#Literally outside in nearly this exact outfit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dr3amofagame · 3 years

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take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi)

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete.

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now.

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news.

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright.

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now.

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots.

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine.

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?)

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all.

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen.

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it.

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs.

“Michael!”

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air.

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!”

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves.

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands.

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly.

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?”

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.”

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice.

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices.

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return.

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest.

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all?

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands.

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team.

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs.

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!”

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation.

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return.

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak.

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?”

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time.

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?”

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?”

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in.

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?”

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud.

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.”

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.”

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter.

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.”

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream.

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for.

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena.

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops.

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again.

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!”

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up.

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge.

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway.

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.”

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.”

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out.

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best.

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail.

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly.

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.”

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions-

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?”

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut.

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps.

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well.

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to.

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before.

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Like you did that much.”

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye.

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs.

“Fair.”

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow.

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future.

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever.

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team.

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits.

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?”

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they?

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body.

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well?

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further.

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him.

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own.

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?”

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words.

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?”

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.”

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?”

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red.

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?”

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome.

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break.

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain.

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.”

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own.

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake.

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point.

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.”

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.”

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time.

Keep your head down.

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.”

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race.

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!”

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.”

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again.

“Thanks, guys.”

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings.

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?”

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.”

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs.

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?”

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back.

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?”

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!”

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition.

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down.

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it.

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap.

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter.

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder.

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own.

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it.

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off.

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off.

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak.

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod.

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams, watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team -

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena.

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?”

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners.

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route.

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out.

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused.

“Gottem.”

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting.

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them.

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby.

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?”

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective.

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second -

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!”

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own.

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue.

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

The smile slips off his face.

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on.

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what?

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply.

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all.

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it.

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity.

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all.

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow.

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down.

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red.

---

“What the hell was that?”

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence.

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?”

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes.

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-”

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?”

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter.

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-”

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?”

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?”

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features.

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“...liar.”

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down.

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward.

“Quackity!”

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-”

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops.

“LET’S GO!”

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows.

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time.

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself-

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.”

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?”

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze.

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.”

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder.

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp.

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention.

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.”

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..”

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.”

“Thanks for everything, Scott.”

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.”

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing.

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?”

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?”

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.”

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him.

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.”

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached.

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.”

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.”

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure.

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?”

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head.

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.”

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly.

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.”

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.”

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life.

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.”

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow.

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?”

#-> my writing #my writing :D #c!Quackity critical #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw torture #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw needles #tw hospitals #tw emotional distress #pandora's vault #prison arc #god this was so fun #hope you all enjoy !!#long post

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sondepoch · 3 years

Text

Lighter (3/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

MASTERLIST

There’s something demeaning about the outfit Childe has picked for you today. It’s nothing unlike what he had you wear when he last took you outside the apartment, when he brought you on a train to Xiangling’s restaurant, but the blouse and skirt he has you in today are looser than before, and skimpier, too.

The thought confuses you until you realize that it’s because where you were previously dressed like a regular girl, in fairly modest clothes that were designed to shy away from attention, you’re now dressed like a slave once more: like a little sex toy that can only wear thin, loose clothes so her owner, alongside all her owner’s friends, can have easy access to the pretty tits and cunt beneath.

It should make you sick.

Yet, as Childe slips his hand underneath your skirt to grip your thigh, the only thing that disgusts you is how easily you find yourself relaxing into his touch.

“Angel,” Childe murmurs into your ear, voice hovering lowly under the quiet buzz of the van you both sit in. “Angel, I have a present for you.”

That catches your attention. You turn your head to your owner, eyebrows lifted in confusion, as Childe pulls a box from his pocket.

Immediately, you know what’s inside.

The first few gifts Childe gave you were all varied: the very first was, of course, the necklace he gave you in place of the ugly, metal collar all the other girls have to wear. The second was his jacket, too tattered for him to use anymore but literal paradise for someone like you, who had already grown used to spending every waking moment naked. Then, his presents began to come in the shape of services rather than material objects—the decision to allow you to sleep on a bed, the decision to let you eat better-quality meals, the decision to spare you from being sent to Scaramouche for a beating as punishment for a stupid blunder you once made—but after a certain period, Childe had granted you all the freedom he could give.

Then, his presents had to change.

He began gifting you jewels, all of them in different colors but always unfairly expensive, to make your collar sparkle.

You make no haste in opening the black, velvet box Childe gives you, eyes bright. You don’t think twice about how embarrassing it is that he’s conditioned you to associate these little gemstones (probably worth mere pennies to a man as wealthy as Childe) with happiness, but even you can’t keep the smile off your face as you snap open the box and see a blue twinkle staring back at you.

“It’s a sapphire,” Childe explains, pulling the gemstone out by the short, silver chain it dangles from. “Since you told me that you like colorful stones.”

You remember saying that. It was true: being Childe’s favored toy meant that you were always by his side; it gave you no room for pastimes, and so you found that the most entertaining thing to do was toy with the shiny stones that dangled off your collar and angle them into the light to trace patterns into the ceiling. It’s an activity that works best with larger, colorful stones: the dainty diamonds Childe always used to gift you didn’t work half as well.

“Do you like it?” the man asks, staring down at you. “I thought you deserved a reward so behaving so well last time we went out. If you’re good this time as well, I’ll give you another one.”

I won’t be here for you to give me another one, you think.

“I like it,” you say, ignoring how your heart instinctively speeds up with—is it fear? concern? hesitation?— when that thought runs through your mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

Childe grimaces.

“I mean, Ajax.”

Calling him by his name is still a hard habit to get into, but you find that the syllables roll off your tongue much smoother now. Alas, you shouldn’t need to worry about it too much longer. Not if today’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya goes as planned.

“Here, lean forward so I can put it on you.”

The way you arch your neck forward is familiar. You and Childe have been in this position countless times before, him always being the one to fasten his gifts to your collar, and it shows in how quick Childe’s fingers are in attaching the short chain of the sapphire to your necklace. Within seconds, you feel the task’s completion as you lean your head back and smile at your owner, the weight around your neck marginally heavier than when you both stepped inside this van.

“It looks good,” Childe says, squeezing your thigh gently. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say like a good little slave. Then, you decide to go the extra mile. “Ajax.”

The man doesn’t respond to that, opting to glance out the window as his driver speeds down the highway that’ll doubtlessly bring you both to the office Diluc and Kaeya share, but you can see the edges of his lips curling upward. It’s rare, after all, for you to address him by name. No matter how much he loves it, your tongue still says “sir” on instinct, a little crack in the homey picture Childe is building with you in his mind.

It’s not like it matters, you think, stopping yourself from thinking too much about your owner before you can begin to feel bad. If all goes well, I won’t ever have to see him again.

The thought instinctively brings a smile to your face, but it falls just as fast.

If.

Looking back, the message Diluc and Kaeya gave you was cryptic. ‘WE CAN HELP YOU’ provides no accurate timeline to place your hopes in. The second message, ‘COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU’ was of the same nature. Up til now, you’ve been vaguely interpreting their words to mean that they would free you immediately if you managed to go with Childe to this meeting. But the human trafficking world is so complicated, and you can’t help but think that things may be delayed even longer.

All you can do is hope for the best and pray that reality won’t disappoint.

“How much longer?” you ask your owner after the view outside the window has changed from a highway to a cityscape.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Childe chuckles. “We should be there any time soon. Keep an eye out. Their office is in one of the big buildings.”

That doesn’t tell you much, given that nearly every building this van drives past is over fifteen stories high.

You’re in the middle of scoffing at Childe’s poor description of the office when the car finally stops: and only then do you understand that when he said “one of the big buildings,” he meant the biggest fucking building in the entire city.

You’re gawking like a fool as Childe helps you out of the car, mentally overwhelmed at the sheer size of what has to be the tallest office in Snezhnaya.

“It’s…”

Big doesn’t begin to describe the grandeur of this place. It’s nothing you’d expect from two men who are working undercover to free people from human trafficking: it's got to be the most eye-catching thing you've ever seen, one hundred stories high or taller, with every inch of the exterior covered in wall-to-wall windows. It looks like an upscale version of Childe’s own office, and if you thought his building was lavish, then this is full-on opulent.

Your owner has to forcibly pull you forward to get you to move.

You almost forget to tuck your precious jacket—the one you so foolishly forgot when you last went out in public, the one Childe insisted you bring this time in case you have another episode—underneath your arm because you’re so busy marveling at the exterior of the building, though you thankfully remember to do so right before the van door closes.

“It’s nothing impressive,” Childe grumbles as he pulls you past the professional double doors. “Diluc and Kaeya are only renting the top ten floors here. They’re not even rich enough to purchase them.”

“Ten whole floors?” you ask, eyes round as you stare at the inside of the ground floor. Childe tugs you towards the elevator, and you’re just barely able to slow him down so you can stare at the marble floors, the expensive-looking paintings on the wall, the embodiment of wealth unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “Why do they need ten—”

“They’re sex traffickers, angel,” Childe tells you when the elevator doors shut. (You have to force yourself to refrain from marveling at how even this elevator seems posh and refined.) “They use the top floor for their own operations. The other nine are where they run their prostitution rings.”

Your face darkens at that. It must be the exact same as Childe’s office, where he has you and his other favored prostitutes up at the top with him, and all the girls he doesn’t want to show favoritism to are forced into the life they were meant to follow when they were brought into the human trafficking world: either as unpaid sex workers that are sold by the hour from Childe to other equally-awful clients or as human trafickees to be shipped to someone else if they prove to be too much trouble.

But then, you remember Diluc and Kaeya’s message.

‘WE CAN HELP YOU,’ they said.

There’s no way that they’re running a sex trafficking front up here. Childe must be wrong. It’s probably just a lie they told him to gain his trust so that they could best help you escape this life.

“They’re so arrogant,” Childe grumbles, crossing his arms. “I bet they chose this office just to piss me off. It’s bad business, too. They’re losing out on money by choosing such a fancy place. Not even the Snezhnayan sex work model will boost their profits.”

“What’s the Snezhnayan sex work model?”

“The system we use in the Fatui. It’s supposed to be the best, money-wise. You hand-train the elite girls as prostitutes so that the best ones become magnets for high-caliber clients. You sell off girls who don’t show promise early on. And then there’s a handful of average-quality, compliant girls you keep for the low-caliber clients that want a good fuck but can’t pay as much.” Childe folds his arms as he leans back against the elevator wall. “It's the most profitable method, even if it means that the girls you sell will always be low-quality.”

“Wouldn’t I be an elite girl?” you ask, staring at your owner. “You trained me, but I never had to work as a prostitute. And I only sometimes have to meet your clients, and—”

“You’re different,” Childe says, avoiding your eyes.

Immediately, you want to ask what he means by that. Unfortunately for you, the elevator doors open at that precise moment, and Childe leads you forward by the hand into an office that, now that you think about it, definitely was designed to upstage Childe’s own place of work.

“Come on, you can do it, baby.” A low coo from the left side of the room draws your attention, and your eyes widen in a mix of confusion, concern, and finally, horror.

“Ignore Kaeya. Focus on my fingers. Relax your throat, doll, yes, just like that…”

Even Childe stiffens when he sees the three men splayed out on a couch: Diluc and Kaeya sandwiching a youthful-looking boy between them as Diluc shoves his hand down the boy’s throat and Kaeya strokes the boy’s small cock.

For a moment, you don’t understand why the boy looks so wrecked, his braided hair dampened with sweat and his face covered in tears, but when your eyes watch as a trickle of sweat trails from the boy’s neck to his stomach, joining a copious amount of white fluid you can only imagine to be the result of countless orgasms, it’s clear that Kaeya’s overstimulating him. Add that to the way Diluc’s entire hand is slotted down the poor boy’s throat, and how the redhead is still stubbornly trying to get more inside, and it becomes clear that whatever this boy is feeling is far from pleasant.

The picture makes it irrevocably clear that this boy is to Diluc and Kaeya what you are to Childe.

Instinctively, you imagine how you would feel if you were in such a position. Your worst memory under Childe, after all, is from the time when you were handed over to four men who fucked into your G-spot so vigorously that you cried at any sensation for hours. Your second worst memory is from the time when a client forced a massive dildo so big you couldn’t breathe down your throat and left you like that until Childe intervened.

The idea of those two memories being combined into one makes you want to vomit.

“Fucking hell,” Childe grunts once he’s past processing the image before him. “Get your toy out of here. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya responds, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t stop stroking the boy’s cock. “You had your little angel out during our last meeting. Let us have a little fun now, alright?”

“Hell no. Even I don’t dabble in…” Childe sneers when he sees how young the boy seems to be. “Children.”

Diluc laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through the room. “He’s older than he looks. We’re not scummy enough to deal in children, either, Tartaglia.”

“You’re scummy enough to have to share,” Childe says, scoffing. “What, did you guys spend so much money paying for this building’s rent that you couldn’t afford more than one kid to suit both your needs? The two of you look pathetic, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic,” Kaeya offers. “It’s more like we know exactly what we want. And if we both want the same thing, we’re not going to waste our time with…” The man’s single eye skirts over your figure with purpose. “Cheap replacements.”

“Really, now?” You can sense Childe getting offended for you. “You think your little toy is better trained than my angel?”

“I don’t think it, Tartaglia. I know it.” Kaeya grins. He gives the boy’s cock another few strokes, going at the same pace, the small, red-flushed thing twitching furiously in response. “Just watch.”

Kaeya abruptly pulls back from the boy, lifting his hand in the air for dramatic effect, and one, two, three seconds pass where nothing happens. The little organ he’d been stroking still quivers, either from overstimulation or from desire, but the boy suppresses his orgasm, and you can see the desperate, shallow breaths he tries to take from around Diluc’s hand.

Then, it happens.

“Cum, Venti.”

On command, the boy keens, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips spasm and jerk up into nothing. Venti’s cock looks abused, a thought demonstrated by how little cum actually shoots into the air and onto his stomach, the substance looking more watery than it looks healthy.

You grimace when you understand how far Venti must have been pushed to reach this point.

The boy practically melts into Kaeya’s hold after the orgasm has left his body, boneless after something so intense, and the final shreds of resistance he’d been offering Diluc’s hand disappear as the redhead’s wrist edges deeper into his throat.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?” Kaeya says, grinning as he strokes Venti’s hair, brushing the sweat-stained bangs from his forehead. “He’s ‘Luc’s favorite. We haven’t had any discipline issues from him in years. Same goes for the rest of our merchandise.”

Kaeya’s words are a shameless flex on Childe: a reminder that your owner’s girls are so often poorly-trained and that even you, the star of his trafficking business, are secretly planning on running away.

You don’t need to look up at your owner’s expression to see the raw annoyance plastered onto his face.

“No discipline issues?” Childe grunts. “So if I bought him from you and ordered him to kill himself right now, he’d do it?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Whatever response Kaeya was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Finally, Diluc speaks up.

“Venti, much like your toy over there, isn’t for sale.” Diluc withdraws most of his hand from the boy’s mouth, leaving only the tips of his fingers in such that Venti cranes his neck forward to suckle at them. “But if you want him gone that much, it’s fine. He has to go to work now, anyway.”

You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at that. Kaeya watches your expression, and he laughs.

“Sorry, girlie. I know your master over there likes to exercise preferential treatment with his pets, but we don’t do that in Mondstadt.” Kaeya gently pushes Venti to his feet, holding his hand until the shake of the boy’s feet subsides. “All our toys have to work. Favoritism should only go so far in a world like this.”

With that, Kaeya pats Venti’s butt and sends the boy off, and you watch in a mix of awe and horror as he stumbles towards the elevator to “work.”

If it were real, you’d be mortified.

Venti was overstimulated to tears, his legs wobbling the whole time as he stumbled past you, the apples of his fair cheeks flushed a feverish red. There was saliva dripping down his chin, cum still smeared on his stomach, and the reek of sweat and sex wafting off the entirety of his stumbling, nude form.

But you comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was all just an act.

You close your eyes and hold your jacket closer to your body as the elevator releases a low ding, forcing yourself to remember the message Diluc and Kaeya left for you that filled your heart with so much hope. What happened with Venti just now looked bad, but you’re certain that it was all part of their master strategy to deceive Childe until you’re free from him.

(If there’s a sudden thump of a body hitting the ground and a low groan from behind the elevator doors as soon as they shut, you force yourself not to pay attention to it.)

“Fucking finally,” Childe mutters as soon as Venti is gone. He shuffles forward and flops down onto a couch, pulling you with him. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya mumbles, using a sanitized cloth to clean his hands before slipping his usual gloves back on. Next to him, Diluc does the same. “All we need to do is fix a transportation route for the merch, right?”

“Yeah,” Childe grunts. “I already have some ideas. I own a parent company that sells furniture. If we can legally frame our transactions under the branch of…”

You zone out as soon as they begin using human trafficking jargon you barely understand.

This meeting is much more civilized than the previous, if the whole incident with Venti can be forgotten. The jabs Diluc and Kaeya make towards Childe are much more subtle, popping up rarer, too, and Childe doesn’t openly taunt them with your body the way he did in the first meeting.

It takes nearly an hour before your owner even remembers you, and even then, his touches remain somewhat innocent. He only ever ghosts his fingers against your thigh, oft going down to drum his fingers against your knee while he continues to work out the logistics of his business deal. The touches honestly end up keeping you on edge with how delicate they are, and it’s right when his fingers have finally flitted up to the innards of your thigh, right when you’re holding your breath, right when Diluc and Kaeya’s eyes are fixated on where his palm has crept beneath your skirt, that his phone rings.

Immediately, Childe’s hands are off you.

“I have to take this,” he says, wrapping a protective arm over your shoulder as he beckons you to stand next to him. “In private.”

“Take the elevator down to the second floor if you want privacy,” Diluc offers. “It’s not being rented out, and there aren’t any cameras there.”

“Thanks,” your owner says, leading you towards the elevator.

“Wait,” Kaeya calls, right as you’re about to step in behind Childe. You glance behind your shoulder to stare at him, and the devious expression on his face concerns you.

Kaeya winks at you a second before Childe, too, turns to face him.

“Leave your girl here with us, will you? Give us a treat to nibble on to kill the time.”

Immediately, you think that Kaeya has said the wrong thing. Childe is a fiercely protective man, over you more than anything else. There’s no way he’d leave you in the hands of two men he barely even likes, and it’ll probably only cast suspicion in his mind to hear Kaeya ask for you so candidly.

You shut your eyes, instinctively preparing to hear Childe’s rejection.

Instead, his tone is light when he speaks, almost amused. “Finally seeing how high-quality she is, eh?” Your owner is smiling at Kaeya, not an ounce of irritation, anger, or protectiveness on his face. “Fine. This call will take a while anyway. Just make sure you don’t wreck her too much.”

With that, the redhead steps into the elevator and leaves you with nothing more than a featherlight kiss to the temple, and you’re standing there, dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds before you process what has happened.

Alone, you realize with a start. I'm finally alone with them.

Immediately, you sprint forward, grabbing Kaeya’s hand in an attempt to tug him off the couch, not caring about how you dropped your jacket on the floor in your rush.

“Come on,” you say, eyes wide. “If—if you want to set me free, we have to go now while he’s busy!”

But Kaeya doesn’t move an inch off the couch, instead pulling you onto his lap with a strength you didn’t realize he had.

“What are you—”

“Shh, baby. We have to put on a show in case Tartaglia comes back, yeah?” You feel Diluc shuffle behind you, and the redhead is quick to wrap his hands around your hips from behind.

The slowness, the casualness, the feigned normalcy of their actions dumbfounds you.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” you whisper, hands going up to grip at the fabric of Kaeya’s suit. “You said you’d free me if I managed to come to this meeting, so—”

“Relax,” Diluc mumbles into your ear, gloved hands sliding beneath your blouse to grope at your breasts. “Freeing you isn’t something we can do at the drop of a hat. It’s not just about you being here.”

“Right,” Kaeya says, his fingers slowly undoing the zipper on your skirt. “We asked you to come to this meeting to first check if it would even be possible to free you. A test, if you will. We weren’t sure you’d pass it. But if Tartaglia is willing to give you enough freedom to wander around with him, we figure you should also have enough freedom to do what needs to be done for us to free you.”

“What?” you whisper, trying to force back the tears that are pooling in your eyes. This is everything you’d feared: that Diluc and Kaeya’s idea of freeing you would be more complicated than you’d realized and that the whole process would require more time. “What do you need me to do to be free?”

“Aw, don’t cry.” Kaeya tosses your skirt to the floor right before he goes up to wipe away the tears from your face. “It’s not hard. We just need you to get ahold of Tartaglia’s fake documents on you.”

“His...what?”

Confusion is ultimately what brings a halt to your tears, and you cock your head naively at Kaeya right as Diluc speaks up.

“Fake documents,” Diluc explains, beginning to rub the front of his pants against your naked arse. “Every human trafficker has a series of documents for their merchandise that they can use for transportation and claim purposes. We need to get yours from Tartaglia.”

“Why can’t you take me away without them?” you plead, still clinging to the hope that you might be able to go free today. “Why do I have to—”

“Because, depending on how smart Tartaglia is, he can use those documents to rightfully get you back, even if we set you free.”

“What?” you ask. “How?”

“Think. If he has you listed on those documents as a minor, then the State can only do so much to protect you. Especially if he has himself listed down as your guardian. Even if you try to speak out against him, the Snezhnayan police won’t care. They’ll send you straight back to him, and you can bet that whatever freedoms you have now will be forever lost to you the second time around.”

“B-but, if I can prove that I’m not the person in his fake documents—”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaeya interrupts. “If you’re lucky, Tartaglia’s fake documents would be low-quality. But if he was smart, which we both know he is, then his documents will be of a high-enough quality that people will believe them when they see them. And unless you happen to have your official documents on you, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself except steal the papers from Childe before he can use them.”

The annoyed, almost bored inflection of Kaeya’s voice shakes you to the core. They rattle this information off so quickly, so intuitively, so earnestly that you have no choice but to believe them.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll get the documents you want.”

“Do you know where he keeps them?” Diluc asks.

“I think so. He has a locked briefcase that he always keeps in his office. I don’t know the combination to open it, but I should be—”

“Good,” Kaeya interrupts. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, hesitant. The man’s words seemed like a compliment, but his tone felt much more derisive. “Um, is that all, or is there anything else I—”

“That’s all,” Diluc says. “Two weeks from now is when we’ll be ready to get you out of here. We’ll be staying in the hotel across from Tartaglia’s apartment. The two of us will be in rooms 213 and 214. Come find us at any time, and as long as you have the documents on you, we’ll be able to set you free.”

Your heart beats a little faster at that.

“Really?” you whisper, almost not believing it. The goal you’ve been given is finally real: it’s tangible, so clear that you can already see yourself using something sharp to tear into Childe’s briefcase and retrieve your documents before you’ll finally be able to live a life you can be proud of.

Kaeya smiles when he sees the look on your face.

“Really,” he whispers, reaching a rough, gloved hand up to cup your cheek with infinite care. The kiss he coaxes you into is gentle, soft, and sweet. It’s everything he is, everything Childe isn’t.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. You don’t care about the fact that Diluc has unbuttoned and pulled off your blouse now, leaving you effectively nude as you embrace Kaeya, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers in response, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

The next minutes are marked by more peace than you’ve felt in months. Sandwiched between Diluc and Kaeya, you feel oddly safe. The roughness of their gloves stops bothering you, the silky brushes of their hair stop tickling you, and the closeness of their bodies, the warmth and the heat that radiates off them as naturally as light off the sun, only relaxes you in their arms.

When Kaeya begins playing with the jewels on your necklace, you don’t stop him.

“Tartaglia gave you this?” he asks, tugging gently at a diamond.

“Yeah. They're all presents for being good.”

You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face as you say that: it’s like a reminder that you’re special, that you’re important, that even though you’re down in a world where your life isn’t even your own, you still have worth.

Behind you, Diluc’s fingers reach over your shoulder and begin lifting up individual stones to the light. “These are expensive,” he mutters, twisting a ruby among his leathered fingers. “More expensive than what someone would normally give to a slave.”

“I know,” you say. “It's because this is supposed to incentivize my good behavior, and—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, voice soft. “It’s supposed to manipulate you.”

Your voice catches at that, and you glance at Kaeya for confirmation because you doubt it can be true. Not when Childe always seems so sweet when he gifts you these presents. Not when you've come to look forward to them as the one light in your life in this dark, dark world. But when the blue-haired man’s face twists into sympathy, your heart falls.

“B-but...I like…”

“You’re supposed to like it,” Diluc’s voice, rich and deep, rumbles out into your ear. ”But you need to understand that it’s not a necklace, doll. It’s a collar.”

“I know that,” you say, now wrapping your fingers around the chain protectively. “But I don’t—I don’t want—”

Kaeya kisses you, bringing two hands to your cheeks to cradle your face in his fingers.

“We’re not going to take it away from you, baby.”

He kisses you again.

“Relax.”

Those words soothe you in a way you can’t quite explain; the idea of losing your necklace, even being told that your necklace was a ploy to manipulate you (though you already knew that, to some extent), was unsettling. You much prefer the notion that it’s an innocuous gift: mainly because you’ve grown far too attached to it for it to represent human trafficking and all the pain you’ve had to endure thus far.

But, right when you’ve calmed yourself and forcibly stopped yourself from panicking, you feel a sharp tug on your neck.

“What did you—”

“Nothing,” Diluc says, holding two gemstones—two diamonds, one blue and one pink—in his palm. They still have their chain attached to them, but that's it: there's nothing connecting the diamonds to your necklace, the chains having been ripped off. You feel your expression change as you see what he's done. “Just—”

“What did you do?!” you blurt, panic beginning to overtake your heart. “Childe—Ajax—he’s going to notice! I—I’ll get in trouble, and—”

“Shh,” Kaeya whispers, trying to calm you down with a kiss, but you pull back before his lips can touch you. “It’s not—”

“Put it back. Put it back!”

You've turned around and are about to hit Diluc when the man grips both your wrists, holding you with such a force that it freezes you. The look in his eyes is fierce, fiery, red eyes shining brighter than the rubies dangling off your neck—and for a single second, you can’t help but think that the man looks furious.

Then, the expression is masked, and you’re both left calmer for it.

“Tartaglia won’t notice. Unless he makes a habit of regularly counting what’s on your neck, only you’ll be able to feel the difference.” Right. That makes sense. Childe likes to look at your necklace, but you doubt that he’ll actually know how many presents he’s gifted you. Not when he barely touches the thing, dexterous fingers always reaching out to feel your body instead.

“And besides,” Diluc says, easing you back into your earlier position with your back resting against his chest. “It’s a promise. The two diamonds.”

“A promise?”

In front of you, Kaeya smiles in understanding.

“Right. It’s a promise, baby. We’ll give you these two diamonds back once we’ve freed you, and until then, they’re our weight to bear so that every time we look at them, we remember that we’re waiting for you so we can set you free.”

“It...is?” you ask, hesitant. You haven’t been in the outside world in a while; is this how people do promises now?

“Yes,” Diluc mumbles, kissing your ear as he strokes your hair. Every brush of his fingers against your head instinctively relaxes you, until you’re almost as calm as you were before he took two stones off your necklace. “Do you trust us to return them to you?”

It’s a disguised question.

What Diluc is really asking is this: Do you trust us?

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s the only right answer.

Then, the two men go silent. They focus on relaxing you once more, running their gloved fingers up and down the sides of your body, almost massaging your skin as you sit between them.

Unfortunately for you, all you can think about is your necklace.

It’s the first time you’ve had it be lighter than before: Childe only ever adds to it; he never takes. Now, right when you’d grown used to the weight of the sapphire he attached this morning, you’ve got the odd situation of it being even lighter than it had been when you woke up.

You know that you should feel freer now: less chained down to Childe and to the Fatui.

But deep down inside, you miss the weight.

Minutes later, when you’re a little less emotionally overwhelmed and a little more relaxed as the two men gently run their arms around your body, another thought surfaces.

“A-also,” you say, hesitant. “Um, everything you said at the beginning of this meeting…”

“All lies,” Diluc says, pulling you closer against his broad chest after you slink too deep into Kaeya’s embrace. “Tartaglia had a negative impression of us coming in, so we had to play to that. Everything we said was just for show.”

Your shoulders sag in relief at that, but another thought continues to poke at your brain.

“And Venti?” you finally manage to ask, remembering how ruined the boy had looked as he stumbled away from the two men holding you.

“He’s a masochist,” Kaeya blurts. “We asked him beforehand if he’d be okay with participating. Not sure he realized how all-out we were going to go, but I’m certain that he enjoyed himself.”

That...makes sense! You’ve heard before about masochists, and looking back, everything Diluc and Kaeya did to the boy really did seem to be for the sake of his pleasure. You’ve heard countless times about overstimulation being something sexy, something desired, something liked by the select few who could bear it. Similarly, the way Diluc had his hand down Venti’s mouth...that’s the equivalent of Childe having you suck on his fingers during sex, right?

You laugh a little when you realize that everything you’d been scared about had an explanation. You should have known better than to doubt Diluc and Kaeya, two people who are saving you from hell itself. If anything, you should be on your knees thanking them instead of raising questions over what they had to say to be able to help you out.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” you confess, sheepish as Kaeya’s fingers begin toying with your breasts. “I’m just...really nervous. And a little scared.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kaeya asks, a tinkling laugh spilling from his lips. “We were the same way when we first came out here to save people from human trafficking.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes round. “Do you guys do this for a living? How many people do you save?”

“Uh...whoever we can, really. We use our covers as human traffickers to identify targets that would be easiest for us to free. You seemed like one. Before you, we helped that boytoy from Zhongli. Before him was some Khaenri'ahi girl, and…”

Zhongli? You ask yourself, trying to figure out where you know that name from. It’s familiar, so familiar, and…

“Wait!” You blurt, sitting up straight and nearly knocking Diluc backward in the process. “You guys were responsible for freeing Xiao? The one who’s always by Zhongli’s side?”

You remember the short little man, beautiful in his own right, from when Childe had a business meeting with Zhongli. That was the first time you learned of Xiao, the last time being just last week when you heard Scaramouche say that the green-haired boy had somehow disappeared.

Hope blooms in your heart as soon as you realize what that disappearance was: the successful removal of one more slave from the human trafficking network, something you're next in line for.

Diluc lets out a light laugh when he sees how your entire face has brightened up now that you have genuine proof that these two men are for real, that they’ve helped people escape in the past and that they’ll help you escape in the near future.

“Wait, if you guys freed Xiao, then were you also the ones responsible for setting, uhm…”

Your brain blanks out as you try to remember the second person Scaramouche mentioned when speaking to Childe. What was her name? Amine? you think, but that sounds off. Umino? Lumina? You continue to guess names in your head, brain fixating on Childe’s interaction with the other Fatui executive until finally, you remember her name.

“Lumine!” you declare with pride. “Were you the ones who set her free, too?”

Kaeya stares at you with a shocked expression. His lips part and his face freezes, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead, and you turn around to glance at Diluc, but the redhead is in a similar state.

“You’re telling me,” Kaeya begins, “That Lumine...”

He can’t bring himself to finish, and so Diluc steps in to complete the question: “Lumine belonged to Tartaglia?”

You glance back and forth between the two men, unsure of why they seem to be regarding this news with such shock.

“I think so?” you say, now beginning to doubt yourself. “I’m not sure. But Scaramouche said something like that to him, so I—”

You’re cut off by a sharp cackle of laughter from Kaeya. You stare at him in shock, and then behind you, Diluc has begun chuckling, and then Kaeya’s laughing even louder, and within seconds, both men are laughing their heads off at something you barely understand.

“Oh my gods!” Kaeya blurts between fits of almost-hysterical giggles. “You’re telling me that Tartaglia? Fucking Tartaglia? Was the one to lose Lumine?” He laughs some more, loud and merry and cheerful. "So I was right when I called you a—a—" Kaeya stutters in his laughter. "A cheap replacement?"

You stare at the blue-haired man in confusion, not understanding a word of what he's saying nor why he seems to find it so hilarious that Childe and Lumine are connected. You want to open your mouth to ask why, but you have to stop yourself because it's at this precise moment that your owner returns; and this is the picture that Childe sees when the elevator dings with the announcement of his arrival: you, completely nude and squashed between the two Mondstadt business partners, Kaeya in front of you, laughing his ass off as if you’ve told the joke of the century, and Diluc behind you, the most stoic man in the room losing his composure in an equally graceless manner.

“What the fuck…” your owner mutters at the sight, but seeing Childe only makes the two men around you laugh harder.

It takes a full minute for them to calm down, and in that minute, you rise from their couch and move back towards Childe like an obedient slave, only wearing your clothes when Childe nods at you that it’s okay for you to do so.

“So,” Childe deadpans once Diluc and Kaeya have finally stopped laughing, though Kaeya still releases a giggle every now and then. “Did my girl tell a funny joke or something? You guys sounded like a bunch of dying hyenas.”

“Something like that,” Kaeya says, smiling at Childe, but you sense something deadly in his eyes.

“Alright, well…” Childe awkwardly tries to steer the conversation back to what they’d been discussing before. “I guess the final details will have to be ironed out once I actually use this company as a cover to ship the girls to you, but is there anything else we need to talk about? Transportation-wise, we seem solid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya drawls, a strange smile on his face. “But, real quick, I want to talk about prices one more time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Childe grunts, annoyed. “We already agreed on five-hundred thousand mora per shipment. Don’t try to haggle with me again on this.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Diluc says, crossing his arms. “But we just learned some interesting information.”

Childe’s eye twitches in annoyance. “Right,” he blurts, leaning back. “What is it? Did you find out that I’m giving a better deal to someone else? Because that sucks, but that’s how this business works with new partners. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” Diluc interrupts, lifting a hand. “It’s moreso that before, we thought we were purchasing merchandise from a valued, respected dealer.”

Diluc’s lips quirk into a cruel grin.

“Not from the infamous idiot trafficker who lost Lumine.”

You can hear the ice settle over the room before you feel it, the abrupt, chilling silence suddenly making every second feel like an hour. You’re almost scared to move, scared to pull your eyes to your owner who, for the first time since you met him, looks like the child his codename was assigned for.

Childe doesn’t try to speak, but his every thought is displayed in his eyes alone, the cerulean blues giving insight to a hurricane of emotions wilder than the sea. In his eyes is fear, horror, despair, and pain, so much pain.

Something about the look on his face makes your heart break.

Diluc and Kaeya don’t care.

“I think charging five hundred thousand mora is a tad much for a douche who almost brought the entire industry down. Hell, you should be paying us for even being willing to deal with you, but…” Kaeya glances at Diluc, a single blue eye flitting down to where Diluc extends three fingers against his knee. “We’ll settle for a drop in the price instead. Three-hundred thousand mora per shipment. That good with you, Tartaglia?”

You’re expecting your owner to bargain, to argue, to scoff, to do something other than stare into the distance with those bright blue eyes that now look more blank than anything else.

When you hear Childe mutter a meek “Okay,” you nearly recoil in shock.

Even Kaeya is surprised. “R-really? Damn. Actually, I think we should go even lower, y’know? Every trafficker in the world was scared for their life because of you, so maybe drop the price some more as reparations for that? Whaddya say, two hundred thousand? Per shipment?”

You stare at your owner, silently begging him to do something. Even you can tell that he’s being taken advantage of now, and that awful look in his eyes is something that even you’re unfamiliar with.

“Okay.”

“Fu...okay then? But also, you were kind of a dick to us last time, so how about you make it one hundred thousand? Seems more fair to me.”

“O—”

You grab your owner’s hand before he can agree, and the touch seems to snap Childe out of the awful fog that had been wrapped around his head. The look in his eyes is only less marginally troubled when he abruptly stands up, gripping your hand in a silent plea for you to move with him.

“I’m going,” Childe announces.

He begins walking away so fast that you just barely have time to grab your jacket before you’re at his heels.

The man completely ignores Diluc and Kaeya as he waits for the elevator to open with a rigid posture, seeming to feel uncomfortable or fearful or panicked or a mix of all three. Kaeya begins laughing behind you both, and you almost want to tell him to stop: tell him that yes, Childe is an awful human trafficker and yes, you hate him as well—but the poor man looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack, and you know first-hand how awful a feeling that is.

You’re grateful when the elevator finally opens, more grateful when the doors close and you and Childe are finally in isolation together.

Only then, in the silence of the box as it moves you both down to the ground floor, do you hear Childe’s shaky breathing. It’s jagged, uneven. Then, you take note of the way his hands are clenched into fists, palms enclosed so tight that his arms are shaking—and despite everything he’s done to you, you feel some semblance of pity for him.

“Ajax,” you mumble, hoping that the name will calm him. “Relax.”

A moment of silence.

“I am relaxed,” he responds, and when you glance over at him, he’s completely back to normal: breathing even and palms loose.

His eyes, though, are just as pained as when the two of you were sitting upstairs on that couch.

“I’m sorry,” you say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re the one who let it slip that Lumine and Childe were connected. Even if you don’t understand the scope of what you said, it's clear that it had an impact. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t apologize.”

More silence. It feels heavy, unlike the usual, comfortable stretches of quiet that you and Childe like to bask in.

“What...were they talking about?” you ask quietly, still staring at your owner. “Diluc and Kaeya said that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A moment of silence.

It feels so heavy that it seems to crush you under its weight.

“Who is she? Lumine?”

More silence.

This time, Childe is the one to break it.

“The only girl I ever loved before you.”

That’s a lie, and you know it. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t be bringing you around to meetings, dressing you like a cheap slave, and handing you off to other men to flex how ‘high-quality’ you are. If Childe loved you, you would be long gone from the human trafficking circuit because he would have set you free. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t force you to stay by his side because he’s your abuser, your trafficker, the monster that haunts your life.

Most importantly, if Childe loved you, he would have given you a proper answer to your question. Not some flimsy skirt-around that only furthers his attempts to manipulate you into loving him back.

Your eyebrows furrow the slightest as you feel the elevator hit the ground floor, brain still focused on everything Diluc and Kaeya said. Everything Childe didn’t want to talk about. Lumine.

Curiosity begs you to stick around and learn the truth.

Logic, reasoning, and the desire to lead a life of your own tell you that you’ll be long gone from Snezhnaya before that’ll ever happen.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 7.9k

Notes: eyyyy i'm alive! i promise i never forgot about this fic, it's just that after i missed the original due date, my mind was just like 'eh, it's already late, what's a few more days?' and that's the story of how this is two months late. thank you to all the kind commenters from the last chapter - to the people who checked in on me, ily; to the people who sent me those wholesome asks on tumblr, ily ily; and to the people who made guesses on what would happen in future chapters - guess what :D you acc helped me shape this :3 i originally meant for lumine to be a passing thing mentioned once and never again, but she'll end up being important for chapter 4 ^^ so thank you to everyone who'll still be here after i disappeared for so long. hope you liked this chapter (lmk your thoughts!) and i can't wait to see you all in the finale <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/11

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

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tadpole-san · 3 years

Note

Hi again! I’m the user that recently asked abt Klarion lol. Could I request a Klarion x Reader (one shot or head canon is cool I’m not picky) where they have an established relationship and live together? Klarion, despite being a Lord of Chaos, wouldn’t dare hurt his s/o, but does enjoy pranking them. I was thinking he could do a small prank for this one, like moving one of his s/o’s things inch by inch until it ends up in a different room or something? :)

pairing: klarion x reader, pre-established relationship

a/n: I’m so sorry this took like,,, a longass time anon! I deadass had this drafts sitting as an open tab on my Docs for a longass time between school and everything else because i am, unfortunately, a second semester highschool junior :(

This is my first time doing headcanons on this blog, i hope you like it! I also took this ask as an excuse to rebinge all three seasons of yj for klarion content. ANYWAYS, enjoy this combination of general living with Klarion hcs and what happens when he pranks you

Have you seen the guy’s hair? He both looks and acts like a devil - the mischievous fun kind, not the kind that’ll try to eat your soul (but when you poke fun at him for his “horns” he does throw a bit of a tantrum and threaten to do that. Since he’s the Lord of Chaos and all) and living with him is guaranteed to be like living with the kind of imp trickster you’d read about in a story book

And with his magic? Definitely uses them like he’s an imp - one of his favorite pastimes has been to use them to play little tricks on you. They’re still harmless, and the worst they’ve done is inconvenience you, like whenever you’d have an outfit planned out for whatever you have going on during the day and he uses his magic to change all the colors into something wildly inappropriate for whatever it is you have planned

You don’t ever get really mad at him, but you will roll your eyes and sometimes be a little annoyed depending on how far he goes, and to get back at him you’ll usually hog Teekl and take him to your room while you lock Klarion out (even though he can technically use his magic to get into the room anyways) and pretend to ignore Klarion while he whines about being totally neglected outside

This doesn’t usually last that long because you tend to cave in and let him in with you and Teekl

He’ll then proceed to drape himself all over you - not unlike a cat - and get into some sort of one-sided argument with Teekl about stealing your attention from him. You always end up having to pull Teekl away from him when he lunges at the cat (“Babe, you need Teekl if you wanna stay in this dimension” “He’s pure evil!” “And we can unpack your feeling about this some other day when you’re less inclined to throttle the cat-”)

He talks in his sleep- a lot. His chaos-addled mind already has him saying stuff like “holy carp” and “see ya later, armadillos” and things get even weirder when he’s asleep. The result? You’ve subsequently picked up these sayings for yourself and you mutter them around… a lot. Your coworkers have given you weird looks, but they’ve taken it for the equivalent of Robin’s “holy ____ Batman”, and at this point, it’s better than explaining that no, you’re not from Gotham, and your boyfriend is actually technically the supervillain Lord of Chaos from a different dimension

“I guess I’m from Gotham” is also a pretty good explanation as to why you’d show up to work in a hot pink shirt and neon green pants. At this point, this particular prank of Klarion’s with his magic and your clothes is one of the regular almost-daily ones

The more you had to show up to work looking like - well, a literal clown - a lot of the days, the more irked you got about it; but the more often it happened was the more you saw Klarion actually brighten up and laugh when you had to go to work instead of generally sulk the way he would when you had to leave for hours on end. So that made it pretty worth it to start getting an extra pair of normal clothes ready in your car

Another one of his favorite pranks to play is to mass-duplicate random things in your apartment - like you’ll open your closet, expect to see a neon rainbow from your old clothes greeting you, and instead dozens of clothes racks will just tumble out

The first time it happened, you think your brain literally short-circuited, and Klarion found you staring at the pile at your feet

“Babe - I don’t really know what to do with this - thank you?”

That definitely wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, but he gets smug about it anyways - “you should be grateful that a Lord of Chaos such as myself would do this for you!” - and then he takes it as a sign to do it at random intervals

He’ll do it with literally anything, but he does know to definitely avoid the kitchen after you open the cupboard and a dozen identical bowls nearly fell on your head

Hearing your subsequent shriek and onslaught of swearing is what alerts Klarion to your impending dilemma, and right at the last second he’s able to freeze them in midair and save you from an inevitable concussion (and probably worse)

Lesson learned the hard way: kitchen is off limits, along with anything above eye-level

He won’t admit it, but the incident freaks him out enough that he literally hovers around you for the next few days, in midair, and when you’re at work, Teekl will “magically” show up in your office

The pranks even stop completely for the next few days - he’s definitely spooked, even if he’ll never admit it out loud, and he plays it off as throwing a tantrum that the prank didn’t work the way he wanted it to

But it’s easy for you to see past his somewhat “childish” front. You also know well enough that if you confront him on it it’ll lead to a cycle of denial, more tantrums, and finally, denial

And you love him, and you don’t like seeing him worry in his own way (hell, it’s even affecting the things he says at night) so it’s more than easy for you to cave in after a few days

“Damn, I could really use dozens of the same exact clothes hanger to completely overrun my closet. It’s a real shame I don’t know any magic to do it, huh?”

Is it the easiest trick in the book? Yes. Does it work? Absolutely. And it brings a smile back to his face, even if it’s at the expense of your poor sanity at times - but that’s still part of what comes from living with him, and you honestly wouldn’t trade it for anything else

DC Taglist:

@cipheress-to-k-pop

#🌙#✨#📰.dc #klarion x re #klarion x you #klarion imagines #klarion #young justice klarion #young justice imagines #fluff #here marks my return from my #hiatus??? sort of #klarion remains to be criminally underrated (HAHA! a pun) and i hope ive contributed to what little content there is of him #in a way worth of the lord of chaos #gender neutral reader #reader imagines #headcanons

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illusory-torrent · 3 years

Text

Why I prefer the Genshin Impact fandom to the RWBY fandom.

I'll start off by saying what many of us are thinking. It's sad that the ships are nearly the only thing the RWBY fandom talks about because the plot leaves so many in a state of dissatisfaction. I've seen so many RWBY fans and non-fans alike say, "Oh, I don't care about the plot, I'm only watching for [insert ship here]" or "I'm going to drop the show if [insert ship here] doesn't happen". For those who doubt me, please believe me, it's a thing.

Now, when I say that the RWBY fandom only really cares for shipping, you might ask, "Is that not what every fandom does though?"

Well... yes! You're right. However, I think the RWBY fandom takes it to the next level.

First off, the theory-making side of the RWBY fandom has completely died. I remember there being videos theorizing if Yang was part-dragon Faunus or Ruby being a fox Faunus. These days, the fandom's theories boil down to, "What's up with the void that Team RWBY fell into?" due to V8's ending, but back during V5-V7, there were hardly any theories being posted. Most people just don't care anymore.

Second off, Miles and Kerry struggle with writing characters outside of pairs. Not just romantic pairs, but pairs in general. Most characters only have interacts with their team partners, their love interests, their familial relationships, and... that's it. Blake is a prime example of this. Her best interactions are with Yang (her team partner), Sun (her former love interest), Ilia (another former love interest), and Adam (her ex-boyfriend). Her worst interactions are with Ruby (her team's leader, whom she hardly interacts with) and pretty much everyone else. Even her interactions with Weiss are few and far between. Another example would be Penny. Prior to Volume 3, Penny's best interactions were with Ruby. Penny hardly interacted with anyone else in a meaningful way. She dies and Ruby's tearful reaction is focused on. Why? Because she's one of the few characters Penny actually had a relationship with! Penny comes back in Volume 7, and she still only really interacts with Ruby. Her only new relationship that's developed is with Winter... and we find out why. It's because when Penny is killed by Jaune, her maiden powers are transferred to Winter, the rightful owner.

Miles and Kerry being unable to write outside of pairs is why we only have each of our characters only interact with certain other characters. Before Jaune helped kill Penny, did he ever even have a real conversation with her? We'll never know! Has Blake even talked to Jaune before? No idea! Did Yang even care that Pyrrha died? Probably, but we viewers literally never see the two interact prior to Pyrrha's untimely demise.

This type of writing (whether intentionally or unintentionally done) promotes shipping culture. Characters interact primarily with their love interests (who may or may not also be their team partners). This is why RWBY's fandom is so focused on shipping. Hell, even Blake's VA tweeted at Clover's VA with a joke regarding this.

Clover's VA: Has anybody heard of this thing, “shipping?”

Blake's VA: Welcome to RWBY.

[Photo for anyone who needs proof, in case these Tweets are deleted in the future.]

Blake's VA even once had to make a post saying, "Y’all, you know I love my Bees, but not everything is Bee related. Some is just RWBY hype in general. Calm yo’self.". The fact she even had to clarify that not everything she posts about RWBY is related to a ship is astounding. Imagine having to tell your audience that not everything you post is related to a fictional pairing.

The RWBY cast even had an segment on The Ship-It Show where, you guessed it, they talked about their favorite and least favorite ships. Their tagline even was that "Shipping is a creative expression, so don't limit your creativity!", which went over with the fandom about as well as one would expect.

Finally, Miles Luna recently posted a Cameo video where he stated, "Just remember: shipping is fun and pretend, and it’s just supposed to be a good time. Don’t be one of those people that attack other shippers and get real mean and toxic. We’re all just here having fun with wonderful make believe characters and make believe worlds, and I think that is a beautiful activity, as long as you’re doing it responsibly and kindly."

So as you can see, shipping is a big part of the RWBY community. I'd venture to say that shipping is the most important part of the RWBY community. And that's fine! Shipping in itself isn't a bad thing. It's only when it gets completely out of hand where it becomes a problem. And I feel it is becoming a problem in the RWBY community. Rooster Teeth, if you need your show-writers to remind the fandom that shipping is supposed to be fun, you have a problem.

Well, how does Genshin Impact avoid that problem? The fandom itself is large and the game is quite popular, so how does it handle not becoming a complete shitfest shipfest?

For starters, Mihoyo doesn't confirm any ships at all. This is for profit reasons, the game is a gacha game designed for players to spend money on their "waifus" and "husbandos". Characters have outfit customization for this exact purpose. Mihoyo benefits from keeping characters canonically single. This is why, while people think soon-to-be-released characters like Ayaka and Tohma are dating, many people also believe these same characters to be single.

Second off, VAs are unable to give their opinions on certain ships and on lore. For example, the VA for Lumine, the main female protagonist, confirmed that Lumine was 15, before apologizing and deleting her comments. The VA for Childe signed some Childe x Lumine artwork to sell, but blatantly stated that he only really shipped Childe with Childe. The VAs avoid discussing unconfirmed ships/lore and, in this way, Mihoyo avoids controversy.

Finally, Genshin Impact only recently came out. This means that the theorizing part of the fandom is still alive and well. There's plenty to theorize about since there's so much us players don't know about the story. Lore tidbits are celebrated by lore junkies, folks who want to theorize on the characters' backstories or on the protagonist's journey to find their twin sibling are more than welcome to do so.

So while the Genshin Impact community engages in tons of shipping, none of the ships are more canon than any other. A Zhongli x Childe shipper might argue that their ship is canon because Zhongli gifted Childe some chopsticks, but a Zhongli x Ningguang shipper could easily argue back that Ninguang is a reincarnation of Zhongli's former friend/partner Guizhong. And of course, a non-shipper could look at both of these arguments and believe them both to be false.

I think this allows shipping to remain a fun and lighthearted activity in the Genshin Impact fandom. You can ship what you'd like, or you can just enjoy the plot and lore like a normal gamer.

So where am I going with this? Well, my thoughts are that no matter what the fandom, there will always be shipping. There's always gonna be some degenerates (like myself) who see two cute characters and want them to get together. However, it's up to the creators themselves to decide where to go with ships or to even entertain them at all. Mihoyo, in my opinion, handles the Genshin Impact fandom's shipping craze much more successfully than Rooster Teeth handles the RWBY fandom.

So what are your thoughts? If you're in both fandoms, which fandom do you prefer and why? Let me know!

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bokukawas · 3 years

Text

All yours

pairing; Hanamaki Takahiro x Reader

warnings; stalking, anxiety attack, nsfw mentions, fluff & mutual pining

a/n; I enjoyed writing Makki as a lovesick fool way too much

summary; working at a coffee shop, you get a customer that’s a little too interested in you, same as your friend who doesn’t realize you like him just as much

word count; nearly 10k ok I’m sorry I can’t write short fics

“Makki, he’s here again what do I do!?”

Freaking out a little, you gently massage the bridge of your nose, waiting for your best friend to respond. You had fled to the toilet the second you had put your eyes on the man standing outside the coffee shop door, leaving your co-worker to deal with him.

Working part time as a barista had seemed a good idea to earn some money. After all, you loved making coffee, not only for yourself, but for others as well and just whole-heartily enjoyed the atmosphere of coffee shops. Well that was before you realized how creepy some of the customers could be. Normally they could tell and accept that you were not interested in the least, but that one particularly obtrusive customer just didn’t seem to get it. Or he didn’t want to.

It had started with blatant flirting at the cash register. Then a scribbled phone number with a suggestive message attached to it. After that, he had only started showing up when you were working. Your co-workers had told you he never was there when you weren’t. So to put it short: he was a stalker. A very creepy one. Fuck, why wasn’t Makki answering? Then you remember: he had an interview today. He probably had shut his phone off or put it on silent not to be disturbed. Fuck.

Trying to calm your breathing, you stare at the bathroom door, then at the tiles, counting them in your head to keep your thoughts form circling. It was getting late and you had to close the store alone today. You had noticed it weeks ago, that he was starting to come in later and later in the day, as if he was waiting for the right time to get to you alone. Which would be today. Normally your co-workers stayed longer or even changed shifts with you when they saw he was loitering around, but that wasn’t possible today.

A silent knock pulled you out of your thoughts. “Y/n? Are you all right? He left.”

Clenching your hands into fists, you take a deep breath and steel yourself for what has to be done. You couldn’t just leave and go home now after all.

“Yeah I’m fine, thank you. I’m coming, just give me a second.”

“Take your time” was the silent response to that. Without your co-workers you would have been screwed weeks ago.

Sighing you stand up slowly and walk over to the washbasin, looking in the mirror hanging right above it. You looked ghastly. Everyone could probably tell from miles away how spooked you were over this. You just wished you could do something about this situation, but in fact you couldn’t and the feeling of being powerless made you feel even more on edge.

You send another quick message to Mattsun, Iwaizumi and Oikawa, hoping that at least one of them would look at their phone in the next few minutes. Your co-worker had to leave in a little bit and you would be utterly alone then. And who could guarantee that that creep wouldn’t come back right then, right? He was probably waiting around somewhere, hoping for that exact scenario to happen.

When you step out of the bathroom and rejoin your co-worker behind the counter, she musters you with concern, eyebrows raised.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can try and cancel my plans for later and stay with you…,” she suggests, waiting for your response. She seemed sincere enough with her offer, but you didn’t want to ruin yet another date for her. You were a grown up after all.

Circling your shoulders to get a little tension out, you shake your head slightly. “No I’m fine, thanks. It’s gonna be alright, he left after all.”

“In fact he didn’t even come in today; he turned around the second he saw you leave for the bathroom when you spotted him.”

“Maybe he finally took the hint.”

Sighing you start to polish the counter and clean up a little. Starting early will only allow you a head start later when you have to close the store.

Your co-worker still didn’t seem reassured.

“Hey… Y/N are you sure about this? I am not mad, I swear, I’d rather know you’re safe than enjoy my date and read about a horrible murder tomorrow morning. What about your boyfriend, can’t he come and pick you up today as well?”

Throwing her a quick glance, you correct her once again. “He is not my boyfriend”, you sigh, “and no, he’s got a job interview right now, I’m not sure when he’s finished.”

“He basically is your boyfriend. And it’s clear as day that you wish him to be”, she laughs, nudging you in the side to take the edge off. Jokingly you shove her away. “He doesn’t seem to notice though. What is it with men not being able to take a hint anyway?” you chuckle.

Well to Hanamakis defense, you never actually implied to him that your feelings had changed, even though they had, long ago. But you were content enough with him as your best friend. That was better than a ruined friendship because of unrequired feelings after all.

“I never told him” you feel obliged to say. “How could he know?”

Your co-worker just raised her eyebrows. “The way you look at him with literal heart eyes sometimes should be enough of a clue for him. Also I’m pretty sure your other friend knows.”

Wincing you shoot her another glance. “Which one?” you ask, panicking. If it was Mattsun you had a problem, because he definitely would have told Makki.

“The one in Argentina.”

Thank god. Oikawa could be a blabbermouth as well, but he was decent in regard of matters like this.

“Through my FaceTime’s?” you ask.

She just nods at that. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice his shit-eating grin every time you talk about Hanamaki to him. It was pretty obvious.” She laughs. “He’s living miles and miles away and he still figured it out right away, I don’t get how Hanamaki hasn’t figured you out already.”

Shrugging, you continue to clean all the surfaces. There were no customers left here, so all you had to do now was close the store, put the money in the safe, clean everything and lock the door behind you. Your eye finds the clock.

“C’mon Kaori, get your pretty ass to your date, I’ve been cockblocking you long enough now.”

She just laughs at that and strips off her apron. “Fine, if you say so.”

“I can just lock the door right behind you and then clean everything in peace, I’ll be fine, I promise. And this way you can tell me about a hopefully more successful love story than my own on Friday.” Winking at her, you shove her into the locker room so that she can get her stuff and be gone.

While she changes and slips out of her work clothes, you check your phone again. Mattsun had answered.

“Are you alright? Did he leave? I can’t come over to walk you home, but call me if you leave, please.”

You type out a quick message to him and put your phone back in your back pocket as Kaori steps out of the locker room.

“Wow. You look stunning,” examining her from head to toe you nod approvingly.

She just laughs at that and punches you in the shoulder. “You’re such a sweet-talker! That comes from you always hanging out with those boys of yours.”

Holding up two lipsticks, she lets you choose. You decide for the slightly darker red, it fits her outfit well and makes her seem mature.

A figure appears in front of the door and your heart violently skips a beat, before Kaori squeals and you realize it must be her date.

“You didn’t tell me he would come and get you!” you laugh as your heart resumes its normal beating pattern.

“Well, what do you think?” she asks as she slowly makes her way to the door, already waving at him.

Pulling a face, you just give her thumbs up. “Nice. I hope he treats you right… well he IS fetching you from work, so that’s a good start right there. Now don’t leave him waiting.” Shoving her outside, you give her another small wave, before you pull the door closed behind her and immediately lock it.

Sighing, you watch her lock her arms with her date and slender down the street. It’s gotten dark outside already. The utter silence of the now empty coffee shop suddenly creeps you out. Fishing your phone out of your back pocket again, you call Mattsun. He answers his phone almost immediately.

“Are you alright?” was the first question he shot at you. You chuckle. When had they gotten so protective over you?

“I’m fine Mattsun. I just got creeped out for a second because it’s so silent now that everyone is gone.”

Explaining to him what has happened earlier, you bring the money to the safe. After that, you start doing your chores and clean the counter, before turning to the coffee machines and putting everything in the dishwasher before turning it on. You could hear him work as well as he quietly chats with you about this and that.

Going into the locker room you notice someone standing in front of the closed coffee shop door and your heart nearly stops as the phone slips from your hand and crashes to the counter.

After taking a double take, you realize it was actually Hanamaki standing there, waving at you with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

“Fuck” you exclaim as you try to calm down again and grab your phone, where Mattsun was currently freaking out. “Y/N? Y/N!? Did something happen? Goddamn answer me!”

Bringing the phone to your ear again, you take in a deep breath before answering. “Sorry Mattsun, Makki just showed up and made me lose my shit.”

You go to the door, keys already in your hand when you spot another figure a little down the street. “Oh shit.”

Turning the key quickly, to let Makki in, who was already starting to talk like a waterfall about the job interview, you pull him in quickly, before throwing the door shut again, frantically trying to get the keys in again to turn it around. Your hands were shaking too much, though.

Hanamaki stops in his track when he realizes you were freaking out, keys in your violently shaking hand, the phone forgotten in the other. He just guides your hand back to your ear, so you could hear Mattsun, who was freaking out again, while simultaneously taking the keys from your other hand, to lock the door behind you.

“Sorry Mattsun. Makki scared the living shit out of me and while letting him in I saw that the freak actually really waited down the street.”

Hanamaki grows rigid upon hearing that, casting a quick glance outside the window to get his eyes on the guy who has been bothering you for months now. He couldn’t find him. That bastard had probably left the second he saw you weren’t alone anymore.

Handing the phone over to Makki, as Mattsun had wanted to talk to him, you glide down onto a chair. Wow. If Makki hadn’t showed up in that instance that could have seriously gone wrong.

Zoning out completely to your worst-case scenarios, you don’t notice the way Hanamaki looks at you. Like you’re the most precious thing to him. Like his life depended on your well-being. He was mad at himself for not checking his phone quicker when he had finished his job interview. He just had been so happy that it had worked out well this time that he had simply jumped right onto the next bus to tell you in person, he knew when you had to work out of his head after all.

His eyes crinkle with concern as you start to breathe more and more quickly.

“Mattsun, I’ll call you back later, okay?” and with that he simply ends the call before kneeling down in front of you.

“Y/N. Look at me.” He puts his hands on your knees and squeezes slightly to get your attention. Your eyes flick to his face and you see that his lips are moving, but you can’t quite make out what he’s telling you over the sudden ringing in your ears.

“Hey.” He takes one of your hands, which both lay limp in your lap, in his before putting it gently onto his chest as he gives your knee another squeeze. “Breathe with me.” And even though you still can’t quite make out the words leaving his mouth, you get what he’s trying to do and just follow his lead. As you could feel the breath flow in and out of his chest, you breathe in and out slowly as well. It makes you calm down after a while and the ringing in your ears starts to recede before vanishing completely.

Hanamakis eyes never leave your face for the whole situation. When he could tell you had calmed down enough, he lifts his hand from your knee to your face and wipes at your cheek. You hadn’t even realized the tears falling. You did now, though, as they were welling in your eyes rapidly and spilling down your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s alright, I’m here now.” Hanamaki stands up next to you and pulls your head flush against his stomach, holding you against him as he gently wipes your tears away.

“I’m scared Hiro” you mutter out after a while. “He was waiting for me to leave.”

“I know. Don’t worry about that now, I’ll take you home from now on every time. And we will go to the police tomorrow. That man is stalking you.”

Nodding against his tummy, you wrap both your arms around him and just focus on relaxing for now.

Hanamakis heart clenches painful in his chest. He’s glad that you can’t feel that, but after all you have been pretty oblivious to his feelings for you. He should have told you he liked you months ago. Seeing you like this and feel you cling to him as if he was the only solid thing in your life right now made his mind spin out of control.

That asshole would need a good punching. No one would ever lay their hands on you if he could prevent it. Looking a little impassive and soft was working in his favor when it came to things like that. No one expected his punch before it was already in their face.

After a while, when he could tell you were relaxing for real now, he took your face in both hands and tilted it up so you were looking at him.

“Are you finished here?” he asks while looking around the empty coffee shop. You only nod in response.

“I was just about to get my stuff when you appeared.”

“Alright. Let’s get you home then.” He pulls you to your feet and joins you in the locker room, watching you open your locker and get your jacket and bag out of it. A smile pulls at his lips as he could see that your whole locker was plastered with Polaroids of him and his friends.

“Let’s go” he repeats and takes the keys from your hand. He lets you switch off the light and pulls the door close behind you, locking it, before giving you back the keys so you could put them in your bag. He didn’t miss the nervous glances you were throwing over your shoulder.

He was not sure if this was a good idea, but he wanted to reassure you that he was there now and you didn’t need to worry anymore, so he reached out for your hand and intertwined your fingers, squeezing lightly. You throw him a surprised glance, but squeeze right back, thankful for his little gesture. Only then do you realize he is still wearing his job interview outfit. Letting your eyes wander from head to toe, you nod approvingly for a second time that day.

“Damn Makki, you look fine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a suit before.”

He chuckles at that and just pulls you forward, getting you walking.

“You want to hear about it?” he silently asks. You could tell he was eager to report on this interview and feel bad immediately for cutting him off so harshly earlier. You nod and give his hand another squeeze, trying not to focus on the fact that your hand seemed to fit perfectly into his. This felt excessively nice.

Makki starts talking about his interview immediately and you listen closely, laughing when he tells you he nearly choked on the water they gave him because he was so nervous. He could be a little shy sometimes; especially if he really wanted something and you could tell that he really, really wanted that job, after his last one had been such a disaster. It seems like this time the job interview went really well though and it made you happy to think that your friend would maybe soon be working at a job that he really enjoys. After a while, he had started to brush his thumb over yours absentmindedly and you tried your best to ignore the warm feeling that was currently spreading inside of you. He only held your hand to comfort you after all, you reminded yourself and there was no need to interpret things into this gesture that were not real.

When you turned the next corner and wanted to turn left, a surprised Hanamaki, who had turned right, pulled you back.

“Oh sorry, I thought you’d maybe want to come over and stay with me tonight”, he scratched his head awkwardly, “just to be sure, you know.”

You hadn’t even thought about that. After all there was a chance that your stalker had followed you before and knew where you lived. Breathing suddenly felt extraordinary hard again and you swallowed loudly. You didn’t even want to think about that possibility and just looked up at Makki, who was studying your face with alert in his eyes again.

“I didn’t want to freak you out, sorry” he apologizes, after he grasped that that had been a stupid thing to say to someone, who has had a panic attack only minutes before.

Shaking your head slightly you exhale slowly. “You’re probably right. Is that okay for you? I don’t want to intrude…”

He flicked your forehead in an instance then. “You know you’re not intruding. We could watch a film later, to get that creep out of your head. Maybe some Ghibli?” An inquiring glance in your direction followed. “Or rather Disney?”

The overwhelming urge to cry again hit you like a brick right then. How could he be so perfect? How could he still not know that you loved him with all your heart? You were sure that Kaori had been right; you probably really looked at your best friend with hearts in your eyes sometimes, but alas how could you not if he was this fucking perfect. Realizing you had stopped walking and blatantly stared at his face, you manage to give him a crooked grin. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Makki on the other hand had stopped breathing for a moment as he thought he finally overstepped the boundary of your friendship. It wasn’t your fault after all that he couldn’t manage feeling normal towards you. He sincerely hoped that inviting you to stay with him wouldn’t backfire at him horribly. Don’t act like a lovesick puppy Makki, he repeated over and over in his head again. Act normal. You’ve done this a thousand times before, you can handle it one more time.

Only this time he wasn’t sure he could. The way your hand felt in his was divine and he didn’t want to let go of it ever again. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do right now was give you a bone-crushing hug, so he could feel your body pressed against his. He wanted to bury his nose in the crook of your neck, inhale, and forget about everything else, because nothing else seemed to matter at that moment.

Slightly shaking his head as he realized he was letting his mind wander, he found you staring at him again. You of course couldn’t know what was going on in your friends head, but you didn’t miss the blush that was spreading on his cheeks. “You okay Makki? You zoned out pretty bad” you laugh as his blush deepens.

“Nah I’m fine. Have you decided yet? Ghibli or Disney? Or something else? We could watch a horror movie?” he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows, which earned him a punch in the side from you.

“No way! My whole day has been a horror movie. I don’t need more horror. Also I won’t forget that one time we watched “The Ring” and both you and Mattsun fell asleep and Tooru and I were freaking out alone, because Iwa wasn’t there. I couldn’t use the tub for months after that because I was so scared!”

Hanamaki just snorted as he remembered that night. Both he and Matsukawa were pretty chill when it came to horror movies. Iwaizumi was nonchalant about them, but you and Oikawa were the biggest scaredy-cats in the world. That had been the first and last time they could convince you to watch a horror movie. The fond smile on his face grew even bigger as he remembered how they had woken up to find you and Oikawa cling to each other as if your dear life was depending on it.

Sighing, he voiced what was going through his head. “Damn, I miss Shittykawa. Who would’ve thought, right?”

Clenching his hand in yours, you make him look down at you. “I would. I miss him, too.” You sigh as well. “Hopefully he’s coming back to visit soon.”

“Yeah… hopefully.” And with that you finally reached his home. It wasn’t much, just a very small apartment in a more than unimpressive high-rise, but to you it somehow felt more like home than your own flat. Following him closely as he punches the button to get the elevator down, you notice that he still hasn’t let go of your hand. He also hadn’t ceased the brushing of his thumb over yours. It was endearing that he didn’t even notice he was doing it. When the elevator arrived and you stepped inside, you follow a sudden urge and step even closer to him and rest your head against his arm, closing your eyes.

Hanamakis heart does a double beat in his chest as you snuggle into his arm. “Are you tired? We can go straight to bed if you’d prefer that.”

“Mhh no. I think I’ve settled for Disney.”

“Which one?” he asks, even though he could guess your answer.

“Tangled.”

Giving you a surprised look, he tries to calm down his heart yet again as it pounds heavily in his chest. “Why tangled? I thought you’d say Aladdin.”

You open your eyes again as the little ping of the elevator indicates that you arrived at the right floor. “It’s your favorite Disney movie.” You shrug. “We also watched Aladdin the last time.”

Makki wanted to groan. It was annoying that you were so attentive with his likes and dislikes, yet you didn’t see how much he yearned to be with you. To touch you. To love you.

Smirking down at you instead, he chuckles. “Attentive, aren’t you?”, before he finally lets go of your hand to open the door to his flat. Throwing it wide open for you, you tag along and pull off your shoes, striding right into the living room, your friend right behind you.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back, I just can’t wait get rid of this” he points at his suit, “shit.” Laughing you nod and throw yourself on his couch, sinking into his soft pillows at once. Makki usually had a horrible fashion sense, but in the end, he somehow made it work and looked endearing in his mismatched colors and shapes. Well at least he looked endearing to you. When he came back, he had changed into a pale purple sleeveless hoodie and black sweatpants. Your mouth felt really dry suddenly, as you took in the defined muscle of his arms. Noticing then, that he had something in his hands you raise your eyebrows inquiringly.

“I figured you might want to wear something more comfy as well?”

He throws another pair of seriously washed out black joggers at you, which you promptly fail to catch and get hit by square in the face. “Makki!” you complain as he laughs. “Want the Tee for now, or the Hoodie?” he asks as he holds up both options.

“Oh my god, that’s got to be the most hideous T-Shirt you could find!” You cry out as you start laughing at the green T-Shirt with bright neon strawberries on it in different colors. “Give me that.” He obliges and hands it over, hanging the hoodie over the back of the couch nonetheless. He knew you; you would probably get cold later and need it anyways. As you get up to change, he also hands you a pair of big wooly socks.

Fuck, he was so perfect for you, you could cry. He knew you like no one else did.

“Thanks Hiro”, you mumble as you make your way to his bathroom to change. At the first glance in the mirror, you shriek. “MAKKI!? How could you let me walk around like this? Oh my god I look like I’ve just rediscovered my emo-phase.”

You could hear him laugh in the living room. “I thought you looked cute.”

“Fuck you!” you shout as you take in the utter mess that once had been your mascara. It makes you crack up, though. In some way, it looked hilarious and the fact that Makki could look you in the face while you looked like this without starting to laugh somehow made you feel warm inside.

After freshening up and fully removing your make up, you put on his clothes. His familiar scent soon engulfs you and you put your nose into the shirt and give it a good sniff. Thank god, no one could see this, but it just felt comforting to you. Of course, everything was way too big on you and you had to roll the sweatpants up a good bit, before deciding that you could just stuff them into the likewise too big wool socks. You must look utterly ridiculous, but the fact that he had given you clothes of his own so you could feel more comfortable made you unreasonably happy.

The second you stepped out of his bathroom, Makki knew that today was going to be a test for his patience. How could someone look so utterly cute in the most hideous clothes he could find? Because yes, you had been right: he had searched for the most revolting clothing he had to offer so that he wouldn’t be too tempted. Boy had he been wrong. He wanted to grab you, kiss you stupid, and finally find out how your lips would feel against his. Violently slapping that thought right out of his head, he lifts his hands, showing you what he was holding this time. It was a piece of cake, with two forks already embedded in it.

“I bought this earlier as a treat to myself if the interview went well… or as comfort food if it didn’t.”

“Basically you just wanted cake Hiro.”

“Yeah. Wanna share?”

“No thanks, it’s all yours.”

While trying to make your way to the couch again, you promptly slip with the too large socks on your feet and nearly fall face down. You manage to get back in balance while doing a stupid little flaying dance and you could hear Makki start laughing frantically.

“Oh my god that looked fantastic, do that again” he laugh-snorts as he picks up his phone from the table and puts the camera on you.

“No Makki, fuck you” you respond, but fail to hold in your own laughter. That must have looked seriously stupid. “What are you so goddamn tall for anyway? I’m getting lost in these clothes.”

Still laughing he only holds up his phone. “You look ridiculous” and fucking cute “strike a pose for the guys.”

So you do. Then you go and glance at the picture and start laughing again. You really did look ridiculous. A few seconds later, you hear the little pling from your phone, indicating that he’d sent the photo in the group chat. They were going to die laughing at how stupid you looked.

Finally, you flop down on his couch again as he sets down his cake in front of it and gets his TV started. “Hey, Y/n?”

“Hmh?”

“Want some hot chocolate instead?”

Snapping your head up, you look at your friends face with literal heart eyes. Since Makki also has a very sweet tooth, he has perfected his hot coco and it was seriously the best you ever had. Eagerly nodding you get up to help him, but he gently pushes you back down.

“No, you served enough people today, let me do this for you. I’ll be right back.” And with that he left you sitting a little speechless on his couch. Could he get any more perfect?

In fact, Hanamaki had left your side to take a quick breather. He seriously had underestimated the effect you would have on him, wearing his clothes. Even if it were the ugliest he could find. His fingers were itching to touch you, his whole body heating at the thought of holding you in his arms. Oh boy, he had it bad. Wearing his clothes made you look like his girlfriend and his brain was simply short-circuiting at that. Trying to get his thoughts off you and onto something else, he started preparing his special hot chocolate. He knew you loved it and the way you had looked at him when he suggested making it proved him right. It had also proved his knees to be really weak. Inwardly cursing himself for being such a mess for you, he poured the hot chocolate in your favorite cup and topped it with some cream, before sprinkling a few chocolate drops on top. When he came back in his living room, you were already stretched out on his couch, blanket loosely thrown over your legs, leaving him his usual corner free so he could settle as well. Makki couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.

“Here. Careful, it’s still hot.” He handed over the cup cautiously, holding it so you could take the handle and not burn your hands immediately.

“Thanks Makki, you’re the best.” Being a little too greedy, you ignore his warning and directly burn your tongue.

“Mhhhh hot hot hot.”

“I told you so”, he snorts as he dims the lights before he flops down next to you and sets up the movie. Throwing you a glance, he asks: “Ready?” to which you simply nod.

You watched in silence, thoughts drifting through various scenarios of the day as you sip your hot chocolate. At one point you glance at Hanamaki next to you, happily munching away on his piece of cake, his eyes fixed on the TV, before finally being able to focus on the movie yourself. When the film slowly came to that special scene, you didn’t even have to look over to your friend, you just knew he was starting to smirk. You lift your finger warningly. “Don’t you say it, don’t you dare say it,” you state as you start crying when the lanterns are put into the air.

“Aww you’re such a crybaby.” He laughs, but puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, while simultaneously reaching over to give you a tissue box. “I knew this would happen.”

Sniffing you just take a tissue and rest your head against his shoulder, not missing that he wasn’t taking his arm off of you as he usually would have. After the movie was over, Makki threw you an inquiring glance to which you only nodded, so he started playing another one. You could tell he was going soft on you today, because his choice was Mulan this time. As the movie continues, your eyes were starting to get droopy, the day finally catching up on you. You didn’t want to tell Makki, but you were seriously exhausted. He could guess though, as you were starting to lean against him more and more heavily, eyes closed, head slowly slipping from his shoulder down to his chest. Leaning his head against the back, he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, because fuck you were actually falling asleep on him. And you looked damn cute while doing so. He skidded down on the couch a little; making the position you were in a little less straining for your neck. To his uttermost dismay that prompted you to nuzzle your head into his chest a little more while peacefully sleeping.

Violently slapping his free hand to his forehead, he tried not to groan out loud. This was torture. Absolute fucking torture. Forcefully driving his eyes away from your face, he decided that he would just have to sit this one out.

As soon as you wrapped your arm around his middle though, he decided that no, actually he didn’t have to sit this one out. He would have to get you off him this instance or he would snap and do something stupid, which he surely would regret later. He just couldn’t take it anymore. Lifting you a little off his chest, he edged out beneath you, so he could get both his arms under you and carry you to bed. He tried his best to be careful and not shake you too much, but you were briefly waking up nonetheless.

Sleepily you rest your head against his shoulder again before mumbling. “Sorry for falling asleep…guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“s’ okay, keep sleeping.” Hearing the smile in his voice, you smile as well. Then you were put down onto his soft mattress. “Here you go”, he says as he pulls his blanket up to your nose and tugs you in properly. “Good night Y/N.”

That was suspicious. It sounded as if he didn’t want to go to bed as well, or at least not in his own bed.

“Are you not sleeping here?” you voice your thoughts. “I can make myself small. We’ve slept in this bed with three people before…” You were actually sounding disappointed.

There goes his escape plan. He couldn’t blatantly say to your face that he was going to lose his mind if he was so close to you any longer, could he? So he put on a brave face. “Just going to the bathroom. Sleep now, I’ll be right back.”

With that, he turned around and vanished. You knew he’d come back to bed then, he never did break his promises after all, so you got even more comfortable, breathing in the scent of him which was lingering all around you now. It had been a while since you had a sleepover with him. Grinning into the pillow because you were just happy in that moment, you promptly fall asleep again.

Makki on the other hand was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth and contemplating to just jump off his balcony. That would probably be less painful than lying down next to you without being able to touch you. The fact that you’d seen right through his plan to sleep on the couch even though you were half asleep had him shook. Finally letting out a groan, he spit out and splashes some cold water in his face. For a second he actually contemplated to take a cold shower, he sure as hell needed one, but alas he would need that shower tomorrow morning as well.

Hoping that his body wouldn’t betray him, he made his way back to his bedroom. Upon seeing you already fast asleep again, he let out a relieved sigh. Finally some luck on his side. Carefully climbing in next to you, he turns his back to you at once. He sure as hell wouldn’t fall asleep if he kept staring at your sleeping form in front of him. Not that he was expecting much sleep after all in this situation. You blissfully slept through his struggle, clutching his blanket in your hands and surprisingly Hanamaki had been wrong, too, because he fell asleep rather quickly as well.

The next morning when you were slowly coming to your senses again, the sun was just going up, bathing Hanamakis room in a lovely hue of rose and orange, illuminating the chaos he had not been able to put away before you arrived. And how could he? He probably hadn’t planned on inviting you over.

You realized two things then. One: the blanket was barely even covering you anymore and two: despite that, you were not freezing. In fact, you were very warm and comfortable.

Goose bumps rose on your whole body, as you felt your friends’ breath ghost against you, his nose pressed against your neck. Actually, there was not a spot on your body where he wasn’t touching you at the moment. You were quite literally pressed against him everywhere you could. Or he more likely he was pressed against you, as he was spooning you from behind. His whole body was embracing you. No wonder you weren’t cold despite the blanket lying uselessly next to you, Makki was spreading heat all over your body from behind. Your legs were entangled with his and he had one arm thrown over your side, cradling you against him. The slow rise and fall of his chest against your back tells you he was still fast asleep.

Trying very hard not to freak out, you close your eyes again. Was this the reason he hadn’t wanted to sleep next to you last night? Because he knew, this would happen and he didn’t want to? That has to be it. But you had slept with him in the same bed so often before, why was it a problem suddenly? Maybe he had developed this habit during one of his relationships with his ex-girlfriends? His last relationship hadn’t even been that long ago you remember. Could it be that he still likes her and sleeping in one bed with you reminds him of her, so he didn’t want to? He hadn’t seemed very sad when they had broken off though… Feeling a headache creep up on you, you slightly shift as you put your hand against your temple. Makki moves at that motion as well, nuzzling his nose even more against your neck, arm enclosing you a little firmer as he sighs right against the nape of your neck in his sleep.

Warmth spread all in your body, rising to your cheeks as you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. However, your body didn’t want to calm down yet, stomach doing somersaults and dropping as if you’d miss a few steps on a stair at the same time. Not to mention the butterflies erupting as well. Shit you were so in love with your friend. Overly attentive to his hand resting against your tummy, you had to restrain yourself to just put your hand right over his. He was so warm and soft against you your mind was spinning. Makki starts moving then, his hips pressing into you as he sighs again, trying to get even closer to you than he already was which, of course, was impossible. You could pinpoint the exact moment he woke up, because as he had been soft and warm against you before, he now turned to stone. Closing your eyes, you try to fake being asleep to him, but you were sure your rapidly beating heart was exposing you as his hand was resting awfully close to it after all. So he really was despising this. You wanted to cry. Of course, you couldn’t know what was going on in his head. Which was quite the opposite of despising. Fuck fuck fuck, was all Hanamaki could think as he slowly came to. He knew his body was a goddamn traitor, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He was practically glued to you; his goddamn hand was on your stomach, his legs entangled with yours. This was a mess. A disaster even, because he didn’t want to let go of you at all. There was only one way to get out of this with a little dignity…

“Sorry, guess my body decided to get a little warmth from somewhere, because someone was hogging the blanket.” His voice was still a little rough from just waking up and your whole body constricted with want for him upon hearing it. But he was giving you a chance to get out of this without it being too awkward, you should be lucky.

“My bad”, you snicker, “I’m not used to sharing my blanket, unlike someone else.”

He snorts against your neck and pokes your tummy where his hand had rested before, slowly but surely retracting his body from yours. “Mean. I can’t help that women are going crazy for me.”

Yeah, and sadly you were not an exception to that, but he couldn’t know that. That secret would be buried with you someday.

Rolling a safe distance away from you, he stretches and yawns loudly, before watching you as you turn around and face him. Was he imagining things or did you look sad. His heart clenches painfully in his chest. His body was urging him to just crawl closer to you and pull you against him again, this time up front, but he knew that would have been a bad idea. And since his brain was actually active this time, he decided against it, giving you a lopsided smile instead.

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast!” you respond as you wriggle to the edge of the bed and get up, following your friend to his tiny kitchen. On your way there, you pick up his hoodie, which was still thrown over the couch, because now that his body wasn’t providing warmth for you anymore, you felt awfully cold.

After putting it on, you join Makki in the kitchen. He was facing away from you and you had to physically restrain yourself from just going and hugging him from behind. Rubbing your eyes and massaging your temples a little, you step beside him and help him set up breakfast silently. Then you eat and fall back into your usual cheeky banter and not very serious conversations.

Hanamaki didn’t miss that you’d put on his sweater as soon as you’d stepped out of his bedroom. He didn’t know what to make of it, though. It was only making things hard for him again. How did other men do this? How did they not die immediately when they saw their girlfriends wear their clothes? And why was this affecting him so much. They were only clothes after all. When you got up to freshen up in the bathroom, he clears away everything except for your mug. He knew you’d need another coffee to function, so he poured you one before sitting down on his couch again, putting on his playstation. He figured you could do a lazy day before going to the police station later. Besides, he really wanted to kick your ass in Mario Cart once again. You were always so cute when you got angry because of a game. Hanamaki snickered just by thinking about it. The day flew by after that, as you couldn’t stop battling each other. Every time someone won, the other was pleading for a rematch. So by the time you actually got up to go to the police station it was late afternoon. You switched into your own jeans before going out, but asked if you could keep wearing his shirt and hoodie. Supposedly you had stained your own shirt at the coffee shop yesterday. Makki only smiled and nodded, he knew that was a lie. But if his clothes made you feel more comfortable who was he to judge. Despite his heart exploding at the sight, he found it endearing. Hanamaki could tell you were getting anxious the closer you got to the police station. Were you maybe overreacting and he wasn’t even stalking you? Maybe it had been a coincidence that he had been there after you’d closed down the store…

“Hey, you alright?” Makkis’ voice rips you out of your thoughts. Giving him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes you nod. “Just thinking… you don’t think I’m overreacting right?”

“You’re kidding right? Of course you’re not overreacting. That man has been stalking you for weeks now.” You just stare at your feet then. So you weren’t overreacting. That didn’t make you feel better. Sighing you continue to walk on, Makki right beside you. He could tell you were overthinking this, so he nudged your shoulder to make you look up at him. “I’m here with you, okay.” And then he holds out his hand again, wiggling his eyebrows at you. He was a little sad that this didn’t mean the same to you as it did to him, but if he could hold your hand this way and make you calm down a little, he would endure it. When you reach out and accept the offer, he regards it with a “Good girl.” Laughing, you start swinging your hands slightly, while answering. “What am I Hiro, your dog?”

He only chuckles in return. “Want a treat then?” Your heart skips a beat at that offer. Of course you’d take any treat you could get from him, but you were pretty sure you were thinking of very different things than he was. Trying not to focus on his lips, you stare ahead. “I wouldn’t say no to that hot coco again.”

Then you were finally standing in front of the police station. Anxiously stopping and taking a few quick breaths, Hanamaki detangles your hands, before putting his hands at your shoulders, slightly massaging them while gently pushing you forward.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with. And then I’ll promise, I’ll make you another hot chocolate soon.”

Snorting, you let your friend move you inside. He was right, you thought, I should just get this over with. The police luckily didn’t think you were overreacting and started taking actions for you immediately, so that when you left the station later you actually felt a little relieved. You would have to inform them again when that freak turned up at your job so they could help you for real, but it was a start. Feeling very thankful for Makki, who had guided that conversation whenever he could feel you falter, you reach out on your own this time to take his hand. He looked a little surprised, but to your relief he didn’t pull away. You walked in silence until you reached your home. Hanamaki decided then that he’d make sure you were as safe as you could be, so he got on the elevator with you.

When you were standing in front of your door, you let go of his hand as he stood in front of you. Looking up at him you feel another wave of want rush over you. Following your sudden urge, you get on your tiptoes and pull him into a hug. You could tell he was a little stunned, but after a second he embraces you was well, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Thank you Hiro… I don’t know what I would have done without you the last two days.”

“For you, always. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you lean back and break the hug, because you could tell the time for a normal friends hug was running rather thin.

And then you get bold and stand on your tiptoes again to plant a firm kiss on his cheek, before turning around and vanishing in your flat, leaving your friend standing there with a dumbfounded expression and a deep blush on his face.

Fuck that had been stupid. You shouldn’t have done that. Throwing your bag in a corner you cram for your phone, you needed to talk to someone about the last two days and you knew exactly whom to call for that. Sitting down on your floor, you face call him. Hopefully he was already up. When his tired face flashes on your display you let out a sigh. Thank god.

“Morning Y/n. Calling me rather early, aren’t you?” He was having breakfast, you could tell as he munches on some kind of cereal, coffee in his other hand. He looked tired and exhausted, but you would be as well at barely 7am. You always forgot the huge time difference.

“Yeah sorry about that Tooru. Listen.” You brush your fingers over your hair agitated. “My co-worker said you knew I like Makki. Is that right?”

Oh, he liked that, there was immediately a little mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans a little forward, attention spiked. “Yeah I know about that. Why? Did something happen?” he asks nonchalantly, while sipping on his coffee.

“I slept with Makki.”

As soon as Oikawa started choking on said coffee, you realized that you probably should have phrased that a little differently.

“Oh my god, not like that Tooru.”

“What the hell was I supposed to think if you put it like that!?” he coughs.

“Good point.” You laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, now tell me what happened. And please be precice this time.”

So you give him a quick summary of the last two days and what had happened between you and Hanamaki. Which in retrospect didn’t seem like much, but Oikawas shit eating grin told you otherwise.

“You kissed him?” he asks, while stuffing his face with another spoonful of cereal.

Nodding, you wait for what he was about to tell you. Probably that you were an idiot and just ruined your friendship.

“When was that?”

Well you hadn’t expected that question. Throwing a quick glance at the clock you answer him. “Around 5 minutes ago?”

“Go outside then, if you’re lucky he’s still there.”

Scrunching up your face, you only stare at your phone disbelievingly. “Didn’t you listen to what I just said? That was over 5 minutes ago. He’s long gone.”

“Oh my god Y/n, Makki has had the hots for you for months now, probably longer, if you just kissed him on the cheek out of the blue he was probably blown away. Chances are good he’s still standing in front of your door. Check it at least. If I’m wrong we can continue talking.”

Hanamaki still standing in front of your door? Impossible. And you were going to prove it to him. “You’re insufferable Oikawa, I swear. I don’t even know why I miss you so much sometimes.” You stood up and went for your door, already pushing down the handle. “Also how would you know Makki has the hots for……me” you finish as you open the door and there he was, standing in front of you with a flabbergasted look on his face: Hanamaki.

“He’s there isn’t he?” Oikawas’ smug voice came from your phone, forgotten in your hand as you stared into your friends face. “Good luck then.” And then there was only the sound of a disconnected call. That bastard had just hung up on you.

The seconds dragged as you two stood there, staring each other in the face. Makki couldn’t bear it any longer after a while. “Well…. This is awkward.”

You crack a smile as you still muster his face and step a little bit closer. He seriously had still been standing in front of your door. That was a good sign, right? Maybe Oikawa was right and he really liked you. Maybe you had misinterpreted everything that had happened the last two days and he was really into you. Only one way to find out, right?

“Hiro. Do you like me by any chance?” You could feel your own face heat up at that very direct question.

He sighs in response and ruffles his hair, looking everywhere except you, before he found the courage to look you in the eyes. It was over now, was it not? Except there was a hopeful look in your eyes. That and your hand had unconsciously reached out and clawed at the front of his hoodie. A slow smile spread on his lips. Maybe this wasn’t the end, but the beginning.

“Yes I like you. A lot.” He steps a little closer, eyes not straying from your face, seizing your reaction. “I should have told you sooner.” He takes another step to you and your other hand finds his hoodie as well, clutching it in your hands and tugging on it slightly, your stomach dropping at his confession. He liked you. He liked you, too. And then he completely closes the gap between you as he reaches for your face, tilts it up and finally kisses you. His lips were soft on yours and the kiss was a little clumsy and very short, but you could feel his lips pull into a smile as he breaks it.

“So as I’m not getting punched in the face right now, does that mean you like me, too?”

You can’t help it then, you laugh and rest your forehead against his chest.

“Yes. I like you, too.” Pulling on his hoodie a little again and looking up into his eyes you frown. “Say, how long have you liked me?”

He chuckles at that. “Embarrassingly long. Why?”

You pinch him in the side. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner!? I was slowly dying inside this whole time.” Makki actually flinches at that, before answering: “Well I didn’t know you liked me, too? I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Well you could understand that… it had been the exact reason why you hadn’t told him either.

“C’mon, let’s get inside” you suggest and pull him into your flat. “I think we need to talk.”

“Ugh I don’t want to talk.” He complains, but follows you nonetheless. There were many other things on his mind now that he knew you liked him, too, many of them far more exciting than talking.

Throwing him a glance over your shoulder while you close the door behind him you ask: “What do you want to do then? Don’t you think we sho-“

You were cut short then as he presses you against the door behind you and kisses you again. His hand was cradling your neck as his other found the way around your hip to pull you closer against him. He was a little rougher this time and your hands moved on their own, one going around him for leverage as the other tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan against your lips, followed by a low mumbled “fuck” against your mouth before crushing his lips on yours again immediately. You get a hold of one of his belt loops and pull him even closer, feeling lightheaded as he graces his tongue over your lower lip before gently nibbling on it. Your knees were getting seriously weak at that point, so you push him away from you, earning an apologizing half smile from him. “Too much? Sorry…”

A little breathless you shake your head and just continue to shove him into your living room before pushing him down on your couch and promptly flopping down on him.

He started smirking then. “Oh? I thought you wanted to talk?”

You punch him in the chest.

“Shut up. We can do that later.” You protest, putting your arms around his neck and lowering your face. “Now do that again.”

Makki only snorts at that, before letting one hand wander to your neck and pulling you in again. “Gladly.”

And then his lips were on yours again, a little firmer, a little more daring, a little more confident.

Ok Bonus Scene because I’m a sucker for teasing this boy:

Later that night when you were lying on his chest, lips swollen, eyes tired, but entirely happy you snort while thinking of something. “Hiro? You’ll have to be a good boyfriend to me.”

“Mh? Why?” he asks as he nuzzles his nose against your head.

“Because if you’re not, I will tell Mattsun that you got a boner from just kissing me,” you state before snickering devilishly. “And he will never let you forget about it.”

You could feel him laugh under you as well as he hides his face behind his hand, even though you were not looking at him. “I feared you noticed that.”

Grinning, you put your head up a little, letting your eyes roam over his face as he peeked out between his spread fingers. “Well… it only means you really like me right? I’m honored.” Resting your chin on his shoulder again, you murmur: “Also you’re already a perfect boyfriend, so I don’t think you need to be scared.”

“Awww.” He fake coos at your sentiment, but brushes his fingers over your back in gentle circles either way. Suddenly jerking, he sits up a little. “That makes me think of… have I ever told you how my ex-girlfriend broke off with me?”

“Makki are we seriously cuddling for the first time and you want to tell me about your ex-girlfriend?”

“You’re gonna love this” he promises, already laughing, “I believe after she slapped me, her actual wording was ‘Maybe you should date and fuck your friend Y/n since you’re being a better boyfriend to her already than you are to me’.”

You chuckle against his neck. “Seriously?”

Nodding, he rests his head against yours. “Guess she was right, after all. That was actually the time I decided trying to date someone else was pointless…”

“You’re simping Makki.”

“You have no idea.” He presses a kiss against your forehead. “Yesterday evening I was contemplating to jump from the balcony because I thought that would have been less painful than not being able to touch you.”

Grinning broadly, you peck him on his cheek. “You can touch me all you want now. I’m all yours.”

“Yes, you’re mine now.”

A second later you could feel his hands sneakily move under your, or more likely

his shirt that you were still wearing, continuing to caress your skin.

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swiftgronmasterpost · 3 years

Text

Late Stage Swiftgron Part 2 (things get loud with babe):

April 18, 2018 - Dianna posts to Instagram about “commitment issues”:

April 20, 2018 - Babe (a song that Taylor wrote in the Red era) about a lover with shall we say “commitment issues”.

Later when the Babe music video is released people (even non Gaylors) notice that it is nearly a shot for shot remake of the I’m Not The Only One music video that Dianna starred in back in 2014.

What’s more psychotic is that the song Babe itself is only three minutes and 35 seconds long:

But the music video has had a full minute and 4 seconds to it to make it the exact same length as the I’m Not The Only One music video. I do think that this is pretty hard evidence that Dianna did step out on Taylor at some point back in 2012. I do not think, however, that it was the chronic issue that the fandom seems to think it was. This is the only song that appears to be about Dianna that accuses her of cheating. The breakup songs on 1989 do not insinuate that the relationship ended due to cheating. In fact, in Style Taylor says “I’ve been there too a few times” when it comes to being with other people.

I actually theorize that the track was not released on Red because Taylor wrote it while upset and hurt, and then they reconciled and worked it out. I think Taylor didn’t release it at the time because she forgave Dianna for the indiscretion and they moved on from it as a couple. I think in her heart of hearts at the time Taylor did not want to put Dianna “on blast” that way.

I think down the road in 2018 they’re obviously long broken up, and have long moved on from the slights of old and Taylor let Dianna know she was going to release the song. Dianna’s “commitment issues” post makes it seem as if it’s a bit of an inside joke between them and Dianna is poking fun at herself and the old and forgiven incident. At least that’s how the situation reads to me.

Taylor posts a cute video talking about the song with a cheeky smile and a heart to ig:

Another theory I’ve been mulling over is the possibility that Dianna and Taylor hooked up some time in 2018 prompting Taylor to paint herself as the other woman (as Dianna would be cheating on Winston making Taylor the other woman) in the mv. There’s no hard evidence for it but it’s possible...

June 6, 2018 - Dianna posts a now deleted selfie and rant about how amazing KIlling Eve is (this post was deleted late summer/early fall 2020 for no apparent reason):

It’s probably a coincidence but her shirt reads, “SANS SOLEIL” which means, “without sun” in French. Karlie is known as “sunshine” in the Gaylor Swift Cinematic Universe.

June 9, 2018 - The aforementioned Babe music video is released

Let me show you just how similar this music video is to I’m Not the Only One:

first, you should know that YES taylor came up with the concept for the music video:

the second thing you should know is that the babe track is 3 minutes and 35 seconds long but the babe music video is 4 minutes and 39 seconds long:

you know what else is EXACTLY 4 minutes and 39 seconds long?

that’s right…the music video that she’s basically copying in the babe mv that starred dianna way back in 2014

opening shot:

kiss goodbye (at almost the same timestamp):

similar shots at the same timestamp:

and again:

and again (these are also basically the stills used for the mv before you click play):

both women driving at the same fucking timestamp (y’all taylor swift is insane holy shit):

in the store shopping at the same fucking timestamp no she is literally unwell someone get her into a facility now:

cheating happens at the same timestamp (seriously tay get help✌️):

here’s another similar shot of my babies at the same timestamp;

cheating husband coming home, same timestamp:

very similar shot of the husbands walking up to the door at the same fucking timestamp (i get it taylor you’re laughing at us from the prison cell now):

similarities that happen at different timestamps

wifey drinking out by the pool:

wifey fiddling with ring:

cheaters drinking it up together:

wifies drinking it up as well (several times both in the mv):

wives do away with the husband’s clothes (Dianna burns them while jennifer dumps them outside in the front lawn):

Pretty much the only thing that’s different about the music videos is the ending. the babe cheater gets dumped while dianna takes her cheater back but ofc we know how taylor likes to change the endings (like she did with love story) or at least to try to change the ending (peter losing wendy).

July 13, 2018 - Taylor visits home and posts to IG with the lyric from style “Take me home” as the caption:

Taylors on the Rep tour and we get this series of surprise songs I consider to be Dianna songs:

“Ours” - Foxborough, MA July 28th

“Out of The Woods” - Toronto, Canada August 3rd (Karlie’s birthday)

“Come Back… Be Here”- Toronto, Canada August 4th (august 4th 2014 Taylor wears one of the Style mv outfits)

“This Love” - Atlanta, Ga., Aug. 10

These shows are all in succession I think it could be a coincidence or perhaps Taylor’s reaction to Karlie’s engagement announced on July 24, 2018...

August 25, 2018 - Karlie shows up to rep tour in Nashville and Taylor plays Better Man 💀

August 31, 2018 - secret song is Swiftgron “Begin Again”

February 24, 2019 - Swiftgron reunion? at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party both Dianna and Taylor are there and they both post to Instagram about it(Dianna posts two days later):

She also comments to a friend that they stayed out until 3AM.

Taylor’s post:

March 7, 2019 - Dianna sees Fleabag at SoHo House:

April 9, 2019 - Dianna posts with a caption about being 13 years old, unrequited love, and 143 in reference to the show Pen15:

June 14, 2019 - Taylor adds “Woman” by Mumford and Sons to her ME! playlist - the song is rumored to be about Dianna written by her (now ex) husband Winston Marshall:

September 7, 2019 - Taylor is noted to be at a Fleabag performance in London at the at Wyndham Theater.

September 23, 2019 - Dianna posts about Phoebe Waller Bridge (who wrote Fleabag, and EPs Killing Eve among other things):

October 5, 2019 - SNL!!!!! - Taylor is the musical guest on SNL while Phoebe Waller Bridge hosts and DIANNA IS IN ATTENDANCE with a VIP guest pass (can only be granted by a cast member, host, or musical guest) and also noted to be “in Swift’s inner circle” at the afterparty:

Taylor performs Lover:

And with huge lesbian energy she also performs False God:

(if it weren’t for DIanna showing up at SNL I probably wouldn’t have even gotten interested in Swiftgron so you have this holy night to thank for my blog @swiftgron-get-married as well as this timeline!)

A blog contributor reached out to someone (non-biased, I know some Kaylors reported that DIanna was there for PWB but that isn’t what this person said) who was at the performance on Twitter and this is what they had to say about the night:

“Dianna was definitely paying attention”

Other fan reports state that Dianna made a face when Taylor sang “magnetic force of a man”:

December 13, 2019 (Taylor’s 30th Birthday) - Dianna adds the song Got It Bad (which is an incredibly sensual song) to a Playlist entitled T 2017 on her private spotify account Some time in late 2019/early 2020 - Ashley (re)follows Dianna on Instagram February 2020 - Dianna and Taylor are both in London at the same time

Click here to keep reading!

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N Know what this fic needs? More Geillis. No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this. Just bear with me. Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue. Thanks for coming on the journey with me! With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed. I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic. When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months. When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen! I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire. Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me. The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list. Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app. As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche... who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested. “The first three are for Frank. The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him? Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard. Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire? And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent. My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas. But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him. Or it had. I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts. “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list. And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment. She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here. House of Fraser. See? Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling. The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights. The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section. Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing. “I don’t need a new outfit. And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this. Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night. I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms. Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these. And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size.

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight. She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant. The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings. Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely. I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie. We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore.

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze. It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing. Everything. Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass. I only want tae see ye happy. Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber. Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith. It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern.

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef. Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams. The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter. Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid. Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks. And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached. I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse. Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef. He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim. A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him. He looked dangerous. It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef. With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me. I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin. The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.” His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.” He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging. I swallowed and looked frantically around. Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go. I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table. An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued. I tried to convince myself I needed to leave. It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment. Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song. The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door. Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant. Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port. A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up. Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone. The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist. I couldna hear myself think in there. Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.” Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming. I told him everything. My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability. Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home. And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined. I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket. He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face. I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted. I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name. “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me. But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.” At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do. But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.” Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words. “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist. Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?” The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them. His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning. Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things. Regular, ordinary things, mostly. My family’s health and happiness. A faster bike. My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him. But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune. Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands. Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother. We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining. Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned. “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment. “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.” His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist. Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast. It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about. We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed. My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine. As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket. I laughed, although no-one could hear me. I yelled, and only the wind yelled back. I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat. My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember. I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls. He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist. Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow. I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home. Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him. He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried? Do you have any idea what time it is? My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days. You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing. “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace. Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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goji-pilled · 2 years

Note

walpy anon sparked two neurons in my brain, so now we return to tamura.

It had been a while since she had been back to the Void Between Time and Space, loops leaving her tired and disgruntled as the same exact events happened over and over again with very little changes. If it weren't for the fact she visited a bar tucked away in a little pocket dimension that housed other versions of herself from across reality, she'd have called the Multiverse Theory a crock of shit. Ah well, at least the Multiverse proved to her to Akemi Homura can and will succeed in her mission to save her friends.

Walking across the white space of Nothingness and Existence - look, she was bored, tired, played one rpg, and is still fourteen - Tamura was blasted with a full brunt of memories that were and weren't hers. They had used to just prominately be her past failures but now with each visit she sees more and more memories belonging to the Winner. They encouraged her to keep on fighting, to keep moving forward, but they also fueled her with bitter jealousy. One day she'll have what the Winner has. One day...

When the Bar finally came into view Tamura was shocked to see nearly the entire clientele hoard of Akemi's were loitering outside the front doors, Barkeep fretting over the others as she kept them from entering. Deciding that she'd have an easier time finding out what was happening at the source, Tamura sped up her light walk to a hearty jog.

Apparantly the World decided to make everyone's problem her problem because the moment she got in talking distance with the hoarde, they grabbed her by the arms, the hair, the shirt, the- hey who grabbed her there?! Smacking the others off her person Tamura strode right up to Barkeep.

"Homura-san, is there a problem?" she asked the eldest Akemi Homura. With the way the owner twiddled her thumbs she had readily assumed the worst case scenarios.

Before her mind could continue to humor the possibility of Scientist Homura having warped the space of the bar, and scattering the once docile pocket dimension into several more pocket dimensions, the Elder spoke up.

"Perhaps it would be best if you went in and saw for yourself."

"You." As in Tamura herself. God dammit, why does all the weird or scary shit have to be dumped on her?

Grumbling under her breath, Tamura stepped around Barkeep and entered the establishment. The Akemi's behind her screeched out in a mass of noise, all their words and jeers clashing out with each other. Whatever, not like they had anything truly helpful to say to her on the best of days, let alone the worst of days.

Shutting the sliding door behind her Tamura suddenly realized why it was her and not literally any other Homura in her. Currently seated at one of the long tables were her friends, Mami in her yukata between Kyouko and Sayaka - both out of uniform.

In front of each of them was also her friends, but they also weren't her friends.

Sitting in front of Tomoe Mami was a blonde with her hair tucked into a messy briaded bun. She wore a uniform similiar to the Golden Markswoman's own, except instead of a skirt she had padded leather pants with an iron chest piece covering her entire upper body. The puffy sleeves were covered by thin iron gauntlets and she wore a pulmed iron hat instead of a baret.

Sakura Kyouko was staring into the eyes of a warrior wearing a crimson robe. The robe was left untied, exposing the leather armour that covered her body collar to toe. Cinders flew up off the robe and died midflight, leaving the floating mass of flaming hair alone in their endless dance.

Miki Sayaka tried to keep her eyes on the knight's own, however her gaze kept shifting over the outfit the other wore. The knight was wearing a full set of armor that seemed to shift and mold itself to form itself comfortably on the wearer. Across the chest piece and arms were engravings of musical notes and instruments, an orchaestra playing them all as music quietly played. Wrapped in a bundle on her lap was a red cape with yellow trimmings, bunched to such a mass that no doubt when worn clould engulf the knight when clasped on her shoulders.

Tamura bore witness to Mami, Sayaka, and Kyouko having a staring contest with Mami, Sayaka and Kyouko.

Palming her face Tamura went about playing hostess. Shifting her hand behind her shield Tamura pulled out a variety of drinks and snacks she knew her friends always liked in every timeline. She placed two cans of Cola with boxes of Pokey between the Kyoukos, a second passing before they grabbed one each. A large kettle that was kept nice and heated in her shield was placed between the Mamis, tea cups placed atop saucers with a full plate of scones to share. Finally she placed four water bottles filled with clear liquid between the Sayakas; the one she was familiar with hovered her hand over one before snatching another off the side, the other doing the same.

Placing herself at the head of the table, having grabbed a bottle of cider for herself, Tamura sat down and looked at her not-friends.

"... No Madoka?"

It was more so a question to her friends than the newcomers. The Law of Cycles was due for a visit sometime but she had yet to arrive; she would've been actually worried were it not for the fact that Madoka was a fucking god.

Her question was answered by exstatic denials from the new trio and dejected "no"s from the three she knew. Well, at least she could find some comfort in knowing that there wasn't a Madoka trapped in her repeating hellscape.

Downing a few gulps of her cider Tamura kept herself from looking unprofessional, belch threatening to be unleashed, as she stared down the three time traveler versions of the Primary Trio.

"Ladies... care to share your exploits in the timeline?"

i blame walpy anon and orajje on AO3 for making me have Time Traveling Quintet ideas.

／人◕ ‿‿ ◕人＼

NEW TAMURA CONTENT LESGOOOO

#felix answers #io3 #<the new tag for all the written stuff you guys post #because inbox of our own and co

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let-it-raines · 3 years

Note

Prompt: we met each other while each doing the (separate) walk of shame after a night out with other people.

Just a continuous shoutout to @shireness-says for sending me the most random but best prompts and also for only judging how bad of a cook I am a little 😘

on ao3 | here | if that’s how you want to read!

-/-

Emma doesn’t have rules about a lot of things in her life, but she has rules about this, about one-night stands.

Rule 1: They are always, always, always one night.

Rule 2: They never come back to her place.

Rule 3: She always gets up and leaves before they wake up, if she falls asleep there at all.

It’s not the nicest move in the world, but, well, Emma isn’t hanging around with these guys to be nice. She’s not there for the small talk, for the sink sharing as she brushes her teeth with a little toothpaste on her finger. She’s definitely not there for the breakfasts. She’s sure that they’re fine, that some of them are more than good, but, well, she doesn’t really care enough to get to know how the guy likes his eggs. The guy definitely doesn’t care how she takes hers. He probably just wants another fuck, and no matter how good the night before was, Emma doesn’t do more than one time.

Rule number one and all that.

And it’s not that she’s going around having one-time things all the time, and it’s not that there would be anything wrong with that if she was. But she’s been around the block enough times to know to come up with her rules.

Right now, she hates herself a little for falling asleep, but she’s become a tad bit rusty on this whole thing. It’s been awhile since she’s done this. She was with Walsh for a year, and, well, it took her awhile to need to scratch the itch after that ended. But last night…let’s just say she needed to last night, so she put on some mascara and a red lip, found a dress that was a little too tight and a little too low cut, and she went to a club for the first time in ages. She nearly texted Ruby and Mulan and asked them to come with her, but she chickened out at the last minute.

Emma Swan: catches bad guys for a living, chickens out asking her friends to go drinking and dancing with her.

The cold morning air nips at her legs and her shoulders, and she wraps her arms around herself as she dodges a sewer grate to keep her heel from getting caught. She’s nearly to her apartment door. She won’t freeze before then. Still, next time she’s remembering a jacket.

Emma speeds up when she’s a building away, especially as more people start leaving their apartments and heading for work or the gym or wherever else people go on Saturday mornings, and just as she’s reaching for the side door of her apartment building, someone else’s hand touches it first. She watches it, taking in the dark hair over the knuckles and up his forearm, and Emma’s eyes follow up his arm. He’s wearing a dark gray shirt that only has one or two buttons down at the bottom in order to show off an impressive amount of chest hair, and when she looks at his face, the first thing she notices is how messy his hair is and then the red pillow creases on his cheek.

Oh.

Emma blushes, but she doesn’t know why. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially since they’re both coming home from the same exact thing.

The man flashes a smile, bright white against the black of his slightly overgrown stubble, and pulls the door open before gesturing for her to move forward.

“After you, love.”

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles.

She ducks her head and walks inside the building, reveling in the heat that immediately comes down on her skin. She walks down the hallway, and the guy’s footsteps follow behind her. She gets into the elevator. He does too. If she didn’t slightly recognize him, her shoulders would tense and her nerves would stand on edge. She does recognize him, though, from around the building. She’s sure she’s seem him once or twice before.

“Cold out there this morning,” he whistles as his fingers begin to toy with his shirt, one more button closing, not that it helps.

“Yep.”

“Almost makes staying until they wake up worth it.”

“Or paying for a damn cab.”

He huffs and tilts his head back to scratch his jaw. That is an unfairly sharp jawline. “Killian Jones. Floor seven.”

“Emma.”

“No last name? Or floor number?”

“Oh Jones,” Emma sighs, twisting toward him. She crosses her arms under her bust despite knowing it will draw attention to her boobs, and sure enough, he glances down. “You’re going to have to watch me do the walk of shame a few more times before you get any of that.”

There’s that smile again. The door opens on his floor, and he steps through the opening but still places his hand on the door to keep it from closing. “It’s only a walk of shame if you’re ashamed of it. I prefer to think of it as a stride of pride. Or perhaps, just a very satisfied walk home.”

And then he’s gone, and the doors close behind him as Emma goes up one more floor.

-/-

“Well, you certainly look different.”

Emma’s shoulder’s tense, and slowly, she turns on her head to see what jackass is talking to her. It takes her a moment to recognize him, a moment of cold weather and tired eyes and the slightest bit of a hangover, but she rarely forgets a face. Or a man who displays that much chest in nearly freezing weather. Then again, she was doing the same. She notices he seems to be doing the same thing now while she’s got on a shirt that covers almost all of her.

“Yeah, well, I find flannel is much more comfortable than skin-tight sequins.”

She’s in her pajamas in the lobby of her building getting the mail. Yeah, most people are just now getting home from work and are in real clothes, but when you have the day off, there’s no reason to put on real pants.

“Oh, I agree. I can’t tell you how uncomfortable it is when I have to wear sequins, Swan.”

She fully turns. “I never told you my last name.”

Killian leans forward and taps on her mailbox where E. Swan is written. Just below it, there’s a K. Jones. Oh.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Emma locks her box and steps to the side so Killian can get his mail. There are only two envelopes in there, and one of them is a slip to pick up a package from the front desk. Emma swears it’s the only reason they still have these mailboxes. She realizes she’s standing there staring at the back of his head and at the suit he’s wearing even though she has no reason to still be there. She needs to be back up in her apartment getting dressed to go to the gym since she’s neglected it all day today. She should have gotten up this morning and gotten it over with.

Idly, she wonders what he does for a living, but then she remembers she needs to go before she seems weird.

Weirder.

She’s definitely already weird.

-/-

He’s at her gym.

Granted, it’s literally the gym in the building next door to her where all of the residents go, but still. She’s never seen him in there before.

She also rarely goes at this time.

He’s running on the treadmill in a fitted shirt and pair of joggers, and she’s on the elliptical behind him, warming up before her Pilates class. Emma ducks her head and focuses on her music and her movement, trying not to draw his attention.

When he winks at her in the mirror, she knows she’s failed.

When she nearly falls over on the elliptical, she decides she’s going to have to move apartments.

(Not really. She’d never leave this place, not when it’s a damn good apartment.)

-/-

Emma hates doing honeytraps. They feel demeaning and a little sexist, but they work. She puts on a skintight dress, pushes her boobs up, combs out her hair, and she can get the guys she needs to pay her enough attention that she can easily handcuff them and bring them down to the closest precinct.

Tonight, it went fine. It took her longer to curl her hair than to get the guy to flirt with her at the bar, but on her walk back to her car from the precinct, someone drove by and splashed dirty water all over her. It was a good dress. She should have worn the cheaper one.

It’s long past midnight when she gets back to her apartment, and even though she looks like she’s the one who got arrested tonight, she walks through her lobby, nodding at the night guard, and then heads toward the elevator with her wet shoes in hand. It’s amazing that no one complains about her and gets her kicked out. There’s a group of women in this building who take pride in judging anyone who isn’t just like them, and Emma avoids them at all costs.

Who she can’t seem to avoid, however, is Killian Jones, because he comes sulking in the side door and gets in the elevator at the last moment, sticking his hand through the closing doors until they open back up just for him.

“We have to stop meeting here,” he teases.

“I believe last time we met at the gym.”

“Well, I’d say we’d have to stop meeting there as well, but I’m sure you had a grand time staring at my ass as I ran.”

“Are you always this conceited?”

“Confident.” Emma rolls her eyes as the elevator doors finally close. “Rub some detergent on your stain and then scrub it with a toothbrush before washing it. The stain should come out.”

Emma looks down at her outfit. It’s far beyond the point of repair, especially with a toothbrush. “Uh, thanks.”

“And maybe don’t sleep with a man who ruins your dress like that.”

“Oh, this is from work,” she laughs, adjusting her heels in her hands.

“What in the bloody hell do you do?”

“Bounty hunter, bail bonds, things like that. A little bit of everything. This,” she gestures to her dress, “was an accident from a reckless driver speeding outside the police station.”

“Just who are you, Swan?” Killian asks with a smirk and raised brows. She has a feeling he does that a lot.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles at her teasing, leaning in that little bit closer to her, and she’s reminded of how small this space is. Emma wants to change the subject from herself, so she quickly asks, “aren’t you a little too overdressed to be coming home from your…stride of pride?”

He smiles and scratches behind his ear. “Coming home from the office, actually.”

“It’s one in the morning.”

The doors open again on his floor and he steps outside, holding his hand to the door. “Work never stops when your boss is an asshole who thinks contract negotiations cannot be handled during normal business hours. See you around, Swan.”

Emma waves and smiles as the doors close again.

-/-

Emma goes weeks without seeing him, and she nearly forgets about the man who keeps seeing her at slightly low points in her life. It all goes on. She goes to work, and since the scumbags are out in full force, she makes enough in a month to cover rent for six months. It feels damn good to be that secure in her life when half a decade ago she never would have been able to consider living in a nice place and knowing she could pay for it. She goes out with her friends, sometimes stays in since David and Mary Margaret are homebodies ever since they decided to try for a baby, which Emma knows way too much about – seriously, Mary Margaret shares details about the positions and tracking apps and womb temperatures, and it’s a great way to make sex seem unappealing – and things get back to normal as winter melts into spring and the miserable chill of Boston fades away.

But then she has a bad day.

“What do you even know about family?”

The words were spit at her as the man ran out of the restaurant in the same way that he’d run out on his family, and even though he’s now going to be held accountable for his actions, nothing about it sat right with Emma. How can you have a family and just leave them? Why do people keep doing that?

So instead of going home, she goes to a bar, ordering a drink and sitting in the corner as she watches other people drink and talk and, quite frankly, dance poorly. It’s entertaining if only because it keeps her mind off her own life, and then she sees him.

He’s in dark jeans and a button-down, black leather jacket still on, and even though he seems to be in a group of friends, Emma walks over to him, tapping him on the shoulder until he turns to look at her with a smirk and a raised brow.

Yep, he definitely does that move a lot.

“Fancy seeing you here, love.”

“I could say the same to you.”

The smirk widens to a smile, and he has ridiculously blue eyes. She didn’t even know that kind of blue was possible in such dark lighting.

“Swan, this is Rob, Will, and Eric. Mates, this is Emma. She lives in my building.”

They all mutter different versions of ‘nice to meet you’ and Emma returns the platitudes. Then Killian orders her another glass of wine while ordering himself some more rum, and instead of sitting alone all night, she sits with him.

And his friends. But she kind of forgets about them as she talks to Killian. He’s charming, funny too, and while she tends to think corporate lawyers must have had their soul sucked away at some point in their lives, she doesn’t think that about him.

She likes him.

It’s a weird feeling after going so long floundering around after Walsh, not sure that any man is capable of keeping her genuinely entertained for more than an hour, but it’s three hours later, and her jaw hurts from smiling. After earlier, she definitely didn’t think she was capable of smiling that much.

Or at all.

At some point, she tells Killian her guilty pleasure food is grilled cheese, as greasy as you can get, and they end up in a small diner with grilled cheese and cups of coffee in front of them. It’s damn good grilled cheese, and after she finishes chewing, she covers her mouth and laughs.

“What?” he asks with his mug in front of his lips.

“You really took me to get grilled cheese as if me liking it was a personality trait.”

His brows raise, little lines raising with them, and he takes another sip of his coffee. “I don’t know about you, but a night out drinking now isn’t the same as when I was twenty-two. You have to do the hangover prep beforehand.”

“Old man.”

He shrugs. “I imagine I’m not much older than you.”

“Yeah, but I can handle my alcohol better.”

“We’ll have to see about that another night.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They leave the diner and the neon signs behind sometime around three in the morning, and when they get back to their apartment and into the elevator, Emma gets off on the sixth floor instead of the seventh.

-/-

Rule 3: She always gets up and leaves before they wake up, if she falls asleep there at all.

When Emma opens her eyes, she knows she’s failed herself.

The sun is shining through his curtains, indicating that it’s long past her normal escape hours, and even though the view outside is the same as her apartment, she knows that she isn’t in her apartment. Not even close.

Well, geographically speaking, no, she’s actually very close. She’s only one floor below. Her bedroom is right above this, and her bed is in the exact same place.

But her bed is empty, the covers still pulled up, and there isn’t a naked man in it.

Or a naked Emma.

Shit.

Killian’s hand is on her boob, his leg half-draped over hers, and slowly, she moves them both off. She has to go, to get out of her, but just as she’s moving him, he moves himself.

Closer. He moves closer.

“Hmmm, morning,” he hums, flicking his finger against her breast before moving it down over her side and to her hip. His hands are surprisingly calloused for someone who spends all day in an office, but she likes it. She remembers thinking that last night too. “Do you want breakfast? Or do you need to go? Either is fine with me.”

She’s almost offended he gives her choices, but then she realizes what he’s saying. He doesn’t care if she stays or goes, and that makes the ball of anxiety in Emma’s chest get smaller. Emma flips over to face him. His hair is a mess and a red mark is on his cheek. He sleepily grins.

“I need to go. This was great, but it was a one-time thing.”

He flips over on his back and crosses his arms behind his head. The comforter is pulled just low enough on his hips that she can see just enough to entice her to stay, but she doesn’t. She goes, getting dressed as he watches her before awkwardly saying goodbye.

“It’s a stride of pride,” he yells out, his accent thicker than usual, and Emma finds herself smiling as she closes the door behind her.

-/-

Rule 2: They never come back to her place.

Okay, so the thing about Killian living in the apartment below her is that he knows where she lives. And that’s fine. She’s pretty good at reading people, and she didn’t peg him as someone she needed to worry about. From their first meeting, she knows he’s comfortable with one-time things. He’s not going to be someone who tries for more, which is what she’s like.

But now he’s at her door, take-out bag in hand, saying he stopped by after work but decided he didn’t want the grease. Is there any chance she’d like it?

She would.

And despite the fact that she practically raised herself and didn’t exactly teach herself manners, she does have some. So she lets him in, offers him some coffee that he takes, and they sit and talk for awhile, about nothing and everything and all of the other things in between. It’s nice, and it’s not until he takes off his suit jacket and undoes the buttons on his shirt that she remembers that they slept together.

Several times in one night.

Because she’s, well, an idiot.

And now he’s at her place drinking her coffee while she eats food he brought her. It’s all a little too domestic for her, a little too comfortable, so instead of water, she grabs wine to dull her mind.

“You like wine?” Emma asks.

“Love it.”

“Good. Let’s drink.”

Killian chuckles. “Let me finish my coffee first, and then I’ll join you. Mind if we move to the living room?”

She absolutely minds. That’s a horrible, horrible idea.

“Not at all.”

-/-

Rule 1: They are always, always, always one night.

She messed up.

Big time.

Okay, so she’s messed up big time, multiple times.

Because Killian is asleep in her bed with only his boxers on, she’s wearing his shirt like some kind of movie cliché, and there’s a mark on her neck that’s going to require some makeup to hide.

Great. Just great.

It can’t get any worse.

-/-

She offers him breakfast.

He accepts and stays.

Shit.

-/-

Emma’s life is pretty unpredictable. From her job hours to her appetite to the outfits she’s going to wear. She likes it that way. It keeps her from getting bored or thinking too much. She likes not having a routine.

She likes it, and plans on keeping it that way.

But little by little she starts to notice a routine forming.

He’ll show up at her apartment with food. She’ll show up at his with nothing most of the time but sometimes a bottle of wine or rum, since she now knows that’s what he prefers. They talk, they laugh, maybe they watch a little TV, but it always, always, always ends up in the same place.

In bed.

Or on the couch. Once or twice in the kitchen even if that is the devil on her ass and her knees, but in the moment, she’s not thinking too much about that.

Or about how she’s broken every single one of her rules more than once. They are gone, out her window, and she doesn’t know how to get back to them.

Emma doesn’t think she wants to. She likes this arrangement. She’s got a friend and a fuck buddy all in one, and she doesn’t have to go out to find someone. There’s no lingerie or hour’s worth of makeup or heels that hurt her. It’s pajamas and whatever unmatched underwear she happens to have on that day. Killian doesn’t care, and she likes that.

She likes spending time with him.

That was not in the plan.

-/-

There’s a tap on her bedroom floor. Then another one. And another.

Emma picks up her phone.

ES: Are you hitting a broom against your ceiling?

KJ: Yes, come down here.

ES: You come up here.

KJ: No. I need to show you something.

ES: If it’s your dick, I’m not leaving my apartment. I’ve seen it.

KJ: And it’s very impressive, I know. But no, that’s not it.

Emma laughs and rolls off her bed, pulling on boots with her jean shorts and t-shirt. She looks ridiculous, but she doesn’t care. When Killian opens his apartment door, he glances down at her for a moment, but then he’s ushering her inside and shoving a stack of paper in her face.

“What’s this?” Emma asks.

“Read it,” he insists, bouncing on his feet.

Emma reads it, doesn’t understand what the hell any of it means, but there are two very clear words written at the bottom.

Junior Partner.

Holy shit.

“They’re making you partner?” Emma gasps, looking up at him. “Holy shit, Jones!”

“I know,” he laughs. “Who would have thought the arrogant, Navy-educated asshole would make Junior Partner at the ripe old age of thirty-five?”

“Hey, you’re only, like, a minor level asshole.” He rolls his eyes, and Emma drops the paper down before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“Oh, I definitely don’t, but if I’ve fooled them into it, I won’t correct them.”

Emma laughs and hugs him tighter as his hands move up and down her back, settling just above her ass. “Should we celebrate?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Go out? Or stay in and eat cake? Sex?”

“There’s a company party at my boss’s house if you’d like to come.”

“All for you?”

“No,” he laughs, kissing her forehead and patting her back once more. “For the fourth tomorrow, but it’s free booze and free food.”

“Then I’m there.”

-/-

Even with the free booze, free food, and ridiculously gigantic pool, Emma kind of regrets coming to this thing. She doesn’t know anyone but Killian, and every single person keeps calling her his girlfriend even when he corrects them.

Emma is definitely not his girlfriend.

But after awhile, there’s only so many times you can deny it, and Killian starts telling people different stories of how they met, making them more ridiculous as he goes along. She doesn’t know how this won’t backfire since he has to work with these people, but he assures her they all work in different departments. He never sees them, and they never see each other.

To one man, they met on a cruise. To another, it was in the buffet line at a shopping center. To someone in accounting, they met at a cooking class where Emma was just struggling so much that he had to come help her out.

She’s offended even if that’s totally what would have happened had she gone to a cooking class.

There are so many different stories and meetings that Emma can’t keep up, especially as she tries to remember names. Eventually she gives up and laughs along at how good of a liar and storyteller that Killian is. She could listen to him do this for hours.

And she does.

The sun starts to set, and they settle on a swing in the backyard, his arm around her shoulder as they sway back and forth. Her skin is sun-kissed, her eyes tired, and she hasn’t felt as content as she is right now in a long damn time.

“This was fun,” she tells Killian.

“Aye,” he agrees, kissing her temple and rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Thank you for coming with me. I’m sure you had better plans than to come to this.”

“Not a one.”

He raises his brow. “No?”

“Nope. I can’t think of anything better than drinking free alcohol and lying to your coworkers about how we met. None of them know it was because both of us were coming home from one-night stands.”

“And that’s the most romantic one.”

Emma tilts her head back in laughter. “Ah, yes, the old ‘we met after fucking other people.’ A classic love story.”

Killian kicks at the ground to keep them swinging, and Emma pulls her legs up, curling them underneath her. “You know, Swan, that was the best one-night stand of my life.”

“She that good?”

“I don’t even remember her, but I remember running into you. You were, are, gorgeous, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Believe it or not, I do fancy you from time to time.”

Emma’s heart is doing something ridiculous, and she doesn’t think she can stop it.

“Is it all the orgasms?”

He laughs at her joke, but he pulls her closer, resting his cheek against her head as they keep moving. “Those are bloody fantastic, but I like other things about you too. I like doing things like this, talking, having a cuddle, watching my boss make an idiot of herself on her diving board. I’d like to do it more often.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” She’s half-joking, but when she twists her head to look at Killian, she sees that he’s not.

Oh.

“Aye, I am. If you’re amenable to that.”

Emma gulps to get air down in her lungs, and before she can think too much about it, she nods her head and leans up to kiss Killian in a way that she’s never really kissed him before – with no intention of it leading to something more than this, the two of them swaying on a swing wrapped around each other. “I would definitely be.”

“Good. Tomorrow?”

“I’m busy. Going out with a new guy. But maybe another time.”

She knows his eyes roll as he kisses her, and Emma could get used to this.

-/-

New rule: Never, ever, ever kiss anyone but Killian Jones ever again.

Emma thinks she can definitely stick to that rule.

#stride of pride #cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #shireness-says

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luvskywalker · 3 years

Text

willow- steve rogers x reader

warnings: mentions of self doubt, kinda angsty, problems get solved tho :)

word count: about 1.3k

a/n: HI consider this my apology because the new prideful piloting part isn’t ready yet. i love steve and taylor swift and tbh if he were an evermore song he’d be willow it literally fits him perfectly so i had to do something with it!! hope you enjoy muah

it wasn’t fun, always having to run. whenever anything went wrong, it was just what you did. it was what you had done for years. an assassin, a weapon ripped from her home and trained nearly from birth, turned into an avenger. you had ran for so long, it was hard to stop running. that’s why right now, you were ready to run again. so much was keeping you here, and you didn’t know if you had what it took to stay. what happened when they realized you were a monster? what happened when they decided they didn’t need you anymore? they had an assassin already, you were just a liability. or at least, that’s what you had convinced yourself.

the new avengers facility was nice, but nothing was truly nice when you were alone. that was the starting shot you needed, and now you were at the compound packing up all you needed.

your heart broke a little for what you’d be leaving behind, your family. but you were convinced they didn’t feel the same about you. you thought that to them, you were disposable.

your heart cracked more, because you wished you didn’t have to leave him behind.

but, steve rogers was a golden man. he didn’t need a broken woman.

little did you know, he thought the roles were reversed.

however, they say we are all fools in love, and what you felt for steve was the most love you were capable of.

so yeah, it hurt a lot when you were getting ready to run away this time, but you had to. you weren’t a hero. you might’ve been an avenger but you were not a hero. no little girls wanted to be like you, the world didn’t rejoice when you came into a fight. they were scared of you. it was what you needed to do, even if it hurt you.

what you failed to see was that you were a hero. the team did need you. they loved you, and most importantly, steve needed you. steve loved you.

but you ran away.

it was like you had vanished. you had cut and dyed your hair, changed your wardrobe, and wore colored contacts. you were also in france, colmar to be exact. nobody had heard of you since that day.

it took them a month to find you. you had made a careless mistake, you had been a little sloppy, almost like you wanted them to discover your whereabouts.

you did. you were practically begging steve to find you, for him to take your hand and wreck your plans. for him to take you home because you didn’t want to run away- it was just what you did best. if he found you, it meant they were all looking. you wanted them to convince you to stay.

they had sent steve and natasha to colmar to bring you back. if anyone could do it, it was them. they knew you best, natasha was like your сестра, sister. and steve, well, everyone saw how you looked at steve- like he had put the sun in the sky.

they didn’t bother knocking, the door was unlocked so they just walked in.

you were in the kitchen of the colorful little home you’d taken refuge in, cutting strawberries. it was almost like you sensed they were there, turning slowly and letting the knife you were using slip from your hand, which clattered as it fell on the counter.

natasha approached you like you were a stray cat, afraid you’d startle and run at any sudden movement she made.

“steve, mind waiting outside?”

so he was here. you instantly became overwhelmed with guilt. you’d left your family behind, you’d left steve, and you didn’t even say goodbye. it made you feel horrible when you realized it, when you realized they actually did care.

steve nodded quickly and made his way out of the tiny home.

she started by surveying your new appearance, haircut and colored contacts, as well as the change of outfit from a black catsuit to the frilly white dress you wore now.

“didn’t know you owned white.” she said, smirking at you.

“it’s a whole lot more comfortable” you responded, effectively breaking the ice between you both as you shared a short laugh.

she then surprised you by pulling you into her, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

“i know how it feels, i just never went through with it.”

she was just like you. she knew how to run just as well as you did.

“i wish i hadn’t.”

your eyes became watery, threatening to spill tears over your cheeks. it was the truth, you wished you hadn’t ran from the only people who had ever stuck around, you just didn’t know how to deal with things that weren’t temporary.

“how has he been?”

you pulled away from the hug and she let her touch linger over your shoulders, knowing you’d appreciate the support.

“i think you should ask him that.”

she knew she didn’t have to ask you to come back, she had felt the same way you felt just as many times as you had. she knew the moment you left that you would come back. her hands left your shoulders and she gave you a sympathetic look, exiting the house and sending steve in.

it was then that the guilt overwhelmed you multiplied. he really must’ve thought it was his fault, because he was steve after all. steve rogers thought he could save everything, and when he couldn’t it hit him harder than a freight train.

nevertheless, the steve that walked in was still golden. like a trophy, or a championship ring. but he also seemed fragile, he wore a tired expression, and immediately you couldn’t help but rush to embrace him.

you would do anything to fix this.

“i never stopped looking for you. searched for clues every day.” he said it into your hair, leaning down so he could hold you. he held onto you tight, as if you were ready to disappear. again.

“i’m so sorry steve, i just thought that i was-“

your voice began to crack from the emotion that was as thick as honey in your throat.

“i thought i was a liability. to you, to the team.”

you were showing him the places where everyone had laid an emotional scar now. your tears began to overflow, streaking down your cheeks, and causing your voice to shake, so you decided to stop speaking.

“i should’ve-“

you cut him off before he could finish that sentence.

“it’s not your fault, steve.” you pulled away from the embrace so you could see him, and his hands moved to rest on your hips, grip still tight.

“it never is your fault. i promise.”

his forehead came to rest against yours, and you felt complete again.

“you aren’t a liability, you know that right?” his voice was uncharacteristically soft, and your emotions were running wild.

“i do now.”

you learned a lot in the month you were gone. you learned how it felt to be alone again, a feeling you hadn’t been close with in a while. you had realized you liked it a lot better when steve was around. and you had realized that people do come back, when you run. because that’s what love does. it brings you back, over and over, because it makes people stupid. or wise, maybe. wherever you’d stray, he’d follow, he’d take your hand, and then he’d lead you back.

“let’s go home.”

it wasn’t an open shut case, but now you knew from the look on his face, that you couldn’t go anywhere without him again. you could never let yourself leave your family, your home, again. you would stop running. and steve would help you.

#marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rodgers imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #willow #taylor swift #natasha is the best friend ever #assassin reader #x reader #reader insert #marvel imagine

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itsivyberry · 3 years

Text

tri-wizard champion {5}

The Maze

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

a/n: my Christmas gift to you because 2020 has sucked ass and I want to finish this series before it’s over❤️ enjoy also READ THE MF TRIGGER WARNINGS THEY ARE REALLT IMPORTANT THIS TIME

word count: 4590

warnings: major character death, lots of blood, anxiousness, mentions of vomiting, sad sad stuff dude, also literally loss of a limb (there’s a warning before it begins, please don’t read if you can’t stomach it)

summary: the truth about the Y/L/N’s is to be revealed soon when Y/N is facing the dangers within the maze of the third task.

tag list: @drawlfoy @fanficflaneuse @ccelinewritess @accio-rogers @babyhoneystvles @nekee-lilac02 @dracofeltonmalfoy

masterlist

{ 1 } { 2 } { 3 } { 3.5 } { 4 } { 5 } { 6 }

gif credit: @harrysweasleys

The final task approached rapidly.

News about the sudden death of Barty Crouch spread throughout the student body quickly.

Y/N was growing anxious, more than she ever was for any other task. The spots from the grindylows had faded to a lighter color, similar to the two gashes on her back.

But now here she was, waking through a doorway to face the entire Hogwarts student body along with families and the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students clad in a black and yellow outfit to represent Hufflepuff.

The three Hogwarts champions stood by their entrance to the maze. Cheers could be heard from every angle at which they stood, a lively march being played by the band.

Many students had homemade banners with the champions’ last names written all over. Y/N smiled at the sight of Draco holding a large banner with a silly drawing of her and Y/L/N written in big, bold, sparkly letters. She gave him a funny face and a thumbs up, and he blew a kiss right back mouthing “good luck.”

“Sonorus!” Dumbledore casted the amplifying charm, and the sounds of cheers and music died out. Students clambered to sit down, eager to hear about the task.

“Earlier today, Professor Moody placed the Triwizard Cup deep within the maze. Only he knows it’s exact position. Now, as Mr. Diggory...” cheers erupted at the sound of Cedric’s name, and Amos held his son’s hand high in recognition, “...Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Potter...” cheers grew louder and students stood, yelling for Harry and Y/N, including Ron, Hermione, and Draco, “...are tied for first position, they will be the first to enter the maze, followed by Mr. Krum...” more cheers, “...and Miss Delacour.”

“The first person to touch the cup will be the winner. I’ve instructed the staff to patrol the perimeter. Should, at any point, a contestant wish to withdrawal from the task, he or she need only send up red sparks with their wands. Contestants! Gather around. Quickly!”

Y/N rushed up, following Cedric to where Dumbledore stood. Her heart was pounding.

The five champions huddled up, and Dumbledore placed his arms around Y/N’s and Krum’s shoulders.

“In the maze, you’ll find no dragons or creatures of the deep. Instead you’ll face something even more challenging. You see, people change in the maze. Oh, find the cup if you can. But be very wary. You could just lose yourselves along the way.” The ominous undertone to his voice gave Y/N goosebumps.

Draco watched intently, trying to listen to what Dumbledore was saying to the five teens, but had no luck. His heart was pounding just as hard as Y/N’s was.

“Champions, prepare yourselves!” Dumbledore instructed, and the crowd cheered again.

Without thinking, Y/N turned around and bolted to the stands, stopping right in front of where Draco was.

“Wish me luck!” She said, jumping up to wrap her around a around his neck and pulled him close. He sat up to lean over the railing blocking the two of them, hugging her so tightly. “Awes” and “oohs” circled around the two of them.

“Good luck.” Draco whispered in Y/N’s ear, pulling back just enough to press his lips on hers in a rushed and anxious kiss.

She pulled away quickly, touching her feet to the ground and smiling warmly at him, before rushing back to her designated entrance to the maze, unknowing of what she should find inside.

Y/N looked into it, her heart hammering. It was too foggy to see any clearer than maybe 6 feet in front of her, and the hedges were impossibly tall.

Her thoughts began to bite at her. What if I don’t make it through in time? What if something in there kills me? What if I get lost and nobody can see the red sparks?

She wished she had the support of a representative like the other champions did. Y/N looked over to see Amos giving Cedric a tight hug, whispering something in his ear.

Just as quickly as he had hugged his son, he made his way over to the young girl and gave her a big hug too. “You’ll do amazing, Y/N. I wish both you and Cedric the best of luck.” He said into her ear.

“Thank you, Amos.” She smiled at him, allowing him to step back over to his son.

Cedric smiled at her, but it was wobbly. He could tell she was just as nervous as he was, and tried his best to comfort her with the distance between them.

“On the count of three. One-“ Dumbledore’s voice was cut off by the canon exploding early. Y/N couldn’t breathe as she watched Harry take the first step into the maze. Cedric followed right after, and the lively music from before flooded through the small arena.

The second Y/N stepped at least two feet into the maze, the entrance sealed off. It was deafening, how silent it had suddenly become.

Draco watched closely, as his girlfriend was suddenly separated from the eyes of the spectators. He knew her parents were watching somewhere in the crowd, feeling just as nervous as he was.

The only thing Y/N could hear was her own staggered breathing and the snaps of twigs beneath her feet. The passage was narrow, and she kept her want tightly in her hand.

The maze seemed to change every passing second, passages forming quickly. She was running now, trying to make sure she wouldn’t get crushed.

The first scream caught Y/N’s attention. It was loud, and bone chilling, and echoed throughout the entire maze. She was so sure the other champions must’ve heard it.

She was frozen. The scream must’ve come from Fleur, she had decided, and was silently praying the girl wasn’t hurt.

It was when an explosion over head, red sparks from only a passage over, had broken Y/N from her trance.

From outside the maze, everyone was silent at the first sight of surrender. Draco was repeating a mantra in his head.

Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N. Don’t be Y/N.

A glimmer caught her eye. She had barely moved from the entrance, not nearly putting in as much effort as she thought she would.

Y/N walked slowly towards it, whipping around and keeping her eyes open for any threat. A twig cracked behind her, and she screamed when something tackled her to the ground.

Draco heard the second scream. He knew it was Y/N after Fleur was removed from the maze. It took all of his control not to jump from the stands and force his way into the maze to find her himself.

“Y/N? Oh, Merlin I’m so sorry!” Cedric pulled himself off of her. “I thought you were Krum! He’s gone insane!” He helped her up.

Y/N’s eyes were blown wide and her breath was short. “You- you scared me! Don’t do that!”

Cedric must’ve seen the glimmer too, a glowing object in the distance.

“Together?” He asked her, not taking his eyes off the prize.

“Together.” She spokes quietly, taking the first step towards the cup.

Indistinct shouting not very far from the two Hufflepuffs made both of them jump. Krum, who’s eyes seemed to be incredibly cloudy from what Y/N remembered they actually looked like, was shooting hexes at Harry.

Harry’s defenses were down. “Get down!” Cedric yelled, jumping in front of Y/N and dodging the hex that had missed Harry. Y/N shrunk into the hedge to the left of her, covering her face with her hands.

“Get down!” Cedric yelled once more, Krum yelling another indistinguishable hex at Harry who was now on the ground.

“Expelliarmus!” Y/N gained the courage to jump up, hitting Krum square in the chest. He was thrown further away from the three of them, and seemingly unconscious.

Cedric ran over to him, kicking his wand from his hand. Y/N and Harry both realized he was about to cast another spell on him, Godric knows which one.

“No! Stop!” Harry yelled, holding him back. “He’s bewitched, Cedric!”

“Get off me!” He shoved Harry harshly.

“He’s bewitched!” Harry repeated.

“Cedric! Stop! Listen to him!” Y/N yelled, holding him back as well. Cedric shoved her to the ground so hard, her wrist snapped in half from the angle at which she hit the hard dirt. She cried out and it echoed, using her elbow to sit up and her feet to push away from the two boys. She had already caught a look at the ungodly angle her hand was suddenly bent at, and it made her want to vomit.

Cedric realized what he had done at the sound of his best friend’s scream. He was about to hold his wand up to send sparks for both Y/N and Krum, but Y/N jumped up before he could.

“Stop! We’ve already made it too far.” Her voice trembled. She was shaking violently, keeping distance between her and the two boys.

It was silent for a moment, the deafening sound taking over between the three teenagers just as when they first entered the maze.

“Together?” Cedric asked quietly, repeating what he said earlier, and looking at both of them.

“Together.” Harry and Y/N said at the same time.

Just as Y/N took a step towards them, a violent gust of wind hit her back and loud cracking echoed.

“Go!” Cedric yelled, grabbing Y/N’s good hand and running towards the cup. Harry ran after them, as quick as he could.

They made it to the center of the maze, and there stood the magnificent Triwizard Cup.

“Go on! Take it!” Cedric yelled.

“Together!” Harry yelled back, looking at Y/N who still had tears streaming down her face.

“One, two, three!” The three students jumped forward in the nick of time, grabbing ahold of the cup. A bright white light filled Y/N’s vision, and she was suddenly dizzy.

The three of them dropped onto the ground. She could sense their location had changed before she opened her eyes.

Harry and Cedric were on the ground near each other, gasping for breath. Y/N was thrown on the ground along with the cup, just a few feet away from them. The shock was beginning to wear off, and the pain was almost unbearable in her wrist.

“Come on, Y/N. Get up.” Cedric spoke quietly, the stillness of their new location scaring him. “You okay?” He asked both of them.

“Yeah.” Harry stood, looking around. Y/N allowed Cedric to help her stand, and she could finally see where they were. He held her broken wrist loosely in his hand, putting a protective arm around her shoulder.

A graveyard. The cup was a portkey. The sky was dark and cloudy, fog covering the rolling hills. Y’all tombstones towered over the three of them.

“Where are we?” She whispered.

“I’ve been here before.” Harry spoke suddenly.

“It’s a portkey. Harry, the cup is a portkey.” Cedric smiled mischievously down at the glowing cup.

“I’ve been here before.” Harry repeated. “In a dream.”

“Cedric! We have to get back to the cup. Now!” Harry’s voice was filled with fear and realization.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Y/N asked, her eyes filling with tears again, thinking the worst that could possibly happen. Were they set up?

“What are you talking about?” Cedric pulled Y/N closer, trying to keep her safe from whatever Harry had realized.

A door creaked open loudly in front of them. It made Y/N jump, and the first tear rolled down her cheek.

Harry began shouting when a figure walked from the doorway. A scruffy man turned as he collapsed on the ground, and a fire was lit from under a large cauldron in front of the doorway. Cedric released Y/N from his hold, rushing over to Harry.

“Harry! What is it?” He spoke, his voice cracking from fear.

“Get back to the cup!” Harry yelled out of pain again, sounding rather irritated.

Cedric put distance between him and Harry as the figure stepped out from the doorway. Y/N immediately recognized him as Peter Pettigrew, a good friend of her parents before he betrayed them all for Voldemort. Her eyes were wide when she realized what he was holding in his arms.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Cedric spoke, holding his wand up as a threat.

“Cedric, back down now!” Y/N yelled pulling his shoulder back. He shrugged her off.

“Kill the spare. Keep the girl alive.” A raspy voice spoke.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“No! Cedric!” Harry yelled, attempting to stand but was too late.

A bright green light temporarily blinded her. She watched the unforgivable curse hit Cedric and throw him over her head and behind her. The second his corpse hit the ground, a loud sob escaped her mouth.

Peter rushed over to Harry, using his wand to force him to stand. He backed him up into a statue that locked him in place.

“Do it! Now!” The raspy voice spoke again.

Peter hesitated for a moment. He walked over to the cauldron, keeping a hold of the blanket in his hands but dropped whatever was holding it into the boiling substance.

“Bone of the father unwillingly given.” A disgusting bone was levitated from the ground, caught on fire and into the cauldron.

Y/N’s breathing was too short when the realization of a dead body behind her set in.

“Flesh of the servant...” he turned suddenly, rushing to Y/N and forcing her towards the cauldron.

“Stop! What are you doing to me!” She yelled, trying to release herself from his grip, but it was too strong.

“Willingly sacrificed.” A large knife was pulled from his sleeve. He forced her broken wrist above the steaming substance as she thrashed against him.

********THIS PART IS GROSS PLEASE PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE REALLY GORY STUFF!!!!!!!!!!! ‼️‼️‼️‼️

With no hesitation, he dug the sharp knife into her wrist, cutting through the bone and severing her hand into the liquid below. She screamed, louder than she ever thought she could. Blood spurt from her hand, staining the grass by her feet. Peter threw her on the ground, away from him and Harry.

She made quick work, ripping part of her shirt to wrap around her wrist, trying not to pass out from the loss of blood and the sight of her bone. Y/N had been taught what to do in this situation, just not to herself. She could barely even register what was happening as her fight or flight took over.

“And blood of the enemy...” he used the same knife to cut part of Harry’s sleeve. “Forcibly taken.” Peter dug the knife into his wrist, blood rushing down Harry’s arm and dripping from his elbow. He cried in pain, and it made Y/N wince.

Peter tapped the hilt of the knife over the cauldron, letting a few dropped of Harry’s blood sizzle into the liquid.

“The Dark Lord shall rise... again.” He spoke, breathing loudly.

Harry’s screams broke Y/N from her daze due to the blood loss. The entire cauldron caught on fire, melting away to reveal none other than the slimey, naked, disgusting body of Lord Voldemort.

Black smoke surrounded him before his pale feet touched the ground, forming into a cloak of some sort.

Y/N could hear him inhale deeply, running his hands along the pale, veiny skin on his head. She could tell this was the first time in a while he had taken his human form.

Peter stepped forward, his face full of awe and adoration.

Voldemort walked forward to Peter, looking down and laughing quietly but maniacally and the form he had taken.

“My wand, Wormtail.” Voldemort spoke harshly toward his follower, holding out his hand. Peter brandished the wand, bowing deeply and holding it out to Voldemort.

“Y/N, hey, look at me! You’re going to be okay. We are going to make it out of this. Stay close to the portkey.” Harry whispered, turning his head to see Y/N in her awful state. She looked petrified, seemingly wishing this was some sort of nightmare.

They watched as Voldemort took the wand from Peter, inhaling deeply.

“Hold out your arm.” He commanded Peter.

“Master...” Peter started to cry. “Thank you, master.” He began to hold out one of his arms.

“The other arm, Wormtail.” Voldemort spat. Peter’s eyes went wide as he held his other arm, allowing Voldemort to take a grip on it.

He shoved the tip of his wand onto the bare skin of Peter’s wrist, and the dull ink that once was there grew darker, revealing the Dark Mark in its true form.

Thunder rumbled throughout the graveyard. Y/N jumped, trying to stay as quiet as she could.

Voldemort looked up into the clouds. Y/N followed his gaze, and right before her eyes a dark skull formed. The skull opened its mouth, and a thick trail of smoke bellowed out of it, heading right towards where they were. The smoke broke off into different paths, becoming darker.

The second the smoke touched the ground, a person appeared. There were too many for her to count. Dressed in dark cloaks, skull masks and pointing hats, she couldn’t identify any of them.

“Welcome, my friends. Thirteen years, it’s been, and yet... here you stand before me as though it were only yesterday. I confess myself... disappointed.” Voldemort spat again, his voice echoing through the graveyard.

“Not one of you tried to find me. Crabbe!” Voldemort yelled, rushing up to one of the figures and ripping the skull mask off. Dark smoke followed.

With just a flick of his hand, Voldemort was now revealing the figures.

“Macnair! Goyle!” Y/N recognized the names. Crabbe and Goyle, two of Draco’s closest minions. She was silently praying there wasn’t a Malfoy among them.

“Not even you, Lucius.” Voldemort walked up to the last standing figure, ripping of the mask. A crow flew away violently from behind them.

Y/N was trying to stop the bleed of her wrist, but it soaked through the fabric she had wrapped on it. She was fighting off the black spots of her vision.

“My lord,” Lucius was brought to his knees. “Had I detected any sign, a whisper of your whereabouts-“

“There were signs, my slippery friend. And more than whispers.” Voldemort interrupted him.

“I assure you, my Lord, I have never renounced the old ways.” Lucius removed the hat from his head, revealing a familiar platinum blonde. Y/N let out an involuntary sob as she realized, but soon quieted down.

“The face I have been obliged to present each day since your... absence... that is my true mask.” Lucius continued as the other Deatheaters around them stood.

“I returned.” Peter spoke shakily, raising a hand for recognition. He gasped and doubled over when Voldemort rushed over to him, the cloak bellowing behind him.

“Out of fear, not loyalty. Still, you have proved yourself useful these past few months, Wormtail.” Voldemort’s voice softened just the slightest bit.

Y/N didn’t have time to realize when he was walking over to where she sat on the ground, over by Cedric’s body.

“Oh...” he spoke, pushing his face around with his foot. Y/N winced as he tutted loudly. “Such a handsome boy.”

“Don’t touch him!” Harry yelled, shrinking back when Y/N flinched and Voldemort glared at him.

“And who might this be, Wormtail? I see you used her for the spell.” Voldemort sneered, looking down at Y/N.

“Y/N Y/L/N, my Lord.” Wormtail spoke up. From behind Voldemort, Y/N saw Lucius whip around with an unrecognizable look on his face.

“Y/L/N?” Voldemort repeated, and Peter nodded. “Stand, girl, now.” He demanded.

Y/N stood slowly and shakily, keeping her composure in front of the Dark Lord himself.

Voldemort’s hand whipped out to grab her wrist, taking a look at the damage that was done. She inhaled sharply, letting out another sob from the grip he had.

“Well done. You have served me well, Y/N.” Voldemort said, dropping his grip and letting her arm fall limp. She kept a hard face despite the tears running down her cheeks.

Her eyes flickered to Harry. He had an expression that said “back down.” Voldemort followed her line of sight to look at the boy he hated so very much.

“Harry. Oh, I’d almost forgotten you were here. Standing on the bones of my father. I’d introduce you, but word has it you’re almost as famous as me these days.” Voldemort paused, maintaining eye contact for a second more.

He turned suddenly to his followers. “The boy who lived. How lies have fed your legend, Harry. Shall I reveal what really happened that night 13 years ago?”

“Shall I divulge how I truly lost my powers? Yes, shall I?” Hs muttered to himself, walking away from Harry.

“It was love. You see, when dear, sweet Lily Potter gave her life for her only son, she provided the ultimate protection. I could not touch him. It was old magic. Something I should have foreseen. But no matter, no matter. Things have changed.” Voldemort ended his monologue, rushing up to Harry and raising a hand as if to strike him.

“I can touch you... now.” He brought his pointer finger to touch Harry’s scar.

The screams that filled Y/N’s ears were agonizing. She shrunk into herself, wincing away from the noises. When Voldemort screamed along with Harry, ripping his hand away from his face, the screams stopped.

“Astonishing what a few drops of your blood with do, eh, Harry? Pick up your wand, Potter!” Voldemort released the statues grip on Harry, letting him drop to the ground.

“I said, pick it up! Get up! Get up! You’ve been taught how to duel, I presume, yes? First, we bow to each other. Come on, now, Harry. The niceties must be observed. Dumbledore wouldn’t want you to forget your manners, would he? I said, bow.” He was speaking so quickly, almost going crazy at the thought of fighting Harry once and for all. With a wave of his wand, Harry was forced into a bow.

“That’s better. And now!” Voldemort growled, running towards Harry and throwing him onto the ground. Y/N watched, using her feet to shove her back farther from the scene. When she hit something, she turned around quickly to see Cedric.

“No, no, no, no.” She kept repeating, grabbing his face in her hands. It was as though she finally realized what had happened. She had lost her best friend. Sobs were heard from where she sat on the ground. Her tears dripped down her chin and onto Cedric’s cold face as the dual behind her continued. She winced at every hex that was sent to either of them.

“I’m so sorry, Ced. Please. Please.” She begged him, grasping at his shirt, still sobbing violently.

Y/N never took her eyes off of Cedric, even when Voldemort and Harry cast such strong spells that they collided, created a blinding light from behind her. It was went Harry’s Expelliarmus spell finally hit the tip of Voldemort’s wand when she turned around to see an abonormallt large spark erupt.

It took the form of Cedric, alive and smiling at the two of them. Another old man, presumably a muggle, took place on the other side of them. Two more sparks formed to be a woman and a man. The man was speaking quickly to Harry.

“Harry! When the connection is broken you must get to the portkey! We can linger for a moment to give you some time, but only a moment. Do you understand?” Harry nodded.

“Harry, Y/N,” Cedric spoke from above. Y/N’s tears began to start again at the sound of his voice. “Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my father.”

“Let go.” The woman’s voice was heard. “Sweetheart, you’re ready. Let go. Let go!” All four spirits rushed forward when the connection was broken.

Harry ran quickly over to Y/N and Cedric.

“Hold onto him! Accio!” Harry pointed his wand at the portkey, grabbing Y/N’s hand as she wrapped her arm around Cedric’s. The portkey took them right back to the arena.

The three of them landed hard on the ground. Cedric’s body was sprawled, and cheering erupted. The lively music started once more, nobody noticing what had happened. Harry was crying now.

“Harry, let go of him. Let go of him!” Y/N sat up, pulling Harry off of Cedric’s body.

He knocked her off, the exhaustion finally hitting her as she collapsed on the ground. Fleur rushed forward, and Y/N had never been so glad to see her.

She screamed loudly, looking around and covering her mouth with her hands in terror.

“Harry!” Dumbledore yelled, rushing from his spot in the stands. Hagrid hesitated to continue clapping when he realized what was happening. The music finally died down with the sounds of a trumpet flailing.

“For God’s same, Dumbledore, what’s happened?” The minister rushed to the ground by Harry and Cedric. Two Beauxbatons girls were helping Y/N up, her head lolling as she finally began to lose consciousness.

“Help! We need help here!” One of the girls called, her accent thick. Draco rushed up so quick, breathing heavy. “I’ll take her.” He spoke to the girls.

Y/N looked up quick at his voice. “Don’t touch me! Don’t let him take me! Get away from me!” She screamed, thrashing away from his hands.

He seemed so hurt and confused, putting his hands up in surrender. Y/N could tell he looked scared, more than she was at the mere sight of him.

Madame Promfrey was quick to rush up to Y/N, Taking her from the girls and putting her on a stretcher. “She’s coming with me alone.” She spoke harshly to every student surrounded it Y/N. Gasps were heard as the stretcher was levitated and everyone could see the damage.

“That’s my boy!” The faint cry of Amos filled Y/N’s ears. She used all her strength to lull her head to the side, watching her best friend’s dad collapse next to his son’s corpse. Her face scrunched up as hot tears escaped her eyes, dripping from the bridge of her nose onto the fabric of the stretcher.

Y/N eventually succumbed to the darkness, not caring who could see how hurt she was. Every student saw the blood soaking her shirt, how dirty she was, and her missing hand. It was an awful sight, and some people had to turn away so they wouldn’t lose their dinner.

Pomfrey was quick to take her to the Hospital Wing, fixing her up and cleaning her off so she could rest comfortably.

~.•*✰

Students would linger in over the next few days, checking up on Y/N to see how she was doing. She was always the same every time; asleep, but alive.

There wasn’t much Pomfrey could do about her hand. Tragic, it really was. Y/N would have never been considered as a follower to Voldemort, much less a loyal servant to him.

Dumbledore helped shield her from the press and the students that were begging to know what had happened in the maze. He made sure Y/N wouldn’t wake up to threats or feel incredibly unsafe somewhere she called home.

Professors were now worried about how to tell the students about the death of the golden boy, and how to not let it slip that Voldemort is back, alive, and rapidly gaining power.

But that was an issue for when Y/N woke up, and the truth about her family would finally be revealed.

~•.*✰

a/n: wow! Sorry about this one! I decided to leave on a cliff hanger, lol my bad. I’m done using the movie as a reference so the last chapter is coming straight from the noggin onto my cellular device. Merry Christmas tho, hope y’all got everything you wanted! Happy holidays and happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, or whatever you celebrate during this time! Love you all so much

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king-finnigan · 4 years

Note

Ok I LOVED the last Soulmate AU you wrote with the flowers so why not mash up: Situation 11. Soulmates and 22. Jealous, with sentence 10 - “No, I love you too much to let you walk away like this.” beCAUSE ANGST and UNCONDITIONAL LOVE agh forgive my cheesyness

Okay so I tried to do this one with the flowers, but that didn’t work out so change of plans! Different soulmate AU, I guess.

(Also there’s nothing to forgive. I, too, am cheesy)

***

Jaskier can’t wait for the day he gets to see all the colours at once. Don’t get him wrong, he’s already very happy with the ones he’s provided, and it’s fun to watch whatever colour he’s seeing shift into another one as his soulmate’s mood changes. Though, in all honesty, he’s always been a bit worried about his soulmate. The colours he’s seen the most are grey, blue, red, and orange. Hell, according to his parents and friends, his entire wardrobe consists of just those colours, because he hates wearing a doublet in a colour he can’t see, or one that might clash horribly with the rest of his outfit because his soulmate hadn’t been feeling happy that morning, so Jaskier couldn’t see that the doublet was yellow.

Grey, red, blue, orange. Boredom, anger, sadness, pain. Those are the four colours he’s seen most his entire life, those are the four things his soulmate is feeling, most of the time. It worries Jaskier. There are a lot of colours he has never seen before, as well, which, according to literally everyone around him, is a bit weird.

He’s never seen pink - love. He’s never seen green - jealousy. (They always say the grass is greener on the other side, but for Jaskier, it’s grey all the same.) He rarely ever sees yellow - happiness. He thought he might have once seen purple - pride - but he’s not entirely sure. He’s never seen brown - comfort - before, either.

Jaskier loves colours. He would love to see them all one day, when he finally gets to kiss his soulmate.

And then he meets Geralt of Rivia. And he supposes his soulmate might be seeing a lot of pink, lately. He, himself, has started to see colours other than grey, red, blue, and orange.

One time, he was singing while walking along the road, Geralt on Roach a few paces behind him. It was nothing special, just a little tune about the knight who fell in love with the prince. But it became a song he would never forget for the rest of his life, when he looked to the side, at the fields stretching out around them, and saw pink flowers.

There was also that one time he was washing guts out of Geralt’s hair, while the Witcher told him about his latest hunt. Not in great detail, of course, because Geralt never does that, but a little bit more extensive than he usually does, his lips made looser by Jaskier’s fingers in his hair. The bard had smiled at the back of Geralt’s head, had told him he thought the Witcher was a true hero for risking his life for all those ungrateful people and a handful of measly coins, and that Geralt deserved better than that. When he had turned around, he had noticed that the bottle of lavender shampoo was purple.

Then there was that one time they were sitting in a tavern together, while Jaskier was composing a new song in his notebook, and the Witcher was just drinking ale. He had looked up to ask Geralt something, and had seen that the Witcher’s eyes were yellow.

A few weeks ago, he was sitting by the fire, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder, trying to ward off the cold with the Witcher’s body heat, when he noticed that the logs under the fire were brown. He had looked up, gazing around the forest, and by the gods, he had never known there were so many things in the world that were brown - the colour warm and comfortable and rich. He had decided, then, that it was his favourite colour.

Now, though, he doesn’t see a lot of colours. Now, he’s seeing grey and only the lightest shades of blue and red, as he talks with the woman in front of him. She smiles softly, looking at him through her lashes, before inviting him to her room, later. He smiles, happy to accept, when he blinks, and suddenly sees her eyes are... He doesn’t recognize this colour, but given that people can only have blue, green, brown, grey, and sometimes yellow (Geralt) eyes, he figures this new colour must be green.

Jealousy. Huh. He must’ve had a weird look on his face, because suddenly the girl looks a bit insecure. “If you don’t want to, I understand,” she mutters.

She’s right, though. He no longer wants this, too taken aback at the sudden green to get into the right mindset. He nods at her. “I’m sorry, my fair lady, you deserve better than me and more. I bid you goodnight.”

He turns around, stalking through the small crowd in the tavern, making his way into the late afternoon. He stills, for a second, as his eyes take in the sight. He thought brown was everywhere, but green is even more present, he can now see. The leaves on the trees are green. The grass is green. There are people wearing green clothes. The shrubbery is green, and so is every single plant he can lay his eyes on. It’s honestly incredible.

The door to the tavern opens, and he turns around, meeting eyes with Geralt. “You alright, bard?” the Witcher asks, and Jaskier nods, turning back to the scenery in front of him, the green slowly fading from his vision. He sees pink flowers, in the grass just outside the tavern.

“Yeah, it’s just... I just saw green for the first time.”

“Hmm.”

He smiles, turning around again. “You don’t have to be so dismissive, not everyone has seen every colour yet. I do wonder what my soulmate was so jealous about, though.” He shrugs, letting his eyes go unfocused, as he thinks. “Maybe that I was talking to that lady. Or maybe not, because that would imply my soulmate was there, just now. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Sure, a very odd coincidence, but still.”

He focuses his eyes again, and looks at Geralt, who appears slightly shocked. Suddenly, he notices Geralt’s hair is white. Of course, he already knew that, since he sees most of the world in black and white, but right now, the colour seems so much brighter than he’s ever seen before, almost hurting his eyes with the intensity of it.

He shakes the thought off, and focuses on Geralt again. “What do you think?”

The Witcher turns around and goes back into the inn, slamming the door shut behind him. Jaskier frowns. Strange. He follows Geralt inside. The flames atop the candles are orange. He knocks on the door to their shared room tentatively, opens it when he gets no answer. Inside, he finds Geralt packing his bags.

Jaskier frowns. “Where are we going?”

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going.”

He nearly chokes on the sudden rush of panic that floods through him, and Geralt stops for a split second, before continuing to gather his stuff. “You’re leaving me?” He’s barely able to raise his voice above a whisper around the heaviness of the words.

“Hmm.”

He feels tears gather in his eyes, stabbing pain spreading across his chest. “I- I need to know why. If you’re going without me, I need to know why, Geralt, please.”

Geralt sighs, stands upright, his bag over his shoulder. “I-” He sighs again, looks at the fire in the hearth. “I can see that the flames are orange.” He looks back at Jaskier. “I can see that your doublet is blue.” Pain. Sadness.

The exact two things Jaskier is feeling right now. But also the exact two things he’s seeing right now, as well.

“Geralt, are you... are you saying that- that you’re my soulmate?”

“Maybe. I just... If I am...” He sighs again, walks towards the door. “I’m not good for you. I can’t be the soulmate you need.”

Jaskier takes a step to the side, blocking the Witcher’s path. “No, don’t you dare go, Geralt of Rivia. I love you too much to let you walk away like this.”

Geralt sighs. “Get out of my way, Jaskier.” Red joins the orange of the flames. “You don’t love me.”

“Really? You of all people should know that I do, since you’re the one who sees pink every time I look at you.”

Geralt sighs again, looks away, and the red fades from Jaskier’s vision.

“Geralt,” he whispers, “I have loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you. I don’t even care if you’re right, I don’t care if we’re soulmates or not, because, for me, it’s always been you. It will always be you.”

The Witcher looks at him, and Jaskier can see the slight rosiness of his skin.

“Please tell me you feel the same way,” he whispers.

“I feel the same way,” Geralt whispers back, before pressing their lips together. It’s chaste and soft and so incredibly sweet it makes his heart hurt, yet steals his breath away, leaving him gasping for air when he pulls back.

His heart stops when he opens his eyes, the world around him exploding in an array of colours, so many at once it makes his head spin, and he closes his eyes again, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s chest, the Witcher’s arms closing around him.

After a few seconds, he slowly pries his eyes open, bit by bit, letting them get accustomed to all those bright colours that fill the world around him. He leans back, looking at Geralt. The Witcher’s eyes are yellow, his skin is a soft pink, his hair is stark white, and he’s framed by the comfortable brown of the wooden planks of the walls.

Geralt brings his hand up, softly dragging his fingertips over the skin under Jaskier’s right eye. “Your eyes are blue,” Geralt whispers.

Jaskier smiles. “You didn’t know?”

The Witcher shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen blue since... since we met.”

“Because you make me happy.”

“You make me happy, too.”

Jaskier grins. “I know. I’ve been seeing a lot more yellow, lately.” He sighs, intertwines their fingers. “Please don’t go. I don’t think I could bear a world filled with colour but devoid of you. Please, don’t leave me behind.”

Geralt smiles softly, pressing a kiss to each of Jaskier’s knuckles. “I won’t. I promise you I won’t.” He kisses Jaskier again, this time a bit deeper, and colours explode behind his eyelids.

#i-am-the-sunnys-cloud #squish answers #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #drabble #soulmate au #had absolutely no idea how to end this one #can you tell lmao #i know it's not flowers but i hope you like it!

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 4 years

Text

Only Mine Pt. 3

A/N: I know this is a part 3, so it’s on the verge of a mini series, but I got this idea and thought it would be cool so we’re going with it. aLsO I know Instagram and most social media and modern iPhones were not around during the Black Parade era of 2007. But let’s all just pretend like they were for the sake of this fic. Also, if you have ever been to a Taylor Swift concert, I’m pretty sure you’ll understand that the entire things is based off of one, specifically 1989 (my favorite era if we’re being honest). Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader Words: 3,270 Warnings: Mentions of sex, a bit of swearing.

You could feel the corset back of your bodysuit be tightened and tied once again, after dozens of times. This was not your first rodeo.

Playing in front of over 150,000 people may have seemed impossible even a year ago. But the huge demand of fans and observers to see your tour led your record label to agree to send you on a solo stadium tour, something you had never done before.

“On in 5.” One of the stage crew walked back into your suite behind the stage to tell you. You nodded, looking over to your best friend, Y/B/F/N.

“You ready for another one?” You rolled your eyes and lightly laughed.

“I don’t think I was ever ready to go on a tour and play in front of this many people.” You admitted, getting up, “But I need to be.” She tightly smiled at you.

“Hey, you’re absolutely incredible at this. Like genuinely, fucking great.” She smiled. You had begged her months ago to go on tour with you as a companion. Ideally, your husband would have been the one to go with you, but he was touring at the exact same time. So obviously, that wouldn’t have worked out.

“Thanks.” You gave her a tight hug, her doing the same back, as the two of you walked out and into the main area behind the stage.

Going on tour had been exciting and fun in every way, but draining for so many reasons. You hadn’t seen Gerard in over six months until the night prior when he willingly flew in during a one week break MCR had from touring, so he could visit you. And, well, be a surprise guest for the show in New Jersey. Because who else would you have invited?

You had even put a sneak peek on your Instagram story earlier that morning, being up on your ginormous stage with a runway spanning over 70 feet and curving around so you could see everyone who was there. The free light-up bracelets everyone got helped too (if you’ve ever been to or seen a Taylor Swift concert, you know what I mean).

“Hey guys,” You smiled while recording yourself in one of your tour hoodies, during rehearsal on stage, “I’m super super excited because tonight, at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey, we have a very special guest. They’re literally one of my favorite people ever, if not my favorite person, and they’re so extremely talented. They’re so important to me, and I consider myself maybe their number one fan.” You lightly laughed before turning it off and posting it to your story.

“Already dropping hints, huh?” You heard Gerard walk the stage from behind you. You rolled your eyes.

“Of course I did Gee.” You smiled, “I’m just too excited!” He smiled back.

“How do you do this every night, by the way?” He asked, arms crossed with a water bottle in one of his hands. His hair was a mess, as per usual, and he had a jean jacket on.

“I don’t know,” You shrugged, “You just kinda get used to it.”

“It’s just so incredible,” He sighed, “I mean, genuinely, I don’t know how you do it.” You nudged him playfully.

“Oh please, Gee, you’re an absolute beast while you’re performing.”

“Makes sense, you’re the beauty.” You nudged him again, this time a little harder.

“You’re so cheesy sometimes.”

You walked out below the stage to where an elevator would lift you up onto it. Your nerves will still co-exist with your mind, as you took a single deep breath to calm you down. You and all your backup singers, dancers, and the band all put yourself in a circle, with your hands in the middle. “Ready guys?” You asked and everyone hummed and nodded with smiles, “I don’t know why but I feel like tonight's just going to be awesome.” You smiled. “3, 2, 1... Midnight!” Everyone shouted, cheering, and breaking away. The entire crew dispersed to their own areas where they would go out on stage as you prepared to be lifted up.

You weren’t sure whether it was the crowd or the fact your lover was there. Of course, Gerard has seen the show before. He was at the first one in a reserved section of the floor that was completely isolated from everyone with a minibar even where family and friends sat. And celebrities were invited. That entire show was basically you serenading him in front of almost 100,000 people by stealing glances during songs (all of which were about him) and motioning your hands and such towards that area. And you knew he noticed by the way his smile grew even wider than before whenever you did. And tonight would of course be no different.

“So what should I do?” He asked, standing next to you during rehearsal as you two began to plot and plan what would happen.

“Just be you.” You said.

“Babe,” He began, “I love you, like a lot, but I don’t know if me doing my usual thing is best.”

“Why not?” You pouted with a frown, “You’re fucking amazing on stage!” You argued.

“Because I tend to go a little wild, ya know, stage Gerard is different than normal Gerard-”

“Yes, I know, and that’s fine.” You insisted, “But, and trust me when I say this, stage Gerard tends to be more entertaining for a large crowd than normal Gerard. No offense.”

“No, you’re right,” He agreed, “But, ya know, we can get destructive sometimes.”

“Well you don’t get really destructive when you’re by yourself,” You said right back, “If Frank were here, that would be a different discussion.” He lightly chuckled, almost under his breath.

“You sure?” He asked again, “I mean, you’re a pop princess, and I’m a rock dude who kinda does random stupid shit like a 14-year-old with no understanding of what consequences are.”

“And love,” You told him, grabbing one of his hands, “That’s exactly what I want you to fucking do.”

The first part of the show went exactly as planned, everything went smoothly, and the crowd was incredible, to say the least. It seemed like everyone knew all the lyrics which made your heart flutter, and your glances and gestures towards Gerard always resulted in a little smirk or smile from it. You could’ve sworn you could see his blush through the nearly blinding stage lights.

It was time for another outfit change, this time Gerard would be backstage preparing for his section on stage, considering you had another song, then he would come on, then a few more before the finale. You crawled through some of the spaces in the back, running to the makeshift changing room. You saw him right outside, doing some vocal warm ups, but the moment he heard you he looked up and smiled, you return the gesture. “You’re doing incredible.” He told you, approaching you. You leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips.

“Thanks, babe.” You smiled, “I wish we could talk more but I gotta, ya know-” You motioned to the black box of a changing room behind you.

“Yeah, right, of course.” You ran in, stripping off your first bodysuit, with a second layer of spandex under it, with a group of three on your team getting you into your second bodysuit, this one a dark purple instead of light blue, and changing some minor aspects of your makeup like eye shadow color and lip color.

Running back out, you couldn’t help but notice Gerard’s stares of awe and confusion. “H-how’d you do that?” He asked, dumbfounded. You couldn’t help but laugh considering he had been in this business a few years longer than you.

“Magic!” You yelled back at him while running back to the stage door.

You crouched down again on the platform as it lifted you up, the music begging to play. You only had Cruel Summer, a relatively shorter song to play, before you could finally announce one of the most exciting things of all tour.

Once you finished the song you had to wait a few seconds, just standing there and smiling waiting for the crowd to settle down. “So guys,” You began, walking around the stage for a bit, “I don’t know how many of you may have seen this, but I posted something on my Instagram story today,” You smiled even more as the crowd cheered once again, “And I have a special guest for all of you to meet. He’s honestly the most incredible, genuine human being alive. I feel very lucky to be able to have in my life, and I don’t know what I would do without him. And I thought because we’re in New Jersey,” You shrugged, “There wouldn’t be anyone better to bring here tonight, so please, help me welcome Mr. Gerard Way!”

You could’ve sworn that you had heard the loudest crowds ever, but were you wrong. The moment you mentioned “Gerard” it was as if you were giving away free money, you were sure every person in that stadium was screaming to their fullest potential, it was almost deafening.

From the backstage lift your husband appeared, in his usual black jeans and leather jacket. Even better, one of your tour shirts on. You smiled at him as he smiled right back walking down the stage to where you were, the intro to Teenagers was already playing, everyone's light up bands turning red so the entire stadium was the color.

Gerard began singing as the crowd sang along. You could’ve sworn they were just as loud as you two were. What made it all the better was the level of cheers when he did his typical hip moves and bounced his leg to the beat. You could see a small smile form on his face, breaking his usual stage persona by the crowd’s reaction.

“Because, they sleep with a gun, and keep an eye on you, son, so they can watch all the things you do.” You sang next as he stopped to let you shine a bit before continuing the song on his own until the chorus where the two of you sang together.

You had to admit, you missed rock performances primarily because you could do whatever you wanted for no reason and people loved it. So naturally, both you and Gerard were jumping around and practically yelling, but the crowd seemed to love it.

Both of you stage personas took over which resulted in more PDA than usual, including a lot of close duets where you two were within an inch of one another, making deep eye contact while singing. The fans ate it up, yelling every time you two got within a reasonable vicinity of the other. Everyone seemed fascinated by the chemistry you two had, but you weren’t complaining.

By the end of the song, you two were standing next to each other at the end of the runway, smiling as the crowd roared like never before. You both looked out happier than ever, then back at each other where you smiled once again. While the crowd was still going crazy. “Can we give it up one for time for Gerard?” You asked, and even more, cheers erupted. You had never heard a crowd go this nuts before. Gerard smiled, even more, leaning in and giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

“Thank you, everyone!” He smiled, “And I have to give an even bigger thank you, to my wonderful, beautiful, talented wife beside me.” More people cheered, “She genuinely one of the kindest, and considerate people I’ve ever met. I feel incredibly blessed every day to have her be my wife, and she amazes me with everything she does.” He smiled, “So why don’t we give a quick round of applause to her too?” He turned to you and more of the crowd screamed and clapped in response. You scrunched your nose, smiling at him in an attempt to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. The two of you walked back up the runway and to the back, down the elevator together, Gerard giving a final wave.

One you two were out of sight, you looked up and just hugged him, squeezing him as tight as you could, him doing the same back. “You’re so perfect it hurts.” You told him, as he looked down at you smiling, his hand still on your waist.

“Can I be honest?” You nodded, “That was one of the hottest things I have ever seen.” You nudged him lightly, in a playful manner rolling your eyes. “What? I can’t say anything about my wife singing my song? Damn your hips were moving so right and-”

“Okay, c’mon lover boy, I’ve got a show I gotta get back to.” You reminded him, pulling away so you could get changed again. You could hear a light whine he let out in protest as you walked to your dressing room again, but you chose to ignore it.

You changed only two more times before the show was over. After the finale, you, the dancers, backup singers, and band all taking bows, you waved once more going back down to under the stage where you took off all your equipment and sighed in relief. Another successful show completed.

The adrenaline was still pumping through your brain as your boots clicked in the hallways of the empty backstage arena, into your dressing room. You first removed your makeup, redoing it to look more natural, and changing from the sequence dress you wore during the last song into a pair of jeans and a solid-colored sweatshirt.

While you were putting on one of your pairs of sneakers you heard a knock on the door. “Come in.” You responded. Opening the door, Gerard appeared on the other side, smiling and closing it behind him. “Hey.” You smiled back.

“Hey, babe.” He said, leaning on the wall beside the door. “You did incredibly amazing.” You lightly laughed.

“Thanks.” You got up from where you were sitting on the couch, walking over to him and placing your arms loosely over his arms and behind his neck. “I couldn’t have done it without my special guest.”

“Well, yeah, you probably could have-” You placed your lips on his, immediately making him go quiet.

“Just shut up and take the compliment, Way.”

“Only if you insist, Way.”

“I gotta go meet some fans.” You pulled away, grabbing your water bottle and taking a sip. “You coming with?” He gave you a confused look. “Oh, c’mon,” You grabbed his hand, “They’re gonna freak.”

You never did paid meet and greets. Instead, you had hand-selected some of the fans to meet you after the show for free or had some people in your team go and find some lucky fans who you would meet. But tonight they would get a two for one with both you and Gerard. “Stay right here.” You whispered to him when you got to the meet and greet area, you two hiding behind a curtain. He nodded.

You walked through the black felt, as all dozen of the fans looked up to you wide-eyed, one of them even screaming. “Hey, guys!” You said, which resulted in all of them screaming, and one of them began to cry. “Oh my gosh.” You looked at her. She couldn’t have been much older than 16. But when she looked up, you immediately knew who she was. “Hi, Rachel.” You said. At that, she began sobbing more. “Can I give you a hug?” You asked, trying to calm her down. She nodded frantically as you wrapped your arms around her, and she hung onto you for dear life. “Don’t cry!” You insisted.

After talking to each of them individually for a few minutes it was finally time for a photo op. “By the way guys,” You said, “I have one more surprise.” You smiled, going back to the curtain that you emerged from previously. You looked at Gerard, who got the cue to come out. Of course, the fans gasped again as they saw him standing there now next to you. “This is my husband, Gerard, he was the guy on stage with me. And he’s the lead singer of this really awesome band called My Chemical Romance.”

“Uh, yeah, duh.” One of the girls, Lyla, said and you all laughed.

One by one you took photos with the fans and the people they came with, some of them doing poses and such which both you and Gerard were down to do. You also handed out free merch bags, which had some collectible items that were exclusive to only the fans who had been invited backstage.

You said goodbye to all of them, leaving you, Gerard, and some of the team plus security behind. The two of you walked back to your large dressing room, grabbing your personal belongings, and going out back where a car was to pick you up and bring you back to the hotel.

In the backseat of the solid black car, you couldn’t help but lay your head on Gerard’s shoulder, having not done so in months. Everything from his scent to the feel of his various jackets on your cheeks always put your mind to ease. You could feel his hand on your thigh, giving it a tight squeeze of reassurance that he was there.

The car ride was silent. Not an awkward silence, but more of an enjoyable one. Just the presence of one another was enough to occupy your minds from any conversation.

Once you had reached the hotel, you two walked in hand and hand with security around you and up to your room. Inside the suite, you couldn’t help but take off your shoes and immediately sit down on the bed. “I’m really tired.” You admitted, “I’m sorry.” You looked up at your husband who couldn’t help but have an extremely confused look on his face.

“Why’re you apologizing?”

“Just because we would usually, well ya know, have sex which I’m pretty sure was on both of our agendas today.”

“Babe, you just performed a sold-out show in front of over 150,000 people. The last thing I want you to do is to worry about sex.”

“Okay,” You huffed, “I’m going to take a shower.” You got up giving him a quick kiss.

“I’ll be waiting for you, love.” He smiled. You got into the bathroom, closing the door, and stripping yourself of your current clothes. You took a quick and speedy shower. Considering your current state of being tired, you knew if you didn’t get in and out of there you would have just fallen asleep.

You changed into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, walking back out to find Gerard, comfortably suited on his side of the bed in his pajamas, reading a book. You went over, climbing next to you, prompting him to put the novel down. “You can continue to read with one of the lights.” You told him, feeling partially guilty.

“No need,” He said, “As cheesy as this is going to sound, I’ve been thinking about cuddling with you for months now.” He slumped down so he was parallel with the bed. You lightly smiled, moving closer. He wrapped his hands around your waist and onto your back, letting your place your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m so incredibly proud of you.”

“Thanks, Gee.” You responded, “I would’ve never gotten here if it wasn’t for my wonderful muse.”

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