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bellaxgiornata · 1 year ago

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All These Years [Part 11: "Last to Know"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 6.9k

a/n: This is another longer installment that brings us through season 3 (I'm planning a different angsty fic to really focus on season 3) and begins to bring us closer to the end of angst...but we're not quite there yet. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks

Sitting across the table from Foggy and Karen, you drew your steaming latte to your lips for a drink. You were partially listening to Karen discuss the new article she was working on for the Bulletin, the newspaper she'd inevitably started working for shortly after Matt had disappeared and Foggy had disbanded their law firm. He had taken a job over at Hogarth, Chao, & Benowitz so he could continue to pay his bills, unable to continue to afford to work at Nelson and Murdock with the other half gone. You had recently thrown yourself into your own work over the last few weeks, gaining a new position with a pay raise and the ability to work from home for your company. Which had proven too convenient because you usually rolled right out of bed and stayed in your pajamas all day, showering after work just to throw on another pair of pajamas.

It had been almost two weeks since you'd stopped going to Clinton Church now, too. You barely left your apartment anymore since you didn’t need to leave for work. Oftentimes you lost track of time and had been clocking in hours and hours of overtime at your computer. You’d had nothing else going on and you didn't want to think, so you’d found yourself hyperfocused on coding. Your boss had certainly been praising your initiative.

This morning was actually the first time you’d left your apartment in days. You hadn’t even left for groceries, having ordered them and had them delivered to your apartment a few days ago for convenience. Foggy and Karen had been worried about you, frequently telling you as much over texts lately. Which was why you'd eventually caved and met them for coffee this morning. But if you were being honest, you weren't mentally fully present with them.

Your attention had shifted outside the window as Karen continued on with her animated conversation, Foggy just as enthusiastic as she was with whatever they’d been talking about. You’d unintentionally lost your focus as you often did outside of work lately, your eyes absently lingering on the place outside the window just above Karen’s shoulder. The sidewalk outside the coffee shop was busy with the usual Saturday morning foot traffic and you blankly watched as a multitude of colors swam by. You weren’t sure how long you’d sat staring out the window like that before you realized Karen was snapping her fingers in front of your face. Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daze and focused back on her and Foggy. Worry was written clear across both of their faces as they stared back at you.

"What?" you asked.

"I was trying to ask you how you liked your new position," Karen said. "I asked you like four times now."

"Sorry, I uh, I was distracted," you replied, sitting up straighter in your chair as both of your hands wrapped around your warm coffee cup. "It's good. It's going good. Working at home is–is good."

Foggy leaned across the table towards you, concern still clear in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. "Because you've been distant ever since…"

"I'm fine," you answered automatically, forcing a smile onto your face.

Foggy and Karen turned and exchanged a look with each other for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you watched. The strained smile on your face was quickly growing uncomfortable. When Foggy focused back on you, he shook his head slowly.

"No," he disagreed, "you're not. You haven't been fine for a long time. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," you replied defensively.

From across the table, Karen sent you a sympathetic look. You knew the one. You'd seen it plenty of times now.

"It's because of what's been popping up in the news, isn't it?" she asked. "The little rumors."

Your head tilted to the side as you eyed her curiously. "What little rumors?" you asked back.

Karen's gaze flickered to Foggy before it returned to you. Her fingers began drumming on her coffee cup nervously.

"About the man in black?" she said, voice lowered.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your back straightening further in the chair. Hope filled you instantly as your eyes searched Karen’s face for answers.

"Matt?" you whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak but Foggy raised a hand, waving it firmly in the air between the pair of you. The gesture instantly cut her off before she'd even begun.

"It's not Matt," Foggy stated sharply. "Hell’s Kitchen has become ground zero for all kinds of copycat vigilantes lately. It's not him, so don't go giving her false hope, Karen."

Your eyes further narrowed at Foggy. "How do you know it's not him?" you challenged.

Foggy’s expression softened, a hand running across his forehead. "Because," he answered softly, "if it was Matt, he'd have reached out. Told us he was alive. You know he would. It's been just over a couple of months now, he's had plenty of time to reach out to tell us he survived Midland Circle and he hasn't." He sighed deeply, shaking his head at you. "You need to accept it. He's gone."

"Foggy," Karen gently reprimanded, "that's not–"

"No," Foggy countered firmly, his focus shifting to Karen. "She needs to hear this. She needs to accept it and stop doing what she's been doing to herself! And whatever this bullshit in the news is–it's not Matt." Foggy’s attention returned to you, his eyes pleading. "You have to let this go. You need to accept the fact that Matt–” Foggy winced, “–he's dead.”

Your throat felt like it was closing up, tears welling in your eyes. How could Foggy just accept that as fact so easily? How could he just give up on Matt like that? He had been both of your best friends for so long. Wasn’t there any part of him that had hope?

“Foggy, that’s a little harsh,” Karen chastised. “You’re being really unsympathetic here.”

Foggy shook his head, once again rounding on Karen. “She’s been denying the facts for almost three months now!” he exclaimed. “And look at how she’s been doing! She’s clearly not handling it alright. It looks like she’s barely sleeping and taking care of herself. Every time we see her she’s barely present. And she’s been paying for his apartment for months now!”

His head spun in your direction, startling you at the abruptness. Your lips were quivering as you sat there, feeling like you were about to break down in the middle of the coffee shop with everything he was saying.

“You can't keep paying for his apartment and holding onto his things. It's not good for you," Foggy stated sharply. “It’s not sustainable for you to pay for two rents, either. You need to let this go!”

“Foggy–”

“ No !” Foggy growled at Karen. “I’ve already lost Matt, I’m not losing her, too!”

Sniffling loudly, you swiftly rose from the table and wiped the back of your hand across your tear stained cheeks. Both Foggy and Karen’s attention shifted to you instantly. Karen mouthed an apology as Foggy’s face fell beside her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” you croaked out.

Ignoring Foggy’s pleas to stay, you quickly turned and left the coffee shop with your coffee clutched between both hands. You did your best to duck your head, trying to hide your face as you silently cried the entire walk back to your apartment.

What a shitty past few days it had been.

While Matt had been out last night, he'd been stopped in his tracks the moment he realized his hearing had fully come back to him. He could hear the sirens of ambulances approaching where he’d just stepped out onto the street, the sounds of the city around him, the buzz of a neon sign nearby, and the commotion in front of the hospital he’d just exited. He had been stunned, a wave of gratefulness washing over him in that very moment because he could fully hear again . But what were the first words he’d heard in the commotion around him when God had finally decided to restore his hearing?

The FBI had let Wilson Fisk out of prison.

Could God have been laughing at him any more than he already had been? What a fucking cruel joke to restore his hearing just in time for him to hear that Fisk had been released. Matt had been furious . Even more furious at God than he had been lately. But despite his rage since that moment, he knew there was something he needed to do tonight.

If Fisk was free from prison, in any capacity, he knew he’d be seeking revenge on himself, Foggy, and Karen for having put him away. And while Matt Murdock was safe from his vengeance because he was supposed to be dead, Foggy wasn’t. And neither was Karen.

Which was why Matt had donned his winter coat, the baseball cap, and some sunglasses before making the long trek to the bar he knew Foggy frequented near his new place of work outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Despite wanting to have his friends continue to think he was dead, knowing it was safer for them, Matt had admittedly kept tabs on Foggy on and off for weeks now. He didn't let himself ponder the reasoning, though.

But it had only been Foggy he’d checked in on. He couldn’t bring himself to see what you were getting up to. He’d known you’d stopped visiting Clinton Church not too long ago. The last few times you’d visited he’d heard you from the church basement. You would always end up softly sobbing to yourself before you left. And each time you had, Matt had curled up on the basement floor just beneath the pew you’d been sitting in, just to feel some semblance of being near you again, and he cried with you. When night had fallen those nights, he’d immediately gone out as the man in the mask and let the Devil take over, not wanting to feel anything.

But he hadn’t gone anywhere near your apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to.

And now he was standing outside the bar Foggy was sitting inside at this exact moment. Matt could tell Foggy was upset by how much he’d already had to drink, having known the amount because he’d been standing outside in the alley from the moment Foggy had first showed up and stepped inside. He’d been struggling to get up the nerve to go inside and talk to him, to warn Foggy about staying away from Fisk and letting him deal with things. Because clearly the law wasn’t going to achieve anything on its own at keeping Fisk where he belonged, so it was up to Matt to make things right.

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy going inside and talking to him, though. Just standing in the alley and knowing he was about to go in there and reveal to Foggy that he wasn’t dead, that he’d been lying and would need Foggy to yet again lie for him–to people both Matt and Foggy cared about– hurt .

Matt needed to keep his distance to keep you all safe, though–now more than before. Fisk was dangerous, and he was certainly going to come after Foggy and Karen, so Matt needed to make sure both of them stayed out of Fisk’s way. He certainly didn’t need Karen to go chasing after him as the reporter she’d become and further put herself on Wilson Fisk’s radar. She didn’t need to end up like Ben Urich. And he didn’t want Foggy going after Blake Tower for signing off on the FBI’s decision to release Fisk for information–that would certainly garner Fisk’s attention.

But you–Fisk didn’t know about you. You weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock. Fisk had no reason to know about you, which meant you needed to stay far away from Matt and the Devil so your name would never cross Fisk’s lips.

Which was why he could only go to Foggy. He knew he’d keep the secret in order to keep his friends safe, even if he would absolutely hate Matt for asking that of him.

And he also needed to steal Foggy’s wallet for his New York State Bar Association license for what he planned to do tomorrow.

With a sigh, he pushed off of the wall and forced himself to turn the corner and enter the bar. It wasn’t very busy for a Tuesday evening, so Matt easily made his way over near where Foggy was drinking at the counter. He paused when he was just a few feet behind him, nerves twisting in his gut. Foggy was entirely oblivious to Matt’s presence, though, still swirling the alcohol in his glass absently. Squaring his shoulders, Matt steeled himself for the emotional pain that he was about to inflict on both Foggy and himself.

“Fog,” he called out softly.

Matt heard the way Foggy’s head slowly turned towards him, his brows having drawn together in confusion. For a moment Foggy just stared at Matt in perplexed silence. Matt could practically hear the moment when Foggy realized who was standing before him in his slightly intoxicated state.

“This isn’t real,” Foggy said. "You're not really here."

Matt’s teeth ground together as he gave a single nod at him. “It’s real,” he said softly.

He could hear the way Foggy’s lips drew into a big smile, the only one that had been on his face in the hour that Matt had been standing outside. The bar stool Foggy had been sitting in slid back on the floor as Matt heard Foggy rise to his feet just moments before he felt his friend embrace him in a tight hug. Instinctively Matt’s hands flew up, hugging Foggy in return. He could smell the salt of his unshed tears in the air.

“Hey, Fog,” he greeted quietly.

“How?” Foggy asked in disbelief, still clutching Matt tight. “Where? We thought you were dead!”

Foggy abruptly pulled away from Matt, clearly taking a moment to scan him over. Matt’s hands returned to his cane, fidgeting nervously with it as he practically felt Foggy’s eyes roving him. Seconds later, Foggy said your name and Matt’s heart felt like it shattered instantly.

“Does she know you’re alive?" he asked. "Does Karen?”

Pressing his lips tight together to keep from crying, Matt reached a hand out and gently grabbed Foggy’s shoulder.

“Take a seat, Fog,” he ordered.

Foggy did as directed, returning to the bar stool he’d just been seated at. Matt slowly lowered into a stool near him. He braced himself for what he was about to have to say and do now.

“I’m not back,” Matt told him firmly.

Matt heard the smile once again spread across Foggy’s face and the joking tone when he spoke next.

“Well I know I’m not drunk enough to be hallucinating quite yet,” Foggy teased.

Matt shook his head once. “I’m not back,” he repeated. “Matt Murdock isn’t going to be a part of me anymore. I’m…leaving him behind. He isn’t who I am.”

The smile quickly fell from Foggy’s face. “What?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, Matt tried to keep the waver and emotion out of his voice. “The only reason I came here was to warn you and Karen about Fisk now that he’s out. You’re both in danger.”

“Dude–”

“I’m going after him, Foggy,” Matt continued briskly, cutting him off. “I’m going to bring Fisk down. But I can only do that if I know that you and Karen are safe.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Foggy said, waving a hand. “I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re here. Alive .”

“I know that you and Karen are going to want to get involved,” Matt told him, his foot tapping lightly on the bar floor. He needed to get out of here soon before he lost his resolve. “To try to fight him in some way, but I’m telling you that I need you both to stay out of it and leave it to me.”

There was a brief pause after his words. Matt heard the way Foggy slowly shook his head in response.

“No,” Foggy told him.

“No?” Matt asked in disbelief.

“No,” Foggy replied more forcefully. “You don’t get to show up after months of me–all of us–thinking you’re dead, say something like that to me, and then just–just expect me to be cool with it. You’re my best friend , asshole!”

Matt’s heart tightened in his chest at the hurt in his best friend’s voice. Foggy’s words stung despite how much Matt knew he deserved them–truthfully he deserved a bigger verbal lashing. But he needed to end this and get out of here. Now.

“I was wrong to become your friend, Foggy,” Matt told him, ignoring the way his own heart beat irregularly at the lie as it left his lips. In time he'd make himself believe it. “I put you in danger and it was selfish of me. While I can’t change the past, I can stop making the same mistake. We’re done, buddy,” Matt said, quickly rising from the bar stool. “It’s over.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Foggy snapped, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt agreed, once again fighting the emotion from creeping into his words. "Just stay clear of Fisk. Tell Karen to do the same," he ordered. "And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her you saw me.”

Matt turned to go, desperate to get away and attempt to control his own emotions. He felt close to tears himself and was grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. He managed two steps before he heard Foggy once again call your name after him. Matt winced at the sound of it, his feet inevitably coming to a stop as his back remained turned to Foggy.

“What about her, huh?” Foggy asked. “You know she’s been a mess since you’ve been gone? She refuses to believe you’re dead, Matt. Am I just supposed to let her continue thinking that now that I know it’s a lie?”

Behind the sunglasses, Matt’s eyes clamped shut. He felt a tear escape and he tried to hide wiping it away as he ran a hand over his mouth. Exhaling a shuddering breath, he tried to keep his voice steady when he answered.

“Yes,” Matt replied, voice softer. “She can’t know.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Foggy roared at his back. “You’re going to do that to her? Make me do that to her?”

Matt sighed, shaking his head but still refusing to turn around. “Fog, she can’t–”

“She’s paying your fucking rent, man,” Foggy spat bitterly. “For months now she’s been paying it. She thinks you’re still out there. Alive. That you’re too injured to find a way to reach out and that’s why it’s been months of us not hearing from you. But no,” he continued, anger clear in his voice, “you’ve been intentionally letting us think you’re dead all of this time.”

Matt couldn’t speak, his throat feeling like it was closing up on him. His hands gripped his cane even tighter. You were paying his rent?

“Why?” he managed, the word breaking.

“Why?” Foggy repeated in disbelief. “Because she cares about you, you idiot! She misses you! You’re one of her absolute best friends, man. She doesn’t want to believe you’re gone.”

Matt tried to swallow but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his own mouth, the gesture feeling near impossible. Fuck, he didn’t want to do this to you. He really didn’t. But he didn’t have a choice, he needed to keep you away from himself to keep you safe from Fisk. From whoever it was that came after Fisk if Matt survived this. It was for your own good.

“Tell her to stop paying for the rent,” Matt told him.

“ I have ,” Foggy ground out. “And you know what she did? She ran home crying and hasn’t answered my calls in��days because of it.”

A grimace pulled at Matt’s face. Why were you holding on so tight to him like this? Why couldn’t you just let him go? He wasn’t that great of a friend. He was nothing special. Why couldn’t you just mourn him and move on?

“She–she can’t know,” Matt repeated. “She’ll find some way to get involved or Fisk will figure out she’s close to us and she’ll get hurt. Right now, Fisk doesn’t know who she is, Fog. She can’t know I’m alive.”

“So that’s it?” Foggy asked defeatedly. “I just continue to lie to her for you?”

Matt felt like he couldn’t stay here any longer, he could feel the dam holding his own emotions in check about to burst. He wanted to turn back around and embrace Fog, to apologize and tell him he was wrong for everything he’d done since Midland. He wanted to run to your apartment and beg your forgiveness on his knees for making you think he was dead. To feel you wrap him in your arms and tell him everything was okay and that you forgave him.

But that couldn’t happen.

“I–I have to go,” Matt muttered.

Without further hesitation, Matt made his way out of the bar, ignoring the way Foggy was shouting his name after him. He hurried down the alley he’d initially been hiding in, pausing at the end of it when he didn’t hear Foggy pursuing him.

Burying his face in his hands, he sank to the dirty ground and broke down in tears.

Opening the door to Matt’s apartment, you stepped inside and were instantly hit with a chill. You shivered as you shut the door behind yourself before bending down and picking up the stack of mail that had been shoved under the door for this week. You frowned when you saw a few more overdue bills. Even with the raise you’d received, you were starting to really struggle under the weight of two rents and all of your own bills.

With a sigh you made your way into the empty apartment, heading straight to the coffee table where you’d neatly organized Matt’s mail in separate piles. Taking a moment, you sorted the mail in your hands into the appropriate stack before you unbuttoned your coat. You slowly slipped it off of yourself before draping it over the arm of Matt’s leather couch.

The emptiness of Matt’s apartment was only further making you feel the weight of loneliness you’d been experiencing lately, your eyes dancing across his sparsely decorated and overly spacious apartment as your eyes watered. Foggy and Karen had been avoiding you lately, always too busy with something to make time for you. They’d been acting strange for the past few weeks and you didn’t understand why. And it had only added to the hurt you'd been experiencing after everything with Matt.

Foggy had suddenly decided to run for District Attorney, which you’d been shocked about but excited for him nevertheless. But he was always claiming he had something to attend and he’d get back with you later. Karen had been saying she was busy with some story she was following, never having time to even chat on the phone. Though recently you'd heard she had been fired after the attack from a fake Daredevil killing people at the Bulletin–and that in itself had further confused you, but both of them had said it was something to do with Fisk and wouldn’t tell you anything more.

You’d been so lonely you’d finally called Adam back up and eventually gotten together with him for drinks last week. He’d been understanding all those months ago when you’d ended things because of Matt’s supposed passing, claiming you just couldn’t focus on a relationship after the unexpected loss of one of your closest friends. Though now it felt like Adam was all you had left.

And Matt’s apartment. Empty as it always was.

You stepped around the leather couch, your fingers running along the red plaid blanket neatly folded over the back of it as you walked. Stomach sinking as your grief once again hit you, you continued your usual tour of Matt’s place, the same as you did when you stopped in every week to collect his mail and check on the bills you needed to pay for him.

You always started in the living room first, pausing to appreciate the obnoxious billboard you’d grown fond of outside of the windows. Then you’d make your way into the kitchen, marveling at how little he actually had in there. Though you supposed it made sense that he hadn’t cooked much with what he spent his evenings doing. Eventually you’d make your way to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway and wondering what it would be like to be standing there in your pajamas in the morning, a cup of coffee in each hand. One for you and one for Matt. Imagining him waking up in his bed, his hair a ruffled mess and a sleepy smile on his face just for you as morning light seeped in through the windows.

Your heart twisted at the thought and you quickly pushed the mental image away, continuing on. You made your way to his closet where his suits were still all neatly hanging, fingers running along the braille tags on each hanger. With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave the room, but your eyes fell on Matt’s dresser. Coming to a stop, you paused as you eyed it for a moment. As if your feet were moving on their own, you made your way over, pulling open one of the drawers. A handful of neatly stacked, neutral colored shirts met your eyes. Fighting back the tears threatening to spill over, you ran a hand over a worn, dark gray tee-shirt on top. It was incredibly soft.

You didn’t know what it was that came over you, but you found yourself pulling the shirt out of his drawer and bringing it up to your nose. It still smelled like him–that clean detergent scent you loved. A choked noise fell out of you as you buried your face further in the material, wishing it was on Matt’s body and not just crumpled between your desperate fingers.

It was a few minutes before you'd managed to regain your composure and collect yourself. But as you closed his dresser drawer, you still held onto the worn tee-shirt in your hands. And even as you slipped your coat back on in the living room before exiting his apartment, locking it up behind you, you never parted with it.

You'd spent so much time going back and forth on whether or not you would attend the mass for Father Lantom’s funeral this afternoon that you'd ended up showing up just as people were milling out of the church afterwards. You'd felt bad for having missed it, even if you'd only had a few conversations with him after Matt's memorial service before you'd stopped going to Clinton Church entirely. From your brief time with Father Lantom, and from what Matt had always said about him, he sounded like an amazing man. What had happened to him–whatever it was that had someone attacking a church –had been absolutely horrible.

But you knew there was a wake being held at Foggy’s family's butcher shop nearby from the announcement you had read in the paper. You hadn't spoken to Foggy or Karen in almost a week now, but you figured you'd end up at least running into one of them there. As you neared the shop, you wondered if they'd continue to ignore you like they'd been doing for weeks now.

Their silence had only opened a new wound for you, causing you even more pain in Matt's absence. You'd ended up growing closer to Adam over the weeks since they’d been avoiding you because of it, often spending a few evenings a week together. He didn't have answers for why your friends had been ghosting you and cutting you out of their life, but he at least offered the much needed comfort you'd been craving for months.

Outside of Nelson's, you spotted a few people lingering on the sidewalk talking in small groups. They were dressed in all black and had clearly just come from the mass for Father Lantom at the church. You slipped around a group outside, offering a soft apology as you reached for the door handle beside them. Pulling it open, you stepped inside and immediately side-stepped out of the way of a couple who sent you friendly smiles. As your eyes scanned the busy shop around you, you eventually spotted Karen and Foggy at a table nearby with drinks in their hands laughing with–

Eyes going wide, you swore your heart entirely stopped beating in your chest. You couldn't breathe. Even your brain felt like it hit reset at the sight before you.

Foggy and Karen had been sitting at the table laughing and having drinks with Matt as if he hadn't been missing and believed dead for the past few months.

Entirely frozen on the spot, all you could do for a moment was stare in shock at Matt laughing at something Karen had said. Mouth dropping open, you watched as all three of them raised their glasses as if in a toast before clinking them together.

That's when the tears came. Watching all three of them sitting there as if they'd known Matt had been alive for longer than five minutes. As if they were celebrating something.

And you'd been entirely left out of whatever it all was.

Heart beating harder in your chest, a small, strangled whimper fell out of you. At the table, Matt's head immediately darted in your direction, the smile falling from his lips as his focus landed on you. Karen and Foggy’s attention soon turned towards you next, curious as to what had caught Matt's attention. Abruptly you turned and pushed the door to the shop open, hurrying out onto the sidewalk.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you felt the tears steadily falling as you darted away from the building. You ignored the groups of people outside curiously eyeing you as your breath came in fast and sharp. Vaguely you heard Foggy calling your name as you briskly walked down the sidewalk and headed away from Nelson's. Your pace didn't slow as he continued to call after you.

Matt was alive.

Matt was alive .

You had been right. All this time and you'd been right. But why the hell had Karen and Foggy been so adamant about him being dead–wanting you to let him go–when they knew he wasn't? How long had they known and not told you? How long had they known and just continued to let you grieve? To let you keep paying for his apartment? To keep scouring the news about the man in the mask? They’d been telling you it wasn’t Matt despite you noticing the strange fake Daredevil in the news in relation to Fisk’s prison release. They’d made you feel like you’d been going crazy.

And why had Matt not let you know he was alive? Why had he let you continue on thinking he was dead but not Foggy and Karen?

Did you mean so little to him?

Foggy’s voice loudly shouting your name broke through your thoughts and you stopped, spinning on the spot towards him as your tears continued to fall. Foggy caught up to you quickly, his own face filled with guilt and shame. Behind him, you could see Karen escorting Matt, the pair of them rapidly nearing where you'd both come to a stop.

"How long?" you asked Foggy, voice cracking. "How long did you know?"

Foggy winced at the question, his face growing even more solemn. "A few weeks now," he answered softly.

Your eyebrows rose up onto your forehead, eyes once again widening. Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you tried hard to search for words.

"You–you knew?" you breathed out. "You knew for weeks? And you just didn't tell me he wasn't dead?"

"I wanted to!" Foggy replied in a rush. "Believe me, I did! But it wasn't safe for you to know!"

"Are you–" you paused, pinching the bridge of your nose as a multitude of emotions fought to rise to the surface. Anger and relief were fighting at the forefront. "I don't fucking care if it wasn't safe!" you eventually roared at the three of them, Karen and Matt stopping beside Foggy now. "You let me think he was dead for weeks when you knew he wasn't! You both ignored me for weeks!" you yelled, fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. "Left me to grieve the loss of Matt and my friendship with the both of you on top of it!"

"I–"

"No!" you raged at Foggy. "Do you know how much that fucking hurt? To feel like I’d lost all of you? And then I come here and see you all just laughing and having fucking drinks and I'm still in the dark about everything ?"

"We were going to tell you today!" Karen cut in quickly, her voice catching your attention. "We were dealing with Fisk’s release. That was why we knew Matt was back–and he had been a very closed off asshole, too, for the record,” she told you, Matt frowning deeper beside her. “But we were trying to keep Fisk from learning that you were connected to any of us. To keep you safe from him."

"What?" you asked her.

"Fisk wanted revenge," Matt said.

Your eyes flew directly to him. His voice, after months of wondering if you'd ever hear it again, managed to slightly calm you. For a moment your eyes took in the sight of him standing there–something else you’d thought would never happen again. He was wearing one of his nice suits and his usual red glasses, which meant he must have stopped by his apartment at some point. The one you’d been paying the bills for him for. There were a few cuts bandaged along his face and his knuckles looked torn and bruised, but he was alive.

He was alive.

“He tried to kill me when he realized I wasn’t dead,” Matt explained. “Tried even harder when he learned who I was. He was trying to go after Foggy, too–which was why he ran for the D.A. position, to make him more of a public figure. And he went after Karen.”

“The Bulletin?” you asked, eyes darting to Karen. “That was…?”

Karen nodded. “And what happened at Clinton,” she told you.

“It wasn’t safe,” Matt said, taking another step towards you. “I only told Foggy because I wanted him and Karen to let me handle Fisk. But he didn’t listen to me and told Karen.”

“Because she was in danger and needed to know,” Foggy snapped at Matt.

Matt’s mouth twitched at Foggy’s words but he didn’t respond to him. Instead he kept his focus on you as he spoke.

“But you weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock,” he continued, shaking his head. “Fisk never knew who you were. I wanted to keep it that way. Initially I wanted to let you all think Matt Murdock had died so I could go out and be Daredevil without worrying about putting any of you in any more danger. But…” he trailed off, sighing as his shoulders dropped. “I couldn’t do it. I–I need you all. As my friends. To keep me from losing myself to that other part of myself.”

Wiping the heels of your palms over your cheeks, you tried to wipe away the tears. A few were still falling as you stood there. Admittedly you were still pissed–at all of them. Karen and Foggy for keeping his secret even if it was to keep you safe, and you were pissed at Matt for letting you spend months wondering if he was dead or not.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said softly.

“I’m sorry, too,” Foggy added quickly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I hated every second of it. You have to know that.”

Swallowing hard, your eyes flew over to Karen when she spoke up.

“I didn’t want to lie to you either,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, too. We really were going to tell you today. After Father Lantom’s wake. We just wanted to make sure the threat of Fisk had passed first.”

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Matt assured you.

Foggy’s arms raised, opening wide towards you as he shot you a hopeful look. “Can you forgive me, bestie?” he asked. “Hug it out?”

Chewing your lip, you took a step backwards. Collectively all three of their faces dropped at the gesture. Slowly, Foggy’s arms lowered to his sides.

“I just–just need a bit to process this,” you muttered. “I can try to understand why you did it but–but it still hurts.”

Both Foggy and Karen nodded, but between them, Matt’s frown somehow continued to deepen. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, committing the sight of him alive and breathing to your memory before you turned and made your way back down the sidewalk. You wanted to go home and cry before you tried to make sense of all of this. It didn’t help that your body’s reaction was confusing you. You were overjoyed and grateful, but also incredibly pissed and deeply hurt. You wanted to scream at Matt but you also wanted to hug him and never let him go.

You’d barely made it a few steps before something had latched on to your wrist and you froze, head turning to glance down at what it was. Matt’s large and battered hand was encircling it firmly, clearly not about to let you go. Pressing your lips tight together, you tried hard to refrain from crying as your gaze slowly made its way up to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. After that building fell on me and I somehow still woke up alive…I’d lost almost all of my senses. I was in a dark place. And when my senses came back, Fisk had been released and I found myself in an even darker place.” He sent you a sad, apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to lie to you. Didn’t want you to keep believing I was dead. I swear I didn’t. It was just to keep you safe.”

Your watery gaze tried to focus on Matt’s eyes behind the red lenses. You could feel the tears once again getting ready to spill over in your own eyes.

“I visited Clinton Church every day for weeks after you disappeared, Matt,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he whispered, that sad smile still on his lips. “I was recovering in the church’s basement that whole time.”

You winced at his words. He’d known? He’d known you’d been there crying over him all this time? Day after day praying he’d come back to you? And he’d been there this whole time? Fresh hurt and anger burned in your veins, another wave of tears spilling out of you.

“You knew that too?” you breathed out. “You were right there and never said anything?”

He nodded slowly, shame and guilt written across his features. As the tears fell yet again, you finally gave in to the mix of emotions fighting inside of you to reach the surface. Your hand slipped out of Matt’s hold before you reached out and pushed against his chest roughly. For a moment he looked taken by surprise at the gesture, but his surprise quickly vanished as he stood there and allowed one of your fists to weakly slam onto his chest.

“Fuck you, Matt,” you cried out in a broken voice. “Fuck you for making me go through that knowing how hard it was on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his own voice breaking.

Your fist slammed onto his chest again. “Fuck you for hurting me like that,” you continued. “For making Foggy and Karen hurt me like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“How could you?” you wailed. “I thought I mattered to you!”

Matt’s hands were on your shoulders, gripping them firmly as he tried to pull you towards him. You tried to shake him off, struggling against his hold, but he only held on tighter as your fist slammed down onto his chest again, tears endlessly streaming from your eyes.

“You do matter,” he croaked out. “More than you know. You do matter.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed, your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his suit coat. “Fuck you, Matt.”

Matt’s hands released their hold on you, his arms swiftly wrapping around your shoulders as he drew you into himself. You didn’t fight him this time, burying your face into his dress shirt and tie and letting yourself break down against him. Relief and heartache and love and anger all poured out of you simultaneously as you clung to him, your body shaking with your sobs. Matt had buried his face against the top of your head, clearly crying himself as he clung to you just as tight. You could feel his tears dampening your hair and hear the muffled sounds of his own choked sobs filling your ears.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you begged, shaking your head against his chest. “Don’t make me go through that again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

[END NOTES]

I'm leaving end notes this time because I feel like they're needed (but if you read my fics over on AO3 I always give quite detailed end notes that I don't usually share on tumblr because it's just extra time I don't have trying to get two posts together).

So much happened in this installment though because we practically sprinted through season 3! This fic isn't meant to delve into that season though, but I wanted to include the angst of it in here (don't worry, I have another angsty fic planned for season 3 for another day). Reader was clearly struggling with the loss/absence of Matt for the months he'd been gone in this one. She was also the one paying for his apartment and his bills because she didn't believe he was dead. But she was also the last one to know he was alive--hence the title of this installment! And shit did that hurt when she didn't know why Foggy and Karen were pushing her away for weeks, which only led her back to the attractive vet tech, Adam (in case you didn't catch that). And then she didn't find out Matt was alive until she saw him at Father Lantom's wake at the Nelson's butcher shop. Despite being able to understand why they kept her in the dark, she's still pretty hurt and pissed. Especially at Matt. But clearly, Reader will never stop loving Matt.

I have a couple more angsty things up my sleeves that are getting closer to punching you in the gut next, so be prepared, friends! The angst isn't over even if the confession of feelings draws nearer... I currently don't have a title name to tease for the next installment yet either because this almost 7k beast of an installment took up all my brain space for two days, but I'll share a post about it when I do.

Feel free to scream at me now 🙃

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

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WIBTA if I confront my friend about doing things I suggest for the two of us with my ex instead?

I (24F), my friend Lily (24F) and my ex Jamie (25NB) have all known each other for 6 years. Jamie and I split up 5 years ago but we’re on good terms and are friends.

Within the past year I’ve been trying to hang out with Lily, but either she shoots down every idea I have or she’ll commit to it and then blow me off right before the date. Shit happens, I get it, but almost every single thing I have suggested she then goes and does with Jamie.

It started simple. We were going to watch a tv show together, Lily told me to wait for her because she wasn’t free the day the series dropped. So I waited, and then she cancelled plans to watch it with me and told me “yeah I’m just not interested in it anymore” to which I was like ok fair. But then two weeks later Jamie mentioned to me that they and Lily watched the entire show and that I might like it too. Lily’s suggestion :/

It’s not just stuff like this. Lily and I are both artists and I suggested an art trade and she agreed, I drew her character then she never drew mine and instead started a trade with Jamie. When I asked her about finishing the trade she got all snappy at me and said she didn’t have the energy to draw my character. She then drew four more of Jamie’s characters.

We were planning to get our ears pierced together, then Lily bailed last minute saying she didn’t want it anymore. A month later she got them pierced with Jamie.

I think the most egregious example was when Lily told me she wasn’t feeling good and couldn’t make it to my birthday party, but when Jamie posted a picture of the two of us at my place suddenly Lily felt better and was on her way :/

I know Lily has feelings for Jamie. Jamie told me that Lily has asked them out about 8 times and they think the crush is cute but frankly they’re not interested in Lily. But it’s beginning to really piss me off and weird me out that Lily is taking all my hang out / fun activity ideas and trying them on Jamie. I think it’s because Jamie is my ex.

For a few months I stopped hanging out with Lily at all because her flakiness was pissing me off but then she started messaging me and asking me to hang out more and saying how much she missed me. And yeah, I miss her too, but it’s getting to the point where I feel like tearing my hair out bc it feels like she’s using me for fun activities to suggest to Jamie.

So will I be the asshole if I confront her about this? Or will I just seem jealous/posessive of my ex?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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gojoscalico · 1 year ago

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Turn Back Time || o n e

Summary: You were never sure when it started to fall apart but it did. 10 Years later and now you're facing him again. Will it reignite the feelings you both once had for one another? Or will you both end up walking away from each other once again?

Word Count: 1485

Next ->

“Isn’t that…?” You turned your head to notice what it was your dearest student had been earnestly looking at. It was someone you could never forget. A sudden sentimentality lurking inside of your thoughts. A feeling that had been neglected for the past decade that it is now darting back into the front of your consciousness. You were aware that there could only be one person that had white hair that glowed under the sunlight, whose laugh would fill up the whole room as he walked in. Whose gaze alone took your breath away.

“Satoru…”

“Gojo-sensei!” Both phrases were said in unison. You unconsciously spouted out his name, unbeknownst to you he had heard you. I mean how could you know since your student had blurted his name loud enough for the whole cafe to turn their heads. He looked in your direction and you were sure of it even though he had covered his eyes with a mask. Unaware of when he had started to wear that mask you still felt him ogling you from under it. Because of a familiar feeling that took you years to recognize as his gaze. The gaze he always compared to that of god. The gaze that allowed him to see all. Also you were so sure he was looking your way because your student had said his name loudly. He visibly seemed shocked to see you. Which made sense since it had been a decade since you had last seen one another. But maybe it was because your student was busy idolizing him. You watched as he smiled at your student signing the notebook she had brought out for him. For her he was Gojo Satoru, the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer of our time. But to me he was still the same old Satoru. He lifted his mask and once again you drew a sudden breath. He still had those same beautiful blue eyes that seemed to have mirrored the sky above us, the same air of arrogance that you both despised and adored, and looking to his left and right you noticed that he still surrounded himself with the same two people who you were painfully aware meant more to him than the world. “Oh hey it’s Y/N.”

You smiled softly at the tall raven-haired man, “Suguru…you guys haven’t changed at all.” Suguru gave you a gentle smile as he heard you say his name with such gentleness. A gentleness that he had missed. That he knew Satoru had missed. But little to his knowledge you also cherished that smile since it always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it brings you nostalgia and an allusion of pain. Remembering how often you relied on these three for comfort. As much as they were your safe place they were also the very reason why you were unable to fully trust anyone else. A sudden wave of sadness overcame your mind. You hated how distant and how different you four were now. Compared to ten years ago. You hated your stubbornness. “We will take that as a compliment coming from you, that is.” Your smile gets bigger as you place your gaze on a woman placed to the right of Satoru almost as if that was where she belonged and no one else can fill that spot. Her hair may have gotten longer but that was the voice of someone you knew very well. “Shoko… I mean Dr. Ieiri now right?” She nodded with a bright smile. “It’s been so long, Y/N, since we last saw you but you can always just call me Shoko just like you always have.Unless you want me calling you Sensei?” You let out a chuckle.

Nodding as your smile disappears remembering the night you all last saw one another. “Yeah well considering the circumstances I don’t think it would’ve been possible for all of us to see one another like this. At least willingly.” You looked down on your feet as you felt a pang of pain flow through your chest. Because ten years ago you would never have thought that these three would ever leave your side. Before you can fall further into that pain you were starting to feel you heard Satoru scoff. You quickly raised your head not aware you were glaring at him. It was a habit of his. Thinking that nothing will ever be his fault. “You were more than welcome to come see us...You knew that but you just chose not to.”

“Chose…” You laughed at his choice of words,the prominent sound of pain in your voice catching Satoru off guard instantly regretting the words that left his mouth. Still not getting rid of his horrible habit of speaking before thinking. “Chose…you make it sound like we all even had a choice at the time. There was only one time we were given a choice…and I think it’s safe to say that those choices lead to this very moment.” You watched as Satoru balled up his fist, shaking as if he wanted to say something but was hesitating to. This time he was thinking to himself whether this was the time and place. But this wasn’t the time or place to argue because he knew all too well that you would just argue back. You were both stubborn and that much he remembered and was all he needed to stay quiet. You watched as he unclenched his fist. “Okay you guys it’s been years can’t we just all get along?” You turned your head to Shoko with a smile.

“Yeah Sensei…But are you all here for the competition?” You watched as your student hurriedly changed the subject. She was unaware of what had happened between the four of you but she had noticed the change in your demeanor. After all, you had always been careful about how you carried yourself amongst your students. “Yes…It’s the first time our school is participating in something like this…but please don’t underestimate us.” Suguru chuckled, “We can never underestimate anyone who had been learning jujutsu under THE Y/N.” You rolled your eyes as you chuckled at his remark, “Just know that these kids worked hard. So I hope your students don’t hold back.”

“Oh they won’t.” Satoru said with a hint of haughtiness. You scoffed, “Good.” You were competitive and he was aware of that. And for some reason he loved seeing you riled up. He missed your spurts of passion in the field when things had always looked as though you would lose just to turn it around and successfully purify a curse. He missed the way your wavy crimson colored hair fell over your shoulders. The way your hazel eyes glistened in the sun or the way your lashes curled as he watched you sleep after a job. He missed the way you snored. He missed you.

“Y/N…where are you going?” You turned your back on Suguru as you packed your bags. You were unsure of where it was you were heading but you knew that if you stayed that both you and Satoru would not be the only ones to suffer the consequences of the choice you make right here. “They…they are sending me on a mission Sugu…” You looked down, biting the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from crying. You didn’t want to lie but if he knew the truth. That you weren’t coming back he would try to stop you and you knew that. So you lied. “They said it’s a secret and won’t tell me the details about it…” Surguru clenched his fist because somehow he knew something was off. He knew you were lying. “When will you be back?” You hurriedly zipped up your bag and turned around with a smile. “Soon!”

Suguru looked down because he didn’t want to see your face. If he saw your face now he would know instantly that you were lying. He knew that if you were coming back you wouldn’t have taken the ring that Satoru had given you. You wouldn’t have taken the photo of the four of you by your bedside. You wouldn’t have taken your treasures with you. In this moment, maybe if he was a little more desperate he would’ve grabbed Satoru so he could stop you because he knew he would be the only one who was able to. But he trusted your choices because you were never wrong. He doesn’t know why you were leaving despite knowing how much Satoru loved you. But he trusted it was for the best. Afterall, you have always been the less reckless half of the whole that was you and Satoru. “See you soon Y/N.”

She smiled one last time at you before turning her head. “Yeah…see you soon…Tell Toru that I love him.” You heard Suguru chuckle, “You tell him yourself.”

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lkfarrout · 2 months ago

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Routine (family fic)

No ships/romance, just angst.

Summary: something I thought was likely to happen in the week it took Stan to get his memory back

Warnings: light angst, minimal swearing

For Stan Pines, it was the same routine every morning for the last twenty-or-so years: shower, suit, fez, lights, open sign, merchandise, cash register, don't forget to smile, no refunds, etc, etc. But before all of that, somewhere in the haze between the first sip of coffee and the hot water on his face, he always found himself in the basement. There wasn't a real reason for it. It wasn't like he could make much progress that early in the day, but he always went down anyway. Maybe it was just to make sure it was still there. That his twin was still gone. That he hadn't woken from what was simply a horrible nightmare.

On this particular morning, Stan wasn't even sure what day it was, but it didn't matter. The warm summer air told him the shack would be busy and he didn't have any time to waste.

His head hurt like a bitch. Like a bad hangover. He trudged down the hallway in his slippers, stepping over boards and other debris. Must have been a party last night. Gotta tell Soos to clean this up.

The smell of cheap instant coffee filled the kitchen, and Stan squinted at the fridge door. There was a drawing of him magnet-ed to it, and not a great one. Like a kid drew it. Covered in glitter and stickers. "Our Hero," it said. Huh, probably someone's idea of a joke.

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon, bathing the giftshop in soft orange light. Beep, beep, beep. He had learned years ago to put the wrong combination in sometimes, to keep the buttons from wearing unevenly and giving away the real combination. Beep, beep, beep.

"Stanley?"

His mug fell from his grip and shattered on the floor. Coffee seeped into the floorboards and under the vending machine. That name. Stan didn't dare move.

A large hand grabbed his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

With the corner of his eyes, Stan counted the fingers.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

One two three four five six.

Onetwothreefourfivesix.

With a deep inhale and one swift motion, Stan flipped around and grasped the face of the man behind him desperately with both hands.

He whispered, "Standford?"

His brother returned the gesture, playfully grabbing Stan's face and chuckling, "Yes, it's me, Stan."

Stanley choked on his words, he couldn't even think straight.

"How- how did you get here? I never, I- I couldn't fix it." His eyes began to fill with tears and he held on tighter to Stanford's face.

Ford pulled him into a tight hug, which was eagerly reciprocated.

"You did fix it, Stan," he reassured his brother, "You brought me back, you just forgot."

Stan pulled back and looked at Ford, confused.

Ford continued, "You were doing so well last night, I don't know what happened."

"But... I couldn't even find the other journals," Stan insisted.

Ford nodded, "I know, Dipper found them, remember?"

"...Dipper? Ain't that the name of Shermie's grandbaby? I think I was at the birth. How long ago was that?"

"Yes, the twins, Dipper and Mabel." Standford's tone was soft and reassuring, "They live here, they're up in the attic right now."

Stan groaned and rubbed his eyes, "Darn kids, they keep breakin' that window up there."

"Yes!" Ford exclaimed and grabbed Stan by the shoulders excitedly, "They keep breaking the window!"

Stan looked at his twin like he was crazy. "What, are you rootin' for em or something? You're the one that gave her the crossbow." He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

Stanford laughed, "I sure did." He embraced Stan in a hug once again.

"How's your headache today?" he asked.

"Still bad," Stan replied. He looked down at the wet floor and laughed, "I could use another coffee."

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending

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altijdjouwnaantje · 1 year ago

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So y'all know about the ADHD audicity of "well I've never done this, how hard can it be?" right? Well, my undiagnosed mom just went through another iteration of that one.

My mom is an artisan and an artist who started sewing 44 years ago by refashioning my fathers worn-out trousers into tiny baby overalls for my big brother. By necessity because money was tight at the time.

Her skills have grown and grown with clothes and fancy dress for us four kids. By the time I was in elementary school she designed and produced many costumes for a local production of Hendrik Ibsen's Peer Gynt.

So when Raf started talking about his wish to make giants in the Flemish tradition, of course my mom found herself recruited to take on the project.

Last year, she made the stunning costume and bosoms for giantess farmer Anna Serafina De Groote ("Fientje"). The first head that was commisioned for this giantess did not turn out like the beautiful young farmer on the brief, but more like an elderly stroke victim... (Not pictured)

My mom stated she thought she'd be able to do a better job, so naturally she got recruited to do just that.

Over the course of the past year my mom made three giant shoulder pieces, two giant heads, two pairs of giant hands, one giant bonnet and the entire costume for her second giant, Emiel Antoon De Creeser ("Miele"/"Miel")

Of course, because she's extra, she did soooo many calculations to have pretty accurate anatomical proportions. And since last year, the measurements provided for the carrying structure were off, this year, she lengthened Fientje's sleeves, added lace trim over the seamline and added gorgeous cuffs:

The hands are made from shapewear and batting and they also have thick metal wiring in the fingers, which allow the giants to hold things like this basket:

Yesterday was the parade and the giants danced!

After the parade, Miele donned an extra piece of clothing:

A giant version of the vests for volunteers who help keep the neighbourhood clean by picking up litter.

That lettering? Again, my mum calculated how big the logo would need to be to be proportioned equally with a regular size vest, scaled up each individual letter, and drew them all on with permanent marker.

Ivago is the local waste collection and recycling municipality, and they're the "godparents" for this new giant.

So yeah. From sewing overalls for a baby over carnaval costumes and dressing four kids and costuming theatrical productions to making and dressing a 3.5m giant. That's ADHD audacity.

#actually adhd #sewing #giants #sculpting #painting #congrats mom!

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iexistforidkwhatreason · 9 months ago

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My experience with Lumii/HoneyStarlightz/Lumiidere/Lumii after dark/KiramekiCookie

I have to get this out of my system because I'm deadass tired of watching this person wander around as if they're innocent when they aren't, and I'm also annoyed because of people not noticing what this person does behind the scenes because it now takes one quick Google Search using the prompt "Luca Wii Sports" to go down the rabbit hole. This is about HoneyStarlightz/Lumii.

Lemme begin with the minor stuff. So you know how Lumii has a massive grudge against me because of most of, if not all the stuff I drew in my DeviantArt account? Almost everything there was drawn when I was a FUCKING MINOR. I am 20 years old as we speak, and most of the drawings Lumii mentions happened BEFORE MY 18TH BIRTHDAY on the 1st of December, 2021, and I'll admit, during most of that time, I was a dumbass, immature, and an edgelord. I then stopped posting anything bloody and/or revealing but continued to post harmless drawings before my 18th birthday happened. October 11th of last year was when I stopped posting on that account all together because I found out that DeviantArt was blaming Hamas and Hamas only for the Palestinian deaths and making it as if the Israel military didn't do a thing to innocent lives in Palestine after Hamas attacked.

Next, we have them making me look like an asshole for shipping Luca with Abby (The one shipart I made of the two apparently traumatized them). Back when I was 17, I decided to draw Abby and Luca, two Miis I'm not a fan of, nor close to, as a couple because I thought shipping the two was a good idea. I then posted the finished product on the 23rd of January, 2021. The drawing was not meant to traumatize anyone. It was JUST. SHIP. ART. OF. ABBY. &. LUCA. The only bad thing about that drawing was that I shoved my opinion of the two Miis down people's throats in the description by asking how the hell do people like them because to me, they're just not fun to play against at all, and even then, it was drawn three to four years ago, and I don't even ship the two anymore. I ship Abby with Wii U Barbara now. Mate, I didn't even know Lumii EXISTED back then, let alone know they had a massive love for Luca.

Next, there's the clear as day hipocrisy that people have yet to notice somehow. So you know how Lumii has "Opinion Bashers" on their DNI list, right? On that same list, they also have people that hate, despise, even dislike Luca, instantly making them a hypocrite because they said they don't want to interact with people who just cannot tolerate others having a different opinion while also saying that if you think Luca is not a good Mii, you're instantly on their shit list. Also, they said no exceptions, meaning you can be the nicest person in the world, but if you dislike Luca, go fuck yourself.

I have several friends that like Luca a lot, some of which are here on Tumblr. I do not like Luca. We get along perfectly fine. I don't understand why they feel like Luca haters and Luca lovers can't co-exist when they clearly can. Just don't be an ass to others when it comes to what you think of the character, mate.

Lastly, we have the fact that they cannot take criticism. They said criticism is prohibited on their DeviantArt profile, which means that you can say anything positive about their art, but if you say anything negative, then nope. Get out. Oh, I'm so sorry I gave you a harmless critique that was just saying what I didn't like and how you can improve. I apologize.

Seriously tho, how sensitive can you be to the point where you prohibit people from critiquing your work? Or is it that they can't criticize you? Or is it both?

Now we go to the bigger stuff, starting with the TRANSPHOBIA ACCUSATIONS and obvious delusion. They said, and I quote "please shut the fuck up for calling him "Lucapoopa", "Boring", "Annoying", "Scum" and "Tedious" for the love of fucking god, he's fucking overhated and y'all are too harsh and transphobic at him, fucking hell".

Luca is not canonically trans. Don't even say he is because of unused data because I did my research, and the only unused data he has is facial hair related. Don't get me wrong, Luca being trans is a HC that I'm completely fine with. If you want to headcanon him as trans, fine by me. Trans rights all the way, mate. Don't fucking call people transphobic just for disliking Luca tho! Luca is not canonically trans, and even if he was, bold of Lumii to assume that someone that hates Luca hates him because he's trans. He appears as an opponent in three games and there's a chance that he might piss you off in all three.

How delusional do you have to be to see someone hate a character that isn't trans outside of your HC and go "Oh, they're transphobic"?

Next, there's fullblown insensitivity. I decided to check on DeviantArt for something, and I get a DM from someone. We had a chat about Lumii, and in that chat, they showed this...

Can you spot the insensitive part? Here, I'll make it easier for ya.

I'm completely fine with people giving dark backstories to Miis in their HC, but there's a line, and you crossed it. Can we not do rape related headcanons, please? I feel like that should go without saying because, oh, I dunno, that shit is OBVIOUSLY IN BAD TASTE!

Lastly, there's something I cannot show here because if I do, I'm going to get in trouble... It has to do with porn...

Lumii has a total of three accounts that I bumped into while looking at Luca images on Google that have porn of Miis on them. They have a Newgrounds account (KiramekiCookie), which has two drawings of Luca porn, a Bluesky account (Lumii after dark), which has twelve, and a Twitter/X account with the same name, which not only has porn of Luca, but of other Miis too... AND THERE'S AN UNGODLY AMOUNT OF IT, MOST OF IT BEING LUCA PORN! TELL ME YOU'RE OBSSESSED WITH OUT TELLING ME YOU'RE OBSSESSED!

I make YOU uncomfortable, Lumii? I make YOU uncomfortable?! You drew Luca laying eggs, you drew a worrying amount of Luca porn, and yet you have the AUDACITY to say I make YOU uncomfortable when you're obviously worse, you fucking hypocrite?! You drew art that is bound to make several people uncomfortable the moment they see it on the THREE ACCOUNTS you have, you falsely accuse people of transphobia, you obssess over Luca an unhealthy and uncomfortable amount, and yet I'M the one in the wrong because I drew ship art of Luca and Abby and art that has blood on it years ago?! I don't get your logic!

BTW, for those who say that this could've been resolved privately, it couldn't because Lumii has blocked me on DeviantArt, and they also blocked me on an old Tumblr account of theirs too, meaning that talking to them was out of the fucking question. They CLEARLY did not want to talk it out. They just wanted to avoid me entirely while also antagonize me for shit I did years ago that wasn't even that bad compared to the crap they did.

Lumii, if you manage to see this, which I know you will because I know you have a Discord and I know someone's gonna send a screenshot to you on there... All of this could've been avoided had you just been a better person.

#miiblr

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creatchie8 · 2 months ago

Text

Yellow Soul: Chapter Six

Dandelion

Chapter Summary: Six years pass and you find yourself back in Wabang.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI (not really a warning but the reader does have a sister and I decided to name her, I just looked up what was the most popular name in 1998 Wyoming and chose that one lol)

Word Count: 2,700ish

A/N: Yikes!! I'm back and with so much inspiration you guys. Please excuse this chapter, it is honestly not that great but when I was editing it I just didn't know how to fix it. I hope you love it anyway!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist

Fall 2022

You hated lines. You hated them more than anything. The thought of having to wait still with people in the front and back of you? Hell no. But here you are, waiting in line with your baby sister (you really shouldn't say baby, she’s twenty-four now), Madison and about four of her friends to purchase tickets for the Amelia County Fair. She used the excuse that she hadn't seen you in forever to convince you to go, even though you had work early tomorrow.

Two months ago you came back, for good… probably.

After you finished your Masters in Social Work a job opened up in Denver, Colorado. Well paying and far away from Wabang, just what you wanted. You had spent six whole years there making new friends, had a few boyfriends, and even your own apartment.

Madison’s grip tightened on your elbow as the line moved up a foot or two, dragging you on like you were the little sister.

Six years was long enough to make you forget about Perry and the Abbotts. It rarely entered your mind, you were twenty-nine now so there was no use freaking out over something that happened when you were twenty-three. Your parents were wildly understanding when you told them you broke up with Perry, but that’s probably because you didn't tell them any more of the story.

Your dad never mentioned anything about the ring, even though you know Perry asked him for his permission. He never told your mom either, or else you knew she would surely be devastated.

You were happy for Perry, you really were. Your mom told you he got married and had a baby some time after you left, a little girl named Amy. You sometimes saw Cecilia’s posts on Facebook, she was a cute little girl and probably everything Perry would have ever wanted. Every other post was of Amy at a 4H meeting or something she drew that got hung up on the fridge, always with his pretty wife too.

You had to wonder if she really was happy in that tiny house, your ma says she isn't, always hearing about how her and Perry fight like dogs about it. Cecilia’s words, not hers, she always clarifies.

As for Rhett, you certainly saw him less frequently. Sure, he was in some of Cecilia’s Facebook posts, but he hardly ever posted on his socials (like he ever did in the first place). To be honest, you unfollowed the whole family on all social media.

The only time you would look was when you were definitely under the influence and super, super bored.

Sometimes your job didn't allow you to go home on holidays, but you tried the best you could on all major ones.

The last time you saw him was four years ago at your family’s Fourth of July BBQ. Rhett was of course handsome, how could he ever not be? In a plain cornflower blue t-shirt and jeans, he looked almost monochromatic. You two kept your distance in the short time he was there, Cecilia probably dragged him along probably with the promise to Perry that she wouldn't stay there for too long as your mom and her were still best friends.

It is beyond ridiculous looking back from where you are now in life but you didn't know if you should be embarrassed or incredibly turned on when you went back inside for a lighter and found Rhett sitting on the same couch he fucked you in front of. Just chilling with one of your uncles (which then wiped away all forms of desire and just left you with this icky feeling in your chest that you defiled your family’s home).

Finally, you were at the front of the line. The woman taking your cash had a tired expression on her face, counting the bills quickly before asking your group, “Only two dollars more for tickets that include the rodeo. Wanna upgrade?”

You internally groaned as your sister and her friends immediately started bickering, trying to decide if that two dollars extra would be worth it. Looking up at the sky, it started to gradually turn into a pretty deep orange in the horizon. Hugging your denim jacket closer, you were thankful you brought it. It was nice to finally be back in your usual garb, rather than your business casual all day every day.

“I think we should!” A voice rose above the rest. You looked down from the sky and your eyes landed on Maria, a girl your sister admittedly wasn't too close with, but someone she considered a friend anyways.

Maria turned towards the woman, her shiny dark hair whipping around her shoulders as she confirmed the ‘upgrade’ in tickets. Reaching into your pocket you reluctantly pulled out your wallet and plucked two bills out, handing them to Madison who coupled them with hers, handing it into the woman. You watched as she flipped half-heartedly through the paper and turned around in her little booth, grabbing an ink pad and stamp.

Maria was the first one to go, eagerly pushing her fist under the glass cut out and the rest of your group followed through, you being the last one. A soft, “Thank you.” Left your lips as you smiled at the woman who kept her head down through the whole interaction.

When you finally caught up with your sister you grabbed her elbow as she did yours, leaning into her ear as you two walked, “Why is Maria so eager to watch?” You murmured softly as to not catch the attention of the other girls.

“I dunno, probably some guy she likes is riding tonight. She chose the day we were coming here too.” Madison whispered back and you rolled your eyes. So Maria is the one to blame for your sister politely demanding you go this day rather than another day that worked better for you.

With the group you walked around till sundown, stuffed full with fry bread and ice cream. A few times Madison bought something and begged you to try it. Fried oreos, loaded fries, pleading with you as she tried her hardest to offer you a fried pickle spear that you were insistent on declining on account of all the other fried foods you ate earlier.

You didn’t get a sip of water till you sat down in the stadium seats, twisting off the top of your plastic bottle you basically downed the whole thing in one sitting.

Mutton busting was always a fan favorite, sweet little kids with ridiculous names like Gunnar and Zadie holding on for dear life as their crisp white sheep zips through the arena. The family of one of the kids sat right behind your group, hooting and hollering as their little TrudyMae was one of the last girls still holding on.

“Wanna go to the concession stand?” Your sister’s unexpected whisper startled you, whipping your head around to playfully glare at her.

“Yeah of course I do.” You smacked her shoulder and got up, swinging your leg over the empty seats in front of you.

Down at the concession stand, you both got a cup of cheap beer.

“Why does this literally taste like ass?” Madison exclaimed as you started walking away from the booth, her face wrinkled up as she leaned over to steal a sip yours, disappointed to see that it tasted the exact same. You shrugged your shoulders and looked at the lonely ice cube swimming in the yellow liquid, it indeed tasted horrible.

“I dunno, makes me wonder why everyone gets it.” You laugh, looking around at all the people around you also holding the clear solo cups.

When you made it back to the stairs, a handsome man was standing at the top. He smiled at you under a thick mustache, stepping to the side as you climbed the stairs. You smiled sheepishly back, heat reaching your cheeks as he tipped his head towards you, the brim of his cowboy hat covering his eyes.

“Howdy.” He drawled, the gold chain under his button up glinting in the stadium lights.

“Hey.” You replied, almost tripping over your boots as you passed him.

When you were a safe enough distance away, your sister squealed like a toddler, grabbing your shoulder and shaking, “Oh my god did you see that? He was so cute! And he was looking directly at you.” She gushed, and you did admit the interaction did make you lighter on your feet.

Your beer sloshed as you grabbed on to the railing to steady yourself.

Opening your mouth in an attempt to say something witty, you glance up into the stands and your blood goes cold. Perry and his parents were sitting almost all the way at the top, a little blonde girl was sitting next to him, swinging her legs and playing on someone’s phone.

“Why are the Abbotts here?”

Madison stopped in her tracks and raised an eyebrow at you, “Girl, what?”

“Don’t ‘girl what’ me. I’m just… I don't know, I didn’t expect them to be here.” You mutter frantically as you desperately try to get her to start walking again, the two of you stopped almost directly in front of their section.

She started moving again, pursing her lips, “I thought you were over Perry. You know he has a kid-”

“I am! You know I am. Let’s just drop it, Madison.” You cut her off before she could say anything else, closing in on your section.

Bull riding had already begun, the rodeo clown was running around and clinging onto fences as the bull charged him, the crowd around you laughing hysterically at his ridiculous outfit and his attempts to distract the animal from hurting the rider that got flung to the ground.

You sipped on your warm beer as you watched man after man, not paying attention to the scores or really what the announcer was saying. You glanced over a few times to look at the Abbotts, thankfully a group was always standing in front of them, prohibiting you from seeing them, so you stopped.

“Alright Amelia County, let’s hear it for our local boy, Rhett Abbott.”

Immediately, your ears perked up at the sound of the announcer, promptly abandoning the hangnail you were chewing on in favor of scanning the back fencing to find Rhett.

“He’s gonna be ridin’ Twister, one of the more ranked bulls you're gonna see here tonight.”

The MC’s voice was almost drowned out by all the excitement going on around you, seemingly everyone there for Rhett. As the guys in front of you stood up to watch, so did you, rapidly jumping to your feet to see over them. You did a double take to the side, Maria standing the same time you did, her hands coming to her mouth to project her voice.

Rhett was locked in the chute straddling a massive gray bull, you could barely make out his facial expression with how far away you were. Before he could even wrap the rope around his hand, Twister was already getting anxious and ramming his spotted flank against the metal of the pen.

In the time that it took you to blink, he was out. Truly, it felt like the longest six seconds of your life. Rhett barely made it out of the chute, Twister bucking and flinging his body every which way.

A gasp left your body when Rhett’s body hit the ground, everyone around you groaning in defeat. Your eyes flicked to the scoreboard and you sat when you saw the results.

“Damn, was hopin’ for a better ride from him.” Muttered Madison, crossing her jean clad legs.

“Bummer.” Chirped her friend on her other side, nodding in agreement. Leaning forward a bit you wondered what Maria would say, waiting for her exclamation. She just looked disappointed, pulling out her phone.

It was time to go home, but you strayed from the group. When you got down from the stands, Madison eagerly pointed you in the direction of the mustached man you encountered earlier, giddy when you finally gave in and said you would try to go find him.

Making your way through the hoards of people, you headed over to behind the arena where the contestants park their trailers. You really weren't allowed in this part of the grounds, but as long as you looked confident, no one would question you. You were certainly dressed the part of a bull rider's girlfriend anyways.

A white straw hat was what you were searching for, which would be pretty uncommon since the weather was getting colder. He was pretty tall too, which made it even easier to spot him when you did, making you instantly smile and start speed walking towards him.

The mysterious man had his back to you, chatting with others who you could only assume to be his friends.

In your hurry to get to him you accidentally clash shoulders with a random man headed opposite of you. In any other circumstance you would stop and apologize profusely, but you were on a mission.

Turning your body halfway, you start side stepping, “Oh my- I’m so sorry, sorry mister!”

You cringed as he gave you a dirty look and waved you off, making you press your teeth together tightly as you turned.

A tuft of weeds in the otherwise smooth dirt path gets under your feet, making you stumble and trip on your own shoes. To make it even worse, you are suddenly met with someone’s chest. You start falling backwards, your arms go up instinctively but whoever you just ran into grabs your forearms right before you fall back on your ass.

“Thank you, god I am so, so sorry sir. I-” You begin to ramble trying to regain your balance. You try to pull your arms back but are met with resistance, looking up in confusion why this man won't let you go.

It’s like in the movies, the whole world goes quiet around you two.

“You're back.” Rhett states, looking down at you. His cheek was already showing signs of bruising and his eye was bloodshot, probably from the face-first fall he took in the arena.

Nodding, your heart quickened at the realization of your closeness.

If he wasn't all muscle then, he sure was now. Rhett was still sporting the longer hair, darker in color but still long enough to curl behind his ears like it did six years ago. He wasn't clean shaven anymore either, the lightest bit of stubble dusting his jaw that you now notice was also bruised up.

“I am.” You confirm, voice trembling the tiniest bit, “Two months ago. I live in Lander.” Long gone was the thought of the other man you were searching for. Rhett’s gorgeous blue eyes searched yours, he had light wrinkles around them and between his eyebrows.

“Why?” Rhett asks like it has a simple answer. He asks it like he’s talking about the weather or how birds know to chirp.

He’s still holding your arms hostage, but when you glance down from his face you find your own hands fisting the thick leather vest he has on.

Looking up, you tilt your head the tiniest bit. His breath fanning out on your face in soft puffs. He smells like sweat, beer, and dirt. It envelops you like warmth on a summer day.

“My dad is uh… he’s sick. So I’m helpin’ my momma take care of him.” It was a lot more complicated than that.

“‘m sorry, I had no idea-”

“It’s okay, how could you know?” Your thumbs rubbed over the leather, the frayed stitching fibers moving up and down with each stroke.

Rhett looked up from your face and at the dying crowd around you, looking like he was searching for something. Turning your face in the direction he was staring, you saw nothing and went back to him.

Every unresolved repressed feeling you had within the last six years pushed its way into your throat, suffocating you completely.

Letting go of his vest, you pulled against his hands, “I gotta go, Madison’s waiting for me.” You whispered, Rhett’s eyes snapping back to yours.

“Just, just stay a little longer-” Rhett starts, furrowing his brow. You shake your head and he finally releases you reluctantly, his palms sliding from your wrists to your hands, letting go finally as his fingertips brush yours.

That was the second time you ran away from Rhett Abbott.

See me on AO3 as Creatchie8 too for a full list of tags & more!

#lewis pullman #rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott outer range #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott imagine #lewis pullman characters #outer range imagine #outer range fanfiction #outer range fic #yellow soul #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x you #female reader

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rabbitsrams · 1 year ago

Text

memories -- jschlatt x reader

warnings: ANGST. that's all

wordcount: 1.2k

a/n: WOOHOO STELLA WROTE A LONG FORM FIC

It's been two years since the breakup.

You were mostly over it, having moved all of your stuff out of your shared apartment and blocked him everywhere. The breakup was amicable but you had a feeling that 100% cutting him off would be easier for you.

You were now in the process of finally moving out of your parents' house (again) and into a new place. They let you move back in following the breakup and with that plus struggling to find a decent job, you were stuck there for a while. But this was a good sign, a sign of change. A sign of moving to the next thing.

As you went through your childhood bedroom for the last time, searching for anything that you may have left behind, you came across an old picture stuffed away in your desk drawer.

It was from that photobooth from the zoo. The zoo that you went to with Schlatt all those years ago. All of a sudden, memories began flocking back to you the more you stared at it.

The thing itself was a strip of four photos, four photos that made it seem like the two people in them were hopelessly in love. Which, at the time, they were. Two young, naive kids who were completely oblivious to what was going to come.

“Schlatt, come in here! There's a photobooth!”

”Wait, we don't wanna leave the group behind!“

”Come on! It'll be quick! I wanna have a memory from today.“

”Oh, alright.“

The photobooth was pretty small. You could only just fit together. Schlatt lifted your leg so it could rest on his and so you could be closer. The machine's garbled voice instructed the two of you on what was going to happen, telling you that four photos will be taken in intervals.

The first photo was simple, with the two of you smiling together. Schlatt had his arm around you and you leaned close to him. The flash completely blinded you two, so the second picture was of you covering your eyes, laughing at the circumstances.

The third photo had you kissing him on the cheek, his face crimson and a smitten expression on his face. And finally, the fourth one had Schlatt kissing you on the lips.

The machine was waiting for you to pay for the photos, asking in that same garbled voice for you to insert cash or a credit card. But you were too busy kissing each other to pay attention.

You eventually broke away when an angry father opened the curtain, demanding you two hurry up so him and his daughter could use the booth. You apologized to both of them profusely as Schlatt took his card out and paid for the photos.

You each got a copy of the photos, grinning at how good the pictures turned out. There was a permanent marker lying on the top of the photo dispenser. You grabbed it and wrote the date and drew a little heart with your initials on his. He took the marker from you and did the same.

You turned the strip over, seeing Schlatt's familiar handwriting. It got you wondering if he still wrote his e's like that, still added a little smiley face at the end of his notes, still had the photo like you did.

You wanted to throw it away. You wanted to completely free yourself from those memories. Memories that made you smile but hurt you at the same time. Memories of a relationship that was no more.

But there was something inside you that urged you to keep it, to bring it with you to your new place. It didn't have to be displayed on your corkboard or on your fridge. You could hide it away with your other hidden things and look at it if the urge was there.

You could still hold on.

——————————————————————————————————

Schlatt had returned to New York for a family party. It's been a while since he's been back after moving to Texas a few months after your breakup. His childhood room still looked the same and had a lot of old memories from his life.

He decided to do a little video for his second channel, giving his audience a little tour of the space they were familiar with before moving to a new space. It was going to be fun looking through old stuff from making videos at that time and

As he was going through a drawer by his desk, he saw a folded sheet inside. Putting his camera down, he took the sheet and unfolded it, surprised to feel it was camera paper as opposed to notebook paper. And he was met with quite a surprise at what the photo contained.

Seinor prom. He was dressed all nice in a tuxedo, smiling at the camera as his arms were around your middle. You were beaming, your dress being that same dress he helped pick out because it was his favorite shade of blue. You had a corsage on your wrist that he remembered the petals tickling your wrist every time you moved it.

You looked so beautiful.

He was surprised that he kept the photo, considering he made it a vow to get rid of everything. He must not have brought this photo with him when moving into that apartment.

He shut the camera off, planning to go back to recording soon. He exammined the photo, remembering that entire night.

He picked you up that night, sheepishly smiling as your parents gave him looks. Looks that would guarantee something happening to him if he ever hurt their daughter.

You looked so beautiful in your dress, in your makeup, with your hair styled so nicely. He almost forgot to give you the corsage because he could not stop staring at you.

The limo was also so nice, with you, him and your shared friends all chatting as loud music blared from the speakers. He loved how you made conversation with the driver after being dropped off, thanking them and apologizing if the group was too loud.

He dragged you to the line for prom pictures, to which you sighed because of how long it was. But the time went by fairly quickly because of how engrossed you were in a conversation.

He laughed at how cheesy the backdrop was, multi-colored fringe foil decorations barely covering the gymnasium door. The photographer, completely uninterested in what he was doing, simply told the two of you to pose and do whatever. He wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you tight as you both grinned.

"Ah! The corsage tickles!"

Schlatt folds the photo back up, this time stuffing it inside an empty pill bottle by his desk. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of the photo. He knew he still had some feelings for you even after all this time. He hated himself for hurting you so much and wished that things could have worked out.

He was hurt when he saw you blocked him, but he knew it was crucial for you to heal. And he hoped that you were doing well with everything you wanted to pursue. Your happiness was all that mattered.

He swore that he was over you, swore that he would be okay without you. But after seeing that photo, he wasn't sure if he was.

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt fanfiction #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt imagine #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt angst #schlatt angst #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt fanfic

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kizashige · 1 year ago

Note

I have recently gotten into Persona 4, and I luckily remembered you also really liked souyo back in 2019. However I cannot find any of your souyo fanarts, so I wanted to ask if you have any of those works achieved somewhere?

When I was very into Corpse Party I was utterly enchanted by your kizashige fanart, and I believe we have had hours long conversations about those two a while ago. I was wondering if you had similar complex and well developed thoughts about Yu and Yosuke’s relationship as well?

Thank you! :)

ah most of my old p4 art is on another blog but whatever I posted was maybe just 1% of what I actually ever drew. persona 4 was my last big interest, I got into it in 2016 so I was really obsessed with it for a long time, but I didn't post my art much back then (and it's so old, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that now).

however last year, I was part of a souyo zine but I never posted my piece. this would be the first time I'm showing this off

I still love persona 4. it remains one of my favorite games of all time and was definitely a major influence towards my current taste.

I think about this often, but one thing that p4 really influenced me now with corpse party is that I've always focused on the metaphorical aspect of the darkening first, that it twists a character's desires rather than it being a completely literal corruption. it's a similar mechanic as the shadows throughout the persona series. shadows in persona are uncomfortable, contorted representations of a person's psyche, that aren't entirely true. the darkening is just as ugly and awful and confusing. it's all about symbolism.

another thing is that I focus a lot on the societal aspects in kizami and morishige's characters, how being neurodivergent and just * being different * affects them in their everyday social life, which is also a very present theme throughout persona. like, yeah, they're fun characters because they're gorehounds, but that's not The Thing that got me attached to them in the first place. I often wonder if I hadn't been into p4 before, if I would have read their characters very, very differently.

ANYWAYS, when it comes to yu and yosuke's relationship, I also had very particular ideas of their characters and dynamic to where I was quite miserable being in the fandom. you've given me the opportunity to rant about this, so as someone who was obsessed with souyo for almost four years straight, I basically hated yu and yosuke's characterization in fandom.

people who hate yosuke, whatever, but people who thought yosuke was just a happy-go-lucky, bubbly idiot who always needed yu to scold him for being homophobic pissed me off so much. souyo fans are basically incapable of addressing yosuke's internalized homophobia in any meaningful way because all they do is make yu their mouthpiece for times where they themselves wanted to scold yosuke while playing the game, thus so much fanwork comes across more as just self inserting rather than writing yu as an actual character with his own personality where he can be just as immature and dumb, even in his own dialogue options. I guess this is just the nature of working with a silent protagonist, but I hated it so much. clearly, I still do.

I related to yosuke a lot as many other people did, but I was a BIG fan of shadow yosuke and cared a lot on what that guy meant for yosuke's overall character. yosuke is so often reduced to his homophobia, that many people miss out on his general issues with wanting to be special and to stand out, and how this makes him a very clear parallel to adachi. I think yu is a parallel to adachi mostly through their narrative roles as protagonist and antagonist and through such symbolism, but the parallels between yosuke and adachi go beyond just that and to the core of their personalities and backgrounds and that always made me crazy.

adachi and yosuke both suffer from constant boredom, masking, resenting everything around them, and feeling so unfulfilled in life. the difference is that yosuke was able to make real friends, instead of becoming obsessed with his own ineptitude and pessimism like adachi did.

and that really, really got to me about yosuke's character. I loved how much he hated everyone and everything around him, I loved that he was basically living his life aimlessly, that he was trying so hard to find some purpose, that he always made mistakes and fucked up and would act out by being an asshole either intentionally or unintentionally. his homophobia was only * one * part of that.

I don't have as much to say about yu individually, but my interpretation of him was always that loneliness was a major part of his character. his implied backstory of always moving around and having neglectful parents leading him to being very apathetic to most people as a result, only to then be terrified of letting go once he finally found people he belongs with. I was obsessed with how the anime ran with his abandonment issues, how he kept everyone in a timeloop because he didn't want to be alone again.

basically, I always saw yosuke as someone who was pissed off deep down and wanted an escape through the tv world, and that yu was someone who wanted to belong somewhere so much, that it scared him. that they were two lonely, socially inept, fumbling teenagers who wanted to mean something to someone. I thought they were obsessed with each other.

I've said a lot and I could probably say more, but this was definitely an interesting ask as yu and yosuke have sort of just been in the background for me these past few years. I think whatever I wanted out of souyo I saw in kizashige a lot as well, which is funny because to an outsider, they're incredibly different ships. this tweet says it all though.

#long post #as always

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munsonsreputation · 1 year ago

Text

I THINK THERES BEEN A GLITCH

CHAPTER FOUR: WHAT'S IN OUR SYSTEM

↢ chapter three | series masterlist | chapter five ↣

🎧 soundtrack

steve harrington x fem!baker + artist

word count: [12K]

warnings: no use of y/n, talks / mentions of mental spiral, fluff overload (everyone buckle up and prepare to be mush by the end)

summary: you and steve find yourselves entangled in something else besides your feelings. all of the fun things — skin and bones, breakfast and laughter, goodbyes and hellos. it’s dizzying, like a drug that flows your systems and should have the both of you wondering if it’s in any of your best interests. it’s not worth denying or thinking other wise… you both know you’ve made promises, now it’s up to you both to keep them.

It’s the same room and the same bed Steve had been spending most of his life sleeping in. Worn out and faded gray bed sheets that were long overdue to be replaced and pillows that lost their fluffiness years ago. His bed was nothing special, just the place where he would burrow under after all his hardest days and battles.

But these days his bed was just a place of hiding — somewhere he would go to in order to pass time hoping he could seek comfort even when he knew he couldn’t.

He’d lay and stare up at the ceiling waiting for his parents to drive off so he could finally go down and make himself some food without being victim to a lengthy lecture.

He’d even bunch up the blankets, using them to cover his ears and drown out his parents arguing, which was usually over something so stupid that could’ve been solved with a simple ‘sorry’ or if one of them finally kept quiet and let the other speak.

He managed to master the art of forcing himself to fall asleep so he could escape it, but it always seemed to follow him in his dreams… all the pent up anxiety about the future and how scared he was that he’d turn out just like his parents.

Stuck in the cycle and forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around him.

It was only really a comfortable bed when they weren’t around, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t lonely.

Hearing absolute silence was just as torturous as hearing his mom and dad fight.

A beautiful home, fully furnished that housed the picture perfect family only for it to be amounted to a place that didn’t feel like home at all. What a waste of space that had so much potential for a joyous family to actually live and create memories in. All it was now was filled with loneliness and nightmares.

But there were always those rare occasions where he could dream up a life that didn’t feel so lonely. A place with someone who he cherished and who felt like home to him — more than any furniture or square footage could make him feel.

Last night was one of those nights and only this time he realized it wasn’t a dream.

Through his sluggish eyes, he could still see the indentation in the shape of you from the night before. The little details of the way your arms had laid against the sheets and how your body shifted during the night. Your… his pillow etched with the silhouette of your head and your hair that sprawled over it.

The covers were partly thrown off to the side with you nowhere to be found. And as Steve weakly drew them up just to steal two more minutes of the morning warmth, he was greeted with a big waft of everything you.

The two minutes in bed didn’t seem enticing anymore. He just wanted to get to you now.

Vanilla filling his senses and coaxing his eyes wide awake.

Jasmine brightened up his energy as he made the bed.

Sweet peaches calmed his limbs as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror and got himself freshened up for the day.

It should’ve worried him, the way that you could’ve called Nance and have her bring you to Joyce and Hop’s to get your car and head home. Leaving him without saying goodbye or talking about what happened last night. But the anxiety didn’t seem to run through his veins when it came to you or this… he felt safe and tranquil knowing you were still here.

You had put his mind at ease, promising you would be.

Last night he emerged from the bathroom, bare chested with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his waist. His room was ill-lit, drapes blocking out most of the moonlight, letting only his weak lamp gleam up the corner of the bedroom.

You were already settled and comfortable, fast asleep in his bed. Covers brought up to your shoulders and your knees tucked up, curled like a baby snoozing soundly — or so Steve thought.

He smiled at the sight, content to know that at least you found his bed to be peaceful enough to sleep in. One hand came down to pull the covers up higher over you to keep you warm through the night. His palm lingering over your collarbone, watching and feeling you breathe in and out softly… the memory ingrained in his mind forever now.

“Night, sweet thing.”

It was a muted murmur, the last thing he was supposed to say before he switched off the light and headed downstairs to take the couch, but you had responded.

“Stay,” you stirred softly, shifting against the blankets as you picked up a throaty chuckle. Steve huffing out something about how you almost scared him to death.

But he grinned a tiny bit, crouching down to move the damp strands of hair that covered your cheeks. “You’ve been up this whole time?” he asked quietly, not wanting to invade the tranquil space.

“Mhm,” you crooned, peeping open your eyes to see him through your doziness.

His hair was still wet, itty-bitty beads of water sprinkling his exposed shoulders and the furs on his chest. He looked refreshed, but it was clear that he needed to get some much needed rest.

“We can share the bed, tonight,” you said faintly, bringing one of your hands up from beneath the covers to wrap around his wrist, “please?”

He swore you could feel his pulse in your touch, not that he minded. It felt so raw and so real different from anything he’s ever felt before. Everything about it felt almost sacred, like something out of his wildest dreams just feeling like he was needed by someone when he knew deep down it was him needing you all this time.

“Okay.” He nodded without faltering. He was met with you smiling sleepily at him, finally letting up on his wrist while you moved over to make space for him.

The lamp clicked off, cascading the room with complete darkness as he pulled back the covers and got in beside you. He was careful, putting a few inches between the both of you not knowing if closing it was something you were comfortable with.

“You can come closer,” you whispered quietly, letting your fingertips skim over his arm, letting him know he was alright to do so.

It was almost like second nature, his body drifting closer to you as you closed the remaining millimeters and draped your arms over his. You were like a bear clinging to him, yearning for his warmth and he was pleased to provide it to you on nights like this and forever, for that matter.

“Comfortable?” He chuckled bemused, looking down and seeing your head smushed under his pillow, seeking the proximity the same way he was.

“Extremely.” You sighed contently, breathing him in as your eyes fluttered shut.

Steve’s bed would never be the same, and it’s a sudden pang in his heart when he realized it because now you’ve turned it into a sacred oasis that he never wants to leave.

He swallowed nervously, letting his thumb trace circles over your shoulder. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too…very very happy.” You replied sleepily, letting your head nod against his skin letting the sleep consume you.

Steve didn’t want to ruin the moment, to sound desperate when you were trying to fall asleep and so should he. But he just had to ask… to make sure this wasn’t all in his head even when it was so delicate already.

“Will you be here in the morning?” His voice was shaky, trying to keep it stable and composed.

You didn’t waste another second, more awake than ever, as you opened your eyes and smiled up at him.

“I promise.”

That night there wasn’t any silence or his parents fighting — no agonizing sounds keeping him from feeling like this wasn’t a holy place. It was your breathing, gentle inhales and exhales as he watched your chest rise, wondering if you were dreaming about him. With each passing second that he listened to your breathing, taking it in like a lullaby to his ears, he let his eyes float closed, drawing him somewhere where it was just you and him.

His footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs that he jogged down, turning towards the living room and into the kitchen where he was met with your back facing him.

You were still dressed in his clothes, a pair of striped boxer shorts rolled over your waistline and an old faded Hawkins track team t-shirt — they both looked better on you than it ever did him.

His cheeks rose, lips tugging into a smile as he approached you. His arms rested on either side of the counter, caging you in, “morning, early bird.”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” you teased with a giggle, leaning into the peck that he pressed on your cheek before turning to him and frowning deceptively. He looked almost worried, like he might have done something wrong, but then you broke into a grin.

“I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed.” You admitted, turning your head to the dining table where you had already prepared some cut up fruit in a bowl with a side of honey and yogurt you found in the fridge.

He ruined your surprise, yet didn’t feel an ounce of regret. Instead, his heart flocked with fever, blood rushing, and his cheeks beginning to grow sore with how much broader he was smiling now.

Breakfast in bed? An actual meal and not just a piece of toast slathered in peanut butter… not that he would ever mind if you brought him that because he’d eat anything you’d give him. But this just feels other worldly.

“That’s sweet,” he replied appreciatively, letting the smile linger on his face because he was quite sure he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to — all of this was just too much for his heart to handle, “but you could’ve slept in, I wouldn’t have minded at all.”

He’d skip breakfast if it meant he got to lie awake in the morning sunlight and watch you dream until you woke. But he also wouldn’t want to pass out on this, the sweetness of the moment with you being here and doing this for him when you didn’t have to.

You shrugged, setting down the whisk you were using for the pancake batter and letting your arms wrap around his neck, stretching yourself into him in a hug. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in his arms, cradling your back and pulling you closer.

“I wanted to… felt right.” Your words springing against his skin like a million tiny kisses.

Right there in that moment, everything felt right.

He pulled back just enough to see you, a pout playing on your lips not being able to hide away in his neck. “Well, at least let me help. I can make a mean scrambled egg.” He smirked, wiggling his brow as you glanced up at him and giggled.

You rested your chin on his chest, keeping your orbs on him, and you’re sure you looked a mess.

Hair still a little tangled within the hideous bun you tossed it up into this morning. And your face looking dull not having the chance to give it a proper wash and moisturize with your beloved products waiting at your apartment.

You shouldn’t feel your best, but all of those silly insecurities don’t seem to matter, not when Steve is looking at you with fondness in his eyes, like he’s done it a million times before. Taking you in like you’re the sunshine and he’s the flora, leaves eager to soak you in and bask in your rays for as long as you’d let him.

Nothing about this feels weird or nerve racking. If anything, it feels comfortable, like home. A kind of familiarity the two of you just decided to lie in together.

Finally, after all the morning ogling, you answer him. “I’d be a fool to pass out on it, Chef Harrington.”

You tapped your fingertips along the back of his neck and he laughed at the feeling, tucking his chin down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “On it.”

Steve has moved around this kitchen many times before. He’s not the best cook in the world, almost cuts his fingers off every time he tries to finely chop ingredients or nearly burns himself with how hot he lets the pan get. But he knows how to cook food that tastes good and keeps him fed.

But you… you moved around his kitchen like it’s the waltz and you made it look effortless. The way you strode from the cabinets in search of something, eyes lighting up when you found the brown sugar and hugging it to your chest as you stepped back to grab a small bowl. You poured a teeny serving in, rolling the bag shut and striding back to put it where you found it.

You took the gooey eggshells from his hands as you swept past him, discarding them into the trash and giving your hands a wash under the tap before you dried them on a towel resting on the counter. Then you’re back at the stove, peppering a light dust of brown sugar over the raw pancake batter and giving them a flip.

It’s as if you rehearsed it — the rise and fall of every movement you make and how you make the space feel alive even in the early hours. It’s an addicting sight, like something Steve wants to watch over and over again in real time… but only, there are eggs in his pan and he’d be damned if he would mess up the first thing he’s ever cooked for you.

“What’s that for?” Steve cleared his throat with a cough, tearing his eyes from you and turning them towards the stove.

You hummed, facing him and observing how he pulled the raw eggs towards the center of the pan with the spatula. He’s focused — you’re about to have the best scrambled eggs of your life and the slight tip he gives the pan proves it to you.

“It gives them a little crust with some sweetness. That way, you don’t have to use too much syrup and it doesn’t get soggy by the time you’re done cooking them all.” You told him.

“And where’d you learn that?” He asked, taking his eyes off the pan and bringing them straight to yours.

Your shoulders bounced, bottom lip moving over your top one. “Nowhere specific, kinda just experimented, and it worked!”

Steve should’ve known… you’re far better in the kitchen than he is and he’d take all your advice, self taught or read in a cookbook.

“Smart girl.” He complimented with a coy smile as you grinned before you both turned back to the dishes.

The next seven minutes were spent with Steve plating the eggs and you forming a stack of brown sugar pancakes on top of one another. He worked on setting the table, grabbing extra napkins to get close by and making sure you both had clean glasses.

Even when you weren’t at home, you were always trying to be a good host. This time finding yourself in his fridge, moving bottles and containers over as if it would help you find something that wasn’t there.

“Are you sure you don’t want orange juice? I swear I could juice some right now!” You called out, eyeing the fresh fruits that sat in the produce drawer.

Steve barked out a laugh, head shaking, when you turned your head over your shoulder to see him. His eyes pointed to the table, the empty seat that was yours waiting for you. “Stop it! Water is fine… just come to the table, please.”

You huffed defeatedly with phony annoyance, strolling to the table with nothing in hand as Steve already grabbed you both a fresh cup of cold water. He made a scene, pretending to bow as he dramatically dragged your chair out for you while you covered your face and snickered behind them. You took a seat and even let him push you in.

The both of you opt to side by side instead of face to face — it was more comfortable and special that way, even when your knees occasionally bumped under the table.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” Steve spoke suddenly, grasping your wrist and holding it gently.

He said it like you didn’t use all of his groceries and made a mess of his kitchen. Like you were doing him a favor, something he didn’t deserve, when all you wanted to do was show him how much he deserved all the special moments of life, even homemade breakfast.

You grinned timidly, swinging your head as your other hand rested on top of his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “It’s really no problem. You did let me spend the night and take your bed.”

His face fell with feign skepticism. “Technically, we shared,” he countered with a lifted brow.

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue. “Okay, yeah, but still! I wanted to do this…really really wanted to do this for you.”

Steve could read between the lines, understanding where you were getting at without actually saying it.

How yesterday the mental spiral had taken a toll on him even after you promised you would spend the night at his. He was particularly quiet, keeping to himself and not having the energy to do much talking, but you didn’t mind, frequently turning to him and offering a comforting glimpse, rubbing a tender hand over his shoulder to ease his nerves.

You didn’t make him feel like there was something wrong with him or try to force him into the conversations when he didn’t want to. Instead, you let him be and made it clear that everything was alright. That you would be there when he felt lost and scared, even if he striked out and had to crawl back home.

He shouldn’t have turned the night he was anticipating into a long road of catastrophic blues. The words the kids had said without thinking should’ve bounced off of him like nothing. But instead he spent the night beside you wondering if how he was feeling was a mistake, if it was really all in his head the way he thought it was, or maybe how wrong and selfish it was to ask you to stay the night.

The whirlwind of uncertainty floating away when you grabbed his hand from under the table and gave it three squeezes when no one was paying attention. It was then and there that he knew you didn’t have any plans to leave… at least not without him.

All of that was true, seeing as though you were here in front of him.

He smiled kindly, eyes full of gratitude for you taking the time to do this for him even if it meant you missed out a few more minutes of sleep. Soon he’d find a way to make it up to you, but he wasn’t quite sure if anything he did would top this.

The two of you plated yourselves some food, digging in and enjoying one another’s presence in the early morning air that enveloped you both. And as per usual, Steve wasn’t subtle when it came to something you’ve made yourself. His fork clinked against the plate after he took a bite of the pancakes, throwing his head back on the chair and moaning loudly as he chewed.

“You’re a dork!” You chided, shaking your head as you laughed and slapped a hand over your mouth.

His head lifted up slightly, patting his bare stomach and giving it a rub. “That’s incredible, you’ve gotta trademark that or something.”

“I don’t think I could trademark food, can I?” Your eyes narrowed, thinking if that was a possibility because it didn’t sound bad.

He shrugged, sitting up straight and cutting himself another piece. “No clue, but you should try it. This is better than the boxed stuff,” he said, popping the fork into his mouth.

“It’s not too tricky, I could teach you how to make the batter from scratch next time?” You offered with a warm smile, eyes showing how genuine you really were about it.

He smiled tightly, nodding his head and speaking with a half full mouth making you grin. “I’d keep the recipe a secret… promise.”

Like something alike, you wanted to keep him a secret, and you’d be his if he let you.

But it would be a shame for either of you to be each other’s secret. Neither of you wanted to hide the other away from the world — far from that, actually.

He’d shout it from the rooftops and you’d paint it in the skyline — how special you both were to each other even after this short time. Have you both known each other for twenty seconds or twenty years?

Neither of you knew nor did you care because all that mattered was the lifetime you wanted to spend together like this. How this morning and last night felt so easy, as if you’ve spent the night in each other’s arms and woke up in them in some past life before.

Time was funny, but you and Steve never minded, not when this kind of feeling was soaring through your systems at an alarming pace.

The table was quiet for a few minutes, just the forks running against the ceramic and tolerable chewing. The two of you were stealing glances at each other when he was too busy spooning yogurt into his mouth and when you stared out the window watching the birds fly by.

Steve dredged his fingers clean, propping his elbow on the table as he watched you pick up the ice cold glass of water and finally tear your eyes away from the window to catch him.

“How do you like Joyce and Hop?” He proposed, not getting the chance to ask you last night before you both went to bed.

You gulped down the water, eyes lighting up. “Oh, they’re wonderful! They were really welcoming and made me feel right at home.”

He wasn’t surprised at all; he knew they’d love you and you’d love them — Hop and Joyce practically talked your ear off and you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, grateful that they were keen on getting to know you better without making you feel like you were being interrogated.

“Hopper didn’t bore you with his do-it-yourself kitchen renovation stories?” He questioned with a chuckle, reliving the vile conversation that came up during the dinner.

You scrunched your nose, catching his drift right away and your shoulders shuddering a bit. “I could’ve gone without knowing he found a huge rat in the walls, but at least now I know if I need an exterminator I could give him a call.”

“Trust me, he would have way too much fun going around and looking for things to fix.” He warned with no actual malice, just preparing you for the dad-mode Hop would be in if the occasion ever arose.

You snapped your finger as if you remembered something.

“Like the lock Max picked! It was pretty impressive, but I think it’s also a major safety issue.” Your voice falling with the realization.

He furrowed his brows, dropping his chin from his fists, face painted with worry and confusion. “Wait, Max picked your lock? When was this?”

“Oh, Robin didn’t tell you?” he shook his head, watching you sit up, “they stopped by that morning after you left and I guess I forgot to set my alarm and they were waiting outside in the hot sun so Max picked the lock to get in.”

You revealed the situation like it was totally normal for them to be breaking and entering. Meanwhile, Steve’s head was whirling with fear at how easy your lock must have been to pick if they managed to get in even after he was sure he locked it from the inside before he left.

He would definitely tell you later to get the locks changed for safety purposes.

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, letting his shoulders slump with disappointment. “I swore I told her to stop doing that.”

You lifted your brow suspiciously. “Did she pick your lock?”

“Worse.” He groaned, pinching his eyes shut at the memory from a few months ago. “She picked the lock to the arcade just after closing so she could beat Dustin’s high score on Dig Dug.”

You gasped, eyes widened slightly, and a laugh caught midway through your chest. “Did she get caught?” You asked partly stifled, not believing she could actually get away with it.

But he shook his head, further surprising you and somehow your eyes got larger, watching as he mimed her actions.

“She went to the back room and deleted the security camera footage before leaving. That’s when Robin and I closed up Family Video and caught her trying to leave out the backdoor.”

“What happened after?” You leaned in closer, waiting for the continuation of the story.

He lifted his hand in a dismissive manner, lips pursing accompanied with a playful tone in his voice, “Oh you know, classic lecture and threats of taking her to Hopper—”

You didn’t look convinced, narrowing your eyes. “She wasn’t scared at all was she?”

“Not one bit,” he deadpanned before smiling defeatedly, “she asked me to give her a ride home and gave Robin a stuffed animal she stole from the backroom.”

“You know she could make a stealthy spy.” You pointed your fork at him before stabbing a piece of apple on its prongs.

He crossed his arms across his chest and sneered, “Oh trust me, she does enough snooping… alllll of the kids do.”

“But they’re all really sweet. They probably all have good intentions and just might have questionable ways of going about it.”

He knew you were right, and yesterday was a prime example of that.

The kids meant well just trying to get him to finally fess up his feelings that had been harboring since the moment he laid eyes on you. Their goal was never to send Steve into such a mental spiral that it caused him to combust internally and detach for the rest of the night. It would be unfair of him to ever think that of them because it was far from what they were.

They all were good kids, cared about each other and wanted the best for everyone they loved, especially him. They all knew how much Steve sacrificed for them, plenty of times of almost getting fired for giving out free ice cream and letting them off the hook for returning their tapes late.

It was about time that they helped Steve in the only way they knew how, which was trying to encourage him to make a move on the girl of his dreams, and they had no idea it would have ended up like that.

He felt like an asshole for the way he acted towards them. They were young and just wanted to see him happy, but instead they saw him moody and petulant.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes glazed over, sitting stiffly in the dining chair instead of the relaxed way he was just moments ago. You reached out a hand, setting it on his forearm and letting it move and up and down.

“Are you okay, Stevie?”

He blinked, instantly melting back into the relaxed state once your touch was on his. A half smile quirking up on the corner of his lips, thankful for your concern and quickness.

“Thought I told you not to worry about me?”

Your concern faded slightly, a warm glint in your eye now. “Thought I told you I would, anyway.”

“I’m never gonna win, am I?” He frowned sarcastically, watching as your hand fell back to the table.

“Nope! Now, what’s on your mind?” You ordered, shifting your body to face him fully with your knees settling against his.

You looked determined to figure it out and try to help him. To get into his mind and kick those worries away. Your elbows resting on your thighs as you kept your eyes on him, patiently waiting until he was ready.

He ran a rough palm over his face, wriggling his shoulders. “Just thinking about how stupid I acted at the party last night. Felt like a ghost with how quiet I was.”

“You didn’t act stupid at all,” your voice filled with confidence while you shook your head, “you just needed a little break and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I felt like an asshole.” His voice trailed off with annoyance with himself.

“Don’t say that,” you pouted, poking his chest with a disapproving look on your face. “You’re not an asshole.”

He always found it endearing, your ability to always see the best in him, even when he knew he wasn’t at his best. Usually Steve’s always upbeat when it came to the friends and the kids, he’s known to be the friendliest of them all, but last night he felt far from that. As if he was the stranger sitting at the table lost in his own thoughts.

“You sure?” He asked like you’d ever lie to make him feel better.

You chuckled, nodding undoubtedly. “I’ve encountered a few assholes in my life and you’re waaaay off from one. You’re like the most non-asshole guy I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?” This time a twinge of playfulness came with the question.

Nodding obviously, you leaned closer to him, your face hanging only inches away from his.

“A guy who memorizes a girl’s coffee order and picks up her favorite pastries when she’s far from a morning person?” Your lips curled into a smile. “I’m positive you’re not an asshole.”

Like a force of habit, his palm cradled your cheek, while you continued to stare up at him like he hadn’t been thinking so horribly about himself just moments ago. He was getting lost in your eyes; the ones filled with so much devotion and softness for the moment and how even this is enough for him.

“What if I just so happened to steal that cronut recipe?” He mumbled just clear enough for you to hear.

You pushed back against his touch, cheek rising suspiciously in the palm of his hand. “Why? Are you hiding it from me? Because if you are, then that’s cruel!”

A dimpled smile broke out on his face, closing his eyes blissfully and swinging his head no. There’s laughter erupting from you and he could feel it in the way the apple of your cheeks leaped against his palm. You didn’t shy away from his hand, letting yourself stick to him like the sweetest honey, and he didn’t care about the mess.

The real mess was whatever was in your systems.

He finally spoke. “No, but I know a stealthy spy who could help me break in and get it.”

You rolled your eyes, tongue in cheek. “You’re trouble, Harrington.”

The pulse point on his wrists felt your lips before he could comprehend what was happening. Your plush skin grazing his skin lightly, a kind of kiss that felt electrifying even when it wasn’t upon his own lips. It’s innocent yet still all around tantalizing, the urge to tell you that he’s crazy for you on the tip of this tongue more than ever now.

He was sure before that he’d go through all the trouble if it meant making you happy, but now he’s positive he’d even break into a family-owned establishment to get you that secret recipe – and most importantly, to feel you like this every morning.

His pulse was undeniably thumping against your lips, though you didn’t mind, letting them stay for a minute until the phone abruptly rang and you were tearing away from his hold, ripping yourself from him like a bandaid that took the skin with it. His wrist began to feel lonely, pulse feeling like it’s dying out not having you there anymore.

To your surprise, you weren’t feeling at all embarrassed, simply just giddy as he cursed apologetically and let his hand fall into his lap as he got up. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here!” You vowed, tipping your head back to watch as he left the kitchen.

It was only seven in the morning and he never got calls this early. Ever. Unless it was the kids.

“Hello,” he answered, pressing the hunk of plastic to his ear.

“Hey, kid,” it was Hopper, “how are, umm, you and the girl?”

Steve peeked back into the kitchen, seeing you finishing up the rest of the cut up fruit. “We’re having breakfast right now. What’s up?”

“Honey! They’re already having breakfast!” Hop called out, sound a bit far away.

“Crap!” Joyce wailed out in the background.

Steve laughed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. If you would’ve called half an hour ago, we’d still be in bed.”

“You guys shared the bed?” Hop inquired, his voice accusing and curious at the same time.

“Well… yeah.” Steve didn’t have any reason to lie, but he was regretting it the second it left his mouth.

“Soooo… s’that why you both left early yesterday?” Hop suggested, sounding more interested in conversing now.

Steve turned away from the adjoining wall, cupping his hand over the receiver as he spoke sharply. “What? No! We left early because I was crabby and she was getting tired.”

A puff of air came from the other end, Hoppers laugh heavy. “You know you don’t have to lie—”

“Oh my god, I’m hanging up, now.” Steve’s fingers were ready to press the hook switch to end the call.

“Tell your girl I checked her tire pressure and added some air into her back left wheel, thing was nearly deflated.”

“Yeah okay, appreciate it. We’ll be there in a few.”

There’s talking in the background, he could hear Joyce saying something and Hopper attempting to cut her off with ‘yeah’s’ and ‘got' it’s.’

“And Joyce says she’ll save some breakfast sandwiches.” Hop grumbles.

“Okay, thanks, bye.” Steve said rushed, pulling the phone away from his ear.

He placed the phone back onto the rest, shaking his head a bit at the teasing he often faced from Hopper, but it was all in good fun. At times, he felt that Hop and Joyce were more like parents to him than his own. Hell, they knew more about his life than his parents ever did.

“Who was that?”

He took a seat beside you again. “Hop. I think Joyce made him call to ask if we wanted some breakfast.”

“Oh no, I hope she didn’t go through too much trouble.”

Steve shook his head, reassuring you. “She said she’d save us breakfast sandwiches for when we go and get your car.”

“That’s sweet of her.” You bubble, a smile replacing how apologetic you feel for missing out on her breakfast.

“And Hop said to tell you he checked your tire pressure and filled the back left one up with air.” Steve informed you, watching the way your eyes filled with appreciation and surprise.

“Oh my god, he’s the best! How much do I owe him?”

You’re a lot of things — talented, kind, beautiful, all around down to Earth, but you don’t know much about cars and he doesn’t blame you because they’re boring, but he now realized he can never let you walk into an auto shop alone and let you be victim to those premium air scams.

“Nothing, sweetheart. The air is free, and he just uses a special machine to fill it up.”

“But it must have taken him forever.” You protest with a deep breath, determination behind your voice like you’re sure of it and you want to compensate the old guy.

Steve’s face softened, moving over to clutch your hand and give it a squeeze. “He takes longer to pick up donuts and head into work. Filling up tires is easy peasy for him, I promise you.”

“You sure?” You bit your lip still feeling a bit bad for Hop going out of his way.

He nodded, giving your hand another squeeze. “Positive.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just curious as to why we left early last night. Told him I was crabby, and you were getting sleepy.”

“I wasn’t that tired.” You mumbled.

Steve scoffed, forehead creasing up because you clearly didn’t see yourself how he saw you last night. “Sweetheart, your eyes drooping on the drive home.”

“No, they weren’t!” You half-laughed in defense, palms resting on the table.

“You fell asleep so quickly last night.” He pointed, roaring at the way you gave in and blushed.

“I was just really comfortable.” You whined, lifting your eyes away from his in an attempt to stop yourself from looking like a dork.

“Yeah, you looked super comfortable. You were even snoring a little.”

You shrieked, a small scream coming from your throat and hands covering your face. “Was I?” God, that’s embarrassing!”

He wrapped his fingers around your wrists, working them away from your face without any resistance. Your eyes met with his smile and headshake. “No, it was cute! You’re just lucky you fell asleep first because had you not my snoring would’ve kept you up.”

“I think I’d be able to fall asleep either way. It was so comfy.”

What you really meant to say was that he’s comfy — practically was your space heater and human pillow. You would be a liar if you didn’t think that you were a bit too clingy last night, but he didn’t seem to mind from what you remembered and it felt nice not having to apologize for that. You know Steve would’ve told you if he didn’t like it; he was always honest with you.

“Would it be okay if I had another shower before we leave?” You watched him stack the plates, getting up and walking them over to the sink.

“Course! Go and I’ll take care of the dishes.” He replied, taking the bowls you had stacked from your hands.

You willingly handed them over, following him to the counters. “No, c’mon let me dry and you can wash,” attempting to reach into the drawers to retrieve a clean kitchen towel.

But he blocked you, keeping his hip attached to the wood. “No, go on and shower. I’m not moving till your butt is walking upstairs.”

You both knew he wouldn’t relent, not like the first time you’d stepped into his home and insisted you helped gather plates and cutlery. Things were different now, with time grew comfortability, but also playfulness and ease.

“Fine!” you fussed, trudging away dramatically.

“Did you need to borrow clothes?” He called out, arms folded over his chest as he watched you.

You halted near the doorway, spinning and wrapping your arms round the frame, smiling stupidly at him. “Please? I would use my clothes, but they still smell like charcoal.”

“Pick whatever you want, and leave the dirty ones in the hamper. I’ll do a load before we leave.”

“Thanks! You’re the best!” You singsonged, making your way up the stairs leaving him with the biggest love sick smile on his face.

The Harrington house has never felt this homey and for Steve it’s a feeling that he never wants to fleet. His fists running under lukewarm water scrubbing dishes that weren’t only used by him but by someone whom he wanted to stay with. The lip print you had left around the cusp of the glass, suds away, and he wondered when was the next time you’d be coming around.

Clean dishes pile onto the kitchen rag you laid out before you went to shower. He decided to let them air dry instead, making better use of his time by heading upstairs and grabbing the hamper of dirty laundry filled with both yours and his clothes.

Strolling down the hallway, he heard the sound of the running water in the shower accompanied by your hums to a tune he couldn’t pick up from behind the wooden door. Though it doesn’t fail to make him smile, pleased that you felt so comfortable at his place already. Turning into his bedroom, he fetched the laundry basket, twisting back around to head downstairs towards the washing machine.

Steve had never put much thought into actually taking the time to do separate loads of laundry, honestly just sticking everything in one wash and throwing them in the dryer as any other person would do. He was guilty, a few times some of his white t-shirts would dye a bright green from his work vest but they were replaceable.

It’s only then when your clothes are in his care that he takes the time to read the labels to make sure he’s washing them properly. Your floral long sleeve, safe to wash along with the rest of the other garments. But he doesn’t risk it with the denim overalls, deciding that it’s best for them to have its own cycle to prevent it from fading too much and wearing the material down.

A hefty scoop of detergent goes in with the wash before he clicks start, and the whirling begins.

Your fingers reached for the lotion bottle that sat on his bathroom counter, pumping a dollop into your palm and spreading it across your damp skin. Though it’s unscented, it still smelled like Steve, a hint of him layering itself over the body wash you just used in his shower a moment ago. When the two are paired together, it’s a reminder that you didn’t wash away his touch from last night or this morning, but now you felt like you were reapplying it like a second layer of skin.

You worked the tan buttons that lined the front placket through the buttonholes, leaving the first two undone for a more casual feel, letting it droop down one of your shoulders. Another pair of his boxer shorts, this time light blue colored, rolled up over your hips to fit snuggly.

Running your hands down your sides, you took a deep breath in the mirror, satisfied with the way you looked despite the slouchy fit to the oversized garments. You liked the way you looked in Steve's clothes, no matter how baggy they were on you.

“Let me fix…this,” you complained to yourself, motioning around your head before tugging your hair out of the bun and letting it fall down your back.

Your fingers worked through the roots, giving them a bit of volume while the other brushed the ends, untangling some of the knots. You sectioned your hair in half, keeping the top half in a little bun in the back of your head while the bottom half flowed down nicely.

Grabbing your damp towel off the counter, you hung it on the rack before hitting the light switch off and opening the door.

“Oops, sorry!” You yelped, running smack dab into Steve’s side as he walked by.

He tsked at himself, immediately stabilizing you by the shoulders. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he paused, the two of you laughing now before he looked down and realized what you were wearing. “Woah, you look nice.”

Your fingers played with the sleeves that nearly covered your palms, looking up at him through your lashes. “Hope you don’t mind. It looked nice.”

Steve shook his head, shamelessly admiring the way it looked on you. He hasn’t worn the button down in a few weeks, forgetting it was even in his closet, but glad you found it and picked it out for yourself.

“Looks better on you.” His hands rubbed up and down the sleeves before nodding his head towards his bedroom where you followed.

He headed for his closet, pulling the accordion doors open while you plopped down comfortably onto his neatly made bed, shifting onto your stomach as you observed him.

“Got any idea on what I should wear?”

“Dark jeans? Maybe some Nikes?” You suggested, propping your chin up on your arms.

“Nude top half?” He said, and you could feel the smirk in his voice.

You snorted. “Shut up. You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

He plucked some pieces off the hangers, shutting the doors before turning to you. “Just teasing. I’ll be quick and then we’ll be out of here.”

“Take your time…do you mind if I sketch?”

You looked towards his desk, eyeing the yellow notepad that sat on top of the rest of his belongings. He nodded, walking up to it and grabbing a pen and pencil and handing them to you. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” You took it from him, getting to work as he walked across the hall.

You didn’t take yourself seriously with the sketch, drawing up whatever you had in your head. It’s what you had woken up to that morning—Steve’s arm slung across your stomach with his face in the crook of your neck. Snores and breaths greeting your skin in the purest kind of way, even if it had gotten you up a little earlier.

You wished you had a polaroid around to capture the scene, but thankfully your photographic memory wouldn’t ever let you forget it. Such a sight to see the sun peeking in through the cracks of the curtains, spilling a beautiful glow over his back that made each and every single one of his beauty marks stand out – now you were positive you knew where each other was.

He looked at peace, face no longer sulked and somber like it had been the night prior. The crease between his brow ironed out, not a glimmer of anxiety as he dreamed…if only you could convince him to stay right there forever because you didn’t want to share.

“Ready?”

Losing track of time when you were lost within the pen and paper wasn’t abnormal, but being pulled out of the trance by a beautiful boy was something new. You peered up from the page, breath hitched as you took all of him in.

A color block polo — dark blue to compliment the wash of his jeans and cream in the center. You liked to think he was matching you in a way.

“You look really good.” You complimented with a tight smile, capping the pen and rolling off of your stomach.

“You picked it so thank you.”

He turned to his drawers, pulling them open to get a clean pair of socks. Unbeknownst to him, you ripped the sketch off the pad, folding it and slipping it under one of the corners of his landline, just enough of it peeking out for him to find later.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, giving yourself a one over in the hanging mirror before Steve finally shut the drawer and turned back to you.

“The wash isn’t done yet?” He said, letting you walk in front before he closed his door behind him.

You hummed out a no, listening closely to hear the slight rumbling of the machine. “I can still hear it running.”

You both stopped at the front door, Steve leaning against the wall as he slipped his socks on and pushed them into his Nikes. Undoing the laces, he knotted them tighter, pulling the strings taut.

“I’ll pop them in the dryer when I get home and give you your stuff the next time I see you?”

“That’s perfect, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.” You assured him, bending down as you strapped your sandals on.

He waited until you were ready, opening the front door for you and then reaching into his pockets for the keys. With your back facing him, you looked out on his driveway, seeing how the shiny red hood reflected the sunlight. It was practically spotless, not even a smidge of dirt across his front bumper — he must have really adored his car.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told you how nice your car is.”

“You know she used to be cleaner before the kids started eating and leaving their crumbs behind.” He told you, his fingers twisted the front door to make sure it was locked, which it was.

“They’ve got you wrapped around their pinkies.” You nudged him as you walked down his driveway.

He wiggled the keys in the air. “Wanna give it a drive?”

“HA! You’re so funny.”

“No, I’m serious.” He added, placing the keys in your hands and closing your fingers around them.

“You’re gonna let me drive your fancy car?”

He laughed comically, unsure why it seemed so out of this world to you that he would let you drive his car. You’re probably the only person Steve trusted to drive it. You’re responsible, and unlike Eddie, he knows you won’t try to race the other cars on the road.

“You’ve got your license, which means you know how to operate a car. Fancy or not.”

“You sure?” You sought again skeptically, giving him one last chance to back out.

“I trust you. Now c’mon, I’ll give you directions and everything and this time you won’t get lost.” He assured you, walking over to the driver’s side holding the door open for you.

“You put way too much trust in me, Steve.” You puffed with a weak laugh, walking over to get in.

“Actually, just the right amount.” He patted the top of the hood before shutting the door.

He held his hands out for your purse, resting it in his lap as you began adjusting the seat and mirrors to your liking. Steve reminded you that it was okay to adjust it as much as you needed, that he would be able to fix it all back to normal later. Before you knew it, you were on the road, driving in probably the nicest car you’ve ever driven in your life while the radio played and Steve gave you directions to Joyce and Hop’s.

“And ladies and gentlemen, we’ve arrived…alive!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth, announcing it with a deep voice as you giggled.

“Stop it!” You placed the car into park before nudging his shoulder with a feeble fist.

His hands let up, looking in your direction with a small smile showing up. “I knew you’d do good.”

“Got my half broken down piece of crap to thank.” You joked, jutting your chin to your less than adorned car parked beside his.

“You know Eddie’s uncle knows a thing or two about cars? Maybe he could check it out one day?”

“Oh my god, please?”

“I’ll call Eds today and see what Wayne can do.”

“You’re amazing.”

Steve felt like he’d been reduced to a fit of smiles and sore cheeks all morning, taking in your compliments and passing them back to you. He’s used to people thanking him, but never for the bare minimum parts he promises you he’ll never break. It’s something he could get acquainted with, and he hoped it would never end.

Within his peripheral vision, he could see the family begin to crowd the porch, watching through the windshield. “Looks like we’ve got a crowd.”

“I’m not surprised.” You retorted, making the first move to remove the key from the ignition and open the door.

“Morning!” You hailed out loud, tossing the keys over to Steve as he locked it up.

“You let her drive your car!” El exclaimed, though you were both pretty sure she meant it as a question.

“Mhm, she’s horrible, a menace to society. You should arrest her right now, Hop.” Steve answered seriously, patting Hop on the behind with a growing smirk.

“You’re ridiculous.” You snorted, waking over to give the kids and Jonathan a hug.

“Had a fun night?” Hop urged, leaning against the post.

You nodded, looking up at Steve. “More like relaxing… Steve’s shower pressure is perfect, better than the one I have at home.” You informed them, missing the smirks that fell on Hop and Jonathan’s faces.

Hop stuck his hand out, pushing at Steve’s shoulder roughly. “Oh, I’m sure Steve has the right amount of pressure somewhere else—”

Joyce erupted with a loud cough, picking up your attention and catching her stomp on his foot in the process, while he winced, cursing under his breath.

“Inside!” She blurted, clearing her throat and gesturing to the front door, "I’m gonna give you the dish you brought inside! I just washed and dried it a little while ago.”

“Oh, okay!”

The spectators on the front porch waited until you were out of reach to start talking about what was going through their minds since you and Steve left last night. It was a short goodbye; you thanking Joyce and Hop for having you over and giving everyone else a hug while Steve waited by until you were done. Safe to say, once you both drove off, they all speculated on what was going to happen and why you were really spending the night at his.

“You’re disgusting, dad.” Will scowled, shaking his head with revulsion.

Hopper ignored him, looking over at Steve. “She’s wearing your clothes.”

“Okay and?” Steve said, looking a little annoyed at how anyone was crediting him for the truth.

“You two had sex.” He declared flatly, a grin tugging up on his lips as the porch exploded with grunts and obscenities to shut up.

“Oh, my god!” Jonathan choked on his spit, turning away and laughing.

“Gross!” El yelped, covering her tomato red face.

“I think I’m gonna barf.” Will declared, dramatically clutching his stomach.

Steve rolled his eyes at their ignorance, arms crossing over his chest. “Believe it or not, I don’t need to have sex with her to have a good night.”

“Wow, isn’t that the first?” Jonathan bantered with a satirical inflection in his tone.

“Is that a hickey on your neck?” Steve narrowed his eyes, pointed at the purple bruise hiding behind his messy hair.

“I’m definitely gonna throw up.” Will gagged, turning away and covering his mouth.

El frowned, looking down at her chipped nails. “Is that why Nancy didn’t want to paint my nails last night?”

Hop looked between the youngest and the oldest. “I thought she left with Robin after the barbecue.”

“Oh my god, this isn’t about me!” Jonathan stammered, slapping a hand behind his ear to hide the love bite.

“What happened?” You buzzed, strolling back out to the porch with the glass bowl in hand and Joyce beside you.

Steve grinned wickedly, happy that he got them off his back, turning to Jonathan and smacking him over the head lightly. “Nothing, just teasing him.”

“Speaking of, Jonathan, don’t you need to give her something?” Joyce’s eyes darted to the back of his pocket where the flyer was folded up.

He reached behind him, passing it over to you, Steve taking the bowl from your hands so that you could unfold it and read its contents. A bright graphic announcement of a farmer’s market that would be hosted in Hawkins next weekend.

“Nance meant to give it to you last night, but she forgot,” Jonathan began, “We’re trying to get the town rallying behind small business before they all get driven out. She was wondering if you wanted to help out and host a booth.”

“Like a bake sale?” You proposed.

He shrugged, looking over at his brother for some guidance. “Kinda, but she was thinking of it as a bake sale and art sale combined.”

Will chimed in without missing a beat. “I pitched the idea to Nance, and she seemed to really like it. I could help you manage the booth. I’ll take the art side and you can handle the baked goods, then we switch around the halfway mark.”

“That’s genius.” You grinned, reaching back to rubbing his shoulder proudly.

“No really, you guys should do it.” Steve supported from behind you knowing that you would be great at something like this.

El let out a gasp, clutching your shoulder lightly as she wedged herself between you and Steve. “I can help with the money! I’m getting better at counting change!” She spoke bubbly, making you and him laugh.

“Nancy’s covering the whole thing and writing a paper about it. She’s really hoping to get it published.”

You’d help out either way knowing that this was an important cause, but hearing about how Nancy was the leader of this whole thing made you want to help even more. She was so passionate when talking to you about her love for writing and keeping these mom-and-pops in her town up and running — you were definitely in.

“Well, tell her I’d be happy to help!” You replied warmly, folding up the paper and sticking it in your purse.

“Great! I’ll let her know!”

You twisted your head, looking over at Hop. “Oh! And thank you for filling up the tire!”

“No problem, kid.”

“It didn’t take you long, no?”

“Easy as could be.” The older man assured you with his tongue clicking.

“Told ya.” Steve smirked, pressing his elbow gently into your side, making you giggle.

The two of you didn’t notice how the family was watching the way you and Steve interacted like a couple, so oblivious to the small touches and teasing that usually never came with everyone else. It was the kids who stepped forward, breaking up the love dove fest between the both of you. Will slung his arm over Steve’s shoulder and El rested her chin on his shoulder with those puppy eyes that the babysitter could not say no to, even after the meltdown last night.

“Steve, could you give us a ride to the arcade? Lucas and Max are already there.”

Steve scoffed, glancing over at the other adults around. “You’ve got your parents and your brother here who all have licenses you know.”

“Hop and I are gonna go run errands!” Joyce clapped her hands, gawking up at Hop who snapped out of it and nodded agreeingly.

“Gotta go see Nancy.” Jonathan tried to excuse himself.

It was no use. Steve was ultimately the go-to chauffeur, the best and safest driver who wouldn’t only take them to point A and B, but stayed until they were ready to go back home and occasionally gave them spare change when they ran out.

“Go get changed.” Steve exhaled, utterly defeated.

El and Will cheered, detaching themselves from his sides before engulfing you in a quick, yet tight hug. “Bye! We’ll see you!” They said before rushing inside.

“Bye-bye, kiddos.”

Steve looked over at you, tilting his head towards your car. “C’mon, I’ll walk you.”

You nodded, twiddling your fingers at Jonathan and his parents. “Bye guys, thanks again!”

“See ya sweetie.”

Steve stepped a bit ahead of you, opening the driver door when you clicked the fob before moving towards the back seat and putting the dishware on the empty seats. You waited until he shut the door before reaching up and wrapping him up in a hug.

Your bodies molded together, like they’ve done times before, holding one another properly like it was routine by now. His face in the crook of your neck while you tiptoed and rested your forehead under his jaw.

“Drive home safe okay?” He squeezed your back, feeling the skin indent through the garment.

“I will.” You promised, taking a deep breath of him in, savoring everything right now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t let anyone beat Max’s high score on Dig Dug.” You spoke half jokingly.

“I’ll try.” He huffed out against your neck

“Tell me about it later.”

He gave your back one last gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss to your temple before he released you and let you get into the front seat. You hadn’t made the move to close the door yet, just settling in by placing your bag on the passenger seat and twisting on the ignition.

“You still have a full tank?” Steve peered a ways bit in, his focus on the arrow on your dashboard. He got a glimpse of the red light that switched on, making a mental note to bring it up to Eddie later today.

You took a peek, nodding and looking up to meet his gaze. “A little more than half. I should be okay for the drive home.”

“Okay, sorry, just wanted to make sure. Didn’t want you running out on the highway.” He apologized sheepishly, raking a hand through his hair.

“No, it’s alright, it was sweet.” You giggled, moving up to tuck a stray piece of hair away from his eyes.

He gulped, your hand still trying to place the piece with his roots. “See you in a few days?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding your head, “a few days.” You agreed, fingertips finally trailing over his cheek and jaw before falling back into your lap.

“O-okay… great, awesome, get home safe.” He sputtered slightly, eyes still holding yours.

“You too! Oh, and Steve?” You stopped him from moving away from your car, though he wasn’t making plans to, anyway.

“Yeah?”

“I might have left something on your desk, but you can just check it out later okay?”

“Something important? I can drive down and get it real quick?”

You shook your head immediately. “No, no, I mean yeah, it’s important, but not that important… well I kinda hope that it is important, to you I mean — sorry, am I rambling?”

“Not at all.” He said, biting back a chuckle.

“Just…just check it out when you get home okay?” You asked, voice fluttering with desperation like you needed him to find it.

“Promise.”

You took a deep breath in, smiling wistfully and feeling your chest tighten having to say goodbye. “See ya, Steve.”

“I’ll see you, cupcake.” He assured you, tapping the hood of your car and shutting your door gently.

It’s been hours since this morning. The day slowly dwindled into night by the time Steve parked his car in the driveway and unlocked the front door. He was only able to pop in for a few minutes before he brought the kids to the arcade, throwing the clean laundry into the dryer and saving your overalls for when he got home. Slipping his shoes off, he made a beeline to the laundry room, tossing the denim material into the machine before emptying the dryer and taking the basket with him.

“Fuck,” He spat, stubbing his toe near his desk in the darkness before clicking on the lamp for a little bit of light.

He dropped the basket onto the floor, making plans to fold and put them all away before he went to bed. But eyes caught the bright yellow paper tucked under his home phone, crimped into fourths with his name written in a heart on it.

It was you who left it and he knew it. His hand springing forward and nearly toppling the phone off the desk all together as he seized it and swiftly opened it up without ripping.

A sketch of you and him in bed. You’re lying awake, facing towards him with your hands resting on his arm that’s sprawled over your stomach. His face is partly hidden in your neck, yet you’ve detailed everything like the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jaw. Even the freckles that litter his skin are dotted in the blank ink. Glimmers of sunlight created with the gray graphite along with the creases of the bed sheets covering the bottom half of your bodies.

Even for a sketch, he knows this is unreal, the talent you have, insane for drawing this up in the matter of his fifteen minute shower. He should have been looking at himself, appreciating how much thought you put in to making sure it looked exactly like him, yet he’s looking at you.

How you’ve drawn your face with somehow all the emotions that he can feel through this piece of paper. That while he was asleep dreaming of you, you were awake watching him. It’s intimate, like you’ve let him know what you’ve both been feeling all this time and finally confessed.

In the prettiest and neatest handwriting he’d ever seen, you had left a message in the blank corner.

‘You look pretty when you’re sleeping, Stevie. Not gonna forget like an idiot this time… xxx-xxx-xxxx.’

Steve had never picked up the phone and dialed so speedily that he had to hang up and redial, totally messing up and pressing the wrong numbers the first time.

It’s been hours since you departed Hawkins. The drive back to Roane was uneventful but still smooth, hitting no traffic and even crunching enough time to stop by the diner to say hello to Dorothea and catch her up on life.

You had spent the rest of the day fueled with energy and anticipation. The second you walked into your apartment you felt a spark of motivation. Something calling you back to the piece you had abandoned only 24 hours ago. Now you had a clear mind and no thoughts of feeling like the sketch looked like garbage — even if it was a flicker of false inspiration, you’d take it.

Half of the sketch had already been painted by the late afternoon. Different shades of browns you had mixed together for the golden crust of the pie as well as the lattice design you had freehanded. Only parts of the cherry filling had been painted with a red too red for your liking, but you’d go back in tomorrow to refine it instead of beating yourself up then and forgetting about the progress you had made.

You were trying to be nicer to yourself.

Little progress still meant progress, and that was the one thing that mattered. That finally something in your system was flowing the way you wanted it to, and part of you felt like it was Steve. Possibly his reminder echoing in the back of your head that the act of trying was literally you trying, and that in itself was good enough.

You were good enough and the progress you made was good enough.

Breathe. Take it in. Breathe out. Take it in.

The act of you literally doing breathing exercises in front of your painting could’ve been seen as narcissistic. Maybe it was? But for you, it meant something a lot different. It was you patting yourself on the back for what you did and making mental notes of what you could’ve improved on without openly criticizing yourself so harshly.

You were so good to other people; you had to find it in yourself to be good to you. To treat you the way, you treated others — how you complimented everyone for doing their best and how you should’ve been doing the same all this time.

It was never too late to break down that old system….to grow and be better.

You had walked away from the canvas minutes ago, busy in the kitchen grabbing a little snack and figuring out what you were going to have for dinner or even if you had any energy left to make some. A hot bag of popcorn came out of the microwave and you popped open a soda, going to sit at the table for a little downtime before—

RING! RING! RING!

“Eeeek!” Squealing you nearly tripped over the coffee table, rushing towards the phone juggling your snacks as you struggled to figure out what to do first — put everything down or answer the phone.

“Hello!” You answered nearly out of breath yet cheerfully, gasping quietly as you caught your can of Coke before it tipped over and made a mess.

“Hey!” Steve’s voice rang through the other line, and he sounded just as delighted.

“Steve! Hey….” you paused, catching your breath, “y-you found my sketch?”

“It’s my newest prized possession.”

“I missed you… I-I mean, I missed hearing your voice. We literally just saw each other this morning.”

Somehow it felt easier to talk to Steve in person rather than on the phone–even if it meant he could physically see you blushing and smiling like a maniac. Yet he found it cute, how you tried to cover your tracks as if he didn’t feel the same way and could imagine what you looked like right then.

“I missed you too — you’re voice and you.” He said, making you smile wider.

“What are you up to?” You asked, getting comfortable on the floor.

“Laying in bed, still looking at the drawing while talking to you.”

“Are you sleepy?” You wondered, realizing the hour and the day he must have had.

“No! Sorry… I just didn’t want you to think I’m tired. I mean I am tired, but I’m not tired enough to not want to talk to you.” He said convincingly, though his stumbling over words made you second guess it.

“You can always sleep if you want to…we could talk tomorr—”

He cut you off with an abrupt disapproving hum. “Don’t even think about it!”

You giggled, shoulders rising and falling comfortably before you started up. “You’ll never guess what I did today!”

“Steal the cronut recipe?” He guessed without skipping a beat.

“Oh my god, no!”

“Fineee tell me.”

“I painted!” You exclaimed, voice rising higher, “like actually. really. painted. something with my own hands and I didn’t look at it and think “wow this looks like shit,” I did it!”

You sounded proud of yourself, and he hoped you were feeling that just as much on the inside. Only a week ago, you were tearing yourself apart in the diner where you sat across from him, and he could do nothing but speak encouraging and honest words to you, hoping you’d see it through the way he did.

If he was there, he’d give you the biggest hug in the world then take you out to the diner. This time he’d actually grab the bill before you could and bring more quarters so you could play an unlimited amount of love songs and dance with him until your bellies were full and your legs were tired.

You wished he was here.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s great! What’d you paint?”

You swallowed, peering up at the canvas that was drying. “It’s uhh… it’s a surprise!”

“Surprise?” He said, literally taken by surprise.

“Yeah! So I can’t tell you.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing it… maybe soon?”

“Fingers crossed.”

That was enough for him… a promise that one day, whenever it may be, he would get the chance to see it with his very own eyes instead of just hearing about it. He already knew he’d be complimenting it and you for days on end, you’d probably get sick of it, but he wouldn’t.

“You’ll never guess what happened today.” Steve began shuffling a bit on his bed to get comfortable.

You gasped, reaching for your popcorn and tossing some in your mouth. “Did Dustin beat Max’s score?”

“Worse.” He said behind a strained laugh.

“Oh god.”

“Mike did!”

You slapped your hand down on the coffee table, making him chortle on the other line, knowing you’d react like this. “Oh, my gosh! Tell. Me. Everything!”

“It’s a long one.” He warned you, hoping you had the time to give him.

You scoffed jokingly, grabbing your snacks and leaning back on the couch cushions. “I’ve got all night, Harrington.”

Your midnights. Your mornings. Your afternoons. He hoped he could have them all... he wasn't sure if it was too soon for all of that, if the idea of having them already thought up in his mind was cool or not.

But he'd just have to hope that everything... all of this, you and him.

It was delicate, but it didn't always have to be.

“Lucky me.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: how are we all feeling after that? i know i am kicking my feet wishing i had a steve to treat me so soft and nicely! ugh, guys this is probably my most favorite chapter i've written so far -- i really wanted this chapter to focus on domesticity and the softness between glitch reader and steve!!! my heart and soul is always alway so thankful for the wonderful effie aka @translatemunson who is always giving me feedback and helping me proof-read...i literally could not do this without her so thank you so much bby, i love you!!! 🥹💘 i really hope you all love this chapter as much as i do...isn't it just so delicate?!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3 @claireiscrying @we-out-here-simping @dreamerjj

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free-imaginations-for-you · 1 year ago

Text

DIMMED LIGHT

ONE SHOT

Kim Taehyung x female Reader

In this absence of any noise, i felt a very great comfort. It was so quiet you could hear my heartbeat taking on the melody of the rainbeat with every drop that splattered down the car on this rainy night. I still could not believe it, how could he do such a tumult in the restaurant, because his delusional self thought that the waiter was flirting with me. Honestly I must admit that his protective side was always a trait that drew me to him but that strong emotion mixed with the uneasiness he had felt within himself for several weeks, like him and I were moving away from each other, like he could be replaced within a blink of eye, was a deadly poison.

„Who the fuck do you think you are?“ was the last thing he spit with an evil smirk in his face, his eyes burning with pure anger. Everything happened so fast, the next thing I saw was Taehyung's fist slamming merciless into the waiter's face with full force. The awful noise is still in my ears, making me flinch whenever I imagine the scene in front of me. To be honest it‘s not the first time that such thing happened, but he vowed me to control hisself, he promised me that even when he has his outburst I never had to fear him. His outburst tonight was different from the ones I witnessed before. I can’t get it of my mind, how empty and lifeless his eyes were when they met mine while i tried with all my might to calm him down, to prevent the situation from escalating. Actually he was aware I was scared to death, he knew that I get anxious whenever someone get’s in a physical fight. It’s not like he didn’t know how upsetting this situation was for me, but he simply choose not to care about my feelings neither my wellbeing. In this moment he just wanted to prove a point, to me, to the waiter, to the restaurant, to the whole world.

It’s not a surprise that we‘ve had a tense situation for weeks, neither of us trying to state the obvious, that the spark between us is slowly but surely fading away. Words can not express how happy and exciting I was when he suggested the date in the first place. First of all he wasn’t really the romantic lovely dovley type to organize a candlelight dinner for the two of us. So in my irrational mind I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to remind myself of all his good qualities which is why i fell in love with him, really hoping that the guy i fell in love with four years ago is still there waiting for me to put him out of the the dark. It feels like the Taehyung i fell in love with is gone since the day he put this personal success above all else. I‘ve always admired his ambition, but often it feels like he‘s a bird flying higher and higher, without looking back what he‘s leaving behind and I have no choice but to watch him fly from my golden cage that i had unconsciously built for myself since the day i vowed to be there for him no matter what.

Maybe it was the way he knew exactly what to say to me with those sugar sweet little lies or maybe it was me who was willing to believe every lie he told me, like an idiot closing my eyes to the most obvious thing. The way he had the power to destroy every fibre of self confidence and self love i had in me. Making me doubt myself, making me feel like the lowest version of myself. He made me feel so high above the sky, giving me the feeling of protection, love and respect. Actually slowly but surely he made me forget the beauty of the rise, because the feeling of the freefall was an hundred times worse. One positive thing came out of this situation, the fact that he put me through this made me, made me realize that I won‘t let this happen ever again. Not now, not tomorrow, not in an hundred years. Believe it or not, I made up my mind, no force in the world, no-black magic, not even his sprakling brown eves that promised me whole universes and galaxies, could revent me from putting my wishes and wellbeing first. The raindrops hit the ground loudly and relentlessly on this stormy and rainy night, instead of the tears that i vowed not to let fall. Even the cloudy and dark weather was on my side, it felt like the whole word was sharing the feeling of sadness and loneliness with me with every raindrop that fell on the cold ground.

It felt like forever but we‘ve arrived at the apartment. Not a word left our lips since the moment we left the restaurant. In all honesty I wasn‘t even ready to face him, to look him in the eyes after everything he put me through tonight. The second we entered the apartment, I made my way to the couch, I didn't even have the strength to take off my shoes nether my coat nor turn on the light. This darkness gave me a familiarity and comfort, it’s sad to say that’s the way i spend the last couple of weeks waiting for Taehyung to return home. No to be more precise I waited every night in darkness with the hope that he will enlighten the apartment with the light that his old self carried within him. It’s time to wake up from my dream and face reality, the light within him dimmed down, there is not much left of his old self.

„It not my fault, he should‘ve known what he got into the moment he started undressing you with his filthy eyes.“ he stated monotonous in a low voice while standing at the doorframe crossing his arms. „He was not flirting nor undressing me with his eyes, he was simply being polite. If you would pay attention to something other than your self for once in your life, you would have notice that he was like that with all the costumers there.“ I countered as i leaned back at the couch with a firm but calm voice, feeling tired and drained out from this messy situation. „I couldn‘t fucking care less how he acted with other women. What i don‘t tolerate is the fact he could not take his eyes off what‘s mine.“ he said angrily not understanding why you would try to defend him.

„Are you even listening to yourself? First of all i‘m not your possession and secondly just admit that you just wanted to make a point and show everyone that no one can mess with you and you enjoyed the feeling of megalomania, that you‘ve gotten used to over the last few months at my fucking expense, without wasting a fucking thought on how I felt the whole time.“ i voiced out my voice nearly breaking, feeling like every word i uttered turned to smoke slowly fading away, not even reaching him. „That‘s not true and you fucking know it.“ he said feeling hurt, trying his best not to give weight to the words you just spit. To say that he was unaffected by your statement would be a lie. The only way Taehyung could prevent himself from shutting out completely and distancing himself, was by making you feel the crushing grief he is feeling deep inside his heart. „Don’t you think that if you would know your fucking boundaries from the beginning we wouldn‘t be here in the first place. Do I have to remind you whenever we leave the door that you are in a relationship? Stop being „nice“ to every fucking male you meet, that‘s making you look so fucking pathetic.“ he screamed his voice getting louder and louder with every word coming out of his mouth, the pure sarcasm in his voice while saying the word nice didn’t go unnoticed by me. His eyes were filled with pure rage and pain. I shook my head closing my eyes not wanting to believe that he could say such hurtful things to me.

„We are over.“ i simply said those 3 words that have been lingering in my mind for so long, while standing up from the couch, feeling like a weight was lifted off my soulders. „What do you mean?“ he asked feeling panic and anxiety starting to grow inside his thorax. „I‘m so done with the way you‘ve been treating me the last couple of months I deserve so much better than this.“ i stated while pointing at us. „I gave you everything I had inside of me and you gave me nothing but pain in return. You are not the Taehyung i fell in love with, you are not the person I vowed to love, to look after, to never leave and let go anymore. Actually you don’t respect me nether do you love me after all those words you said to me and I can‘t continue this relationship for another moment.“ i confessed what I had in my mind for so long, finally making up my mind for good. He felt his heart shatter, making it impossible for him to utter a word while watching you leave the door. The best thing that ever happened to him left and he couldn‘t do nothing but watch you leave.

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jichanxo · 7 months ago

Note

sooooo... *twirls her hair* how many asks should i send until kuwagami art. jk as well. the real question will be: does it happen often that someone else’s art inspires you? in fandom spaces specifically

well you see it’s like a loyalty card program, every 10 asks or so you get a complimentary kuwagami

just kidding you can just breathe in my direction and I’ll be tempted to draw them. kuwagami blast! (you've caught me on a... just okay art day lol)

(people still like kabedons, right?)

anyway for my actual answer: in terms of direct inspiration, it doesn't really happen much? the last two times i did art directly based on someone else's work is probably this one from this fic, and also that time i drew art of someone else's judgment au. oh! and there's that moriohpsycho art based on this comic! (filthyguts' work is so very. hgngngghh. very good.) nothing else really comes to mind, and when i think of the other things i've been into recently there hasn't been as much opportunity for that to happen...

flex and herds = strong fixation but lmao. almost nobody else made stuff about them. nobody is surprised umineko = surprisingly i don't read much umineko fanfiction? and in terms of illustration, i certainly picked up imagery and indirect inspiration but nothing concrete enough for me to give an example... now that i think about it, i did once draw andromalius from redaction/sunny, but that was years ago, and also mostly because i was acquainted with the writer. ...i don't have that artwork on hand right now death note = didn't really get involved with the fandom + i enjoyed my own ideas well enough! ...i can't recall if i drew long-hair-L art before or after seeing other artists do it. and as for everything else the same kind of reasoning applies. didn't really get involved with the fandom or wasn't really compelled to make art in response to stuff i saw, or i just don't remember anymore.

buuuuuuut if we're opening this up to just... pulling ideas from other people? then yeah, all the time, though that kind of goes without saying when you have a creative hobby. ...it's probably going to be hard to come up with examples of this since it's more ambiguous.

there's uhhhhhh... kuwana listens to nickelback which was a @/four-white-trees invention, wasn't it? (EDIT: and @/overdevelopedglasses!) (not tagging in this post so he doesn't feel obligated to read my big ass ask responses 💀) as of writing this, it's not posted but i did end up making kuwagami art based on a nickelback song so. yknow. there's that LMAO

for sawashiro and arakawa, i do sometimes go reference @/todayisafridaynight 's art to help me with my own. ("how did he draw this part of the suit? oh, like that huh? hmm" <- this kind of thing)

and um. i'm not trying to pander to you (at least not this time), but genuinely it's one of the few examples that come to mind at this moment. but when i was writing my first kuwagami fic, i could feel the influence of the ever-changing on my brain... was turning over some of your ideas there...

you remember this? (you even pointed it out in your comment on my fic, and i should've said something then, but whatever i'm saying it now)

that was absolutely because of this

(obligatory poke at anybody else reading this post that you can read passthroughtime's fic here.)

so, um. yeah. not really sure what else to add to that. pretty self evident i think. (i'm always talking about the ever-changing but i don't think i can overstate the impression it left on me at the time)

anyhow there aren't really any other examples off the top of my head! these are all recent examples so they're not so difficult to recall, but there are probably others i've forgotten...

#jitxt #started writing this unsure if i could give many examples and i ended up with more than i expected. nice!#sunny is a very good piece of umineko writing and i should reread it with the author's notes toggled on. and also read redaction #“shouldn't you have read redaction first” n-no. shut up! (besides i think renall said it was fine)#nobody remind me of that 20k note post that's just an uncredited screenshot of sunny. it'll piss me off #as cosmic balance i ought to shill sunny as much as possible #anyway uhhhhhh. the everchanging.#i am awful about receiving compliments (i never know how to respond aside from a rehearsed “thank you”) but i sure am great at giving them!#apologies if i'm laying it on too thick but #1. i am being truthful and #2. i figure it's reparations for all the time i spent as a lurker on the kuwagami ao3 tag #the explosion in my brain when i realised that “the nice person who leaves lots of tags on my kuwagami art”#and “the person who wrote that REALLY FUCKING GOOD FIC” were one and the same. crazy. and now we are mutuals ❤#it is a little funny thinking of when i'd read your and four-white-trees' work before meeting you #real life foreshadowing for me meeting you both....#i still have these discord messages of me telling a friend about both your works #basically: (reading an update to the everchanging) wow that was depressing (reading a joke in four-white-trees' fic) nevermind i'm good now #i ought to reread the everchanging and take detailed notes on all the parts i like #just so you know your impact on my brain lol #kuwana calling yagami a pretty boy and meaning it sincerely oh my GOD. rewired my brain

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toptierteaser · 1 year ago

Text

The Fitness App

Chapter Two: The Assessment

“So…huff…what is it, exactly…puff…that I’m supposed to be…herm…doing?”

Coach Hermes had instructed Dylan to dress himself, to go about clothing himself as normal. As had become the standard—one which Dylan barely registered as problematic—the effort of putting his socks and shoes on in the morning had become a challenge, just like the act of tugging those tight shorts over his fattened booty…just like yanking on a shirt so it covered the whole of his belly…

“Today is our first full day of interactive assessment,” said Hermes in a cool voice. It was disconcerting having an A.I. device capable of whispering in your ear at any given time in the day. Even more disconcerting was the fact that the A.I. had gotten more familiar with him. It had learned quite a bit about him in the twenty-four-hours since Dylan had locked it into his head, since he had committed to its assistance for a full year. “Yesterday, I observed your habits without commentary. Today, we discuss those habits…and potential for how to change them, as a team. You are to go about your day as normal, and then we will assess together your eating, exercise, and social habits…Now, as we have a busy day today, Dylan, it might behoove you to get a move on with those socks.”

Trying to retain some semblance of dignity, Dylan hurried, swapping out his legs, pulling one blubbery thigh up over the other. His legs were taking up too much space, pressed up against his big belly, to allow him to comfortably dress as a normal man would. As a fit man could. As he used to be able to do without thinking twice about it, not so long ago.

“Tsk, tsk,” said the A.I. in his ear. “Such a shame, that a young fit man would eat himself silly like this! The fat really went to those chubby legs of yours, didn’t it, big boy?”

Dylan said nothing. He had finally pulled the sock up over his foot and was now squirming off the edge of his bed.

Coach Hermes cleared his throat. “Ahem…I believe I asked you a question, Dylan. Did your legs not blimp up faster than the rest of your body as you put on weight?”

“Um…yes!” said Dylan. “Y-yes, they did…Coach”

“Thank you,” said the app. “Don’t worry. You’ll remember your manners in no time! All it will take is a bit of conditioning!”

Dylan wasn’t exactly worried that he had ‘forgotten his manners,’ but was considering if he would not soon regret that the Coach was locked permanently in his ear for the next 364 days.

He moved to his closet, surveying his shirts. It was Sunday, his last day of the weekend before he had to return to work. He could wear something casual, today. Something stretchy. He reached up to grab one of his largest oversized t-shirts, when the app said in his ear…

“What about that one?”

“Which one?” asked Dylan, his heart sinking before he hastily added, “Coach?”

“The pink one…three shirts down. To your left,” said Hermes.

Dylan looked. It was one of his favorites—or former favorites. A bright pink one that complimented his tan skin tone and once drew attention to his rugged good looks and fit, muscular body. Ashamed by the results of his newfound eating habits, he hadn’t even tried it on since he had gained the weight.

“I…I’m not so sure I would fit into it, Coach,” said Dylan.

“But it’s one of your favorites, is it not?” asked the app.

“Uh, well…it used to be…” said Dylan. How did he—or rather, it—know that?

“Before you blimped up, you mean,” said Hermes, smugly. Dylan didn’t know what to say. “Oh, go on. Try it on. What could it hurt?”

Dylan obliged, removing the shirt from its hanger. He stalled by taking time to pick one of his stretchier pairs of shorts, a light cream khaki pair that would complement the vibrant pink. It would still be insanely tight on him, he knew. But at least there wasn’t the risk of him popping a button in public…hopefully.

At last, the time came. As quickly as he could, Dylan wriggled his body, first into the shorts, where he found some considerable trouble tugging them up over his rear end and then struggled for a couple minutes to locate his button, which was caught beneath his doughy stomach. When at last he got his fly zipped, he could see his belly, a round white sack of voluptuous fat, straining against the waistband. Oof, he thought internally. I look fat as fuck.

Then came the shirt. It wasn’t much of a struggle to slip over his head. But the rest of it was a feat. He managed to get both arms through the tights sleeves and was about to start rolling it down the rest of his body, when the A.I. Coach interrupted.

“Listen,” said Hermes. Dylan groaned internally. What now? he thought. “Dylan. I want to draw your attention to something. Go ahead and take a look in the mirror.” Dylan did as he was told, moving over to the mirror leaning against the wall. “I think it’s pretty remarkable how all your fresh fat accumulated in your body. In such a unique way, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh…sure, Coach.”

“Now, go ahead and finish putting the shirt on.” Dylan did so, unrolling the pink fabric down his chubby body. His man breasts took up so much of the space and jiggled with nearly every movement of his body. “Hehe, well, we’ll certainly have to do something about those ‘pecs’ of yours, wont we?” Dylan blushed. He tugged the shirt further, covering the rest of his chest, his upper torso, and finally the bottom of his shirt landed just above his navel.

“See…” huffed Dylan. “It doesn’t fit…”

“I can see that,” drawled Coach Hermes. “Wow! That fat stomach is even pudgier than I thought! I figured you would at least be able to cover your whole belly! No matter…”

“No matter?” exclaimed Dylan, indignant. “Coach, I can’t go out looking like this!” he glanced at himself again. He looked like the Pillsbury doughboy crammed into a Ken Doll outfit; all his dough exposed in all the wrong places. So much—too much—of his thighs ballooned out from his shorts and his stomach and love handles were exploding up over his waistband. It wasn’t even cute…

“Sure, you can go out like that,” purred Hermes. “It’s 2023, isn’t it? There’s that whole body positivity movement and whatnot? And it’s summer! Crop tops are all the rage!”

For fit jocks with six-pack abs, thought Dylan.

“Go on…” said Hermes, “Daylight’s wasting! And you haven’t even had breakfast yet! I know you’re hungry, aren’t you big boy?”

He was. His stomach was already growling at him. It was past ten o’clock and by now, he would usually have walked down to the local bakery and would already be stuffing pastries into his face. But he was a regular there. Of course, the baristas knew him and they already knew he had gotten fat. In fact, they had been some of his main enablers, always offering him treats, extra coffees that were made incorrectly; thick Frappuccino’s, new baked goods they wanted him to try. Especially that tall, fit barista who always wore the beanie; a muscular beauty with beautiful tattoos that covered the ginger brown skin on his arms. Xavier could always be counted on to coax a newly-made frosting into Dylan for him to try.

Dylan looked down at his belly, the light white strip of fat protruding in front of him, obscuring his toes. What would stop someone from simply poking him in the belly? From poking fun at him as he waddled by?

“You know what, Coach,” said Dylan. He smiled as he reached down to the bottom of his shirt, crisscrossing his arms as he prepared to yank the thing up over his head. What was he doing, anyway, listening to an automated device? He could make his own decisions! “I don’t think I will be wearing this out in public.”

“Oh, no?” said Hermes.

“No,” said Dylan. “Not today.”

“Suit yourself,” said Coach Hermes.

Dylan did, and he began to pull his shirt upwards, to yank it off his body.

Just then, a sensation coursed through his body. It emulated from his wrist—from the watch that accompanied the earpiece and contact lens in his head—and spread in an instant through his arm, up his chest, and across his nervous system. For a second, his body was illuminated in a sharp, hot flash. Stunned, he gasped, rendered petrified, unable to move. And almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and he collapsed against the edge of his bed in a plump, heaving, sweaty mess.

“That was a mild shock. For your defiance,” said Hermes, as cool and as calm as ever. “Defy me again and you will see increased consequences. Is that understood, Dylan?”

“Y-yes, Coach!” Dylan whimpered.

“Very good,” said Hermes. “Now, let’s get some shoes on and get you some breakfast…”

Within minutes, Dylan had his shoes tied, a backpack strung across his back, and was treading out the door towards the café.

The shock had been enough to keep him in line until he got out the door. He didn’t remember it being on the contract. But then, he hadn’t really read the contract. He’d just pressed his thumb on it. Still, his coworker, Diego hadn’t mentioned anything about it, either! Maybe he’d just forgotten. Or, maybe, he’d never tried to tell his own fitness app ‘no.’ At any rate, Dylan understood why the designers would integrate a failsafe like this into the device. It was certainly an effective deterrent, if a cruel one. But, perhaps there was a way to get it uninstalled. He would have to ask Diego…or even call the software store, if it came to it.

“Hehe, out of breath already, are we?” teased Hermes in his ear. He was only a couple blocks from home. He hadn’t realized he was panting. And he wasn’t even walking that fast. He had been so focused on trying to keep his arms in front of his belly, to cover as much of his fat tummy as possible. It was driving him wild, the jiggling of his belly, the way it quivered, left to right, up and down, every which way with every step. Trembling and exposed, for the entire city to see.

Dylan did his best to steady his breath as he walked the remaining blocks. “I never seem to understand how you humans can get so out of shape without realizing it. Based on my observations, you put on…am I correct in estimating seventy-five pounds…since the start of the pandemic?”

“Yeah…” huffed Dylan. “Something like that…Coach…”

“Fascinating…and you never realized what was happening to your body? How much weight you were putting on? How you no longer fit into your clothes anymore?”

“I didn’t own a scale at the time,” was all Dylan could think to say.

The A.I. paused, not saying anything for a moment. And then, “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make sure to keep you in steady supply of the necessary equipment, won’t we fat boy? Ah, looks like your big belly’s in luck! We’ve arrived!”

They had. The familiar green door, covered with advertisements for local meetups and music and fun stood closed before him. He leaned forward, drawing in a breath, and pressed. The familiar scent of coffee, hot breakfast sandwiches, and pastries filled his nostrils. He looked around. Not many regular customers—no one he was super familiar with—and none of the friendlier baristas. He swiveled his eyes to the other end of the counter and his heart dropped deep into the pit of his enlarged stomach.

There he was. Xavier, shaking a metal cup of something. He looked up, smiling as Dylan walked in. “Hey dude!” said the barista, friendly as ever. Dylan returned the greeting. And then he blushed as Xavier’s eyes fell, from Dylan’s face to his navel, where his exposed belly was still quivering from his last step. Xavier’s eyes widened, but the rest of his face remained unchanged.

“Here,” he said, “I’ve got your order right here.”

“Oh,” said Dylan. “But I haven’t ordered yet.”

Xavier looked confused, but in Dylan’s ear, Coach Hermes whispered. “Actually, I took the liberty of ordering ahead for you, as we are behind on time. I cross-referenced your bank statements with the company’s receipts of your orders, as well as the typical caloric intake for your patronage. And then I averaged the results…”

“Wait…this isn’t yours?” said Xavier.

“Oh, never mind,” Dylan faked a laugh, smacking his forehead. “I’m dumb! I literally never order online, so I forgot.”

Xavier laughed, curiously as he picked up the receipt from the stack of food and drinks.

“I’ve got two turkey-egg-and-cheese breakfast bagels, one poppyseed muffin, one blueberry muffin, a cream cheese Danish, and one extra-venti caramel iced macchiato with extra whipped cream on top?”

“That’s the one…” said Hermes.

“That’s the one!” said Dylan, a little too enthusiastic. God, he’s gonna think I’m such a fatass. Dylan blushed, as he reached his hands forward, allowing Xavier to place the bag of food and drink into his thick, extended arms.

“All yours man,” said Xavier. He dropped his voice. “And I snuck in a cookie for you as well…I know how much you like them! Fresh out of the oven!”

Dylan squirmed internally. “Wow…uh…thanks so much, Xavier!”

Xavier grinned. “You’re welcome.” Dylan turned away to find a table. “Hey, Dylan,” Xavier called after him. Xavier turned, raising his eyebrows. “I really like your crop top!”

He couldn’t see himself, but Dylan could feel his face turn beet red. He thanked the barista and then waddled as fast as he could to the opposite end of the café.

“Hmmm,” purred Hermes in his ear. “I think I’m starting to understand part of why you blew up. You’ve been coming in here for a couple years, haven’t you?”

“Uh huh,” muttered Dylan as he began to gulp his drink. It was delicious, but he barely tasted the overwhelm of sugar and flavor on his tongue as he eyes fixated on Xavier’s bulging arm muscles. He imagined those arms, those comely caramel hands, pressed up against Dylan’s cream-colored ones. Like a chocolate-vanilla-swirl ice cream cone.

“You like him, don’t you?” asked Hermes. Dylan said nothing and for once Hermes let him get away with it. “I think he likes you too…”

“Really?” whispered Dylan. He was starting to get looks from the patrons around him. He stuffed the bagel into his face, gulping it down in a couple bites.

“Oh, for sure!” said Hermes. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to allow you to see him during our training…he might interfere with your progress…but still…it’s nice to be able to recognize your motivations…and your reasons for blubbing up…and look at it this way. At least someone isn’t completely disgusted by the fact that you’ve porked up into a fat fucking pig!” And then the coach laughed, meanly, cruelly.

Somehow, the taunting did not prevent Dylan from eating. If anything, his stomach seemed to have stretched to accommodate the whole of the heaping mound of food before him. As if the teasing made him want to eat his feelings, rather than stop. It wasn’t until he had pushed the last morsel of food; the warm cookie Xavier had snuck into his pile, that the App said, “damn! What an appetite! You’ve eaten almost as many calories as you need for the day! And it’s not even eleven!”

Dylan brushed the crumbs from his chest, his stomach, which jiggled as he did so. “Well, now that we’ve stuffed ourselves silly, are we ready for the rest of the day?”

Dylan gulped down the last sip of his glorified milkshake, the caffeine pumping through his thickened veins. He was anything but ready for a day of teasing and taunting. But, if it kept Hermes from shocking his arm again, he would do anything to keep that sensation from ever happening again.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” he whispered. “…Coach!”

#bhm weight gain #weight gain story #weight gain sequence #fat bhm #fatass #chubby #teaser #gaining weight #fatty #feedee encouragement #fat belly #fatboy #gay gainer

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