#please tell me I’m not the last one to realize this because goddamn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eideticmemory · 3 months ago

Text

BABY DADDY | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

A one night stand leads to much, much more than either of you bargained for.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warning/Includes: BabyDaddy!Matthew, duh!!! Smut Lite™️.

So, the thing about babies is that they don’t really give a fuck about context. They truly couldn’t care less about what you’re doing, what’s happening in your life, your goals, your dreams, your ambitions. It’s all irrelevant. They will show up anyway. And what the little clump of cells in your uterus has failed to realize is that you do not know their father. At all.

Seriously.

You know him biblically. Obviously. You’ve shared drinks and a bed. You’ve seen him naked. He’s seen you naked. You’ve spent, maybe, an hour and a half together total. And you spent the majority of that time making the conscious decision to leave together, undress and fuck. You’re pretty sure the last thing you said to him was, “Safe travels.” As in, I don’t want to see you again. As in, If all goes well, I should never have to see you again.

You used a condom. You’re not dumb, you used a condom. So when weeks passed by and your period was late, you didn’t think anything of it. It happens. Sometimes periods are just late.

But it never came.

You bought the pregnancy test just to be safe. In fact, you were so sure that you were playing it safe that you didn’t take it for another three days. Pushing it back and back, hoping your period would come.

It didn’t.

So you squatted over the toilet and got a good amount of pee on the thing and waited two minutes just for it to stare you directly in the eye and say: FUCK YOU, DUMB BITCH. YOU’RE PREGNANT.

Okay, it just said pregnant. But that’s what went through your head. Your knees buckled and you grabbed your stomach, almost like you could feel the thing just hanging out in there. You doubled over, thinking you were going to puke, but you didn’t. You eye the test again and then, out of pure nerves, you puke.

You buy two more tests. They call you a dumb bitch again, just a little louder. You want a bottle of wine but you don’t have one because you’re pregnant. You want a lighter and a goddamn cigarette but you don’t have one because you don’t even smoke and you’re pregnant.

You sit down for lunch with your friend and it’s the first time you say these words out loud.

She yells, “You’re what?”

Pregnant!

You give her this look that says please don’t make me say it again and she doesn’t. She heard you very well the first time.

“W-wh-what…” she trembles. Shaking, like she’s the one knocked up. “What? H-how…what? who’s the daddy?”

You sigh, cut your eyes up at her, and her jaw drops, stuttering, “O-oh…no…no…[y/n]…no.”

“It’s gotta be him. He’s the last guy I had sex with. I had gotten my period before then. Now, no period, three positive pregnancy tests.”

“Three?” she shouts. “Oh, so you’re pregnant pregnant?”

“Yeah, I took three just to be sure and they all told me to go kill myself. So.”

“Oh my god…” she shudders. “Oh my god? Oh my…” and she chugs her glass of wine in one big gulp. It looks good.

“What are you going to do?” she asks you.

You shrug, your mind made up, “I’m keeping it.”

“What?”

“Okay, you need to quiet down now before we get kicked out of here.”

“What do you mean keeping it? As in, giving birth? As in, raising a child?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“O…kay…and the baby daddy?”

You shrug, “What about him?”

“I-“ she slams her hands down. “[y/n].”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

“Why would I? I have a house and a job and insurance and a 401K, I can take care of my kid.”

“Well, yeah…but it’s…his kid, too? Why-why are you keeping it if you’re not gonna tell him?”

“Because I want a baby. I don’t know. I-I thought about…getting it sucked out of there, but I don’t wanna. I want a baby. I want a kid. And yeah, this…isn’t the conventional way of doing that, but I never much saw myself with a husband anyway.”

“So…what’s the plan? Matthew’s just walking down the street one day and a little carbon copy of him comes out of the shadows saying ooh, aah, look at me! I’m the love child you unintentionally abandoned 10 years ago! That’s fucked.”

“What if he doesn’t care? What if he wants to abandon the kid? What if we’re on the same page?”

“Then at least give him the option.”

“Ugh.”

“[y/n], just give him the option. What? You can gargle his cock in your mouth but you can’t have a conversation? You need to tell him.”

“Okay…” you roll your eyes.

“And whatever the outcome, he stills owes you money. He stills owes some type of financial support, whether you want it or not.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Whatever. Look, I work with him when he’s in town, okay? I see him, I have to interact with him, I can’t hold on to this and I can’t be the one to tell him. [y/n]…please…”

“Okay!”

“Okay?”

You huff, “Okay. Fine.”

“Okay. You have his number?”

“No.”

“Classy,” she quips as she scrolls through her phone and you roll your eyes, “Okay, I’m airdropping it to you now.”

His contact comes through to your phone and you only stare at it long enough to accept and then you plant the device face down on the table. You suck back an anxious gulp of water and fidget with your hands, “This is your fault, you know?”

“What? How?”

“You’re the one that introduced us. At that launch party or whatever. What was that even about?”

“It was the launch party for a new production company and fuck you, you whore. I didn’t force you to go and get yourself knocked up. That was all you, Matthew and those free shots.”

“Oh, please, you practically threw us together.”

“Yeah, well, sue me, I thought you guys would hit it off,” she shrugs. “Not quite this much, but…”

The two of you sit in silence, looking around the restaurant, picking at your food.

“So,” she pips.

Your eyes flicker up at her.

“How was it?” she smirks. “Worth a baby?”

You let a long sigh, shaking your head with a very violent roll of your eyes, “Honestly…yeah…”

So far, pregnancy doesn’t suck. You’re still early, still not showing. There’s been no nausea or bloating. The insomnia, however, is getting ridiculous. You’re normally the type of girl to crash in bed as soon as possible, knocked out the moment your head hits the pillow. It is now midnight and your eyes are wide open, unable to relax. You check everything possible off of your to-do list, even scheduling your first obstetrician appointment. The only thing you haven’t done is call Matthew, having had his number sitting in your phone for close to a week now. To make it worse, all you want is a cinnamon roll. But not just any cinnamon roll. One from the late night bakery down the street. This is especially dangerous because you know very well that they are still open and somewhere out there is a cinnamon roll with your name on it. It would be nuts to leave the warmth of your bed right now, walk a mile in the dead of night, just for a cinnamon roll.

But you’re going to.

You bundle up and head out into the summer night, looking completely insane. Hoodie, sweats, tattered sneakers built for walking down the New York City sidewalks. It’s not far and you walk fast, faster than normal tonight because the craving is just that strong. You make it in all of ten minutes and within five more, you have the box cracked open and are tearing a piece off with your bare hands.

You look up for merely a second and your eyes catch him immediately. Now, you’re tired. Your blood sugar’s just shot up but you’re pretty sure it’s him. Posing for a picture with a fan. Tall. Beautiful. Smiling. His eyes land on you and he excuses himself, throws up a wave. You jump, looking around, contemplating running. But, yeah. That wouldn’t be suspicious at all. By the time you stop fidgeting, he’s standing over you and you’re trapped.

“Hi!” he greets you. “Hi, [y/n], how are you?”

You wipe frosting from your mouth and chuckle, more caught off guard by his remembering your name than anything. You cough, “Hi. Matthew, hi. I’m good. I’m doing good. How are you?”

“Good! Just heading home.”

“Oh! Oh, you have a place in New York?”

“Yeah, near the park, just a few blocks over. You live around here?”

“Uh…” you did not know this so you’re forcing your brain to catch up. “Uh, yeah, yeah. About a block over, just… couldn’t sleep. Wanted a cinnamon roll.”

“Looks good,” he giggles. “You look good.”

“Oh, you’re full of shit,” you smile.

“No! No, I mean it. You look great. I love the cinnamon roll run outfit. Honestly.”

You blush, you don’t mean to, but you blush. “Well, thank you. You look good, too.” He does. You can tell he’s just leaving somewhere because he’s dressed up and you suddenly remember very vividly how you ended up pregnant.

“Aw, thank you. I appreciate that…” his eyes scan over you. “Where did you say you live? Can I walk you home? It’s late.”

You want to shout No! Thank you! and run. It wouldn’t be hard to do. Why not? Still, you say, “Yes. Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so the two of you stroll down the empty sidewalks together, he does most of the talking. You can hear it in his voice that he’s flirting. You’ve heard it before. It has been successful, with you, before. Yet, you’re too busy this time around trying not to puke. He walks you to your door and you notice your cinnamon roll has gone cold in your hand.

“This is me,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “We should get together again, if you’re up for it.”

You nod, “Mhm. Yeah. That sounds nice. Um, I’ll give you my number.” He instantly pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it over. He’s serious. You type your name and number in and hand it back, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Perfect,” his fingers linger on yours as he takes his phone back. “I’ll call you. Hey, could I use your bathroom? I pee fast so I won’t inconvenience you too long.”

No!

You snicker, “Yeah…” you start to unlock the door. “Of course. Sorry in advance, it’s a little messy.”

“Oh, a little mess doesn’t scare me,” he laughs.

You let him in and point out the bathroom and as soon as he disappears, closes the door behind him, you release the breath that’s been trapped in your chest and plop down on the couch. “Fuck,” you mutter to yourself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The toilet flushes and then there’s a loud bang from the bathroom and you snap back to reality. “Matthew?” you call. “You alright in there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he calls in response. “Just kicked over your trash can. Sorry!”

“That’s okay!” you reply. You relax.

It is definitely not okay.

You hop up and sprint to the bathroom door. You don’t even knock, you just burst into the bathroom where Matthew is picking up the spilled trash. Your eyes instantly land on the pregnancy tests and you can’t do anything but stand in wait.

When he notices them, he laughs. Not a cackle, but a soft giggle, almost silly, “You pregnant or something?” he asks. It’s a joke. He’s making a joke.

He looks at your face. It’s not a joke.

He stops laughing. He stops smiling. You’ve never seen someone’s entire being go so pale.

“Oh, you’re…” he stutters. “You’re…” he breathes. “Is it mine?”

You can hardly look him in the eye but you do and you nod.

“How long have you known?”

You gulp, “Like…a week. I haven’t been to the doctor or anything.”

“Are you…” you can see his chest heaving. “Are you serious?”

You nod, “Yes.”

He looks around the bathroom, wobbling on his heels and you worry he’s going to pass out. Instead, he slams the toilet seat down and sits on it, falls on it. “What…what are you going to do?”

“I’m…” you clear your throat. “Keeping it.”

“Oh.” he says. “You don’t...you’re not…”

“No. I don’t want that.”

And this is where his words became jumbled. Mumbled. Barely incoherent. He, himself, cannot even figure out what he’s trying to say.

“Look,” you interrupt him. “You don’t have to be involved, okay? You don’t even need to be on the birth certificate. I can handle this. I will handle this. If you wanna drop me a couple hundreds bucks every month and call it a day, that’s fine. If you don’t? Also fine. But I need to know because we’re…not…confusing this kid, okay? So, you need to be all in or all out.”

“Are you...” he cuts his eyes up at you and then promptly rises to his feet. “I can’t do this right now.”

You’re so dumbfounded as he rushes past you that your brain doesn’t even fully process it until he’s almost out the door. “Where are you going?”

“I have to clear my head. I-I have to get out of here.”

“Uh, okay...” he closes the door in your face. “Bye…”

And in the wake of all this exciting, suddenly surrounded by silence and cut tension, you remember your cinnamon roll. You want it after all.

When your friend asks if you’ve told Matthew, you say, “Yes.”

“Oh, shit. You called him?”

“No.” And you have to explain. You have to explain every awkward, uncomfortable, terrible second.

“And I haven’t heard from him since,” you shrug.

“Really?”

You nod.

She sighs, “Wow…fuck him.”

“Fuck him.”

And you meant that. You’re content with that. You feel like you can move on. Prepare, nest, move forward. Then he calls you. Out of nowhere. His name pops up on your phone and silences the music that had been playing while you took a bath. You stare at the screen for a long time, wondering if it’s best to protect your peace. It is. But still, you answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, [y/n]?” he clears his throat. “It’s Matthew.”

“Matthew,” you sigh. “Hi.”

“Hey, um, when is your first doctor’s appointment? Has that passed already?”

“Um…” you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely confused. “No. It’s on the twenty-sixth. At Aster on the upper west side. Eleven o’clock.”

Silence.

Then, he says, “Okay…okay, I’ll be there.”

You shrug, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You arrive at 10:45. You do not expect him to show up, like truly expect him to show up. So when he comes walking into the waiting room, your heart genuinely stops. You cross and uncross your legs, shuffling in your seat.

“Hi,” you whisper, with very minimal eye contact.

“Hi.”

The nurse calls your name and Matthew follows you into the examination room, taking a seat beside you. The technician asks you a series of questions about your last period, your symptoms, your health history and Matthew hears none of it.

“And are you dad?” she asks him.

He feels like he’s going to throw up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

You roll your eyes and luckily, this kind woman cuts the tension pretty quickly. She slathers this cold gel on your belly and presses the wand to your skin and the heartbeat picks up immediately.

“Oh, wow, strong heartbeat already!” she grins at you. But you can’t take your eyes off the monitor. Matthew either. “You’re right around ten weeks so there’s the little head and you can see their arms and legs starting to form here.”

You can. You can really see it. There’s a baby in there. Barely. But a baby! You look at Matthew and his look of pure terror mirrors yours. It’s kind of comforting.

The nurse wipes you off and says, “So your estimated due date is March 10th, but again, that’s just an estimate so take it with a grain of salt because babies tend to follow their own schedule. You’re looking at anywhere from two to three days before or after.”

“Holy shit,” Matthew swears. “That’s the day after my birthday.”

“Is it really?” you tilt your head and at this, the nurse is dumbfounded. At this, Matthew is completely silenced.

You ask for two separate copies of the ultrasound and the technician has gotten over the shock. She’s not going to question it anymore, not going to give it any thought. Let you two sort it out.

As you stand outside afterwards, twiddling your thumbs, unsure of what to say or what to do, he asks, “Are you hungry? Can I take you to lunch?”

You cross your arms, wanting to say no. Wanting to lie. Instead you sigh, “Yes,” you nod. “Yes, please. I’m fucking starving.”

So he takes you to a cafe down the street where you order possibly the biggest burger even seen and fries and a cup of veggies and a piece of cake. It’s awkward, silent, and he just watches you eat. Almost like he can’t wrapped his head around it. You come up for air and catch his gaze.

“Hey,” you swallow. “Don’t look at me crazy. You’ve never had something in your body competing for resources.”

He chuckles, “No judgement. Eat what you want.”

“That was my plan.”

He picks at his food for a few moments and then sighs, “So…how…how are we gonna do this?”

You would ask for more context but you don’t need it. You know exactly what he means. You shrug, “I don’t know…” you shrug again. “I don’t know, just…do the best we can, I guess?”

He nods, “Yeah. Yeah, that always seems to work for everyone else.”

September | 14 Weeks

The deal is that Matthew will come in every four weeks for your appointments. This is what he agrees to, but you’re not convinced it will happen. But your next appointment rolls around and you’re shocked to walk in and find he’s beat you there. This time, he sees you and he smiles. His eyes scan over your figure as you take a seat, he goes, “Oh, you’re…you’re kinda starting to…”

You glance down at your tiny baby bump and you have this weird urge all the time to touch it so you do. “Oh. Yeah. I finally had to start telling people at work. They made me a registry.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What…what do you need me to get? What does a baby need?”

“God, dude, too much shit, I swear. Plus, I don’t even know what I want to dress her in. There’s like a million different brands and they all look the same or are made from spider silk or something stupid. I don’t know.”

He tilts his head at you, “Her? You think it’s a girl?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. I don’t think we can find out just yet anyway but, maybe?”

This little grin appears on his face and he almost reaches in to your bump, but he doesn’t. He shuffles in his seat, clears his throat, “A girl would be nice.”

You smile, “I think so, too.”

You both get your updated ultrasounds to go and the technician is greatful to not feel so suffocated this time. The energy around the two of you has shifted. Not much. You’re still strangers and it shows. But it’s different. You smile, you joke around, Matthew speaks up, asks questions.

It’s different.

At the end of the appointment, he asks you, “Hey, are you busy tonight?”

“Oh…” you’re caught off guard. “No. Why?”

“I was wondering if you might want to come over? For dinner maybe?”

“Oh.”

“Nothing…weird. I just…want you to know where I live and…I don’t know, I thought we could just talk.”

“Um. Okay. Okay. Send me your address.”

“Okay. I will.”

And so because you reluctantly agreed, you show up at his doorstep at six o’clock sharp. You’re not dressed up or anything, but it’s starting to get cold and you just threw on this big puffy jacket.

He opens the door and greets you with a bright smile, saying, “Hey, you. Come in.”

“Thanks,” you meekly walk in and instantly look around his place and oh, it’s fucking gorgeous. Comforting. Because you can’t have a baby with someone who lacks interior design skills.

“Are you still craving chinese? I got us a fuck ton.”

“Oh, my god,” you sigh in relief, smelling the food, instantly plopping down at the kitchen table. “Oh, my god, yes, thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiles.

You look around and notice the ultrasounds on his fridge, staring at them as he sets up a plate for you.

He takes a seat beside you and takes a bite of his food, then asking, “So, where are you from?”

It catches you off guard so you laugh, “What?”

“Where are you from? What’s your family like? Where’d you go to school?”

“Um, okay…what…you interrogating me?”

He laughs, “No. No, sorry. I just…uh, I wanna get to know you better, that’s all. You can ask me anything you wanna know, too.”

“Hm,” you nod. “Okay.” And you spill your guts.

You wrap your life up in a nutshell and it becomes this rapid game of back and forth about whose parents did this and how many siblings do you have and who was your first crush. Who’s your best friend. Who’s the last person you dated. Tell me about all the people you’ve dated!

Your baby daddy is kind of a slut, but, honestly, who are you to judge?

He’s funny. As far as you can tell, he’s honest. He doesn’t have or want to hide anything from you. What’s the point?

“So, um,” he says. “Why don’t I make you a drink and give you a little tour? Oh, wait, you…”

“Can’t drink,” you nod. “Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “I have sparkling cider.”

“Bleh.”

“Sparkling water?”

“Bleh.”

“I…orange juice?” he laughs but you’re dead serious.

“That sounds so fucking good right now.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles. “Okay, you got it.”

And so, with your cup of orange juice, you follow him around his home. You see his bedroom, his office, and in the corner of the house, an empty room where he proclaims, “This will be the little guy’s room. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with it yet, but definitely something.”

It’s beautiful. Lots of natural light but he says he’s already started looking at blackout curtains. “And then in my room,” he adds as you walk by. “I’ll have one of those little beside bassinet things, y’know? Just until he gets a little bigger.”

You look up at him with this sober look. You stumble around until you find somewhere to put your glass down and he asks, “You alright?”

You turn back to him and almost immediately jump into his arms, mouth open, a whole growing human between the of you, but still you are close. But still, you are kissing.

“Woah…” he huffs. “W-what…what are you…”

“Sorry,” you breathe out. “It’s nothing personal. I’ve just got a lot of blood rushing to a lot of different places and w-what?” you stutter because he’s caressing your face. “Y’know, it’s not like you can get me pregnant. It’s more like a…a favor?”

His eyes scan over your face and he nods, scoops you up in his arms like it’s nothing. “Yeah, okay, that makes sense,” and he carries you into his bedroom.

October | 18 Weeks

The greeting this week is different. In the past few weeks, there’s been a lot more casual texting. A lot of Matthew asking: Hey, how are you feeling today? Do you need anything? Do you have groceries? You appreciate it.

He walks into the waiting room a few minutes after you and you actually stand to say hi.

“Hi, you!” he pips and he gives you a big hug. This time, he is not so shy and he takes a hold of your bump in both his hands, leaning down to say, “Hi, you! What are you doing in there? Woah!”

“Ah,” you groan. “Yeah, kicking the shit out of me. lately. Don’t get her riled up.”

But he pokes at your belly again and those legs come back swinging. He laughs, “Oh, my god, that’s so cool!”

“Yeah, not so much when it’s the middle of the night and it’s directly on your bladder.”

“Oof. Sorry, I should be stern,” he leans down. “Knock it off, kid.” And the kid kicks back.

“Oh! Jesus. Okay, that was…bad. Keep practicing.”

He cackles, “I will.”

In the exam room, the technician asks, “Do you wanna know the gender?” The smile on her face tells you that she already knows.

And as you shout an enthusiastic, “Yes!” Matthew is shaking his head, saying, “No.”

And then there’s silence.

“What…” you chuckle. “What do you mean no?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I kinda just wanna be surprised.”

“Hm…” you furrow your eyebrows. You turn to the technician, “Well, I wanna know, will you put it in an envelope for me?”

This envelope is hand delivered to you at the end of your appointment and you hold it tight in your hands all the way out the door. You tear into it as soon as you step outside and Matthew shouts, “Wait!”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna know! Open it when you’re alone.”

“Okay…” you shrug, putting the envelope in your purse.

The two of you stand there, silent, avoiding eye contact.

“Fine, open it,” he says.

“What?” you laugh. “I thought you didn’t wanna know?”

“I don’t! I don’t. But-but you should know. Open it.”

You roll your eyes at him and take the envelope out of your bag, breaking the seal, flipping it open and showing absolutely no emotion. You rise and fall from the tip of your toes, biting down on your lip.

“Oh, c’mon!” he groans. “What is it? What is it? What is it? Just tell me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You positive?”

“[y/n]…” he whines.

You chuckle and turn the paper around to face him and his entire expression goes blank.

“A boy?” he whispers. Followed by, “Oh, my god, a boy!” Then, “A boy?” Finally, “A boy…”

You giggle and nod, “A boy.”

Halloween falls on a work day, after which you immediately come home to take a nap. You awake to find missed calls and texts from Matthew, the last of which reads: I’m coming over. You see this just before he rings your doorbell.

You answer and flinch, caught off guard by his costume. His makeup, the whole thing. “Oh…” you say. “You did say you were weird about Halloween.”

“Um, I don’t know if weird is the word I used but…here! For you,” he hands you a bag full of candy and you laugh, taking it from him.

“Thank you.”

“And…also, for you,” and he hands you a pumpkin.

“Oh! Thanks?”

“It’s the exact same weight as the baby. Weighed it myself.”

And your heart just kind of melts. “Aw…that’s so cute…” you hold the thing in your hands and look down at it. “Wow, what? No fucking way that’s in there.” you say in disbelief, holding the pumpkin level with your belly.

The two of you burst into laughter and Matthew sighs, happily exclaming, “Yeah, that’s him.”

November | 22 Weeks

Before your next appointment, Matthew calls you to ask if you’ll spend Thanksgiving with him in Vegas.

“Y’know, I told my family and-and they were…y’know shocked. But, they wanna meet you. I’m sure you already have plans but if you don’t…I’d really love it if you came with me.”

You sit in silence for a second. “I…I don’t have plans. I’ll go.”

“Really?”

“Oh, did you…want me to say no?”

“No,” he laughs. “No. I just thought you would. Um, well, okay, cool! Cool. I’ll book the flight.”

“Okay. Cool.”

Matthew meets you at your place the day before Thanksgiving, greeting you with a hug and a kiss on your belly. “Hey, you ready?”

“Yeah…” you grumble. “I’m all packed, just tired.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Ha…ha…no, thanks.”

“I’m so dead serious. I’ve been lifting weights, gotta train to carry a baby around.”

“I’m telling you, this fucker is heavy.”

He laughs, “Yeah, he looks it already. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you sigh. “Can you just carry my bags?”

“[y/n].” He looks you in the eye. “I was going to do that anyway.”

You get sick on the plane and the flight attendant gives you ice to chew and a cold rag for your forehead. Matthew is constantly rubbing your leg and fanning you with the safety booklet.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry. What can I do?” he asks.

“Will you be the pregnant one for a little bit?”

“Yes, if that’s what you need.”

His face is serious and you can’t help but laugh, “Fuck you.”

As you drive through the desert, you have to keep your eyes closed to feel peace. You only open them when the car slows down and you arrive at the house.

“Oh, by the way,” Matthew says as he shuts the car off. “My family thinks we’re together. Like dating.”

Your eyes goes wide and you shoot up in your seat, “What? What?” you yell.

“Look, look, I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to say!”

“Uh, how about I got a little too drunk and horny on a Friday night and put a baby in someone? You don’t lie! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I…ugh! I’m sorry. I know, I know. I will tell them the truth, but not right now. [y/n], please.”

“No.”

“[y/n]…”

“No. Fuck you! How could you wait until we get here to tell me that bullshit? You’re insane!”

“Okay. Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, let’s just, please go inside and I will fix it.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna go inside now. You pissed me off.”

“Oh, my…” he huffs. “[y/n], please.”

“No!” you cross your arms. “I’m staying in the car.”

Just then, his mom comes rushing out the house, waving to you both from the front door and you have to put on a smile very quickly.

“I will tell them,” he whispers.

“Oh, you fucking better,” you sneer, still smiling. “Or I will.”

You play along as you’re introduced to everyone. You tell them about yourself. You show them the most recent ultrasound, you pig out on all the food just laying around and somehow, along the way, you forget why you were mad.

Until you retire to bed and they have you and Matthew set up in one room. Then, you are pissed all, over, again.

You rush into the shower to avoid him and when you come back out, he’s laying in the bed.

“Hi,” he smiles nervously.

“Fuck you.”

“Okay.”

“Did you tell them?”

“No. I’m sorry. I will.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Matthew.”

“[y/n]-“

“Matthew!”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll tell them now.”

“Yeah.”

Still, he lays there. “I…I pulled out your maternity pillow. All ready for you.”

“Get out the damn bed,” you grumble and he’s up before you lay down. And worse, he just stands there.

You roll over from your side, looking at him. He’s looking at you and his face pisses you off so you shout, “Matthew!”

“Okay!” and he leaves the room.

He comes back in after you’ve fallen asleep but still, half awake, you ask, “Did you tell them?” and you don’t even question it when he lays beside you, cradles you in his arms.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good.”

And you fall asleep just like that.

Thanksgiving goes well, despite the recent news. You practically clear the table yourself because you’re eating for two and one of you is much greedier than the other. You meet Matthew’s dad, who spends the entire evening lulling you into security just to later pull the two of you into a separate room.

Here, the conversation gets legal. And while you were not expecting it, you’re grateful. You hadn’t thought of any of this. Custody, exchange schedules, schools, primary addresses, out-of-state trips. All of it.

His dad finally asks, “And what last name will the baby be taking?”

You say, “[y/l/n],” as Matthew says, “Oh, Gubler, for sure.” And the two of you just slowly turn to look at each other.

“Oh…” he dad says. “You two should probably discuss.”

That discussion lasts well into the night. Through the drive to the airport. Through the flight.

By the time you land, you’ve compromised. You’ll hyphenate.

December | 26 Weeks

Your next appointment is just over a week before Christmas. Matthew agrees then to spend Christmas Eve with you. Your family comes into New York just to keep you from flying yourself. When they arrive, your home is cluttered with boxes and pieces of the crib and a dismantled bassinet and bottles and boxes of diapers and wipes. Your baby shower was a huge success. You and baby boy want for nothing. But you’re big, you’re stressed, you’re aching and you can’t stop crying.

“Baby, let us put the nursery together for you,” you mom suggests.

“No. No, we’ll do it. It’s fine. I want to do it.”

“Okay. Speaking of, is your baby daddy gonna be here any time soon?”

“Yeah, he’s on the way.”

And as if on queue, Matthew walks in and everyone exclaims, “Hey! Baby daddy!”

Your sibling walks up to him immediately and says, “Love Criminal Minds, dude,” and you put your face in your hands.

Matthew gets everything stuffed into the nursery just for now so there’s more space for everyone to move around. He helps your mom with dinner and he doesn’t mind when they poke and prode into his life.

“So, baby daddy, what part of New York are you in?”

“So, baby daddy, is this your first kid?”

“So, baby daddy, do you think you might propose to [y/n] someday?”

“Baby daddy, what’s your net worth?”

And this is not an exaggeration. By the end of the night, he responds to baby daddy like it’s his actual government name and he confesses to you that it makes him uncomfortable.

Standing on your balcony, he wraps a blanket around you and rubs your shoulders, “Y’know, I understand the terminology, definitely. But…damn.”

You cackle, “Well..you are my baby daddy. We’re having a baby together, but were not together, but we have sex sometimes. It fits. Hey, I’m your baby mama!”

“Aw, well…” he sighs. “Thats sweet.” And he grins at you as you burst into laughter.

Your family leaves to stay at a hotel and Matthew stays to make sure you’re okay. You’re pretty fucking exhausted to be honest. So he tucks you into bed and runs his hand over your hair, “You need anything?”

“No. Just sleep.”

“Okay,” he touches your belly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

When you wake up in the morning, your first thought is that you need to eat. You remember some sugar cookies that your mom had brought by last night and you decide to have them for breakfast. You walk to the kitchen and passing by the nursery, you almost don’t notice. Then, you stop in your tracks, tilt your head and walk backwards.

It’s done.

It’s done!

The crib is built, the dresser and changing table are assembled, the mobile’s up and running, the rocking chair is in the corner. Even the wall art you picked out is hanging up.

“Wh-what…” you stutter and then you march to the living room where Matthew is passed out on the couch. “Matthew!” you shout. Still, he doesn’t wake. So you rush over and shake him, going, “Matthew! Matthew!” and he jolts awake.

“What?” he takes hold of your hands. “What? Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“Yes. What…what the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean?” he rasps. “Oh…the nursery? Do you like it?”

“Do I…” you cut yourself off and run back to the nursery, where you wander around the room unable to focus your attention on just one thing.

Matthew follows behind you and watches you from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?”

“It’s…” you gleam. “Exactly like my pinterest board.”

“Of course it’s exactly like your pinterest board, I’m not insane!” he laughs.

You feel this peace wash over you and you hug your baby bump as you breathe out a slow exhale. You turn to him with a smile and he thinks you’re running to give him a hug. So when you all but tackle him, take him a kiss, push him to the floor, tear off his clothes, it all happens so fast.

When it’s over, you have no bottoms on and your head is laying on his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably stop attacking you like that.”

He chuckles, “No. Don’t. I don’t mind.”

January | 30 Weeks

Your appointments are every two weeks now. This is the time you expected Matthew to miss at least one, but he never does. He’s always there. Even when he’s not with you, he’s always there.

When your insomnia is at its very worst, he facetimes you in the middle of the night.

“Hey,” he smiles at the screen. “I knew you’d be up.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Insomnia still kicking your ass?”

“Every night this past week.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry, honey,” he frowns. “But since you’re up, I thought we could talk baby names?”

“Oh,” you say. You had forgotten about that. “Oh…right…names.”

“I know, we kinda dropped the ball on that one,” he laughs. “Now, it’s kinda a Gubler tradition that all the boys have the middle name Gray. Y’know, alliteration and all.”

“Oh..that’s…” Boring, you think. “Unoriginal. Can we compromise?”

“Well, I’m already compromising with the hypenating so I don’t know.”

“Oh, good g-“ you roll your eyes. “Sir, you hyphenated like 7 months ago, let it go.” And he lets it go. You add, “I like the name Lincoln. Link.”

“Ooh, no. He used to bully me in school. What about Silas?”

“Yeah, cause he’s a vampire? Veto. I like Noah.”

“Cause he’s building an arc? Veto!”

“Ugh.”

“What about Simon? Y’know I voiced him in the movie.”

You roll your eyes, again. “Yes. We know. Veto.”

Silence falls over the call as you both rack your brains for another suggestion. And like a domino, it naturally falls into your mind, “Theodore?” you shrug.

Matthew smiles, “Teddy?”

“Aw!” you squeal. “Teddy Gray…” you say aloud and then a tear falls from your eye and then you’re full blown sobbing in front of the camera. “Teddy Gray, that’s it. That’s his name.”

And Matthew is freaked out because he’s never seen you cry before. Ever. Not at the doctor, not in the nursery, he’s never had the pleasure of meeting your hormones face to face quite like this. “Yeah…” he chokes out a sob. “That’s it,” he wipes his eyes. “Fuck, why am I crying?”

“Oh, why would you be, you fucking freak?” you shout and he thinks it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said.

Suddenly, your doorbell rings and it silences you, scares you. “What the fuck?” you whisper. “Is that you?”

“Nope. I had something delivered.”

“What? Right now?”

“Just a little cinnamon roll and a milkshake, but I can tell them to leave if you don’t want it?”

“Oh, my god,” you rush out of bed and immediately waddle to the door, “You’re amazing. I wanna have your baby.”

February | 34 Weeks

Your customized pillows and blankets have come in the mail. They all say Teddy and his baby book says it too. It is perfect. It’s your son. At your last appointment, he weighed about 7 pounds and you certainly feel every ounce weighing you down.

But for Teddy, it’s worth it.

For now, you’re still going to work and taking an afternoon nap for survival. Matthew jokes all the time that you can quit your job whenever you’d like. That he can take care of you both, just say the word. That was never the deal, but you appreciate it.

When you arrive home on Valentine’s Day, you’re just getting settled when your doorbell rings. You look through the peep hole and the delivery man is holding the largest vase of roses you’ve ever seen.

“Hi,” he greets you. “[y/n] [y/l/n]?”

“Yes,” you nod and take the roses in your arms. “Thank you.”

He hands you a tiny bag and you carry everything inside, setting them down on the table.

“One more thing,” he tells you and when you turn around, it is a teeny, tiny vase of snipped roses. The vase is personalized with the name Teddy.

“Aw,” you want to cry but you can’t do it in front of this random man. So only when he leaves, you let the tears fall and you set Teddy’s vase near in the window in his room. You leave your flowers on the living room table and take a small jewelry box out of the bag. Inside, are the most gorgeous pair of ruby pendant earrings and you audibly gasp.

The card accompanying it all reads: Sorry I can’t be with you and Teddy today, but I’m thinking about you both. I’m always thinking about you.

Happy Valentine’s Day, baby mama!!

March | 37 Weeks

“Any day now, [y/n],” your doctor beams, rolling the wand around on your belly. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you nod. “Excited. Scared. I didn’t give it much thought about how I was gonna get him out of there.”

Her and Matthew laugh, Matthew holding your hand like it’s No Big Deal.

“You’re gonna do great. You’re right on track for your due date, but it’s possible you’ll start feeling some contractions in the next week or two. If you notice them coming really close together or your water breaks, I want you to put that birthing plan in motion, okay?”

“Okay,” you and Matthew say in unison. It would’ve annoyed you before. Now you just smile at him because you think it’s cute.

Matthew escorts you back home and he’s hoping you’ll settle in and maybe rest. You don’t. You end up in the nursery, walking around like maniac. There is absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to move. Nothing to fix. Still, your brain tells you there must be something.

“Honey, honey,” he calls, taking you by the hand and guiding you to the couch. “Come lay down, please. Everything is all set.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he laughs. “You’re just nesting, I read about it online.”

“Oh, you and your baby google.”

“There really is so much out there!”

You roll your eyes, smiling as he covers you with a blanket. “You still going to Vegas this weekend? For your birthday?”

“Oh, no. No, I think I’m just gonna stay in New York.”

“What? Why? I thought your mom was planning a whole thing for you? You can’t miss it.”

“Well, I don’t wanna miss Teddy coming either. I don’t wanna leave you alone like that. The doctor said any day now.”

“Yeah, but, she also said it could be well over another week before I start contracting.”

He sighs, visibly anxious.

“Hey, look,” you pull him into your arms. “I appreciate you wanting to be here, I really do, but I want you to enjoy your birthday and I highly, highly doubt this kid is planning on escaping any time soon. Plus, my friend will be here if anything happens so, just, go, baby daddy, we’ll be fine.”

He sighs, “Fine. But you’ll call me if anything happens?”

“I will call you.”

“Immediately?”

“Immediately!”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

March 9 | 37 Weeks and 6 Days

The eve of Matthew’s birthday, you get roughly four hours of sleep. You rise with the sun and sit in Teddy’s room, folding his clothes, piling them in his dresser.

You friend wanders in, having just woken up herself and she sighs, “What the hell are you doing, crazy lady?”

“Nothing.”

“This nursery looks like it’s straight out of Architectural Digest. There’s nothing else to do, why don’t you go lay down?”

“Why is everyone always wanting me to lay down?”

“Because you’re carrying a human maybe? Duh?”

“I’m fine. I feel fine. I need to check on the bottles and make sure I have the right sized nipples because I’m not sure…”

“[y/n], you have all the nipples in the world. The ones, the twos, the threes, the ones on your tits. It’s fine!”

“I’m just checking!” And as you step towards the kitchen, you suddenly stop in your tracks, grab onto your crotch in shock.

“[y/n]?” you friend rushes to your side. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…I, um, I think I just pissed myself?”

“Wh-what? Pissed yourself or did your water break?”

You look up at her in fear, “Oh my god.”

“I’ll get the hospital bag.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get some pants and shoes on, dude!”

“Oh my god,” you repeat. “I-I have to call Matthew.”

So you do. You do. Just in the knick of fucking time, your name pops up on his phone and he quickly grabs his luggage and sprints off the plane that was doomed to take off any second.

When he arrives at the hospital, he bursts into the room at full speed, thinking he’s already missed everything. Thinking it’s over. He finds you bouncing on a birthing ball and you grin at him.

“Hi, baby daddy!” you huff. “Happy birthday!”

“Hi! Hi…” he walks up to you, takes your hands in his although you do not stop bouncing. He kisses the top of your head, “Are you okay? How far along are you?”

“Three centimeters,” you pant. “And I am not getting off of this ball until it’s 10!”

“Okay, well, you have to take a break at some point. Do you need some water?”

“Nope! Just need to bounce.”

You last, maybe, five more minutes and then you need to lay down. Except you can’t. Because your contractions are ridiculous and you can never get comfortable and you end up on all fours in the bed, crying and groaning.

And three hours later, you are only 5 centimeters dilated.

Matthew lays in the bed beside you, patting your face with a rag, feeling absolutely useless. “What can I do, [y/n]? Tell me what to do.”

You cry and squeeze his hand until this contraction passes. You pant, “Y-y’know…I’ve heard sometimes…when a baby won’t come out…p-people….sometimes…”

“What? What do they do?”

“They…y’know…”

He is still confused.

“Like!” you shout in frustration. “Like, what gets the baby in also gets the baby out!”

It clicks, “Oh!” he exclaims. “Oh. Will that…will that hurt him?”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “But he’ll sure as shit get the message.”

And so, two fingers, ten minutes and six big pushes later, Theodore Gray [y/l/n]-Gubler is born. He weighs eight pounds, five ounces but he feels so heavy in your arms.

Finally in your arms.

Matthew, like a big baby himself, can’t stop crying. Can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop kissing your face, “Look at him! He’s beautiful! You did it! Oh, my god, [y/n]! Look what you did!”

Teddy is truly the best birthday gift Matthew has ever gotten.

Two days later, you’re discharged from the hospital. Matthew arranged for a car to drive you home and he installs the car seat himself. He pushes you out in a wheelchair, despite your frequent protests, and gets Teddy buckled in. He then helps you and into the car before sliding in on the opposite side of the car seat.

You cover Teddy with his blanket and touch your fingertips to his face. He’s fast asleep, but this little grin forms on his face and the two of you chuckle.

“Hey,” you coo to him. “Hey, mister man, what are you doing? Huh? You…really don’t look a thing like me.”

Matthew cackles, “Yeah. Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus.”

He follows behind you with the car seat as you unlock your front door and lead them inside.

“Should we…I mean, do we just let him sleep?” he asks you.

“Until he’s hungry, yeah,” you nod, taking Teddy from his carrier. “Oh, hi…” you whisper to him. “Hi, mister man, you wanna lay in your bed? Hm?”

You place him in his crib and he doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t make a move. Matthew plops down on the floor, legs crisscrossed and you sit right beside him.

“He’s so fucking cool,” he tells you.

You giggle, “The coolest.”

The two of you could stare at him all day. You will.

“Is it still okay if spend the night?” he asks.

You look up at him with a smile, “Yes, we’d like that very much,” and you put your head on his shoulder.

His kisses your forehead softly, saying, “Cool.”

#mine #babydaddy!matthew #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler fluff

282 notes · View notes

worth-the-chaos · 11 months ago

Text

Adventures In Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: You haven’t been babysitting Dustin for very long. Underestimating his tendencies for rebellious behavior, you realize too late that he’s snuck out, with your dire search for the boy leading you to the last place you wanted to be: Steve Harrington’s house.

Content warning: swearing, inter-dimensional demogorgon bullshit, kind of strangers to friends to lovers (not necessarily all in this chapter), stancy, slow burn

Word Count: 6.5k

Author’s note: This is my first fic and it isn’t super original; it pretty much sticks to the plot of the show, but adds you to the mix! I tend to like fics that put the reader directly into the Stranger Things universe, demogorgons and all, so this chapter roughly follows Steve’s involvement in season 1 episode 8 when he goes to the Byers’ residence. This is more of a prologue and I plan to be more original with the story as it goes on, but it will still largely follow the plot lines of the series, so if that’s something you’re looking for, you’ve found it here!

Series Masterlist | Next Part

***

You knocked quickly on the door in front of you, eyes darting left and right to take in your surroundings. You were out of place here among the upper class houses in the neighborhood, with your hand-me-down and thrifted clothes screaming the opposite of prosperity. You were antsy, weight shifting from foot to foot; in fact, you were almost confident that if any of the neighbors were out and caught a glimpse of your obviously anxious form, they’d put a call in to the Hawkins police in an instant. You didn’t belong here. You scoffed at the thought. Though every fiber of your being was telling you—no, screaming at you—to leave, you really didn’t have a choice.

Not to mention the address you were at housed probably the last person you would ever actively seek out. He probably didn’t want to see you either, if you were being honest.

“Come on. Just answer,” You muttered through gritted teeth as you raised your hand to knock once more. However, before your hand could even make contact with the nice, expensive oak of the front door, it opened and you were met with the annoyed and confused glare of the one and only Steve Harrington. The expression on his face didn’t surprise you but the state of it did. Bruises and cuts littered his otherwise perfect skin, leaving you with a lot more questions than you had originally intended on asking.

“What do you want?” His words were direct, his tone short and clipped, drained from what on the outside seemed to be quite an eventful day.

“I-I, uh…I’m sorry, but what happened to you?” You breathed out. You had more pressing concerns, but you couldn’t help but wonder why King Steve of Hawkins High looked like absolute shit.

“I don’t have time for this,” he sighed as he began to shut the door.

You reached your hand through just in time to catch it as you shoved your way into the Harrington household. You knew his parents were likely on some sort of fancy business trip, so they wouldn’t be there to reprimand you for your actions. It’s what made Steve’s house the prime destination for the biggest parties in Hawkins. Parties you were rarely, if ever, invited to.

“What the hell are you doing?! I barely even know you and now you’re breaking and fucking entering into my goddamn house!”

“Technically, I’m just entering. You opened the door.”

“Are you kidding me right now, y/n?”

You were surprised he even knew your name. You tended to blend into the background, flying under the radar in your attempt to make good enough grades to maybe, just maybe, give yourself a fighting chance at attending college on scholarships. “Will you just hear me out. Please.”

You must have sounded desperate because Steve’s furrowed brow relaxed, his expression softening before he rolled his eyes, sitting down on a pristine white couch saying, “Fine. But make it quick because I have a raging headache and my patience is wearing thin.”

You breathed in a deep breath before you rattled off your reason for trespassing.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story, but I happen to babysit Dustin Henderson—or, well to be more accurate, I just started babysitting Dustin Henderson since Jonathon Byers’ brother disappeared—and everything was going fine one minute, but then I went to check on him in his room because he was being awfully quiet, and then I noticed his window was open and he must’ve snuck out, and—“

He cut you off, “Woah, woah, woah. How does any of this concern me? I mean, it’s not my fault you’re clearly a shit babysitter and can’t keep track of some seventh grader.”

“If you would just let me finish,” you warned through gritted teeth, “I’m aware of the fact that it doesn’t concern you, but I’ve been looking all over for him and I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve checked the Sinclair’s, I’ve checked the Wheeler’s, I’ve checked every location a seventh grade nerd might frequent, nothing. So, yeah, though it doesn’t concern you, I thought I might find Nancy here, given the fact that the two of you have obviously been going out, to ask her where the hell her brother is so that maybe, just maybe, I could find the damn kid I’m babysitting before I get fired from my fucking job. Now, if you could stop being so goddamn selfish for once in your life, I would really appreciate the help.”

Steve paused for a moment while he considered this. Being called selfish stung, but you weren’t wrong. The events leading to the myriad of injuries across his face seemed to prove just that. However, there was something about you in particular saying it that cut deep. You were seemingly so perfect, granted a bit odd. You were nice, you made good grades, but other than that he didn’t know much about you, so the expletive-laced explanation was a bit out of place coming from your mouth.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re a little too late to find Nancy here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she didn’t say it, but I take it things are probably pretty over between us.”

This was surprising to say the least. Nancy Wheeler wasn’t someone who you would have guessed would go for a total asshole jock like Steve, but even you had to admit, he was easy on the eyes. Your heart skipped a bit at the thought, as you suddenly also remembered that you basically broke into the house of the most popular kid at your high school. One whom you’d never really spoken to in any meaningful sense before this very instant.

“What happened?” You asked hesitantly, taking a step towards Steve as your fingers hovered over his forearm. Even though you hated nearly everything Steve stood for—popularity, prosperity, assholery—you felt compelled to comfort him. Something about him was different than you expected. When he didn’t pull away, you let your hand rest there.

“Well, speaking of Jonathan Byers, we kind of got into…an altercation. I would like to say that I won, but I think it’s clear that I didn’t. I was with Tommy H and Carol and he spray painted a bunch of awful shit about Nancy and Jonathan all over town, and I didn’t stop him, so yeah, things aren’t what I would call good between me and Nancy right now.”

Your comforting instinct told you to apologize, sympathize, but you weren’t going to condone his actions. You’d seen the “Nancy ‘the Slut’ Wheeler” graffiti earlier in your mad dash to locate Dustin. Though you didn’t know her super well, Nancy had been nothing but nice to you and she definitely didn’t deserve that sort of treatment.

“Well, how do you…feel about it?” You asked gently, internally cringing at your anxiety forcing you to find something to fill the silence with.

“I mean, definitely not good. I was an ass, and I know it, and as much as I hate that I screwed things up with Nancy, I think I’m more so realizing how shitty I was to Jonathan. I mean, he’s got enough going on without me making things more difficult…I need to make things right.” He stood up abruptly, quickly grabbing his car keys from a likely expensive decorative dish on the side table by the door.

“Woah, wait! You’re just going to leave me?” You asked incredulously. “Steve, I-I….I need help.”

“You can come with me,” he responded as he spun his keys around his index finger.

“What?”

“To the Byers’ house? You know, kill two birds with one stone? I apologize to Jonathan, you ask about the Henderson kid. Hell, you might even luck out and find him there, so what do you say?” He explained as he placed his hand gently on your back, leading you out the front door, down the driveway to his car. You tried not to think about the way his hand felt on the expanse of your back. Before you could say no, he was opening the passenger’s side door for you.

Your eyes met his, your mouth slightly parted as you weighed your options. Sure, you could handle yourself fine on the way to Jonathan’s house…but then on the other hand, Steve had a car and you didn’t, and with all of the weird things going on in Hawkins recently, it was probably best not to be a young woman walking around on her own, especially now that you were losing light. Safety reasons aside, the element that settled the internal argument for you was the look in Steve’s eyes. He wanted to do better. He wanted to be better. Who were you to deny him that?

You breathed in once more, shaking your head as you breathed out. “Alright. Let’s go.”

***

Being in Steve’s car was, needless to say, a bit awkward. You both had your own problems, brought together by chaos and regret, a combination which didn’t make for great small talk.

“So, Nancy Wheeler, huh?” You asked in an attempt to ease the tension, needing to rid the car of the weight of the uncomfortable silence.

“Yep,” Steve muttered, eyes focused on the road.

“She’s pretty cool. I mean, she’s always been nice to me.”

“She’s the best.”

You weren’t sure why, but this comment made your heart sink a little in your chest. Though Nancy had always been nice, you couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of her. She stood out in a way that you never could. She was smart but had the money to back it up, which, in terms of social status, meant that she mattered and you didn’t. You were living paycheck to paycheck, barely functioning, picking up odd jobs all the time just to support yourself in the way your family couldn’t. You barely had the time to study or have fun, becoming the background character to everyone else’s life. Hell, you weren’t even sure you had a starring role in your own. She was also pretty in a way that you could never be, with her big blue eyes and thin frame making clearly even the douchiest of douchebags swoon. Steve was living proof.

“Y/n? Did you even hear anything I just said?” Steve’s voice finally flooded your consciousness, drawing you away from your thoughts and feelings of inadequacy.

You shook your head trying to clear out the negativity. “Sorry! I was-I just zoned out for a second, my bad,” You chuckled, your smile not quite reaching your eyes.

“I asked you why you were babysitting the Henderson kid anyway. It just seems like something that you wouldn’t be interested in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know, you’re…different. Yeah, you’re nice and make good grades and whatever, but you’re also pretty edgy. You seem like one of those weird, alt kids that would be into like pretty heavy music and shit, and babysitting just seems a little too suburban-status-quo for someone like you.”

You stared at him blankly, not really sure how to answer given that his words were more a statement of assumptions rather than a question. You opened your mouth to speak, but he interjected before you could even say anything.

“That came out wrong. What I’m saying is that you’ve always struck me as a little bit intimidating because you’re actually an individual; you don’t follow the crowd which, I mean, is admirable, but babysitting? Come on. I’m as stereotypical as they come, and I wouldn’t even babysit, especially not for some thirteen-year-old misfit who seems like more of a handful than its worth.”

“Well, for starters, you’re a guy, so no shit you’re not babysitting the youth of Hawkins, and also, I just need the money, which I’m sure is a foreign concept to you. And babysitting is kind of a piece of cake…normally. Henderson is a special case; he’s too smart for his own good.”

Steve laughed and you blushed, grateful for the darkness to hide the heat in your cheeks. His words felt like they were trying to be a compliment, but you weren’t sure how to interpret them. You guessed that maybe you stood out at least a little bit more than you had initially thought. By his description, people must be noticing you to some extent. He was noticing you.

You shook your head at the thought. What had gotten into you? Half an hour ago you hated this man, but now you weren’t too sure. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought he was.

With Hawkins being a small town in rural Indiana, the drive was not long, so your conversation ended here as you pulled up to the Byers’ residence. You felt a pang in your heart as you saw the tarp-covered hole in the front of the house. From speaking with Mrs. Henderson, you knew how much of a toll her son’s disappearance had taken on Joyce. Both of you got out of the car and you made your way to the front door.

Steve knocked. When there was no response, he banged on the door again. “Jonathan! Are you there man? It’s—it’s Steve! Listen, I just want to talk.”

He continued to bang on the door. You were about to reach up and stop him, tell him that it was enough and clearly no one was home, when the door opened a crack and you were met eye to eye with Nancy Wheeler. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw you, but it only lasted for a fraction of a second before her expression settled and her brows furrowed.

“Steve, listen to me.”

“Hey. Nancy, what—“

“You need to leave. Both of you,” she added as she turned to meet your eyes. She was serious, her expression stern, but there was something else there…desperation maybe?

“I’m not trying to start anything, okay?” Steve pleaded. It didn’t make a difference, as Nancy had clearly made up her mind.

“I don’t care about that. You need to leave. Now.”

“No, no, listen, I messed up…I messed up, and I just want to make things right.” Steve was desperate, you could hear it in his voice. You wanted to try and reason with Nancy, speak on behalf of Steve, but it wasn’t your place. You went to cast your gaze downwards, trying to give the two of them a private moment, but Nancy’s gauze-wrapped hand caught your eye instead.

“Hey, what happened to your hand?” You asked hesitantly, brow furrowed, “is that…is that blood?”

You went to gently reach for her hand but she quickly drew it back and out of sight, but it was too late. Say what you will about Steve, but he was protective to a fault, and in seeing Nancy hurt, any desire to make things right with Jonathan quickly dissipated.

“It’s nothing! It-It was an accident.”

“Wait a sec. Did he do this to you? Nancy, let me in!” Steve demanded as he pushed into the Byers’ home, not dissimilar to how you had intruded upon the Harrington residence earlier. You entered behind him. Under any normal circumstances, you probably would have felt awkward, but instead you were too preoccupied with Steve’s short temper and the fires you knew you would inevitably have to put out.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the premonition to know the literal nature of that preoccupation.

Crossing the threshold of the Byers’ residence, you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking at, but it did make your heart stop in your chest. You momentarily locked eyes with Jonathan as you looked around the room. There were multicolored lights strewn about the whole house, makeshift weapons on the coffee table, the entire alphabet painted sloppily on the wallpaper, and Jonathan’s hand had the same blood soaked gauze as Nancy’s.

“What is…what the…what is all of this?” Steve demanded.

“You need to get out of here. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” Jonathan grabbed the fabric of Steve’s shirt attempting to force him out of the living room, but Steve planted his feet.

“Is that….is that gasoline?!” You stammered as the rest of your senses finally showed up. Your hands were trembling at your sides, and you felt like at any moment you might have a panic attack. You took a shaky breath as you attempted to calm yourself down.

“Steve! Get out!” Nancy shouted. The distinct click of a gun rang out, and Steve froze, eyes fixed on the revolver in Nancy’s hand, pointed directly at him. Jonathan’s grip loosened on Steve’s shirt as he stepped away, shock registering on his face as well.

Something was obviously very wrong. You pushed your anxiety deep down in your chest, and you took a step forward. If I could just talk to her, you thought, I can deescalate this.

“Nancy—“ you began cautiously, but as soon as you took a step she pivoted and now you were the one staring down the barrel of a gun. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly raised trembling hands in front of your chest. “I think you need to calm down.”

“I think you need to leave,” she responded, her voice icy. Suddenly, Steve bounded forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him. Once you were hidden behind his tall figure, you allowed yourself to break down a little, pressing yourself against him for some semblance of security.

“Is this a joke, Nancy? Put the gun down!”

“I’m doing this for you.”

“What is this?! What does that even mean?” He yelled back at her, but his words weren’t doing anything to help. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, and his grip tightened. He was holding onto you just as much as you were holding onto him, with a fistful of his shirt balled into your delicate hand as you attempted to ground yourself. It felt intimate, and if it weren’t for your current predicament, you would have been embarrassed.

“Three. Two—“

“Nancy! The lights!” Jonathan shouted, and you peeled your face away from the solace of Steve’s back, watching as the lights flickered with a raging entropy, making it nearly impossible for your eyes to navigate the small room.

“Where is it? I don’t see it!” Nancy cried out and for the first time in the craze of blinking lights and shouting, you saw the fear on her face, her previous stoic facade shattering in the chaos. Seeing the fright in her eyes made your stomach drop, as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?!” Steve shouted and you couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. Even with the family room being sporadically lit up like a Christmas tree, you and Steve were very much still in the dark.

No sooner had he said it did the ceiling begin to crack, something large writhing as it made its way into the small house from above. Nancy began shooting at it as you stood frozen. Finally, it burst through the drywall, falling to the floor on all fours. If someone asked you to describe what you had seen, you weren’t sure what you would’ve even said. It had pale skin, nearly translucent, and made an awful chattering sound as it started to gather its bearings.

“Go! Go! Run! Go!” Jonathan started shouting as he grabbed Nancy around the waist and shoved her in front of him as she darted down the hall. Steve turned around and did the same, his hands harshly grabbing at your sides to redirect you as you formed a human chain; Jonathan’s hand wrapped around your wrist, and your other hand wrapped around Steve’s as you made a mad dash to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

In all the commotion you barely heard Jonathan shout “jump!” narrowly missing the open bear trap on the floor. You shrieked and willed yourself to be coordinated for once in your damn life as you hurdled over the metal teeth of the trap, blindly trusting that Steve’s athleticism would kick in and he would do the same. A low growl sounded out just as the bedroom door slammed shut behind Steve, his momentum causing him to collide into you. You would have toppled over if it wasn’t for his quick reflexes, as he reached out to steady your shoulders.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s all going to be okay,” Steve frantically whispered, his hands still holding together your shaking form, as you stumbled backwards and collapsed down on the bed. His lips were dangerously close to your ear, and he brought a hand to the base of your neck, drawing his fingers down to your shoulder to reassure you. He was barely holding it together himself, scared out of his mind, but he brought you into this mess and he was determined to protect you first. “What the hell was that?!”

“Shut up!” Nancy and Jonathan yelled in unison. Everyone’s gaze then fixed on the yoyo that was precariously draped over the chair. Your heart thundered in your ears, your eyes welling with tears as you held your breath and waited. The lights continued to flicker, until a jolt of electricity rang out and they became static. The silence was unnerving.

“Do you hear anything?” Nancy asked.

Jonathan shook his head and slowly opened the door. The four of you stepped into the quiet of the hallway, eyes fixed on the undisturbed bear trap in the middle of the carpet. You all cautiously made your way back to the disheveled family room of the Byers’ house, Nancy and Jonathan prepped with their weapons in hand.

“This is…this—this is crazy!” Steve shouted, running his hands through his perfect hair.

You tugged on his sleeve trying to draw his attention away from what just happened; this was already a shit show, the last thing you needed was Steve losing his mind. “Steve, you need to calm down,” you begged, still shaken from before.

“Y/n, how the hell am I supposed to calm down?! This isn’t a situation where you can calm the fuck down! What the hell is going on?!” He continued to shout, grabbing your wrist and shoving it away. You tried not to take it personally, but it still hurt. You hated how quickly he had gone from comforting to cold.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, Nancy spoke up, “It’s going to come back! So you need to leave. Right now.”

Steve grabbed your wrist, your body lurching as your trajectory quickly changed, the inertia causing you to stumble while your feet attempted to keep up with Steve’s large strides. Steve fumbled with his keys as you reached the car. His shaky hands finally unlocked the door and he swung it open, about to sit when he realized that you had stopped following him, still positioned in front of the house.

“Y/n, what are you doing?”

“Steve, we can’t leave, are you kidding me? They’re in way over their heads. They need help.”

“It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you in there. It’s not up for discussion,” Steve argued, stepping around the door and reaching out to grab your wrist again. You quickly stepped back, pulling your hands out of his reach.

“Y/n, you’re not going back in there. I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I,” you shot back, turning back towards the door. You heard him call out your name again, but you were already through the front door, back in the discomfort of the Byers’ family room.

“Y/n, what the hell are you doing here? I said to leave,” Nancy warned.

“I’m not leaving. You guys need help, and I want to help.”

“Y/n—“ Jonathan began, but his warning was cut short when the lights began to flash again. You quickly grabbed a large kitchen knife from the pile of improvised weapons on the coffee table and met Nancy and Jonathan back to back in the center of the room.

“Where is it?” You asked, trying to shove the fear in your chest down, hoping it was a false alarm, that the wiring was screwy, that you were safe.

“Come out, you son of a bitch!” Jonathan yelled out. You willed your hands not to shake as you tightened your grip on the handle of the knife. Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the room into inky black darkness. You blinked rapidly, a futile attempt to get your eyes to adjust to the pitch black room.

You heard a low growl before Nancy exclaimed, “Y/N!”

You spun around, eyes meeting the nine-foot hulking form of whatever the hell this thing was, standing less than a foot from you. You didn’t even have time to scream as it lunged at you, pinning you to the floor. Your knife fell from your grasp, clamoring across the hardwood. You wish you could go back to when you hadn’t had a good look at the monster. Now you stared wide eyed as its face opened up revealing countless rows of razor sharp teeth as it shrieked, spewing thick drool across your face.

“Help me! Please! Nancy!” You screamed out as you writhed under the pressure of the beast. Its clawed fingers began tightening around your upper arm, ripping into your skin as you cried out in pain. It reared back to scream its ear piercing scream again, but something collided with it, knocking it off-kilter. Its long claws dragged across the flesh of your arm, etching larger gashes as its grip began to release.

You took this opportunity to slip away, scrambling across the floor on hands and knees as you grabbed the kitchen knife, turning around to slash the monster’s achilles. It cried out, turning back towards you, this time far angrier than it had been in the first place. This was when you realized that the collision from before had been Steve, swinging Jonathan’s nail bat as hard as he could at the creature.

He had come back for you.

He continued to swing the bat with all his might, causing the monster to stumble backwards until the resonant clang of metal hitting against metal rang out.

“He’s in the trap! He’s stuck!” Steve yelled out, causing the rest of you to spring into action.

“Jonathan, now!” Nancy shouted. Jonathan hurtled around the corner, the unmistakable flick of a lighter sounding out before he tossed it in the gasoline soaked carpet. The hallway erupted in flames that were almost too bright to bear, as the four of you covered your eyes. You took this opportunity to sprint back to the family room, quickly grabbing the fire extinguisher laid out on the rug, before bounding back to the hallway.

“Get back!” You shouted as you desperately tried to put out the fire before you were all suffocated in a fiery mix of ash and smoke. You all coughed as the smoke cleared, revealing that the monster had disappeared, no longer stuck between the teeth of the bear trap.

“Where did it go?” Nancy hesitantly asked.

“It has to be dead. It has to be,” Jonathan said, though it seemed more like he was saying it to convince himself; to speak it into existence.

Suddenly the string lights started blinking again, this time in a line leading toward them in the hallway. Your breath caught in your throat, and Steve protectively pushed himself in front of you and Nancy. The lights then blinked again, this time in a line towards the front door. This time they weren’t the erratic display of chaos from earlier, but rather an orderly demonstration of cosmos. The four of you cautiously followed the lights, weapons drawn just in case.

“Mom?” You heard Jonathan quietly ask. His eyes welled with tears, and you immediately wanted to hug the boy. He’d been through so much. He didn’t deserve this; none of you did.

You followed the lights outside the house, watching the streetlight gently flicker before all trace of the paranormal phenomenon dissipated.

“Where’s it going?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t think that’s the monster,” Jonathan responded. He didn’t elaborate and none of you asked.

Steve quickly turned to you, gently grabbing your wrist. “Y/n, you’re bleeding,” he said, his eyes widening as they focused on your blood soaked sleeve.

“It doesn’t matter. Where’s Dustin? Please tell me one of you knows,” you turned to ask Nancy and Jonathan, both of them caught off guard by your question.

“Uh, I think it really does matter, y/n. We don’t even know what the hell that thing was! You can’t just ignore—“

“They’re at the school,” Nancy interrupted. She wanted to argue with you too, to tell you that you definitely needed medical attention, but she also knew you weren’t going to listen. Hell, you’d just run back into a house with an inter-dimensional threat so her and Jonathan wouldn’t have to face it on their own.

You turned back towards Steve. “Steve, I promise I’ll let you take me to the urgent care or the hospital or whatever if you just please let me go make sure he’s okay,” you pleaded. Tears were welling in your eyes and Steve realized that he wasn’t going to be able to say no to you.

“Fine, but this is fucked up.”

***

By the time you pulled into the parking lot of Hawkins middle, it was swarming with police cars and emergency vehicles. You felt nauseous and negligent, as you frantically scanned, looking for the curly mop of hair hidden under a baseball cap. Before Steve stopped the car, you flung your door open, jogging across the lot, calling out for the boy.

“Dustin! Dustin Henderson!”

“Woah, woah, woah! You can’t just jump out of a moving vehicle!” Steve caught up with you. He wanted to reach out and put a hand on your shoulder to rein you in a little, but he decided against it, not recalling which one was torn up. You had to be in excruciating pain, but you didn’t show it. She’s pretty damn tough, Steve thought to himself. Suddenly, you both saw the Henderson boy, chatting away with Lucas Sinclair, as if nothing had happened.

“Henderson!” You growled, marching across the parking lot towards the young child.

“Y/n, I can explain—“

“Do you have any idea the hell I just went through trying to find your ass?! Where the hell were you?!”

“You’re not going to believe me, but there’s this alternate—wait, what the hell happened to your arm?”

You looked at Steve, trying to silently decide how much to tell the young boy. He was just a kid; he didn’t need to be mixed up in all of this, and neither did Lucas. To be perfectly honest, neither did the two of you, but you couldn’t change what happened. You broke eye contact with Steve and looked at Dustin, lips slightly parted as you tried to find the right words to say. Before you could even say anything, Dustin broke the silence.

“It was the demogorgon, wasn’t it?”

“What in the fresh hell are you talking about?” Steve asked, growing tired of this kid who had inadvertently caused you to risk your life trying to find him instead of just listening to his damn babysitter.

“Monster, big and scary, likely inter-dimensional?”

“You…But how do you…you know about all of this?” You asked, your heart sinking knowing that you couldn’t protect him from this.

“It took Will, and we’ve been trying to find him,” Lucas chimed in.

“B-but…but there was a funeral. He died,” you stammered, your heart aching this time as you thought back to Jonathan and Joyce and how miserable they had been over the loss of the young child.

“Look, y/n, I’m sorry I snuck out but it was to find Will. I can explain the rest but it’s going to take a while and you might want to sit down,” Dustin hesitantly spoke.

“You’re so damn lucky your mom is out of town for the next few days,” you spoke through gritted teeth, but you sat down and you listened to the boy.

***

After his explanation, you and Steve were, needless to say, a bit stunned and speechless. How the hell did three middle school boys figure all of that out? And a girl with a shaved head and super powers? You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Hawkins Chief of Police Jim Hopper knew about all of this either. What was there that you could trust? Your head started to spin and you were getting a bit nauseous at the thought.

“I mean, this is wild Henderson. It’s borderline unbelievable,” Steve chided. Dustin’s eyes widened and his face reddened, clearly mad that Steve wasn’t buying his story.

“Are you serious right now, Steve? You saw it! You saw the damn demogorgon! How could you possibly deny that—“

“I said borderline unbelievable, shit bird. Obviously I know some strange shit is going on, it’s just still fucking insane.”

You couldn’t agree more with him as you attempted to stand up, but your vision blurred and you stumbled. You would’ve fallen if Steve hadn’t immediately shot up to catch and steady you.

“Woah, y/n, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Steve’s eyes were darting all across your face. He wished he could read your mind but you just stared up at him with those eyes and it all remained a mystery.

“I think she needs to get that checked out. She’s losing a lot of blood,” Lucas chimed in, his brow furrowed under his camo bandana. He pointed at your blood soaked sleeve, and everyone simultaneously realized that blood was now dripping down your hand, the fabric no longer able to hold anymore liquid.

“No, no, I’m fine, I swear. Let me just walk it off. I’ll be okay,” you tried to sound confident, but your speech was slurred and there were dark spots invading your vision. Steve gently patted at the side of your face, attempting to keep you conscious.

“Y/n, just stay with us. We’re going to get you help. Just keep those pretty eyes open for me. Y/n, please!” He sounded desperate, and you fought to stay awake. The next thing you knew, he was carrying you, attempting to make it to an ambulance to get your wounds assessed by a real medical professional.

“Hey, we need you to take us to a hospital right now,” Steve spoke quickly as he sprinted to one of the EMTs on scene.

“What happened to her?”

“It’s a long story. Please sir,” Steve’s voice began to falter. The EMT gestured for Steve to hop in the back of the ambulance where he gingerly placed you on the gurney. Lucas and Dustin swiftly followed suit, going to hop into the ambulance, but the EMT stepped in front of the boys to stop them.

“Woah, where do you think you’re going?”

“Sir, if you could please let them come with us. We babysit them and I can’t leave them here by themselves,” Steve argued. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was the best he had to work with to convince the guy to take Sinclair and Henderson with them. Dustin looked at him with confusion, mouthing the word “we?” before Steve shot him a warning glance to fix his face before their story was invalidated.

You woke up in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. You were no longer in your blood soaked clothes, your frame fitted with a hospital gown instead. You looked over to your left arm which had since been stitched up and was now wrapped in gauze, the bleeding slowing to a stop.

“Steve?” You called out, hoping he was still with you.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” He exclaimed rushing over to the side of the bed. You’d been out for the past hour. They had sedated you once you arrived at the hospital, saying it would be easier to tend to your wounds that way.

“Today didn’t really go how I thought it would.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve chuckled.

“I mean, my worst fear earlier was that I was going to get fired. I can tell you that I have significantly worse fears than that now,” you hated crying in front of people, with Steve being the last person you wanted to be vulnerable in front of, but you couldn’t help it as your eyes welled up and one stubborn tear slid down your cheek. Steve was quick to wipe it away, his hand reaching down to hold yours.

“I know, but on the bright side, I think you might be the most qualified babysitter in Hawkins,” Steve tried desperately to make you smile. It worked as you let out a wet laugh through your sob.

“I mean, I guess so,” you chuckled, your cheeks heating up at the compliment.

“You guess so? I know so. I don’t know anybody who would fight a monster with that many fucking teeth for some kid.”

“Nancy would,” you reminded him, your voice getting small again. The light in his eyes suddenly dissipated and he let go of your hand.

“Yeah, no, you’re probably right. I guess we’d all make pretty damn good babysitters,” he averted eye contact, preferring to look at his hands. In the time he’d been spending with you, he kind of forgot about Nancy. He felt guilty.

“You should talk to her, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure she’s probably ready to put whatever happened between the two of you behind her. I mean, you really stepped up when it mattered today,” you added. You weren’t sure why you were saying it because the thought of him going back to Nancy made your heart ache, but maybe you weren’t ready for the alternative. You weren’t ready for him to look at you the way he looked at her. Not that you thought he would, but you just felt the need to create some distance. A lot had happened and this wasn’t the way you wanted him to realize you were something special, something to hold onto.

“Yeah, I guess…I mean, I guess I’ll go talk to her. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” He looked you in the eye. Instead of seeing annoyance or indifference, you saw something new for a change: sincerity.

“Promise.”

He gave you a small smile, pausing in the doorway as he took one last look at you. You did a small wave goodbye, reassuring him that you’d be okay. With that, he took a breath and turned the corner, making his way back to the hospital waiting room where him and Nancy would patch things up. There was something about you though; something he couldn’t quite get out of his head.

He also had a sinking feeling in his chest that this wasn’t the end of whatever was going on in Hawkins. He had a feeling that the danger would linger, lurking in the shadows. He pushed the feeling aside and smiled weakly at Nancy, moving to sit in the empty chair next to her.

***

a/n: I hope y’all liked it; in theory there’s more to come (like I said earlier it’s gonna be a slow burn so yeah lol). If you feel so inspired to reboot this post that would also be pretty dope and I’d be eternally grateful <3

464 notes · View notes

burntheedges-updates · 1 year ago

Text

over again, chapter 1

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it)18+ minors DNI chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, light angst, cursing, no use of y/n, no description of reader (see note below), smallish age difference (reader is 26, Joel is 32/almost 33 when they meet in 2000) (small for this fandom, anyway) (the smut comes later, y'all, we're just getting started here) a/n: Well, here we go! This is part 1. This fic is completely finished. It’s a 5+1 and for some of the 5 parts I’ll post them together (on Sundays) and for some I’ll post them separately (on Sundays and Wednesdays) just due to length. Obviously I'm posting this one early (lol). I’ll tell you whatever the schedule is for the different parts. I've paid a lot of attention to the reader's description in this fic. I've avoided skin color, hair type, body shape/size descriptions, and even clothing (except for one or two spots where you are specifically wearing jeans and boots). You are vaguely shorter than Joel. He does not run his fingers through your hair, and you feel the blood rush to your face or your face heat, but you don't turn red or pink. Please tell me if you notice anything I missed - I want this to be as inclusive as possible. word count: 1724 (for this part) series main post & chapter list | series playlist (w/ plot-related mix) ao3 | chapter 2

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Jackson, Early Winter, 2023

You’ve been heading northwest from somewhere in Kansas, thinking you’ve never bothered going out this way, even Before, so why not? It’s been months since you saw another person. You’re not even sure the last time you spoke out loud.

You blame the lengthy isolation for how easily they get the jump on you.

It's just after dawn when you're rudely awakened - at first, you’re not sure why, but a second kick to your hip sends you scrambling to sit up in your sleeping bag, which is tangled around your legs. Looking around as you struggle, you realize you’re surrounded by people on foot and on horseback. Every single one of them is pointing a gun at you. You glance to the side and realize your backpack along with anything possibly useful inside of it has been kicked away from you. The woman who kicked you has a steely look in her eye that reminds you, in your half awake state, of the last boss you had Before.

“State your business.” As she speaks you notice the two men closest to her start to fan out a bit, but you don’t dare look away from her.

“I’m just passing through, I’ve been looking for a good place to spend the winter.”

Or, that’s what you would have said, if not for the voice from your past shouting your name in shock just as you open your mouth. “No goddamn way, is that really you?”

You think you must be hallucinating, because everyone you knew Before is dead, but then Tommy fucking Miller pushes his way in front of the woman who spoke. For a moment you can’t do more than stare at each other — him with his gun hanging limply in his right hand, you with your legs still tangled in your godforsaken sleeping bag. Then you launch into motion and start to kick it away as you find your voice. It comes out shaky. Or maybe you’re shaking all over.

“Tommy? But — you’re alive? Where the hell have you been? Wait, are Joel and—“

Tommy cuts you off as he pulls you to your feet and into a tight hug. “Holy shit, we thought you were dead. Holy fucking shit.”

“We? Tommy wait, are they—“

Tommy pulls back, keeping hold of your shoulders as he looks you in the eye. He’s grinning, his eyes wandering all over your face. “He’s alive, sunshine. Or he was when he came through here about a month ago. We’re expecting them back in the spring.”

You can feel your heart racing and your whole body feels hot and tingly. You’re overwhelmed. You didn’t think you could still feel hope like this. It’s terrifying, but you have to know. “He’s- Them? They’re both alive? Sarah?”

You know the answer before he even says anything. Tommy’s face falls, his eyes drop from yours, and you feel it like a sucker punch, as bad as it was the first time around. Your knees give out even though this is what you’ve known, or tried to convince yourself must be true, for 20 years. Tommy falls gently with you to the ground.

Your baby girl. “Oh god, Sarah. And Joel, he must have been—“

“Yeah, sunshine. He thought he lost you both. It wasn’t… well. It wasn’t good.”

You’re starting to feel numb. You have no idea what your face is doing right now, but judging by Tommy’s, it isn’t pretty. 10 minutes ago you were alone in the apocalypse, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with your almost-brother-in-law and you know, without a doubt, that your fiancé hasn’t been dead this whole time. Is this shock? It’s been 20 years since you felt a shock like this. Since you felt anything like this.

“Tommy, I… I need to sit down.”

“Well, you are sitting down, sunshine. But get up, gather your stuff. You can come to town with us. Stay as long as you’d like.” You nod, unsteady, and Tommy guides you carefully towards what must be his horse.

The day passes in a daze. You think you might actually be hallucinating, or still back in your sleeping bag, dreaming, because a whole, functional town? A commune, and a house they’re just going to let you have as your own? A real community? With your only remaining family, miraculously alive? It’s impossible. You float through the rest of the day and find yourself sitting on a bed in a house with indoor plumbing that somehow belongs to you, having just eaten real food in the company of the family you thought you lost 20 years ago.

You give up and go to sleep. (What else are you going to do?)

...

As you settle into life in Jackson, the knowledge that you might see Joel — your Joel, any day now — never leaves your thoughts. It’s like a drum beat at the back of your mind that only repeats his name, marking time every hour of every day. You don’t know how you’ll prepare yourself for it. How could you? You haven’t seen him in 20 years. Anything could be different. You can so easily picture him with a daughter, but it’s Sarah in your mind, not Ellie, who Tommy has told you a bit about. Every time you open those old wounds that you’ve done your best to bury it hurts like the first time. Would he still want you? Still know you? Do you still know him? Would Ellie like you? You can’t imagine not knowing Joel, or Joel not knowing you, but it’s been 20 years and people change. You’ve changed, after all. Some days you barely recognize yourself.

You express these fears to Tommy once, but he only laughs and says his brother may be stupid but he’s not stupid enough not to want you. It’s reassuring and rude, so, exactly like Tommy. At least some things never change.

The day Joel Miller walks back into Jackson you happen to be standing on the road near the gates, talking to Tommy, and you swear he spots you in less than 5 seconds. It’s like you can’t help but look to each other first, even when you don’t know the other is alive, even when you haven’t seen each other in 20 years. You’d know the shape of him anywhere and your eyes have never stopped looking for it, never stopped catching on a set of shoulders, a cocked hip, a tilted head, only to be disappointed when it faded like a mirage. When the person in front of you didn’t fit the hole he left behind. It hurt every time. Maybe it’s been the same for him.

Joel looks like he’s seen a ghost, and you have no idea what expression is on your face, but the moment you lock eyes all you see is the moment you first met, almost 24 years ago, like a film negative laid on top of what’s really in front of you. He’s older, of course, but so are you, and he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He steps towards you and whispers your name like a prayer.

Joel fucking Miller.

Austin, Summer 2000

It was a Saturday morning in late summer, so not yet the hottest part of the day, but not comfortable, either. Your belongings were steadily moving from the truck to your new rental house under your somewhat careful supervision when movement from the house next door caught your eye. You looked up just as one of the guys from the moving company almost dropped your nightstand off the back of the truck, distracting you from the sight of a young girl, maybe about 10, rocketing out of the house next door and down her front steps. She was wearing a bright green soccer uniform.

By the time your nightstand had been righted and you looked back towards your neighbors’ house, she’d made her way to the bushes between your driveways, standing on her tiptoes and taking in all of the commotion. She met your eye and grinned. You grinned back as she called, “Hi, new neighbor!”

You walked over, stopping on the other side of the bush to introduce yourself. “Hi there, neighbor.”

It didn’t seem possible, but she grinned even wider. “I’m Sarah, that’s my dad.”

You looked up, realizing there was a man coming down their steps towards the two of you — the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life. He was tall, with broad shoulders and the look of a man who spent a lot of time in the sun, tan lines peeking out of his shirt sleeves. His brown curls were a bit messy and his shoulders and strong arms drew your eye like a magnet. You caught yourself giving him a quick once over and felt your face start to warm, embarrassed, but when you met his eyes again you caught him doing the same to you. You realized you were both caught and you smiled, introducing yourself.

“Nice to meet you, darlin’. Joel Miller, and I think you’ve met Sarah.” You felt your face turn hot at the endearment but you knew he probably didn’t mean anything by it. Southern hospitality and all. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond when you were rudely interrupted by a crashing noise from the moving truck behind you, and you whirled around to see a box on its side on the ground that definitely should not have been. You glanced back at your neighbors as you excused yourself. “It’s great to meet you! Sorry, I need to see what that was.”

They shooed you along before you could even finish your sentence, reassuring you that they understood. “Let me know if anything broke, darlin,’ I’m pretty handy, could probably fix it. It’d be my pleasure.” He smiled at you a bit, just on one side, edging towards a smirk, and you did your best not to stare at his mouth. “Deal,” you agreed, grinning. Both you and Joel seemed unable to draw your eyes away from each other. You were stuck, pinned in place under his gaze until Sarah tugged on his arm and dragged him towards their truck. “Dad, we’re gonna be late!”

The view from the back was just as nice as the front.

...

a/n: ch 2 is up!

taglist: @morgaussy

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #x reader

320 notes · View notes

dr5amatic · 22 days ago

Text

THE ADVENTURE BEGINS ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the d&d actual play fantasy high from dimension 20. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, violence, and religion. change verbiage as needed.

she can’t have been that good an oracle if she didn’t see the storm coming

why would it be impractical to fight with a two foot diameter orb?

i don’t have a lot of friends even though i’m pretty social so that’s weird.

it’s not great that you’re doing this.

i can be your man on the inside.

why am i encouraging this? don’t do this.

try and tell me even one good bard that learned how to bard in school!

i’ve got a song called “my dad is a demon but he’s also a deadbeat.”

do you want this metal flower?

a hero is someone with the strength of heart, courage of spirit, and the might of will to go to strange lands and enact violence on things there.

a hero is a violent wanderer who enacts their will bloodily and with strange magicks upon the world.

does a hero truly stand alone?

the strength of the hero is the strength of the party.

never forget that the greatest magic of all is chronomancy, the magic of time.

where i’m from is the same place i’m going, buddy. nowhere.

god, i’m just like jesus!

you’re just another maternal figure that has let me down.

i am hashtag blessed.

it’s not your time. you have more work to do.

i met god and it was really disappointing.

you gotta not touch the body!

oh, don’t be spiteful!

i’ll put you in the ground before i let you kill me.

what do you think about rage?

i’m sorry, you’re a little freak and i love it.

i’m really mad but that’s okay because this song is about being mad and that being fine.

as the poets say, the heart wants what looks good.

there is no one in this world more important than you.

i actually met god and he sucked.

dude, i think your mom’s bi.

there is one law and only one law: the law of the blade.

now why did you draw steel last night?

your objective was to draw weaponry until it got less scary?

i have no use for dead men, only men that can make me richer.

i fear no one.

death, to me, is nothing more than a joke. when the time comes, i will jump into hell and kill the devil.

my dad is so metal.

are you starting a religion?

did you kill something with a ladle?

who can truly know what lives in the heart of another?

i need three cc’s of coffee!

you know, kindness begets kindness.

there’s no god. there’s no devil.

wind chimes are fucking annoying.

plant some trees or some shit.

if you’re not playing for your own team, how can you expect anyone else to?

the time is coming and it’s worse than you think.

maybe i should hit people more.

you and i were raised very differently and i’m realizing that now.

we are not going to get our security deposit back.

you have a ton of work ahead of you that in a more just world you wouldn’t have to do.

so i think i maybe accidentally started a war.

be careful on ships because when shit goes sideways there’s nowhere to go. it’s just ocean.

when push comes to shove, i imagine you’ll make the selfish choice.

i’m glad you’re alive.

you always got to be kind, you always got to try your best, and there is no sense in being a fucking pushover.

you have to fucking pull yourself together.

fuck. i should’ve killed that dude.

quit it, dad!

the only thing special about you is that some god decided you were special randomly!

you’re not clever enough for the library, and you’re not brave enough for the world.

your father’s more man than you’ll ever be.

so unlovable that your father would rather go to hell than stay with you.

you might have a jail cell waiting for you.

it’s really bad!

having panic attacks is not a character flaw. you are not a coward, you have a goddamn medical condition.

i came here to fuck shit up and help children.

did you kill god?

recreation is the highest form of self-medication.

the heart and soul of magic is having a good time.

so you’re a god now?

bad things happen to good people because things happen all the time and it’s up to the people to determine whether they are bad or good.

in the same way that your heart feels and your mind thinks, you mortal beings are the instrument by which the universe cares.

if you choose to care, the universe cares.

what is a god worthy of worship?

i had a whole plan! i did everything right!

everything in this world is bullshit, but understanding how is the key.

#inbox memes #inbox prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts #rp memes #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #sentence starters

34 notes · View notes

starlitiris · 15 days ago

Text

“Where is the Justice?”

Chapter 7: Memento Mori

Summary: “Sebastian’s mutations have, for the most part, stopped. He is promoted to MR-P, and is finally able to work again. I would also like to personally and sincerely apologize to mischellaneous_bones on ao3 and eaterof_concrete on Tumblr for the contents of this chapter. Please read the notes at the end if this chapter leaves you utterly heartbroken </3

This chapter is written partially from Sebastian’s POV.”

~ ⚖️ ~

[Grief

Is a beast.

A wicked, unforgiving creature that will try with all its might to crush you under its entire weight.

It sinks it claws into you before you realize it’s even there. It breathes down your neck, breath harsh and cold. A constant reminder that it’s present.

It wears you down, the weight of it too much to bear some days. You pray that when you sleep, it too, will slumber. But it doesn’t. It never sleeps.

It permeates your life, unrelenting in its mission to do everything in its power to strip you of everything that you are.

It wants to see you wither – to eat at you from the inside out until you are nothing more than an empty shell of what you once were.

It will use every trick up its sleeve to see to it that you crumble and dissipate.

Unforgiving. Unrelenting.

It uses its methods of consumption in whichever order it deems fit, according to the person and the situation – to the prey and the environment.

Though, usually, it will start with the one tactic that seldom fails to get the ball rolling:

Denial.]

August 22nd, 2014

He’s dead.

He’s been dead for months, and I’m just now finding out about it.

I’ve been locked up like some lab rat for half a year, and I’m just now finding out that Malachi’s been dead for more than half that time?

I asked about him. I asked them about him. I asked if I could see him, or if I could at least talk to him. No one bothered to say a goddamn thing.

They knew. And they didn’t tell me.

Why? Because I was going through hell and they didn’t wanna put me in worse shape? Or did they just not care?

Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the latter. Nobody down here gives a damn about anybody with “LR-P” on their shirt. If they did, they wouldn’t have put me through hell for the better part of a year. They wouldn’t have let Malachi die this way.

They don’t care. This is their fault, and they don’t give a rat’s ass.

God, I can’t fucking believe it.

[Denial is a defense mechanism used to protect oneself from the hardship of considering an upsetting reality. It can feel like shock, or numbness. It can look like feigned blissful ignorance. It’s an internal battle of tug-of-war – the push and pull of realization. We fight to stay in the delusion that the past is still the present, while reality keeps rearing its ugly head back into our field of vision. We try to turn away, or close our eyes. But eventually, we will have to look its way again. We will have to open our eyes.]

August 24th, 2014

They promoted me to MR-P to “compensate for my troubles.”

What a load of shit. Do they really think that a bigger room to myself and arts and crafts every wednesday is enough to make up for turning me into a freak? Sure, this room is bigger than my old cell, but I hardly fit in it. It’s cramped. And as much as I’ll appreciate the alone time, I was really hoping to see Malachi again…

…

I can’t think about it. It hurts too much.

Y’know what, maybe he’s not dead. Maybe they lied- or the guy I asked thought I was talking about another guy named Malachi. I mean… it’s not that uncommon of a name. And I won’t be hanging out with any LR-P as much anymore, so if I don’t see him around, it doesn’t mean that he’s dead. It just means he’s… not around. He’s somewhere else.

… That’s what I’ll keep telling myself. Because I can’t face the alternative. Not right now. Not after everything.

I can’t accept that he’s gone. He was the last thing that I had, I… He is the last thing I have.

He’s all I have.

He’s my best friend.

… He has to be okay.

[Anger is what will come next in some cases. When something bad happens to us, we often look for something – or someone – to blame. We become frustrated, hopeless to fight against the tides of change and tragedy. We want to have control over what happens to us, and in the face of reality, where we are harshly informed that we have no control, frustration melds into rage. We get angry. And we realize; we cannot control what has happened to us, but we can control who is at fault.]

September 7th, 2014

It’s been a few weeks, I think. Since I found out that he was dead.

It didn’t feel real. He really was the only friend I had down here, and now he’s gone.

I talked to a guy that knew him and heard about the situation back when it happened. He said Malachi was out in the water with a small group of other LR-P inmates doing routine maintenance on the canons. According to the prisoners that came out alive, there was a current that yanked away one of the team members. He got sucked out into the void, started freaking out about parasites, and Malachi went out to help him get back with the group.

A trenchbleeder crushed them both. A trenchbleeder. Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is? A trenchbleeder. Malachi and that other asshole didn’t die because they were stupid and didn’t follow instructions. They died because they’re supervisor, who wasn’t even out in the water with them because he didn’t feel like putting a wetsuit on, wasn’t paying attention. The prick was too busy chatting it up with a coworker to do his damn job. If he had been paying attention like he was supposed to then he could’ve radioed Malachi in time to tell him to watch out for the giant metal foot that was meters above him. He could’ve ordered the person operating the trenchbleeder to stop the damn thing in time.

His death was avoidable. It was completely preventable, but he was killed anyway because we’re nothing but scum to these people. It doesn’t matter if we deserve to be here or not, we’re all the same to them. Human garbage with no value, and that somehow makes it okay to put us in these dangerous situations, and not give a damn when one of us dies.

They had a couple guys scrape their remains off that thing’s foot. They had to scrape my best friend off of that thing.

They did this to him. They killed him.

He had a little sister. She probably thought he was dead way back when he was first brought here, but he had a little sister. He had a family that loved him. And he was a good man.

… He didn’t deserve this. We didn’t deserve this.

[Then, we bargain. We ask ourselves “what if”, and wonder “if only”. We ponder the events that led up to the tragedy. We try to rewrite the story in our heads, praying that if we think on it hard enough, it will become true. We scavenge our minds for a way out. For anything we could do to reverse what happened. But we are only human. We cannot go back in time.]

October 11th, 2014

I wish it were me.

He should be alive right now. His supervisor should’ve been watching. His supervisor should’ve said something. He should’ve not been a good guy for once and just left that guy out there to die. Most of these guys are dicks, anyway. Why go out of your way to help them, if they wouldn’t help you?

It should’ve been me. It’s not like I’ve been enjoying being alive since I got here, anyway. But Malachi… he had his days, but he found ways to be happy. He made the best out of the hand he was dealt. He was doing good. Better than most of us. And he made people laugh. He made people smile. He was nice to people who didn’t deserve it. And he put up with my miserable ass the entire time we knew each other. He was a great guy.

I wish we could swap places. Not that I want him to undergo experiments and surgeries and come out of it looking like the cousin that The Little Mermaid doesn’t talk about, but at least he would be alive.

I want him to be alive. I want to bring him back.

I wish I could just… go to sleep, wake up, and have him here. Alive.

I wish I could wake up and be human again. Be home. Be okay.

My partner would’ve loved Malachi. He would’ve loved them, too.

…

[At some point, the worst part of it will settle in– the depression. It's a dark, deep hole that you’re shoved into. At times, it can be so deep that you look up and can no longer see the sky. Just bleak, suffocating darkness. It drains you. It tires you. It takes the brightest parts of you, and buries them in shadow. It becomes hard to fight against that beast, when all you can feel is hopeless and numb.]

November 3rd, 2014

I’m so tired. I don’t sleep, I can hardly eat. I just feel…

I don’t know what I feel.

Without Malachi here, every day is just so… dull. And boring.

I’m alone without him.

Nobody really talks to me. Not that I want to talk to anybody. But, still. Nobody talks to me. Well… about things not relating to my new appearance, that is. Which, frankly, is just as upsetting as if I wasn’t talked to at all, if not worse. It’s all people ever care to talk about with me. I hate it.

I miss Malachi. I miss my partner. I miss my mom and my siblings. I miss the children I never got to meet. I miss my life.

I’m so tired. I don’t wanna move. I don’t wanna be here.

I don’t want this.

[It is a hard and arduous battle. Facing reality, suppressing your anger, learning that you can’t undo what was done, and climbing out of that deep pit that is depression. Surviving grief. It has never been an easy fight to win. But, it is survivable. It is something that can be done. And when it is done, you will have your moment of clarity. Acceptance.]

December 19th, 2014

He’s gone. Malachi is gone, and in a way, so is my family. I’m on my own now. I probably will be until I die.

The world has taken everything from me. My future, my friends, my family, my freedom, my body.

The so called “justice system” convicted me of murders they had no evidence on me for. They sentenced me to death, and I was backed into a corner where I had to choose to die, or spend the rest of my days working for an organization that couldn’t care less about my well being. I was experimented on against my will, spent months in pain, undergoing tests and operations all while my body was changing too fast for me to process and understand. They’re still running tests on me to this day.

I may look like a monster now, but I know I am not one. I know who the real monsters are.

It’s the people that can take more away from a man than he thought he could lose, and still sleep soundly at night. The people who won’t feel an ounce of regret for getting an innocent man sentenced to death. The people who’ll horrifically disfigure somebody “in the name of science” and feel no remorse for the pain they caused. The people who will sit on their hands instead of doing what they’re paid to do, and let a good man die for no good reason at all.

Those people are the real monsters.

I have lost everything I could possibly lose to them. Everything they could take, they took.

I at least owe it to Malachi to keep some part of him alive with me. And if the little time I had with him taught me anything, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, this:

They may have stripped me of everything else,

but I still have myself.

And that is something nobody can take away from me.

~ ⚖️ ~

Ending Notes: Because of this chapter I’m going to have to make a spinoff series to answer “what if” questions, lore questions, and to write a one-off story where Malachi doesn’t die and gets to continue his bromance with Sebastian <///3

I hope this chapter doesnt suck, i seriously cannot tell bc ive been rereading it over and over since i wrote it 😭

Ao3

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8 (wip)

#pressure fanfic #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace x y/n #pressure x reader #whereisthejusticefic

20 notes · View notes

puppyluvfics · 4 months ago

Text

Shallow | O.de/Oh Seungmin

O.de/Oh Seungmin | part of Not In The Same Way: MTL Series WC: 1.3k Genre: Angst/Smut(?) Summary: You loved Seungmin. You did. Yet, somewhere in that love, you lost yourself, turning into a mirror image of him, which is something you grew to hate. Warnings: there's like... slight smut? It's skippable if you want it to be, but it's there. A/N: THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG I FORGOT TO HIT PUBLISH FHDSJKFS SORRY. Also: the smut part of this... maybe I will expand on one day (no promises) because. mmm hatefucking <3 OK SORRY GOOD LUCK OSEUMI LOVERS

“I… Listen. I loved you. And maybe, deep down, there’s a part of me that still does. But that part of me is so lost… it isn’t fair to me and it isn’t fair to you. I’ll see you around, okay? Take care of yourself.”

Seungmin’s world felt like it was crumbling. Everything had seemed just fine, this morning. Right…? He felt blindsided, and frankly, incredibly hurt. He looked back into your eyes, and God, it stung. What was once a gaze of adoration and love had been replaced with confusion and pain.

“What are you even saying, (Y/N)? We’re a team, we’re… we’re us. What happened to that?”

You sigh heavily, sitting on the arm of the couch, running your hands over your face.

“That’s the thing, Seungmin. We… I’m not myself anymore. I’m you. I don’t even know who I am outside of being with you anymore, and that scares me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cautious about what you were saying.

“So, what? You’re just going to throw away everything we have and everything we are just because you’re having an identity crisis? You don’t think that’s a little unfair to me? I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, I’m supposed to help you through shit like this!” He said, raising his voice only a bit. He wasn’t yelling at you. Far from it. But he was so damn frustrated, and you could tell. Still, his words cut, deep.

“I’m not throwing anything away! But it isn’t fair to me, either! I wake up and I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize that person!” You retort, matching his volume.

He lets out a sound, a mix between a sigh and a scoff.

“Nice. Real nice, (Y/N). Being like me is so damn bad that you’d rather throw this away than try to work through it with me by your side.” He said, eerily calm, clearly extremely hurt, despite misinterpreting your words.

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Seungmin. Stop it. I didn’t say that. I’m…” You sigh again, exhausted from the arguing. “I’m not doing this to be selfish, I’m doing this for us, don’t you understand that? You deserve someone who compliments you, not a carbon copy of you. And that’s what I’ve turned into.” You spoke slowly, trying to make him understand.

“Well, there’s one thing that you didn’t copy from me. You’re so goddamn self centered and shallow.” He said, his tone biting. You know he didn’t really mean it, that he was just lashing out in anger but, fuck, that hurt more than anything you could ever muster up to say to him.

“Seungmin, what the fuck?” Your voice comes out hushed, small, and hurt.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He said, realizing the extent of the damage he’d done. You huff, standing up, pushing past him to the door.

“I’ll see you around, Seungmin.” You said, leaving those being the last words you said to him, for a good while.

~~~

Not a long enough while, though. It hadn’t been more than a week before you had bumped into him while you were out with some friends, ironically, trying to drink away the thoughts of him. You had debated calling him before this, over and over again, but you stayed strong. Still, there you stood, your feet aching in the heels you’d squeezed them into, your eyes fixated on his figure, standing on the opposite end of the bar, waiting for his drink.

“Please, please do not let him be here with someone else,” You thought to yourself. You were the one who had broken up with him, sure, but still, it had only been a week or so. You stayed by your friends, just observing him for the duration of a song or two, releasing a held breath when you realized that he was here alone. Did you want to walk over to him? You were the one who left him, after all. And it was messy to say the least. You knew you would hate yourself for it later, but you walked over to him, sitting next to him, clearing your throat to make your presence known.

He turned to look at you, his eyes widening. He didn’t know what shocked him more - the fact you were sitting there next to him, or the fact you were showing a good amount of skin in what you had worn.

“Hey.” You said, quietly.

“Hey…” He replied, just as quietly.

~~~

You didn’t know how it happened. Multiple drinks and hours later, he and you were drunkenly stumbling through your once shared apartment, leaving filthy, needy kisses all over each other. Your lips had attached to his neck, leaving dark red hickeys and bites all over him, all the while his hands found their way down to your hips, pressing hard into your skin. A few more steps and you found yourself bent over the arm of the couch - the same couch you had sat on and argued with him less than a week ago. It didn’t matter to you now, though. All that mattered was him, the feeling of his hands on you, the feeling of your skirt getting hiked up and your strapless top getting yanked down. The feeling of him pushing your head down into the couch as he fucked you from behind. You couldn’t consider it hate fucking, neither of you hated each other. Hell, maybe you were right, maybe you did hold love for him still, somewhere deep inside you. Probably as deep as his cock was hitting, if you were being honest with yourself.

It wasn’t until a little after 3am that the two of you had both tapped out, breathing heavily on the couch. You were laying in his arms, something that hadn’t happened in a while, even when you were together. His chest rose and fell in tandem with yours, but what you didn’t know was that while you laid there blissed out, sweaty and on cloud nine, brainless, he laid there thinking. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the sex, of course he did. So, it came as a shock, even to him, when he spoke.

“You should go.” He said, quietly, stoic.

“What?” You asked, immediately hurt. Sure, this wasn’t hate sex, but wasn’t it make up sex?

“I… (Y/N), this was…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word mistake. He didn’t see it like that. He never did before, and that hadn’t changed. He simply sighed, letting his arms fall away from you. “I’m sorry.” He said, hoarsely. You could tell this was just as hard for him as it was you, but that didn’t exactly make you feel better in this moment. You nodded, fighting your own emotional breakdown, pulling your clothes back on as best as you could given your sweaty, sticky state. You said nothing as you walked to the door, despite wanting to say so much. Anything, really.

The fact of the matter was, he had changed just as much as you had… you were quite literally two halves of a whole, but that whole was now shattered beyond repair. You weren’t just him, you were you and he was him. Together you were the best and worst of each other. But there was nothing you could do or say, now. You had made your bed, and now you had to lie in it, alone. Maybe, in another timeline, things would have worked out and you would have realized that he was right - you were being self-centered and shallow. At least you got what you wanted… now you had no choice but to figure out who you were, without him.

CHOOSE ANOTHER MEMBER HERE

LISTEN TO THE SONG THAT INSPIRED THIS, BELOW

#xdh #xdh imagines #xdinary heroes fanfic #xdinary heroes imagines #puppyluvfics #xdinary heroes #xh fanfiction #xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes angst #xh angst #ode x reader #ode angst #oh seungmin #oh seungmin x reader #oh seungmin angst #Spotify

31 notes · View notes

bitchsister · 7 months ago

Note

LISTEN TO ME. FIRE FIGHTER / PARAMEDIC BUCKY AND SASSY DIVA DAMSEL IN DISTRESS CURTIE. DO SOMETHING WITH THEM YOYO PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU ON MY HANDS AND KNEES

I love this!!!!! It was fun and cute!!!!!!

Curt was trying to be a good son — and this, he said as he’s lying in the grass, is the last time he ever does that.

He’s writhing by the time sirens come blaring down their little street, his body numb but filled with excruciating embarrassment as Ruth flagged them down from the house, “By god, Curtie. I hate you’re in pain, but these boys are somethin’.”

Tunnel vision had swept him away into a limbo, darkness invading his vision until it cleared again and he was face to face with a paramedic taking his vitals. “Hi, Curtis.” He said, and Curt momentarily wondered how on earth this stranger knew his name — and why was he here?

“Hi.”

Bucky was squatting in the garden with Curt, eyeing his leg that he’d broken badly. “My name’s Bucky, I’m a paramedic with the FDNY EMS, my partner Rosie and I are here to help ya.” Rosie waved from where he stood behind Bucky but Curt could hardly look away.

Ruth was right.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Curt tried to move but Bucky held him in place, using a light hand to move his gaze back toward him and not at the bone sticking out of his leg. “Should I not look?” Curt murmured, his lips tugged into a frown.

“Think it’s better if ya don’t.” Bucky focused on him, blue eyes staring directly into his as Rosie worked on stabilizing Curt’s leg enough for a ride in an ambulance. “Tell me what happened, hm? How’d you get down here?”

Curt sighed heavily and wiped the sweat from his brow, “Hell if I know.” He grumbled, hissing when Rosie touched a particularly tender spot on his shin. “Ma needed the gutters cleaned — I ain’t ever done that shit before. Clearly.”

Bucky chuckled, realizing he’d been totally enamored by whoever this little stranger was in the grass with a compound fracture and more than likely a rather gnarly concussion, “Tryin’ to be a good boy, huh?”

Jesus.

“Y-yeah.”

Pain shot straight from his leg to his brain, causing everything around him except for Bucky to go buzzy and floaty, the grass suddenly feeling like a wet cloud and the man in front of him an angel. “You got pretty eyes.” He whispered to Bucky who grinned down at him.

“Was just gonna tell you the same thing, Curtis.” Bucky took a quick look down at Curt’s leg and tried to keep his poker face locked in, showing no reaction to the gore of it. “You ‘member my name?” He asked mostly because it was his job to assess Curt for any memory loss or brain damage, but also because he needed to know if Curt would remember him at all.

“Yeah. Your name’s Bucky.” Curt reached up to touch his face, his expression that of someone who’d just entered the gates of heaven. “Bucky.”

“Good job.” Bucky didn’t move away from the hands that touched his nose and his cheeks and then the little loose ringlets of brown hair that fell over his forehead. “Do you know what day it is, Curt?”

“Judgement day?”

Bucky snorted, “C’mon,” he felt his own heart flutter in his chest — c’mon, Egan. Be a goddamn professional. “You gotta give me a good answer, darlin’.”

Curt was giving Bucky these soft looking heart eyes despite his vision tunneling on him again. “It’s Mother’s Day.” He said confidently, “Ah, hell. It’s uh — it’s Sunday. Yeah. Sunday.”

“We got ‘em stable for the ride, partner.” Rosie clapped Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a look that told him he needed to reel himself in and get a grip. It wasn’t often he witnessed Bucky on this side of things since usually it was Rosie falling in love back to back.

Curt was put into the ambulance that Rosie drove, because Bucky had forced him to while he sat with Curt in the back. “How’s your pain right now, Curt? On a scale of one to ten. Ten being the worst imaginable?”

He thought for a moment, tried to move his leg.

He yelped.

“Nine?”

Bucky nodded slowly and hooked Curt up to a drip, hitting him with a little morphine that made him look even more out of it as he yanked the ears of the teddy bear he demanded. He didn’t care they were for the kids.

He wanted one.

“What’s his name.” Bucky asked carefully, making sure Curt was still alert. They didn’t need him falling asleep until they assessed him for further damages to anything internal. “Gotta have a name.”

“Cucky.” Curt blurted but immediately scrunched his nose, realizing it didn’t sound like the most pleasant thing to be named but it hardly mattered. “Curt and Bucky. Or — or maybe Burt.”

Bucky tried not to snort, his head hung as he laughed into his hands. “Let’s go with Burt.” He gleamed, and so did Curtis who had long forgotten about the bone he’d obliterated to pieces. “Cucky might have a hard time findin’ a job when it comes time for it.”

It was a whirlwind once Curt was rushed into the emergency room, everyone around him acting with the urgency that Bucky had suppressed just to keep him calm but the reality was that he had a bone sticking clean out of his leg, and he needed to have surgery before it was too late.

After a successful but very long surgery, Curt emerged from a slumber that sent him on an intensive journey of healing. Physical therapy, motor skill tests, hospital food, a lot of reality television, texts to friends, FaceTime calls, but just when he’d absolutely ran out of things to do, a knock came tapping at his door who he had assumed was his nurse, Becca.

“You ain’t gotta knock, Becks.” Curt sat up slowly and groaned, “You seen it all at this point.”

Bucky cleared his throat before he stepped in, closing the heavy wooden door behind him carefully before he plopped down in the chair beside Curt’s bed, still in his uniform. “Hey.” He grinned, “‘Member me?”

Curt couldn’t help but grin right back at him, looking at something new for the first time in a week that he’d yet to grow tired of. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about Bucky, and if he’d ever see him again. Though, “I kinda thought I imagined you.”

“Imagined me?”

“Yeah,” Curtis nodded slowly, “or hallucinated, you know? I was bleedin’ all over and everything was just so swirly and weird —“ he shrugged, his cheeks red because he realized he’d been rambling. “Anyway. Did you come back for Burt?”

Burt had been Curt’s only real reminder that Bucky was real, and that the whole thing had really happened. “No,” Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, “I just came to check in on ya.”

“You do that with everybody you throw into a three-thousand dollar ambulance ride?” He cocked an eyebrow, having grown tired of listening to Ruthie spout off about how expensive one was, not to mention the surgery to put Curt’s leg back together.

I was tryin’ to be a good son, ma!

Well you oughta just stay on the ground for that next time.

“No.” Bucky said again, but softer that time.

“Ahh,” Curt rose his brows and nodded, like he was understanding something but he was so very far from understanding why Bucky had come here at all — he was busy, Curt assumed. Where did he find the time to swoop in here?

Bucky’s radio pinged, a noise that reminded Curtis of the ambulance ride that grew less and less foggy as the days went by, “I gotta go,” He stood slowly and held his hand out. “Give me your phone.”

Curt’s brows furrowed as he clutched his phone, the only sense of entertainment or connection the outside world he’s gotten in the last week, to his chest. “No — wait - why?”

“To put my number in it, Curt.”

“Oh.”

Bucky typed away into Curt’s phone, sending himself a text from it so he didn’t leave the room without getting Curt’s in return. “I’m off Tuesdays and Wednesdays.” He handed Curt’s phone back to him, resisting every urge he had to violate that precious mouth that hung open with his own. “Let me know when they get you up outta this joint.”

Curt had looked astonished, but nodded his head slowly as he stared at the phone in his hand, the text he’d sent to his own phone from Curt’s staring right back at him.

Bucky ;)

#💌#these two are cute #ask me more stuff about them

38 notes · View notes

incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 4 months ago

Text

Duke Poolem and Doomguy: Road Trip

ALERT! SPOILERS FOR DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

(After Galeem’s attack, the Doom Slayer has reluctantly teamed up with Duke Nukem under the impression that Master Hand can reverse the damage the demons have done to his world. After a long series of events, the duo have found themselves driving through a devastated forest, Doomguy in the driver’s seat)

Duke:��(doing finger guns out of sheer boredom) Pew pew pew, boom, pew…

Doomguy: Stop that.

(Duke stops, but it only keeps him quiet for a few seconds)

Duke: So, where’d the armor?

Doomguy: Oh, Christ…

Duke: Did the Night Sentinels make you wear it? They are not your friends, I’ll tell you that much. Friends do not let other friends leave the house looking like an edgy-reboot LEGO astronaut.

Doomguy: Would you stop talking about the fucking suit?

Duke: Okay, geez! I’m just tryin’ to bond a little–

Doomguy: Yeah? Then talk about something else.

Duke: Alright! (sighs) So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back home? Some rubbing alcohol shots, maybe a wiper fluid chaser?

(Doomguy starts to answer, but then stops, having realized something about Duke’s word choice)

Doomguy: (with a slight snarl) What did you say?

Duke: I said when you get back, what’s the first thing you’re gonna–

Doomguy: Before that.

Duke: (long pause, having realized his mistake) …If they can fix your world– (Doomguy suddenly slams on the breaks) Oh fuck…

Doomguy: What do you mean, IF?!?!

Duke: Look, I didn’t mean–

Doomguy: You lied to me, you don’t have a fucking clue if they can fix things, don’t you?!

(before Duke can respond, Doomguy suddenly stabs him in the thigh with his Doomblade)

Duke: AUGH! FUCK! FUCK! I DIDN’T LIE!

Doomguy: YOU LIED!

Duke: NO! I MADE AN EDUCATED WISH! (enraged by such a stupid justification, Doomguy twists the blade) OW! FUCK! Look, I did it because I need you! (he produces a photograph of his friends, all of whom were turned into Spirits) I don’t know a damn thing about saving worlds. Why would I even care? My whole world is right here in this picture. It’s only nine people and I have no idea how to save it alone. I know how to fuck people up for money, but you! YOU know how to save them!

Doomguy: …Did you just say… you made an educated… fucking… wish?

Duke: Oh, I’m sorry, have we met? They call me “Merc with a Mouth”, not “Truthful Timmy, the Blowjob Queen of Saskatoon”! (Doomguy yanks the blade out of his leg) AUGH!

Doomguy: (absolutely seething) One more word, please. Just one more fucking word.

Duke: …Gubernatorial. (Doomguy raises his fist, Duke flinches in response) EEK!!!

Doomguy: (sighs and lowers his fist) You know something? You’re a fucking joke. No wonder the Smashers didn’t take you, or the All-Stars and they’ll take fucking anybody. I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved little prick in my entire life, and that’s saying something because I’ve been alive for over two-hundred fucking years. I’ll tell you, that evil lightbulb was right about one thing, you will never. Save. The world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with a goddamn BAKER. And motherfucker I wish I could say you’ll die alone, but it’s one of GOD’S BEST JOKES that you can’t die! EXCEPT IT’S ON ALL OF US!!!!!

(and then, the impossible happened… Duke was speechless. He just stares at Doomguy, shocked and seeming to have been genuinely hurt)

Doomguy: What, you got nothing to say to that, mouth?!

Duke: (his face settling into a determined and rage-filled glare) I’m gonna fight you now.

Doomguy: (laughs derisively) Oh, are you–

(Duke suddenly punches him in the face hard enough to cause a nosebleed. Doomguy stares at him, genuinely shocked for a few seconds, before roaring and responding in kind. The resulting fight, taking place entirely in the car mind you, lasted an entire night. By the time the Smashers found them, both of them were unconscious, except Duke was tied up with the car’s seatbelts)

#incorrect quotes #smash bros #submission #incorrect super smash bros #super smash bros #incorrect super smash bros quotes #Doomguy #duke Nukem #Doom #Doom Eternal #source: Deadpool and Wolverine #Deadpool #Wolverine

22 notes · View notes

makeste · 1 year ago

Text

BnHA Volume 35 - A Brief Reaction Journey

hello! so as mentioned in my last post, I’ve started catching up with the BnHA manga again FINALLY after almost two years, and have made it through a fair number of chapters so far! and since I’m not sure how long it will take me to actually post the corresponding liveblogs, I figured I’d make a couple of posts in the meantime to sort of preview my reaction journey thus far with some good old-fashioned OUT-OF-CONTEXT BULLET POINTS taken from my ramblings. originally I was going to make a single post for all 25 chapters I’ve read so far (up to 367), but I quickly realized that was waaaaay too ambitious lol. so for now it’s just this one, and I’ll put up the vol. 36 post probably tomorrow afternoon.

spoiler warning: just fyi, this post will obviously feature spoilers for chapters 342-350*, BUT it will also include some stray spoilers from chapters 362 and 403 as well, so just a heads up for that if you aren’t fully caught up!

*chapters 340 and 341 are not included because I've already posted full reaction posts for each one here and here, respectively.

Chapter 342

Endeavor being taller than Jeanist just feels so WRONG to me regardless of whether or not it is factually accurate. does this mean All Might is also taller than Jeanist?? I don’t want to live in a world where Best Jeanist has secretly been a perfectly normal sized person this entire time. someone please lie to me and tell me that he is tall

many thanks to Kacchan for inserting this small bit of levity into this scene which was otherwise well on its way to sending me into a SPIRAL OF FEELINGS, and in fact still is whenever I look at that panel of Deku with Eri and Kouta, and also that GODDAMN HUG WHERE HE AND INKO ARE BOTH CLEARLY AND PAINFULLY AWARE THAT THEY MIGHT NEVER SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN, AND IN THAT MOMENT THEY’RE JUST TRYING TO HOLD THE OTHER AS TIGHTLY AS PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE, AND SHE’S PRAYING TO WHATEVER DEITY IS OUT THERE THAT HE’LL COME BACK SAFE AND WHOLE, AND HE’S PRAYING THAT HIS MOM WILL BE ALL RIGHT EVEN IF HE DOESN’T COME BACK, AND NOT ALLOWING HIMSELF TO THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH HE ALREADY MISSES HER, BECAUSE HE CAN’T THINK LIKE THAT ANY MORE, BECAUSE THIS BOY IS FULLY GROWN NOW BECAUSE HE HAD TO BE, BECAUSE HE HAD NO CHOICE, AND I’M BOTH SO PROUD AND SO FUCKING SAD ABOUT IT AND I JUST NEED A MINUTE HERE ACTUALLY, OKAY!! OR FIVE MINUTES!!

LMAO WHAT AN AUSPICIOUS AND NOT-AT-ALL OMINOUSLY FOREBODING NAME. “hmmm what should we name our new class 1-A fortress?” “hmm well I was thinking maybe Troy, after the legendary city with the famously impenetrable walls, which to the best of my knowledge were never breached, or at least that’s what I assume since I never finished reading The Iliad! :) :) :) ...wait, why are you all looking at me like that. they didn’t actually breach them, right? guys? what happened to Troy? GUYS?”

I’m actually so proud of Deku because he’s come such a long way from the days when the mere CONCEPT of even TALKING to a girl was enough to floor him lol. but also I’m legit cracking up at he way he tried to segue into random small talk in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse. gotta be smooth about it!! casual!! you can tell how casual they are because both of them are suddenly struck by the inexplicable urge to fuss with their hair!!

Horikoshi really said “FUCK YOUR SQUADS!! ...but if we had a Todosquad this is who would be in it I guess”

my god. between this and the OchaDeku conversation the villains truly do not stand a chance do they? and they don’t even know how screwed they are yet. REDEMPTION IS COMING!! IT’S KNOCKING ON THE DOOR, TRICK OR TREAT, Y’ALL READY FOR THIS

Chapter 343

so we’re opening with everyone’s favorite Guy With An Old Wad Of Chewing Gum For A Face, AFO!

did this son of a bitch kill Nao’s dad and steal his sexy lie-detector quirk??

sob AFO is all “can I have your son’s cell phone number please” and they’re all “SURE”

bonsoir little Yuuga

do. ...do you not actually know. was this meeting not prearranged. “why are you here Aoyama?” “why are you here, Deku?” truly, why are any of us here??

I’m sitting here trying to play the “guess which parts of this dialogue are real vs fake” game and coming up completely stumped on every single sentence

so Yuuga’s all “can you believe that even though the city of Musutafu is basically down to just U.A., a Dollar Tree, a couple of crumbling park benches, and one very determined Starbucks, we somehow still have functioning courts and lawyers?” I actually can’t believe that at all tbh. you’re telling me “it’s the fucking apocalypse” is still not a good enough excuse to get out of jury duty

damn, Aoyama out here with the trash talk and the ON YOUR LEFT?!

MONOMA??!?!?!?!

Chapter 344

“Eraser’s” plan, indeed. you dare say that right to Kaminari’s face

SHINSOU!!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!??!?!?

HEYA YOURSELF YOU HANDSOME KNAVE!! LOOK AT YOU!! fucking loving the costume my dude! pretty please tell us your hero name to go along with it. is it MindCraft. I think your hero name should be MindCraft. don’t look at me like that Shinsou we need more punny hero names in the world

“yes well you see, I couldn’t do it, so I learned how to do it.” great story Shinsou

the way he’s rubbing the back of his neck there. are we gonna get some real Monoma character development at long last. feels like it’s long overdue and I am thrilled. he’s such a great character and I feel like we’ve only barely scratched the surface of who he actually is as a person and as a hero

THE UNEXPECTED VLAD KING MENTORSHIP WITH THE ARM AROUND THE SHOULDERS?? he really needed that support. outwardly he’s always made a big show of wanting his turn in the spotlight and begrudging class A for stealing the scene at every turn. but how much of that is really just an act. some of it? most of it? maybe even close to all of it? because right now he suddenly seems so small and young here and really wishing he wasn’t in this unenviable position of being one of the many World’s Last Hopes who are all way too fucking young

did Mirko’s giant robot hand just grow into an EVEN GIANTER giant robot hand??

long beautiful flowing mermaid hair. sorry what was I saying I kind of spaced out there for a sec

YES, AFO, ALL OF THIS TO SPLIT YOU UP YOU STUPID MUSH HEAD. MAYBE IF YOU EVER ACTUALLY FINISHED A MANGA IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE YOU’D KNOW HOW A FINAL BATTLE IS SUPPOSED TO BE CONSTRUCTED. YOU MOLDY AVOCADO

Chapter 345

“no you don’t understand, we have so many sixteen-year-olds whose coattails we’re all hanging onto. we have sixteen-year-olds who can take over people’s minds. sixteen-year-olds who can create portals to warp you halfway around the world in an instant. and let’s not forget the sixteen-year-olds who can act their damn asses off. we have the best sixteen-year-olds in the world. our sixteen-year-olds are so much better than yours you fucking losers”

Deku I swear. if I’m about to discover that the reason you weren’t there to stop Kacchan from being literally, actually, canonically murdered is because your distracted ass got yoinked into the void by some no-name villain chucklefuck, I’m gonna...

don’t listen to him Aoyama you were magnificent. you were my favorite in all of the stage plays

BUT IS PHASE TWO SUPPOSED TO INVOLVE DEKU IN ANY WAY THOUGH??? HELLO??? IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME??? I’M FROM THE FUTURE AND THIS IS URGENT, PLEASE

“I fucked up Ochako, I fucked up so bad” omfg Deku

she doesn’t want to hurt you Deku she just wants to shower you in love. in her own special way. by stabbing you a lot

anyway have fun on this... tropical island??? I guess?? Kacchan will just have to hold down the fort in the meantime. which I’m sure will go absolutely fine

Chapter 346

“th-th-this is really bad, right?” yes Tamaki, yes it is. you’re stuck here on the Super Mega Ultra Radical Gnarly Cracked-Out Wonder Stage with Shigaraki Fucking Tomura and at least two of you are about to die and I’M NOT OKAY

so now we’re also getting this hilarious insight into the inner workings of the Mega Ultra Tremendous Stupendous Incredible Sky Coffin and it is truly, truly phenomenal

Horikoshi stop taking my sarcastic jibes and owning them completely challenge!! all the best sixteen-year-olds. all the finest greatest Hyper Ultra Sparkle Glimmer Wonder Battle Stages

this is genuinely one of the boldest lampshading efforts I have ever seen in fiction you guys

“yes, we acknowledge that this does indeed seem impossible to have pulled off, BUT have you considered that, fucking quirks though???? AND THAT THEY ARE, AS THE KIDS SAY, WILD??”

Chapter 347

lmao they’re shouting at Monoma accusingly and he’s all “I’M HAVEN’T BLINKED AT ALL YOU GUYS I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU”

don’t mind him, he’s just out here growing out his hideously malformed hands and fingers endlessly from every part of his body, normally, as one does. nothing quirk-related about it. anyone could do this if they simply exercise and maintain a balanced diet. this 100% is not a quirk y’all it’s just essential oils

SUDDEN MONOMA FEELS DELIVERED TO MY DOORSTEP???

awwww. the way he’s almost panicked, frantically wondering if he somehow fucked the quirk up and desperate for Aizawa to believe him that he’s trying his best. and Aizawa quick to reassure him. this kid is so desperate for approval. and unapologetically careening his way onto my top ten character list, welcome dear boy

so that’s that. see you in two years Deku. his last words spoken out loud to Kacchan were, and I quote, “wha --”

Aizawa is so hopelessly impossibly hot at all times and I don’t know how the universe can handle his existence. he’s even doing it without activating his quirk now. no ponytails or anything. just an eyepatch and a dream

don’t mind me, I’m just out here doing literal algebra to figure out how long it would take Deku to get back here if he traveled at the same speed as All Might did in chapter 90 (30 seconds per 5km, apparently). about 20 minutes, give or take. well shit. hopefully he’s a little faster than Kamino-era All Might was, especially since he can fly and has that Fa Jin shit too. or maybe Rody can fly him lmao. or S&S’s hot fighter pilot boyfriend

“what’d Sensei say, Deku?” “he said no, looks like I gotta uber. can I borrow your credit card, I promise I will venmo you back”

unfortunately for Deku he does not realize he’s accidentally gotten himself caught up in what will undoubtedly end up being the most erotic and bisexual of the various final battles

can’t believe Deku has like 6 love interests and out of all of them, Toga is the first one who actually asks him out. good for you girl. gotta shoot your shot

Chapter 348

FELLAS IS IT GAY TO BREAK OUT INTO TERRIFIED BEN DAY DOTS BECAUSE A GIRL EXPRESSED HER CARNAL INTEREST IN YOU????

anyway so since Deku apparently doesn’t understand how romance works either, he’s trying his best to give an actual response by recontextualizing all of this in terms of the one big thing he does understand: All Might

you’re telling me you never wanted to stab All Might to death and then turn into him?? wow I just can’t believe it

but also... okay lol. so I was thinking about this sarcastically, but was then struck by the very unironic thought that there sorta kinda is someone whom Deku does, both consciously and subconsciously, try to be like, and who he also kinda does apparently share the same heart and mind as. at least if chapter 403 is anything to go by lol. soooooooo. huh

god damn it Toga. absolutely none of what you’ve said or done here has been even the SLIGHTEST BIT reasonable. you can’t just tell someone you want to stab them and be their girlfriend. and if and when they try to let you down easy by responding with the MOST THOUGHTFUL AND GENTLE REJECTION ANYONE COULD EVER POSSIBLY MAKE UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, because they’re actually the WORLD’S NICEST MAN, you can’t just respond by doing whatever it is you’re presumably about to do, which I’m guessing is gonna be really violent and unhinged

so Ochako is all “ever since we fought last time I’ve been thinking about you a lot!” and Toga is all “are you serious, YOU broke up with ME bitch” and now she’s standing behind her with a knife

“she’s the least predictable of our opponents” YEAH NO KIDDING LOL

“everyone knows that Toga is actually Ochako’s villain, like ffs Deku you haven’t even interacted with her since the Provisional Exam arc.” Deku they’re 100% right and you’re looking more and more the fool with each passing second

well all right lol. twenty minutes to get back to Musutafu. let’s just hope he doesn’t run into any traffic on the way

Chapter 349

what the fuck is OFA Dos’s quirk exactly and are we ever gonna get to it before I literally die of old age. at this point there’s gotta be a reason why he’s not using it, right?? so what’s the deal there? does he still somehow not know how? is it too dangerous? and I really need to know why II has the Bakugou gauntlets. tell me this isn’t one of the things we’re still waiting on answers for two years down the line because I swear to god I will cry

anyway so Deku’s saying he’s doing his best but he’s still “too slow”. WELL THEN MAYBE IT’S THAT TIME?? DEKU?? WHAT DO YOU SAY

NO FUCKING WAY LOL, CAN IT REALLY BE THAT EASY??!

OH WHAT THE FUCK, FUCK YOU NOT!CCHAN LOL YOU’RE JUST HERE TO COCKBLOCK HIM?

fuck. so has he used it since then?? is he gonna use it finally now that Kacchan’s alive and well again?? oh my god I need to shut up and stop asking questions and just keep reading. fuck

wow so Dabi’s literally just burning the All Might statue while he stalls for time trying to figure out how to beat his OP little brother who was literally engineered to be better than him sob. out of all the villains he’s probably the most screwed right now isn’t he

starting to get an inkling Dabi’s not happy that he doesn’t actually get to fight Endeavor. getting some subtle hints here and there that he might actually be upset about that

apparently wanting to fight Dabi and stop him from helping to destroy the world makes Shouto a pawn. wake up Shouto. stop being such a sheep, Shouto. can’t you see that saving the world is exactly what Endeavor wants you to do???!

this is just going to be seventeen chapters of Dabi talking about nonsense while they both stand around progressively getting hotter both literally and metaphorically isn’t it

Chapter 350

OH SNAP. [SLAMS HAND ON TABLE] HERE WE GO. IT’S FINALLY THAT TIME

well, well, well. to the surprise of absolutely no one. the real one who was responsible for everything this whole time

but I just have to pause real quick before we continue. because it absolutely cannot be a coincidence that AFO just happened to be there once again. just waiting in the shadows to magically swoop in the minute disaster strikes. and so, just like with baby Tenko, this immediately makes me suspect that Touya burning himself alive was not in fact a training accident at all. which is something I did not expect, and which, just. fuck, fuck, FUCK AFO. fuck this guy.

looks like the children's ward of a hospital?? wait, what??

how the fuck is he still so adorable. when exactly did the transition take place between adorable and sexily unhinged. right now Todoroki Touya still looks to be the absolute most adorable child on the planet

I miscalculated. I was not emotionally prepared to handle this chapter right now. I should not have clicked

really love to see that Touya didn’t just cave right away. wouldn’t have felt right, ngl. just doesn’t fit in with what we know about his character

oh shit wait we’re cutting back to Dabi talking to Shouto and he says he did come back home??

fucking why. goddammit what the hell. why is this the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever read. LOVE HIM!! SOMEONE!! ANYONE!! just love him, please. literally all he has ever wanted!!

JESUS. I HATE THIS. I am so upset right now. out of all of the horrific and traumatic and terrible, awful things that have happened to BnHA characters in their flashbacks, the thing that hits me the most out of all of them is this one image of a sixteen-year-old boy standing before an altar, with his family very much alive and standing RIGHT FUCKING THERE IN THE NEXT ROOM, and yet somehow feeling more alone than he’s ever been. so alone he literally gives up all hope in this one moment. my god I feel all of it and it’s so fucking devastating I keep having to stop typing so I don’t completely break down sobbing

well damn. after a rush of 15 and 13-page chapters, which were all admittedly appreciated by me in my race to catch up to Light Fades to Rain before this coming Friday, Horikoshi finishes up the volume with one hell of a 17 page finale. once again the Tododrama delivers. this was fucking phenomenal

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha vol. 35 #way too many characters to tag so I am not gonna bother!#bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #lotta 'calm before the storm' chapters in this one #also I was kinda disappointed by the cover of this volume ngl #but at least monoma and shinsou got their little moment on the back #vol. 36 post should be up tomorrow #vol. 37 post to follow once I finish the rest of those chapters #and then I'll start posting the actual recaps again probably in a couple of weeks or so #once I finish catching up

76 notes · View notes

nyoomfruits · 1 year ago

Note

“Can you scent me so the others think I’m taken?” with max & oscar pretty please?

EBYYYYYYYYYYYY i love you <3 taken from this list (feel free to send me one!)

“Can you scent me so the others think I’m taken?”

Like all things in Oscar’s life recently, it’s mostly Lando’s fault. After all, he is the one that drags Oscar to the club with him, yelling something about ‘celebrating the first half of the season’ and then promptly disappears into the crowd when they get there. It leaves Oscar standing near the bar with a drink in his hand, a little lost, bobbing along to the music a little awkwardly as he desperately tries to find a familiar face in the crowd.

It doesn’t help that he’s an Omega, standing alone, which means every so often an Alpha slides up to him, trying to shoot their shot. Oscar’s interested in none of it, politely tells them to fuck off, and they listen, mostly, but it’s still. In a situation where he already feels a little off kilter it’s doing nothing to make him feel less off kilter.

After the fifth Alpha he turns down gets a little aggressive about it, Oscar is about ready to leave. Which is, of course, when he runs into Max Verstappen.

“Hey,” Max says, doing a double take when he spots Oscar. “Didn’t know you were here, too. How are you?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, nodding his head a little too enthusiastically, realizes this, and quickly stops, making a little hand motion towards the crowd of people. “Lando, uh. Brought me here. And then disappeared.” He tries to sound cool about it, like it’s no big deal that he’s now here alone, like he’s totally cool with that. Because this is Max, and he wants Max to, well. Not think he’s a loser, at least.

Max laughs. “Yeah, he does that. So, you’re having fun?”

No. Oscar thinks. “Yes! Yeah. I mean, I had some annoying Alpha’s trying to flirt with me, but other than that. Yeah, it’s cool.” Max is wearing a pretty tight shirt, tight enough that Oscar can see the outline of his pecks through the fabric. He tries not to stare too hard. “I mean. The last one got pretty aggressive about it, so that kind of sucked,” he continues, because maybe if he keeps talking Max will stop looking so goddamn hot and he can be normal about things again.

“Maybe I should ask Lando to scent me, later. So they think I’m taken,” he continuous, mostly thinking out loud, distracted by the way Max’s biceps bulge under the fabric of his t-shirt when he shifts his drink from one hand to the other. They do that sometimes, him and Lando. Make people think they are together so they’re left alone. It’s a pretty solid deal, if a bit unconventional.

“I can do that,” Max says, and Oscar blinks, dragging his eyes up to Max’s face.

“What?” He asks, because. What.

“Scent you. So people think you are taken,” he shrugs, like this is no big deal somehow. Like Oscar’s insides don’t feel like they’re on fire all of a sudden.

“Oh, uh,” he says, because what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. “Yeah, no. That would be great, if you wouldn’t mind.” If you wouldn’t mind. Christ.

Max steps forward then, into Oscar’s space, reaching up to wrap his hand around the side of Oscar’s neck, and Oscar’s brain momentarily short circuits. This much up close Oscar can smell his scent, a mix of rain and gasoline and forests that makes Oscar want to tip forward and bury his nose in Max’s t-shirt until he’s drowning in it.

He barely has time to process anything because suddenly Max’s other hand is on his waist, and he leans forward, burying his face in the crook of Oscar’s neck, and Oscar gasps. Max’s nose moves over his scent gland, and even though Oscar knows it’s the fastest way to scent someone it still surprises him when Max’s nose is quickly replaced by his mouth.

Max’s tongue darts out, licking at the sensitive skin of Oscar’s scent gland and Oscar is forever grateful Max is holding him so tightly, because he can feel his knees buckle and he’s pretty sure he would’ve fallen over otherwise.

It’s never felt this intimate, with Lando. Never this intense.

As fast as it’s started it’s already over again, Max pulling away after pressing a small little kiss to Oscar’s neck, stepping away. There’s a dark look in his eyes, though Oscar is pretty sure it might be the lighting in the club.

“Thanks,” He manages to breathe out, voice rough and a little shaky. The places Max has touched feel like they’re on fire, and Oscar can smell nothing but raingasolineforest, and he feels like the world his spinning out of control.

“No problem, mate. See you around,” Max says, and with one last pat on Oscar’s shoulder, he disappears back into the crowd.

Oscar stands there, frozen in place, staring after him, probably for way too long. At least no other Alpha approaches him. They would be mad to, when he so deeply smells like he belongs to Max.

And god, isn’t that a wonderful thought?

Lando finds him again, eventually. Tells him he stinks with a wrinkled nose, and calls them a cab. When they’re in the backseat, he offers to scent Oscar, get that ‘disgustingly cloying Alpha scent off him’.

Oscar declines with a vague excuse that it’s not that bad, and turns to stare out the window. It’ll fade, eventually, Max’s scent on his skin. Whether Lando scents him or not, it will eventually disappear.

But for now, for this tiny moment in time, Oscar can pretend he’s Max’s. And he’s not yet ready to let that go.

#have we decided on a ship name yet #i'll go with #verstapstri #for now #drabble

120 notes · View notes

happi-tree · 9 months ago

Text

out of my head (when you’re not around)

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Link slurs, voice low and lazy and scratchy from sleep, and he shifts a bit more.

Suddenly, there’s a warm, pliant pressure against Taylor’s chapped lips, followed by a soft pop as Link breaks the kiss. “Ten m’re minness, mkay?”

And with that, Link tucks his head into the side of Taylor’s neck, drapes his arm across Taylor’s stomach, and drops back off into slumber.

What the fuck.

“What the fuck?” Taylor exclaims aloud, because his best friend just kissed him like he’s been doing it for months on end and they’re very close, but never like that.

Or: Lincoln dreams about his life in the simulation, and some wires get crossed.

ao3

Better late than never! Here's my fic for Day 5 of Swiftli Week: Queerplatonic / Ride or Die 💗 This one turned out a good bit longer than expected, but I hope I did my fellow qpr Swiftli enjoyers justice with it!

Taylor Swift wakes up to bright orange against the backs of his eyelids and the sensation of being held. Only one of these things annoys him.

“Hey,” he stage-whispers to Lincoln Li-Wilson, one of his partners in world-saving last year and his closest friend. “Gotta get up and close the blinds.”

He nudges an arm gently with his shoulder.

Link’s very prone to cuddling in his sleep, Taylor’s realized. Most of their sleepover nights end with his lanky limbs curled around him or one of their friends, protective even when there’s no need for it.

(Taylor would never tell him this, but he certainly appreciates it - nightmares of Doodler-twisted mayors beneath his bed are fewer these days, but he feels safer having his secure arms around him.)

Plus, Taylor’s always run pretty hot, and Lincoln has a penchant for seeking out anything to warm him as he rests. Often, Taylor ends up with Normal or Scary pressed into his other side, complaining about how Link stole their blankets.

It’s just the two of them this time, though, so the room is peacefully quiet. Now, if only the stupid goddamn sun wasn’t glowing through his eyelids and preventing him from sleeping in…

“Get off me, please,” Taylor mutters, a tiny bit louder now, wriggling in his grasp to see if he can escape -

“Mmn,” Link groans wordlessly, shifting to throw a leg across Taylor’s own, which is decidedly the opposite of what Taylor asked.

Link’s eyes flutter to half-mast for the briefest of moments, leaning further into Taylor if at all possible. It’s kind of adorable, the way his face screws up against the light.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Link slurs, voice low and lazy and scratchy from sleep, and he shifts a bit more. Suddenly, there’s a warm, pliant pressure against Taylor’s chapped lips, followed by a soft pop as Link breaks the kiss. “Ten m’re minness, mkay?”

And with that, Link tucks his head into the side of Taylor’s neck, drapes his arm across Taylor’s stomach, and drops back off into slumber.

What the fuck.

“What the fuck?” Taylor exclaims aloud, because his best friend just kissed him like he’s been doing it for months on end and they’re very close, but never like that, and what the fuck?

“Link,” Taylor says, prodding him much more urgently than before. “The fuck was that, man?”

Link makes a questioning sort of grumble before propping up his chin on Taylor’s chest (on Taylor’s unbound chest, what the fuck ), muttering nonsense as he blinks blearily, squinting without the help of his glasses.

Then, his eyes widen comically.

“You’re not Chris.”

Link’s voice is still thick with sleep but also heavy with a dawning realization.

“No?” Taylor agrees, though it sounds more like a question.

Link backs away so quickly that he nearly topples out of Taylor’s king-sized bed.

“Dude!” Taylor shouts, diving across the comforter to grab at his wrist.

“You okay, man?” He asks after he’s sure that Link isn’t in danger of falling off his bed and dragging him down with him.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” Link says instead, which is totally not answering the yes-or-no question.

Though, looking at his best friend, it’s easy to tell what the answer is as he hauls himself back onto the mattress.

Link has this… blankness in his eyes. Taylor’s seen it happen a few times before, actually. With the firemen, with Tony, even with Hermie. It’s like he’s not all there, haunted, more of a void in a person’s body than a person. The wrist Taylor’s holding twitches, then twitches again, and again, but it’s only when Taylor looks down that he realizes he’s shaking.

“Hey, man, don’t freak out on me,” Taylor says, tapping on his wrist in an attempt to ground him as he scoots closer.

Link laughs, a pinched, shrill, hysterical thing as he shrinks away, back pressed against the headboard.

“No, no, no, no, you don’t get to say that, you’re the one who should be freaking out,” he responds, and while Taylor’s glad that his friend is at least present enough to hear him, the words come out all strangled and gasping.

Whatever’s got him so choked up holds Taylor’s heart in a vice grip.

“I’m not freaking out,” Taylor says, then reconsiders. “Okay, I’m freaking out a little. I just got kissed out of nowhere, I feel like it’s warranted.”

Link makes a wordless squeak. He draws his knees to his chest and buries his head in them, still shaking.

“But. You’re freaking out more, so that’s more important. And you apologized, and I forgive you - which, fuck, I guess I should’ve led with that, but - but I need you to be okay first”

Taylor doesn’t have the faintest clue what could’ve set Link off - the kiss is the only thing he could think of, but then again, he initiated it. Maybe Taylor has bad morning breath?

Whatever the reason, he needs him to calm down.

“It’s okay, Link,” he soothes, opting not to move closer but speaking loudly and slowly enough so that it can break through the anxious thoughts swirling in his friend’s head. “I’m not mad. Just confused.”

“Really?” Lincoln peeks through the slats of his fingers at him, and the hopefulness in his voice shatters something in Taylor.

“Really,” he confirms. Why the hell did Link think he’d be angry with him? Even though it had been Taylor’s first kiss, it’s not like Link had intended to go through with it, given that he had backed away once he realized -

Oh. Taylor’s starting to put together what this could be about.

“Sorry,” Link says again, face no longer blocked by his hands but eyes still downcast.

Taylor frowns. “You already said that.”

“I know.”

“So…” Taylor prompts after a beat, seeing that most of the tension is gone from Link’s body. “You okay?”

Link slumps a little, but at least he isn’t shaking anymore. “Not really.”

Taylor scooches a tiny bit closer to him, and when Lincoln makes no move to get away, he joins him at the headboard, nudging him with his shoulder.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Link groans. “You deserve an explanation,” he says, though it looks like it pains him.

“You don’t uh, have to if you don’t want to.” Taylor attempts to shift beneath the hefty, itchy, too-tight compression of vulnerability, and it comes out through wringing hands that immediately fist themselves in the comforter.

He can totally do feelings, if that’s what Lincoln needs to get off his chest. It’s Link.

He’d do just about anything for him, has done just about anything, has turned around and doubled back to the FBI for him, has gone through the layers of Hell with him, has watched countless episodes of soccer anime just to figure out the game and see the cute little smile he gets when he mentions something about it.

This, he can handle.

He just hopes Lincoln can, too.

And if he can’t, well…

Link exhales loudly, shaking Taylor out of his own thoughts.

“It’s… well,” he starts, voice going soft and nerve-wracked and almost reedy in a way Taylor hasn’t heard in a long, long time. “Do you remember the simulation?”

“It’d be hard to forget, I think,” he says. “I just know my own, of course, but… you had a spouse in yours, right?”

Taylor hasn’t really thought much about the simulation. It was early on in their adventure, and there were much cooler, much more fucked-up things that took precedence in his mind. He hasn’t really given much thought to what the others went through, then.

Maybe he should have.

“Yeah,” Lincoln says. “Yeah, I did.”

Then, “I dream about them, sometimes.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Link grimaces. “Yeah. And just, they feel so real sometimes. The dreams, I mean. The, uh, marriage, too, I guess, which is kinda stupid since I’m the only one who remembers anything and I’m still a teenager even if I’m technically over a hundred years old -”

“Hey,” Taylor interrupts, voice sharp, reaching out a hand to hover above Link’s own but not touching, unsure if it’ll help ground him enough to stop his spiraling or if it will only make matters worse.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not stupid,” he says with a conviction that surprises even him.

There’s a beat of silence, and Taylor tries to meet his friend’s gaze, wanting so badly to decipher the emotions on Link’s face and offer comfort.

Lincoln silently turns over his hand, palm-up, an invitation. Taylor takes it in his, trying not to be distracted by how cool his skin feels compared to his own.

“Okay?” He asks, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Link sighs, squeezes back, steeling himself. “Okay. I guess… it’s not that I have these dreams super often, it just. Happens. And even if it wasn’t real, my subconscious can’t, like… get over the fact that I wasn’t married for years, and… and when I woke up, it still felt like I was dreaming, and you were cuddled up next to me, and…”

Taylor’s face feels oddly warm for some reason, but he understands now.

“Crossed wires, huh?”

Link simply nods, looking incredibly guilty and sad.

“I’m not mad at you,” Taylor reminds him, “Or like, think you’re weird, or whatever. You know that, right?”

Lincoln hums uncertainly.

“I promise, dude.” Taylor searches for the right words, and he isn’t really sure that there are any. “You’re always gonna be my best friend, man. You didn’t, like, weird me out too much or whatever. This changes nothing.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, visibly relieved. “To be honest, I don’t know if I could handle fucking up another relationship in my life.”

Taylor squeezes Link’s hand again and wonders how he could ever think that their friendship would be ruined over this.

“You haven’t fucked anything up, my guy,” Taylor reassures. Then, because Taylor doesn’t know when to shut up, he asks, “Another relationship? I mean, I know things are kinda rocky with your dads, but -”

Link lets go of Taylor’s hand and, shit, Taylor definitely shouldn’t have asked that, should he?

Lincoln isn’t looking at him, though. Instead, he reaches for the ring he left on Taylor’s bedside table, fidgets with it in his hands for a little, slides it onto his middle finger. The black metal glints in the early morning light.

“Yeah, things with my dads are still a little shitty,” Link says, “But we’re working it out. I think.” Taylor nods.

“But… in the sim… the marriage with Chris didn’t work out too well,” he continues haltingly. “And, like, it wasn’t my fault, but it… kinda felt like it was? Like I fucked it up. It wasn’t the only reason we were considering separating, but… I didn’t know that I was ace until, uh, after.”

“That’s rough,” Taylor says, which is a little lame to say to something like that, but it’s literally all he can think to say.

It kinda recontextualizes a lot of things, like how Link was so quick to call their affectionate names after they got space-married, how he fixated on the concept of being married in the first place… but Taylor pushes those thoughts aside later.

He instead tries to imagine only realizing he was aromantic after dating someone, and it only produces an uncomfortable churning in his gut - especially given the fact that he knows he doesn’t really want to date anyone in the first place.

Link fidgets with the ring on his finger, keeping his gaze purposefully lowered. “I worried that I, like, tricked them into thinking I was a n- a typical person. Like I made them fall in love with someone who didn’t - who couldn’t - like I was attracted to them that way, and I fooled myself, too, and then I realized that no, I don’t work like that, and I -“

“Shit,” Taylor mutters, noticing the tear tracks streaming down his friend’s cheeks and quickly scrambling for the box of tissues next to his bed.

“Sorry, I just,” he continues, sniffling, “I felt so guilty that I couldn’t give them the kind of marriage they wanted, the one they deserved, and I felt selfish and awful and -“

“Woah, woah, woah, man,” Taylor placates, holding out a tissue. Link takes it and stares at it blankly for a moment before swiping it below his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” Link apologizes, which is silly because he already apologized for kissing him like 50 times at least and so he has absolutely nothing to be sorry for. “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

Taylor’s heart sinks a little.

“How did you want me to find out?” He asks as gently as he can manage.

Link laughs mirthlessly, and Taylor hates how hollow it sounds.

“Ideally? Never.”

“Dude.”

“Up until now, I’ve been handling it fine on my own, and I wouldn’t want t-“

“Dude,” Taylor repeats, and Link slumps further in on himself.

After a moment’s hesitation, Taylor scooches closer to him and places a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder blade, rubbing soothing circles into it to hopefully calm him down.

“Hey, we’re ride or die, man, remember?” Taylor asks.

“Yeah,” Lincoln replies, though it doesn’t sound like he believes it.

“And it’s not just me. That goes for Norm and Scary, too,” he adds, and he ducks down a little to meet his friend’s misty eyes.

This guy faced down gunfire for him, healed him, protected him, despite everything. Link means so much to Taylor that it feels like his heart might burst with it, sometimes.

And it kinda kills him, Taylor realizes, that Link might not know that.

“We care about you, Link, and we’ve been through a lot of jacked-up shit. We help each other with our jacked-up shit, and you’re not the exception, got that?”

Lincoln nods, though his lip quivers a little.

“Just talk to us, man,” Taylor says. “We get it - I mean, not exactly in my case!” He clarifies, “But. I understand where you’re coming from, and. We just wanna see you happy. Time fuckery is, like, typical Tuesday shit.”

“It hasn’t been typical Tuesday shit in like, ten months,” Lincoln says, and his voice is a little wavery, but it almost sounds like he’s smiling. Taylor counts that as a win.

“Thank fuck for that!” Taylor agrees, and then Link laughs - really, actually laughs, weak but joyful; Taylor can feel his instinctual grin in response.

“But,” Link says, after the laughter peters out, “there were… parts of it that were good, I guess. With them.”

Again, emotional vulnerability is… not really Taylor’s thing. He prefers to blot out any attempts at deep contemplation with humor.

That’s what his therapist tells him, at least.

He’s trying to get better at it, at the feeling-things-fully-and-sitting-with-it shit.

“Like what?” Taylor prompts.

Link smiles, slight and wistful, and gazes up at the ceiling. It’s an unfamiliar look on him, one that makes him seem older and younger at the same time, somehow.

“Well, the, uh, kissing, for one?” Then, he grimaces a little. “ Some of the kissing,” he amends. “It’s funny. I didn’t think I would miss it at all - I hadn’t really even thought about it until, uh, god, my early twenties? In the sim? But it’s… nice. Can be nice. Uh.”

Taylor makes an affirmative sort of hum to let him know he’s listening, trying to shake the lingering feeling that he shouldn’t be seeing his best friend smile at nothing the way he is.

“I think my favorite thing,” Link continues, “was just… waking up to someone. Like, getting up in the morning with one of your favorite people next to you - it’s,” Link cuts himself off with a considering hum, worrying the ring on his finger as he searches for something. “Comforting,” he settles on eventually. “It’s like, this constant in your life. It feels… secure, I guess, to have another person to face down the start of each day with. To take on the world with them every day.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad gig,” Taylor muses as he attempts to take all that in.

Then, he blurts, “I’d be down to try that out sometime. With you. If you want.”

Unfortunately, Taylor’s brain catches up about two seconds too late.

“I don’t mean in, like, a romantic way, or anything!” He rushes to clarify.

“O-of course not,” Link says, and is it just Taylor, or does his voice sound a little breathier? “I wouldn’t ask that of you, but… you’d really be okay with that?”

Link’s expression is nothing short of wonderment, all wide eyes and raised brows and slightly-parted lips. The weight of his closest friend’s eyes on him feels suddenly like all too much - all that wistfulness and vulnerability and affection directed at him, leaving him with nowhere to hide - but he can’t bring himself to avert his gaze.

“I mean,” Taylor says, feeling at an utter loss for anything profound to say, “Yeah, dude. You’re my best friend. And then some.”

“‘And then some?’” Lincoln echoes, then frowns. “You, uh, don’t have to explain that if you don’t want to, sorry-“

“Quit apologizing, Link,” Taylor interrupts, attempting to swallow down his heart, which currently feels like it’s climbing up his throat. He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists in the fabric of his pajama pants.

“I don’t know how to describe what I feel for you but there’s… a lot of it. Not romantic but not like friendship, per se. I’m not, uh, in love with you, like in the traditional way? But,” he cuts himself off, squeezes his eyes shut to get through the rest. “I love you, Link.”

Taylor feels Link take hold of his hand. It’s the one with the ring, and the metal feels nice against his palm. “It’s okay,” Link says, and Taylor opens his eyes to see his best friend gazing at their interlocked hands adoringly. “I love you, too.” Their eyes meet, and Taylor’s stomach feels all sorts of fluttery. “In that way, I think.”

“Oh,” Taylor says, awestruck. “That’s… wow. Okay.”

“Okay?” Lincoln repeats with a smile in his voice, tracing his thumb along the side of Taylor’s hand.

“Yeah,” Taylor responds, feeling… well, he can’t put a name to it. But it’s a lot.

It wells up in the spaces between his ribs as he glances sidelong at Link, studying the way the rays of golden morning light peek through the blinds to stripe his skin with shades of copper and amber, the way his shirt and his hair are all sleep-softened and rumpled, the way his thumb traces absentmindedly along the side of their joined hands again and again as they lapse into a comfortable silence.

Taylor’s never been one for romance, or for dating, or for particularly wanting either of those things for himself. But when he looks at Lincoln, he thinks he really, really, really wants this. Whatever this is.

Link’s eyebrows furrow, the way they always do when he gets in his head about something. It turns the pale slash of his scar to a lightning-bolt squiggle, and the strange longing-affection threatens to overwhelm him entirely.

Taylor kinda wants to press his thumb against that scar, smooth it over, meet that mark of his friend’s devotion with a gesture of his own.

“Taylor…” Lincoln starts, brows still pinched together and the uncertainty in his tone hangs in the air.

“Mhm?” He runs a thumb across Link’s knuckles, nudges his shoulder, a wordless go on, I’m listening.

“What do you wanna try out, exactly?”

When Taylor looks up at him, he adds, “We don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to! I just - I figured! I don’t know, actually, I’ve never, uh, been in this type of relationship before. If you’re okay with calling it that, haha.”

“Link.” Taylor says, squeezing his hand, and the boy next to him stills almost entirely. “You don’t have to be nervous with me, man. Not like I’ve exactly done this, either.”

Taylor hums a little, shifting on the mattress to rest his head against Link’s shoulder in an attempt to calm his friend’s (partner’s?) nerves. It seems like it works a little.

“I think I really like what we have now,” Taylor answers eventually. “I like cuddling with you. Hugging you, holding your hand, spending time with you. Sleeping in the same bed, waking up next to you, like you said. I don’t think I’d ever stop liking that. I don’t really want to like, date, or anything,” he says, glancing down at the comforter. Link squeezes his hand, wordless reassurance, and Taylor smiles to himself. “But if you want to try something new,” he considers, “I guess I wouldn’t be against that.”

“Like… kissing?” Link asks hesitantly.

“I, uh… I guess I didn’t mind it, earlier,” Taylor mumbles, and god, he can feel himself blushing.

Suddenly, the floor is much more interesting. Taylor accidentally makes direct eye contact with one of his body pillows, and his face heats further as he quickly looks anywhere else.

“Ooh, you liked it, huh?” Link asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he nudges his shoulder, and of course that’s the conclusion he would come to seeing Taylor all flustered and red-cheeked like this.

“I - I don’t know!” he blurts, a response to a question that probably wasn’t expecting an answer. “I mean,” Taylor fidgets nervously, his free hand twisting in the blankets. “I wasn’t expecting it, and that was my first kiss, and everything happened so fast and I was worried about you and -” his face feels so, so red right now. God, this is embarrassing.

“Hey, you don’t have to be nervous with me,” Link echoes. “And, uh, sorry that I stole your first kiss. That was kinda shitty.”

“You already apologized,” Taylor replies, feeling a little calmer. “Plus, it’s not like you meant to.”

“I didn’t,” he agrees. “Not then, at least. I’ve thought about it before, though.”

“You have?” Taylor asks, gaping at Link in surprise.

“Uh, yeah,” Lincoln glances away, bashful, but then he looks down at Taylor, and the earnest gleam in his eyes sets Taylor’s heart pounding in his chest. “I’ve thought about it… kind of a lot. You’re, like, really pretty, dude. And funny, and kind, and smart, and loyal…”

“Thanks,” Taylor says, and he would be more self-conscious of his voice cracking if his brain wasn’t currently working overtime to process this new information.

Link likes me. Link loves me. Link thinks I’m pretty. Link’s thought about kissing me “kind of a lot.” Holy fuck.

“Well, do you… uh.” Link pauses. “Do you wanna find out if you like it? Like kissing someone, I mean. With me?”

Jesus Christ. This boy is going to be the death of him.

“You can say no, by the way. I wouldn’t think of you any differently if you don’t want to,” Lincoln reassures quickly, though he seems a little less anxious now. “So, uh. No pressure. But also if it turns out you don’t like kissing, that’s totally okay, and -”

“Okay,” Taylor interrupts.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he confirms. “I’d rather figure it out with you than with anyone else. I trust you.”

“Oh,” Link mutters, seemingly more to himself than to Taylor. “You sure?”

There’s something fragile about the expression on his partner’s face, something long-closed-off, something vulnerable. The Taylor from a few months ago would’ve run from it, would’ve jostled him a little too roughly and smiled a little too toothily until Link’s expression matched his and things were much less precarious again.

Taylor as he is now, though, lets go of his hand, shifts around on the bed until he sits facing Lincoln, legs straddling his thighs, a few inches of space left between their chests.

“Figured this might be easier,” he says, looking into Link’s wide, dark eyes. “You good?”

“Um,” Link responds tactfully. “Here, let me just… could you get off for a second?”

Taylor quirks a brow at him but complies, and Lincoln makes a bit more space between himself and the headboard, shifting to sit with his legs crisscrossed. Taylor copies him, scooting close enough that their knees touch.

“Better?” Taylor asks.

“Much,” Link replies, looking visibly relieved. Taylor doesn’t really see much of a difference, but it’s definitely nicer to see him more comfortable.

On the other hand, the fact that his best friend is about to kiss him on purpose has Taylor feeling like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

“Where do you want me to kiss you?” Link asks, gazing at Taylor with so much open affection that he thinks he might explode.

“Whuh?” Taylor responds intelligently.

“You look nervous,” Link says, taking his hand again, loosely enough so that Taylor could pull away if he wanted to (he doesn’t). “It’s just me, we don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to.”

But I do want to. Maybe, Taylor thinks.

“Would it be okay if you kissed me on the forehead instead?” Taylor says aloud.

Lincoln smiles, and Taylor thinks that even if he closed his eyes, he would still be able to see the radiance of it through the backs of his eyelids.

“More than okay,” he responds, and leans in closer.

Taylor squeaks as Link’s hand cups the side of his face.

“You alright?” Link asks, pausing.

“Yeah,” Taylor says. Link’s cold fingers make a stark contrast against his heated face, and he closes his eyes, leaning into his palm.

Above him, he can hear the way Link exhales, feel the way he closes the distance between them.

Then, there’s a soft pressure at Taylor’s temple, warm and loving. The pressure remains there for a few short seconds, and then Link backs away with a barely-audible sound.

Taylor opens his eyes and lifts his head, and Link drops his hand to Taylor’s knee. He’s much closer than before, and the proximity combined with the lingering sensation of his lips against his skin floods Taylor with a giddy, dizzying feeling.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Link asks.

“Good,” Taylor says, a little breathless. “I, uh, really liked that.”

“Would you be okay with me doing that more often, then?”

Taylor doesn’t even need to stop and consider it. “Yeah,” he replies, and Lincoln smiles, and he smiles back. “More than okay.”

Link’s smile grows, and Taylor finds himself staring at his lips. He lets himself wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, and something swoops in his stomach, a heady concoction of nerves and curiosity and longing.

The smile fades, and his friend’s mouth is slightly downturned in concern. It’s unfair, Taylor thinks, for Link to look handsome even when he frowns. Even so, he’d much rather have him grinning and happy and next to him, and maybe Taylor wonders what it would be like to turn to him and pull him down by the collar of his shirt and fit his lips to the seam of that smile -

“Taylor?”

“Woah,” Taylor mutters, shaking himself out of his forehead-kiss-induced-madness. Because that’s what that was, that’s all that was, right?

“You good?”

“Uh,” Taylor says, still a little transfixed at the way Link’s lips shape out the words.

Ask him, ask him, ask him.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Tumbles out of Taylor’s mouth.

Link’s eyes go wide.

“What?” The question isn’t quite a squeak, but it’s almost there.

“Because I think I kinda wanna kiss you.”

“Are… are you sure?” Link brings his hand up to rest it against Taylor’s cheek again, but it hangs in the air, wavering, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to want this.

Taylor thinks that’s pretty stupid, so he snatches his hand out of the space between them, presses his friend’s calloused palm to the contour of his jaw.

Link breathes out shakily. Taylor leans a little further into his space, their foreheads practically touching, looking into his deep, dark eyes.

“I’m sure. Like I said, I trust you.”

“Okay,” Link says, just barely loud enough to be heard. His eyes flit downward to Taylor’s lips, and he tilts Taylor’s jaw the slightest amount, and Taylor closes his eyes against the gentleness of his partner’s touch, against the fierceness of the drumming in his chest.

All the manga and anime and romance movies hadn’t really prepared him for this, Taylor thinks. There are no fireworks as Link kisses him, no burning passion beyond the flustered, demonically-assisted heat already scorching his cheeks.

It’s nothing magical, nothing world-endingly special. Definitely not something that should justify a whole plot’s worth of hype, in his opinion.

Even so, kissing his closest friend feels like something sacred and mundane at the same time. He leans his face just the slightest bit further into Link’s hand, to feel the slowly-softening calluses scattered along his palm, and the gesture has Lincoln humming something delicate that’s muffled against his mouth. The vibrations of it reach down to Taylor’s soul as Lincoln’s lips turn up just the slightest fraction - not enough to break the kiss, but enough so that he can feel it.

Link keeps the kiss chaste, which Taylor greatly appreciates, but there’s something slow and achingly gentle about it. His partner’s other hand moves to the nape of his neck, fingers running through the flyaway hairs there tentatively, then less so as a pleased sigh crawls out of Taylor’s throat, unbidden.

Kissing is… less than what it’s made out to be, Taylor thinks, but it’s not necessarily bad. Strange, new, a little vulnerable in a way that might freak him out under certain circumstances. But here and now, held within Link’s arms, he decides he feels… safe. Cared for. Seen, but by someone he’s okay with being seen by.

After a few moments, Link pulls away, and Taylor lets him, still reveling in the feeling of his palm against his cheek and his hand in his hair and the ghost of pressure against his lips.

“So, Tay,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper as Taylor opens his eyes. “What’d ya think?”

Link’s brown eyes search his face for any signs of discomfort before meeting his own again, and the enormity of his gaze - unabashed, unashamed, so visibly loving and concerned - has something building up in his throat.

“Don’t - you can’t just look at me like that,” Taylor says, voice hoarse, and they’d barely even done anything but he’s still overwhelmed, somehow.

“Sorry,” Link responds, rote and hushed, but his voice pitches up at the end, question implicit.

“Sorry,” he echoes back, “I’m just - not used to…” He pulls his hand away from its place on Link’s shoulder (when had that happened), waving it around in the minimal space between them to gesture at - well, whatever they have going on.

Lincoln nods, blessedly understanding, and though he glances elsewhere, Taylor knows the starry-eyed, near-worshipful awe painted across Link’s features won’t fade from his memory anytime soon.

“It’s kinda scary, isn’t it?” He says, eyes flitting to focus on the way their knees bump together atop the comforter.

“God, terrifying,” Taylor replies, slumping forward to rest his forehead on Link’s shoulder.

Link’s arms circle around him wordlessly, automatically, and it feels like relief, like comfort, like home.

“I thought my heart was gonna, like, explode,” he admits into his best friend’s sleep shirt. “Is it always like that?”

“What? Kissing?”

“No, not that,” Taylor replies. “Like… I don’t know. Feelings?”

“I… I don’t know,” Lincoln settles on after a beat of contemplative silence. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever really liked this way.”

“Same here,” Taylor admits, leaning further into him simply because it feels right to do so. “I mean, I have little crushes every now and then, but you’re the only one that’s stuck.” He pauses a little, considering. “Even if I don’t like kissing as much as you do.”

“That’s okay,” Link says.

“Not a deal breaker for you, Boss?”

Link gives that cute little half-laugh of his. “Far from it, honey.”

Then, “Was that okay?”

Taylor might as well be permanently flushed around Link from here on out.

“Yep!” He chirps, maybe a little too loudly. “More than okay, babe.”

“You know, I thought I would hate that, but it sounds kinda cute when it’s you saying it,” His partner says, and Taylor can’t fight the toothy grin pulling at his lips.

Then, his mouth stretches a little wider into a yawn.

“Tired?” Link asks, hand drawing meaningless patterns on his back as Taylor nods against his shoulder.

Link hums. “What if I got up to close the blinds and we slept in a little later?”

“That sounds like a great idea, partner,” Taylor replies, a little giddiness welling up in him because they’re partners, now.

And Taylor doesn’t really know what all that entails, yet, but as he watches Link get up and make his way across the room, he figures that it’ll be alright. After all, he’s got his ride-or-die at his side through it all in more ways than one.

#listen it might be past midnight for me but it's still out of touch thursday somewhere!!!#and yes. i did title this from out of touch by hall & oates. making silly references in true dndads fashion <3 #this fic has been in the back of my mind for AGES and though i'm still a little shaky on the ending i think it turned out pretty good imo!#but! i'll leave that for y'all to judge lmao #dndads #swiftli #dndads swiftli week 2024 #fic #happi scribbles #also. hugest shoutout ever to cookies for being an absolute angel and beta reading this for me <3 ily cookies

20 notes · View notes