#At least until they run into Mystery Link

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Zelda:

Gan:

Gan: Ok but they said there are three people in this town named Link. How do you know one, or any of them, is the Hero?

Zelda: *intense observation of a pot* If the legends are true…

Kid: *runs by and knocks over pot as he passes*

Zelda: THAT’S IT THAT’S HIM

[taintedcigs]

i slept with someone from corroded coffin and all i got was this stupid song written about me.

ROCKSTAR!FBOY!EDDIE X READER

summary: fooling around with a famous rockstar who's a notorious playboy sounds perfect on paper, until you catch feelings for him. that's why you decide to end things, to not get your feelings get hurt, and its all going perfectly, until eddie releases a song, written all about you.

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising?, lovey dovey, kinda angst and arguments, drgs & alcohol mention, swearing? idk this is kinda cheesy n cute with a mix of fluff sprinkled honestly!

author's note: the indented parts are texts between steve and reader and thenn reader and eddie. they look confusing as fuck im sorry i just wanted to make them look unique but they look stupid. also yes. i patted myself in the back after i found this title (thank you fob). and yes the lyrics are inspired by i don't care im on a fob kick sue me! and ofc fboy!eddie isn't actually that much of a fboy bc if i can't write lovesick eddie ill die. this is super cheesy so i still struggled a lot but UGH. not proof-read ignore all mistakes

also credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts! (i changed them but still!) and @saradika for the dividers! pls like + rb + interact w me in anyway to support my writings!! ty!!

DINGUS sent you a spotify link. did you listen to this? yeah. its kinda romantic. no. the lyrics are insane. n all about u okay? are u at the party rn? yeah. u comin? soon he’s there too u already knew that, didn’t u?  false accusations r rude, steve.

You click your phone off with a groan, but he was right. You couldn’t stay away from him, and maybe, just maybe, this was your way of running into him, accidentally. 

Because ever since he released the song, the tabloids had gone crazy with it, half of the lyrics screamed you and all of the old headlines pointed at you, the mystery girl Eddie used to be seen with, and you really were growing tired of seeing your name next to “Munson’s new girl.” 

Because you weren’t his new girl, you weren’t his anything. He was a cocky asshole who was good with a guitar and was even better at fucking. And that was something both of you could relate to, the only thing you had in common with him. Or, so you thought. 

But of course, as with everything else, the things between you changed, you started staying over, he started staying over, and the two of you even went on fucking dates, disguising them under ‘we were just hungry, is all.’ 

You tried to keep up the cool girl act, like you could fuck someone and not catch feelings. Every inch of you itched not to care, to act like it was all fine, but it was all fucking bullshit, you cared, so fucking much that your chest ached. The more you got to know him, the more you fell for him, and the more you fell for him, the more you realized there was no fucking way this would work. 

Cocky rockstar who spent more time doing drugs than sleeping, with girls all over him? The imaginary red flag bells rang in your ear, even now. He wasn’t looking for a relationship and you knew that. That’s why you ended it two months ago. Or at least, you started ignoring him two months ago. 

Yet, he had been calling and texting you, wanting to meet up, drunken slurs of nonsense, gibberish voicemails, and yet you never answered, because if you did, you knew you’d be back to pathetically swooning over him.

Until today, just because of that stupid song, like it meant anything. That douchebag probably wrote songs about every girl he fucked. 

You weren’t special. 

Another ding sound from your phone almost startled you, the contact name made you groan even louder. “don’t FUCKING answer.” That didn’t mean shit. It was just something stupid to make you feel better that you couldn’t stay away from him, because you knew, deep down that if you really didn’t want him to contact you, you would’ve deleted his number, and blocked him. You were too chicken shit to do that, and still desperately wanted to hear from him. 

So you settled on that contact name. Like it made a difference, like it changed anything. 

DONT FUCKING ANSWER did you listen to the song?

Don’t fucking answer. The contact name should be enough to convince yourself that.

Too late.

                                                                   no. don’t lie to me, sweetheart.                                                                            why would i lie?

You sink into the couch, a much quieter corner of the party, not even bothering to socialize. Your brows furrow, index finger flying to your lips anxiously, as you chew on it to patiently wait for an answer.

You sip on your drink with a nervous gaze on your screen, barely noticing the way the couch sink further when someone else took a seat next to you. 

“Hi.” The gravelly voice pulls your attention away from the screen, making you set your drink aside as you look up, finding yourself face-to-face with him. 

Shaggy bangs cascade onto his forehead, and with your exaggeration, it looks longer than the last time you saw him. Black jeans cladded with chains. A graphic tee messily thrown over his heavily tatted chest, that you could still imagine right about now—pathetic. He looked just about the same, the deep dimple adorning his soft cheeks had seemed to disappear, wearing a scowl instead, that tiny voice in your head told you that was your doing, that maybe he was just as miserable as you. Maybe your feelings weren’t fully one-sided.  

Shit. 

“Eddie?” Squeaky, and annoying, you were sure that’s how your tone sounded, yet he didn’t seem to comment on it.

“‘m glad you remember my name, sweetheart,” he scoffs sarcastically, leaning further into the plush couch, elbow propped at the side, eyeing you with frustration. 

“W—what the hell are you doing here?” You stutter as if you weren’t expecting to run into him. Full of bullshit. 

“Did ya really think you could ignore me forever, huh?” He tilts his head slightly, almost expectedly, earning an eye roll from you. 

“I wasn’t ignoring yo—”

Eddie tuts quickly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cuts through the ambient noise of the party, “I thought we said no more lies, huh?” 

With a huff, “Why are you here, Eddie?” you mumble.

“Am I not allowed to party?” He banters, brows slightly raised, making you huff out an exasperated breath, your eyes bore into him, almost to signal him ‘Take this seriously.’

“I wanted to know what you thought.” He shrugs like it was normal to just come running after everything just to know what you thought of the song. 

“The song?” He nods in confirmation.

“Didn’t like it,” you confess, avoiding his gaze, but your brows betray you, lifting ever so slightly.

He tsks, shutting you off quickly, “You see that little quirk your brow did? That only happens when you lie, you can’t help it. You do that when I ask you if you ate the last pizza slice, or when I ask if you watched the next episode of the show we were supposed to watch together, or when you—” 

“Fine, fine! I liked it,” you groan, interrupting him and suddenly standing up from the comfort of the couch, being so face-to-face with him immediately making your nerves bubble.

“Just liked?” He tilts his head slightly, a smirk curving on his lips. 

A deep sigh of breath, “what do you want, Munson?”

He stands up with you, making you back away from him with a heavy footstep, the entire party was too loud and crowded, yet, in this stupid corner, it was just the two of you. “For you to admit that you loooved the song, and how much you missed me,” he sing-songs, taking a step closer to you, musky smell invading your senses, making you take a deep breath.

Both of you stand near the wall, and it should be awkward, it should be enough to make you leave, but all it does is draw you closer to him.

“You’re annoying.” 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t avoiding—” He tuts, with his stupid index finger up, rejecting your lie.

“I—I don’t know what you expected.” You shrug, so nonchalantly that his gaze narrows, chest aching with the implications of your words.

“We both knew this wouldn’t last forever, didn’t we?” You chew the inside of your lip to stop those tears that had been begging to flow ever since you listened to the song, wiping off that smirk on Eddie’s lips. 

“Would’ve been nice if I got a reminder, and not have been just fully ghosted, huh?” The brunette grumbles with a downturn of his lips, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, isn’t that what you do all the fucking time?” you snap, gaze narrowed, and arms crossed against your chest. 

“Fuck girls and then leave them? Did it crush your ego this fucking much that I did before you could?” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” He retaliates. 

“It means I was smart enough to pull myself away from your bullshit,” you rasp, disdain written all over your face.The room seems to shrink as the distance between you decreases. 

Another step closer to you, and you didn’t realize your back had hit the wall now. “My bullshit? God, that’s fucking rich, if I seem to recall correctly sweetheart, you were in this as much as I fucking was!”

“Oh, was I?” You bark out a chuckle, cruel, mocking, “I don’t remember being okay with you fucking half the city.” Realization of how bitter and jealous that sounds, dawns on you much later than the words leave your lips, and thankfully, Eddie’s too fucking immersed to realize the double meaning of your words. 

“Are you fucking kidding? No strings attached! Non-exclusive! That’s what you fuckin’ signed up for!” His voice echoes, mirroring his frustration, and you open your mouth.

But he doesn’t let you speak further, cutting you off sharply. “Is this all because of that new guy you’re seein’?” 

“What? What guy?” 

“The one who was all over you earlier,” he bites out, jaw clenched, and you can almost taste his bitterness in the air.  

“The same one you fucked at Jeff’s party.”

“Are you stalking me, Munson?” 

“Did you just want an excuse to end things? Are the two of you serious or somethin’?” His voice wavered between anger and desperation, gaze pathetically searching for yours, to gauge your reaction.

You scoff. Did he really think you’d end things because of a stupid fling you had which in the first place occurred just so you could forget him? He was so goddamn clueless it drove you insane. 

But what you didn’t realize was that you were just as clueless, if not more, because why would he write a song all about you, if this was just about sex? Because who would get so jealous of someone they didn’t care about? 

Say my name and his in the same breath.

I dare you to say they taste the same. 

The lyrics from his stupid song swirled your thoughts, yet you were still too stupid to see it, weren’t you?

Another step closer to you, a dangerous game the two of you liked to play. He smelled alluring, a fucked up mix of nicotine, his musky cologne, and that damn leather jacket. “Do you really think, he could compare to me, sweetheart?” 

Say my name and his in the same breath.

“Tell me he’s fucking better, and he’s actually what you want, and I’ll fucking leave, I’ll bury all the other songs I wrote, tell me, and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

I dare you to say they taste the same. 

And just like that, all the defenses you put up, all the times you ignored him, they are cracked, disappearing into thin air. You hate it, you hate that he has this effect on you, you can feel your mind getting hazier, eyes blinking rapidly to process what the fuck is going on, and his face is mere inches away from yours. You knew their names didn’t taste the same. And you knew he could never ever compare to Eddie.

“Tell me,” he encourages, dares you to. You fail to notice how much emotion his gaze carries, how the corners of his lips twitch, just at the thought of you finally admitting you don’t want him. His stomach turns at the thought, this is his last chance, he knows that, and he can’t fucking lose you. He can’t. 

And you don’t know any of that, but you knew, know that no one else could compare to him. And you hate yourself for thinking that, you hate yourself for falling for him, the world stops rotating on its axis when he’s in your peripheral vision, and it’s fucking disgusting. Pathetic. Stupid. Because you know the two of you have no chance. But here you are. 

“H—he is b—” Of course, your brow quirks up almost immediately, betraying you quicker than you can even attempt to lie. 

That dawning smirk appears on his lips again, it’s mocking, and just as much smug. You want to wipe it off of his stupidly pretty face. “Tell me,” he dares you, again. This time much cockier and confident, and you suddenly realize how small you feel under him.

“He isn’t,” your meek voice is barely audible.

And you don’t register the shaky breath he draws when the words leave your lips, giving him the confirmation he needs. You wanted him, he had no fucking clue why you ghosted him, yet you still wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you. 

Both of his hands were placed on the wall now, towering over you, making your breath get caught up in your throat. “Speak up.”

“No, fuck! You know he���s not, you know he could never fucking compare to you, you fucking know tha—” He shuts you up with a rough kiss, lips pressed against yours messily, letting the petty comments die down your throat. Because this is all he wanted, needed to hear anyway. 

“Up,” he grunts into the kiss, tapping your thighs, hoisting you up from your waist to help you wrap your legs around him, tight, he wants you at his mercy, locked to him. 

You wrap your legs around him, barely, the melty sensation in your knees making you so shaky that he barks out a laugh into your lips, holding you close, firm, the butterflies in your stomach traveling all across your body.

He lifts you up as if you are weightless, arms wrapped around you strongly as he carries you to the nearest empty bedroom, impressively without hitting your back anywhere, so roughly that your core throbs at the feeling of his arms around you.

“Baby,” he mutters as he lowers you down on the bed swiftly, smooth, gaze darkened and pupils blown wide, all the pent up desire waiting to explode. 

“Eddie,” you beg, shaky voice sounding purely angelic to his ears once he got rid of his shirt, shrugging it off with a huff, his fingertips grazing against your top, feeling your hardened nipples, causing gasps out of you, he’s quick to pull it over your head while you run your fingers up the grooves of his stomach, the tip of your fingertips almost burns everywhere you touch. 

He groans at the sight of your bare breasts, “missed thi-you,” he corrects himself, because that’s all he wanted anyways, you. 

He nips at your nipples, tongue good at giving attention to both of them, all wet and warm, making you squirm under his touch, you’re quick to get rid of everything else, leaving you in your panties, making him grunt. 

The pad of his thumb rubs against your left nipple, leaving goosebumps in its wake, while his other hand travels down your chest, then your stomach, finally drawing circles when it stops between your thighs, ghosting over your panties before he tugs them down your legs, spreading them apart with a slight hum, pupils blown so wide that you can’t admire those chocolate hues anymore. 

He visually drinks in that sight of you, laid down on the couch, eyes squeezed shut, back arched, and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You’re completely at his mercy and his chest aches with need. “So pretty like this f’me,” he coos into your chest, pushing his middle finger inside of you. Making you feel so good that you can’t stop the gasps coming out of your lips.   

Pleasure shivers through everywhere he sucks and touches, his finger eases into you when he adds another one, a moan escaping you quickly. “Need to be in here, sweetheart, d’ya have any idea how much I missed this?” 

You don’t. You don’t know about the sleepless nights, the drunken ones, the drug-induced ones in an attempt to recreate the high you gave him. It’s fucked up, it’s insanely toxic. Yet, he can’t get enough of you. 

His gaze upon you is dangerous, maybe it’s because he had missed you so goddamn much, or maybe because he didn’t know where this would lead, but it felt fucking sentimental, different somehow, and he could feel you, everywhere on his skin.

Your hips start rocking up against him when the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit, making you arch your back, whines, mumbles leaving your lips. And all he can muster is, “so goddamn beautiful, look at you whining for me.”

You can feel his bulge rub against your thigh every now and then, it’s distracting, almost agonizing. You desperately need it inside of you, you had missed him, missed his touch, missed the feeling of him filling you to the brim, you missed seeing his face contort in pleasure when he was inside of you, you wanted him to never forget you again. 

That’s why you feel so numb, can barely speak, and of course, Eddie notices, how unusually quiet you are, and he wants to make this unforgettable, just so you have another reason to come back to him. Just so you don’t leave him, just so you stay forever. 

“Gone too quiet on me, honey, tell me what you need,” he coos down at you, thumb still caressing your pussy, and all you can fucking do is chew down on your bottom lips, eyeing his bulge that was begging to get out. And he barks out a goddamn chuckle, “P—please, Eddie.” Pathetically leaves your lips. 

And normally he would make you beg, tease further, but he reaches to tug down his pants quickly, because fuck, he had missed you. And he can’t bear the thought of not being inside of you any longer. 

Thinking is not your strongest suit right now either, your brain is mushy, all the nights and days spent thinking about him, about this explodes into your body. Your pussy aches when you finally see his cock again, a sound of need leaving your lips as you eye his length, so big that pleasure ripples through you, especially when you see his gushy tip, glistening with pre-cum. 

You want every fucking inch inside of you, and Eddie’s more than ready to oblige, “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

“Need you, Eddie,” you moan, all fucked out, his fingers slip in and out of you still, but it isn’t enough for him. He needs more, he craves your validation like he never has before. 

“God, you’re soakin’ my fingers, princess,” he grunts, wedging himself between your thighs, weeping cock drips onto your inner thighs, making you moan breathlessly. “Tell me exactly what you fuckin’ want, honey.”

“Eddie.” His name sounds like silk, even when it’s so lewd, Eddie decides, and it makes him let out an impatient huff. “P—please. Need you to fuck me.” It’s so goddamn desperate that you can feel heat rise to your cheeks, but it’s everything to him.

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh, that’s easy, sweetheart,” he grunts, lining his cock through your entrance, coating himself in your slick, enjoying your mewls before he doesn’t hesitate to push his cock inside of you, inch by inch, relishing the way you cry out for him. 

Greedily, you rock your hips into him, making him let out a frustrated groan. “Have no fuckin’ idea how much I missed this greedy cunt, sweetheart, shit.” He thrusts in a few more inches, and breathless moans and babbles of his name fill the air.

“Suckin’ me right in, baby, fuck, you’re so pretty like this, mhmm.” His cock moves inside of you, and your hands are wrapped around his back, desperately clawing at it, the fullness making you want more, “you like that, baby, like bein’ full of me?” A heavy sound leaves his lips, pathetic and you pulse around him. 

“S’so good Eddie, and s’big,” you barely manage to let out, and he watches you with that burning amber gaze, thrusting all the way in without hesitation. Those plushy lips that hang open, that filthy mouth, the prettiest fucking features—you, were going to be the death of him. 

Maybe it’s because you had missed him, or maybe because you hadn’t experienced this in a long time, or fuck, maybe, just maybe that the song had created a new type of need between the two of you. Using sex as a sort of connection that the both of you desperately needed. But, shit, was it this different this time. 

He felt different—his lips, touch, skin as it slapped against yours, it was different. 

Full. You feel so fucking full that your back involuntarily arches against him, fingers clenching desperately, your screams and cries filling the room the more he plunges inside of you, deeper, hungry, and just as greedy as you. 

“Yeah, better than that asshole?” It rolls off his lips so bitter and jealous that you can barely register it. Not being used to this possessive side of him, and it’s glorious, especially when he’s pounding his frustrations and insecurities into you. 

“Mhmm, so much better.” You clawed at his back, every thrust of his hip making you feel higher and higher, mind filled with nothing but him. 

“So pretty like this when you say my name, sweetheart… so goddamn beautiful, and all mine, yea?” He wants a confirmation, and wants to hear you say it, his head ducking between your breasts again to kiss, taste, suckle them. Make sure he never forgets it. 

“Wanna hear you say it.” He hums, the vibrations reverberating through your chest straight into your core, cock plowed so deep inside of you that you can barely speak through your cries, hitting that sweet spot that every other asshole misses. 

You’re too scared to give him what he wants. But you feel him, everywhere, and you still want more, of course, you’re his. That’s all you fucking wanted anyway. Plushy lips shake as you gaze up at him, his amber hues are so sticky-sweet that you still struggle to process it, words come out in a ramble “All yours, Eddie.”

His mouth crashes onto yours roughly, desire coursing through both of your bodies, almost interconnected. “Shit, fuckin’ hell sweetheart, ‘m not gonna last long.” His thrusts are getting sloppier, yet you feel the ravaging desire coursing through your veins. 

“So perfect,” he murmurs, the kiss he lays on your lips just as relentless, not letting you breathe or think for a goddamn second, you’re so goddamn close.

And you wonder, how the fuck did you even go two months without this? Without him?

“Eddie!” You cry out once you feel the pad of his thumb rubbing against your clit, eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm washes over you. Pure bliss overtakes you while you claw at his back, his body tenses, and cock flexes as he cums inside of you, groans and curses left in your hair. 

Minutes pass of you lying next to each other, breathless, processing everything that just transpired. And you should feel guilty, embarrassed, and should run to the hills for doing this with him again. 

But you’re obsessed, addicted. He’s like an excitement that you’re sure you’ve never felt before, running through your veins, like a fucking drug. 

Both of you get dressed in silence, the party booming outside is quick to bring the two of you back to reality, and out of the trance that he pulled you in. 

He breaks your bewilderment with a slight “Fuck.” Standing on the opposite side of the bed before he fully turns to you. “This wasn’t—I was supposed to talk to you.” He mutters, fingertips anxiously running through his tousled hair.

Caught off guard and awfully curious, you mumble, “About what?”

“The song…”

“I told you I liked it.”

His brow furrows deeper, and he shakes his head in frustration. “No, that’s not it—uh, did you not listen to the lyrics?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Your face searches his for some clarity, you take a step closer to him, the distance between the two of you was still awfully much according to him. “What are you asking of me, Eddie? Did you really think one song would just solve everything?”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“W—what am I supposed to get Eddie? You wanna have your cake and eat it too! And I just can’t fucking do that, not anymore.”

“That’s—that’s not it!” His voice wavers, with urgency, and desperation in his tone. He takes a step forward, attempting to bridge the emotional gap, feeling so fucking frustrated that he wants to rip his hair out.

“Then fucking explain it to me!” You plead. 

“You want an explanation, fine! Fucking fine!” His frustration echoed through the room, pacing back and forth, making you take a deep breath. 

Was he… actually gonna do this? 

“You wanna know what the fuck I’ve been doing ever since you ghosted me?” He ran a hand through his hair, scared, gaze all mellow and vulnerable in a way you have never seen before. It makes your shoulders slump when you nod. 

“I go to those stupid Hollywood parties, meet asshole rockstars—the most interesting shit, yet somehow someway the thought of you will pop up in my mind, uncalled for, might I add, and then I can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop thinking about you the whole fucking day.” Your eyes widen, trying to absorb his revelation, yet he won’t stop rambling and you feel your chest tighten with each word, fuck, he’s finally doing it.

“I—I never—shit! I never thought myself capable of feeling things like this, but fuck, you came along, with that goddamn smile, throwing a manicured middle finger right in my face, a—and just put up with my bullshit.” His voice softened, and he couldn’t help but trace the contours of your face, to desperately know if you were on the same boat, and you look at him with such glistened eyes that his heart leaps to his stomach. 

“My world flipped upside down, and you have proven me, so goddamn wrong that I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore!” The tears almost welled in your eyes, because, fuck, there was no way this was real.  

You reached out instinctively, the corner of your mouth twitching uncontrollably. “E—Eddie, please… please stop saying things you don’t fucking mean.” 

“Things I don’t mean?” He gives you a breathy chuckle, ironic, and nowhere near funny. His eyes bore into yours, intense and searching. “Do you think I like feeling whatever the hell this is? I fucking don’t, you have me acting like someone I’m so unfamiliar with, to the point where it scares me. All I can think about is you, you, you, because you occupy every single space of my mind.” Your eyes soften, the room seemingly pulsing with his emotions, making you feel hot everywhere on your body. 

He felt the same way.

Eddie felt the same way. 

“B—but fuck I’m scared, honey, I’m so goddamn scared,” He admits, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension before he’s at your side, calloused hands grabbing you by the shoulder, so softly that you melt into him.

“Because what if—what if all of this comes crashing down one day?” His voice trembles, gaze avoiding yours, he was scared, so goddamn scared of losing you. Forever. He doesn’t want that, he couldn’t afford that. 

“Just two months away from you fucking sucked. I didn’t—I don’t wanna feel these things, but you make it so hard not to.”  His forehead rests against yours, making you suck in a deep breath, it’s all so fucking sentimental, and all you wanna do this kiss him, tell him you feel the exact same way. Tell him about your fears. 

“And now I can’t fucking stop, fuck,” He confesses, admission punctuated by a frustrated sigh. 

“I wrote you a song,” he gently caresses your cheek, and you’re so scared to look up at him, to meet his tender gaze, because you know you can’t hold yourself back. 

“I came over to this party in a frenzy when I found out you’d be here,” he continued, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern along your jawline. “I—I just I haven’t even been able to touch another girl.” Your eyes snap open, you’re sure they’re almost heart-shaped now, with the adoration you look at him.

“And, do you actually fucking think I'd write songs for just anyone—” His question lingers in the air before you shut him up with a kiss, rough, sweet, and making Eddie feel dizzy all over, his head struggles to comprehend it all, breathless but he manages to react just in time.

The booming music becoming a mere background noise when he had you, mind swirling with all the possibilities and mouth begging to never stop tasting you. He wants to let you completely engulf him, feel you everywhere.

Everything he wanted and more.

He fucking hates himself for doing this, but he pulls away, mesmerized, eyes so wide that you can’t believe this is Eddie, he’s all flustered, salmon pink. And it makes a wider grin sit on your lips. “So… you—uh, what does this mean?”

You smile at him, lips widely stretching into a grin, as you shrug. “It means I feel the same, Eddie.” you admit, tone a tender reassurance. “That’s why I tried to shut you out… to try to move on, because I was scared—fuck, but I feel the same way.”

“So, does that mean we're dating now?”

“We can take things slow, figure everything out?” you mutter with a shy gaze, lips itching to twitch into a smile, again. “But I—uh—I like you, I really, really like you.”

“Gone soft on me already, sweetheart?” he mumbles with a stupid grin, making you elbow him softly, with an exaggerated playful huff. 

He’s quick to flinch, rubbing his arm as if you even delivered a powerful blow. “Ow—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You think I’m going soft? You’re the one who wrote his feelings as an exaggerated love song!” 

He leans further slightly, his grin widening when you gave him those adorable eyes, finding you both equally amusing and endearing. “Oh… just you wait.”

You arched a brow, curiosity piqued, “What the hell does that mean?”

“The album is coming out soon, sweetheart. If you think this was an exaggeration, you should hear the whole fucking thing.”

That glint re-appears in your eyes just as quickly, gaze softening as you melt into his embrace.

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.” You tease, scrunching your nose at him, so adorably that he leans down and presses a gentle kiss onto your hair.

He's an idiot, a total complete fucking idiot, but he's all yours.

[yoonia]

A Christmas Fix | kth (teaser)

⤑ Summary | One-night stands are supposed to be nothing more than just. It shouldn’t have involved seeing those two red lines looking back at you weeks later without a name or a contact number linking you back to your mystery man. Nothing more but his face. The unforgettable face that would sometimes appear in your dreams at night. So unforgettable that you immediately recognise him the moment he walks into your family home at Christmas, hand-in-hand with your older stepsister.

⤑ Title | A Christmas Fix

⤑ Pairings | Taehyung x female reader

⤑ Ratings & Genre | +18 / M for Mature; Secret Baby!au, Second Chance!au, Strangers to Lovers!au

⤑ Word count | estimated: 30k 45k 50k words; teaser: 1,403 words | writing progress per Jan 31st, 2024: posted!

Part of the Jingle All the Way collaboration

Beautiful banner by @kithtaehyung

“Seriously, baby,” you whisper to the non-existent bump under your sweater, “Please take it easy, will you? I’m really struggling here, and you’re not making things easy for me. Trust me, it would be too soon for everyone to find out about you. At least wait until we can find a clue about your Dad, okay?” 

As if the baby inside you is listening, even if it is still barely a fetus at this point, your body grows calmer and the nausea slowly wanes. 

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper to your stomach once again before finally focusing on the stove and the oven, deliberately taking your time with what you do just so you can have a reason not to join the dramatic reunion happening right this minute. 

From this side of the kitchen, the front door isn’t completely visible. But you can hear everything as the door opens and your stepfather joyfully welcomes his daughter. 

Hearing his voice makes you smile. You may have had a tumultuous relationship with your stepsister, but the same cannot be said with your stepfather. Cliff has always been a great role model, and your relationship with him has always been great from the start. 

It makes you feel guilty when you think about the previous encounters where you and your stepsister simply gave each other cold shoulders or when you were met with altercations just because of how different the two of you are. But there is no helping it. Nothing has changed over the years no matter how hard you tried. Not even once you have become adults. 

You can’t even remember how it first started. And frankly, you no longer care. Last year’s incident was already enough to let you know that the sisterhood that your parents have been forcing you into was beyond saving. 

The voices coming from the front door continue for a moment longer. This time, you get to hear your mother’s voice joining in the conversation and Alia's soft voice answering her questions. You make no effort to listen to what they are saying and tune out their voices, until your mother’s voice calls out to you. 

“______, your sister is here. Come and say hi.” 

Your mother’s words make you stop. Slowly, you turn down the heat on the stove and turn to make your way towards the front door to join the family reunion. 

“It’s stepsister,” you mutter under your breath as you drag your feet, taking your sweet time while you try to compose yourself before having to face the unwanted guests. 

As you turn around the corner, merely moments before the front door finally comes into view, you get to hear another voice speaking. The voice that you couldn’t clearly hear from the kitchen while you were tuning their conversation out. 

“I’m sorry for intruding. But thank you for having me here.” 

That voice. 

You immediately come to a halt. An uneasy feeling runs through your body when you realise that you recognise this voice and have grown to know it quite well. 

There is no mistaking it. You may not have gotten his full name on the night you met, and his face has somewhat become a faint mirage in your dreams at night whenever you are taken back to the night of your hookup.

But you cannot say the same about his voice. 

That deep and gentle voice will always be engraved in your memory. Even now, the only thing you would need to do is close your eyes and listen, and allow the voice to take you back to that specific night once more, where he used this voice to say sinful words that you could feel caressing your fragile heart while he was bringing you to the peak of pleasure.

And now you are hearing that voice here, at your home, idly chatting with your mother by the front door. 

“_______, are you coming?” your mother calls again, and you know that there is no avoiding it. You have to face reality, even if that means you must come face to face with the man who is responsible for placing you in this situation.

Tamping down the rush of nerves going through your body, you slowly march ahead. Bracing yourself as you turn around the corner and enter the living room where everyone is currently gathering in.

Your eyes fall on your stepsister first. 

Alia has always looked so vibrant and beautiful, drawing all kinds of attention from everyone in the room when she is present. Yet when you look at her now, there seems to be a new kind of light emerging from her. Even her smile seems brighter as she chats along with your stepfather.  

And you soon realise the reason why she is shining brightly today as you turn your gaze to look at the person standing beside her. To finally see him. 

He looks just like how you remember him. Tall and lean, with his arms and chest filling up his sweater. He has his hair falling over a part of his face, just enough of a mess that seems as if he has been running his fingers through the wavy strands. As he converses with your mother, he shows his boxy grin that seems familiar to your eyes. 

Too familiar. 

Because it looks just the same as the wide grin that was teasing and flirting with you on one eventful night at the transit hotel weeks ago. 

No. That can’t be.

The baby’s daddy is here. The man who you were planning to look for once you return to the city. 

He is here, today, appearing at the front door of your parents’ home together with your stepsister. His long fingers that had once entangled between the strands of your hair are now entwined with your stepsister’s dainty fingers. And there is no mistaking the matching couple rings that are glowing under the sunlight coming from their entwined hands. 

Before you get the chance to process what is happening, you hear him introducing himself to your stepfather, “It’s good to see you, Sir. My name is Taehyung.” 

No. 

You stifle a gasp. It feels like you have been sucker-punched right in the chest that you can barely breathe. 

Taehyung, you wonder. Tae? 

All of a sudden, you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is spinning. And since you seem to have lost the ability to move your feet, the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling is to clench your hands tightly by your side. Tight enough to feel pain as your nails are sinking into your palms, convincing you that this is not a dream. 

Yet you are still in denial as you watch the interaction happening right before your eyes. Because there is no way this is happening. There is no possible way that it is truly him. 

Please. Please don’t let it be him. 

It must have been your mind playing tricks on you. Because there is no way that he is here. Not as your stepsister’s new boyfriend. 

This must be a mistake. Yes, you are probably confused and all the thoughts of finding your baby daddy are messing up with your head, forcing you to believe that your stepsister’s new boyfriend is your mysterious baby daddy. The fact that they have the same name must have been pure coincidence. 

For once in your life, you don’t want to be right. You have to be wrong. 

Please tell me that it’s not him. 

Just then, as if life was listening to your prayers, as if life has yet to have enough of its games to play around with your heart, the man turns his gaze away from your parents. And those pretty eyes land on you. 

As if there is a switch turned, the brightness in his gaze fades. His beautiful eyes are filled with recognition. It is so subtle that you are quite sure that nobody else around you notices it, but it is enough to let you know that your memories have been right all along. 

Because those are the same eyes that you saw looking back at you with pure lust and sin while he was bringing you wanton pleasure, when you made love as if both of you had been under a spell, right on the very night that may have changed your fate forever. 

Fuck. 

Me.

Coming soon (hopefully) this month! Join taglist here!

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus Ch. 2

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2.6k words

Notes: I made up a bunch of chemicals and their chemical properties up so shhhh!! Also, I'm not American, I have no contextual understanding of the distance of one place to another. The US is large enough.

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

“Anything new?” Rossi asked as he and Prentiss returned from the crime scene, making his way into the space the MPDC made for the BAU. Surveying the area as he does before stopping abruptly.

“Forensics are running tests on her stuff. She brought everything in. Apparently she didn’t know anything about the murders before we interrogated her.” Morgan shifts his weight from leaning against a desk to approaching  JJ who motions for his help across and out of the room.

“And she’s here with us in the room, why?”

 Hotch feels the scrutiny of his friend’s eyes, so he turns his sight away from where you and Reid stood. 

“Reid doesn’t think she fits the profile and wants her insight on the case. I trust his judgment, so I allowed it.”

“You said that?” Emily asks with furrowed brows. 

“Well, non-verbatim, I said that her knowledge on–”

“And you allowed our prime suspect to help with a case?” The unit chief sighs when Dave interrupts Reid but stays firm.

“I don’t enjoy the idea of it either, but she’s the only lead we have.” 

Rossi shrugs, but keeps a watchful eye on the young pair. Only turning away when Emily starts to debrief the earlier crime scene.

She recounts that they had found Jonathan Edwards’ body, aged 28, seated on the previous apartment owner’s couch. One hand across his chest, and the other placed on his lap. A pose that they assume was the closest their unsub could get to mirroring the man in the painting. 

Same M.O. Cleaned wounds, no IDs, sharply dressed. 

The dark haired woman adds the pictures of the crime scene to the growing collage on the board.

 Seeing all of this was like a backstage view, which excited you! But knowing that your work might have inspired someone to kill? Not so much. 

“When you look at the victimolgy, there are no obvious links. Their occupation, race, and gender are all different. Our unsub here seems mission oriented, only targeting people that bear a striking resemblance to Dr. L/n’s subjects and murdering them in their own homes…”

 You sigh as Spencer continues, eyes searching though the unsettling images.

“They’re someone that the victims might’ve been interested in. Someone that could contact them or schedule to meet in a formal setting. The victims weren’t reported missing until they didn’t show up for work, suggesting that they had met in private on their off hours. They’re also highly educated, likely with a background in chemical engineering or a related field with permission to operate in a lab. Or at least a private space like one. This level of intelligence is evident in the precision the bodies were handled with and the synthesized 5-durastelene in the paint.”

“So we’re looking for someone who is charismatic, well connected, and had access to a lab at some point.” Emily simplifies. 

“Their area of activity is concentrated in the east.” You mention, looking at the map and noticing the pattern of the bodies’ location as it crosses three states. “That’s probably their comfort zone. They either live there or are stationed there for their job.”

You assess the distance. “Assuming the place those three were killed and the place they were found are different, he must be comfortable traveling with a body.” 

He shifts his focus from the board to you, but you keep your vision stationary. “Do you know anyone like that? Someone from there that you’d be on unfriendly terms with? A colleague, a mentor?” 

Well that caught your attention.

“...You think they’re trying to incriminate me?” You feel the space between your brows twitch when you ask. Still staring at the map.

He frowns a little at that and responds. “Do you think they’re not?”

“Well–” You start, but then feel nervous feeling all the attention on you. You’re a little overwhelmed, but press on anyway. “I’m not saying that, it just—seems like a few ‘why’s’ are missing.” 

Why bother adding a painting? Why bother even making them? Why bother mixing durastelene, a compound that would definitely alter the paint’s integrity given its properties, to replicate something the public wouldn’t even know you made? All questions you asked with a more steady tone.

“Let’s not get carried away, kid. We’re trying to see the big picture first.” The senior in the room says.

Picking at the skin of your lips, you acquiesce and turn to finally look at Spencer. 

Spencer feels his eyes flick to your fingers first then to your eyes. “I think they’re trying to send you a message.” 

He looks back to the pictures of your paintings on the scene. Trying to see if he’s missed something.

 “They might believe that by recreating your work, they’re challenging you– establishing a level of superiority. You said that no one should have access to your paintings, so this must have been someone that once knew you intimately and is now mocking you to make a point. It’s not just about incrimination—they’re trying to reach out to you.”

You feel the space between your brows twitch again.

You can think of a few people who might dislike you; competition is expected in the academic world. But the obvious signs of fixation on you suggests two possibilities: you're either being seen as a rival or as an idol.

It’s unlikely that anyone sees an unemployed PhD student with burn-out syndrome as a worthy rival. 

And something tells you that if they really wanted to place the blame on you, they wouldn’t go this far, in this way. 

They might as well have left a note with your name on it and that would’ve been more believable.

Then again, you could just be wrong 

You’re in a room full of professionals. You’re speculating based off of a theory that might not be applicable to your situation due to a variety of factors. There’s a reason this is their job and not yours. 

You take this thought in stride with a deep intake of breath and now slackened shoulders before responding with a careful nod.

“If that’s the case, then I think it’ll be a little hard to find someone that meets the criteria. I didn’t really have friends when I graduated from MIT, and even if I did, they wouldn’t know about my art—not because I kept it hidden–! It’s only because I started painting when I left.”

The team looked a bit sad at the revelation of your almost non-existent social circle, but quickly acted like what you said was normal.

“Let’s focus on anyone that you had worked closely with then.” You nod at that and start discussing possibilities.

—-------------

Spencer is thankful for Hotch’s suggestion as it diverts the earlier attention away from him. He wouldn’t have minded it at any other time if he wasn’t too preoccupied with thoughts of you.

Thoughts of you with regards to the case, he finds himself justifying to no one in particular.

Everyone has tells. A gesture, a change in posture, nonverbal cues that give someone away. They’re hard to hide because it's in human nature to have them. Trying to keep them hidden is essentially like holding your breath. Suspending the inevitable will only make the tells much more noticeable.

And you don’t seem to be doing that. 

On the contrary, it’s the presence of your micro reactions that are throwing him off. He has noticed five pauses, four instances of rapid eye movement, three tonal deviations, two quirks in your glabella, and now your previously leveled shoulders have dropped. 

Maybe it’s because he’s spent a lot of time with people who try to hide them, but seeing an overwhelming amount of tells manifest in you has him scrambling to figure out what each one means.

Within the two hours and 33 minutes that have passed since he was allowed into your home, the only thing he’s found out about you through your interactions is that you’re disorganized, you’re insecure about your intelligence, and that you don’t like being called doctor. 

All superficial quirks. Two hours is too long a time for him to have only figured three things out. 

He’s missing something. Or maybe he’s not looking at it from the right angle.

Before he can think more on the matter, his mind refocuses on the team. 

Penelope had called them to say that she had gone through lists of attendees from all the conferences you’ve spoken at, both private and open-house events, at Aaron Hotchner’s request. 

“I was able to pick out a few names that are poking around here and there, but I’m going to need a little more than that, my dear comrades! Sifting through names of geeks isn't really my favorite pastime.”

“Pen, narrow down the list to names from MIT. We’re looking for a student from the Chemistry programs or a lecturer that might have access to a lab.” Emily supplied, leaning onto the table where the blonde was on screen. 

“Doing just that and—oh! Would you look at that! Looks like the tools aren’t as diligent as they claim to be.” The mocking tone in her voice causes a small smile to creep on your face.

“Caltech?” The bubbly woman snorts at that.

“Anyone in their right mind knows it’s the superior choice! Tech geeks hate MIT.”

“Don’t let our tools hear you then, we have a history of going nuclear.” That certainly earned you a giggle from the woman on the other end. 

“There’s a sense of humor I can get behind! We–”

“Garica, focus.” Hotch said with urgency.

“Yes–I will! I am! So focused in fact that I’ve got a few names, but only one is super consistent—Lecturer Dr. Annaliese Andrews! Looking up this nerd as we speak and—!” 

You all heard the hitch in her breath.

“Oh no….”

“Garcia, what did you find?”

The BAU and you were silent for a moment before Penelope composed herself. “Dr. Andrews owned a lab near the Charles’ river.” 

She shows its location on screen and a picture of your mentor, Dr. Andrews with a notebook in hand, posed in front of it. The picture was from her social media update, and it couldn’t have been taken more than a year or two ago.

“She built it herself in the 80’s and maybe she wasn’t keeping up with safety protocols but eventually a fire broke out, and she–” Then you see a news headline of the same lab on fire.

“How long ago was this?” Hotch demanded. This got the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Uh,” Penelope sat in her office, frantically typing until an article showed up. “This happened around nine months ago, but it says here that her next of kin decided to keep the property.”

They’ve found a stressor.

“That’s impossible.” You countered. “Dr. Andrews had no family. No husband, no kids.”

“Who is the property under now?” Rossi pressed. 

Muttering under her breath, she continues to search. 

“Says here a month later, a workshop was built right where the lab was– Aha! It’s under 35 year old Liam Turner, freelance photographer. He’s got a studio on Bay State Road.” 

Penelope pulls up an image of an almost unremarkable looking man on screen along with a scan of his BA in Visual Studies from Harvard.

“What the hell…” You don’t recognize this guy at all. 

“Do you know him?” Hotch asks and you say no with a shake of your head and upturned brows.

“Right now, I’m not seeing a connection between these two either—anything you guys can give me?”

You want to interject. Something about him seems familiar, but you don’t recognize him from anywhere. 

You want to ask— no–it wouldn’t be your right. They can figure this out themselves and you're still a suspect! Besides, you’re not even sure if– 

“Do you want to say something, Y/n?”

Your head shoots to the voice and you see Spencer staring back at you. Mouth slightly open which lets you know the question probably came from.

 Maybe it’s because he used your given name, maybe it’s the heavy feeling in your stomach. But regardless, his question certainly makes space for you to voice your thoughts as the room awaits your reply.

You feel your shoulders tense as you speak. “Was his name in the list of attendees?”

Garcia checks quickly but she shakes her head to say no. You thought so.

You ask a different question. “Then uh, can you pull up surveillance footage at any of the conferences?”

She does just that and presents a split-screen video from a month before you graduated. One camera was stationed at the back of the room, and the other overhead from where you stood. She speeds it up as the team watches not much movement until Spencer points something out with a start.

 He gestures to the upper right corner where a lone camera man stands on the side, and asks their tech analyst to zoom in.

There lied the face of the man from earlier search with a camera in hand. The thing that makes him special though, Spencer says, is that based on the angle he was holding the lens at, he was focusing only on you and not on your projection.

“He was in the room, but not in the list.” He furrowed his brows.

You shook your head. “He probably wasn’t an official attendee, someone that a lecturer could’ve requested the assistance of last minute— anyways, can we see where the pictures he took were used? Like articles, tabloids?”

“Absolutely, just give me a second…” You all watch a bunch of sites pop up as Garcia combs through anything that may be related. 

In no time however, she comes across a website. 

There on the screen, for all of the team to see, was a blog, or maybe a portfolio, that had snippets from interviews, headlines, and pictures that featured you. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it looks like any image of you that would show up if you were googled were credited under him. 

Conferences. Campus surveys. Even candid conversation with school representatives.

Penelope digs deeper until she finds the first upload. A picture of a sunset taken somewhere on a bridge with a notebook and pen on its ledge. Though it might not have been enough for most people to recognize, Spencer notices it immediately. 

“Garcia, can you pull up the picture of Dr. Andrews with her lab?”

She does just that and he only needs one look before he turns to address his colleagues. “The notebook is the same! His initials, ‘L.T.’ are on her notebook cover, and this picture!”

And as much as you wished you could sympathize with Spencer’s excitement, you were feeling very overwhelmed at the moment. 

Case and point; first you find out your mentor is dead, then you find out you have a stalker that possibly hates your guts. Find out that said stalker may or may not be related to said mentor, who may or may not hate you, and now you have to digest the possibility of him being a murderer as some sort of vengeance arc?

You shake the thought away.

The tie between him and the victims is still something you don’t get. Clean wounds,  no IDs, sharply dressed.

 So you ask.

“Any chance the victims visited Turner’s studio before they disappeared?”

Analog photo developers have no problem working with a lot of chemicals, and IDs are commonly taken for legal confirmation, you share with the team. The only reason they’d be dressed like that was if–

“They—-all booked an appointment with him.”

You almost regret asking.

--------

taglist: @littlewolfieposts, @hiireadstuff, @bibissparkles, @honestlyatotalloser, @r-3dlips, @suzysface , @pinkpantheris , @resistanythingbuttemptation , @pastafairyy , @lynnar-moon , @andromeda-kay , @darling006 , @mambolaxa , @potatovoyager , @whenmypartysover , @oi-oikawa-tooru , @kniselle , @astreaaries , @fullsuns-stuff

[vaspider]

youve got a lot of really great thoughts on a transphobia and homophobia, tbh more critical thinking than most people on here, and i was wondering how much you knew about the theory of rapid onset gender dysphoria/if youd be comfortable sharing your thoughts on the ridiculous idea

It was explicitly invented by transphobes as a means of delegitimizing trans identity, and that invention was backed up by a "study" in which the person running the study never spoke to any trans people or to any professionals providing care for trans people, only spoke to the parents of trans minors, and those parents were specifically recruited from forums for anti-trans parents.

The paper which supposedly coined ROGD was taken down for a while and corrected. Further studies have found no basis for ROGD.

What's really interesting is in the cache of emails which became public earlier this year from a former detransitioner there's a paper trail which pretty clearly indicates that the term was actually created on a very heinous website called 4th/wave/now (forgive my anti-search slashes, these people are awful) well prior to the study.

Hey, you want to guess where the parents for this study were recruited from? If you guessed "the one where the term was invented," you're right!

But wait, there's more!

It appears from the journalistic work done by Mother Jones, Jude Doyle, and Julia Serano, that this term was created by an anti-trans activist who works extensively with right-wing think tanks and who went to great lengths to hide that she invented the term.

Jude Doyle:

Finding anti-trans narratives that would “sell” to the general public was a constant concern for this crowd, and Shupe says it didn’t much matter if the narratives were based in fact or not. Marchiano, for instance, eagerly watched the spread of the ROGD theory — “[transfeminist writer and researcher Julia] Serano has already written a takedown,” she exulted in one August 2018 email. Shupe suspects Marchiano’s role is larger than the public knows: “Marchiano never explicitly said she is the inventor of ROGD, but the evidence points to her, and she’s listed as a contributor to the [Lisa Littman] study on PLOS One,” she writes to me. “My ‘opinion’ is that Marchiano and the 4thWaveNow folks are behind the ROGD study, and Littman merely fronted it for them to make it appear unbiased.”

Jude Doyle again:

On July 2, Shupe sent Marchiano a link to Jones’ blog post telling her “you’ve upset Zinnia again.” (Shupe had a tendency to send Marchiano news of ROGD, and to attribute the theory to “you” — that is, to Marchiano — whether Marchiano was explicitly named or not. In the communications I’ve reviewed, Marchiano does not reject the attribution.) Marchiano responded by saying that Jones had done something to “make her nervous” — namely, she’d dug up a blog post about ROGD that Marchiano had written under her own name.

Julia Serano:

If all of this is true — that Marchiano ran YCTP and invented ROGD — then it would follow that Marchiano was also likely skepticaltherapist, the supposed parent of a trans child who invented the idea of “transgender social contagion” in the first place.

Julia Serano again:

Also on March 15, 2016, at 6:07am (so very early in the day, likely before the aforementioned YTCP piece is published), skepticaltherapist posts her final comment on 4thwavenow before mysteriously disappearing. In a reply to someone named Starrymessenger, skepticaltherapist says: 'I wanted to mention that this month’s Psychotherapy Networker is focusing on trans youth issues, and the tone of each article is uncritically celebratory — lots of mentions of “courage,” and ��bravery.” You may need a subscription or at least an account to comment, but I have so far.'

At the time of this comment, "Lisa" is the *only* person to have posted a comment on this particular Psychotherapy Networker article, as the 2nd comment doesn't appear until later that evening (7:30:15 PM on March 15th; both 4thwavenow & Psychotherapy Networker appear to be based in the U.S., so the should be only a few hours apart, if at all). Therefore, "Lisa" and skepticaltherapist must be the same person.

Did you catch all of that?

This is a fraudulent "diagnosis" explicitly invented by an anti-trans psychologist who at times has used sockpuppets to manipulate online conversations, claimed at times to be the mother of a trans child, or maybe it was her friend who had the trans child, or maybe she just knew somebody who just randomly decided he was a trans boy after going on tumblr. (Boy, does Lisa Marchiano hate Tumblr, lol.)

After inventing this diagnosis and pushing it on a forum for parents who don't like that they have trans kids, Marchiano then approaches a different researcher and uses this other researcher to launder this term, launching it into the verbal stratosphere, while explicitly working with right-wing groups who used this "evidence" to manufacture anti-trans bills. This list of right-wing groups and individuals includes the Alliance Defending Freedom, the "American College of Pediatricians," -- not to be confused with the American Academy of Pediatrics, the legitimate organization, ACPeds is a fringe right-wing group.

They literally made all of this up, this idea that transmasculine people specifically are being "infected" by online sources, and then they laundered it through a shitty study and tried to hide the laundering they did, so that shit like this can happen:

The president of the American Principles Project, a member of the coalition, recently told the New York Times that his group’s goal is to eliminate all transition care, starting with children because that’s “where the consensus is.”

This isn't about protecting children or any bullshit like that, and it's not about this fallacious "disorder" because it doesn't exist -- and they know it doesn't exist. They know it doesn't exist because they were the ones who made it up.

Like... what else is there to say? It's like if I made up Purple Big Toe Disease and claimed that all people taller than 5'10" and born on a Tuesday have Purple Big Toe Disease and should not be able to buy aspirin, because it's G-d's plan that people who have Purple Big Toe Disease should not prevent themselves from feeling the pain that G-d has planned for them, and then I asked someone to write a paper about PBTD and pretend I wasn't the one who made it up so I could point at the paper and be like le gasp, PBTD is the number one problem! We need to stop everyone over 5'10" and born on a Tuesday from being able to buy aspirin! And then some dude in South Dakota starts writing up bills in consultation with a bunch of Evangelical lawyers to deny basic health care to people over 5'10" and born on Tuesdays.

If it sounds fucking ridiculous, it's because it is.

[thebowieconstricker]

Head Over Heels - Prolouge

(The Creature x Reader)

A Lisa Frankenstein (2024) fic

masterlist link

Alright, monster lovers, I’m gonna try something a little more ambitious: an actual fic. Constructive criticism welcome! Please be kind because I have no proof reader and I’m still learning how to write good stories lol. I’m also gonna be fleshing out some characters to better fit the narrative I have in mind for this story. I hope you enjoy the prologue!

Warnings: slight language, my best attempt at worldbuilding, and our gender neutral reader is an orphan, so discussion of that. Also, (N/N) stands for nickname!

~~~

1986, Brookview, Indiana

“Oh. My. GOODNESS, (Y/N)! You have to try a face mask! It’ll help you with those dark circles under your eyes!”

“But (Y/NNNN), pink is totally your color! Just give it a chance, your nails would look SO pretty!”

“You didn’t even jump! It’s like you’re built for these movies, (N/N)!”

Comments like these had already gotten old around- you checked your watch- two hours ago. You considered yourself a survivor of some ancient teenage girl ceremony. Saying polite “no thank you”s to Taffy and the rest of her much too perky friends was becoming quite the laborious task. Some may say you were being too stubborn, as they had treated you with nothing but kindness since you came to town, to which you’d argue that Tricia certainly seemed like she had a bone to pick with you. Along with her, you had unfortunately seen enough of the world to understand one of the most important rules of high school:

The popular girls were mean, and these girls were certainly popular.

You had no idea why Taffy had run up to you on your first day of school and excitedly introduced herself, her gaggle of friends confusedly following after her. You figured this was some kind of territorial power move, checking out the fresh meat before inevitably deciding to kill.

But then Taffy kept hanging out with you. And complementing you. And begging you to hang out with her group of gals.

You took it as some kind of elaborate bit, but hey, they were nice.

At least they didn’t look at you like you were a rotten corpse walking down the halls.

Your thoughts snapped back to your current situation at Taffy’s house. Her mother, Janet, had actually sneered at you when you walked in, but other than that, the night was shaping up to be your average “new girls first sleepover”. Grease had taught you well. That was, until the truth or dare game started.

Lori had brought it up, and it started pretty normal.

“Who’s your crush?”

“OMG, I’m not telling!”

“Come on, Misty! We won’t tell! Right, (Y/N)?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, no.” You mentally cursed yourself.

This is how it continued for a while before you finally perked up.

“I dare you to go to the Bachelors Cemetary Grove.”

“WHAT??? No way, Tricia! There’s no way in hell-“

Your eyes widened in intrigue and you blurted out without thinking, “There’s a bachelors cemetery?”

The girls turned to look at you.

Tricia raised one of her perfect eyebrows.

“You haven’t heard about it? It’s like- uber haunted.”

That piqued your interest. Life in the foster care system had caused you to grow accustomed to the darker sides of life, and you had always had a special interest in the dead. Your own parents had died in a mysterious fire when you were just a baby, leaving you with no real memories of them. You believed that everyone deserved to be remembered, especially the average, unremarkable person.

(Mainly because you knew that’s how you would turn out, and you’d like to be remembered.)

Enough of that, though, because everyone is still looking at you, so you cleared your throat.

“Would I have to go tonight? Or like, right now?”

Tricia rolled her eyes. “I mean, I didn’t ask you-“

“Oh, shush, Tricia! She’s participating!” Taffy smiled widely at you.

Tricia shot you a look.

“Fine. Yes, tonight. And you’d have to bring back a vine to show that you actually went there. The place is full of them, so it should be easy for you.”

You detected a hint of challenge in Tricia’s tone, but ignored it. You wanted to do this to quench the thirst of curiosity that was bubbling in your brain. This seemed like the first interesting thing you had heard about in this boring town.

You stood.

“I’ll do it.”

Taffy cheered and Lori looked at you in amazement. Misty immediately began to try to talk you out of it, worrying about your safety, while Tricia went silent.

Your mind was set, though. Time to see what all the hooplah was about.

~~~

The walk to the gravesite had been much more peaceful than you thought it would be.

Taffy’s house was constant noise, light, color, total overstimulation. However, the cool mist that danced across your skin along with the eerie silence of the woods soothed you. It helped you clear your head.

After walking through the woods for what seemed like hours, you finally came across the old rusted iron gate that sadly displayed the text, “Bachelors Cemetery Grove”. You frowned, finding the disrepair of the cite pitiful. This place should be filled with respect, not to be forgotten by vines and leaves.

Speaking of, holy shit, Tricia was right about the vines everywhere.

Thick, bright green foliage covered every inch of the area, graves poking out here and there to display faded names. It was enchanting to see so much life growing in a place of death. You could have snapped off a vine and booked it out of there, but you were drawn to this cemetery. Careful steps led you deeper and deeper into its heart as you swerved this way and that to try and make out the occasional name.

Then, through a beam of moonlight that shone through a break in the trees, your eyes caught on a specific grave.

You walked closer and came face to face with the stoic expression of a handsome young man, carved in the same stone his grave was made of. He had a strong nose, with beautifully curved lips and hair that flipped upwards on the ends. He was looking slightly downwards, his eyebrows painfully curved upwards, as if to express a dramatic feeling of grief. Resting beside his bust was an arm and a hand, attached to nothing and slightly curled. He looked like a man that would recite beautiful poetry, professing his deepest desires and most intimate thoughts.

Your mouth was slightly agape as you admired him. Despite your more logical thoughts, you brought a hand up to gently caress his cheek, finding a raised texture chiseled there that suggested sideburns. A sigh escaped your lips as you realized the romantic-ness of it all. A man who seemed perfect, a lover, full of life and emotion, condemned to a permanent fixture in a buried world.

You could say it was love at first sight.

[detective-twinkachu]

Au that Max and Norm totes hide who Spider's bio dad is. Like Max and Norm gets this mysterious abandoned baby's DNA test and it turns out he is the son of Colonel Quaritch and a pilot named Paz Socorro. Of course Norm is in complete disbelief, no way a murderer like Quaritch could produce an offspring like this cute kid???

Norm: Run the test again.

Max: I ran them three times!

Norm: No! How can that asshole make this!

(Que an adorable baby Spider cooing at Norm)

Norm knows as soon as Neytiri or any Navi, forget the humans that would hold a grudge against Quaritch, find out about Spider's parentage, this kids life is going to be hell. So both men decide to... not tell anyone who Spider's dad is. The kid looks nothing like Quaritch and takes mostly after his mother, with the big brown eyes and curly hair, except where the mother is brunette, the son is blonde. It takes Norm three hours later to find a semblance of a birth certificate in the rooms the baby was found, in a shoe box under the bed. The paper brings a smile to Norm's face.

Javier Socorro

Born:2154 Pandora

Mother: Pasquella Marie Socorro

Father: N/A

Convenient. Most likely the jackass didn't want to be linked to the only woman who broke the rules of having a child on Pandora or Socorro knew Quaritch's enemies would come after the baby.

Norm and Max decide to erase all evidence of Quaritch from Javi's, Norm's name for the baby, life. The humans that were involved with the conception or birth of Javi are no longer on Pandora, so there is nobody to reveal his parentage. So it's easy for Norm to hit delete on everything about Spider.

Max: We tell absolutely no one of Javi's bio dad, got it? Take it to the grave.

Norm:Bet.

Mo'at, spying from the spirit tree: Bet

Eywa, herself: Bet.

Next with Jake and everyone else. It's not that Max and Norm do not tell Jake of the existence of a human baby on Pandora but just 'forget'.

It's not until Jake comes with a pregnant Neytiri on an unannounced visit, Max and Norm doing work with a white bassinet between them. Both him and Norm freeze when the two Na'vi spot the bassinet and immediately Neytiri is looking at it in alarm. Jake is the one who draws closer, stepping in front of Neytiri. This prompts Norm to hurriedly give an explanation of the presence of a human baby on Pandora, who his parents are (Paz Socorro and an aviation tech Norm knows is dead), and why they can't send the baby to earth. The kid won't survive the journey. Most likely, the kid will die in cryo-sleep. Jake asks more questions about the baby while Neytiri is staring at the baby for so long it puts Max on edge. Finally, the two Na'vi leave and the two scientists believe they are home free.

Until the next day, Jake and Neytiri are back with Jake wanting to hold Javi! Jokes that it's good practice for when the baby comes, even though Baby Spider can fit in the palm of Jake's hand, Neytiri herself just comments how small the child is. The two stay for four hours and both scientists are sweating buckets.

It gets better (or worst depending who you ask) when Neytiri becomes smitten with baby Spider!

Then suddenly Mo'at appears at Hell's Gate like.

Which almost gives Norm another aneurysm until Mo'at's like "chill bro, now give it here."

So in conclusion before I go on a long plot, Spider is given a better lease on life thanks to Norm and Max hiding Quaritch's identity from everyone. Yes, Spider would get slack for being a human but at least it isn't a 'sins of the father' type of hatred but just the mistrust of humans. Max and Norm at first are gonna raise Spider but then Jake and Neytiri fall in love with Spider and want to adopt him.

Jake and Neytiri:

Max and Norm:

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (12)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Smut including blood drinking, and some violence ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @delulusimps ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 12: This Ready Flesh

His vision was blurry, tunneling in and out as he struggled to focus on the pavement in front of him. The street lights flickered, his retina capturing them in a mesmerizing delay, creating luminous streaks and trails across the sky. It had been ages since Leon had gotten into such a state where he couldn’t walk straight anymore, shambling in a zigzag pattern towards his destination. At least he still knew where he wanted to go — to you. It was all he could think about as he staggered into Café Noir, calling out your name while the other patrons delivered wary side glances.

In his inebriated haze, he stumbled through the crowd until he came across a figure he vaguely recognized. Grabbing the person by the collar, he sputtered, “Patrick, right?”

The young man nodded timidly, trying to back away, though Leon clung onto him firmly. “Where is she?”

He could even smell the strong stench of alcohol on his own breath as he spoke. The vessels he had drunken from earlier must have been completely wasted. He should know, since they had already passed out when he got to them. It was probably pure vodka running through their veins at this rate.

“Sh-she already left an hour ago,” Patrick stammered, cowering slightly in fear.

Jesus Christ, what did this boy ever do to you? Leon sighed. He was scaring people unintentionally, looking all crazed with his bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. He didn’t even need a mirror to confirm that. What a fucking mess.

Right on cue, he saw the ponytailed redhead come into view, and she looked pissed. Great job, Leon, he berated himself. Now he was gonna get his ass kicked. But he deserved it. He deserved all of it.

“I’ll handle it from here,” she told Patrick calmly, before turning back to Leon with a deadly glare. 

Dragging him by the arm over to a free table in one of the more private corners of the room, she shoved him onto a chair and ordered, “Stop terrorizing the locals.”

“Hi to you too, Redfield,” he mumbled despondently, slumping over with a hiccup before catching himself with his supporting arm.

Claire stabilized him, shaking her head disapprovingly as she sat in the opposite chair. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?”

When he didn’t answer, she scolded, “Not a good look, Kennedy.”

“Yeah? What’s it to you, Claire?” he challenged, though his slurring made the words sound all jumbled together.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she cursed, tapping the side of his cheek rapidly, in a blind effort to get him to come to his senses. Finally, she came to a decision. “Okay, here's the deal. We’ll sit here until you sober up, and then, we’re gonna talk.”

Regardless, that didn’t prevent him from retorting, “Yes ma—”

“Shut it, Leon.”

It was an agonizing wait for the effects of the alcohol to dissipate, and it didn’t help that Claire kept throwing him dirty looks, warning him against trying anything funny. When he could finally string a proper sentence together without making a fool of himself, she spoke up, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and it’s your private business, but something tells me I need to step in before this blows up in everyone’s faces.”

“What do you mean?” He caught the underlying warning in her words and sensed there was more than what she was letting on.

Sighing, she knocked back a mouthful of beer before continuing. “Let’s… save that for later,” she negotiated. “What’s gotten into you? Hell, I’ve never seen you like this, ever.”

He pinched his lips together, reluctant to come clean with his emotions. But he knew he had no one else he could talk to like this. It was one thing he appreciated about Claire, even though her backhanded comments often grated on his nerves, she would always be straight with him. She just pretended to be begrudging about it.

“She’s gonna leave me,” he muttered. 

Claire raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “So… this is how Leon Scott Kennedy, the great knight in shining armor, wins back his ‘one true love’, huh?” She mimicked quotation marks with her fingers in the air, adding salt to the wound. “By getting trashed and moping around?”

In any other circumstance, he would’ve fought back in an instant, exchanging cutting remarks laced with hidden barbed wire. Now, however, he remained passive and compliant, like a doll. “I did something unforgivable,” he finally admitted.

She snorted, propping her legs up on the table. “Yeah, you’ve done a lot of unforgivable things. We all have,” she emphasized. 

Leaning forward, she prodded his chest with her finger accusingly. “You left us without a reason, no goodbye, nothing, and yet, Chris and I are still here, aren’t we?” She paused, taking a moment to recollect herself, and rolled her eyes. “God, that was soppy. Just, er, fuck— rewind and erase that shit, will ya?”

Leon bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. “Sure, whatever you say, Claire.”

“Anyway, your fledgling is beginning to realize and understand that there’s no perfect little world for Kindred like us,” she began.

“Of course, she would run off to you Anarchs of all people,” Leon huffed, clicking his tongue in disdain. “She’s been collecting all sorts of injuries from the gym.”

She sat up straight, folding her arms across her chest in pride. “Thanks to Chris’ training.”

He groaned, burying his head in his hand.

“You have it bad for her—”

“I don’t—” he protested, though she interrupted him in return.

“She talks about you, you know?” At this, he fell silent and she added, “Not in a bad way.”

“What does she say?” he blurted out almost too quickly.

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself,” she replied coyly. “But I don’t think she’s over you yet.”

His heart swelled, though he tried to rein it in to prevent false hope from building up. After all, false hope was worse than having nothing to hope for.

“Just do me a favor, will ya?” she requested. “Don’t try to control her; it never works. Trust me, I know my kind when I see one.”

It was Leon’s turn to scoff, “You wish.” He knew you well. No matter how much of a rebel you were, you were a Toreador through and through.

“Now that I got your attention, we should move on to the serious topic I guess.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “There’s two things, which do you wanna hear first? The bad news or the bad news?”

“Claire…” he warned, his patience growing thin.

She placed her feet back down on the ground, unzipping her jacket to pull out a bunch of photographs from its inner pocket. Handing it over to him, she said, “I hate it whenever you’re right.”

“Get used to it,” he quipped back, shuffling through the pictures he assumed she had acquired from a bunch of surveillance cameras in the area. Then, he came across one that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Lucas. He was talking with someone, a tall figure with their back to the camera, obscured by a long cloak.

“A Sabbat member,” she clarified, pointing at Lucas’ image. “Turns out the suitor has been meeting with him regularly.”

“Shit,” he hissed. “You know this is a literal death sentence for the entire Anarch sect in Raccoon City, right? If Wesker finds out…” his voice trailed off as he witnessed Claire’s eyes watering up and her hands trembling. She knew the implications and she was scared.

“There’s something else though,” she stated, pushing forward despite her uneasiness. 

Fishing out a separate photo from the stack, she held it before Leon. It was a zoomed-in version of the previous photograph. Tracing the outline of another shadowy figure in the background, she mentioned, “You see this here? There’s a third party involved, but we couldn’t make out who they were.”

Tightening his jaw, he promised, “I’ll keep this under wraps for now, but we need a plan, and we need it fast.” And then, he suddenly remembered. “What’s the other bad news?”

This seemed to make her even more unnerved, but she steadied herself and said, “The suitor has started taking an interest in your childe.”

His eyes gleamed lethally, already imagining the multitude of ways he would slice the guy into ribbons. “Who is this suitor?” he seethed, saliva foaming at his fanged teeth as his voice quivered in blistering rage.

She was mute, her eyes darted away from his, and her whole body was shaking. Something was very wrong.

“Claire!” He grasped her hands, both pleading and demanding, “I need to know!”

“The Baron,” she whispered, barely audible above the constant drone of background chatter.

His eyes widened. Like the Camarilla had their Prince, the Anarchs had their Baron. He’d just never expected such a big player to be involved. But then again, why wouldn’t he? Who would be as foolish and powerful enough to risk it all?

“Heisenberg.” The name flew out of his mouth like an omen.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Come on, you know the drill,” Chris instructed, clapping his hands together to get you to move. “Four sets of jump rope, three minutes each, and for your one-minute breaks in between, push-ups.”

“And don’t forget to use your vitae!” he yelled over once more.

That was just the warm-up. You groaned, stretching out your limbs as you pushed yourself up from the floor to grab the skipping rope disgruntledly.

“Hey, winners never quit and quitters never win,” he advised before setting the timed alarms on his watch.

It took every ounce of effort not to roll your eyes at his clichéd motivational quote. At least you could see the progress you were making relatively quickly. Your feet went through the motions, your muscle memory intact as you began with a basic bounce, working your way into side straddles, hip twists and then alternating single leg jumps. You were light and nimble in your steps, just like you had to be when you got into your fight stance. It was like Mr. Miyagi’s teaching technique with “wax on, wax off.”

A beep sounded. You tossed the rope to the side and dropped into a plank position, channeling your energy through your flattened palms as you performed controlled, repetitive push-ups. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, dampening the dusty ground. Your hands and fingernails were caked with dirt.

Another beep, and you sprung up, huffing as you took the rope and continued with high knee jumps. Your heart was pounding against its cage, and you felt like you wanted to die from exhaustion, but you pushed on. At some point, you broke through an invisible wall, and your body accepted the strain, no longer fighting against it. It was then where you had the headspace to think.

The past days you had free were spent mostly with the Anarchs, so much so that you felt more aligned with them than the Camarilla. You wondered if they secretly knew and were spying on you all this while, ready to dole out your punishment when it was time to face the consequences. For some odd reason, you had a hunch that someone had been watching you recently, but every time you tried to suss out the culprit, they had vanished from sight.

Despite favoring Anarch company, the insight you’d gained into their practices made you realize that they still had the same bullshit hierarchies and politics like the Camarilla, just a little flatter and more equal on the surface. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed like the lesser of two evils to you.

Beep. Guess it was back to push-ups. Your sweat had begun to form a puddle beneath you and it stung your eyes. Halfway there, you told yourself. Not much longer to go. You’d talked to Chris and Claire about Leon, asking them how he was like when he still hung out with them, during the time he was somewhat a part of the sect. They’d told you many stories of his bravery and courage, putting others first before himself, but also how entangled he was in the mysterious deals he had with Ada and the rest of the Camarilla. It seemed as if he had no way out of them. 

“Why?” you’d asked.

“If this is the world he’s been exposed to, how would he know any different until someone or something challenges it?” Claire had proposed.

“His sire, Ada, is a…” Chris paused to consider his words before settling on “transactional woman.” He shrugged. “She probably taught him deals like that are inevitable.”

The same advice as she had tried to impart to you. If someone who was deemed as your superior repeated these teachings again and again, at some point, they could become the truth.

“We’re not excusing Leon for what he’s done,” Claire was quick to correct him. “Just trying to explain it in context.”

Beep. “Speed up!” Chris shouted, and you knew that he wanted you to train your Celerity. Faster than a blink, you took up the rope and completed the routine as swift as lightning. The rest of the sets went by in a blur as you thought about one person only — Leon.

The blue of his eyes, the color of the sea, changing into gold. It reminded you of the Mediterranean, back during one of your travels. The light of the sun glittering on the water’s surface, shifting into the sand dunes of the desert. You felt his presence then; faint, sorrowful and alone, just as he felt yours. A ghostly hand reached out, and you lost your balance, tripping on the rope and landing flat on your face.

“Better luck next time, kid,” Chris grunted, helping you up by your arm, as you wiped away the blood from the graze on your knee.

Leon. You had a sudden urge to speak with him after behaving like strangers since your falling out. As much as you told yourself it was to reconcile and meet Rebecca as a united front, you’d be lying if you insisted there wasn’t something more. Want and longing, like an empty glass discarded in the sink. You’ll talk with him tonight, you determined. However, fate had other plans for you first.

You were shadowboxing in the gym’s ring while Chris barked out directions from the sidelines. At some point, you noticed the expression on his face darken and his body stiffen. He started making his way over to you with an instinctive sense of protectiveness.

An imposing silhouette loomed over you and you stopped abruptly, spinning around to face a tall, robust man with long, unkempt graying hair. He wore a wide-brimmed fedora hat and a beige trench coat over his attire. Round wire-framed glasses covered his eyes but did nothing to hide the bold smile across his face. He scratched at his rugged beard before taking a long drag from his fat cigar.

“Well, well, sugar. How nice of you to visit,” he remarked, puffing out a waft of smoke as he released the cigar from his mouth, planting it between his thumb and index finger.

“Baron,” Chris greeted. He was standing beside you now, tersely grasping your shoulder, suggesting caution.

In his other hand, the man held a metallic cane, rigid and bladed at the sides, its handle adorned with a carved horse figure. The cane clinked every time it touched the ground as he walked towards you, seemingly heavier than it looked. He didn’t lean or rely on it like he had an injury, merely tapping it lightly with each step forward. When you focused closer on the mechanical contraptions, you could tell that it concealed a secondary weapon of sorts.

“Oh, no need for formalities.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We’re all comrades here.”

With a courteous bow, he tipped his hat at you, acknowledging your presence. “Heisenberg,” he proffered, stubbing out the cigar with his boot as he extended his gloved hand to you.

Despite the unsettling atmosphere, you took his hand and shook it firmly like you always do. Might as well fake it until you make it. He raised his eyebrows, grinning at you like a maniac, nodding in appreciation at your dauntlessness.

“So, sugar, how do you like what you see so far?” He raised his hands, rotating in a slow, deliberate circle, as he gestured to the surroundings and the Kindred who’d quietened down since his arrival.

“It’s nice,” you answered flatly, keeping your responses vague and to a minimum until you could better ascertain what he wanted from you.

“I always knew you’d belong to us.” Though with the way he said ‘us’, it sounded more like ‘me’. You caught a glimpse of recognition in Chris’ eye and your suspicions about the man in front of you were confirmed with his next sentence.

“Too bad that Toreador dickhead had to ruin my plans,” he sneered. Clamping his hand on your shoulder dramatically, he continued, “This has been a real party and all, but why don’t you come back to our base? Make yourself at home?”

Heisenberg was the suitor. The one who wanted to use you for his own gain and power. He made your skin crawl.

“Baron—” you saw Chris attempt to plead your case only to be cut off by him.

“Dammit, Chris, I swear to god!” he bellowed, slamming his cane so violently on the ground that you were afraid it would break. Then, in a complete switch, he became almost dainty, whispering with a light flourish, “For the last time… it’s Heisenberg.”

The man was unhinged. You didn’t know who was worse: Wesker or Heisenberg. But you needed to get the fuck out of there.

“Maybe another time,” you proposed, backing away, though that only caused his grip on you to tighten. “I really should get going.”

“Why? What’s the hurry?” he questioned in an odd sing-song before mockingly commenting, “Will your sire be worried?”

“Heisenberg.” The unmistakable voice of the man in question resonated throughout the room, penetrating the dense silence. You heaved a sigh of relief, never having been happier to hear it.

The Baron finally released you, but not without mumbling in your ear, “This isn’t over yet.”

“Oh, Leon!” he greeted in a sickeningly sweet tone. “We were just talking about you! Always the thorn in my side, huh?” He laughed at his own joke, but no one else joined in.

It didn't take long for Leon to catch up to where you were standing, positioning himself between you and Heisenberg. His steely countenance peered down at you briefly before he looked back at the Baron. From behind, you saw Claire slowly walking over to join her brother.

“You heard the lady,” Leon stated. “She wishes to leave.”

At this, there was a fleeting tick in Heisenberg’s cheek, his smile faltering as his lips twitched ever so slightly, betraying his obvious irritation at Leon’s words. Suddenly, there was a loud swish and an electric crack in the air, as the cane he was carrying turned into a whip, which he lashed across the ground. It landed mere centimeters away from Leon’s face, but he didn’t even flinch, staring Heisenberg down with a cold glare.

“Think you’re real tough, don’t you, boy?” Heisenberg spat.

However, Leon remained as calm and elegant as ever. You wondered how many times he’d practiced for this very moment. Motioning to you, he mentioned, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Heisenberg, but my childe here still remains part of the Camarilla.” Turning back to face the Baron, he delivered his final line like an arrow hitting its mark, “And if it comes to it, we will protect our own.”

For a split second, Heisenberg was stumped, but masked it with a ridiculing chuckle. “Is that a threat?” Without waiting for Leon to answer, he offered his hand to you. “Last chance, sugar.”

You ignored it, making your decision to take Leon’s instead, interlacing your fingers with his as you squeezed his palm. He squeezed back and smiled weakly.

“Your funeral,” Heisenberg huffed, disappointment and wounded pride clearly marking his face.

Together, you exited the gym hand-in-hand, narrowly escaping Heisenberg’s wrath unscathed, while numerous pairs of eyes watched you from the sides.

━━━━━━━━━━━

After the chivalrous display Leon had put on in your previous encounter with the Baron, you didn’t expect such a severe scolding from him the minute you stepped into his apartment.

“Wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?” he berated. “You’re being too reckless hanging out so openly with the Anarchs!”

A mixture of hurt and confusion flashed across your face as you shot back, “Yeah? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself in the mirror, Leon, considering that you used to be one of them!”

“Who told you that?” he snapped, backing you into a corner of the room. “Was it Chris—? No, Claire?”

You shoved him off roughly, shouting, “You have no right to judge! What have you been doing this whole time, huh? Fuck all!”

He looked away from you in embarrassment before turning back with a blazing fire in his eyes, his mouth writhing with manic fury. “I’ve been watching you, making sure you were safe, and you think I’ve done nothing?!”

You let out a harsh, hollow laugh in his face. “So, it was you? Stalking me like a fucking creep!”

He ground his teeth, jaw clenching so hard that you could see his muscles straining under the effort. “I don’t want to be ordered by the Prince to destroy you.”

“What did you say?!” you blurted out in bewilderment, grabbing his collar and slamming him into a nearby wall. Visible cracks emerged behind him along the plaster, spreading like spiderwebs. He whimpered in pain, but you continued pressing him in. “Are you threatening me?” you asked, your voice laced with grief and betrayal.

“No, never— I would never do that to you.” It came out like a cracked whisper. “If you step out of line, he will ask me to. But I would much rather be destroyed in your place,” he admitted.

So, was that why he kept trying to ‘control’ you? You were overcome with a sudden onslaught of emotions, and you didn’t know what to trust anymore. 

“Liar!” you screamed, an insurmountable rage surging through your blood as you hurled him against a glass coffee table. It smashed into smithereens, and he struggled to get up as the shards nicked his hands and body. Blood spilled onto the floor like a murder scene.

You bolted over, still overcome with frenzied anger, as you pinned him to the ground, pummeling his face while yelling, “I hate you! I fucking hate your guts! What you did to me, what you did to Sherry! You fucking monster! I wish you were d—”

You paused, realizing what you were about to utter and knowing that deep down that you didn’t mean anything you had just said. But the damage was already done. A pang of guilt seeped into your chest and it convulsed as you choked out uneven sobs. Your hands were trembling and covered in scarlet red, and your breath hitched as you peered at Leon’s bloodied and bruised face. He’d been cut up real bad, his nose was broken and his cheeks were puffed up like a balloon. However, he didn’t fight back, accepting every punch and insult you threw at him, like he deserved it.

“Do it,” he croaked, blood dribbling down the sides of his mouth. It almost seemed as if he wanted you to put him out of his misery.

“No, no, no, I—” You shook your head furiously, staring at your reddened palms and started crying. 

Your head fell forwards onto his chest, weeping into his stark white shirt, now ruined with blood and tears. A hand came to rest on your back, rubbing it reassuringly in circles, while the other carded through your hair. Even though he was the one suffering, he still took upon himself to comfort you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” you repeated like a prayer, but he hushed you gently.

It was then that you gave in. You’d seen who he was laid bare entirely before you. A monster with his skeletons exposed, and yet, you loved him. You loved him so much your heart would burst.

Holding him close, you moved him away from the broken glass and onto the rug — a new replacement for the one you had bled out on. You touched his face delicately with your fingertips; it was wet and sticky. Why wasn’t he mending himself? You wanted to kiss away his wounds and the pain. He stayed still, eyeing you curiously, waiting to see what you would do. A small gasp fell from his lips as you took your fingers into your mouth, tasting him whole. It was divine, just as you remembered, like figs and honey, and you had the insatiable desire for more.

“I want you, Leon,” you breathed. “Every part of you.”

At this, he drew in, taking your lips with his own urgently. You kissed back, matching it with a similar level of desperation, like both of you were famished. Parting your lips, you allowed his tongue to slip in to caress yours, swirling against it tantalizingly, as blood and saliva dripped from his mouth into yours. You lapped it up ardently, as though you didn’t want to waste a single drop. 

The nuances of his taste became clearer. A hint of leather, oak and spice, and at times, subtle notes of vanilla and whiskey, making you feel as if you were a sommelier. Perhaps these were the flavors he had enjoyed when living. Fire coursed through your veins as you straddled him, pressing your scorching body against his. He groaned at the contact, bucking his hips into yours feverishly.

Both of you continued in the same rhythm, moaning each time his erection rubbed against your pelvis. Giddy and heady from the high, you clawed at his shirt, clumsily tearing through the fabric and sending its buttons flying across the room. He responded in kind, ripping open the clothes you’d been wearing, unable to wait any longer.

His heated gaze dragged along your naked body, admiring it in reverence, as if you were a goddess that he worshiped the very ground you stood on. Planting wet, open-mouthed kisses from your neck to your breast, he murmured, “I need you, angel.” His hot breath fanning against your skin, causing you to shudder in delight. “Please, let me taste you.”

“Anything you want,” you rasped, tangling your hands in his hair. “I’m all yours.”

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, so unlike him that you wondered if you had awakened the sleeping Beast with your words. He took his time, cupping your breasts in his hands as his tongue flicked over one nipple and then the other. Latching onto it with his mouth, he suckled it, increasing the pressure as you twitched in response. You surrendered yourself entirely to him, allowing him to do as he pleased with your body.

He held your gaze as you watched his teeth sink in, puncturing the soft flesh of your breast. The sharp, prickly sting turned into that euphoric thrill you’d subconsciously craved for ever since the first time he’d tasted you. He drank from you a little before leaving the site, grazing your skin with his searing lips they traveled downwards. The first mark was left open and bleeding, just like the rest of the marks he would make. It was his way of showing the world that he had claimed you. You would let him devour you if you could.

His mouth paused at the side of your ribs and he made his second mark, the sensitivity of the spot causing your body to jerk suddenly, but he grasped the fat of your hips, holding you down as you whined. Blood flowed from the wound as if you’d been pierced in the side by a lance, and yet you begged, “More, please, more…”

The final mark he made on you in this round came when he reached your pussy, aching and sore for his touch. He licked your clit eagerly, sealing his lips around it as his fingers brushed against your folds, teasing the entrance before slipping in easily. Moans spewed out from your mouth as he continued sucking hard on your clit and curling his fingers against your spongy walls. At some point, he replaced them with his tongue, dipping and thrusting hungrily into your slit. His fingers glistened with your arousal all the way up to his knuckles, and you brought them into your mouth, soaking in the intoxicating aroma of sweat, lust and love. He hummed, taking the opportunity to bite into your mound, filling himself up with more of your essence as you threw your head back and gasped his name.

Coming up for breath, he peered at you beneath him. The carmine traces coating his lips like red-stained roses, and the scent and taste of your blood lingered in his very soul. He’d seen three separate memories of you with every mark, each more personal than the last, but no less beautiful. You looked truly holy like this, with your blissed out face and blown out eyes, your lips flushed and swollen. A moist sheen covered your body and your breasts quivered from your ragged breathing. He loved how he could do this to you. If he could, he would crown you as his sweet Mary, Isis, Ishtar, or any other form the saint and deity came in, bathing you in swathes of Marian blue and gold, and laying jewels at your feet. As the sanguine fluid trickled down your cunt like a virgin’s first time, he realized that for once, you were his, and solely his.

His wounds healed up in the process, good as new again, but you reached out, teary-eyed, cradling his face in your hands as you pressed your foreheads together. You never wanted to hurt him, and he never wanted to hurt you either. However, the pain still remained, like heavy stones crushing against your chest. He had already forgiven you, kissing you tenderly and stroking your cheek until you pulled away abruptly.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, like a thin wisp of smoke drifting into his waiting mouth. “Fuck me right here on the floor.”

The same floor where your life had drained away into the ether, the same floor where he had made that fateful decision to Embrace you, and the same floor where both of you had envisioned this very moment before it even happened. You needed him to fuck you rough and fast, just so you could forget and engrave this memory in your heart simultaneously. 

He heard it in your voice and understood, obliging as he peeled off the rest of his clothes, pushing you forward onto the ground, so that your front lay flat against its laminated surface. You felt him guide the tip of his cock against your pussy, smearing precum along your folds before burying himself to the hilt. He didn’t hesitate or hold back, pounding into you vigorously from behind without giving you the chance to adjust to his size. You mewled in agonizing pleasure as he grasped your ass, spreading it apart so he could penetrate deeper. Your skin rubbed raw against the hard floor, bones bruising against wood as you scratched scars into its layers.

With every sharp thrust your body jolted forwards, his balls slapping against your skin as he gritted out, “Fuck, angel, you just take it so well.”

“How much have you wanted me like this?” you asked impulsively, your voice strained as you rutted back into him in sync with his unrelenting pace, feeling the head of his cock hitting your cervix.

His dick throbbed at your question. A hand came up and pushed your head down, squishing your face into the floor. “God, I— think about bending you over and making you scream—” he panted. His tone turned feral and inhuman like you’d never heard before as he slammed his hips against your ass to punctuate each word, “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Screams tore from your throat until your voice became hoarse, and scalding tears gathered at your waterline before splashing onto the ground. Yet, something savage and animalistic, akin to what he had shown earlier, emerged from the depths of your chest. “Leon, please,” you keened. “Fuck me harder.”

Wrapping his arm around your neck, he leaned forward, placing his full body on top of you so that his chest was pressed flush against your back. Rocking his hips into yours, he fucked you so deep that you felt him in your ribcage. Instinctively, you plunged your fangs into his arm, breaking skin, as he hissed a string of curses before doing the same, clamping down on your neck. You drank from each other, consuming and mixing vitae as he continued pistoning into your cunt. Veins protruded from your neck and your eyes turned bloodshot, rolling back into your head. The excruciating euphoria you’d experienced from your Embrace returned, flooding your senses, and the visions began.

You saw the human life he’d led: a first and last date at the drive-in cinema where he’d fumbled with a cute girl, the all-nighters he’d pulled cramming for exams, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as he nodded off to sleep. Then came glimpses of his life and unlife with Ada: how they’d fallen in and out of love, the way he’d been brought to his highest highs and reduced to his lowest lows. You felt for him in those moments, wanting nothing more than for his happiness to shine through, even at the expense of your own. 

The images blended together like a watercolor painting, and you smelled the sand and sea. Two figures skinny-dipping, copulating by the waters, and again in the middle of a sandstorm. Your bodies melded into one and you were drawn back into your sweet release, both of you crying each other’s name on your lips. His hips stuttered, stuffing spurts of his cum into your cunt, the excess leaking between your thighs.

You stayed like this for an eternity before he pulled out, turning you around to face him as you lay side by side. He nuzzled your neck, kissing you affectionately. Blood caked your faces and streamed down your bodies.

“Messy drinker,” he chided softly, though his eyes were loving and warm. He licked all around your mouth, cleaning up the vermilion stains.

“I learned from the best,” you retorted, smirking as you caressed his jawline.

He scoffed, kissing your temple as he nestled you into his arms — a perfect fit. “You know I’m never letting you go after this?”

“Didn’t plan on leaving anyway,” you murmured into his chest, feeling his smile widen against your cheek.

I love you. He didn’t need to hear your confession to know that you meant every single word.

[pinkrose787]

You Can't Spell Apologize Without Lie

Summary: Bill comes into Ford's dream to apologize.

Ao3 Link

Ever since Bill died, Ford has slept a lot easier. No longer does he have to worry about that damn demonic triangle invading his dreams and tormenting him with threats of destroying his dimension.

That was until tonight.   

In tonight’s dream, he is in the Mystery Shack back when it was still his laboratory. It’s vivid in a way that his dreams never are. Except for whenever he dreamt about Bill.

“Hiya, Sixer! Did ya miss me? Admit it, you missed me.” A familiar perky voice comes from behind him.

Ford swivels around. Standing, or more precisely floating, before him is his triangular tormentor. Exactly the same as he was when Ford last saw him. Except for the crack that runs across his face filled with static. Likely a scar from when Stan punched Bill.

His eye has that smile to it. A smile that used to make Ford’s heart flutter with affection for his “muse”. Now, his heart pounds in fear of his manipulator. “Bill! You’re supposed to be dead!”

“But I’m not! I’m here!”

He takes a step back. A pointless action given Bill’s abilities. “Leave my mind this instant!”

Bill puts up his hands like he’s trying to soothe a panicked horse. He floats closer to Ford. “Listen, I will eventually. But I want you to hear me out first. Please.”

That gives Ford pause. In all his years of knowing Bill, never once did he say please. And there’s a genuineness in his voice. A vulnerability to it. But it could all be a trick. That’s what Bill does. He tricks and deceives to get what he wants.

Bill sighs. His eye looks at the ground. “I know you don’t trust me. And I know why. But it’s been so long. I’ve changed.”

“It’s only been 3 years. That’s barely any time to me, and almost nothing to you.”

“Where I’m at time works differently. It’s been 3 years to you and several eons to me.” He floats over to Ford. Puts his arm over his shoulder, the exact same way that he used to when Ford admired him. Likely a trick to get him to trust him. “You’re a smart guy, you get how all this relativity stuff works.”

Ford pushes Bill off of him. This time his tricks aren’t going work on him. “I don’t care where you are or how time works! I want you gone!”

“Look, I’ve spent all this time being ‘dead’,” He uses air quotes when he says dead. “in this asylum that makes Hell look like Disney World. There’s been nothing to do except reflect on my life.”

“It sounds like you’re in a place that you belong.”

“Yeah, I am.”

That’s not the answer Ford was expecting. At least, not said so sincerely. Still, he can’t forget that this is probably a trick. “So, you’re here to escape from there? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No! No.” Bill shakes his head. “I came here to apologize.”

“You came here to apologize?” Ford heard him correctly. He knows he did. It’s impossible for him to mishear Bill in these dreams. The concept of Bill ever apologizing is so alien to him that mishearing a voice that is psychically projected into his head is more plausible.

“Yes, I did.” Bill takes off his hat. He holds it in his hands. “I realized that I messed up. Badly. You were the best thing to happen to me in a trillion years, and I didn’t see that. I was blinded by my own ambition and after destroying my dimension I was too scared to let anyone get to close. So, I told myself that you were nothing but a tool to me. A means to an end. But you weren’t. You were everything to me. You were the one person who could understand me.”

A tear forms in Bill’s eye. Combined with holding his hat in hands, he looks so vulnerable and pathetic. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“So, you came here for forgiveness. Let me guess, this asylum place will only let you out if  get forgiveness from everyone you’ve ever wronged.” He looks Bill straight in the eye. “Well, you’re not getting it from me.” 

Bill puts his hat back on. It seems like he’s actually hurt by what Ford said? “That’s not it. They actually didn’t want me coming back here. They said it was a bad idea.”

“Well, maybe they were right. You should have never come back here.”

“I know, I just…”

“Just what? Just thought apologizing would undo everything you’ve done?” Ford’s voice starts to rise. “You manipulated me. You tortured me. You tried to kill my family. You damn near destroyed my dimension! I almost lost my brother because of you!”

“No! I…” Bill shouts.

Ford ignores him. “Do you want to know the worst thing you did?”

He looks Bill straight in his eye. Making sure that the demon is listening to his next words. “You made me fall in love with you. Even after every horrible thing you did to me, I still loved you! Even though I knew it was stupid and irrational to love someone who only wanted to hurt me, I still did!”

For once in his life, Bill Cipher doesn’t have anything to say.

“There were even parts of my brain telling me that it wasn’t that bad. That I’m being overdramatic. That being with you is better than being without you. And these thoughts tortured me for years. They haunted me on my coldest nights when I journeyed through the dimensions.”

“I’ve changed! I’m better now! I swear!” Bill cries.

“Well, I don’t care how much better you are! You could be the kindest person in all the dimensions who saves kittens from trees and I wouldn’t give a damn. Because it doesn’t matter how much you’ve changed, it still doesn’t negate all the horrible things you did!”

“I know that. But…”

“But nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought that apologizing would help you heal. Give you closure and all that junk.”  

“You thought it would heal me. Thought it would give me closure.” Ford rolls his eyes. “Well thank you for your consideration, but I was healing fine without you. I had just gotten to the point where I’m able to see a yellow triangle without spiraling into a panic attack. But now that’s in the trash, because of you.”

Bill rubs his arm. Not looking Ford in the eyes. “I really thought it would help.” He says in a low voice. “Honest.”

“Do you want to know how I know you haven’t changed? Every single sentence is about how you feel, what you think, how what you’ve done has affected you. There hasn’t been a single time where you have acknowledged how your actions have hurt me. You haven’t even done the bare minimum of asking how I’ve been doing. Because if you did you’d know that I’ve been doing better than I ever have without you.”

“Well, you haven’t given me an opportunity to. You keep cutting me off.”

“Because every time you open your damn mouth, you manipulate me. Every. Single. Time. But I’m not going let you this time. I’m done with you and your lies.”

Bill sighs. “I’m done with all of that. I promise.”

“Goodbye, Bill. If I never see you again, I want you to know that I hate you. More than I have ever hated anyone. You ruined my life, and for that I’ll never forgive you.”

What seems to be tear forms in Bill Cipher’s eye. “I’m sorry.” His voice fades.

Ford wakes up with a jolt. He’s covered in sweat. His breathing is heavy.

He looks around. He’s no longer in the dream.

Now, he’s back in the cabin of the Stan o’ War II. Stan sleeps on the bunk below him. The sound of his snores fill the cabin. The ship creaks as the waves rock it back and forth.

There’s no chance of him falling back asleep. He doesn’t want to risk seeing Bill again. That and his heart is still pounding in his chest. Looking at his watch, it reads 3 am.

He climbs out of bed, careful not to wake Stan, and heads out onto the deck.

It isn’t much lighter out here, but at least there are the stars. Out here in the Artic, there’s no light pollution. The stars shine brilliantly. Ford can find all the different constellations without needing a map of the sky. Ursa Major, Orion, Gemini.

If there is one thing Ford missed during his travel through the dimensions it was the stars. Sure, there were countless stars in all sorts of dimensions. But none of them equated to the beauty of the ones in this one. Looking at them he’s reminded that he’s back.

He’s home.

Though the stars are a source of comfort, there’s still a deep panic within him. Bill is back. He talked to him. His adrenaline levels are the same as if he was being hunted by a polar bear. Frankly, he’d rather deal with a polar bear than Bill.

He hears the floorboards creak behind him. Seems like Stan woke up. “You’re up early. You trying to map out the stars or something?” Stan says.

“I saw Bill in my dream,” Ford says point-blank. There’s no point in hiding it. Nor does he want to. He doesn’t want to be alone in dealing with Bill anymore. Every single time he’s tried, it’s almost ruined his life.

“Are you sure? You have been having a lot dreams about Bill since Weirdmageddon.” The worry in Stan’s voice is palpable.

Ford sighs. “This dream didn’t resemble any of the others. All of those dreams are strange and disjointed. Jumping from one event to another for seemingly no reason. This was one was as clear as day.”

“So he’s back? How? I killed that little triangle jerk!” Stan exclaims.

“You did. He’s still dead, and he has a scar on his face to prove it. I think he told me that he’s in some sort of prison dimension now?” Ford sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What else did he say? Because I swear if that wise guy threatened you-” Stan shakes his fist.

“No, he didn’t threaten me. In fact, he apparently came because he wanted to apologize."

“Apologize? That’s gotta be some sort of trick.”

“That’s what I thought too, but no he seemed genuinely sincere.”

“Eh, I doubt it. I know the likes of him.” Stan leans back against the railing of the boat. “Met plenty of them over the course of my life. And let me tell you their apologies are never sincere.”

Ford rests his arms on the railing. “You may be right.” He sighs. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. I keep thinking I have Bill figured out, then he pulls something like this.”

“You should take what you do know about him, that he’s a lying conniving jerk who wanted to kill you and destroy our dimension, and base your opinion on that. So, he apologized.” Stan shrugs. “That’s just words. Don’t mean nothing.”

“You’re right.”

“Course, I am. I’m always right!”

“What frustrates me is that I feel like I’ve gone backwards. Right when I thought I put everything to rest.” Ford hits the railing. “He comes back and ruins it. Now, I feel like I did before Weirdmageddon. Terrified that he’s going to come back and destroy me.”

Stan puts his arm over Ford. “Look, how bout this? Next time, he comes back, I’ll go into your dream and punch him dead again.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Eh, I’m sure you’ll find a way with that smart guy brain of yours.” Stan starts giving ford a noogie.

Ford laughs. “Okay, okay. I’ll find a way to let you into my dreams.” He playfully pushes Stan away.

“Good. Cause there ain’t no way I’m letting that stupid little jerk come back and hurt you again. You hear?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He has a smile on his face. Most of the tension in Ford’s body is gone. Stan always was able to bring Ford back down and out of his own head when they were kids. Frankly, he doesn’t know how he managed without Stan.

But then again, he does know. He didn’t. He got swindled by a demon and became a criminal in multiple dimensions. Not a single part of Ford doubts the idea that if he had let Stan back in a lot earlier, then none of that would have happened.

There’s a moment of silence between the two of them. “Hey, Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

[the-emblematic]

I’m really enjoying the reversal of who knows what from botw to totk

in botw, link wakes up not knowing who he is, where he is, how he got there, who the voice in his head is or why he’s naked. Just thoroughly concussed. And he spends most of the game kinda just going along with what everyone says he needs to do without really understanding anything until at least the mid-late game

whereas in totk, once you finally get back to the ground everyone is running around trying to figure out what’s going on with these new mysterious artifacts. While Linky boy has one grafted onto his body.

Could this all be from…the zonai?? Yes. In fact, Link was just hanging out with one

Did I really just see the princess fly away and disappear??? Yeah she does that now, keep up

like don’t get me wrong, my guy is still incredibly confused. Just slightly less so than everyone else

[musclemanveryregular]

[ID: on the left is Skips the Yeti man, on the right is rigby the talking raccoon. /end ID]

Original poll with info for skips

Original poll with info for rigby

Master post link

A few things I forgot to mention plus scenarios below:

Skips:

-very wise, very powerful

-very level headed, takes a great deal to provoke him as a friend

--notable exception to this is cheating at arm wrestling. He straight up killed Rigby once over this

--had to beat Death in an arm wrestling contest to get him back

-often shipped with benson, which is really cute and I get it, but I also think he and Gary would make great exes back to lovers type deal

Here's what I think would have happened last week if you want to read that:

You and Skips got high together last week; it took a bit of convincing him to at least stop working for a little bit and take a break from working all the time. It took no convincing him to try a bit of weed because he read in Wizards Monthly, a magazine he recently subscribed to since the likelihood of being attacked by something magical in the park is actually pretty likely, that it could help him get in better touch with nature.

And it really did.

Because you both went exploring an ancient lost civilization while stoned out of your minds.

Rigby:

-used to shirk work, doesn't eo much anymore. To the point he once covered for mordecai for like a long ass time.

-very very good at Bank Shot, a trickshot basketball arcade game that scores your point based on throw performance.

--threw the ball so well it left to find a romantic partner, succeeded, and came back a changed basketball.

-very prone to munchies

-very disorganized, sleeps on a pile of clothes on top a trampoline for 90% of the show until the last season where suddenly the forgot how important that trampoline is to him. Seriously why? I guess you could call it part of his character growth in some way but like this is such like an autism special spot thing that it feels weird. Yes I hc him as autistic.

-anyways, also in an alternate timeline he helped fight in the resistance against an evil mordecai who was working with their old gym teacher to destroy the fabric of time itself. And eventually dies in front of current rigby. Rigby is so used to weird shit happening this has no serious long term affect on him.

Here's what I think would have happened last week if you want to read that:

Mordecai went out of town for the weekend with his new girlfriend, the mysterious bat lady, Stef, he just started seeing last week. Eileen is on a brief trip across country for her new job. Rigby is bored as shit at The House, and literally calls you up and invites you over for a smoke sesh.

You arrive, bringing your own snacks, and a bit of hash knowing the last time you hung out he had neither at the time and thats why he invited you but it was a fun enough time that going back wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Following Rigby up the stairs, he gets to his room first (go figure, he was running on all fours) and are suddenly greeted by an intense cloud of thc. Assuming you aren't allergic to weed, and you don't die immediately, you go inside the cloud into what you think is Rigby's room where you find unopened tiny bags of chips all over the room and so much hash.

One of the perks of having a super successful wife, probably.

Apparently Rigbys been smoking a lot more weed lately. You both smoke and play video games together the rest of the night.

[fatefulfaerie]

Tears

“Link!” Penn exclaimed, wings outstretched in excitement. “What a great sense for news you have! Here I am chasing a new lead on the Princess and my partner appears before my eyes!”

Link hadn’t seen Penn since they finished chasing all the leads they had on the Princess’ whereabouts. It was at least a month since they went from stable to stable, Link almost believing the Yiga’s tricks and getting barely a wink of sleep until all twelve were dead ends. He was left just as lost as when he started until he found Impa and sunk himself into the mysterious geoglyphs that dotted the land. Link hadn’t yet found the courage to admit to anyone the truth about Zelda, so he pretended the best he could to be the eager, young reporter Penn knew him as.

“I’ve heard that Zelda has a homestead here in Hateno,” he continued. “Villagers tell me it’s across this bridge, but I’m afraid I’m at a standstill. You see, investigating her home for clues seems to go against my morals as a journalist. This may have to be a story we leave be.”

It was public knowledge that Princess Zelda lived in Hateno. That was no news story.

“What’s the lead?” Link asked. “Was she seen here recently? S-since her disappearance I mean.”

“It may be hearsay but rumors have been circulating that the Princess is married,” Penn said. “The villagers here have no idea what I’m talking about, so I’m thinking it’s no more than gossip. Traysi wanted me to check it out nonetheless. I’m thinking we at least find the may–”

Link averted his tear-filled gaze.

“Link, are you all right?”

“I…I’m fine,” he stammered. “Just…allergies.”

“Where,” he began weakly, but forced his voice to be stronger. “Where does the lead come from?”

“An old Zora at the Domain,” Penn answered. “He’s losing his memory but tends to spout some random things about his long life in an effort to keep a grasp on it. His niece heard him talking about marrying the Princess to someone, but he didn’t specify who. She was so excited about the prospect that she sent word to Traysi.”

Link looked notably nervous as he hugged his arms close.

“Don’t…don’t run the story,” he said in a hushed voice, no longer meeting Penn’s gaze at all. 

Penn looked confused.

“Link…what do you mean? Do you know something?”

“It just…it paints her in a bad light.”

“Link, I know you care about the princess’ public reputation. Your work at the paper honors that gleamingly. Your search for the absolute truth is inspiring to the whole team. You service our kingdom and our princess well.”

Link steadied his nerves with a deep breath and a slow blink of his eyes.

“It was me,” he admitted, quietly at first.

Penn blinked, shocked. He assumed he heard wrong.

“What?”

“It was me!” Link finally burst out pointing at himself. “All of it, everything. The mysterious hero who came out of nowhere and saved Hyrule from the calamity, me. I brought Zelda here and we built a life, and it was a good life. I married her because I loved her. We didn’t tell anyone because goddesses the Yiga were trailing her everywhere and everyone was looking at her to rebuild but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore because she’s gone, okay? She’s gone! That’s it, that’s your story. She’s a magic, floating dragon in the skies because I failed her again. She sacrificed herself for this kingdom and no one will ever know because there’s no proof! Nothing! No one else sees the dragons but me, so that’s what I have for you, absolutely nothing! I have nothing!”

Link panted and Penn stared. He blinked his eyes once, twice. Link expected him to call him crazy. Instead, he pointed his white-feathered wing at the house across the bridge.

“That’s your house?”

Link’s disbelief was shown in his face.

“Yes.”

Penn looked at the house for a moment, letting the breeze sift through his feathers.

“Link I think in a time like this Hyrule would quite like to hear a story like this about their Princess,” Penn said. “I don’t think your story paints her in a bad light in the slightest. In fact, it may be the heartwarming tale people need right now.”

Link’s gaze angled down and pondered the suggestion.

“And no, they won’t believe that she’s turned into a dragon,” Penn continued. “But they will believe as I do how much you loved her, and how she must have loved you.”

Link nodded.

“If you don’t mind I’d like to interview you,” Penn admitted. “In the house you built together. You’ll get final approval of the story I send to Traysi.”

Link looked up and over at the house. It felt like he hadn't been there in ages, like it was a lifetime ago that he went in scouring for clues, hoping she'd just be around the next corner. Waiting for her was like waiting for a sunrise that would never come.

“No, I don’t mind.”

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-04-05

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite James Conrad stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

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✑ Bind Me by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "When you see that your husband is troubled by his time on Skull Island, you suggest doing something entertaining."

✑ Caught in a Love Web by screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: After rescuing you from one of Skull Islands' giant spiders, James finally finds the courage to tell you everything he wanted to say months ago.

✑ Dancing in the Rain by sserpente • 16+ • 〔E᜶F〕 •

Summary: "Imagine, [while] stranded on [Skull] Island, convincing Captain James Conrad to dance [with you] in the rain...."

✑ Dangerous Paradise by holdmytesseract • 14+ • 〔E᜶M〕 •

Summary: "As a journalist, you join a expedition to a mysterious island called 'Skull Island' - which turns out to be a literal death trap. But with all the danger you are facing, there is at least one good thing... The incredibly hot tracker of the team, Captain James Conrad..."

✑ Don't Touch That by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔E〕 •

Summary: "As a botanist for MONARCH, you can spy potentially deadly vegetation a mile away. Unfortunately, James Conrad cannot, and the thinly veiled sexual tension between… you is about to explode."

✑ I've Got You by lov3nerdstuff • 16+ • 〔E᜶C〕 •

Summary: "Imagine being on Skull Island... and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only [to see] several pairs of eyes to [staring] back... The second you try to bolt… he [pulls] you against his firm chest, and [whispers in your ear not to move a muscle]."

✑ Keep Me Safe by muddyorbsblr • 18+ • 〔E᜶C〕 •

Summary: "You run into a tent for safety after being chased by a massive insect-like creature while collecting flora samples from Skull Island. The tent belongs to James Conrad."

✑ Let's Stay Together by just-the-hiddles • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "MONARCH has finally allowed James to return home to London after the fiasco on Skull Island. He finds you at home and remembers what he had been missing [while] he [was] gone."

✑ Lost and Found by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: After disappearing on a mission over five years ago, James is more than a little surprised to find you, his wife, alive and living with the locals on Skull Island.

✑ Nauseous by simplyrochellemari • 〔F᜶A〕 •

Summary: "You and James have [a] history [of] working together on cases, and your constant banter quickly takes a turn when you both get placed on the same assignment to Skull Island, and both of your lives are threatened."

✑ Not a Fever by muddyorbsblr • 18+ • 〔E〕 •

Summary: "You're quarantined in the laboratory with James Conrad as you try to determine what the effects of the pollen he was exposed to are."

✑ Rest by hopelessromanticspoonie • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "Conrad knows exactly what buttons to push to get you to come to bed."

✑ Uncharted Teritory by sserpente • 18+ • 〔E〕 •

Summary: "Imagine [being on an expedition] with James Conrad. [When] he finds you bathing under a waterfall, he [plans] on chiding you for leaving the camp alone, [however] when he [sees you're] naked [it gets] harder and harder [for him] to focus."

✑ Unexpected, But Loved All the Same by merakiaes • 〔M᜶F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

Summary: "James comes home from Skull Island and is greeted with a surprise he was not expecting."

✑ Use Me by ladycamillewrites • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: You help your husband let off some steam...

✑ Wildest Dreams by cleo-fox • 18+ • 〔M᜶E〕 •

Summary: It's nearing ten o'clock at night and James Conrad is standing on your doorstep.

✑ You Deserve Better￨Prt. II by muddyorbsblr • 18+ • 〔F᜶C〕 •

Summary: When all the plans you'd made for today go down the drain, the last person you expected shows up at your door to try turning the night around.

✑ Abs by tomhiddleston-is-mischief • 〔F〕 •

✑ Admiration￨Prt. II by jewels2876 •

✑ Adventure by goddessofmischief • 〔A᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Be Careful Now by justauthoring • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Best Hiders, the by jewels2876 • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Brilliance of a Blanket Fort by hopelessromanticspoonie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dear Daddy… by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Every One of Your Scars by lady-rose-moon • 18+ • 〔E〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Family Camping Trip by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Indescribable by justauthoring • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ It's Okay to Be Afraid by justauthoring • 〔F᜶C〕 •

✑ Just Like That￨Prt. II by jewels2876 • 〔F〕 •

✑ Just Passing Through by goddessofmischief • 〔F〕 •

✑ Just this Once by sserpente • 16+ • 〔E᜶F〕 •

✑ Motivation by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ No Lizards in the House! by ladyfluff • 〔F᜶C〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ No More by justauthoring • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Operation Sheets by hopelessromanticspoonie • 18+ • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Promise Me by ladyfluff • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Promises by hopelessromanticspoonie • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Rain by ladyfluff • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Smiling Down at You by justauthoring • 〔A〕 •

✑ Waiting by hopelessromanticspoonie • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dates w/ James Conrad… by tomhiddleston-is-mischief • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ James Conrad as a Father… by thepilotanon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Having James Conrad as a Significant Others…￨Prt. II • by thepilotanon • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || James Conrad Master Index

Authors: @cleo-fox || @goddessofmischief || @holdmytesseract || @hopelessromanticspoonie || @jewels2876 || @justauthoring || @just-the-hiddles || @lady-rose-moon || @ladycamillewrites || @ladyfluff || @lov3nerdstuff || @merakiaes || @muddyorbsblr || @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms || @simplyrochellemari || @sserpente || @thepilotanon || @tomhiddleston-is-mischief ||

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #8

(Had this idea a couple nights ago after playing Oxenfree for the eighth time. Not based on the game or anything, but that would also be extremely cool to read. Anyone who wants to take this idea, take it and run. Run as far as you can with it. I'd love to see what you write.)

next →

✦

Radio Silence

The Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms is supposed to be linked to every universe/dimension in existence. If this is true, what if when The Accident ™ occurred, Danny's dying screams echoed throughout the multiverse where everyone to ever exist hears the cries of a child going through what sounds like agonizing, lethal torture.

This wakes some of the heroes/vigilantes in the DC Universe ™ from a dead sleep, chills scraping up and down their spines, while others freeze in their spots as they listen and can do nothing to stop it. The Supers have it the worst, because the screams ring in their ears long after they stop and they were also able to pick up what sounded like begging. Begging for the pain to stop. What felt like hours of listening to the tortured screams of the poor child, is only a matter of thirteen seconds before they're abruptly and eerily cut short. Clark is absolutely sobbing up in the Watchtower, Batman beside him as they were originally going over plans for a mission.

This just took immediate priority though.

Clark fully believes that whoever the child was, they were no longer alive. At least until he starts hearing the voice, mostly when the child was in distress, in pain, or seemingly battling something. It's later that he discovers the rest of the world -and even the universe- can also hear the child's voice, although more faintly and only on occasion. His voice comes across more clear on silent unused radio frequencies. Danny has basically become the voice of the universe.

While the Justice League are trying to devise a way to find and keep this child safe, them and the rest of the universe are able to hear every battle (especially the ones against Pariah Dark, the other Ancient ghosts, and Dan) every late night spent stitching himself back together, everytime he's been electrocuted and forced to relive the way he died. Those particular moments are what nearly bring the JL to their knees. The screams are too close to what started this entire mission to find the mysterious boy. Whoever this Vlad Plasmius or the Guys in White were gained a long list of people who want to personally punch them in the face, Batman and Superman being the first of that list.

By the time the JL have built a machine to allow them to travel to Danny's dimension, they've heard all of Danny's accomplishments, followed him throughout his growth as a young hero, and his ascension to the throne. They are immensely proud of him. Several of them have thought of inviting him to the Justice League, even if he was from an entirely different dimension.

Now though, after years of listening to him and hearing his struggles, and begging for a way to find him, the Justice League will finally complete a years long mission.

Time to meet Phantom.

✦

This prompt doesn't have to be just a DP X DC prompt. This can apply to any universe you want to work with! Run wild with it! Have fun!

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Chapter 8 linked here

Chapter 10 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, blood mention (nothing overly graphic)

When you entered Levi's room to get him clean clothes, you took the time to be by yourself for a moment, trying to collect your racing thoughts. Everything had happened so quickly-- you went from being sound asleep to stitching up Levi's flesh. Not that his injuries were life threatening or something he had never dealt with before, but it still shook you when you remembered that even someone as strong as him isn't invincible. You took in a trembling breath, moving to rest your face in your hands for a second but you stopped before they made contact. You hadn't noticed until now that your hands were covered in Levi's blood. You groaned. Of course they were, he was bleeding like a damn geyser. You didn't want to soil his fresh laundry with your stained skin so you ran to the nearest water basin to begin your cleanup. With your now clean fingers, you began to warm up a big bucketful of water to use to wash off Levi since you knew he hated being dirty but was too injured to do it himself. While the water was heating up over the fire, you ran back to his room to grab some towels and his clothes. When you dropped them off in your room, Levi gave you a quizzical look.

"Why are you running around like this so late? I'm going to my own room so you can get some sleep." He sat up with his feet dangling over the edge of the bed, threatening to get up again and it took everything in you not to shove him back down like you had done minutes prior when the doctor was in there.

"Levi," you sighed, "please relax. I'm warming up some water so I can at least clean off the grime you're covered in. Then I'll help you into your room."

"Tch. You don't think I can clean myself?" As he stood from the bed, he winced and grabbed the side with his injured ribs. You stood there, eyebrows raised as he failed to prove to you he could act independently at the moment.

"By all means, Captain. Go fetch the bucket without gritting your teeth and swearing. If you can do that, I'll believe you don't need help."

If looks could kill, you would've been dead a hundred times over from the glare Levi gave you as he sat once more. "Brat."

You let out a triumphant "humph!" and left to collect the bucket, now heated up. When you came back, you swore you heard Levi release a sigh of relief, and you figured it was because he was ready to lose his mind if he had to sit there covered in blood for any longer. You took up your usual spot next to him on the bed and dunked the first cloth in the water, bringing it to his wounded arm. He moved lightning fast, grabbing the cloth from your grip.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, eyes fixed on an empty spot of the room, "I'm not an invalid."

You chose your next words carefully as your hand hovered over his own, fearful of scaring him away with your touch. "Levi. You're not an invalid and you're not a burden. You're injured and I want to help you in any way I can. Not because you're not capable, but because I want to make your life a little bit easier in the ways I know how." You drew in a sharp breath as your voice went small. "Please. Let me help you."

For once in his life, Levi wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't stand the thought of you seeing him in such a state of weakness, fearing you would think of him differently than the strong soldier he was supposed to be, but here you were, instead fighting to come to his aid. He knew you were compassionate and caring so it was probably just in your nature to help people you deemed in need of it. Deep in his heart he hoped it was also because you recognized the connection you two shared, whatever it could be categorized as. He relinquished the cloth to your open and waiting palm, laughing internally at the surprised look that came onto your face when you realized he had complied with your pleads. You gently took his arm in your hands and began to cleanse the area around his stitches, not wanting to irritate the skin further.

"Is it alright if I clean the other arm for you? I don't want you to pop the stitches if you do it yourself, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable, either." He had an unreadable look on his face but his eyes held a softness that you were now becoming accustomed to and was a look that you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.

"That's fine," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. You nodded and worked on his other arm, down to his hands, up to where his shoulder met his neck. He was starting to feel less tense as the warm water and your benevolent touch melted away the stresses of the expedition. When you got the go ahead to wash his back, Levi's eyes fluttered closed at the first graze of the cloth. He had never received attention like this. He had never thought he even wanted, desired, craved, something like this before he met you. You were always going out of your way to help him, but it wasn't out of pity. It was like you enjoyed doing things for him in the same way he did for you too. Little did he know, you were thinking of the same sort of thoughts as you wiped away the accumulated sweat from his scar littered back. You didn't know much about his life before the Scouts, no one except Erwin and Hange did, but judging by how faded some of the scars were, he got them decades ago and you concluded he had a rough upbringing. Not that you were surprised, no one is as guarded as he is for no reason. You were just glad he accepted your help and allowed you to see him in such a vulnerable state. You figured you had to mean something to Levi to see him like this, let alone lay your hands on him.

"Okay, back is done. Chest next?"

He nodded as he faced you again. You readied the washcloth with more warm water, trying to balance being gentle with him while being speedy enough to not douse him in cold water if it sat too long. You were extremely gentle, taking great care not to touch his ribs more than necessary. You had gotten over your timidity of seeing him shirtless, knowing that professionalism took priority when you looked at him in this state.

"Done. Legs are next, do you need help taking off your pants?"

Both of you were too exhausted to be embarrassed by the connotations of that sentence. Levi was able to do most of it but you swooped in to finish the job of releasing the pant legs from his ankles so he didn't have to bend over. Thankfully his legs weren't too dirty so it was quick work. You turned around as he changed into fresh underwear and you helped him shimmy into the rarely worn pajamas you found deep in his dresser drawer. You collected his dirty clothes into a pile to clean later and when you went to assist Levi into his own bed, you slapped your hand to your head.

"I totally forgot to wash your face. All that hard work and I forgot to polish up the money maker."

You wore a teasing grin while Levi rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. He found it so attractive that you took great care in your work, no matter what you did. He was about to stop you from raising the wash cloth to his face and suggest he could do it himself, but he decided he wanted to be selfish for once and relish in your loving contact for the limited time he had access to it. You gently dabbed the cloth onto his cheek, careful to not pull at the skin. You felt your heart rate skyrocket as you became acutely aware of just how close his lips were to yours. You felt his steady breath land on your arm as you brought the cloth to his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way, and then to his other cheek. You were getting lost in his blue gray eyes that never left your own. He was staring you down, not in a way that was threatening, but more like he was studying you. You were studying him too, as you had before in other quick glances, but this time felt different. Neither of you were afraid of the other catching you in the act of shameless staring. You both were unabashedly looking at one another, no ounce of shame or uncomfortable energy present. It was strangely familiar the way you observed each other, like you had done this every day of your lives. Come to think of it, ever since you moved to the castle, you and Levi had looked at each other a lot. Your eyes always found solace in his reassuring gaze, no matter the occasion. After a joke of yours that had the dining hall in wheezing laughter, after a sarcastic comment of his that had you fighting for your life so as to not get reprimanded by the higher ups for giggling. Bad news, good news, worse news. Any time anything happened, there was no doubt that you two would lock eyes and share silent understanding. Even now, as you tried your best to clean him up, there was no need for words. You were sharing unspoken thank you's; him to you for taking care of him, you to him for letting you do so. The air seemed to get heavier around you as you inadvertently leaned in toward him the slightest amount. Levi sensed the almost imperceptible movement but he didn't flinch away, even though his body was begging him to break away from your closeness. It was decades of dealing with shitty people in shitty situations that taught him not to trust anybody and that there's more than likely an ulterior motive behind any action someone takes toward him. Still, he found himself no further away from you as his mind reeled, telling him to run away from whatever was happening before you could hurt him.

That was the thing--he wasn't afraid of you hurting him. He had known you a little over half a year but you had proven yourself to be just as valuable to him as his closest companions and shared all of their greatest traits: you were caring like Hange, passionate like Erwin, as headstrong as Isabelle, as focused as Furlan. You were an amalgamation of every person he had ever cared about. They had never done him wrong and he'd be damned if he thought you were any different. The one thing that set you apart from those people, though, was the nature of his bond with you. You had gone from strangers to close friends in no time, which was fine with him, but his attraction to you had been confusing him nonstop since that day he ripped his cape for you. Levi was a total stranger when it came to romance. Having no good role models to show him what romantic love could be like, he grew to fear it. It was just a distraction, a pesky thing like a fly, that could only lead to heartbreak. In a world where death loomed around every corner, Levi felt he couldn't afford to lose any more people. If romantic love was as life altering as people claim it to be, losing a significant other would be world shattering. He put his life on the line many more times than the average person--what kind of boyfriend or husband would he be to subject his girlfriend or wife to the pain of losing her mate? What kind of man would he become if he himself felt the loss of yet another person he would go to the ends of the earth for? As all these thoughts flooded his mind, he still couldn't find it within himself to create a gap between you two. His heart was pounding in his chest and his blood felt like it was on fire as he took the cloth that was still resting on his face from your hand, enjoying the feeling of your skin on his own. He found an unsoiled spot of the same cloth and brought it up to your face, causing you to jump a little at the unexpected contact.

"You got my blood on your face," he said, still not breaking eye contact as he wiped your cheek with a tender brush of the fabric. You smiled airily as you savored this side of Levi rarely seen by anyone. You were sure that in any other lifetime you and Levi would've kissed by now, seeing as you were in such an intimate position, but this universe was far too cruel to allow you to indulge in affection like that. Still, you didn't let that stop you from relishing in the fact that you were here, with Levi, and he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as you were. You knew he would've pulled away in an instant if he didn't want to be so close so you took it as a win. However, you didn't want him to get too overwhelmed from your lovelorn staring so you cast your eyes and chin a bit downward. Levi immediately got your attention again by bringing his free hand to your chin and lifting it delicately so he could see your eyes again. You felt nauseous, but in the best way possible. Did he really just do that? Your heart felt like it was battering against the walls of your chest as Levi kept his eyes trained on you once more. It was like he was trying to use his irises to communicate to you everything he wouldn't dare say out loud. Luckily for him, you understood him perfectly. In a show of your dedication to him, you tilted your forehead forward and he easily comprehended what you were doing, meeting his own forehead to rest on yours. Your noses grazed each other and you had never felt a sense of peace wash over you like it did in that moment.

"I care deeply for you, too," you answered him, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes shined brighter than you had ever seen before and he was ecstatic you accepted the message he found too excruciating to speak. A barely there quirk of the lips was present on Levi, the man beyond relieved that he wasn't the only player in this game of love. You knew it was extremely late and you wanted Levi to rest before the sun came up so you reluctantly pulled away from him.

"Sleep here. I got some rest before you came back so I don't need the bed for tonight. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Levi went to protest but you shot him the most serious look you could muster. That was enough to quiet him down as he sunk into the bed, exhaustion creeping over him as he finally succumbed to sleep. You truly weren't tired so you kept your hands busy, scrubbing the blood from his clothes and sewing up his ripped shirt. Before you knew it, the sun started shining into your window and you hurriedly pulled the curtains closed so Levi wouldn't wake up. You were still in a bit of shock that he practically confessed his feelings for you, but you were more so pleased that you weren't misconstruing his actions the past few months. You knew nothing would really change in your relationship after this revelation, and you took comfort in that. You guys would be doing the same things you had already been doing, but with the truth of the intent behind the actions known. There were no expectations or societal pressures you had to bow down to, it would just be two people enjoying each others' presence and knowing you had each other's backs, no matter what. You definitely wouldn't be opposed to it if Levi suggested he wanted to try more romantic things one day, but you were a patient person. You'd wait a thousand lifetimes to kiss him if it meant he was by your side, just existing. Even if he never found himself comfortable enough to try something like that, you wouldn't fault him. His unyielding gaze was more than enough reassurance for you. You were brought out of your thoughts by your growling stomach. It must be time for breakfast! You went down to the dining hall and grabbed your food to go. It was pretty empty, which you figured considering most of the Corps just came back a few hours ago. You took a few pieces of fruit and some bread for Levi as well, carrying all of it up in a napkin. You'd make him some fresh tea when he woke. You quietly slid out a chair at the table to eat so you didn't make a mess and stress Levi out with your crumbs everywhere. As you ate, your eyes wandered along the room but they, of course, landed on the black haired man in your bed. His chest rose and lowered with the deep breathing of sleep and his lips were slightly parted. In all honesty he looked pretty beat up and you hoped his recovery would go smoothly. He hated being out of commission and you were eager to take him on your charity trip to the interior. You peeked out of the curtains and saw the sun was now high in the sky, signaling early afternoon. You wrote up a small note to hang on your door to tell people to drop off their torn clothes in a quiet manner outside the door and you'd get started on them in order of first come, first served. With a full tummy and in a dark, warm room, you felt yourself starting to get sleepy. You tried to blink away the tiredness but it was no use as you were yawning nonstop. You hadn't heard any footsteps outside your door meaning work hadn't been dropped off for you yet. You figured a little nap wouldn't hurt so you tried resting your head on the table but you were supremely uncomfortable. Levi had your only pillow and you frowned at your lack of thinking things through. You didn't want the creaking of the door to wake him or else you would've gone to his room for an extra pillow. You figured he wouldn't care if you shared the bed, right? You'd just lay your head near his feet and it'd be like you weren't even there. You stealthily placed the chair at the foot of the bed and laid your head on your outstretched arms. It must've been even comfier than you expected because you fell asleep almost instantly.

Levi immediately woke up when he felt the bed dip slightly but when he saw it was you, he calmed down right away. He couldn't resist wearing a soft grin when he noticed you were out like a light once your head hit the plush mattress. Feeling comforted by your company, he was able to fall back asleep as well, this time dreaming of you.

Chapter 10

Taglist: @blueeclipsepaperstudent

[ms-fandomgirl]

BBHG: Oyakodon with Spicy Sauce (Ch. 3)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 4,280

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Oyakodon - a donburi (rice bowl) dish where chicken, egg, scallion, and other ingredients are simmered together in a sweet and salty broth, served over a large bowl of rice. Oyakodon is a popular comfort food in Japan.

You were going to kill him. You were going to take your homemade bowl of oyakodon which you had so painstakingly prepared and dump it all over his smug face. When you saw him next, you weren’t going to hold back. That is, if you ever saw him next.

You were leaning against the wall of the train station, arms crossed and most likely scaring off anyone within a five-foot radius. Your knuckles were white with rage from clutching the bento you had prepared that morning, your one morning off. You could have been tucked into your warm bed, dreaming sweet thoughts about anything other than the asshole who was extremely late.

You pushed yourself off of the wall, making your way back up the stairs of the station. You had arrived fifteen minutes earlier than usual, since he always seemed to be here before you. Watching the trains come and go, you counted down the minutes until it was ten minutes after your usual stop. Then twenty. Then thirty. You normally tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, but by now, your brain had completely run dry of excuses.

The good-smelling asshole wasn’t coming, and you were a complete and utter fool.

You pulled out your phone as you walked. Opening Hina’s contact, you began to tell her about the unfortunate conclusion to your “meet-cute” and to berate her for filling your head with rom-com scenarios that would never actually happen. As you sent the message, a notification chimed which made you stop in your tracks.

Come to the hospital now. It’s an all-staff emergency. -Gia

How Gia got your number, you had no idea. It must have been on file, or maybe she bullied it out of Hina. Either way, the message made your skin crawl, a cold chill creeping down your spine. You had no clue what could constitute such an ominous and urgent text, but you would find out soon enough.

As you waited for the next train, you began to see signs that something was indeed off. The train station was as busy as ever, but instead of people getting on to the trains, you noticed that the majority of people were leaving the station as quickly as they could. Looking left and right, only ten other people were waiting for your train to the central downtown and medical area. Usually, the queues would extend ten or twelve people deep, not total. The train pulled into the station, its doors opening to let a flurry of passengers out but then promptly closing before you could get on. The sound of soft chimes echoed through the train station, and a pit formed in your stomach as you heard a cheery voice through the speakers.

“Announcement: We regret to inform all passengers that the Yamanote train line is delayed until further notice due to villainous activity. Estimated time of departure is unknown.”

Groans and unhappy muttering erupted around you, and you tried your best to not scream in frustration. As if your day couldn’t get any worse. Jogging out of the train station, you were at least fortunate enough to find a taxi after only five minutes of waiting. The diver was an elderly man with a soft voice, who openly balked when you told him your destination.

“Are you sure you want to go that way, miss?” he questioned. “The whole area is blocked off right now due to the attack this morning. They’re not letting anyone in.”

You sighed, pulling out your nurse’s badge from your pocket. “I work at the Tokyo Central Hospital and was just called in. If I’m on duty because of the attack, then they should let me through.”

The man nodded in agreement before pulling out onto the road. “Normally, the trip is about twenty-five minutes, but with the traffic and blockades, I’m not sure how long it will take.”

“That’s okay,” you said, leaning against the door. “I’ve had a morning of waiting.”

Pulling out your phone, you tried to find more information on the most recent events. The search proved easy, with an attack on a public parade hosting the top heroes being the only topic reported on.

“So a hero parade got attacked?” you muttered, more to yourself than the driver. However, the man heard your question, glancing back at you in the rear-view mirror.

“From what I heard, it was by a whole group of villains! I don’t know the specifics, but apparently one of them had a super powerful quirk that knocked out two of the top ten heroes there instantly. The other villains participating in the attack got captured, but the powerful one still remains at large.”

The driver shook his head. “To think what the world has come to. Every day, I hear of more and more villainous activity. Maybe it’s time for me to retire.”

You hummed in agreement, the car falling into a comfortable silence as glass storefronts and busy pedestrians passed by in a blur. You tried to reason that walking into such a dangerous area was simply part of the job. If you had chosen paramedics over pediatrics as your profession, you would have been in a lot more danger on a regular basis. Nonetheless, your stomach became uneasy at the thought of walking the streets so close to the incident with someone still at large.  Whoever these villains were that attacked the parade were either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, probably a hefty mixture of both. And the fact that one of them managed to incapacitate two top ten heroes on spot - you weren’t very familiar with the hero charts or rankings, but you knew anyone in the top twenty could kick some serious ass. After all, Suneater was number twelve, and from the shaky live footage that Hina had shown you, he looked terrifying to oppose when he was focused and fighting.

Eventually, the car slowed, pulling over to the curb. You were still about two blocks away from the hospital, but bright orange barricades and police cars prevented any further travel.

“I’m afraid this is as far as I can go, miss,” the driver said.

He bowed his head in a slight apology, but you waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. We knew I wouldn’t have been able to make it all the way to the hospital by car anyway. Thank you for your help!”

You paid the man, hopping out of the car and walking up to the barricade with all of the confidence you could muster. As expected, the policemen on duty immediately stopped you from progressing. However, with a quick word and a flash of your badge, you found yourself being officially escorted to the hospital.

Things were in utter chaos when you arrived. Worried families crowded the waiting rooms of the ICU: Quirk-Related Injury floor, and you were happy to slip into the back away from all of the noise. Throwing on your pair of emergency scrubs that you kept in the back of your locker, you were heading toward the nurse’s station to receive instructions when you quite literally ran into Dr. Hayashi.

His normally pristine white coat was crumpled, and his hair looked tousled, as though he had run his hands through it one too many times. Despite this, he still gave you a kind smile, reaching out to steady you. “Just who I was looking for! Thank you for coming in on such short notice. As you can see, that attack on the parade created an ‘all-hands-on-deck’ situation.”

He turned on heel, gesturing you to follow him down the hallway and toward the patient rooms. “Normally in these events, the villains only target the heroes, and civilian injuries can be kept to a minimum. However, this group appeared to do the opposite: targeting the citizens with their quirks in a quick attack while using only one person to subdue the heroes. That’s why we have so many people in our unit right now and why having you here to help us is so vital.”

He took you down two long hallways leading farther and farther away from the main rooms, stopping in front of a set of large double doors. Swiping his access card, he gave you an encouraging nod as he ushered you in, seeing your reluctance.  You had never been in this wing of the hospital before, as it was for critical emergencies or high-profile individuals. On your introductory tour, it was firmly impressed upon you that you would most likely never have the chance to enter the area, either.

“I know this deviates from your program requirements which specify general care, but you have demonstrated a high level of professionalism and competence with us thus far, and I hope will be up to the challenge.” Dr. Hiyashi led you over to door 3307, pushing it open for you to enter. 

The inside of the space reminded you more of a luxury hotel room than a hospital. The room was large, with honey-colored hardwood floors and modern floor-to-ceiling windows illuminating the room in a soft natural light. A light grey leather couch sat against the center of the windows, surrounded by two matching leather recliners.  Between them was a sleek coffee table, with a plethora of magazines and a small vase of flowers artfully arranged on top. On either side of the sitting area, a hospital bed was set up, along with a folding screen to offer privacy.

Taking the charts offered to you by Dr. Hiyashi, your breath stuttered as you read the name of the patient on the right. You took a closer look, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. He looked different, with his sunglasses nowhere to be seen and his resting face serene, but even then, it was easy to recognize the black lightning bolt contrasted against his golden hair. You were being assigned one of the top ten heroes: Chargebolt.

You felt honored, thrilled even, to be given such a large opportunity. Yet at the same time, uncertainty clawed its way into your chest, dragging down your thoughts. You were still in your rotationals. Why had you been chosen over a senior nurse like Gia, or someone who had been here longer? What if you overlooked something, or messed something up? This was a hero who had saved countless lives. If you put his life in jeopardy by making a mistake, could you technically be arrested for villainy?

“Hina has been assigned to care for the other hero here, Red Riot,” Dr. Hiyashi said, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. “You both will continue to care for your regular patients and perform your other duties, but we thought it best that we assign a nurse to each of these high-level patients. While the decision might have been made quickly, you can be assured that we did not choose the assignments lightly. We truly believe you are more than capable of monitoring these patients with diligence.”

You bent into a low bow. “Thank you for the opportunity, Dr. Hiyashi. I promise to extend the greatest care possible to Chargebolt while he is here.”

Dr. Hiyashi smiled widely at your consent. “I’ll leave you here then, to get acquainted with the charts and situation. Your badge should be programmed to have access to this wing of the hospital now, so you can return whenever you wish.”

You bowed to the doctor once again in thanks, fingers brushing your badge as he left. Laughing under your breath, you shook your head. They must have had a lot of confidence you would accept.

Rounding the bed, you took note of his vitals and other readings to ensure they were stable- they were - and then began to read over the notes in the chart provided to you. The quirk that hit them was still largely unknown, but between Dr. Hiyashi and the medics on sight, they were able to piece together some vital information. Most importantly, this quirk was toxic. A small puncture wound on both Chargebolt and Red Riot suggested how the toxin was able to enter their bodies, making them immobile and comatose in a matter of seconds. While the effects of such poison were unknown, the two heroes were at least stable, and they were now to be carefully be kept under surveillance. 

You double-checked the monitors before carefully laying the back of your palm against Chargebolt’s forehead. It was warmer than usual, indicating a fever, but nothing that caused alarm. You were about to investigate the puncture mark on his neck when the door to the room was thrown open, causing you to jump back in alarm. There stood Hina, chest heaving as she leaned on the door for support.

“We need you in the visitor waiting room, ASAP,” she gasped. 

Your eyes widened, and you quickly followed her out of the room.

While you had been called upon to use your quirk before, it was always as a last resort. Your mind raced as you tried to conjure up what could possibly cause such a huge commotion that Hina needed to sprint to find you. Sure, there were many civilian injuries, but thankfully, no casualties, and most worried families were at least willing to cooperate and not cause a scene.

The doors to the waiting room came within your sight, and you activated your quirk preemptively, mentally preparing yourself for whatever chaos laid behind them. However, as you entered the room, you froze, all preparation out of the window and your mind going blank. His back was turned away from you right now, as he was angrily making demands to some poor nurse in front of him, but at this point, you would have recognized those broad shoulders and ash blond hair anywhere. It was your bento box stranger. It was the annoying asshole. He turned upon hearing your arrival, and you realized with absolute horror that he was also Number 2 Pro-Hero Dynamight.

To his credit, he looked as surprised to see you as you were to see him. His eyebrows rose in confusion, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. “Bento box girl? What the hell?”

Your thoughts echoed his exactly, but you at least had the good sense to retain some form of professionalism. “Pro-hero Dynamight, when I was called here on emergency, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you.” 

A small scoff escaped his lips as he waved his hand in dismissal. “Cut the formalities. Call me Bakugou. Now, can you tell me how Eijiro and Denki are doing, or will I have to question every nurse on this damn floor for some answers?”

“That won’t be necessary,” you responded, stepping closer to him. You watched as his shoulders loosened, his stance slowly relaxing like an unwinding coil until he was leaning back on the heels of his feet, hands lax at his side.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked. His voice had lowered in volume, but his eyes were still burning with guarded curiosity.

You held your hands up in an appeasing gesture. “It’s just my quirk. It’s called Tranquil. I can emit a calming aura that affects anyone within a five-foot radius of me. Before I was called in here to use it, I was actually just tending to Pro-Heroes Red Riot and Chargebolt, who I assume you are here to see. They are comatose, but stable. They’re in the special care wing right now, but if you show me a valid form of ID, I can allow you to visit them if you can manage to contain yourself.”

Your tone became stern at the end of your small rant, yet he didn’t back down from your challenge. Instead, a small grin broke across his face, completely unrepentant about his earlier outburst as he fished out his hero license from his pocket. He brandished it to you proudly.

“Just in case you need a reminder of who you’re talking to.”

You sighed but didn’t argue, slipping back into your professional persona as you motioned him to follow you through the doors of the visitor area and down the winding hallways towards the special unit. The walk there was in silence, but not contention. From the glances you sneaked of him, he appeared to be lost in thought as he followed behind you like a sleepwalker. For all his gusto, he must have been extremely worried about his friends, and you almost felt sorry for him. Then you thought of his cocky face and demanding attitude, and you banished the idea from your mind immediately. You might not know a lot about him, but he definitely didn’t seem like someone who wanted your pity.

At last, you arrived at the door, holding it open for him to enter. He did so with his head held high, but his expression was troubled, lips pressed into a firm line. He walked over to Red Riot’s bed first, looking at the oxygen mask wrapped around his face and the monitor screens, flashing data and emitting a steady beeping to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He squinted as though he could understand it, and you wondered if he could. Most heroes knew basic first aid and medical care, and this guy seemed like he could be incredibly driven if he wanted to learn more. He moved over to Chargebolt, doing the same body scan before turning to you. 

“And they’re okay?”

You nodded, and he let out a deep sigh of relief. He collapsed on the couch, throwing his head back onto the backrest and covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. The silence stretched on. Bakugou, planted firmly on the couch, and you, hovering around the entrance of the doorway unsure of what to do next.

“What about you?” you settled on asking.

The question had been plaguing your mind ever since you put two and two together. The reason why he didn’t show up in the train station this morning. The danger of the villain attack. The bodies of his friends comatose on either side of him. You’re not sure whether you meant the question in a physical way only or something more, but he chose to interpret it as the former.

“The medics on site checked me over. I didn’t even have a scratch.”

He motioned over to Red Riot’s side of the room, brows furrowed. “This idiot was the first one to get hit by that bastard’s quirk, most likely targeted because his quirk wasn’t active at the time. If it was, the villain wouldn’t have stood a chance at getting through it.”

“And this idiot-” he continued, motioning to Chargebolt, “saw what happened and shoved me out of the way before I could get scratched as well. The fool could have used his quirk to taze the guy or set up an electric force field around the area to segregate him off, but no. His first move was to save me. And look how that worked out for him.”

He sounded annoyed at him, like he was nothing more than a bother, but the fact that he was here in his hospital room after causing such a scene and refusing to leave proved otherwise.

“I’d say it worked out well, then.” Bakugou gave you an incredulous look, so you continued to explain. “If his goal was to save you, then he did exactly that, seeing as you’re sitting on that couch unscathed.”

You thought your logic was sound, but Bakugou groaned in frustration. “But he was wrong! His first goal should always be to apprehend the villain and minimize the collateral. I could have handled myself.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor. You approached him with caution, but he remained stubbornly still. “I’m sure he knew better than most that you could have handled yourself, but that’s what happens when you care about someone, you know?”

He still didn’t look at you, so you took a seat beside him on the couch. “And I happen to know a thing about caring. It’s quite literally my job, after all.”

At this, he let out a wry chuckle, glancing at you from the side. You smiled back, getting to take in the full intensity of his carmine eyes as you met his gaze. He was the first to concede, rolling his shoulders as he sighed.

“Are you using your quirk on me?”

You were pretty sure he was just joking, but an undertone of sincerity in his voice prompted you to answer seriously. “No, I stopped whenever you showed me your ID.”

He grunted in approval, and silence swept over you both once again. However, it wasn’t like last time, when the silence was charged with a certain tension of unspoken worry. This silence was different, born of a tentative camaraderie between two people who shared the same hopes and concerns.

The low buzz of your pager broke the peace, causing you to give him an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I think I’m needed in the main unit. I can come back to check over everything again once I’ve made my rounds.”

Bakugou nodded, waving his hand in a shooing motion. “Not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

With that dismissal, you quickly exited the room and made your way to your main wing of the hospital. After having a taste of serenity and quiet, the rushing nurses and frantic voices were a bit jarring, making you wish you were back in room 3307 with a certain snarky blond. You had been assigned a couple of new patients as a result of the attack, but considerably less than what you would have been given if you weren’t caring for Chargebolt.

By the time the dust had settled and you had completed your rounds, several hours had passed. Your feet were screaming at you to sit down, and you all but passed out the second you made it to the break room, the hard plastic chairs feeling like heaven. You had about twenty minutes to spare, and you were highly considering taking a quick power nap on the table when your stomach growled loudly, reminding you of yet another problem. Since you hadn’t planned to start your shift until the afternoon, you were originally going to get lunch beforehand. However, like everything else, things had not gone according to plan, and now you were left with the unappealing choices of a vending machine meal or a quick run to a convince store.

And that’s when you remembered it: the bento of oyakodon tantalizingly waiting in your locker. You practically started salivating right there at the thought. After the day you had, a bowl of nice comforting oyakodon with spicy sauce sounded like the perfect pick-me-up, and so much better than what the vending machines here could offer. You moved on instinct, opening your locker before you had even realized you were headed its direction. You reached in, pulling out the pastel orange bento in triumph.

You were about to head back to the break room when a small, nagging thought wriggled its way into your mind. A small thought in the shape of one good-smelling asshole who most certainly had a worse day than you. You sighed, hating yourself for being a good person with empathy, and instead turned toward the special wing of the ICU.

When you arrived, you knocked on the door, softly calling out a greeting. Silence answered you in return. A slight wave of disappointment passed through you at the thought that Bakugou had left, but you brushed it off, pushing open the door regardless. You needed to check on Chargebolt anyway. However, the sight before you made you stop in your tracks.

The world was incredibly unfair. Bakugou laid on the couch, legs outstretched and arms pillowing his head as he slept. He was the perfect muse illuminated by a golden halo of light, a figure that could have inspired countless artworks in the renaissance, a marble sculpture come to life, dozing in a hospital room in Tokyo. He looked younger like this, with no scowl marring his face and perfectly at peace.

You approached as quietly as you could, not wanting to disturb him and break the scene in front of you. Placing the bento box on the table, you hastily retreated, checking over Chargebolt’s vitals before leaving the room once again.

As you finished out the rest of your shift in the main area of the ICU, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander in the small handful of minutes you had to yourself. You wondered if Bakugou liked the bento, or if he even ate it. You wondered if he would continue your game of exchanging bentos back and forth, or if your oyakodon was the final offering. You wondered how often he would come back. Most of all, you wondered what would happen next.

At last, you reached the final round of check-ups for the day before heading home. When you finally reached Chargebolt’s room, the last on your list for both practical and entirely selfish purposes, you took a deep breath before opening the door in anticipation. The room was devoid of any explosive personalities, but you also noticed with a smile that there was no bento box in sight.

A/N: Chapter 3 is a big one, but it's finally here! The plot finally begins to thicken. It ended up being a lot longer than I expected it to be, which in turn also put me a bit behind in my writing schedule. In addition, chapter 4 is turning out longer as well. With that being said, and also with Thanksgiving coming up, I'm making the tentative post date of chapter 4 to be the weekend of Thanksgiving instead of the exact Friday after. I will also be travelling during this time, so that makes things tough. Sorry about things in advance if I do post a day or two late, but thanks for the understanding!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

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