him things they know he uses—cameras, electronics, hard drives—without realizing he already has more than enough. It’s not necessarily neglectful; it’s just a blind spot.

Danny, on the other hand, actually looks at the list. Not only because he wants to get Tim the best gifts possible, but because he lives with him. He sees what Tim already has in abundance and what he’s been meaning to get for himself but keeps putting off. That’s why his gifts are so thoughtful—he pays attention in a way the others don’t.

I hope this explanation helps clarify things for those who were confused or frustrated!!

[anim-ttrpgs]

I think one of the reasons that Eureka needs to have crunchy (but fast, I can’t stress enough these are over fast) combat rules is because it is such a grounded, “realistic” setting. All of the successes of the PCs are real and not just because they’re PCs or because the GM forced their success.

At the same time, since this is so unusual for TTRPG play, even in TTRPGs where the rules-as-written don’t support plot armor, it’s kind of hard to explain to people. It’s almost like gleeblor trying to talk about something amazing a PC pulled off because of their skills and cleverness and have people NOT roll their eyes and say “whatever, the GM just let it happen.”

When Yvette Preux, armed with two pistols, waited quietly behind the door at the top of he stairs for the eight armed gangsters to come up and then surprised them by shooting six shots through the door, sidestepped so they wouldn’t know where she was when they started shooting back blindly, then fired six more shots, ultimately killing or incapacitating all of them, every step of that was mediated by the rules, and every single one of those gangsters could’ve put her down in a single Action if she had let them. The GM is following the rules, which say what the NPCs can and can’t do just like the PCs. To me that’s what’s special about TTRPGs(if played by the rules) as opposed to freeform RP or writing a novel. A smart plan succeeds because it is actually a smart plan, not because it’s a dumb plan and the author just wants it to succeed. A good author can tell a story where a smart plan succeeds because it’s a smart plan, but a TTRPG goes step by step and has the math to prove it.

This post went way beyond the original point I was trying to make but whatever. Buy Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. It’s good.

[parker-artio]

It’s snowing so much outside that there’s a snowstorm watch in my area, and I hate the snow. So now all I can think about is that person who was flooding and thought about Gotham during a flood. Which is making me think about Gotham during a snowstorm.

So please, enjoy me try and project my hatred for the snow onto Damian (since he’s one of my favorites).

The snowstorm just started, Mr. Freeze was out of Arkham, he was practically using the cold to make it easier for him to move around, but no one could even try to go stop him. It was snowing so much, people were getting stuck inside of buildings, and unable to get home.

Thankfully, Batman has snow shoes specially made so the Batfamily can all walk on top of the snow, and get everyone out and to safety. Snow plows were rented by Bruce Wayne for five times the initial price to run until they couldn’t no more from the snow.

The winds would definitely be strong enough to pick up anyone wearing their cape, making Batman, Robin, Batgirl, Batwoman, ect to all ditch the cape. Nightwing and Red Hood are taking much delight in how they’re reacting to not having their capes. They’re used to using them to just wrap up in when they’re cold, but unless they want to fly around like their kryptonian friends, they had to ditch them. But not Cass. I fully believe that even with her being on the smaller side compared to the rest of her family who are all tall asf and built like fridges, she could stand her ground against the wind. (Or she could just learn how to glide like a flying squirrel.)

The snow is getting in anyone’s face who doesn’t wear a domino mask or any eye covering (aka Steph), Spoiler keeps complaining and everyone will laugh. But then two seconds later they’ll get it up their nose or mouth. She laughs right back at them.

In the Watch Tower, Barbara ignores all of their complaints of being cold, and reminds them that ''It’s only 5°F. It’s not that cold''. Meanwhile she’s snuggled up in a couple blankets, the heat up to 82°, and she’s got her hot chocolate she put some whipped cream, cinnamon, and some grated chocolate on. No one finds her funny. (Dick might, but not until he ditches the rooftops where he’s lowering down ropes to help civilians out because all of the doors are blocked, and shows up to warm up for a bit.)

Jason is running around Crime Alley with about a box as heavy as he is, full of blankets. He quickly remembers that a ton of the roofs in Crime Alley have water damage and are falling apart, the walls and windows too. So what does he do? He helps them all get into a Wayne Enterprises homeless shelter for the time of the storm. Which is funded by Bruce Wayne (obviously). It has about 700 back up generators in case the power would go out, private showers, central heating (constantly set at 75°F), way too many blankets, too many pillows, about 200 mattresses that Bruce Wayne replaces every five years, washing machines, a huge room just dedicated to the clothes Bruce buys, and dozens other donate, shoes too. (It’s basically just better than any average home from low class to middle class families in the US.)

Duke is trying to fight Mr. Freeze, he’s got the best chance, since he can turn invisible and everything. Anytime he looked remotely in his direction, he shines a light off of the snow and into his eyes so he stunned. In the end Mr. Freeze will get captured, but he’s definitely seeing colors he didn’t know were possible to be seen. He saw so many bright lights. He hates any kind of light around snow now. Duke had to specifically drag him in too, the GCPD can’t exactly drive their cars and take him to Arkham, not when the roads are so bad that one wrong move he’d be free.

Tim is going around and helping people who were actually home when they got snowed in. If they’re low on food, he’ll bring them a basket of food that was pre-packed back at the Manor by Alfred. If their power is out he brings back a generator and gets the power back on. Their water heater is out? He calls a friend (Lucius) and he talks him through how to fix it so it won’t go out again. If their pipes freeze he helps in any ways he can. Basically he’s helping the damsels in distress (or dudes in distress).

Kate, Steph, Luke, and Selina are helping the people Batman, Robin, Nightwing, and Orphan get out of building back to their homes. If any of them report an issue at their home, they say it in the comms while getting a blanket (idk where it came from, just imagine they can fit it in their utility belt) and say that Red Robin will be there to help. Then they go to a meetup point where a couple civilians will be dropped off by Batman, Robin, Nightwing, or Orphan and help someone else home- or multiple people if it’s a family or a couple people from the same area.

Damian is not having a good time. Not even after the flow is set. Hes cold. He hates it. He prefers the heat, and honestly, he wishes his suit had both the thermal layer like his father and Todd’s, and the internal heater like Drake, Richard, Brown, and Cain’s. But nonetheless, his is just made to regulate his body temperature no matter the outside weather. He hates the cold, he hates the snow. He wants to go home and lay in bed with about a dozen blankets, the heat up to 90°F, a heated blanket, and all of his pets to cuddle. Just because he can easily withstand the cold doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Cass is helping civilians out through skylights, upper floor windows, fire escapes, if it’s not a front door or back door, she’s helping people out through it. She gets them to where Kate, Steph, Luke, and Selina are and then goes off again. The civilians are surprisingly having the time of their life. She grapples around while holding them, and it feels like they’re flying. (She also holds them effortlessly no matter how much they weigh- it will awaken something in a couple of them.)

Dick is switching back and forth between team A (Batman, Robin, Orphan, and him) and at the Watch Tower where he can warm up and help Babs with the queue of places Red Robin needs to stop by (maybe helping by doing a place or two), so she can focus on making sure no one else try’s to attack while all of them are focused on helping everyone to safety.

Steph is called anytime anyone is hurt beyond a simple injury anyone else can tend to. (I firmly believe she is a med a student- nothing will change my mind that this girl is not a broke college student who regularly has the intake of sugar and caffeine that could kill a hippo.) She usually tends to them as well as she can with her firsts aid kit and utility belt, before taking them to the ER (if they need it), and making sure they seen because of the coldness mixed with an injury could lead to hypothermia easier or even cause an infection from the snow that could lead to an amputation if not caught on early enough.

Alfred is back at the Batcave, also on the comms, but he’s racking together about 600 generators, 1,000 crates of food ranging from multiple kinds of milks, and way too many non-perishables. If anyone stops by the cave he gives them a weighted cape and those hand warmer things.

When things slow down, Selina starts going around and helping stray’s, she either takes them home or to a shelter she trusts. (Damian may or may not tag along and take a few home with him. If Bruce sees any new cats around the manor Selina pleads the fifth, and Damian pleads the first and fourth. Bruce does not win.)

Luke will stop by his family’s house and grabs stuff his dad made if it will help. (He’s doing it for Tim, but he doesn’t admit it, at least until he stops by one of the houses where the water heater is broken and fixes it in a quarter of the time it’d take Tim.)

Kate thrives. She prefers the cold, especially with how thick she made her suit by accident, and the amount of hair extensions she added to the suit don’t help much either. Sure she feels cold, but she’s moving way too much to react.

Bruce… well he just wants to go home.

[mach-talk]

JRWI fans, tell me if this is something that makes sense to you: I think Dakota Cole is the first superhero in a VERY long time to feel like an actual superhero.

⚠️Spoilers ahead for both seasons of Prime Defenders, if you haven’t finished it already, what are you doing here?! Go watch it!!⚠️

I think Grizzly did a phenomenal job in his research of superhero media before making Dakota, and that research really paid off for how real Dakota feels as not just a hero, but as a person. Season 1 made me fall in love with the characters and the story, but as an avid Marvel skeptic, season 2 made me believe in the superhero genre again.

I’ve talked about my disdain for modern superhero movies before, but to condense it, I feel like they don’t really feel like HEROES as much as “the lesser of two evils in a fight that’s destroying a city.” A lot of modern heroes feel too gritty and gloomy, not the symbols of hope they’re meant to be, but only focusing on the reluctance of their position.

Dakota Cole’s story is different to me: we’re able to see all sides of it, the good and the bad, and spend enough time in those moments to feel what he feels. His story feels so perfect to the Hero’s Journey, both in what we start out with and what we learn along the way.

First and foremost, I’m grateful to see heroes that WANT to be heroes again, not just to save one person or some moral obligation, but for the sake of wanting to do good and help others. Prime Defenders as a whole is such a breath of fresh air in the superhero genre for its message, and it gets to the heart of what makes superhero movies good. It feels, for lack of a better word, colorful. In a world of low light and gritty heroes making hard decisions, we get moments like the fight for New Haven where the heroes came together with the sword to defeat the planet, or the showdown with Powerhouse, while we get silly moments like the Wasp Vs Bee debate or the chaos portal in the Winnebago. That doesn’t mean we don’t get dark or gritty scenes, of course- I’m still deeply impacted by Ashe’s sacrifice to save everyone, William’s spiral with his brother, and (most relevant to this rant) Dakota’s surgery. But because we got to see the whimsy and the heart behind the heroes, it just made all of those moments so much more impactful.

Dakota Cole, though, feels to me like the result of dissecting the superhero genre and finding what makes it so appealing and meaningful to people. He is, upon first glance, hopeful and confident, optimistic perhaps to a fault, and wants to see the best in people and bring out that goodness. He starts with a very rigid view of what good and evil is, but as his mindset shifts, we see him open up to other ideas of what goodness means to him.

You’d think this would immediately fall apart when he goes through the heartbreak and disillusionment of losing someone to a villain, and that’s what we see with Ashe’s loss in season 1. He is clearly devastated by the loss, but is the first to believe that they can bring him back. He even says it as some of his last words to Ashe before he becomes The Trickster- “Don’t forget that you have somewhere to come back to.” After the loss, though, he’s only more motivated to save his friend. He goes to train and get stronger, and is the one to suggest getting him back. Throughout season 2, as well, we see the backstory that had been set up throughout season 1 come back to the front, and how it impacts him not only as a hero, but as a regular person. His love for his aunt, his attitude towards others, his willingness to sacrifice…

The first thing that he did for himself, in my opinion, was the heart surgery to keep himself alive, and even that wasn’t all for him; it was largely to help William rather than just staying alive. But he was so desperate to help others that he found the thing he needed to learn most in order to be the hero the world needed: patience. His heart surgery and subsequent training with Master Cole taught him the patience he needed to put his abilities to use.

But I think what his training arc taught him best outside of patience- the lesson that stuck with me the most- was that it is okay to ask for help. In fact, one of the quotes that still sticks with me is the quote from Master Cole: “Sometimes, we can’t carry the weight of the world alone.” He spent two seasons up until this point trying to carry every burden on his own, but this was a turning point for him. He realized that he has a team for a reason, and that he doesn’t have to protect them, and that allowing them to help him will make everyone stronger.

In my opinion, Dakota had the most personal growth out of the Prime Defenders from S1E1 to S2E40. He lost a lot of the innocence and pure optimism he had before, but the wisdom and patience he gained from it turned his passion for saving people and his genuine desire to do good into a more productive and successful energy that could save more lives than before. Sure, he had his silly moments- the consistent Fortnite jokes during his training arc, the goofiness of creating The Purps, etc. But his humor served to deepen his character, and the balance of genuine care and compassion for others with the humor and the struggles he faced (and still faces) just make him such a deep character.

He’s a silly goofy guy and he is one of the best written characters in modern hero stories.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Passing By

| in honor of tom turning 30, here’s coryo turning 30 :)) |

“Do you like it? Is it good?”

Coriolanus continues chewing the cake in his mouth, letting the flavors melt all over his tongue. It’s vanilla, a simple flavor but he’s a simple man.

Besides, he loves vanilla because she smells like vanilla.

He looks up from his plate and finds his girlfriend staring at him with such an intensity in her eyes. She wants this to be perfect for him, from the cake to the entire day even though it’s almost over.

Coriolanus has two hours left to enjoy his birthday.

It’s not really that special to him, never has been, never will be. Thirty is a basic number, it just means that he’s on track, nothing to celebrate. Forty is when he’ll start taking things more seriously.

But Soarynn cares. She cares about everything including his birthday. It’s a shame he had to work today. The office has been making him work longer hours and with rent going up, it’s not like he has a choice.

The bitter part of him mind wishes he were younger only so he could have more time to make a better life for himself, for her.

They should be living on the Corso, not in this tiny, cramped one bedroom apartment. The heat doesn’t always work, the water is always frigid and sometimes rats chew through the walls.

She still bought him cake though.

Only once slice since that’s all the bakery had left when she got off her own shift at work. Soarynn works as a seamstress, it’s hard on her hands but it brings home some money so she stays there and works hard.

He wishes she didn’t have to work at all.

“It’s very good,” he tells her, still chewing but Coriolanus knows the longer he takes the answer, the more anxious she’ll get. Soarynn sighs, sitting on her knees, “Good, I couldn’t find any candles, sorry.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, placing a hand on her knee, “No need to be sorry darling, the cake is more than enough.”

Soarynn gives him a soft but tired smile. He knows she’s as exhausted as he is when it comes to living this life.

He came home exhausted, ready to go straight to bed when he found Soarynn in their small bedroom, with the slice of cake and a card. He already read the card, it’s sweet, she’s so sweet to him.

“Still,” she mumbles, brushing her hair behind her ears, “wish I could’ve gotten you something else. Some new shoes maybe.”

His shoes started getting holes in them about a month ago. Coriolanus didn’t mention it to Soarynn, didn’t want to worry her. Looks like she still noticed.

“For your birthday we’ll go out for dinner,” he tells her, setting the plate down. Soarynn’s lips twitch into a frown, “No we won’t.”

Now they’re both frowning.

Coriolanus wishes more than anything that they could afford the smallest of luxuries. New shoes, a night out on the town, new clothes for Soarynn, fresh groceries.

He always liked to think that Snow landed on top but he seems to be stuck at the very bottom.

At least he has Soarynn. With her, he feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Yes we will,” he says gently, giving her knee a squeeze, “I know I’ve been working longer hours but that means a little extra spending money. Might even be able to get you some new dresses hmm?”

Soarynn shakes her head, “Coryo we won’t celebrate my birthday.”

“Yes we will darling, twenty-nine is a big thing to celebrate.”

“Coryo, I never got to turn twenty-eight.”

Coriolanus closes his eyes but it doesn’t help. Doesn’t help him forget that she’s not even here right now. That Soarynn died almost a year ago in a car accident when she was crossing the street to get to work one morning.

He didn’t even find out until he got off of work and realized that she never made it home.

And he never got to say goodbye.

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone in his room, in his tiny, crappy apartment with no Soarynn. No warmth. No laughter. No kisses.

Just him and the slice of cake he bought himself on the way home from work because he knew she’d want him to celebrate.

Even though he doesn’t want to.

There is nothing to celebrate now that she’s gone.

“We’ll still celebrate,” he decides, ignoring her.

He doesn’t talk to Soarynn often, it’s too painful. And she only comes to visit him every so often, like on days like this.

Just like time, she’s only passing by.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @kickmybark @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @evilmenarehot @erensrealgf @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead |

[seancekitsch]

Can we ask to see how Vik and Journalist! Reader met? That one request was so cute! I loved their dynamic

this is the prequel to this little bit

You look through the lens of your camera at the expanse of the room, much too large and much to garish in its lighting. You know for a fact you’ll have to be working extra time in your dark room to fix all of the yellow tint to this lighting. You snap the shutter a few times: at dancing couples, at dignitaries and councillors talking, at the fancy centerpieces on the tables filled with exotic flowers that probably cost more than your apartment. The night is a dull affair, but that was to be expected. All of these galas with insane names like “the covalence” or “inventorium” never failed to bore you to tears, sometimes literally. All night you find vantage points in balconies or certain corners or near the bar to capture portraits that you hope tell a story of opulence and progress. Sometimes, and more selfishly, you take pictures of what you think would make good gossip as well. More eyes means more funding for the scientists, and more money in your wallet when people pay good money for the stories those pictures could tell when you sit down in front of your typewriter tomorrow morning.

Your eyes scan the crowd from the little table that you’ve set yourself up at, a little plate of cheese and a shimmering and all too fruity cocktail that Mel, your point of contact, insisted you take. She always asks your publishers for you for these events, claiming that you capture the perfect photographs and quotes to report on the beauty and the fun of these nights. You don’t necessarily see it, as you never have any fun, but she makes sure you get paid very well and you cannot turn that down. Plus, she’s an angel, a contract you definitely don’t mind because of her sweetness and understanding. And her not-boyfriend, Jayce Talis, one of two guests of honor is maybe the nicest person in all of Piltover. 

You lift the viewfinder to your eye, ready to capture a shot of two of the academy students speaking to Heimerdinger when someone new comes into the frame. Holy shit, a new face, and a handsome one at that. Chestnut hair, pale skin, two moles punctuating sharp angles of his cheeks and jawline. Absolutely beautiful, even in the gaudy light that threatens to drown out his lovely details. 

You press the shutter without thinking. Capturing him feels like instinct.

He looks like any of the other scientists, really. The same uniform way of dress, the same colors, the same tired eyes that the rest of them have. 

You press the shutter again, still not thinking. 

He turns, stares back at you through the camera. With a smirk, he begins crossing the room with the help of his cane. You move your camera down, caught. Shit, you’ll have to think up a few bullshit interview questions on the fly. With luck, he’s as interesting as he looks. 

He crosses through the crowd, as if liquid and invisible, his command of the space impressive and making you feel for the first time tonight trapped. 

“You must be Councillor Medarda’s little reporter,” his heavily accented voice says, no proper greeting as you place your camera down on the table. The accent sounds familiar, you’ve definitely heard it before.

“Guilty,” you shrug, “So you’ve heard of me?”

“Eh, more like I was warned about you.”

That surprises you. Warned him? What would anyone need to be warned for about you? Sure, you can be a bit crass, drink a little too much, laugh a little too loud, get up to more gossip than appropriate. But none of that is really a problem on the level that any of these people should worry about. They’re scientists and politicians, people who genuinely deal with dangerous, taboo, and unknown matters. 

“Worried I’ll dig up some scoop on you, Mister…?” you trail off, hoping he’ll give you a name. 

“There’s not much to find, but my partner Jayce said you have potential to be vicious.”

You could ask him what he meant, but your eyes widen in shock. You’re so stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid.

“You’re Viktor!” you exclaim, and curse under your breath. He’s one of the guests of honor here. He and Mel’s not-boyfriend have just started some new breakthrough project. Of course, you should have known this was Viktor. Jayce had said ‘you’ll know him when you see him’ and he was right. He told you the man was quiet and aloof and not interested in impressing anyone. Jayce never told you he was so attractive, though. 

He nods, and plucks one of the cubes of cheese off of your plate as he leans himself against the table. 

“I’m supposed to ask you a few questions,” you tell him, but all of the questions you had come up with vanish from your mind now that his eyes are trained on you.

“I will answer one if you go over and ask that man for a refill of our drinks,” he says, which buys you time to think and space from him so that maybe you can think about anything other than his beautiful cheekbones and terrifyingly sharp eyes. You nod, smiling as you take a look at his cup, and he drinks a negroni. A man after your own heart, and maybe you’re fucked. You walk over to the nearest bartender, a worker just like you, with an apologetic smile. Mel always insists you enjoy, so why not actually enjoy? You ask him kindly for two negronis, pressing a few coins into his hand that from his reaction tells you has been his first tip of the night. 

What to ask Viktor, what to ask? You walk back over to him, feeling less stable on your heels not from the drink but from nerves. Viktor has, in the maybe three sentences he’s spoken, managed to knock you completely off kilter. You know you’re supposed to ask the details of the new project, of how it feels to work with the funding of the council, of the controversy surrounding their ideas, but it feels wrong. 

Viktor smiles when you return with the cups; he doesn’t smirk or scrunch his nose like you’ve noticed he does. He smiles with a lopsided and close lipped grin as you pass the cup to him. 

“Cheers,” you both mutter, clinking the rims before thunking your drinks down on the table and once again lifting them to press them to your lips. 

You sigh as you finish your sip, letting your cup rest gently on the little napkin on the table and you notice in your absence Viktor has stolen three more pieces of cheese. You’ll make sure he owes you them later, sometime. 

“So how does a breakthrough make you feel?”

Viktor seems taken aback by this question, as if he expected anything but this. It doesn’t feel out of the realm of the possibility, just not the boring normal sort of interview question. It’s vague and centered on him, not specifically the project. Maybe not what the press will want to hear, but interesting. You pull the recorder out of your little bag carefully, placing it on the table between the two of you as an unspoken ask of consent. He thinks for a moment, and then nods at you. You press the button. 

“It…. It feels like seeing an ancient God, maybe but also learning that a God exists. Euphoria and understanding meeting. Does that make sense? There’s something weird and otherworldly about uncovering something previously unknown.”

You nod, and stop the recording again. 

“That was my one, right? But can I ask for more off the record?”

“Thank you, for stopping,” he tells you, and takes a very long sip of his drink, “I will continue to entertain you because you did not ask a stupid question.”

“Thanks, Viktor,” you say, relaxing the reporter act, “Your accent though?”

You narrow your eyes, sip your drink, and watch his body language. He stays still, like a statue. 

“Are you from…?” you don’t dare say the word Zaun in this room, knowing better, “I’ve heard your accent before, I mean… I’m from.”

Again, you don’t say it, but Viktor understands what you’re trying to say.

“Are you?” he asks, “A long way from home, yes?”

You laugh, a sigh of relief. You nod and clink your glass against his again. He picks it back up and drinks again, this time feeling conspiratorial in nature. Two Zaunites in the room of Piltover’s elite. Interlopers willingly invited, beggars to the feast in the bourgeoisie midst and they might not even know it. 

“Too far, sometimes,” you admit, “But this is refreshing.”

“Yes, it is,” Viktor concedes, and silence fills the space between you. Comfortable silence, ease permeating the little bubble you’ve created for yourselves. Every once in a while you pick your camera up, taking photos of the councillors and well dressed patrons. The hours pass more quickly than they do on a usual job, with mostly silence between refilling drinks and snacks and the interludes of Viktor supplying you with a little snippet of gossip or some sharp witted insult about someone he doesn’t like. He’s such easy company, easy to talk to and easy to look at.

“That one,” Viktor tells you, pointing at Jayce Talis dressed similarly to himself, “My partner. Get his picture too.”

You point the lens where he tells you, and you snap a total of three pictures where Jayce is the focal point; a gap toothed smile and bright eyes command composition. You swivel around the room again to take a few more pictures before you decide that perhaps you have a photo of at least everyone for any editorial or photo gallery of the event your publishers would want. Before you put your camera down though, you turn it back towards Viktor. The angle and closeness will be awkward, not one that you can use for your story. You click the shutter as he grimaces.

“Must you commit me to film?”

“Well I’ve never seen you at one of these before, what if I never see you again? I need something to remember you by.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow as he takes in your words. He doesn’t respond immediately, as if he’s running some kind of calculation your voice had written.

“Do you… want to see me again?”

You bite your lip harshly, lest you shout your yes and embarrass the both of you. You taste copper.

“A little off-record meeting would be…nice.”

Viktor scoffs, and finishes his drink.

“Please, drop the professionalism,” he tells you, and it’s your turn to scoff, “I am a busy man, I would like it if you were upfront with your seduction attempt.”

“S- Seduction attempt?” you stutter before you regain yourself, leaning in closer to him as you realize he is messing with you, “is it working?”

“And if I say yes?”

Ego swells within you, and before you can think about bad ideas or prying eyes, you lean a little further until your lips brush his earlobe.

“Then yes. I’d like to see you again.”

[yuripira4e]

Rather than devotion, I would argue It’s a matter of how much they take their relationship for granted. To me, because Spock was not often forced into random relationships with little emotional pull for the fans but he would act as if was his true love (cough Kirk), and just his general personality Spock is always shown as the “straight man” of the duo and this diligent, straight laced “Vulcan” way he is makes it that much more interesting when he will unadhere to any morals or beliefs for Kirk and no one else. Really our only example of someone he should be willing to do that for was T’Pring who he straight up doesn’t know and dislikes in regular canon. He’s consistent in his small acts of love and it adds up so wholly and fully and it is truly peak devotion. He would never disregard how meaningful their relationship is because he understands the weight of his actions and giving up his strict set of morals and makes his decisions to solemnly. But Kirk wouldn’t either. If anyone asked Spock is undoubtedly his best friend, his right hand, and the person he cares the most for. He shows this constantly with his actions (if we’re talking devotion let’s talk blowing up his entire ship, risking his career and life, and his just unrivaled desperation to get Spock back and make him remember him). However he’s also this charismatic, intelligent but impulsive, and not generally law abiding character. He’s forced into relationships constantly that the writers couldn’t write with the formula “he chooses Spock over them” because that would have been really too gay for that time period. Yet it didn’t stop him from doing it anyways. His wants and beliefs change so much and he loves so freely everything and everyone around him that it’s harder to see his devotion for Spock when it’s not so pronounced as “he would do this thing only for him” (minus the whole giving up his entire life for him snd never leaving when things got difficult part thing) but it’s also what Spock loves about him. Kirk wouldn’t be Kirk if he wasn’t willing to do whatever to save everyone he could and didn’t fall in love with the universe around him in ways Spock was always still learning to do and appreciate. Kirk takes his unfiltered love for everything around him for granted sometimes and the relationships it’s earned him. For main example, Spock. Kirk does choose women or adventure or whatever over Spock sometimes, never maliciously or even really genuinely because he always does choose Spock in the end, but the second he looses any connection or respect from Spock he’s right back where he belongs and wants to be. He takes their bond for granted sometimes because he truly acts like he couldn’t imagine it ever withering and no matter how down bad he is for the new woman he barely knows, he knows it couldn’t hold a candle and he doesn’t expect it to. (More angsty if you believe he just hadn’t really realized his own feelings and always thought of Spock’s love as a baseline for all his needs and his romantic pursuits as what he was supposed to add onto his life). He shows his love in big actions, with the same small ones as Spock littered through out. He thinks about him all the time and would disregard that love for life just for his love for him. His thought processes in some of the novels are crazy he’s truly never not thinking about Spock or if he isn’t he never questions their relationship or if he’d ever need to choose someone over Spock. Because simply put, he wouldn’t and everyone knows that. Neither are more devoted, they’re equally insane about each other. Anything Spock would do for Kirk, he would do 10x over in every universe, but their priorities and thought processes are different.

Don't get me started on how Spock is so much more devoted to their relationship than Kirk is.

[sweetenerly]

Have you ever smelt a dead body?

Because burying a body in the desert whilst being told someone you care about is probably gonna be killed is very romantic and very triple takey like look hey Will here’s a rotting corpse who’s probably reached rigor mortis stage and stinks but it’s okay because we caught eyes and that’s romantic nevermind the stench of the body that’s releasing chemicals and all that other shit that happens when the body dies

What are you an about, let’s be fr this is not the first time they had seen a dead body and Mike has witnessed much worse, the only person freaking out about it was Argyle, who has never seen the ud or the monsters. And wdym rotting corpse that man had been dead for like 30 minutes, rigor mortis probably hadn’t even hit yet and that was not even the main focus of that scene.

I Also hope you agree with me when i use your logic and say that this scene couldn’t have been a cute milkvan moment either, because there are tens of dead bodies laying around them.

These kids have become indifferent to the sight of gore, whether you think that’s realistic or not that’s how the universe of stranger things works, and that’s why they’re able to have these moments even in the most tragic settings.

And honestly even if it was caused by what you’re talking about, there is always hidden subtext that they want us to look for.

Will staring longingly at Mike in that same scene was there to hint at his later confirmed romantic feelings for him, so it only makes sense that Mike mirroring that look was there to indicate something, otherwise they would’ve directed Finn to look more grossed out and terrified, not like him and Will are having a stare-off at a yearning competition.

[ender-cloud]

Hyde and Lanyon are so silly guys i love them so much

Tgs spoilers under cut

Wooo another “sick” day with a TGS update this is my medicine

These two are so perfect for each other oh my god(im also a sucker for relationships where they make fun of each other sooo)

Lanyon knew that if he taunted Hyde he would be able to reach him and convince him because of how Hydes mind and Reputation works.

He has always said he’s the spirit of london at night, at the end of chapter 3 he claims that because he’s the spirit of London at night he has nothing to fear, Lanyon was playing those words so Hyde confidence back.

Lanyon and Hyde’s personalities are able to bounce off of each other which is what Hyde used to Piss Lanyon off initially, but now it’s used to help each other in this trying time.

But just because Lanyon is teasing him he isnt not caring, he’s just making a bad time a little lighter. “I’ll be right here when you get back” He cares so much for Hyde and Jekyll and he wants them both back and safe because he loves both sides, now he realizes that. He doesn’t want to chose one or the other, he might’ve felt in love with Hydes side first but he cares for both.

Even if Lanyon seems to care more about Hyde in this chapter it’s because Hyde is the part he’s talking to and it’s because he’s finding out all of this new information. He cares for both but when put with it he has one mind set currently which is making sure they’re ok.

At first, i was shocked that Hyde could just go into the mind scape but after thinking about it, it makes sense.

In a way this is what Jekyll did, or what Hyde and Jekyll do when they force the other to swap with them, but the reason why Hyde just went into it this time is because there was no one to swap with (supposedly)

Hyde isn’t positive if Jekyll has gone down the stair case but if him and Jekyll are as similar as he thinks then he did, we saw of course Jekyll floating down so we know but Hyde doesn’t.

He is relying in his own intuition and what he would do to get into the mind of Jekyll. He knows that Jekyll is more like him than Jekyll wants to think, the potion didn’t separate them in many ways.

Living in eachothers minds meant that at some point they shared thoughts, like how they both have a reputation they want to keep up.

Hyde is using his knowledge of how similar they are to scope out where he may be and he is going to use it in an attempt to save Jekyll as well.