Parallel You, Parallel Me
dustin henderson x reader ; bard!dustin x reader ; dustin x d&d!reader
Request: hii! i’m living for bard dustin x reader rn. could you maybe do one where reader from the D&D universe meets normal dustin, and bard dustin meets normal reader but they all have no idea they are with different people (like reader thinks dustin is just playing pretend) and then eventually when they all meet they realise what is going on (and possibly some jealous dustin and jealous reader because they think they have been flirting with the D&D versions of themselves 🤭) omg i hope this makes sense, thank you for reading!!
Word Count: ~2.0k
Warnings & Tags: jealousy, little bit of tension, crossover of universes, fluff, angst if you squint, kiss!!!, dustin and reader are silly, brief proof read
Summary: It’s the start of a new D&D campaign! When a strange dice roll results in a little switcharoo of universes, things get a teeny bit complicated.
Notes: this request (it was also my first request ever yayyyy) was just so wonderful to write!! I am unforch very unknowledgeable when it comes to D&D, I've done a little research, but I'm sorry if this is inaccurate!!! hopefully its something like what you requested! hehe mwah
Masterlist
Friday nights in Hawkins always held the same aroma of pizza grease in Mike Wheeler’s basement, packed with half-eaten bags of chips and laughter. The usual crew was scattered around the room. Mike was hunched over his DM book, Lucas arguing with Will about rules he swore were in the manual, and Max sitting across from Jane on the couch, showing off her new favourite song.
Tonight was campaign night, and you were settled cross-legged beside Dustin, watching him line up his dice with precision. Typical, you thought. He always treated D&D like a sacred ritual instead of a game.
“Tonight starts a new campaign,” he said proudly, looking at you, flipping open his notebook. “The bard, my bard, returns. Stronger, funnier, smarter.”
You smirked. “Sounds like you’re trying to compete with yourself.”
“Pfft, no. Gotta stay humble.”
You flicked his notebook closed. “You? Humble?”
He laughed, that familiar brightness spilling out of him. It always felt easy being around Dustin and the rest of the party. The comfort tucked into noise, the sense that no matter what chaos the world threw at you, these people would still make you feel safe.
Then, halfway through the session, your dice rolled, and didn't stop until it emitted a strange blue flicker across the table. The light bulbs overhead buzzed violently. The air bent, and for one wild second it felt like the basement floor dropped out from beneath you. Honestly, it felt like the upside down was stirring again. It wasn't, it was something else.
When your awareness returned after a quick blackout, you were still sitting on the carpet, but something was off. Everything looked the same; the same snack wrappers, same dice scattered across the rug, but the air felt wrong, lighter and warped.
And across the table, Dustin stood like a misplaced storybook character. His hoodie was gone, replaced by a mottled leather vest and boots. His curls were tied back beneath a strip of dark cloth, and at his hip hung a lute.
“Dustin?” you asked carefully.
He spun around, blinking. “Ah, my muse awakens!”
You stared, slightly confused. “Okay… you’re really going for the bit tonight.”
He smiled, half bow, half grin, as if he’d practiced it. “If that’s a jest, I’ll take it kindly.”
You tried to laugh, to settle into the rhythm of one of his elaborate jokes. “You can drop character. Campaign’s over.”
But he didn’t. His expression stayed open, curious, almost disarmingly sincere. “Commitment,” he said softly, “is the soul of art. Now tell me, my muse, what quest are we on in this glowing realm?”
You hesitated, words tumbling on your tongue. “You don’t have to keep pretending when the game’s off, you know.”
But he didn’t seem to hear you. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to remember something you never told him.
A few miles away, another Dustin Henderson opened his eyes to a completely different view. Looking around, he realized he was in Hawkins' forest. He groaned, rustling dirt from his hair and sitting up. Before he could panic, someone’s voice tore through the trees.
“Bard!”
He looked up to see you. Except it was not you. You were dressed in a worn cloak and light armor, a sword strapped easily across your back. The leather looked handmade. The stare, however, was unmistakable.
You dropped to your knees beside him, eyes wide with relief. “By Elindra’s magic, you’re safe!”
“What?” he croaked.
“Your voice carried through the planes,” you explained gently. “You called, and I came.”
He blinked, then groaned. “Oh, God. I’m in the campaign.”
“What campaign?” you frowned. “You’re the Bard. You wrote the prophecy.”
“I… did, but- but not like this!” He ran a hand through his hair.
You brushed leaves from his jacket like none of this was strange. “Your new armor is soft. How does it protect you?”
“It’s cotton,” he said flatly.
You smiled brightly, satisfied. “A noble material, then. You always were clever.”
He stared at you blankly. “Totally. Perfectly normal day.”
Back in your side of things, you decided to humour 'bard Dustin', figuring he’d eventually drop the act. He didn’t. Instead, he followed you around wide-eyed, enchanted by the smallest things.
When you made popcorn, he watched in fascination as the kernels burst inside the pot. “You weave heat through kernels and turn them to gold,” he said in awe.
You laughed, throwing him a teasing look. “That was poetic, even for you.”
“I speak truth, not poetry,” he replied. The way he said it wasn’t performance. It was feeling. It sat too close to sincerity to be ignored. Your pulse betraying you was just… mildly unfortunate.
Meanwhile, across town, Fighter You sat captivated as Dustin tried explaining how microwaves worked. That conversation crashed and burned quickly, but she didn’t seem to mind. Chin propped in her palm, she watched his every word in quiet fascination. “Your words are strange, Bard,” she said softly, “but your eyes are the same.”
He stopped mid-sentence. “The same as… who?”
“The man I’ve always known,” she whispered. “Though perhaps you’ve forgotten.”
And Dustin couldn’t decide which was worse: that she had the wrong guy or that the thought of leaving her stung anyway.
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Three days passed before everything really began to unravel.
The bard version of Dustin sat beside you on your porch one evening, studying the sky like a map. “You have music without instruments,” he marveled, listening to the tinny notes drifting from your portable radio.
“Yeah,” you chuckled. “It’s called the radio.”
His gaze softened as his eyes found yours. “And what song do you think of when you look at me?”
You rolled your eyes automatically. “Fishing for compliments again, Henderson?”
He smiled faintly. “I’m not fishing, I'm listening.”
You turned away, trying to ignore the flutter low in your stomach.
Across the planes, Fighter You pressed her hand to Dustin’s chest after he stumbled over a root, her touch careful but steady. “You’ve gone soft,” she teased.
He grinned weakly. “Maybe I haven't gone soft, I just like seeing you put so much effort into your character.”
“You jest,” she whispered, though the pink blooming in her cheeks told a different story. Dustin laughed, helpless against it, realizing that somewhere between explaining lightbulbs and radio waves he’d fallen too far into the impossible.
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The jealousy came like a spark, quiet, but sharply felt.
In Hawkins, Bard Dustin’s eyes landed on a framed photo on your shelf: you and real Dustin at Halloween, arms around each other, faces lit with matching grins. “Who is that?” he asked, voice too even to be casual.
You snorted. “That’s you, obviously.”
He tilted his head, brow furrowed faintly. “He keeps close to you,” he mused.
“Yeah?” You raised a brow. “Jealous?”
He stammered. “Merely observant. But if he courts you, he should do so properly. You deserve more than idle smiles.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Somewhere else, Warrior You flipped through Dustin’s photo album, pausing on that same picture. “That girl looks like me,” she murmured softly. “And she smiles at you.”
“That’s...” he started. His voice came out tight, thin around the edges. “My best friend.”
“She leans close. She favors you.” Her eyes glinted, sharp but playful. “I’d hate to share my Bard with someone who looks like me.”
Dustin froze. “You- you don’t have to- Wait. What?”
But she’d already turned away, pretending not to notice the way his face turned scarlet.
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When the worlds finally overlapped, it wasn’t gentle.
The light blew out the horizon, blue swirling into gold until four figures stood in the same clearing. There was two of Dustin, two of you.
You froze first, throwing your head back. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Bard Dustin blinked, looking down at his lute, visibly stunned. “Well… this makes things rather complicated.”
Fighter You crossed her arms tightly. “Complicated? You serenaded another woman with my face!”
“She looked exactly like you!” he exclaimed, hands raised.
“She is me!”
Meanwhile, you rounded on Hoodie Dustin. “I’ve been hanging out with him for three days! I thought you were pretending!”
“So did I!” he protested. “You were flirting with him, I was dealing with the sword version of you whispering sonnets-!”
Her glare whipped toward him. “I did not whisper sonnets.”
“Okay, fine, monologues!”
“Because that’s so much better,” you groaned.
Exasperation melted abruptly into laughter, the kind that came helpless and weak after everything else fell apart. It was ridiculous. It was you and him. Of course this would happen to Dustin Henderson and the person who always followed him into his chaos.
When the noise faded, the rift pulsed one last time, glowing gold, different from the blue. The bard and the fighter shared a look before turning toward it.
“I suppose this is farewell,” the bard said, voice gentled by fondness.
You nodded slowly. “Guess so.”
He smiled, glancing between you and Dustin. “Take care of each other. You already do, even if you won’t say it aloud.”
And then he and the warrior stepped back through the light, gone as quickly as they had come.
You stood beside Dustin in the quiet that followed. The air smelled faintly of ozone and popcorn butter again, like nothing had ever happened.
Finally, you said, “So. You flirted with another me.”
He scoffed. “You flirted with another me!”
“He was polite.”
“He kissed your hand!”
“He bowed! Which is sweet, thank you very much.”
Dustin huffed, jaw tensing, trying very hard not to look jealous and completely failing. “You’re easily impressed.”
“Maybe I just like guys who mean what they say.”
That shut him up fast. His grin softened into something almost shy. “So… what about me?”
You looked at him through the glow of the overhead light, the only one that hadn’t blown out. “You’re my favourite version of you."
The words caught him mid-breath. You reached up, fingers curling into the collar of his sweatshirt, and kissed him before he could make a joke or talk himself out of it.
It started slow, careful, but deepened quickly, steady and undeniably real. No magic, no mistaken identities. Just him.
When you pulled back, his nose brushed yours, both of you breathless and smiling.
“You know what that was?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling.
You grinned, eyes glinting. “A nat twenty.”
He huffed a small laugh, cheek flushed pink. “Guess we finally rolled the same.”
And far away, across a world stitched together by fate, a bard’s quiet melody drifted on the wind, sweet, jealous, and hopeful for the following Friday.
