#the three of them are dumbasses (affectionate) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bratzforchris · 2 months

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could you do one where chris and reader bring their daughter home from the hospital after she's just born? i love your writings!!!!

My Girl, C. Sturniolo

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Summary: In which bringing your and Chris's first baby home from the hospital results in a core memory<3

Pairing: Chris x feminine reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of a difficult labor and its effects (not graphic!), young parents

Word Count: 974

A/N: Y'all my baby fever has been so bad lately (I'm 19 and single 🤡) and dad!Chris did NOT help. Thank you for the request and you cuties enjoy a fluffy Chris fic<33

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Chris gently lifted the enormous, pink carseat out of the back of the car, hoisting it onto his arm. He was beyond exhausted from the past three days. Granted, all he had ever wanted in life was to be a father, especially when you would be the mother. And so, he picked up the car seat with renewed energy, coming around the side of the car and opening up your door.

“You good, ma?” he asked you, protective instincts kicking in as he watched you struggle to unbuckle your seat and step out of the car.

“I just had a baby, dumbass. My hips are killing me and I’m wearing a diaper. What do you think the answer is?”

Between a long labor, the hustle and bustle of the hospital, and the typical aches and pains that came post-birth, you were a bit snappy after the events of the past three days. Nevertheless though, you planted a kiss on Chris’s cheek, eliciting a grin from your husband.

“Glad to see the pregnancy didn’t take that fiery attitude I love so much.” Chris smiled, wrapping his arm around you to support you as you slowly walked with one hand and carrying the carseat that held your sleeping daughter in the other.

You two slowly began the trek up your front steps, with Chris supporting you the whole way. But before you could open the front door, it was flung open for you, revealing Nick and Matt. They stepped out quickly, eager to get a glimpse of their new niece. They exchanged squeals over how cute your baby girl was until Chris finally shoved them off, protective over his little family.

“Can we get inside first?” he asked, rolling his eyes then smiling at you affectionately.

The brothers allowed you to step inside the house, where both your and Chris’s parents were waiting, slightly more polite than his brothers. You quickly sat down on the couch with the help of your husband, winded from the short walk up the driveway. Chris quickly placed your daughter in your arms and sat beside you with a proud smile as everyone else gathered around on your large couch and on the rug.

“So, have you two decided on a name?” Your mother asked excitedly, her eyes shining with joy.

“We have,” You and Chris looked at each other and smiled as your daughter yawned in your arms, smacking her little lips. “Charlotte Marie Sturniolo.” You said in unison.

Just as you spoke, Charlotte opened her eyes and yawned, letting out a tiny coo. Luckily, your families had been very respectful of your and Chris’s boundaries about holding her, especially since flu season was currently rampant. That didn’t deter anyone from letting out noises of affection at their new daughter, niece, and granddaughter, though. In your comical families, however, cute moments didn’t last long, which led to Nick piping up.

“Can you say Lady Gaga?” he asked. “La-dy Ga-ga.”

Chris rolled his eyes, playfully kicking his brother, which received a giggle from you. “She’s a newborn.”

“I’m raising her to have culture.” Nick shrugged, flipping his hair across his forehead.

As everyone continued to talk, your husband noted how you (and Charlotte) had become more quiet, snuggling into his side. He knew the whole birthing process had been extremely difficult on you, and selfishly, he really wanted some alone time with his little family.

“Should we go upstairs?” he asked you, whispering in your ear and brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek.

You nodded softly, already on the verge of falling asleep as you felt your infant daughter snuggle into you. “Yes please.” You whispered back.

“Well, we would love to keep chatting, but duty calls,” Chris helped you stand up, adjusting Charlotte so she could still cuddle onto your chest. “My girls need me.”

By the time you two had made it upstairs, you were exhausted, but could still hear the talking of your family below, murmuring softly about what great parents you two already were. Granted, it had only been a few days, but in your opinion, you both already were. Despite being on the younger side, you and Chris both loved your daughter with your whole heart, and that was what you wanted the most.

“Thanks for what you did back there,” You yawned as Chris tucked you into bed after placing Charlotte, who was fast asleep, in her crib. “I’m really tired.”

“I could tell,” Your husband bustled around the room, straightening things up to lessen the load on your plate. “You’re so strong, baby.”

You were almost asleep, but you could sense that Chris had stopped moving, which with your husband, meant he was up to something. “Chris? Baby, what are you doing?”

You peeked open your eyes, only for your heart to practically burst. Chris had taken his shirt off and removed your daughter’s onesie, allowing her to cuddle skin-to-skin on his chest. He smiled over at you as she yawned, fisting his skin.

“Look!” he whisper-shouted with the biggest smile on his face. “We’re cuddling!”

You smiled, enjoying the scene before you. “She looks so cozy.”

Chris began to sway and dance softly, singing ‘My Girl’ by The Temptations quietly. “My baby girl. God, I love you so much. You and your mommy are my rock, honey.”

You could hear the happy tears in your husband’s voice as he sang to Charlotte, and that was the moment you knew that you had made the right choice for the father of your children. Chris had been nothing but supportive throughout your whole pregnancy and labor, and it was clear he was carrying that energy into fatherhood as well. You took a mental snapshot, filing away this moment for later because you knew this would always be one you came back to.

tags ♡: @aemrsy @idek3000hi @melguilbert @oobleoob

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets #fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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cholecalcferol · 4 months

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so the seraphs can use the secret room now, huh? [5p]

ever since i saw gabriel with wads of cash on his person (which was like months ago) three things have always been on my mind.

1.) where did the money come from and who is the idiot that thought it was a safe idea to relegate a seraph (mc you big dumbass /affectionate)

2.) i refuse to believe any of the kings would enjoy an angel having sexy times in the same room as them so literally the mc is the only one having fun. they are so funny

3.) glasya/mc/michael, you know? YKNOW?? michael gets off of humans dying, then glasya gets off of corpses. my head is going to explode

ps. a part of me wants people to not mind the mistakes but the other part of me encourages people to play spot-the-mistakes LMAO

#what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb mammon #whb leviathan #whb michael #whb glasyalabolas

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 months

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Sanji And Reader Being Smitten With Each Other Would Include...

Request: Headcanons of sanji with a crush or s/o who is absolutely smitten? Like always glancing or looking at him. Probably got punched across a room in battle after admiring sanji. Literally always looks at him with heart eyes.

My love this is so sweet but honestly I feel like Sanji is exactly the same so I hope you don't mind Sanji being just as smitten with reader :)

Warning: slightly NSFW, mentions of smoking and mentions of blood/ injury!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @suuho.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

I mean look at Mr. Heart Eyes right here so let's just say that you're smitten? You're with the perfect man then because oh my goooossshh have you driven ZORO crazy with how infatuated the two of you are with each other. This poor swordsman has to spend 90% of his time barrel rolling you out of the way and diving in front of Sanji because you dopey dumbasses (affectionate in my case and derogatory in Zoro's) will just not. stop. gaping. at. each. other.

It all started when you agreed to escape the Germa Kingdom with your young princely friend; for many a year, since that fateful day he had literally walked face first into you while you were pretend playing pirates with some of your school chums in the marketplace, Sanji had been inseparable from you. Whether it was him sneaking out to find some solace in your welcoming home, or you trudging over the imposing walls of the palace so you could sneak down into the dungeons and hold a weeping Sanji's hand through the bar grates, you had been the one thing in his life since his mother's passing that had kept him sane.

And now here you were: worried eyes dampened by the torrential rain, but still peering over his face on that desolate rock the three of you ended up shipwrecked on. The whole eighty five days the two of you were stuck on that lonely side, with nothing but the unending stretch of unsultry gloam to keep you company, Sanji believed you were an angel sent to keep him safe. It was the way you shoved the crummy tins you had managed to shovel into your pockets while the ship was going down into Sanji's arms, shaking your head and pressing them further into his stomach as he began to protest. It was the lack of care you had for yourself, so intent you were with making sure he was doing as well as he possibly could: scooping murky water out of the crevices with your hands, just so you could run back and let it trickle down your fingertips and against his chapping lips. How some nights you hadn't slept a wink, too busy chasing away the growing whirlwind of seagulls that circled over your heads, diving down to try and peck at Sanji's burning legs. Making sure that he was tucked tightly under the overhanging edge of a crag, relinquishing the only bit of cover on this small island so Sanji could at least be a little sheltered from the constant downpour. Not only that, but you had even tried to comfort him: offering him a tired smile as you let your fingers shakily run through his hair and tuck away the stubborn curls behind his right ear.

He had held you against him then, as tightly as he could. Wracking with shivers, he couldn't quite figure out if it was due to the freezing cold wind that blew in from the North and snapped at his fingers, or the growing guilt that left him sniffling against your shoulder. It was so hard to focus on anything, with the sleet biting at his face, the imposing waves eating away at the stones beneath your feet. So he did the only thing his dispirited mind could still home in on: the one thing he would regret never doing, if he really were to wane away on this forsaken rock. He let his eyes flutter close, and he used the crash of lightening to mask his thundering heart as he tilted his head up and bashfully pecked your cheek.

For a moment, you thought it was just another hot splash of rain, until you caught sight of Sanji pulling away quickly and ducking his head in embarrassment.

'I-I don't know if we'll ever- well, I'm giving that kiss to you as a loan. I fully expect to get it back.' He managed to rouse some kind of meagre conviction in his hollow voice as he turned to watch your reaction; when he realised you weren't horrified, but instead were wide-eyed with shock as your pointer finger glazed over the wet mark left on your skin, he found himself hopeful for the first time in his life.

God, the two of you were both so gone. It was haunting, in its own beautiful way, as you gripped onto his hand and squeezed.

Far too many times has Zeff nearly blown the kitchen down with the amount of boiling smoke pouring out of his ears due to you two. It wasn't your fault that you had been assigned to the kitchen for your shift: Zeff should have known better, considering the exact same thing had happened yesterday... and the day before... and the year before that and so on, until your hand resembled more bandage than actual skin. You couldn't help it. It was just far too enticing- something so enchanting drawing your attention away from julienning your carrots to instead focus on the way Sanji's taut muscles rippled underneath his shirt as he sautéed. It was as if he had spellbound your eyes so they followed his form around, gladly taking in and making note of the idiosyncrasies you recognised from childhood: the way he still bites his bottom lip when he's really concentrating on stirring, the revulsion on his face as he absentmindedly unscrews a spice jar and takes a sniff, finding it to be oregano.

When you gash across your ring finger and start pooling blood onto the chopping board, though, is when the spell finally breaks and the shouting starts. 'Forth time this week!', he wags his finger at you. 'Forth time this week I've had to bloody throw out good equipment!'

'Was that seriously a pun?', Sanji asks, following on your heel like a swarming shadow as you hobble over to the sink. Zeff bites his tongue as Sanji shakes his head at him: this was an argument they had had far too many times. He had almost, almost resigned himself to the fact that Sanji would, and has, dropped the plates he was carrying to the floor with a resounding crash to run over and care for you. Thankfully, this was the perfect opportunity for Sanji to wrap gauze around your finger, before using an 'old fisherman's tale for healing grievous wounds' by peppering kisses against your knuckle to make you laugh.

Once, you were caught admiring him across your shared work station; the dishes stacking up to be washed were long forgotten as you spent ten minutes absentmindedly running your soapy sponge over the same plate, too busy letting your eyelashes flutter down to watch Sanji's skilful hands work. If you had let your gaze settle for just one more second, you would have seen Sanji raise his eyes to observe your face, lingering far too long on the rising curve of your Cupid's Bow. He bit his bottom lip, trying to stop the peach from flushing along his ears as he imagined how it would feel to swipe his tongue against your lips. When your eyes finally lock, the two of you end up so flustered about being caught that you both immediately go running off in different directions for your fifteen minute breaks.

It's not until the late evening, when everything is finally stowed away and only the late party-goers of the ship are still milling about by the bar that Sanji reappears. His head pops around the door like a surprised meerkat, rapping his knuckles against the office door and smiling as you kicked out the velvet stool next to you, beckoning him in. You drop the pen you were fiddling with when he magics the dish he had been working on earlier from behind his back, the heavenly aroma of your favourite childhood dessert overwhelming your senses as he settles next to you.

'I remember that this was your favourite, and-. Well, a sweet treat for a sweet treat, don't you think darling?'

You hum as you take the first bite, dragging the spoon along your bottom lip and throwing your head back in delight. Little did you notice the effect the warm, low vibration and sight of your plush lip dragging spit against the metal had on Sanji. He squirmed in his chair, swallowing thickly as he did his best to straighten his spine and look presentable: not like someone who was finding it harder and harder to hide the tingling feeling burning in his groin at the sight of you. God, just one noise and he was becoming undone.

He nearly cries out when you lean forward, so close he could nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. God, does he want to. Instead he becomes slack jawed, eyes glazing over with pure want as you use your thumb and pointer finger to grip onto his chin. You tug down, opening his mouth and replacing the space with a fresh spoonful of his sweet dessert. He forgets how to breathe as he watches you glide the spoon out past his locked lips. It's only when you swipe away a little bit of cream left behind on his bottom lip line with your tongue, that he finally jolts. You just giggle, bringing the spoon back to your own mouth and sucking off the remnants of chocolate as Sanji does his best to stop his breath shuddering with soft squeaks.

His heart is about to spill out onto the floor: the trajectory of his life wrapped so firmly around the sweet twilight embrace of your tide that he would find it a pleasure to drown. You were his best friend. The love of his life. And he understands in that moment, with a realisation he could never unlearn, that he would go through every moment that led, every hardship, every bit of pain to get here again. He would do it all, if it meant he ended here with you.

But he only sighs and smiles fondly as you reach up to tuck that damn stubborn curl of hair back behind his ear again.

As soon as he made it back to his room, he slammed the door and fell back against it. With a hand thrown over his face, he groaned inwardly at how oblivious he had been. How much time he had wasted being afraid. But it was okay. He understood now. It had always been you. This. He was made more of you than he was of himself.

The next night, just after your shift, you find him leaning casually against the back door of the Baratie: his legs crossed out in front of him, watching the waves lap up serenely against the docks. His back rests against the shimmer of the bottle-green fish scales, making him seem almost other-worldly as the sun dips over his body. It fades from a warm yellow against his fringe, settling onto a melted honey running over his twirling cigarette, bowing with a crushed violet against his tapping heel.

You two have spent the last thirteen years endlessly circling each other's orbits without the eventual collide, that it didn't take long for you to find him. Tucking yourself against his shoulder, Sanji offers you a smile full of solace: an unspoken acknowledgement that he had been waiting out here for your arrival.

That despite all the hours and hours he had droned on about finding the All Blue, he wanted to be here with you - hell, he wanted to be anywhere with you. Even though he couldn’t find the right words to say it, still so unused to the daunting vehemence of requited love, it showed in the lift of his rose-tinted cheeks. In the flutters of the lines on his forehead. Sanji knew one thing in his life was certain, no matter how his future panned out: he loved you with every fibre of his being.

He grabs at your fingers, gently guiding them up to his lips. Pursing them, he places your fingertips around the mouthpiece and stares over the butt as he takes a final inhale, firm perch stopping you from getting away. As the stream of smoke floods out from the corner of his mouth, he allows you to pluck the cigarette away and toss it into the ocean.

'Y/n, I-', he starts breathlessly, turning his torso so he's giving you his undivided attention. He looks terrified - even more so when you quickly interrupt him by talking over his quivering confession.

'I have something to give back to you.' Your tone is so serious, Sanji's head bucks back in confusion.

'...Well, love. If you stole my apron again, don't sweat it.' He shoves his hands into his pockets, finding his courage draining away as you stare indiscernibly straight at him. 'Zeff has enough in the spare cupboard that we could dress up every Marine in a new uniform-'

'No, I mean- well', you shake your head and look up at the sky. 'I've been meaning to give it back for a long time now, but I guess delivery is pretty slow out in the middle of bloody nowhere', you laugh breathlessly, appreciating the way Sanji's worried eyebrow creases settle at the joke. You swear, golden treasures buried at the bottom of the ocean couldn't gleam as ferociously as Sanji's eyes do as he finally catches onto your meaning, his mouth dropping open.

His breath hitches in his throat, and his chin drops down to his neck in shock as you lean to your right and finally press your pliant lips against his own. Your fingers are quick to spread over his cheek, twirling through his loose curl once again as he falls against you; he almost crushes you with his full weight, but is quick to curve his spine and bow over you, little whimpers following his open mouth.

For a moment, as a thin trail of spit joins your brushing lips, Sanji has no idea how to react. Well, that is until he registers shock ripples delightfully lashing up his spine as you shove him back against the wall, his mouth falling open again in allowance for your tongue to lash in and fill the empty space: to suffocate his whines.

The look on the rest of the cooks' faces as the two of you come stumbling back in is priceless. The two of you really thought you had gotten away with it: if it weren't for the wall being shaken hard enough to rouse a Kraken from its slumber, and the slurred string of French curses and praises stuttering out of Sanji's lips and through the open door, you almost might have.

It's so worth it. Sanji just coughs into his clenched fist, fixing his lopsided tie and doing his best to use the flat edge of his thumb to try and wipe away some of the ruddiness from his swelling bottom lip. But when he slides his fingers in-between yours, a shy smile masked by a playful wink thrown back at you, do you know the two of you won't be able to keep your eyes (or your hands) off each other for the rest of the dining service.

When two of your 'charming' customers have a disagreement over their seating arrangements, you're too busy admiring how Sanji's thighs strain against his pressed trousers to see the trouble coming your way. It's only when one of them comes hurtling towards you and knocks you and your drinks tray ass over kettle that you become enraged. Before Sanji can even reach you to apologise, you've launched the customer off of you with a swift kick, managing to jab Sanji in the abdomen in the process. Doubling over, he falls on his face on top of you. I've got to be honest, neither of you are exactly complaining about your sudden arrangement. Once you've finished giggling and checking each other over, you realise that an inch lower, and short pant of Sanji's heaving breath against your breast and your lips would be brushing together.

The two of you would have turned into a tangled mess of heavy making out right there and then if Zeff hadn't come swinging out of the kitchen to see what all the ruckus was about.

Istg this poor man does his best to give the two of you jobs at opposite ends of the Baratie, only to nearly tug his braided beard out when a customer complains that their service is slow because, *surprise surprise*, the two of you are slacking off together. Either you're making heart eyes at him during as you wait in the main dining area, using any opportunity to grip onto the meat of his waist and slide past him with a poor excuse about 'needing to get clean menus' and making him shiver with a fresh rush of goose bumps, or he's finding you. Even when you were confined to working behind the bar, Sanji still manages to convince the other cooks that he so desperately needs the new delivery of brandy for his new profiterole recipe. Of course, he only does it so when he's on his knees lifting out the boxes, he can leave you a gasping, flustering mess. With clenched hands sending curls of shredded wood down on top of his hair, Sanji just presses his knees forward and pays no notice. He's too busy gliding his hands underneath your shirt, splaying them across your your back as he shoves his nose into your stomach. Although he's careful to stay hidden from the customers, he adores the sound of your clenched whines too much to stop himself. He rolls up the hem, ravishing you with a wet trail of kisses over the band of your trousers; his tongue runs welts over your skin as his teeth suck underneath your bellybutton, his left hand snaking down to rest on your leg so he can grip his thumb against the inner seam of your thigh.

It's only when the pad of his pointer finger presses a little too close to your clothed groin and you spill a drink over a customer that you both stop.

Once the two of you join Luffy's crew, you and Zoro seem to be the perfect team to drive Zoro up the wall. He likes you just fine, but you and waiter together being all lovey dovey makes him want to jump head first overboard.

What makes it even better is the fact that during the attack on Coco Village, you were too busy being proud of Sanji on his spectacular form and fighting technique that you and Zeff had spent years teaching him, that you don't notice one of the Fish-Men grabbing your collar. Before you can even gasp, you've been punched straight across the water and have knocked Zoro and three of the guys he was fighting down like a speeding bowling ball.

From then on, Zoro sleeps in the Crow's Perch and nowhere else. If he's not being knocked down, he's being left wincing as he trains with bruises gained from your elbow jabbed into his back. It's not your fault if you sneak in to cuddle in Sanji's hammock every night, and Zoro's face just happens to be inches away from yours. Sanji still has nightmares of your shipwrecked days from time to time, and just the pressure of your hand against his arm is enough to rouse him from whatever oblivion he was beginning to sink into. A warmth immediately spills through him as the two of you spend most of the night talking, reminiscing, sharing secret smiles between lingering kisses that leave the two of you giddy.

You're always up before him, letting him sleep in for as long as you can with a final, lingering kiss to his tense forehead. You wait for him in the kitchen, a warm cup of tea cupped between your hands, and a second one waiting for him on the counter as he sleepily wanders in to start breakfast preparations. It's become a comforting routine: you placing your head on your hand and talking idly as you admire him, keeping him company.

He knows, though. He knows what you're really waiting for. He happily obliges once the eggs have begun to sizzle, coming to rest on the bench in front of you. He grabs onto your back, pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling his waist. With languid blinks, he leaves soft kisses against the edge of your mouth as you grind against him, delighting in the hoarse groan that bobs his Adam's Apple. You tug the hair at the nape of his neck before scraping your nails over the skin apologetically, but what other way were you going to get him to open his mouth for you? Besides, the jumbled rush of French words that leave his mouth in a pealing string as you slide your tongue over his pulse point is the most heavenly sound in the world.

You're only disturbed by the sound of Luffy's yawn. For a moment, he just scratches the back of his neck and looks between the two of you curiously.

'Y/n, how come only Sanji gets a good morning hug! Can I have one too!'

'No!'

#one piece #one piece imagine #sanji #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #sanji headcanons #opla #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanki headcanons #op #op imagine #zoro #monkey d luffy #nami #usopp

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modelbus · 10 months

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Hello!! I LOVE your writing, like I’m obsessed! So, I can’t tell if your requests are open, buttt if they are, I would DIE for some fluff turned to angst of a fem!reader who is in a group with cc!Ranboo, cc!Tubbo, cc!Wilbur and cc!Tommy nicknamed the chaos squad by the fandom, where she is the least popular in the group and a rumour spread that shes only in it for the popularity, so they slowly stoped inviting her to streams and vlogs and ghosting her.

it could start with like three two sentence stories about the group (or something), how it was formed just fluffy moments, and then be like “but it didn’t stay like that for long..” and explain why she was subtly kicked from the group before a scene where shes streaming and gets asked about why shes not been in any videos anymore.

PHEW that was ALOT, if its to long you can obviously shorten it or just not do it- but if requests are open and you like the idea, I would love to see something like this!! <3

PS. You are super cool, keep up the amazing work!! (When you want to ofc)

-✨🌌🌙 Anon

Thank you so much! I tried my best to include everything :D This literally took me out of my writing slump

Part 2 :)

Pairing(s): cc!Ranboo, cc!Tubbo, cc!Wilbur and cc!Tommy x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Cut Chaos

The feeling of belonging was something nearly everyone chased after. After all, being out of place was simply… lonely. And, somehow, you found yourself slotting into the weirdest place in the world.

A handful of stupid friends.

You always found yourself drawn to dumbasses, in the most affectionate way. Like looks for like, you suppose. And shit, did you find some people that could make you cry laughing even on the worst days.

Ranboo, Tubbo, Wilbur, Tommy. Four people that made the sun rise every day, that dragged you out of bed for the stupidest vlogs to ever exist. Fans adored the five of you together so much that you got a group name for the first time in your career: the Chaos Squad.

Truly, it was a fitting name. The things that the five of you got up to, you’re certain no normal sane person would do. But, well, your job as a streamer already set you apart from the category of “normal” a long time ago, so you definitely didn’t mind the messes you got into with them.

From Tommy dragging the group to an abandoned island, saying it’d be fun to try to escape (you fell out of a tree and Wilbur sprained his ankle), to screaming along at Lovejoy concerts, it felt like the five of you were unstoppable.

And God, did you love them. It didn’t matter how many times Ranboo hit his head on things, you’d still laugh. It didn’t matter that you literally passed out from laughing so hard once, you were still happy. Pure, unfiltered love.

The five of you against the world, forever. You could see it, in those sunny days where you grinned so hard your cheeks hurt (they were the first ones to make you do that—the realization only made you grin harder). The perfect idea of happiness.

Was it any wonder things didn’t stay that way, that perfect, for long?

A rumor.

It always seemed to start with one of those, nowadays. A simple murmur among fans that grew and grew, until you were closing out of twitter at 2, 4, 5 AM, debating if you should just delete the app and put your status on “Do Not Disturb.”

You accepted the fact that being a female content creator was going to be a struggle a long time ago. It was a fact, something you knew you couldn’t avoid, especially in gaming. Having rumors about you online wasn’t new. It would never be new, not as long as you were yourself.

But you thought you’d be past caring about them by now. You thought the tight panic that gripped your heart, made it hard to breathe, was a thing of the past. So stupid.

One private account turned into multiple threads, turned into trends on the trending tab.

Everyone thought you were using your friends, the chaos squad as a whole, just to boost your career. To leech off anyone’s subscribers, just for some money in your pocket.

The idea made you sick to your core.

How dare they? How dare they ever think you didn’t genuinely care for the four? That they were anything less than the lightness in your heart, the freedom on your mind?

Rumors.

You ignored them. Even the thought of addressing them made you feel pissed off like you’ve never been before. It was such an absurd idea! At the very least, you knew your friends would see past the hateful people.

Right?

It starts with an unanswered message in the group chat.

Unanswered messages weren’t new. A stray comment tended to get lost in the general mess that the group chat was, so you weren’t concerned. Just laughed to yourself quietly; it wasn’t important anyways, just a photo of a cat you saw.

Until it happened again. And again. Until more of your messages went ignored than responded to, until the group chat had less and less messages each day.

When the first vlog comes out, the process repeats. It’s on Tommy’s channel, of course. Him, Ranboo, Tubbo, and Wilbur. The chaos squad, just without you. It surprised you, because you never even realized they filmed a video, and normally all of you share upcoming videos.

All the warning signs were obvious, and you were too much of a damn fool.

You filmed one vlog with them after that, exploring a supposedly haunted house, before you woke up a month later and realized you hadn’t talked to them in a week.

One week turns into two, two into three, until you’ve realized what’s happened. You were gone, out of the picture. Happiness had slipped through your fingers faster than you could’ve ever comprehended, and now you were in a dark room—literally.

But what could you do? If they didn’t want you, there was nothing you could do to stop the unraveling of your universe.

So you did the same thing you did before them, defaulting back to what was safe: streaming alone.

Today, it’s just a mindless game. Yesterday was the same, and fuck, this isn’t the same anymore. Not when you don’t have Tubbo in the chat sending messages, or Wilbur using Text-To-Speech.

But you’re here, still streaming. Still going, no matter how tempting it is to just shut off your computer and pretend the last months of your life never happened.

There’s always fans though, and if anything cheers you up, it’s them. So your donations are on, allowing them to be read aloud while you play the silly little unpacking game.

“Where am I putting the diploma guys? Where does this go?” You ask, mouse hovering over the virtual object. “Maybe I’ll just put it under the pillow…”

“StarEmojis donated $15! If up is down and yes is no, how many sides does a triangle have?”

“Thank you, but… uh...” You narrow your eyes at the message. “None, it’s a circle?”

Shrugging, you drag the diploma in the game to under the pillow. The riddle sounds familiar, but not one you know the answer to. It sounds like something Wilbur would send in the group chat at 2 in the morning, honestly.

With that thought in mind, your eyes flicker over the user that donated it. StarEmojis. Not Wilbur.

You’re so stupid for hoping. For the jump in your heart, for the frantic searching.

“StarStarMoon donated $20! Why aren’t you in any Chaos Squad videos anymore? Love you!”

Air catches in your lungs, dread swelling in your chest as your hands still on the mouse and keyboard. That shouldn’t have gotten past the moderators, but it did.

And now you have to answer it.

It wasn’t like you could tell the truth: that you weren’t good enough. That even your best friends didn’t believe you over rumors from strangers online.

Any lie would have a chance of getting back to them though. Not that you can imagine them caring, not anymore.

You swallow past the lump in your throat that’s killing you, taking a breath in before answering. One chance to get the fans to move on, one chance to find the impossible balance between the agony inside of you and cool indifference.

“We’re all just busy.” You say, forcing a smile on your face.

It’s true, at least. Everyone is busy. Everyone except you, that’s it.

“Just scheduling problems. Wil- Wilbur has Lovejoy practices and performances.” You stumble over his name. Did you even have the right to call him Wil anymore? “And Tommy is just always busy. He’s the busiest person, I swear.”

Is that true anymore? You don’t know. He used to be, but you used to help force him to take breaks. Was he taking breaks? You’ll never know.

With another forced smile, you give a half-hearted shrug. “So yeah, just busy, don’t worry guys.”

It’s with baited breath that you wait, eyes scanning chat to see if they bought it. From what you’re seeing, they have.

“Now we need to reorganize these clothes, because they’re killing me like this—“

Your discord pings quietly on another monitor, and you scramble to open it. Just your mods apologizing for letting the donation go through. You send a quick message back to them before pushing the donation to the back of your head just like everything relating to the group you’re no longer part of.

What could you do, anyways?

This was out of your control.

#dsmp #mcyt #mcyt imagine #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #ranboo x reader #ranboo x you #tubbo x reader #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #ranboo

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artiststarme · 1 year

Text

Don't Call Me Stupid

Can I make you cry four times in one day @pyrohonk? I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

Now with a Part 2!

~*~*~*~

Steve was used to being the dumb one. He was the kid in class that would ask stupid questions that the other kids and sometimes even the teacher would laugh at. He never quite understood what teachers were saying in class or what the words written on the board were supposed to mean with their squiggly letters that jumped around. Eventually he learned not to raise his hand at all. Better to be confused than embarrassed, right?

Nancy, when they were dating, would always call him an idiot. He brushed it off at the time but looking back, it made him wonder. If he was a little bit smarter, a little more astute, would things have gone differently? Would Nancy have sought comfort in him instead of running off to Jonathan? Would he have noticed Barb’s disappearance from his yard that started all of this in the first place? He had to wonder but even that wouldn’t change anything.

His stupidity was also a highlight point for his parents to focus on. He once was the popular jock, an airhead but one that was popular and good at sports. Now, he was just a deadbeat that barely graduated high school and certainly couldn’t get into college. He was a loser working at a dead-end job that was going nowhere in life. Ah, what pride he brought to his parents now. He could only grieve the life he used to lead every time he saw his parents staring at him in disdain. At least he had the Party… right?

It was a well known fact throughout the Party that Steve was a little slow. His brain worked at a different pace than the rest of them, a concept woefully apparent to everyone. His brain was focused on the music underlying the Russian code and the Black Widows underneath the floorboards. He was the last to connect the dots and truly only helped the Party by taking hits to the head. They only kept him around to take the hits after all.

Even Robin, his best friend in the world, his platonic soulmate with a capital P, called him a dingus on a near hourly basis. Sure, it was affectionate now but it started as a derogatory term to poke fun at his intelligence, or lack thereof. He was a fool in her eyes, affectionate or not. Even still, he was just the dumbass that slept around with half of Hawkins, a sassy soundboard for her to bounce lesbian crushes off of.

He was used to being called stupid but it still hurt every time.

So in the first fight he and Eddie have as a couple, it really hits a sore spot when Eddie hisses, “what are you, stupid?”

All of the fight drained out of Steve in an instant leaving a broken, empty shell in its place. His anger melted away to reveal the hurt hidden underneath. “You should go.”

“What? No, we’re talking this through,” Eddie shook his head, giving him a look of confusion.

“I probably won’t understand anyways since I’m so stupid. So you should go, save your breath. Whatever you think is probably right anyways.” With that, Steve walks up the stairs to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. He pulls his old Walkman over his ears and lets the sad tones of Queen’s All Dead, All Dead wash over him.

He was sick of being treated like trash by everyone he talked to. Everyone that was supposed to love him; his parents, Nancy, Robin, Eddie, the kids. They all thought he was a dumbass. He’d tried so hard to be better, to be smarter, to be more useful to everyone else. But in his quest, he lost everything that he once was. He lost his charisma, he lost his old friends, and his hobbies to become this loser who still no one liked.

So, he ignored his boyfriend’s knocks on his door, turned up his tunes, and planned his move away from Hawkins. If he wasn’t appreciated here, maybe he would be anywhere else.

Permanent Tag List: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @anzelsilver @jestyzesty @gregre369

#stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #eleven hopper

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cecilysass · 1 month

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Shine On (1/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One: Vandy

Rawlins Middle School Rawlins, Wyoming February 3, 2015

“Vandy.” Louis slams into Jackson with the force of his entire body. It’s an affectionate body slam, but also hard enough for Jackson to lose his pencil and nearly his armful of books and binders. “Did you hear? I hope it’s true. It better be true.”

“What are you talking about?” Jackson bends over to pick up the pencil, trying not to get knocked over again by the continual current of students on their way to third period.

“The police came to shut the school down. We’re getting out of here, bro.”

Jackson looks up at his friend skeptically. “Louis, what are you talking about, seriously?”

“Second period we could see the police coming into the building.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. And I heard it was because there was a bomb threat and they’re going to close school right after lunch.”

“If it was a bomb threat, they wouldn’t wait to close school,” Jackson points out. “They’d close it right away.”

“Maybe it’s not a for sure bomb threat,” Louis replies. He looks suddenly doubtful. “Fuck, it better be true. I haven’t finished my essay yet.”

“What did you plan to do if there wasn’t a bomb threat?” Jackson asks curiously.

“Hey Vandy.” Delia Rich suddenly appears next to Jackson, and he quickly straightens his posture. Delia is so pretty: brown hair, bangs, pink cheeks, round behind. “Did you hear about the girl in seventh grade?”

“No, I didn’t,” Jackson says. His tone is considerably more polite all of a sudden. “What about her?”

Delia leans toward him seriously and lowers her voice. “She killed her parents and herself and the police are here to question everyone.”

“Naw, the police are here for the bomb threat,” Louis says dismissively, shimmying to the side to avoid a group of loud and oblivious sixth grade girls walking past them.

“Who told you about that?” Jackson asks Delia, frowning.

“Hannah R. in 8C,” Delia says, shrugging. She seems to think of something else. “Oh, Vandy.” Her eyes widen and roll dramatically. “Did you study for algebra? Oh my god, it was awful.”

“Yeah.” Jackson nods, but he’s distracted, even from a conversation he would normally be thrilled to be having.

“I spent three hours last night on quadratic equations,” Delia says. “I’m not even exaggerating. I should have asked you for help.”

“Because he’s such a fucking nerd?” Louis adds helpfully.

“No, because he’s really good at helping with math,” Delia says to Jackson, bumping into him a little. “Can you quiz me before class?”

Over Delia’s shoulder, Louis begins to raise his eyebrows up and down significantly like a maniac. Jackson studiously ignores him.

“Yeah, but I, uh, gotta stop in there first,” Jackson says, gesturing vaguely behind her.

“Stop in where?” She looks around the hall.

“Restroom,” Jackson says, irrationally embarrassed.

“Oh, right.” Delia turns back around. “I’ll see you in a few minutes then?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, attempting the most winning smile he can muster as she darts across the hall into the classroom.

Louis immediately shoves his shoulder. “What are you doing, dumbass? I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” Jackson says pathetically. “But I have to use the restroom. For real.”

“Jesus, you have absolutely no game.”

Jackson decides not to bring up his friend’s own unsuccessful record with girls. “I’ll talk to you later, Louis.” He begins to make a beeline for the boys’ room.

“Wait, are we playing GTA after school?” Louis calls as Jackson begins to walk away.

“Uh, no,” Jackson calls back. “I can’t today. My parents stayed home to meet the guy delivering our new washer and dryer.” Jackson’s mom hates Grand Theft Auto, so he can only play when she’s out of the house.

“You’re a loser,” Louis responds good-naturedly. “See you later.”

Jackson flees, weaving in and out between students hurrying to make it to class on time.

As soon as Jackson is inside the restroom, he heads directly for the third stall, the only one with a fully functioning lock on the door.

By some miracle, it’s unoccupied. Actually, the whole bathroom is empty. He hurries inside and fastens the latch as quickly as possible.

And then for a moment he stands there, clutching his books and trying to catch his breath. He stares at the back of the stall door. It is covered in scrawled “suck my dick” and “turrrn uuup” in black marker.

Jackson’s not sure why the news of the police coming to his school has him so worked up, but it does. He can still feel his heart racing. Every muscle in his body is tense.

Calm down. Calm down.

He places a hand on his chest and counts to four as he breathes in, then holds his breath for a count of seven, then breathes out. It’s a technique his therapist likes to recommend to him. He’s slightly skeptical that it really works, but he tries it anyway. When he’s getting worried or irrationally fearful, when his emotions start to betray him, he wants anything that will help.

After a minute, the bell rings. Now he’s officially late for algebra. And they’re having a test, one he’s prepared for.

He should leave this bathroom.

He should go to class right now, take his tardy gracefully, sit down, smile at Delia, get out his pencil, and take his test.

Still, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even begin to move. Every instinct is telling him not to move.

Instead, he closes his eyes and empties his mind.

Hesitantly, he begins to push out cautious little tendrils to probe around him in the school. He doesn’t really want to do this, but something deep inside tells him it’s important. That he needs to.

People’s minds feel different, have different textures to them. Right now, as he shines into people, as he gently touches the minds closest around him with his own, he can tell that most of them are kids, his friends and classmates. Kids’ minds are usually sort of bright and loud and flashy, like commercials for kids’ cereals. Every once in a while there’s a kid mind that’s very sad, unusually sad, but even then it’s sad in stark, dramatic colors, clear and tragic and obvious. Kids don’t hide things well.

But he brushes against adult minds in the school, too: teachers, mainly. Adults’ inner lives are so much more complicated than kids’. Harder to get into. Some of them are complex and curlicued, like honeycombs, and others are like smooth stones you find on a riverbed. Some are like an animal carcass rotting, full of holes you don’t want to shine into too deep.

It’s because of adults’ minds that Jackson doesn’t like shining into people’s heads very much. He’d prefer to stay out of other people’s minds as much as possible.

He peeks into the teachers’ minds just enough to identify them, to see their memories: their own faces in the mirror, their classes back up at them, bored faces staring from desks. He’s not looking for a teacher, so he moves along quickly. He doesn’t want to see any of their secrets.

Finally he’s found something different: the front office, a group of minds clustered together, a cloud of anxiety shared among them. One of them he recognizes must be his principal, Mr. Werther – he can see in his memories speaking into the intercom for the morning announcements today. Mr. Werther is feeling very troubled about something right now. His thoughts are racing. He’s wondering what the right decision is. He’s wondering whether he will be blamed if something goes wrong. His mind feels like a soda bottle shook up, ready to burst.

Quickly, Jackson switches his shine to another mind in the group, someone calmer. This mind is sharper, metallic-feeling, and he realizes that it’s a police officer, someone in charge, someone named Davis. He pushes further into Davis’s mind, into his current consciousness, and he sees that Davis is trying to explain the situation to Mr. Werther, trying to assure him that everyone will be safe, trying to let him know that there is back-up waiting right outside the school. Davis doesn’t think Mr. Werther is very smart.

Dimly, Jackson is aware that he is tightening his grip on his books, his anxiety rising. Something is very wrong here. He feels it in Davis’s thoughts. He sees flashes of himself.

He prods the shine deeper into Davis’s mind, pushing back thin layers that seem a little like aluminum foil.

In Davis’s recent memory, there is an image of something horrible: a crime scene. Bodies, shot, a man and a woman. Lying on their kitchen floor in a pool of blood, their faces vacant. Davis stands over them, shaking his head, writing notes.

The bodies’ faces are familiar. They’re Jackson’s parents.

Jackson feels himself start to breathe faster.

As though seeing light behind a dirty window, he starts to see what Davis thinks happened.

He thinks Jackson shot his parents before he went to school that morning. Davis pictures it happening: Jackson, shouting, lifting a gun and shooting first his father and then his mother. Davis thinks he possibly has a gun on him now, at school. The police want to apprehend him safely, with no one being hurt.

“We need to consider him dangerous,” Davis’s voice is echoing through his thoughts. “But we can do this in a way that makes sure no one gets hurt.”

All at once Jackson opens his eyes, falling back into his own consciousness, feeling short of breath.

He realizes he’s trembling. Mom. His parents.

Are his parents really dead? How could they be? He saw them just this morning. His mom had reminded him about his therapy appointment tomorrow and his dad had told him to stop leaving lights on. He hadn’t kissed his mom good-bye. He had been in a hurry.

Jackson feels sick. Mom. Mommy.

It’s impossible. He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants his mom. He wants to throw up.

There is a crackling sound echoing through the bathroom, and then the sound of a tinny voice speaking over an intercom. “Students and teachers, please pardon the interruption. Jackson Van De Kamp in eighth grade, would you please come to the main office? Jackson Van De Kamp in eighth grade, come to the main office.”

Jackson tenses his whole body behind the door of the bathroom stall, ready to push through, an instinctive defensive maneuver.

They’re really going to try to arrest him, he realizes. They really think he killed his parents.

He feels panic rising in his stomach, seriously threatening to make him lose his breakfast. They think he’s a killer.

You don’t have to worry. Not you. You can protect yourself. Stay calm.

He closes his eyes again and carefully shifts the perception of all minds around him, giving himself a thirty foot perimeter of altered reality.

It’s a big effort for him — bigger than his usual modest experiments — but he doesn’t feel any headache. Maybe it’s the adrenaline.

Walking like he’s in a dream—like he’s in a nightmare, really—he cautiously steps out of the bathroom.

Anyone looking in the hall simply sees Louis.

Jackson, as Louis, walks down the hallways of his school at the same slow pace, so as not to attract attention. It’s an effort to keep the minds around him altered and his own posture casual and unassuming. He walks past classrooms, watching all around him with his peripheral vision and the little fingers of his mind. Louis, please don’t happen to come out in the hall to use the restroom at this exact moment. Please.

He heads towards the entrance of the school, which means passing the front office. As he approaches, he sees that now there is actually almost no one around the front office at all. That seems weird—usually there are tons of students and teachers congregating near it.

Just keep walking, he thinks. Hopefully you’ll be unnoticed.

As he’s stepping past the door, two policemen emerge, moving quickly.

“Where are you headed, son?” From a quick tap of his mind, Jackson recognizes this man as Davis, the officer apparently in charge.

“My mom’s car. Dentist appointment,” Jackson mutters.

Davis glances out the door, where there is fortunately a car in the parking lot that looks plausibly like a waiting parent. “All right, go quickly. Don’t hang around. We need all students out of this general vicinity.”

Davis waves him out, and Jackson eagerly follows in the direction of his gesture out the door.

The February temperature hits him like a slap in the face. Regretfully he realizes his good winter coat is in his locker, back inside the school.

He keeps walking casually down the steps of the school and down the driveway, already beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

When he gets to the road, out of easy eyesight of the school, he drops his books on the ground and begins to jog. The school is on a wind blown, gray, desolate-looking Wyoming road, with little traffic except for those coming to the school. He drops his Louis perception filter. There’s no one to see.

And after he does, he discovers to his surprise that he’s crying.

He has no idea where he’s going now.

He has a vague idea that he should get out of town—maybe to a big city, like Cheyenne or Denver—but he isn’t sure how to get there. He has no money. He could hitchhike, but the idea of hitchhiking scares him, which makes him feel ashamed.

It’s just he’s too familiar with the kinds of things that adults think about. And after all, someone just killed his parents.

Why did someone kill his parents? Who would do that? His parents never did anything to anyone. They weren’t drug dealers or thieves. They were Lutherans. His mom made casseroles, and his dad carved wooden ducks. They were cheerful, optimistic, the type of people to see the good in everyone. Sometimes Jackson felt like he didn’t have much in common with them— like they saw the world very differently from him— but he loved them. He could never have hurt them. And he hates to think of what they thought, in the moment they died.

He finds himself crying harder as he jogs. He shouldn’t do this now; it’s too cold for tears. He tries to wipe them off with the sleeve of his sweater. But it’s hard to stop crying once he’s started.

He tries to jog faster. Turns it into a run. Maybe this will snap him out of it, clear his head. He’s always been good at running. At the very least it will warm him up.

Just keep running, he tells himself. He smiles a little, because it reminds him of a line from one of his favorite movies when he was a kid, Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming. His mom would repeat the line to him as a joke when he was learning to swim.

He blinks back the tears again and runs harder.

He wonders if Louis will think he really did kill his parents. He wonders if Delia will. He wonders if the other kids at school will all talk about it: Jackson Van De Kamp, the psycho kid who shot his family and was planning on shooting up the school. If they will make up stories about why he was going to do it.

A car passes on the road, and he quickly slips a filter into the driver’s mind: he’s a nice old lady picking up trash along the side of the road.

When the car passes, he continues running and considers his options. He doesn’t have a phone. His parents were waiting until high school to get him one. Even if he did, he couldn’t use it now anyway—the police would track him.

Shelter is an immediate problem. There’s a Frontier Museum in downtown Rawlins. He wonders if he might go inside and find a place to hide overnight, at least until he has a better idea. But the museum costs money to get a ticket, and he doesn’t have money.

He could try to contact his Uncle Wyatt to see if he would help him. But what if Uncle Wyatt believes the story and thinks Jackson killed his parents? Uncle Wyatt has always found Jackson annoying, ever since Jackson threw that basketball into his flatscreen TV when he was six. He could very well decide to turn his nephew in.

Then there is his birth mom. Jackson wishes he could ask her. He thinks he’s seen her, once or twice, in his occasional visions that come in fast and bewildering flashes. At least he thinks it’s her. It’s a woman he has some very close connection to, a red-headed woman, who is always very sad. He wonders if she would help him. He likes to think she would. But that’s a childish fantasy, because he has no clue where to find her. He can’t reach out and try to shine every mind in the whole world to try to locate her. He needs to stick with practical ideas right now.

He’s been walking and running for three miles, the wind biting incessantly into his clothes, when he hears another car coming down the road. With the fingers of his mind, he reaches out towards the driver’s mind to tweak their perception.

But strangely, he finds he can’t. Something in the driver’s mind is pushing back, keeping a wall up so that Jackson can’t change what they see.

He feels a stab of panic. He didn’t know this was possible. He’s never seen this before. Some paranoid part of him wonders if this is the person who killed his parents.

The car is sleek and black, with mirrored windows. It slows down right next to him. Jackson looks wildly back and forth for somewhere to run and hide, just in case there is someone inside with a gun—but there is nothing around him but open land, no possible shelter for miles.

He finds himself doing nothing but standing there stupidly, an open target, his eyes widening as the window rolls down.

“Jackson Van De Kamp?” a female voice says.

“Yeah,” Jackson manages, his voice scarcely a whisper.

It’s a woman: a surprisingly young woman wearing mirrored sunglasses, her blondish hair pulled back in a ponytail. She doesn’t look like a killer. But Jackson knows very well that evil people don’t always look evil.

“It’s come to my attention that you might need some assistance.”

He can’t think of anything to do but bob his chin up and down in a nod.

“Why don’t you get in the car, and we’ll talk?”

It looks so warm inside. He has nowhere to go. She dangles the promise of information, something important he doesn’t know.

Still, some sense of self preservation keeps him from stepping forward. Desperately, he tries to noodle a shine into her mind, trying to see what she’s all about. But he can’t. It’s like it’s boarded up.

She smiles a little at him in a guarded way, not showing her teeth. He has the weirdest feeling that she knows exactly what he is trying to do.

“W-who are you?” he says hoarsely. “Do I know you?”

She sighs, as if she expected this. “If you get in the car, I promise I’ll explain, Jackson.”

He hesitates. Then, taking a deep breath, he starts to make his way toward the passenger door.

Really, what other choice does he have?

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #xf fanfic #jackson van de kamp #msr

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

God, sunlight feels so good. Lance missed it. It’s really such a nice way to wake up. Warm sunbeams on your bare skin, a gentle brightening of the room; God, it even makes the room smell better… it sucks so bad that his room in the castle doesn’t have any windows. He’s so glad to finally be getting some now.

Lance shoots awake in a panic.

He should not be feeling sunlight on his skin right now.

He takes a half second to wake up fully, taking in the clean white sheets tangled around his hips, the sterile boringness of the room, the giant window with a sparkly view.

Oh, right. They stopped on what was essentially a Vegas planet yesterday to get a specific part for one of the castle’s reactors, and then he, Hunk, and Pidge convinced Shiro to let them hit the casinos for a bit.

The rest of the night is a blur.

“What the fuck did I do last night?” Lance mumbles, shifting around to stretch a bit. His hip bumps into a lump in the bed — a person-sized lump — and the movement makes him suddenly aware of a soreness in his rear.

His face heats up.

Oh.

That’s what he was doing last night.

Makes sense, he supposes. Drunk Lance is either extremely affectionate or extremely horny, so it was really only a matter of time. He rubs his eyes, then drags his hand down his face. Fuck. He’s gonna have a helluva time explaining this one to the team.

Fuck!

With a renewed panic, he throws himself out of the bed, tripping out of the sheets and looking around desperately for his clothes. Fuck fuck fuck! He is supposed to be on the castle right now!

He finally manages to locate his boxers, yanking them up his legs as he checks his watch. 5:13. Okay, not ideal, but no one’s usually awake before seven, so if he grabs some coffee or something on his way in he should be able to make it without making anyone suspicious —

“Lance, please shut the fuck up,” mumbles a grouchy voice, tinged with sleep, and Lance’s heart drops to his throat.

“Keith?!”

Keith drags himself upright, black hair a rat’s nest around his head, and glares heavily, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“What part of shut the fuck up do you not understand, God, it’s like your voice is actively bashing into my head —”

Lance registers the exact second Keith awakes fully, because his eyes widen and he yelps, yanking the sheets up his chest.

“Oh my God!”

“Oh, drop the fucking sheet,” Lance snaps, face flaming. “It’s obviously not something I haven’t seen before.”

Keith thankfully does let go of the sheet, using his hands to yank on his hair instead.

“Fuck,” he says, turning panicked eyes to Lance. “Oh, we fucked up, we fucked up good —”

“Why, thank you, Keith, that’s oh so lovely to hear from you in this situation —”

“Fuck, we gotta call Shiro —”

Lance abandons his search for pants and lunges towards Keith, yanking the comm out of his hands and throwing it randomly behind him.

“Are you cracked in the fucking head,” he hisses.

“My comm!” Keith cries. He throws off the sheets and stumbles in vague direction Lance threw it, ass fucking naked.

“Put some goddamn pants on!” Lance shouts, whipping a pillow at Keith’s chest and frantically looking away, pretending his did not just get and eyeful and that said eyeful was not an objectively kind of a nice one.

“Piss off,” Keith snaps, face red, but dutifully locates his pants and puts them on before continuing. “I’m calling Shiro now.”

Resisting the urge to tackle the thick-headed dumbass to the ground, Lance forces himself to stay where he is.

“Do you want to be lectured for three straight days?” he demands.

That makes Keith pause. “It won’t be that long.”

“Sure, but then what? He’s going to be mad, Keith. Or at least disappointed. And you know we’ll be assigned the most boring missions possible until he forgets about it, and who knows how long that will take?”

Keith hesitates a moment, then sighs, giving up on his search for his comm and flopping back on the bed.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, face muffled in a pillow. “This sucks. And my head hurts.”

Lance reaches out, pressing his hand to Keith’s forehead — it’s definitely a little hot. Keith groans, wrapping his hand around Lance’s wrist and holding tightly.

“God, your fingers are freezing. Do not move them.”

Despite the situation, Lance smiles, brushing his fingers carefully through Keith’s fringe.

“Let me go. I have painkillers and peppermint oil in my jacket pocket, it should help.”

“Mmf. Fine.”

As soon as Lance’s hand is relinquished, he pulls away, hunting around the mess on the floor for his clothes. He finds his jeans first, but can’t find his shirt — only Keith’s black one, and a white shirt with some text on it.

“Keith?” he calls, pulling it on and tilting his head down to read it. “Why has my shirt been replaced with one that reads ‘SEAT RESERVED FOR DILFS’ with an arrow pointing to my face?”

Keith props himself up his elbows, squints at the shirt, and then winces.

“I may have,” he says reluctantly, “the faintest memory of throwing up on your shirt. So. I imagine you replaced it.”

Lance pouts. “Aw, man. I liked that shirt.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You are getting me a new shirt that I can wear without getting mocked, though.”

“Noted. What’s the ETA on that advil, by the way?”

“Coming, Mr. Impatience,” Lance mumbles, finally locating his jacket. (Thankfully Keith didn’t throw up on that, or Lance would have to kill him.) He digs around in his pockets, finding the peppermint oil where it usually is, but not the advil. He flips his other pockets inside out, and thankfully the bottle comes tumbling out, along with two slips of paper. He hands to pills to Keith, along with a bottle of water and the oil, and then reads the papers curiously.

His eyes widen.

“Keith,” he says, voice strained, “I have some very good news, and then some very bad news.”

“Good news first,” Keith says immediately.

Predictable.

Lance hands Keith the smaller slip of paper. Keith squints again, harder this time, bringing the paper close to his face.

Lance rolls his eyes.

“Coran had reading glasses made for you, you know. Months ago. How many times have I told them to bring them with you places?”

“I don’t need them,” Keith insists, paper perhaps an inch from his face. “I’m just — hungover.”

“Okay, dumbass.”

It takes Keith a second to read it — really, Lance might start carting around his glasses for him — and then his eyes get just as wide as Lance were.

“That’s a lot of zeros,” he says quietly.

Lance snorts. “Sure is. Apparently we’re very good at card games when we’re drunk. Or very lucky at one game.”

“Apparently,” Keith agrees. He looks back down at the paper, whistling. “You’re gonna have a hard time finding bad news bad enough to beat this, I think.”

Lance grimaces. He glances down at the bigger, fancier paper, then hands it to Keith.

“I really don’t think so.”

This paper is a lot easier for him to read — it would be hard for him to miss the giant ‘CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE’ printed in bold at the top of it.

“Oh, shit,” he says weakly. He glances at Lance’s hands. “I guess that explains why you’re wearing my dad’s ring.”

Lance stares at his left hand in horror, where, on his fourth finger, shines a red stone inlaid in heavy gold — Keith’s father’s ring, that he’s never once taken off his pinky in all the time Lance has known him.

“Fuck!” Lance exclaims, immediately taking it off to give back to Keith. He knows how much that ring means to him.

Only — the ring isn’t coming off.

“I can’t get it off,” Lance says, looking at Keith in a panic. Keith looks back, just as freaked.

“It’s stuck?”

“No, it’s not — it’s not tight, I can move it and my fingers are narrow, but it’s not coming off!”

“How is that even possible?”

Lance pulls on the ring until it hurts, twisting it every which way and shaking his hand roughly. “I don’t know!”

“Here, just — stop freaking out,” Keith orders. Lance freezes, heart pounding. Keith slowly reaches over and wraps his left hand around Lance’s wrist, right hand on the ring. Lance has a sudden, vivid memory of their hands in the exact same position, stood in front of an alien with bright pink hair and dressed like fuckin’ Elvis, because of course they were, only in the memory Keith is sliding the ring on instead of trying to pull it off.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Keith says, finally giving up after pulling hard enough to make Lance wince. “It must be the marriage ritual in this place, or something. Alien magic, I dunno.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Lance says, snatching back their marriage certificate — their fucking marriage certificate, dear God — and reading it over carefully.

“Here!” Lance points out a tiny block of text near to corner, then reads aloud for Keith’s benefit. “Klent City State 347th Union Office.”

Keith sighs in relief. “Oh, thank God. We’ll just explain the situation to them, and boom. Annulment. Problem over, we rush back to the castle before anyone else wakes up, and then we never speak of this again. Perfect.”

Lance nods, swallowing around the sudden bile in his throat. “Yeah. Perfect. Get dressed, Mullet. We have a divorce to attend.”

Keith snorts, rolling back off the bed and digging around for his dumbass go-go boots and jacket.

Once he looks away, Lance allows himself a pained wince, pressing his fingers to his eyes and scrunching his shoulders up to his ears.

“Lance? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lance says, pulling his hands away and straightening himself out. “Just — I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Keith, obviously, does not do that, because he is incapable of following instructions. He presses his hand to Lance’s forehead in a mirror of what Lance did earlier.

“You hungover, too?”

Lance shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. I don’t get hungover.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously,” Lance insists. “I drink lots of water when I drink, and besides that, I never really have enough alcohol to get hungover in the first place. I am essentially a toothbrush bristle, Keith. I get drunk off, like, two drinks.”

Keith snorts. “You had a lot more than two drinks last night, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Lance flushes. Keith is remembering correctly. Lance hadn’t even intended to drink last night — he wanted to have fun and be sober — but he’d gotten bored watching Hunk and Pidge demolish the slot machines, and he didn’t feel like helping Shiro and Allura supervise Coran, so he went to go find and bother Keith. Unfortunately, he found Keith leaning close to some guy, laughing brightly, his hand on Keith’s bicep, and he’d tipped back an entire line of shots before he could convince himself not to be a dumbass.

Not that Keith needs to know that. Not that it even means anything.

“I got bored,” Lance says instead, which isn’t even technically a lie. “But, no. I’m not hungover. I’m just — um, it was a big night last night. Lots of light and sound. I’m a little overwhelmed and oversensitive.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

A minute later, something is being placed on his head. Lance looks up in surprise at Keith, who just smiles sheepishly.

“No idea why there is a sparkly pink ball cap with my clothes, but you need it more than me.”

Lance laughs brightly. “Oh, I remember this one! You remember when we were first running away from everyone else? Hunk was on our tail at some point, so I decided to steal your hair band and shoot him with it to distract him. Then you were moping about your hair in your eyes, though, and you grabbed the hat right off some dude’s head.”

Keith’s jaw drops. “I did not.”

“You really did, dude,” Lance says, grinning. “Clean off his damn head. Then you walked off like it was nothing.”

Keith shakes his head at himself, snorting. “Whoops. Sorry, Random Alien Dude.” He pauses for a minute, checking his watch. “Hey, we still have a little over an hour before everyone else gets up. Do you think we can grab some food on the way? I’m starving.”

“Shocking,” Lance says drily, but makes no argument. He could go for some shitty fast food too, honestly. They make their way out of the hotel, both of them wincing at the brightness when they finally make it outside, and head to the nearest brightly lit sign that offers grease and salt.

“Good thing we’re billionaires now,” Keith teases. “We wouldn’t be able to afford this otherwise, because your drunk ass was losing at every game we played.”

“I was not!” Lance says indignantly, but Keith pays him no heed.

“You were so. You only started winning when I was blowing on the dice.” He smiles smugly, poking Lance in the cheek. “You suck at poker, dude.”

Lance huffs, reaching over and stealing one of Keith’s fries as revenge.

“Hey! Paws off! You have your own!”

“You’re being a dick, and you upchucked on my favourite shirt last night,” Lance points out. “I deserve at least half of your fries.”

Keith inclines his head. “Yeah, alright, fair. But if it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t find my boxers and these pants are tight as hell, so I promise I am also suffering.”

Lance eyes, without his permission, glance down at the front of Keith’s pants. He flushes.

“That does make me feel better.”

Because Keith is suffering. That’s why.

…Whatever.

“Hey, by the way,” Keith says, swallowing his last bite of food. “How come you’re limping?”

Lance could smack him. Honestly.

“Why do you think, dumbass?” he snaps. “I’m not…used to this kind of thing. Or whatever.”

It takes a moment for Keith to clue in, but when he does, his eyes go wide and he freezes in his tracks.

“Please tell me I did not just take your fucking virginity.”

He looks so genuinely horrified that Lance can’t help himself, so he rears back and punches Keith in the arm as hard as he can.

“Ow!”

“I don’t buy into that shit, so don’t flatter yourself,” Lance says harshly. “It’s the most dumbass idea I’ve ever heard. So what last night was my first time? It doesn’t — don’t be an idiot about it.”

Keith glares at him for a moment, rubbing his arm — in hindsight Lance could have probably held back a little, he’s definitely going to bruise — but then sighs.

“Yeah, sorry,” he relents. His face turns slightly teasing. “I just — I guess I just didn’t expect that from you, Loverboy.”

Lance scowls. “It makes perfect sense! I bet your first time was some rushed and unsatisfying bullshit on a random couch in an unsupervised room.”

That makes Keith frown, looking at Lance strangely. “There’s no possible way you know that.”

“Of course I know that, because it was the fucking Garrison, man. That’s what everyone did. I have no interest in that garbage. I want it slow and on a nice bed or I don’t want it at all.” He flushes up to his ears, realising what he said. “Or — I did want that. Whatever.”

Keith is quiet for a long time as they walk, and the tension is so thick that Lance almost considers giving up and calling Shiro despite his whole tantrum earlier.

“I hope it was like that,” Keith says quietly.

Lance thinks back to all he can remember last night — it’s not much, but he does remember it, remembers them clumsy and drunk and laughing and affectionate. He remembers how Keith had kissed him softly, pressed him gently into the mattress, how the skin of his hands had been rough under his gloves, tangled with Lance’s beside his head. He remembers how Lance’s ring — Keith’s ring, Keith’s ring, they’re not really married — had glittered in the dim light of the room, how the same soft glow had been reflected in Keith’s indigo eyes. He remembers feeling so loved his chest hurt with it.

But Keith doesn’t remember — ‘I hope it was like that’, he’d said. He doesn’t know.

And it doesn’t matter, anyway.

“I don’t remember,” Lance lies. The words burn his mouth.

Both of them are quiet. Bitterly, Lance wonders if their relationship is ever going to be the same, or if everything they’ve ever built is ruined. If Lance ruined everything. Fuck, and he and Keith worked so hard, too. They both put so much fucking effort into their relationship. And Lance cherishes it — he really does. He likes having someone who’s just as competitive as him, grinning at him as they train, teasing and taunting as they spar. He likes having someone to look just as lost and confused with when Hunk and Pidge start talking tech. He likes having someone who will strike goofy superhero poses behind Shiro’s back whenever the man says something particularly Captain-America-ish. He likes having someone sit carefully next to him on the observation deck on bad nights, asking him to tell stories of his family to ease the hurt.

He likes being Keith’s friend. He hates that he ruined it with his stupid, stupid feelings. He should’ve just let Keith flirt with the alien dude. He should’ve stuck with Hunk and Pidge. Hell, he should’ve let Hunk bust out the Drunk Lance Backpack Leash —

He startles when a warm hand grabs his, tangling their fingers together.

“Keith?”

“Alien marriage magic,” Keith says, looking straight ahead.

“Huh?“

“I keep getting — urges,” Keith explains. His cheeks are red. “I keep wanting to — touch you, or whatever. It must be the bonding magic.”

Lance swallows roughly, looking away. He should really pull away. He’s only making things worse for himself. He should let go, maybe even sidestep away.

Instead he tightens his grip, and steps even closer.

“Must be.”

Lance can’t bring himself to look at Keith for the rest of their walk. There’s no point in making things even harder for himself, after all. Eventually Keith is going to let go, and their going to get their wrongful marriage rightfully annulled, and Lance is going to give back his ring — not his fucking ring, God, why has he become so possessive over it already? It’s only been one night, and barely! — and they’re both going to go home and pretend this never happened. Just like Keith said.

Except it did happen.

And Lance won’t forget it.

“We’re here,” Keith says quietly, jutting his chin at a flashing neon sign.

“Real tasteful of us,” Lance mutters as he looks at it. Keith snorts.

“Practically a destination wedding,” he agrees. Despite himself, Lance smiles.

Keith lets go of his hand to push open the doors. Lance does a very good job of not crying about it, which is excellent. Point to Lance for that one.

“Hello, there,” greets a woman, smiling kindly. “Come to get married?”

Lance winces. He wonders how he looks at Keith for her to assume that.

He’s taking back that mental point he just gave himself. He does not deserve it.

“Uh, opposite, actually,” Keith says. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “We got drunk and hitched last night? And now my dad’s ring is stuck on his finger. So. We were wondering if you could fix that.”

The woman looks a strange mix of pitying and amused. “Yes, that would be the bonding spell. Interesting that it worked on you both, if you were as inebriated as you say.”

Lance furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing important,” she says, waving a dismissing hand. “If you wish to annul your union, I can do that for you.”

“That would be great,” Keith says.

Lance says nothing.

“Alright, then. Hold out your hands and close your eyes.”

Both of them do. Lance feels something ticklish and breezy wrap around his hands, and something glows brightly enough that he can feel it even with his eyes closed.

“Now, all magic bonds work on two things: consent, and desire. The breaking of those bonds is very similar. Both of you must envision your ties together, specifically those of marital union, and then use your desire to be unmarried to envision those ties broken.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to envision his bond with Keith. He’s not one hundred percent sure what that means, so instead he tries to picture Keith, just as he is. He thinks of sly smiles showing the barest peek of crooked incisors, of a strong hand on the small of his back when Lance gets overwhelmed, of a gravelly voice whispering ‘I bet they’re waiting for you, Lance, and when you come back to them it’s going to be great,’ of the scent of pine and sandalwood, somehow, even in space. And then he envisions Keith’s panicked face when he woke up, when he saw that it was Lance that he spent the night with. He envisions the steadiness in Keith’s voice as he asked the woman for their annulment.

The glow burns brightly, strong enough to hurt his eyes through his eyelids, and then there’s nothing.

“Did it work?”

“If you both followed the instructions, yes.”

Lance opens his eyes, glancing over at Keith’s expectant face. He swallows the lump in his throat, and forced himself to wrap his fingers around his ring — not his fucking ring — and pull.

It doesn’t move.

“It’s still stuck,” Lance says desperately. He pulls harder on the ring, more and more panicked by the second.

“Shit, Lance, don’t hurt yourself —”

“I’m — I’m pulling, and I followed to instructions, I envisioned the broken bonds —”

“Both of you followed instructions?” the woman interrupts.

“Just as you explained,” Keith says. “Our bond, and then envisioned it breaking.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Hm. That’s strange. I’ve never seen the ritual fail for two willing parties before.”

“Fuck,” Keith whispers, dragging his hand down his face. “This is bad. Did it maybe not work because we’re human? Well, I’m half-human, but still.”

“We’re a largely tourist-oriented planet,” the woman explains. “Most people who come to this office are not native here. There is no reason your species should have affected the spell.”

“Yeah, I get that, but humans have never been to space before, so maybe —”

“It’s my fault,” Lance blurts. He shrinks back at their questioning looks. He looks down at his hands, twisting his ring — fuck — around his finger.

“Lance?“ Keith asks quietly.

“I don’t want to get divorced,” Lance admits. He’s ashamed to feel tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not fair, I’ll try to ignore it, but —” He looks down at his feet, voice small. “I don’t want to get divorced.”

“Oh, thank God,” Keith says, and before Lance can even process, Keith strides towards him, cradling his face in his hands, and kisses him soundly.

“Wha —” Lance mumbles against chapped lips, confused and scared and unable to shake the hurt built in his chest quite yet. “You —?”

“So long,” Keith whispers, pulling away and then pressing back in again like he can’t help himself. “I — I’ve loved you for so long, Lance.”

Lance feels the tears leak finally from his eyes, dripping onto Keith’s cheeks. “Really?”

Keith pulls away for real this time, resting his forehead against Lance’s and laughing softly. “You have no fucking idea. You’re just — you are everything I’ve ever wanted. When I woke up this morning and saw my ring on your finger I thought I was still dreaming.”

Lance’s hands loosen their grip on Keith’s shirt, resting open-palmed on his chest. “But you wanted the annulment.”

“I wanted you to be happy,” Keith corrects. “I want you to be happy. Ideally with me, but — you were so panicked, this morning. I don’t want you to be tied down with someone you don’t want.”

“I want,” Lance says quickly. “I have — I love you, too. Always. Since the Garrison, probably.”

Keith grins. “Even when we were rivals?”

“We’re still rivals, Mullet. If you think I’m going to stop kicking your ass just because you’re my husband then you’re solely mistaken — oh my God. You’re my husband.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

“No, Keith —” Lance pulls away slightly, so he can look up at Keith with the appropriate amount of panic. “What are we going to tell the team?”

But instead of freaking out like Lance expects, Keith is totally calm. Amused, even. He slides his hand down from Lance’s face to his hand, pulling it up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss just below his knuckles, right above his — his! — ring.

“That I went to space Vegas and married the love of my life,” he says. He shifts slightly, turning Lance’s hand to press a kiss to his wrist.

“That I gave him the ring that I got from my father and he got from his grandfather and I’m happy I did.” He pulls up Lance’s sleeve, kissing the middle of his forearm.

“That I don’t regret it for anything, and would do it again in a second.” Three kisses, slowly, one after the other, up his bicep.

“That I look at him and every day is brighter. That even drunk me looked into those gorgeous brown eyes and couldn’t think of anything but being with him forever.” A lingering kiss to his shoulder, then a trail of them to his neck, where Lance can feel him smirk.

“That I got hitched and then spent an amazing night after doing more than just kissi—”

“Okay,” Lance interrupts, pressing his hand over Keith’s mouth and going red. Keith presses a kiss to his palm, eyes sparking in amusement. “I got it, Gomez. We’re telling them the truth. Maybe cool it a little.”

“For now,” Keith agrees, muffled.

Lance shakes, pulling his hand back and looking away. After a second or too he rolls his eyes at himself — why the hell is he holding back? — and presses a another long, lingering kiss to Keith’s lips.

“Ditto, by the way. With — all that mushy shit.”

Keith snorts. “Poet, you are.”

“Roses are red, violets are blue, shut the fuck up.”

That makes Keith laugh outright, pressing their lips together one last time before pulling away. He turns toward the officiant woman, who thankfully looks amused.

“Uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

“All is well,” she says, smiling slyly. “That was the most entertainment I’ve had in a long time. Enjoy your day, boys.”

Smiling like fools, they duck out of the office, giggling as they stumble back in the direction of the castle.

“Shiro is going to give us so many chores,” Lance says brightly.

“So many,” Keith agrees.

“And Hunk and Pidge are going to tease us for eternity.”

“Mhm.”

“Allura too, probably.”

“Most likely.”

“Coran’ll be on our side, though.”

Keith stops, wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist and dipping him before kissing him again.

“You’re a sappy loser,” Lance informs him.

“You love me so much you couldn’t even pretend to want a divorce,” Keith shoots back.

Lance sighs happily. “Not even a little.”

And God, is he ever grateful for that.

426 notes · View notes

muikitoo · 3 months

Note

hey so how do you think the rottmnt boys would deal with having a s/o looks very happy to see them, who hugs and kisses them and says “hi handsome” as a greeting and then they quickly slide away from their boyfriend side before the boys can even react to what just happened every single time? How do they first react to such a thing? And what about when they are used to it and see it coming every time s/o is coming over?

Them with an affectionate s/o

Warnings

None, pure fluff

+ this request from the same person

"Oh forgot to add. With the greetings request, I would like it so this s/o is a sneak attack loving greeting type, but then after they slide away they don’t initiate affection for rest of the day. like they get the affection all out of their system with the greeting, kind of don’t have energy for more and the boys have to initiate for the rest of the day, s/o will happily reciprocate though?"

A/N:

Im sorry this took so long!! Ive been awfully busy lately. But this was super fun to write<3

Donnie

- Hes super surprised (and got scared shitless).

- Please warn him next time you sneak attack him with affection, this boy almost went into cardiac arrest 😭

- "Sweet Galileo, Y/N! Please warn me next time, my soul almost left my shell for a moment."

- He doesnt rlly like it at first but He'll let it slide from time to time.

- After some time, he'll get used to it.

- He doesnt mind you calling him "handsome"

- actually it boosts his ego a lot, he likes it more than he'll ever admit.

-He gets a bit confused when you suddenly slide away and immediately notices that you dont show affection for the rest of the day

-tries not to put it into much thought though.

- Eventually he does ask you and understands if u dont have energy for more after the sneak attacks.

- Since he doesnt really initiate affection, when he eventually does, s/o would most likely reciprocate. If not, he'll take note of that and make sure youre 100% comfortable next time

Leo

- He does not mind the sneak attacks

- He gets slightly shocked for a moment since he didnt expect it, but it quickly washes away and he reciprocates your affection.

- He gives u affectionate sneak attacks too!!

- Absolutely LOVESS when you call him "handsome" or when you call him anything atp, you could call him a dumbass and he'll be head over heels for you.

- it boosts his ego so so muchh, he literally will NOT stop teasing you

- "Aww you seriously cant get your hands off of me can you?" *You literally slap him lmfao"

- believe me, you wont be left alone cuz he'll act like a baby. And if u dont pay attention to him he'll start whining and bothering u until you do.

- like Donnie, he gets confused when you just randomly slide away afterwards

- He probably doesnt notice how you dont show affection after greeting him, since hes most likely always close to you.

- if someone points it out though, he'll realise it and ask you about it. (Hes honestly a bit insecure and scared in case hes annoying you or something)

- if you reassure him its just cause you dont have enough energy, he'll feel a lot better.

- But either way he loves giving u any kind of affection, so you better reciprocate or he'll pout and whine like a child who couldnt get the toy they wanted.

Mikey

- He loves your greetings, they make him feel so bubbly inside.

- He most likely greets you that way too.

- ADORES when you call him handsome, he literally melts. Will call you pretty/handsome back. (or whatever you prefer)

- "*literally melting into a puddle* you think im cute? Aww well, i think youre the prettiest person ive ever layed my eyes on."

- After the first three he does notice how you slide away and dont show affection for a while.

- Immediately asks you about it before you manage to slide away.

- He doesnt mind, but that wont stop him from giving YOU sneak attacks.

- Even if hes the one giving affection, he doesn't mind at all. He just loves being near you at all times.

- LOVES it when you reciprocate, but if you dont he'll have a talk with you about it and find out what kind of affection you like and what you dont like.

Raph

- I feel like he has reflexes and instincts so be careful when trying to sneak attack him

- when i tell you - one tail swing and youre gone, i mean it.

- if that ever happens he'll immediately apologise and literally do anything to make it up to you, probably sobbed once out of guilt

- Now he tries his best not to swing his tail so much and lower his guard around you more.

- He would love to sneak attack you back but hes insanely scared of hurting u considering the size difference.

- Melts when you call him handsome or other nicknames, literally just a giant puppy.

- "you think Raph is handsome?" *Flustered and his ginormous tail is wagging*

- At first he doesnt notice that you stop giving affection after the greetings, but eventually he FINALLY does(slow much)

- Like the rest of his brothers, he'll ask you about it but wont go much into the convo.

- He probably already had a talk abt what kind of affection you'd reciprocate and stuff, bros respectful and sets strict boundaries frfr

126 notes · View notes

ijumpbridges · 1 year

Note

Hi! Just a tip, try advertising that you take requests in a pinned post so people know!! But, anyway, can I get Alto Clef, Jack Bright, Benjamin Kondraki, and SCP 035 with some kind of demon/hybrid/scp reader? Basically, they're pretty dangerous and chaotic, but see them as their mate and basically just instinctively give them gifts, feed them, and protect them LMAO

Scp 035, Jack Bright and Benjamin Kondraki x Demon/Hybrid/Scp!Reader

Omg, it publish while it was unfinished im a dumbass, and i can’t take down.

Scp 035:

At first he knows what’s up with you and your feelings for him.

He is going to play around with your feelings sometimes.

“You brought me a gift?” *Gasp* “For me? You shouldn’t have bother”

He doesn’t need protection but having you around to help him wont hurt him.

Will manipulate you into doing some bad stuff around.

“You know, we could try to kill that guy and run away together”

Might as well randomly abandoned you in a breach containment.

Might as well to come up with excuses to leave you.

Might as well leave you at a gas statin in Chicago at 1:00 in the morning with a cigar and a jacked.

Of course you can teleport and appear in front of him and scared him for his shitty attitude.

Will flirt with you and others in front of you.

The foundation will probably separate you from him since he is bad influence in you.

He is a bad influence but sometimes takes out the best of you

Sometimes will try to get you to host him, of course you don’t fall for it but you get to give him a new one.

Sometimes you two have conversations through telepathy.

Shows you his acting skills.

Somewhat of a chaotic duo.

He might as well tag along 049, who also tells you to stop hanging out with him.

Jack Bright:

The one who is most grateful among the three.

He struggles with depression, so cooking for him and bringing him snacks is the best thing for him.

Sometimes will go up to you to cuddle since he also need some comfort.

Might as well have some sexual intercourse with you.

The one who is less afraid on getting closer while also everyone knowing it.

Chaotic duo.

You always protect him and his body as well as the amulet he wears because you know how bad dysphoria he has.

You are the one who is after him making sure he doesn’t accidentally kill himself.

“You want to see what i can do with a bottle of gasoline?”

He had present you his brother scp 590.

You kinda adopted him.

Now, you also take care of him and visit him too, as well as to take him into the chaotic adventures too.

One time you three were barefooted outside on a hill looking at the foundation while a helicopter flew by with a water because you three decide to cook something especial for the anniversary of you two being ‘together’.

Another time was that you two ran away and a helicopter chased both of you, so you two go inside of it and drove it around of a texas highway, and park it on side walk next to a wendy’s.

Benjamin Kondraki:

He is annoyed it by it at first.

“The fuck do you want?”

Will tell you to stop.

He is an alcoholic you taking care of him is a big thing.

Draven coming back to check up to his Dad and find his place clean and no bottles, as well as food on the table.

Konny will have to explain to him that it wasn’t him, even if it disappoints his son.

He will be very wary of you.

Draven is kinda grateful for what you do for him.

Even so Draven is also as wary as his dad, you are a scp so don’t take it personally.

Leaving him snacks he ins grateful for it, but wont take it.

After a month he will start to take the snacks.

Not much of an affectionate guy, so if you try to hug him he will push you away.

“Listen, this can’t work, i appreciate the snack and everything, but we cannot be together, its against the rules”

He had said that you thousands of time, even so you still stick by his side, you never meant harm to him so he stop saying that.

He doesn’t like chaos since he is already chaotic, so you will have to step down in the making chaos around, unless is use to help him if something happens and he needs to step in to stop it.

#scp x reader #scp 035 x reader #dr bright x reader #dr kondraki x reader

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just-another-author-i-guess · 2 years

Text

Judd Birch relationship hc

tags: Judd Birch x Jessi’s sister! Reader, she/her pronounced reader, mentions of sex, drugs and alcohol, come on this is a big mouth fic what did you expect, reader is alternative

authors note: I would recommend you read THIS fic I wrote about Judd first, which sums up how the two of you meet (: I’ll be referring back to that for all my Judd fics

requested HERE

1,7k words (the fic continues after the cut)

Judd is not a man of many words

It’s not like he doesn’t talk at all, he just uses actions to express his affection more than words

He will put a blanket on you when you’re sitting on the couch, randomly hand you a glass of water whenever he feels like you need hydration, let you wear his shirts, ect

Raccoons randomly start following you on your way to school, bringing you flowers or other gifts, that’s also Judd expressing his admiration

Tbh the raccoons sees you as their mother, hiding behind you when Judd is being too mean

You’re also way nicer to them, feeding them snacks and giving back rubs

Judd scolds you, bc “you can’t be too nice to those fat little fucks, they’re already spoiled enough” but he secretly loves seeing you interact with the raccoons

“Fucking cute.” He mutters to himself as you sit in his passenger seat of his van, three raccoons perched on your lap and chatting happily to you

He’s somehow even more grumpy whenever you’re around people, he’s always glaring at and threatening everyone around you

He’s the ‘I hate everyone but you’ type of boyfriend

Obviously he likes you, but we are talking about Judd Birch after all and just because you’re dating doesn’t mean he’s gonna be all lovey-dovey with you

Calls you bitch, slut, shithead and dumbass affectionately, and in turn you call him mr grumpy pants, pussy, bitch-boy and fuckface

Ngl, his mom was super concerned when he got into a relationship and she heard him calling you bitch on multiple occasions

His dad was more relaxed, claiming it just added to his sons mysterious aura

Both of them immediately fell in love with you when they heard you calling him something equally nasty to put him in his place

You’re the only one who gets to do that btw, if anyone else dared to call him out for his bullshit they’d have a battalion of killer raccoons on their ass

You get invited to all their family trips, tbh Judd is only interested in going if you are too

What made his parents adore you even more, was when you slapped the back of his head for calling his parents “nosy fucking nutsacks”

They constantly ask Judd when you’re coming over, and when you finally do they just straight up kidnap you from him

“Don’t fucking touch her, you old prick.” Judd muttered darkly, pulling you out of his dad’s embrace by your hips and pulling you to his chest

Mr. Birch chuckled “Ah, young love!” He said, holding both hands over his heart in emphasis, Judd only scowled and began dragging you to his room

Omg the multiple safe sex talks his parents are gonna have with you, like one of the first times you came to his house they just sat you down and started explaining how they’d rather have you fuck under their roof than some unsafe place

Judd could have murdered them right there, if you hadn’t been there he probably would have

They even gave you condoms and everything..

With that said, Judd comes from a very sex positive house and honestly doesn’t care if his parents know you’re having sex

He was more angry that they embarrassed you

Somehow his mom immediately knew when you had your first time

You came downstairs for dinner, legs wobbly and a glazed look on your face

Judd also looked less murderous than normal, still scowling but the two of you seemed to be slightly glowing

Bc this is Diane Birch, she immediately congratulated you not even noticing how your face went red and you sank lower down in your seat as she talked about the importance of both parties enjoying sexual intercourse

Oh my god, you thought you could die

Besides his parents, you’re pretty good friends with Nick and Leah

Leah’s in your grade, you have history together, and honestly she thinks you’re really cool

She adores the way you dress, always complimenting your outfits, makeup and hair

Sometimes, she asks you to do her makeup as well

Judd always complains, he really fucking hates when you spent time with his siblings instead of him

Of course he would never admit that he’s jealous, but he so is

Nick is.. Incredibly in love with you

You're older, really hot and you’re nice to him? W o w

Tbh, all the guys in Jessi’s friend group are crushing hard on you

When you’re hanging out in Judd’s room, he’s constantly interrupting you, bringing you water, asking for help with homework, ect

He keeps up like this until Judd throws an empty bottle of Jack Daniels at his face, hitting him square in the forehead

Nick cried, calling Judd a slut before storming out

You constantly have to break up fights between them

Judd likes kissing you in front of Nick lmao, you think it’s to show dominance or something but you don’t really care

You’re just happy he’s kissing you (:

Besides Nick being in love with you, Jessi is so passive aggressive about your relationship

Bruh she steals the shirts Judd gives you

Yk that episode where she asked him to dance and he was like “I don’t dance.. With kids.” He danced with you right after lmfao

Jessi was fuming

The two of you literally cannot catch a break

You end up driving around in his van a lot, you’re doing your best to get him not to exceed the speed limit, but no way he’s listening to you

He literally drives like he’s trying to kill everyone on the sidewalk, and you wouldn’t put it past him

He picks you up from school in his van too, y’all go to the same school but he just refuses to show up to classes

He likes to just stand outside and glare at the teachers as they exit the building

Sometimes Leah hitches a ride with you too, he’s always annoyed when she does because that means he can’t dick you down in the backseat

Did I mention you guys fuck a lot?

Judd is pretty horny, literally anything gets him going

Oh. You’re wearing his shrírt today? Better prepare yourself

You sang along to one of the songs he was blasting in his car? So hot

Your hair smells extra nice today? Your pants are already gone

He loves, loves, loves leaving bitemarks and hickeys on you, especially where they’re most noticeable

He really likes it when you leave marks on him too, particularly when you scratch up his back?

He likes the pain tbh, and he just thinks its really really hot to see his back covered in long, red marks after you fuck

Honestly, Judd is a simp

Your most typical date nights consists driving out to get food, drinking a shit ton of Jack Daniels in the back of the van and watching horror movies

which leads to more fucking

No but seriously, Judd would be so ecstatic if you’re also into horror movies

He constantly complains about how unrealistic the gore is and tries to explain to you what it would actually look

Cackles sinisterly when someone in the movie dies

Okay but you’re literally the only one who gets to touch his hair

No way he’s going to a salon to get it dyed, it’s expensive and he’d rather eat shit than deal with other people

Before you came along, he just dyed it himself

Then he found out it was much easier having you do it, especially since you’re used to dying your own hair and you know what you're doing

It’s also an excuse to get you to touch his hair, he literally melts at the feeling of your nails raking across his scalp

Please dye a strand of your hair to match his, I beg you

He would be so happy (Or as happy as Judd Birch is capable of being)

He really likes that you matches his aesthetic ngl

He loves your ripped thighs and skirts, he also really loves your makeup

Especially after the two of you fuck and its all ruined and running down your cheeks- okay I’ll stop

Oh my god, the two of you would get high together and hang out with his raccoons

So cute

He’s also much more affectionate towards them when he’s high

Slow passionate love-making while y’all are stoned 👀

Connie and Maury would love you, you’re the two easiest kids they got

Judd mostly just ignores Maury and runs his own game, tbh there’s little to no work for his hormone monster

Connie is ecstatic you’re finally getting laid lmfao

In the summer, you work at the local pool with Leah

Judd goes, but he never gets in the water he’s just there to see you in your bathing suit (Y’all fuck in the public showers lmao)

Sometimes he sits in the employees only break room and blasts music, tbh the other ppl who works at the pool are too intimidated to tell him to leave

At least none of the patrons, especially the kids in Jessi’s grade, dare to oppose you when he’s there

Besides not being the most affectionate guy, he’s also extremely emotionally constipated

He feels stuff.. Sure. But he channels those feelings into vandalism and sex

It’s gonna take a looooot of time for him to start talking about his feelings

I feel like Mr. Birch sat Judd down at some point and tried teaching him about the importance of being emotionally available to your partner

Judd couldn't care less in the moment, but it stuck with him subconsciously

It would help a lot if you opened up to him first, like it would kinda encourage him

It’s really not often he has feelings-related stuff he needs to talk about, but once in a while, most often when you’re both stoned, he opens up a little

Mostly reassuring you that he really does care about you, sometimes mumbling that he loves you because he really does

As much as he likes to pretend he doesn’t

He’s almost always either high or drunk when talking about his feelings lmao

With time, he’ll get more used to the idea of sharing his feelings with you as your relationship progresses

Hello! I’m glad you made it to the end haha

I hope you enjoyed ^ ^ if you want to request more Judd stuff or anything else, you can do it HERE

love, author

#i hope this is okay #judd birch is so hot help #judd birch x reader #big mouth x reader #big mouth #judd birch #i love him

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