#so many are saying the skin is kinda bad and 'the jacket should have been white' and

[miheartsedthings]

NSFW Minors DNI

Part Three (Go catch up and come back)

ModernBilly x FemReader (AFAB Reader)

Summary: You and Billy have been sneaking around enjoying each other's company. It's all fun and games until your period is late.

Billy and reader are both 18, but they haven't graduated yet.

Warnings: Aggressive behavior, pregnancy scare, waking up to f!ngering, abort!on, sl*t-sham!ng. ANGST

You realize it one morning while brushing your teeth. Do I have enough pads for my next period? You though, then it dawned on you in horror; when is my next period? It should be any day now, right? You checked your planner. Your last period started over a month ago. You were a week behind. The rest of the morning was a jittery blur. Your room, your favorite sweater, your nail tearing a run in your favorite tights. All of it felt distant, unreal somehow. You felt like a clock was thrumming in your head, a countdown to disaster. 

“You okay, baby?”

Your mom asked this on your way out of the door. Your bus would be by any minute and you'd been on autopilot. She sat at the dining room table with her coffee, looking over at you with a suspicious glint in her eye. Your stomach flipped. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just kinda tired.”

“Better sleep instead of texting that boy.”

You couldn’t find the words, plus you was flooded with panic. 

“I can see the bus, gotta go. Love you.”

You rushed out before she could say another word and bolted down the street. What she didn’t know was that you hadn’t taken the bus in months. You walk right past the bus stop, down the block to the gas station where Billy had been picking you up for months. You have to steel yourself as you wait for him. Biting your lip and taking deep breaths.

You can’t tell him before you're sure. Your mom’s promise that he would abandon you if you got pregnant stuck in your head like an old song. Of course, you didn’t believe her…but what if she was right? Even if he didn’t totally abandon you, how would you manage to deal with it without your parents finding out? Maybe I could ask Nancy’s mom? A honk made you jump out of your skin and you turn to see Billy laughing hysterically from the driver’s seat. 

“Hey scaredy cat.”

“Shut up.” you chide, though you're already grinning and on your way to the car.  He can always make you feel better.

“Aw, don’t be a sour puss, little puss puss.” He called with puckered lips. As soon as you were within reach he pulled you over the center console and kissed you, causing a chain reaction of flutters which complied with the nerves you'd already been feeling. As a result you're overwhelmed and break from his lips too early. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently. You know you only have one chance to smooth things over or else you’ll never hear the end of it. So, you smile and peck him on the lips. 

“Just tired. That’s all.” 

He looks into your eyes for a moment, those cool blue eyes as serious as ever. Then, he nods and drops the subject. He makes a joke about keeping you up too many nights but you don’t hear it over the furious drumming of your heart. You manage to put the issue aside on your way to school, and you think you’ve successfully made it through until you’re just about to part ways in the hall. After a final kiss, you turn to leave and feel him take your elbow in his hand. 

You turn to him, genuinely unsuspecting.

“What’s going on?” he asks it quietly, and when you realize what he means your spirits plummet into your feet. 

“It’s like I said, I’m just tired today. I’m fine.”

You try to smile again but he isn’t buying him. 

“Baby,” he says with a serious look on his face, “you’re a bad liar.”

You drop your eyes to his chest, absentmindedly tracing a few fingers along the seam of his leather jacket.

“I-”

“Did your mom say something? Is it Nancy?” 

You shake your head, putting your hand on his arm as the bell rings. 

“I’m okay, Billy. Trust me?” 

You leave him frowning, but hurry off to your first class. 

. . .

Billy's POV

           I haven’t been able to fucking think straight all morning, luckily the bullshit they teach in this school is preschool level so it takes none of my focus to ace the exam in my first period. What the fuck could she be hiding? What would she feel like she couldn’t tell me? Had her bitch of a mom finally convinced her to leave? In gym I take my frustration out on the weight bench. Some asshole tried to muscle me off it but it takes next to nothing to make him back down.

This school is full of clowns who worship the simplest displays of superiority. Which explains how Steve was the king at one point. Anyone with half a brain cell could lead these freaks. Of course, there are those who don’t care about that shit, the normal ones who can’t wait to get out just like me. Unlike me they can stomach this boring shit every day. I can’t. Without YN I would die in this place. 

            Is she mad at me about something? Has she talked to Nancy about it? I shower and head out early, she’d mentioned something about Nancy having Chemistry 3rd period and I take the back stairwell in hopes of beating her to Mr. Hopewell’s class.  

I’m lucky, I get to the classroom just moments before Nancy does, she’s looking down at a book in her arms and I have to touch her arm to get her attention. 

“Oh, hey.” she seemed surprised to see me, I gestured for her to come out into the stairwell with me. 

“You talked to Yn yet today?” 

            “No, we have lunch together. Why?”

            “Somethings up with her, she won’t tell me. I need you to find out for me.”

             She shrugs.

             “Maybe it’s really nothing.”

             “Nancy, I know my girl. Just ask her about it?”

              She considers it a moment. 

              “Alright, but I can’t promise I’ll tell you. If she’s really hiding it I’m in her side.”

              I roll my eyes.

              “Girls are all alike.”

. . .

Y/N's POV

               By the time lunch comes around you're dying to talk to Nancy. Billy has been texting you non-stop and at this point you're dreading seeing him in 5th period. When he thinks you're keeping something from him he gets like a blood hound chasing a rabbit: he just won’t let it go. It’s so frustrating! In his mind there’s no such thing as an innocent secret between you, as if you can’t have any privacy as individuals or else it means you don’t really love each other. 

                At first you didn’t think much of it, but even the simplest thing you might not wanna share can ruin a whole conversation because he gets fixated on it. When you spot Nancy at your usual table, you're so relieved you could cry. 

                “Hey Nancy, I need to ask you about something.”

                 She gives you a knowing grin.

                “Let me guess, it’s something you haven’t told Billy about, right?” Your smile falls and she chuckles at my expression. “He already tracked me down and asked me to find out for him.”

                  You shake my head, genuinely dumbfounded. 

                 “This boy is relentless.”

                 “You got that right. He seems really worried. But listen, I told him I’m on your side. If you don’t want me to tell him whatever it is, I won’t. I swear.”

                 You're relieved to hear that, reassured that you chose the right person to be friends with. 

                “Thanks.”

                “So? What’s so big you can’t tell your lover boy?” 

                Rather than risk anyone overhearing, you whisper it in her ear. Her eyes go wide and she whispers back, asking if you’ve taken a test yet and you whisper back that you only realized this morning. You ask if her mom can help get a test and she promises to ask her. 

                “But don’t mention my name, please? If my mom finds out….”

               “Don’t worry, she won’t find out.”

. . .

            He won’t stop, no matter how much you ask him to please drop it and that you’ll tell him later. He’s yelling and driving way too fast and playing his music way too loud. These are the moments you really hate Billy Hargrove. 

            “Wanna stop by the ice cream place, oh whoops, there it went. Gotta answer faster." He's yelling over the blaring guitar and chaotic drums, asking questions and then answering them in the same second just to annoy you, just to try and get an answer. "Oh there’s that cafe you like how’s about, awwww, too slow. You gotta speak up, baby.” 

           His tone is condescending as we speed through town. You sit with your arms crossed staring out the window, trying not to let it show that you're terrified. We reach a back road and he speeds up even more, going 15, 20 over the speed limit. He cranks up the music until it's painfully loud and leans his head out the window, hooting and hollering like he just won a million dollars or something. 

            “What’s wrong?! Not having fun?!”

            He takes your chin and tries to make you look at him but you wrench away and look back towards the window, wiping at tears streaking down your cheeks. He does it again and it takes both hands to push him away. In response he pounds on the steering wheel and speeds up even more. By the time you get to the gas station you're so shell shocked all you can do is hop out of the car and start walking.

Almost immediately he’s there, grabbing your arm, getting in your face so that you have to turn away from him. He’s asking you again and again what’s going on. Is it your mom? Nancy? Did someone at school say something? Is there a teacher messing with you? Are you mad about something? On and on until you feel on the verge of panic. You hate him so much at this moment but all you can do is wipe at tears and try to catch your breath. Can't he see how this looks? People walking into the gas station turning to gawk at you? Finally, with your back against the car you blurt it out.

“I might be pregnant!”

Instantly he falls silent, leaving just the sound of your sniffling between you.

“I don’t know yet. Nancy’s gonna ask her mom about a test.” 

You don’t wait for him to collect himself enough to answer. You break out of his grip and start walking home. He doesn’t come after you. You stop by a grocery store and duck into the bathroom, crying.

Billy has the ability to scare the shit out of you and he uses it to get his way at the slightest inconvenience. Why doesn’t it mean anything to him when you ask him to wait? When you tell him you're not ready to say something, why can’t he just leave it at that? How can he claim to love you and bully you into submission like that? It feels so unfair. Just now, in the car, you felt like your heart was going to explode and you couldn’t stop crying. How could he claim to care about you and make you feel like that just to get what he wanted? Didn’t it bother him to see you so upset? You spend half an hour in the bathroom while others come and go. Eventually you manage to stop crying and leave, your mom’s words are burning in your heart. 

“You think that boy cares about you?” She’d asked at dinner one night shortly after they met him “Get pregnant and you’ll see. He looks at you like a piece of ass and you’re probably giving it to him free of charge. Do you even make him buy you dinner first?” she’d scoffed, shaking her head. “Little girl, you think he loves you so much, just go ahead and keep letting him use you like a damn toy and see if he sticks around to take care of you and the baby. I bet you anything he’ll be gone. Anything.” 

You're shaking by the time you reach home, and rush upstairs to your room. You must've fallen right asleep, because you wake up with just enough time to do homework and go down for dinner. By then, you're numb. You just want your mom to be sweet to you. You wish you could tell her that you're scared and hurt and angry, but you can’t say a word. If you ever admitted that you and Billy had sex she would truly do everything in her power to keep you apart, even if it meant dropping you off and picking you up from school every day. Your life wouldn’t extend beyond school and your bedroom.

The next day is Saturday and Billy doesn’t text you all day. Maybe your mom is right. You tell her you feel sick and spend the day in bed. It’s true, after all. She checks on you, bringing you soup and touching your forehead. She’s so gentle with you when you're sick that you wish you got sick more often. When she’s not in your room you turn your music up and cry into your pillow. You hurt in so many different ways that it’s hard to feel anything other than this overwhelming sadness. You want to hear Billy’s voice, but the day passes and you don’t hear from him. Maybe it’s over. Maybe he never loved you. Saturday night you're lying on the couch watching a movie with your parents, it’s something old that the two of them say is a classic. Nancy texts you.

*Mom got a test. Come over tomorrow?* 

*Yes, thank you so much, Nancy! I love you!*

*Love you, too. Hope Billy didn’t flip his shit the other day.*

*You have no idea*

You're embarrassed to show up to Nancy’s house the next day, afraid of her parents or her brother catching a glimpse of you needing a pregnancy test. Luckily, it’s just her at home when you arrive. You're so relieved you start to cry. 

“Oh, yn, it’s okay.” 

She pulls you into a hug and you go to her room. You tell her everything; from the car ride from hell with Billy to crying in the bathroom, and what your mom said. 

“He hasn’t texted you at all?” She asks. Her eyes and her tone are gentle, she’s such a comforting person. You lean your head on her shoulder. 

“Nothing.” 

“Well, we should probably figure out if you’re even pregnant first.” 

You laugh at that. 

“Yeah, about that. Isn’t it too early?” 

“You said it’s like a week late?”

“9 days now, yeah.”

“Should be fine.” She digs into her night stand and pulls out a brown paper bag. “There’s two in there, just to be sure. Plus some condoms.” You thank her again and hug her “Anytime. You owe me, though. I had to swear on my grandma’s grave that they weren’t for me.” 

“You’re a good friend. I’m lucky.” 

She smiles and then waves you off towards the bathroom. The instructions are a mile long and you're so nervous scanning through them. By the time it’s time to pee you realize you probably haven’t drank water since Thursday night. You come out and Nancy laughs when you say you're dry as a bone. The day ends up turning into a hangout as you go to the corner store together for lemonade and run into some girls from school. The three of them had just gotten out of church and were complaining about it, making fun of the pastor and talking about which choir boys they thought were cute. 

It was a rare moment of connection that you cherished. You didn't have a lot of connections outside of Nancy. Billy's reputation kept you insulated as this untouchable being. New to the school yourself, no one knew what to make of you, and now, most people didn't try getting to know you. Some out of fear of Billy's jealousy, others because of their own. You got lucky with Nancy. She never let a rumor stand in her way.

When you were good and ready, you and Nancy said goodbye to the girls and headed back to her house, having to run laughing the final stretch because you could barely hold it by then. The stick was barely wet before she came barging in and you couldn’t stop laughing as you traded spots on the toilet. 

Only a best friend could make such a terrifying day so much fun. 

You sat the two tests next to each other on the bathroom counter and stood staring at them. Nancy leaned over your shoulder. 

“Dare you to lick em.” 

You push her away, laughing and she starts fiddling with her hair. 

“What are you gonna do? I mean, if it’s positive?” 

You shrug. 

“I can’t keep it. I mean, I don’t want to be pregnant.” 

“Were you guys…using anything?”

You shake your head, embarrassed.

“I don’t know why. We just…I don’t know, we were being stupid.” 

What you couldn’t admit was that for a while, you’d felt untouchable. Sex was a magical thing and getting wrapped up in it was intoxicating. You’d felt so close to him, so able to make him happy, to be connected that way. Neither of you had ever mentioned using protection, it didn’t feel necessary, somehow. Nancy puts her hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” she says softly, “Mistakes are what they are.” 

You hugged her again. You separate when the timer goes off and for a moment you're too afraid to look away from her eyes. She gives you a reassuring smile and you take a deep breath, and look down. 

. . .

“We’ll go to California after graduation. I’ve got a buddy in San Diego who owns a string of surf shops, he’d let me manage and maybe even own one. You can go to school out there, we can get a nanny during the day and then be together at night.”

It’s Sunday night and Billy finally asked you to come over. You went right from Nancy’s over to his place. His parents were out of town and Max was in her room. You’d barely gotten into his room when he started spilling this grand plan. His eyes were bright and wild, imagining this future for the two of you. Well, three. 

              You're too stunned at first to say anything. You watch him go on and on about the sunshine in Cali being good for a baby, and how his grandparents would be happy to babysit and his cousin had a big summer house on the shore you could stay in. Your heart feels so full it could burst watching him go on, so excited. Your eyes start to well up with tears. He sees you crying and puts his hands on your cheeks. 

“Baby, what is it?”

You shake your head. 

“I thought you’d be upset.” 

He scoffs at you. 

“You’re gonna be a great mom.” 

He says it with so much love that it hurts. 

“No, I’m not.”

“Baby-”

“I’m not pregnant.” 

He’s silent, the light dimming in his eyes. 

“I took two tests.” 

He drops his hands away from your face and steps back, then sits on the bed. You go sit beside him, sensing so much sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper to him. 

He shakes his head. 

“It’s alright, baby.”

You’re quiet for a long time, his eyes distant. 

“We can still go to Cali together.” 

He looks at you, seeming somewhat surprised to hear you say that. 

“I mean, if you still want to.” 

He palms your cheek and kisses you. He puts on music and you lay down together, his head resting on your chest. It's quiet for a long time as the music plays. You lay there with your fingers gently moving in his hair.

“I love you,” you whisper. “I was so nervous, ya know? I thought you’d hate it.”

“Scared the shit out of me when you told me. Then I started thinking about everything and it just started coming together. We could’ve really done it.” he pauses and you feel a little tremble in him, making your heart skip a beat, you hold him, gathering him into your arms as much as you can “You would’ve been a great mom and a fuckin milf, too.” 

You laugh a little, but he keeps shivering and then he breaks. His breathing hitches and for the first time since you met him, he’s crying, wetting the front of your shirt. You kiss the top of his head and stroke his hair, holding him close through the tremors and the sobs. He gathers the side of your shirt in his fist as he cries, holding onto you as if he’ll blow away if he doesn’t.

             You love him so much at this moment that you would do anything for him. Anything to comfort him. But, there’s nothing to do, so you let him cry. The music plays and he cries through the album, at least as long as you had in the bathroom. It’s strange that he’s mirroring that sadness now. You had no idea he would become attached to the idea of you mothering his child, but given what you know about his mom it makes sense. It makes your heart ache for him. 

Your mom was wrong about him. Hell, even you were wrong to think he'd abandon you. Neither of you understand how much he really loves you.  You laid there, quiet, the music and his crying the only sounds. You have a future with him, he loves you enough to want that with you. But, it’s better this way; to go to college and get jobs before you have kids…as a matter of fact, you'd never even decided that you wanted kids. You feel like you should tell him that had you been pregnant you wouldn’t have kept it, but now doesn’t feel like the time. It also isn’t the time to talk about how much he scared you the other day. His outbursts aren’t usually that bad, and most of the time he apologizes on his own, but you don’t think an apology will cut it this time. 

How he reacted wasn’t fair at all. But this isn’t the time for that, either. You just let him cry for as long as he needs to. Eventually, you fall asleep. You're woken up by a tingle that rushes through your body, making you gasp. The lamp is still on but the music has stopped, heat and pleasure pushes a moan from your throat. His fingers are moving in you, his teeth bearing into your neck. 

His mouth moves to yours, hungry and insistent. You're so wet and so close to cumming that you don’t have time to think before cresting helplessly into an orgasm. It’s such a rush and your head is empty as you moan his name, gripping his arm to stabilize yourself. It feels so good you can’t think of anything else but his skin against yours, his hand, the way he touches you. You rock your hips against his arm and he kisses you, his tongue brushing against yours. 

His palm is on your cheek and you're kissing it as he moves his body between your legs, pushing his boxers down and letting his dick free. He’s stroking it and then slipping into you, all the while his lips are pressed against yours. He feels so good, and then you remember. You push away from him once and then again when he doesn’t move away. You struggle to sit up and finally he understands, backing away. 

Breathing heavy he pulls out and asks what’s wrong, panting against your lips.

“I have something we can use.”

He looks at you strangely, then you dig into your backpack and fish out the condoms. When you hold it up he looks even more confused. 

“Why the fuck would we use this?”

“Uh, because. Billy, I don’t wanna get pregnant.” 

“You won’t.”

“We just-”

“But you weren’t. Right? I’ll pull out, baby it’s fine.” 

He goes to climb on top of you but you inch back. 

“I’m serious. We can’t risk it anymore.” 

He sighs, sitting back on his haunches. 

“Do you even know what you’re asking? Those make it so I can’t even feel anything.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. You're conflicted because it feels bad to have to ask for this, but it feels worse to have to fight for it. 

“Billy, I can’t risk it.”

He sighs again, shaking his head. Eventually, though he relents, asking you to suck his dick a little first. You do, and soon the little hiccup with the condom is forgotten. You hope it isn’t like this all the time. You had sex that night, though you could tell he had a harder time finishing than he usually does. He came, though, with you on top, grinding your hips into his while your own high had already left you lightheaded. You didn't talk any more about it that night.

You didn’t talk about the pregnancy scare until a party the next weekend.

To Be Continued...

[galactic-academia]

Divine Wrath

Continuation to Finding God

Rating: M, minors pass your way.

Category: F/M

Fandom: The Young Pope

Relationship: Lenny Belardo x F!Reader

Tags: Implied sexy times, implied nudity, sass, creepy behavior, jealousy, religious guilt

Words: 830

Notes: Set before Lenny became pope. This is for my Barbie Noots 🥲 Waiting for you in horny jail, I made some coffee... 😈❤️‍🔥

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines |

Turns out the little Light bringer truly liked what they saw, that afternoon, when you slammed the door to their nose. They couldn’t be less interested in you finding Jesus or not, as long as you don’t immediately find your bra when you’re rummaging through your drawers.

They’re everywhere, all the time. Hiding in the bushes in your backyard when you’re sunbathing, in the tree facing the windows of your bedroom when you’re just out of the shower; you’re almost sure one of them even stole some panties last time you hung the laundry out... It was kinda funny in the beginning, even if you were afraid one of the little dumbass with his hand down his pants would fall off the tree, but it’s becoming creepy. And Lenny’s not amused.

«You should call the police.»

You know he’s right. But they’re... boys. Religious boys who learnt that getting hard is bad, that desire is a sin and all that load of shit that turns the average teenager into a pervy, repressed, libidinous blob of guilt. All they deserve is a good scare, and some sex education. Not another reason to connect their body needs to shame. You told him so several times and, even if he would never say it out loud, he agrees. He could have been one of them.

The truth is a little darker. Lenny’s not a monster, he’s truly worried about you, but his own case is, also, a concern. He’s not just a deacon anymore, after all. He’s Father Belardo, and he can’t let the world knows his favourite way of preaching. Not now, not yet. The world is not ready. Furthermore, to the sin of lust must be added to Father Belardo’s panel the one of envy. He already shares everything that’s his, why would he have to share what never could be? Your curves, your warmth, he stoles them for himself because you let him. It’s a privilege, an offering. Lenny doesn’t want to share you and you love it.

But tonight is one night too many; he can hear their laborious breathing rustling the leaves in the tree, he can almost see them, their ravenous eyes ready to devour all and every bit of skin they will get a glimpse of. You still don’t want to call the Police, and why should he be the only one to be punished and be deprived of you? No, Hell is not somewhere you go, but something you carry with you.

«They’re here, again.»

«They will go away, eventually», you talk about them like they’re raccoon scavenging the trash, seemingly not one bit bothered, «Their mothers are waiting for them, back home. A quick, cold shower, a kiss on the forehead and goodnight!»

Long, unexpected silences are not uncommon with Lenny, but this one is different. Charged and, somehow, angrier than a shout.

«Remember that you took this decision.»

Well, you certainly weren’t up for that...

«Ma’am, I’m deeply sorry for the trouble, but I need to ask you some questions.»

You’re house is a battlefield, and let’s not talk about your bed. And the Marshal talking to you looks highly too amused, but he gave you a thermic jacket and is polite enough to look at you like you’re fully dressed underneath it; so you’ll let it slide.

«Did you know these boys were spying on you?»

You sigh, lying would be no help here; «Yeah, I did. They’re quite annoying but... A broken arm and a concussion are enough punishment already, don’t you think, Marshal? They won’t be climbing any tree any time soon...»

«Yup», the Officer lifts the hem of his hat before leaning against the kitchen counter, «Any idea how they fall off?»

«None». Liar.

«Mmh. It doesn’t have anything to do with the claim the neighbours filed against you, does it? They say there was a lot of... noise comin’ out of here... I’m surprised to find you all by yourself.»

How did Lenny manage to flee that fast with his butt naked, you truly have no idea.

«I don’t see how I could have made all that hypothetical noise all alone, Marshal, but if you want to search the house, be my guest. Well, be my guest some more, since my young harassers are being cared for in my own living room...»

«Sorry for that, Ma’am, I’ll have them tucked into an ambulance as soon as possible. Do you want to file a claim against them?»

«Nah.»

«Alright then, I’ll see everyone out. Good night, Ma’am.»

True to his world, all the circus is out your property within fifteen minutes, and you’re free to get back to bed. You’re in the middle of changing sheets when your phone rang.

«You’re a bastard.»

«That’s nothing new.»

«You’re proud of yourself.»

«Quite, yes.»

You huff in the device; arrogant he is, snob sometimes, but always honest.

«You owe me a set of bed linen.»

«Worth it»

[adore-u-ls]

where is she?

a logan sargeant fic cos i wanted to. i have two ideas for this title so this one is going to be the kinda cute soft maybe a lil angst idk how it’s gunna go i’m winging it based on one of my scenarios i like to imagine when i go to sleep. completely unedited and self indulgent. probably also rlly bad, if u wanna comment/judge feel free

looking at the usual crowd of prema team members sat having lunch, logan was a bit confused when he didn’t see the other usual, almost permanent fixture of your high ponytail intermingled with the mens short hair. approaching the group, the question was hot off his lips.

“where’s natalie?” he spoke with an air of desperation that he hoped the mechanics didn’t hear.

“oh, she wasn’t feeling too well so dino said he would try smuggle her to the ferrari motorhome to sleep. i don’t know why but we’ve not had an urgent sent help text so i assume he managed” one of them, pablo, garbled out around what logan guessed was a bacon cheeseburger. tasty, he supposed.

“i’ll text dino and tell him you’ll come see her, if you want” pablo offered nicely, easing logan’s sense of desperation and removing the anxiety of how he would get around to seeing you without making it obvious to everyone, you weren’t hiding your relationship but you also weren’t screaming it from the rooftop.

“yeah, if you could. i’ll go take her to williams so i can give her a ride back to the hotel after” falls from logan’s lips and before he has chance to think of the implications, he’s turned on his heel and is making his way up towards the ferrari motorhome.

worry starts to gently nip at the back of logan’s throat as you hadn’t mentioned anything about being sick and he wonders how long it had gone unnoticed or if you suddenly got really sick and now it was really serious. the worry stops nipping now and starts sinking it’s teeth in to his skin as scenarios of dino being on his phone as you turn blue and rushing you to hospital swirl around his head. he was being overdramatic and he knew it but that worry had left it’s bite marks and no matter how many times he tried to tell himself they aren’t real, he blinks and it’s like they’ve bitten straight in to his brain.

he rounds the corner, panting slightly and he wonders when he started running but dismisses it quickly as he leaps up the ferrari stairs and opens the door to be greeted with several weird stares, he is a carlin f2 driver in the f1 ferrari motorhome after all.

luckily, he spots charles or rather charles spots him as he stands up immediately exclaiming “logan, hello mate. how are you? what are you doing here?” and offering a hug to the younger american. reciprocating the hug, he says “hey charles, yeah i’m good thanks. i dont wanna intrude but did dino bring natalie here? she wasn’t feeling well and i ju-“

charles cuts him off, quickly noting the glint of anxiety in logan’s eyes “yeah yeah she’s with carlos now actually. you know how he is with her, the second dino brought her here he was fussing over her like a madman, come on”

charles leads him to a door and knocks twice. the door is quickly inched open by carlos who widens it upon realising it’s logan and ushers him inside.

logan’s eyes fall to your figure curled up under a ferrari jacket and he sees how your usual glowing skin looks papery and haggard, your breathing stifled by slight wheezes and sniffles, your hair dismantled from its usual style spread this way and that away from you.

“she came in and fell straight asleep, dino and i have been watching over her. dont worry, she’ll be okay, just a flu” carlos says placing his hand on the americans shoulder and logan knows he should be reassured and he is. partly. but there’s a part of him that sees the “d.beganovic” on the jacket and his stomach stirs slightly but not with anxiety anymore.

carlos thinks it’s safe to leave now that logan is here and pats his shoulder once before making his exit.

he knows it’s silly, in fact he knows it’s very silly but that doesn’t stop “can she not have another jacket that isn’t dinos?” being spat under his breath as he takes off that ferrari jacket and replaces it with his own. he knows the younger drivers, apparently mostly ferrari academy drivers, had heart eyes for natalie. he understood it of course, he was head over heels for her. but he knew that they knew about their relationship, natalie was a mother figure (“frued eat your heart out” he thinks laughing internally) to them and she disclosed their relationship to them, ollie had backed away with the heart eyes, charlie kept following her like a lost puppy but logan knew he just needed an idol, james got over his “ typical teenage crush on an older person” stage quickly but dino. in logan’s eyes, dino kept trying to flirt and make an effort with her. he was sure it wasn’t intentional because dino isn’t disrespectful, logan just thinks he needs to make it violently clear she’s off limits.

as the thought starts to fade into nothingness, dino walks in and looks a little like a deer in headlights when he realises logan is sat in what was carlos’ seat “oh, uhm hey logan. she looked really sick and i wanted to take care of her you know?”

“thank you dino and as much as i appreciate you for this, can we have a chat?”

dino goes from looking a little wide eyed to looking like he has dinner plates for eyes “uhm, oh yeah sure”

“dino, you know about me and nat don’t you?” logan starts off, not wanting to scare the poor boy

“y-yeah why” dino stumbles out

“you seem to be trying to flirt or make “moves” on her, whether you realise it or not i don’t know but i would really appreciate it if you could stop it towards my girlfriend please?”  succinct, not harsh and over with logan thought, mentally patting himself on the back for not letting his small pool of jealousy bubble over into a lake.

“oh.” dino blanches “yeah, i’m sorry i didn’t even realise. i’m sorry. i’ll cancel my plans with her”

“no dino. you don’t have to do that. i’m not going to stop you being friends. jeez i’m american but i’m not that bad” logan jokes and sighs a bit as dinos eyes stop glossing over with tears and return to their normal stage “ i want you to continue your relationship with each other, i just want you to be aware it’s platonic, okay? we can all still hang out together, i don’t hate you. i’m just letting you know”

dino nods slightly feeling the words “thanks” pull themselves from his throat.

“come here, hug it out okay?” the american brings the taller into a big and they pat each other on the back.

you open your eyes briefly to the vision of a tall brunette hugging your brunette and allow them to flutter shut again as you snuggle your way back to dream land.

[4giorno]

omg actually theres one thing hoyo are doing right and thats the color of dilucs jacket in the new skin!!!!!!

[writingforatwistedworld]

I said I was going to do it.

How would Floyd/Jade/Azul court the player ? 👀

(For your own sake I REALLY advise you to go the fantasy anime way Veil. I swear it's for your own good.)

Yes! THE ANIME WAY! Not some research which made me go “oh God no. Tumble will ban me if I follow this!” like last time. (It was fun anyway though.) I do take tiny bits of real-life stuff which isn't that bad into this. For octupus only thougt. Eel is a bit too funky.

In Floyds part a very abusive relationship is being described. Please only read it if you feel 100% comfortable with that kind of relationship. I'm not joking, usually I'm not going so dark but this is a bit much. Maybe I'm just oversensitive but it feels like the darkest content I have written so far.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, abusive relationships, unhealthy relationship, manipulation, violence, isolation, obsession, kidnapping, obsession, obsessive behavior, possession behavior, possessiveness

Azul Ashengrotto/Jade Leech /Floyd Leech-Him courting you

Female Octopuses can be quite aggressive, did you know that?

So I imagine male octopus merpeople being on the rather holding-back-side-and-try-not-to-agitate side of things

So... How does this show?

First of all, you might not even realize that he likes you more than just a businessman buttering up his client

Oh no, he is getting shy

Not that you would notice that but pshhhh

The only reason why he doesn't stay still is because of the other two underwater menaces (this description was used for comical description. Writingforatwistedworld doesn't mean to offend anyone)

Jade and Floyd are his best friends but also his worst enemies

So here he is, afraid of getting beaten up... he has seen it many times in the octopus society....

But then you are so sweet! Always answering him so patiently and kind!

If he wasn't sure if you were the right one for him before (the audacity!) then he would be sure now

And... *sigh* dear, say goodbye to these legs...

I really don't want to be in your skin after that... not only were you thrown into a completely different world but now you also become a completely different kind of being....

All I can say is, good luck! At least you won't freeze in water anymore even if it's very cold! Yay?

You being kind to him is a signal to Azul which says “they like me!”

Has already made plans how the wedding should look like (I'm not kidding)

How do you dance the waltz without legs?

But don't you worry

Even before he... proposes? (I'm not even sure if I should call this kidnapping or a step towards a shared future... probably kidnapping) He already takes great care of you

Oh, put that piece of bread down. He has prepared a whole huge lunchbox just for you!

Your jacket has a hole! Take this one and give him your old one. What happens with it? On he will take care of it. (Aka make it part of his little collection consisting of stuff of you)

He is the ideal package so what do you mean that he can be creepy?

Ok him looking at you all across the sports field is kinda weird... how does he see so good with glasses??!

But look at that lunchbox! It has been made with so much love! And it's also not poisoned or tampered with in any other way! (Rereading this I just realized how sad this sounds...)

Tentacle hugs! Just tentacle hugs! You get me, right??!

He is one of those “I take care of them until they can't say no to me anymore” kind of people

Maybe a uses a huge amount a little bit of manipulation

That one person you have been talking with since the moment you got here? Nah, they aren't distancing themselves! They are just getting shy!

He becomes everything in your world

But at least you are taken care of

His job is one involving a lot of paperwork, right? So you can truly lie around and do nothing. He is the one working and doing the household chores! (He has tentacles, remember that!)

What an attentive guy!

First of all, we know that he likes to manipulate, right?

So don't expect to be spared from that

I imagine eels also being a bit more aggressive and forward so... yeah

Good luck! I believe in you!

So how do things start?

In true Jade fashion, what else?

At first you were just that famous scholar that everybody loved, him included

So he tried his best in making himself stand out in your memory

That kind merman who sits besides you in history? Oh yeah! He also brings cookies sometimes!

Mostro Louge drinks are also always free for you

Yay! A few more Thaumarks left to fix that roof!

But then you are... You (?) and things go even further south (yes they were already going south before, you just didn't notice)

Jade always thought that you would be that haughty person, not caring about a single soul in the world

And that was fine for him. With great power there comes that ego-boost after all

But them you were nothing like that, his dear sweet human....

Now that manipulation part really starts

That one student you were talking to right now? Oh no... no it's nothing but... he had been talking about you behind his back...

Of course they would never actually dare to do that but you know Jade

Cutting everyone else off is his highest priority

So once you can only depend on him he can do with you whatever he wants

Azul surely owes him a thing or two... he has a pretty interesting flasks with certain potions in his room...

If you guessed a potion which would turn you into some sort if merperson then yes, that also

If his plan doesn't work that other flask can be pretty handy... there is a reason why people steer clean of love potions, just saying

So let's say you trust him fully at this point, whether due to love potion or not, he will try to make you get used to the sea

He remembers being like a fish on land (got it??! Got it??! Ok sry... moving on...) the first time he used his legs

So at least being as much as possible in the sea should help you (in his mind at least)

So yeah, once you are down there there is no way to escape from him anymore

You had the advantage on land but now you are in the depths of the sea

So why not just cozy up and hand your very being, identity and personality over to him? There is no way out anyway...

He is more on the physical side than his brother

He won't hurt you though... much

But don't you worry, you will survive it, at worst only partially you behave badly

So one day, Diasomnia went monkey

Imagine! The great Overseer has descended!

Or in his mind, the only historical figure he actually liked because of them being able to fight back and not getting beat whilst doing that (we remember Ursula, may she rest in peace and her brother be cursed)

Floyd creeped out other kids not only by being himself (he is kinda a oddball, admit it) but also whilst talking about the Overseer

He is that one person in history class we all know and notice simply because of their knowledge about history

But surprise surprise! He is only so hyper-fixated on you!

So now that we know when things started, lets continue

Admiration grew into something that shouldn't be and now you have someone who beats students left and right the second they look at you up

The outcome isn't so different from what Floyd tries to achieve, only acquired with violence

But things on your part haven't turned bitter at this point

Just a bit sour... like lemonade or lemon pie (or what ever is out there that tastes lemony)

Remember, he isolates you by beating people up

Once you are like that, *sigh* try to keep him happy, ok?

After all, if you aren't like the one he expects you to be he just needs to bend you until you finally are

You... get what I mean, right?

So smile dear! Smile so can be somewhat happy as well!

Floyd doesn't need potions or to kidnap you into the deepest depths of the sea to keep you with him

Fear is a strong thing, you know?

And you know, they always say “I can change them for the better!”

No you can't sweety, leave them immediately

I would like to tell you that things get better but no

Even if you behave like he wants there is still that feeling that something is very wrong

At least you hadn't realized this with Azul and Jade

The only way to actually escape this is to accept Malleus proposal and become his partner

Floyd can't fight against an entire kingdom

This is a doomed relationship (I'm sorry Floyd fans)

I can't even do this last sentence thingy this is so horrible please get help if you are in such a relationship or if yours reminds you of this one!

[todayifallinlove]

Gotta Stop Meeting Like This

Pairing: Solomon x Reader

Source Material: Obey Me!

Tags: N*S*F*W / closet sex / secret relationship / mammon and levi almost discover them 

“We have *got* to stop meeting like this, my dear MC,” Solomon whispered against the shell of your ear. You could tell from the smug lilt in his voice that he was smiling, obviously very pleased with himself. “People will start to talk.”

“Stop talking,” you breathed, hands busy. You made fast work of removing his jacket, which he helped shrug out of in one fluid motion. This wasn’t the first time you two had done this. Your breath hitched as he flicked his tongue out at your ear, his hot breath on the wet skin sending pleasant shivers down your spine. Your hands skipped his button-up shirt and went straight to his belt.

“Hmm, hasty, are we?” His voice like a dangerous purr as he teased you. He was always egging you on, getting you riled up, pulling a reaction from you. “It’s not very polite to skip pleasantries.”

“Shut—up—,” you tugged down the zipper of his pants as his hands roamed slowly down your sides. Too slowly. He was teasing you, building you up, making you feel like the eager one, while he was soooo calm and collected. It ticked you off.

“Oh? Right to business then, is that it? Well, I ca—“ god. Finally. Anything to shut him up. You yanked on his tie harshly, pulling his face to yours. Your lips crashed into his, and you could feel him grin into the rough kiss. It seemed to ignite a fire in him, as next he grabbed your hair and made you tilt your head back to look up at him. A gasp left your parted lips and there was that smug smile again. His eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the supply closet, undivided attention on you. Despite his cockiness, the look in his eyes betrayed how much he wanted you too, how much of an effect you had on him. You seized the opportunity to grab him by the hips and pull him flush against your body, eyes trained on his. He was already hard, you could feel him through the exposed fabric of his boxer shorts. Giving him a taste of his own medicine, you rocked your body against his, the friction of which had him grabbing you up, hooking your legs around his waist and pressing you roughly against a shelf to get more bearing. It was so funny to you when you got to him like this, causing him to skip all the tantalizingly slow teasing he had previously been so keen on.

His lips were on yours again and this time with a new hunger. There was no more small talk in this moment, just brutal want for one another. You slid your hands under his shirt, fingertips light and featherweight at first, tracing lines along his sides that made him shiver. Honestly? If the fire in your belly wasn’t lit already, it was now.

Faint voices in the hallway made you both freeze. Oh, no. Wasn’t this hallway always empty around this time? No one came around here during this part of the day, there aren’t any classes here, so why—

“I *just* want to know where MC is, yknow? Like what kinda human chooses to run off in the middle of the day and not say anything, huh??”

Oh, no. That was a familiar voice. A *very* familiar voice, griping about you of all people. Oh, jeez. This is bad.

“C’mon, I mean, I’m THE Mammon, I’m basically the most important person to her! She should at least tell ME where she keeps sneakin’ off to! Right?”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until Solomon booped your nose, a gentle tap to get your attention. He smiled at you, tilting his head in the direction of the hallway and then raised his eyebrows. You could imagine what he was thinking. “*Popular, hm?*”

You wanted to retort, to say something catty to wipe the amused expression from his face, but you didn’t get the chance to. The voices were growing closer, and now that they were nearer, you could tell that Mammon wasn’t alone.

“Man, this sucks. I could be at home right now.” The second voice sighed, and sounded mopey as they continued. “Do you even *know* how many times the special director’s cut of TSL is played on TV a year? Do you *know*?”

Levi. That was definitely Levi. Oh, god. Or devil. Or whatever they say in the Devildom.

*Just keep walking, you, two. Just keep walking.*

You made a mental note to catch up with them later, if they didn’t catch you and Solomon pants-down first, that is.

Speaking of, you and Solomon had basically frozen in place when you heard the approaching demons. Your back pressed against the shelves, strong hands holding you up at the hips, your legs tight around his waist. This wouldn’t be a good position to get caught in, you thought. Mammon would *freak* if he found out what you were doing right now, who you were with... not to mention the rest of the demon brothers once Mammon opened his blabby mouth.

Your fingers subconsciously tightened in their grip on Solomon’s shirt, handfuls of fabric held in your hands. You heard a small chuckle in the quiet room, and snapped out of your focus on Mammon and Levi to notice how Solomon, somehow, seemed to be enjoying the predicament you were now in together.

“Are you *kidding* me?” You whispered with as much ferocity and dignity as you could manage for someone in your position.

Solomon leaned his forehead against yours in response, surprising you as he smiled—a genuine, soft smile this time, not the smug little smirk that never ceased to piss you off. He pressed a little kiss to the tip of your nose before retreating.

Without warning, Solomon adjusted so that he held you up by one arm, and you were once again reminded of just how strong he was. Left arm free, you were entranced as Solomon began to make what reminded you of runic sigils in the air. A few whispered words leaving his lips, the shape of a small prismatic figure slowly began to form as you watched. It was see-through, but it looked like water made up each of the sides, some panels of the prism running up, others down, some side to side. An impossible figure, the water-like substance glowed faintly blue, then violet. You were so hypnotized by the created object that you actually jumped when it shattered, the fragments dispersing in all directions before they simply disappeared from sight.

“Solomon, what—“

You tried to question, but the next second you found his hand pressed over your mouth, effectively silencing you. At first, you felt annoyed—*how dare he?*—but when the door knob started to rattle just feet away from you, a cold fear sunk in and squashed all thought of complaint.

Oh, no. Oh, no, oh no, oh no.

You must have made some noise when you jumped earlier. Despite Solomon holding you against his body, your back was still pressed to the rickety old shelves of the storage closet, the contents of which your sudden movement must have jostled. Solomon’s left hand came to rest at your hip once again, steadying you against him without a word.

“I swear I heard something in here, Levi! C’mon, help me open the door!”

They can’t come in here and see you like this—not now, not in this state! Skirt hiked up to your waist, Solomon’s cock still buried within you. You had to hide! You had to move! Why weren’t you hiding? Why wasn’t Solomon moving? What was he *thinking*?

In the dim light, you looked to Solomon for answers, but his gaze was set on the door. For once, there was no smug little smirk on his face, rather an unreadable expression. You had no idea what he was planning. You gripped at his clothes again and did your best to bury your face in his shirt, dreading your discovery that seemed to be inevitable at this point. Your only hope was that the rusty old lock on the door would hold long enough for Mammon to give up.

“Okay, 1, 2, 3!”

The door sprung open, the rusty lock being bested by Mammon rushing the door. In any other situation, you would have laughed and teased him about such a stupid stunt, but for now, you had no such bravado.

Pressing your face against Solomon’s chest, you waited with burning cheeks and a heart full of humiliation for the two demon brothers to say something.

You waited, and... you waited.

After a few beats, you tentatively raised your head, peering over Solomon’s shoulder. There was Mammon, standing just about a foot in the room, and Levi, standing just outside the doorway.

“Ugh, have you satisfied your curiosity? The room’s empty! Congratulations, Mammon, now Lucifer will kill us both!” Levi complained, smacking his face dramatically to show his exasperation at his brother’s antics.

You watched in growing confusion as Mammon’s cheeks turned red as yours just were, and he snapped back at Levi. “Lucifer will only find *out* if one of us tells’im, so keep your trap shut and we’ll be fine, yeah?”

Levi pouted with crossed arms out in the hall, clearly not on board with the plan, but having no other choice now that they were here.

Mammon, on the other hand, stepped forward in the room, and swiped at the air, as if feeling for something that he couldn’t see. He was so close, there was no *way* he couldn’t see you right there.

Your whole body tensed up as Mammon nearly touched Solomon’s arm as he swiped at the air again. The tensing fo your body led you to clench around Solomon’s cock, and if his fingernails digging into your bare hip were any indication, it definitely took him off-guard.

“Man, I swear it smells like MC in here....” You heard Mammon say to himself as he finally stepped back, resigned to the apparent fact that the room was empty.

Heaving a sigh, the demon shoved his hands into his pockets and began to stroll on out again. “...alright, Levi, let’s go. Maybe she went to the dining hall already? Let’s check there.”

Levi looked moody as ever, but he shut the closet door after Mammon exited, probably in attempt to keep any passers by from noticing the broken lock and slight, Mammon-shaped dent in the door.

You could hear their voices as they walked farther and farther off, and only when they were near inaudible did you dare speak.

“You ass!” You smacked Solomon’s chest, the puzzle pieces all clicking together now. “You weren’t going to tell me that was an invisibility spell you put on us? You were going to just let me suffer?”

Solomon’s laughter overlapped with your angry protests as you beat on his chest, all of which just made you more pissed off at what had happened.

“Insufferable! You’re literally the *worst*!” Your barrage of insults only made your partner grin, and before long you were silenced by him once again as his lips came to suddenly press against yours. Laughter echoed in his chest as you parted, making your face burn with heat.

“Oh, come now~,” he purred, a more serious voice being used, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I couldn’t just let them see my little pet, after all~”

Hands tangled in your hair, he made you raise your face to him once more. A tender kiss was placed upon your lips, this time, one that made you melt into him like before you had been interrupted. If you could just stay like this forever, ugh.

“Perhaps we should finish this later?” Solomon inquired, a wink making you roll your eyes at him. Probably a good idea though, considering the tenacity of your friends looking for you.

[dccomicsimagines]

A Long Day - Jason Todd x Reader

Requested by Anon - Can you make a oneshot or hc on Arkhamverse!Jay where he comes home real beat up and tired and hurt so (wife)reader has give him a bath or else there'll be blood everywhere and just like 2 cups of fluff and a dash of angst? (Also, not NSFW)ak

***

His entire body felt like an open wound with salt rubbed into it for good measure. A deep, primal groan came from deep in his chest as he heaved himself through the window of the apartment and crashed onto the floor. Soft thumps came from the ceiling. Jason sighed. The upstairs neighbors were at it again. Like rabbits. He rolled over to glare up at the ceiling.

"Jason." An angel appeared in his vision, looking down at him. Their brow furrowed. "Are you alright?" The angel disappeared and Jason heard the window shut tightly. The lock he installed clicked firmly.

"Just a little...sore." He pulled down his hood and took off his helmet. His stomach twisted at the thought of showing his face, but he forced himself to relax. The feeling never went away, no matter how many years had passed.

"Yes, this looks like a little." You appeared over him again. That little smile pulled at your lips. Jason's heart skipped a beat. How did he deserve someone like you? "You got blood on the carpet again."

Jason moaned, pushing himself to sit up. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'll clean it up." He shrugged off his leather jacket. You kneeled down to help him wiggle out of the arms.

You hummed. "I think a bath is an order. You're not going into our bed like this." Jason undid his belt and handed you his guns. You checked the safety and moved to put them away. "Can you get to the bathroom on your own? I'll prep the bath."

"I'll be fine." He stripped where he was to avoid getting dirt, blood, and grime everywhere else. In only his boxers, he picked up his suit and took it the bathroom. He froze at the sight of you kneeling beside the bathtub. Your hand was in the water, testing it.

You turned to look at him. "Jay? You okay?" The love in your eyes hit him like a ton of bricks. How could he still be so surprised? It's been years. The J burned into his cheek stun like it always did when he remembered it was there. How could you love him when he was a messed up, tortured man?

"Fine." He dropped his suit and jacket on the floor before he covered himself up with them. Part of him wanted to hide his scars from you. The shame was still there, even with the reassurance you had already seen every scar he had. You nodded, adding bubbles and salts to the water.

"I have to say. I'm relieved to see most of the blood isn't yours." You eyed him. "You busted your knuckles again, huh?" You got to your feet and grabbed the first aid kit. "May I?" You held out your hand carefully.

Jason blinked, confused. He realized he had been staring at you the entire time. "Oh, yeah. Thanks, sweetheart. I knew I married you for some reason."

Your laughter was music to his ears. "I knew it." You winked at him before you tended to his knuckles.

He flinched, hissing when you dapped the cut on his knuckle with alcohol. "I'm surprised you are still awake. I thought you would have went to bed."

"It's hard to sleep knowing about...well...you know." You bit your lip, not meeting his eye.

"(Y/N), you don't have to worry. It won't get bad this time. I have it covered." He pulled his hand away from you and hugged you. "There won't be another gang war. I'm stopping it."

"Jay, I know you're working on it, but you're only one person." You rested your cheek against his bare shoulder.

"One incredibly awesome person." Jason tightened his arms around you. "We'll be fine. Gotham will be fine." His eyes widened as tub was almost full. He jumped away from you to turn off the water.

You flinched at his sudden movement. "Oh." You laughed in relief. "I thought it was another rat."

“Another rat?” Jason blinked. “Did you find another one?” 

“No, but when you see one, you kinda expect another.” You shivered. “Maybe the landlord actually took care of it?”

“Not likely. I’ll have another talk with him.” Jason slid off his boxers and climbed into the bath. The water was so warm, melting the soreness from his muscles like wax from a candle. 

You smiled at the sight, picking up his suit. “I’ll rinse this off. Are you hungry? I can make you something quick.” 

“Anything is fine, sweetheart.” Jason closed his eyes, leaning his head back. He heard you leave. The walls of the apartment were thin. If he listened carefully, he could follow your movements throughout.

Another series of thumps came from the ceiling. Jason opened his eyes at glare up at it. “I should get us a new place, a better place without rats or noisy neighbors,” he mumbled to himself. 

He started to wash himself, wincing as his muscles complained at having to move. Just when he dunked his head under the water to wash his hair, you came in with a freshly made omelet and a glass of milk. 

“That smells delicious,” Jason said, sniffing the air once he surfaced. You laughed, kneeling down by the side of the tub. You wet your hands and shampooed his hair for him. 

“I need to go shopping soon. We’re almost out of everything.” You kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes, relaxing completely in your hands. 

Jason moaned. “I’ll go with you.” 

“Of course you will.” Your hands pulled away. “Dunk again.” Jason went under the water and rinsed out his hair. He surfaced with a gasp and happily took the plate when you offered it to him. “Eat up. I have your suit hanging to dry in the kitchen. Don’t worry. It’s out of view of the window.” 

Jason hummed, inhaling down the omelet like it was the only food he saw in months. It reminded him the first meal he had after he had escaped from the Joker. He had sat down in a diner, using the twenty bucks he stole to pay for a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. It was the best food he ever remembered having until you cooked for him that is. “Good. Don’t want the neighbors to have a show.” 

You sat on the edge of the tub, watching him eat with a smile. Jason met your eye. He smirked before offering you a bite. You shook your head. “I’m good, honey. You eat.” 

“Are you sure?” Jason waved the bite in your face. He winked at you. “Come on.” 

You sighed and opened your mouth to let him feed you. The two of you finished off the omelet, enjoying each other in silent company.  After the plate was empty and Jason had downed the glass of milk, you left with the dishes. 

The water was getting cold. Jason sighed, stretching his arms until they cracked and slowly got out of the bath. He unplugged the tub and wrapped himself up in the pink towel. Why did he let you buy pink towels? Jason chuckled. Right, it was because they were on sale. 

You were in the bedroom when he entered. Jason’s skin tingled as he watched you change into the pajamas he had bought you for your birthday last year. He enjoyed the sight, but his body was too tired to do anything about it.

“I love you.” Jason came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist to press his chest against your back. You laughed sweetly, music to his ears. 

“I love you too.” You turned your head to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Are you ready for bed?” 

Jason smiled, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Only if you are.” 

You hummed, giggling before you pulled away. “You’re not though, unless you want to sleep with only the towel around your waist tonight.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Jason closed his eyes. “Are you okay with it?” 

“I suppose.” You took his hand, leading him over to the bed and tucked him in. Jason sighed deeply. You crawled in next to him and curled into his side.

Jason felt all his stress and pain fade away as he nuzzled his nose into your hair. “I love you.” He chuckled. “I think I should take you on vacation. We haven’t taken one since we eloped.” 

You hummed. Your eyes were closed, your body going limp. “Whatever you want, Jay.” Your hand moved to rest on his chest, just over his heart. Jason smiled and closed his eyes. 

The sounds of the city were quiet for this time of night. He couldn’t imagine sleeping without it, just like he couldn’t imagine sleeping without you. The nightmares he used to get haven’t caught up to him in years. You chased them away. Jason opened his eyes to look at you. “You make my life better. You make me better.” He kissed the top of your head gently.

“Me too.” You mumbled, flinging your leg over his hips. “Go to sleep, Jay.” 

Jason sighed. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

[thenovelartist]

Mistaken Drink; Drunk Mistake - Tears of Themis

Up next in the "Drunk Wedding" series, we have Artem. Enjoy ;D

When Artem woke up that morning, he was in a shocking amount of pain. He didn’t want to move despite the fact he knew he needed to get up for work.

Regrettably, he forced himself up into a sitting position, only to instantly feel nauseous. He was going to have to call in sick wasn’t he?

“Artem? Are you okay?”

The sweet voice rung in his ears. Before he could even place where he’d heard that voice before, he felt a cool hand on his back. It took him far too long to realize that said hand was touching his skin, making him realize he wasn’t in a shirt.

Why wasn’t he in a shirt? He always slept in a shirt.

However, before he could think too much about it, a new wave of nausea hit him. He braced himself against the headboard of his bed, leaning his forehead on his arms in hopes that the feeling would pass.

“Do you need water?” the voice asked. A lovely, sweet, feminine voice.

“No,” he muttered weakly.

There was a pause, in which time the intense symptoms faded to manageable levels

“Are you dizzy?” the feminine voice asked. “Do you want medicine?”

“No,” he replied.

However, now he was very curious as to who the owner of that voice was. He couldn’t stand it anymore; he had to know. So, pushing past the pain, he slowly lifted his head up to get a look at the person who was next to him.

Oh, it was his work partner.

That was the only thought he had before he felt sick again and buried his face back in his arms, blocking the light from seeping in.

And then the nausea hit him like a truck.

“Artem? Are you sure you’re okay?”

He couldn’t answer. But he most certainly was not.

…

Fifteen minutes later, after a bathroom break that turned into him emptying the contents of his stomach and feeling all the better for it, he was laying back on his bed, eyes closed and arms draped over his face to keep the light out. He was still shirtless at the moment, but that was less because of choice and more because he could barely move from his spot to the closet to grab one.

As for work, he was fortunate enough to have realized it was a weekend. He had time to recover.

He heard a set of footsteps enter his room, and despite knowing better, he opened his eyes to watch Rosa enter, glass of water in one hand and something else in the other.

With his headache, he draped his arms over his face again. While it was originally to keep the light out of his eyes, it also doubled to cover his blush. The question of “why she was in his house” had yet to be answered.

So did the question of “why she was in his shirt”. But he could only think on everything for so long before his headache warned him to calm down.

“I brought you some medicine,” Rosa said. The space beside him on the bed sank under her weight. And while he wanted to warn her that her being here in a bedroom with him, he wasn’t particularly in a position to speak at the moment, figuratively and literally. “Are you feeling better?”

He paused to think on it. “Possibly.”

“Possibly,” she whispered to herself. Despite being out of it, he could hear the resigned smile in her tone. “Do you need anything? Or just rest?”

Honestly, he needed a lot of things. Answers, specifically.

Slowly, he removed his arms from his head so he could open his eyes and see Rosa. The light still seemed over-bright, but it wasn’t as bad as before.

She gave him a smile, and suddenly, he felt warm all over again. “Good morning.”

His heart gave a funny leap in his chest. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Her expression fell to a concerned one. “For what?”

He wasn’t fully sure. Everything, maybe.

Yes, everything.

But before he could say it, she reached forward to brush his bangs back from his eyes, and words died in his throat. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For last night,” she said.

He pursed his lips together, trying to think of anything she had to be sorry about, but his memories seemed too hazy to recall anything. “To be frank,” he said, voice hoarse. “I can’t remember last night.”

When her eyes widened in surprise, it took him a long moment to realize it wasn’t the good kind. And when she smiled, it was tense, which caused his own stomach to tighten up again. “Well…” she began. “Um… you really can’t remember anything at all?”

He paused, trying long and hard to think back to last night. “We were at a party,” he answered. “For the firm.”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod. “There was that.”

The more he thought on it, the more he could recall the scene. Themis Law Firm had decided to hold a party for its associates to celebrate a major court win for a big client. It had taken months of research and many staff members, but in the end, it had come out in their favor. It had been Celestine’s idea to throw a party for the sake of the employees, congratulating them and allowing them to have a moment to enjoy themselves.

Artem had been there, of course, enjoying the atmosphere and the company of Rosa, who had sat next to him at the bar while the others grew roudy around them.

But that was all he could recall.

“What happened after?” he asked, giving up his futile mission of recalling anything further.

“I think… my best guess is the bartender mixed up someone’s double-shot mixed drinks with your mocktails,” she answered.

Ahh, that would explain it. He grimaced, letting his eyes shut again as he dragged a tired hand over his face. How did he not catch that?

“Are you here because you helped me home?” he asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

“Well… I mean… yes,” she answered, hesitantly.

He opened his eyes again to look back up at her. “Why didn’t you go home?”

She turned bright red.

Oh no, that wasn’t his intention. He felt bashful just looking at her.

“I… kinda… was drunk myself,” she said, her blush not dying down as she turned her gaze away from him. “So, I fell asleep beside you.”

His face began to burn. Wait, she was beside him all night?

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her shirt which was actually his shirt which caused a second wave of embarrassment to crash down on him. “Sorry, I stole one of your shirts because my dress was stained from when someone fell and dumped a Bloody Mary on us. That’s why you’re shirtless, too. So you wouldn’t ruin your sheets. Which reminds me, are you cold? Do you want me to get you something?”

His mind had already come to a screeching halt hearing her explain, so starting it back up again so he could answer was a challenge. “I-I…”

Why was talking so hard?

“Yes.”

She gave him a nod. “Okay. I’ll grab one for you.”

With that, she turned her back to him, and he covered his face with his hands, silently wishing he could die and save him from this mortification.

When she returned, she helped him sit up again, and he slid on the plain shirt she’d given him.

“Thank you, for caring for me,” he eventually said, trying his very best to pull himself together. “If you give me a moment, I can give you a jacket to cover your dress and call a cab for you.”

She froze. “Uh…” She seemed to struggle to find words before turning a strained smile on him. “Well… there’s… actually another reason I hadn’t left yet.”

Artem’s brow knit together in confusion., but his gut sank like a stone with worry.

“Because…” The smile she gave him was overly-exaggerated, which worried him deeply. “We should really talk about what to do about our wedding certificate.”

Artem froze, the words somehow eluding him for a moment before registering in his mind all at once.

“I’m sorry. Our what?”

…

It seemed drinking wasn’t the only thing he did last night.

It was mid-morning now, and he was sitting at the table holding his second cup of coffee while he stared at the document in front of him. And he still couldn’t believe it. Because not only had he and Rosa had decided to get married while they were drunk.

But Celestine witnessed.

This had to be the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done and likely the most embarrassing thing he would do in his entire life.

“I’m pretty sure it’s legal,” Rosa said, taking a seat beside him. She was still in his shirt, slowly killing him at the sight of her in it, sipping on her own mug of coffee.

“It is,” he lamented. “Unfortunately.”

“You say that like being married to me is a bad thing.”

His heartrate skyrocketed as he struggled for words. “No! That’s not what I—”

Before he could finish, he took in the sight of her sniggering over her coffee mug. “I was just teasing.”

Despite that, he wasn’t fully able to relax. Because if given the opportunity, he’d love to be married to the woman beside him. However, that wasn’t likely, considering he couldn’t even so much as confess his feelings to this woman.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll start on the annulment, then. It should be granted easily seeing as we were both intoxicated at the time.”

“Do we have to, though?”

He froze, shocked, then confused. “What?”

She sighed. “Celestine warned me you were this dense,” she whispered under her breath.

While Artem was still processing those words, Rosa turned in her seat to face him head on, looking him straight in the eyes. “I love you.”

Whatever Rosa proceeded to say was lost on Artem. He was frozen, completely caught off guard by such a confession. He… he’d thought she wasn’t interested. She never seemed to respond to his advances the way he’d anticipated she would. So why…

How…

He was so confused.

“And I know you try hard to get my attention,” she said, her words finally registering in his mind. “I thought we were getting closer, too. But…” She looked down, disappointment written all over her face. “I must have been wrong.”

“You love me?”

She turned her wide eyes back on him, and suddenly, she was smiling again. “You really are dense, aren’t you?”

…

Back at work, Artem was working on the annulment.

It was… disappointing, in a way. He and Rosa had had a long talk about a relationship between them and where they each saw it going, and what they landed on was marriage in the future. She’d suggested keeping the marriage certificate just in case. However, Artem was adamant that this would notbe how they married. So, annulment it was until they saw fit to come together, sober, as husband and wife.

Which, Artem hoped wouldn’t be too far off in the future.

“So, how’s married life?”

Artem looked up to see Celestine grinning down at him. He fixed her with a stern glare as he picked up the wedding certificate. “You actually witnessed this sham of a marriage?”

“I did!” she cried, grin never leaving her face. “It was a sight to behold. I’m so proud of you for making the first move and asking her to marry you, even if you were drunk when you did. Maybe you and alcohol do get along after all.”

Artem sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired. “And how sober were you for the thought of stopping us to not occur to you?”

“Oh, I was perfectly sober.”

Artem nearly dropped the document. “What?”

With a laugh, she winked at him. “By the way, Rosa istaking on your last name, right? So that I know to give her the proper change of name paperwork.”

Leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, Artem wondered if a hangover could reappear days after drinking. Because his head was sure spinning right about now.

[piratesfromspace]

When in Venice (James Bond/Reader)

This fic is a James Bond AU (sort of?), my own James Bond movie if you want, where I cast Oscar Isaac as James Bond and Jon Bernthal as the bad guy, Seth (an OC).

James Bond x Reader

(past) Seth x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Rated : Explicit

You’re part of a criminal organization, and your boss Seth has asked you to distract the British spy sent to stop him.

CW: angst, canon-typical violence and themes, alcohol consumption, smut, sex as manipulation technique, controlling behaviors, implied past abuse

Female reader

Note: This fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who mentioned Oscar Isaac at the Venice Film Festival looked a bit like James Bond. For the bad guy, I picked Jon Bernthal as he appears in that BMW movie ad. I watched way too many James Bond movies lately so here we are. 

MASTERLIST

Oscar Isaac is James Bond

Jon Bernthal is Seth

“Understood? Just grab his attention, keep him occupied, get him to talk a bit if you can. We’ll need to know who is the mole at one point. Nothing more. I think you can do it.”

“Yes, the usual, I get it Seth.” You sigh.

“I’ll send you a picture of him. Text me if you need my men to help in the process tonight.”

“Will do.”

“Good girl.”

You hang up your phone, even more irritated than when you started this conversation. You hate it when he calls you like this, because the way his gravelly voice makes your body react on his own is annoying. You used to like him. Not anymore. Still you follow his orders, because you don’t know what else to do, because he convinced you that’s the only thing you’re good at. Some might say it’s an honor to be part of this infamous criminal organization you’re working for, but you’re well aware your daily job is to be nothing more than a glorified bait for men and women your boss - Seth - needs information or money or whatever from. It used to be kinda fun, the thrill of the missions, followed by another kind of thrill in the bed of your boss. But you’re done. You need to get out. Even if you have no clue how to do that. 

You’re not sure you’ll be getting any thrill from tonight’s mission though. Your boss needs to conduct some shady business as usual, but there was a leak and apparently the British government has sent an agent here to investigate. You didn’t expect the UK to care about some obscure transactions done in Italy, but here you are, in the lounge of this palace, in an evening dress you didn’t even get to choose, ready to intercept and “distract” the clueless English spy.

You look around the intricately decorated room one more time before taking a sip of your champagne. The old palace was home of one of the most powerful families of Venice three centuries ago, and today, it’s just a scandalously overpriced place for old bankers and shady businessmen to flaunt their wealth and impress their young mistresses. 

Your phone lights up with a ding when a picture appears on the screen. A blurry photograph of a man with brown hair and tanned skin, a strong nose and dark eyes. The spy. It’s hard to tell the details of his face, but it should be enough to recognize him in the sparse crowd of the posh hotel.

You try to lean as casually as possible against the counter, as casually as one can when perched on a wooden bar stool while wearing a tight fitting floor length gown, making sure you have your eyes on the entrance stairway. It’s only a matter of minutes before a familiar man makes his way down the steps. His face is definitely less blurry, and he’s wearing a crisp white tuxedo jacket paired with a black bow tie instead of the burgundy shirt from the picture, but you’re sure it’s him. Fingers ever so slightly flexing against your glass, you’re struck by his handsomeness. You were expecting some beefed up brute in a cheap suit, not some sort of Hollywood actor ready for a red carpet. The other men in the room are all wearing expensive clothes, but he’s the only one dressed in a freaking white tux. Might as well paint a target directly on his back. What a way of laying low. Half the women in the lounge are looking at him, as he makes his way with an effortless ease toward the counter and orders a cocktail. 

The plan is pretty clear in your mind. You discreetly remove one of your rings to slide it on your bare left ring finger, text a few instructions to Seth so he can brief the goons stationed in the bar, and wait a few moments before starting with the first step of your little scenario. 

You take one deep breath, focus for a second and finally go for it.

“More Champagne please” you ask with a soft voice as you raise your empty flute to attract the bartender’s attention.

You don’t need to fake the startled look on your face and small cry of surprise when a huge hand roughly grabs your wrist. 

“No more drinks for the lady.” Seth’s henchman dryly says to the confused bartender, before turning back to you. “Your husband said only two. Now you should go back to your room.”

You’re actually impressed the man successfully followed your little improvised script. 

Now is your turn to put on a show.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m his wife or his slave. I’m a grown up woman, I can order more champagne if I want to! Don’t need bodyguards to baby sit me.” You slow your speech just a little, raising your voice, making sure to appear more tipsy than what you really are. “Let me go!” you add with a theatrical gesture to free your wrist from the hold of your fake bodyguard.

With that, you walk quickly through the lounge, to the mostly empty terrace of the hotel. At this time of year, it’s deemed too cold to stay outside, and it’s late enough for the area to be occupied only by a couple of smokers. You settle against the wrought iron railing as far away from them as you could, and you wait, your back to the entrance of the terrace, facing the gorgeous view on Venice’s lagoon. The fresh air of the autumn night on your heated body is honestly welcomed.

If the info Seth provided on the spy was correct, it should not be long before he shows up, ready to play the white knight to the convincing damsel-in-distress show you just put up. Even if he doesn’t care about you, the whole mean bodyguard scene should be shady enough to catch his attention.

Bingo. You can hear footsteps coming in your direction. You close your eyes, and try to sound as upset as you can.

“Oh fuck off, I told you I’m a grow up woman!”

“You made that pretty clear earlier.” His voice is calm, warm, with the hint of a smile behind it, not really what you expected.

You turn to face him, and once again it’s not hard to act surprised, stricken by his beauty, his features even more handsome in the soft lightning of the balcony.

“Oh-oh I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else… I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be. You forgot your phone by the way.”

He hands you your phone that you purposefully forgot on the counter, giving him the convenient excuse to come to you. Your fingers intently linger against his just half a second, definitely longer than necessary, and you instantly regret your move because you suspect you’re more affected than him by it. 

“Thank you so much, Mister…”

“Bond. James Bond.” He answers with a delicious British accent, all charm and confidence.

“Thank you Mister Bond. You’re apparently better at keeping my belongings safe than my bodyguards.”

“Should I worry about them?”

“No, they are as dumb as they are huge, it’s just my husband's latest craze. ”

“Your husband?”

“He has a bit of an ego. Thinks everyone wants to steal his wife.”

“I can’t blame him. With such a woman on my side, I would be jealous too.”

“You’re being too nice. And you don’t know my husband. He’s... an unsavoury man.“

You’re not even lying. Well, Seth is not technically your husband, but he is indeed, unsavoury.

“Should I worry about him instead?”

“Perhaps… Depends on what you intend to do with his wife.” You pause, a seductive smile on your face. ”In this case you should maybe worry about my bodyguards.”

His smile matches your own, but he doesn’t seem destabilized by your obvious flirting.

“Your bodyguards, earlier, they seemed, how to put that politely, not really concerned with your well-being and boundaries.”

“You’re quite the observant man, Mister Bond.” It’s a compliment and yet you say it with just enough irony to make sure you’ll coax a reaction out of him.

“I just think a woman should be able to go about her life as she pleases.” he answers more seriously than he should.

“And a feminist, I see.“ you snort. 

“Why not?”

“I’ve known men for too long to still believe they care about us.” 

Once again, you don’t even have to lie to play this part. This specific sentence is cruelly true, and it will also serve your purpose: it’s both a taunt and a cry for help, the perfect opportunity for him to prove he’s not like the other men. Men usually can’t resist the bait. This spy shouldn’t be different.

“Now now you’re hurting my feelings.” he answers, mimicking offence as he puts his hand on his heart with an exaggerated painful look. “I thought you were kinder than that.” he adds, with a playful tone. 

You’re too clever to not recognize that negging technique those pathetic pick-up artists use, but you are at least two steps ahead of him. 

“Come on, you’re no fool, I’m sure you already know…”

You come a little bit closer and grab his cocktail glass. He lets you steal his drink with an amused look.

“...I’m not a kind woman.” 

You take a sip from the vodka martini, lips leaving a perfectly drawn trace of red lipstick on the fine rim of the glass, before handing him back. His mouth is slightly open as he watches you intently. He’s hooked. Good.

You open your clutch and retrieve the small card indicating your room number the concierge gave you when you checked in two days ago. 

“Thank you for the chat.” you whisper as you slide the card in his chest pocket while maintaining his intense gaze. The gesture has brought you even closer to him, his imposing stature even more obvious up close, and making you feel a weird rush of desire. Well, you won’t complain if you can have fun on the job for once.

You focus one more time to close your little show as you had planned. 

“See you later, Mister Bond.” You purr, conjuring your most sultry tone.

You leave him alone on the terrace, walking back inside the hotel, giving him a perfect view on your ass only covered by the thin fabric of your gown, tilting your hips with every step. You’re definitely gonna see him later, of that you are sure.

----

He had knocked on your door half an hour later, carrying a bottle of champagne and its bucket of ice, bringing you the drink you were denied earlier by your bodyguard.

You had laughed, the move both silly and kinda sweet. The champagne was forgotten really quick though when he started kissing you as soon as you had closed the door of your suite behind him. 

His hands were as warm as his lips, and as skilled as his tongue, as you soon found out, when he made you come using both. He was a surprisingly good lover, although a little rough and a little rushed, but still, he had let you ride him until you came for a second time, before finally focusing on his own pleasure. 

Then, toppling you on the bed, pinning you down under him with ease, he had fucked you fast and deep. One of his hands was holding your neck, not even squeezing, just resting there, feeling your frantic pulse against his palm, the gesture weirdly intimate. He had talked the whole time, dirty words and praises whispered in his warm voice, telling you how good you looked, how he couldn’t wait to tear that dress from your body, how wet and tight and perfect you were. He had finished with a grunt, fingers leaving your neck to rub your clit in time with his powerful thrusts, bringing you with him over the edge one last time.  

You had watched him, as he caught his breath next to you, each puff of air making his defined abs and broad chest move in a hypnotic way. 

“Would you mind bringing some champagne for me, honey?” 

“Do I look like a waitress to you?” you had retorted immediately. Gosh, he had been nice, but he was back to the usual macho bullshit. 

“Consider it the last wish of a dying man before your husband and bodyguards come for me.” he had added with a smile, gently tracing your collarbone with a finger. At least he has a sense of humor.

You had finally given up, risen and slipped on your silk negligee before making a show of opening the bottle. While he was sipping on his drink, you had acted out your revenge though, holding the ice cube you had discreetly stolen from the champagne bucket on his left thigh. He had choked on his glass, and you had giggled in victory. Your laugh had turned into a gasp when warm hands had seized yours and his body was on top of you again, heat pooling low into your belly too fast for your liking. The discarded ice cube had melted slowly on the sheet, but you couldn’t care less after his lips had met yours in a passionate kiss. 

---

From the small balcony of your suite, you’re watching the couple of boats still crossing the canal at this late hour, small lights dancing on the dark waves. How you wish you were on one of those, free to go wherever you wanted, anywhere but here, far away from Seth and this life. You can hear Bond fetching his clothes from around the room behind you. Soon he’ll be gone. He hadn’t said anything valuable, but you hope you had distracted him enough time for your boss to be happy.

“You’re shaking.” James’s white jacket is soon enveloping you, providing a better shield against the cold air than your thin silk kimono.

“I can help you, you know.” he adds seriously. 

“Help me with…?”

“Finding a new life, quitting crime.”

You choke a little and try to laugh it off.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” You say, a weird and confused expression on your face.

“You can drop the act. I know the truth.” 

What in the…How does he...? you start to panic for real now. He sounds so sure and so calm, and he’s a fucking spy, and everything went so smoothly according to your plan you didn’t think for a second he was the one playing you, not the other way around?

Dreaded realization dawns onto you like a cold shower.

“You know nothing James.” you retort, tone suddenly icy. 

“This…” he says holding your left hand in front of your face “... this is not a wedding band on your ring finger. And those men downstairs are not your bodyguards, they’re your colleagues. But you were not lying on one thing though, your husband, or more accurately your boss, is indeed an unsavory man.” 

Fuck. You’re fucked. He’s gonna arrest you or something, and then Seth will come to get you, and the organization will fear you talked, so they're gonna ask him to kill you, and...

“But I can help.” James offers before your mind can spiral further down.

You stay silent for a second, pondering what seems like a sincere opportunity. 

“What do you expect in return?” your question is just a whisper, your chest so tight you feel like you’re gonna faint any minute.

“A few names. Maybe a testimony if there is a trial. And right now, helping me catch your boss.”

Leaving Seth behind is a thing, selling him up to the police - no, worse, to the secret services - is another. You’re not ready for that level of betrayal. Even if the blind love is gone, you still care about him somehow. A mix of pure physical attraction and gratefulness for the way he protected you all those years, in his own twisted way, sure, but still. Some would have left you to your certain death, but not him. 

“I’ll be signing my death warrant.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“Not from my organization, you can’t.” Tears are pricking your eyes. 

“Please, consider my offer.” he almost begs.

“Please, leave.” 

He doesn’t linger and it’s only after he has left quietly that you realize you still have his jacket on your trembling shoulders. The comforting weight and warmth of the garment makes you want to cry. But you don’t have any tears left to shed tonight. You need a new plan. Maybe this one will involve Bond’s offer, maybe you will hand him over to Seth. Or maybe you’ll just leave them both to their little war, letting them kill one another.  

You’re not a kind woman, after all. 

[frosted-night]

Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one.  This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

[warmblanketwhump]

safe enough to fall

a little university-themed thing I wrote using @sicktember prompts: comfort item, sneaky temperature check, medicine, unlikely caregiver, and lightly inspired by these prompts

the grip of the winter’s cold was their constant, unrelenting companion - but sometimes, B just wished it would be a little less faithful.

It doesn’t ease in the morning, when B wakes up coughing with a cold nose and stiff limbs. It stays as B shivers through the lukewarm shower and the hurried layering of clothes over damp, goosebumped skin. It sticks to them like cling wrap on the bus, in the lecture hall, the windy walk to their next class, makes them tense their rattling jaw, and leaves them hunched over and huddled up, desperate to conserve any scrap of heat.

This was a fact of their university existence - that after the pleasant crispness of fall, their poor, scholarship-funded body was plunged into four months of frozen hell. They didn’t like to complain - after all, they were getting a free education. But no one told them how brutal their university’s winters would be, nor that dorm heating was little more than a few puffs of warm air every hour, or that regardless of how many layers they pulled on, they’d be chilled to the bone until late March.

Their final class of the week is in a drafty science lab, and they hold back a groan. The cold's not the only source of their dread - it was the thought of spending 90 minutes with their perky, overly friendly lab partner, A.

A, whose parents were well-off, well-known benefactors of their university. A, who lived in a nice house with proper heating and had the money for a warm winter coat. A, who obliviously chattered on about anything and everything. Besides that, they were just so...happy. All the time.

The can afford to be, B thought miserably. There was no way all that sunshine could be real.

B really tried to tamp down their bitterness, but it was hard to listen to someone gush on about their amazing weekend their family spent on some tropical island when B spent the same weekend wrapped up in blankets, trying to stay warm enough to study their nomenclature notes.

Two minutes before class, A bounds into the lab like a freed golden retriever and begins their usual volley of caffeinated questions, which B responds to in short, clipped answers. Suddenly, the questions stop and A’s brows furrow.

“You look cold. Are you okay?”

B shifts on their stool and tucks their fingers into the sleeves of their worn secondhand coat, pulling it tighter with a shudder. “I am cold. It’s winter.” They cough weakly into their elbow - the nagging cough has gripped them for weeks now.

“Are you sick?”

Direct, then. That was new. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t have a fever or anything.” In truth, they had been feeling a little lower than usual the past couple of days, the chill a little deeper, the aches more pronounced, the cough a bit more painful. But in their book, that was hardly enough call themselves sick. B sniffles and A opens their mouth to comment further, but the professor calls the class to attention, and the moment is gone.

90 minutes later, they’ve got their work cut out for them - a ten-page lab report that’s going to count for nearly a quarter of their final grade. And as luck would have it, it was a partner project, which meant B got to spend more time with the equivalent of human rocket fuel.

“So...do you want to just knock this out tonight?” A's eyes dart around nervously.

B frowns - it’s almost the weekend, and they figured A would have plans with friends this evening. But B sure doesn’t have anything going on., so they don’t protest. “No… I s’pose we should get as much done as possible while it’s still fresh. Want to go to the library?”

“Ugh." A cringes. "Do we have to? That place is like a tomb.”

B huffs indignantly. “It's not that bad," they mumble in a weak defense of their favorite study spot. A shoots them a glare, and B rolls their eyes. "Do you have somewhere better? It's Friday, so most places are closing up.”

“Well, my parents decided to go on some last-minute ski trip to the Alps again, so my place is free," A says as they step out into the biting wind. "Plus, I have a ton of food and it's actually warm in there, unlike these buildings.”

The promise of decent heating and food that wasn't from the dining hall was enough for B. "Fine. Your place." The pair trudge through the bitter wind as the sun begins to set, and soon they arrive at A's parents’ home - a beautiful, winding estate just a couple minutes away from campus. B has to bite their lip to keep their jaw off the ground - in the blustering snow, this place looks straight out of a Christmas card. Another reminder of how they don’t fit in this world.

Will you stop? B chastises themselves. A having money isn't a personal attack on you. Just enjoy the free food, finish the assignment and get over it.

Despite the towering exterior, B's house was quite cozy, colored in warm neutrals and filled with soft, comfortable furniture. Just past the mudroom, they spot a big living room filled with with an enormous overstuffed couch, squashy-looking pillows, and soft throw blankets. Everything about this place screams warm. A rubs their arms, suddenly aware of how cold they are. The heat nearly makes them dizzy, and they can feel the temperature difference as it seeps into their cold skin.

"Want some cocoa?" A tosses their bag into the corner and heads for an electric kettle in the kitchen, and B follows. "It always helps me warm up." B nods. A couple minutes later, A pushes over a steaming mug with the top entirely covered in marshmallows.

B wraps their chilled fingers around the mug and takes a sip, and the warm, rich liquid feels like heaven to their cold body. "That's amazing."

A smiles. "It's the good stuff." They sip in a surprising silence for a few moments, before A sighs in resignation. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, this report isn't gonna write itself." They grab a bag of popcorn and nod their head toward the living room, and B follows dutifully. A flicks on the gas fireplace and tosses B a throw blanket, and the pair gets to work.

------------------------------

After a couple hours of studying, three instances of indignantly thrown popcorn, and a dramatic reading of the periodic table, B realized that they may have misjudged A. Deep down, under the bubbly exterior, A was a genuinely kind, sweet person. It wasn't an act - they just were human sunshine. And the longer they spent time with them, the more B realized they didn't mind their company at all.

"Alright." A drops their pencil and rubs their eyes. "If I have to balance one more equation, my brain's gonna explode. Study break time." A flips on the TV and puts the volume on low.

B leans their head back on the couch and pulls their throw blanket to their chin, trying to ward off the shivery feeling in their core. Despite the heat of the fire, the mug of hot chocolate, and the thick blanket, they just can’t seem to get warm.

Their face feels hot, but their blood feels chilled and heavy, the weight of it making them ache deep down in their bones. B wraps their arms around their knees, trying to rub away the throbbing pain and get some warmth into their skin. They glance out the picture window at the now-blowing snow. It's gonna be a miserable walk home.

"B, you're shivering." A's turning to look at them now.

B startles. "It's-It's nothing. Just a chill." The concern in A's voice triggers their flight response. "I....I should probably get back to the dorms. It’s late–" They're cut off with a hacking cough that leaves them breathless and they wince at the ache in their chest.

"B, it's snowing, and you haven't even had dinner-"

"Where's my jacket?" They push themselves up and toss the throw blanket off, instantly regretting it as the air invades their pocket of hard fought warmth. They’re trembling and dizzy and desperately freezing, but they cannot stay here. Then, the world tilts and they fall back on to the couch. For a moment, they're just laying in an icy, spinning world, trying to catch their breath, when warmth suddenly envelops them.

A's tucking the same thick grey blanket around their shivering form. As they pull away, their hand lightly brushes over B's neck, then freezes. B twists away from the gentle touch, but it’s too late. Realization floods over A's face. Caught. "You lied. You are sick."

B groans, even as their fingers weave into the chunky knit and pull the warm layer closer. "A, please. Just let me go home. I'm probably contagious. You don't want me here."

"B, you look like death warmed over. I'm not sending you out in a blizzard when you're feverish like this. I won't do it." There's a spark in their eyes and a set to A's jaw that dares B to challenge them.

B leans back, defeated. Even though they want nothing more than to run out of this room, they're too weak to stand and too cold to move. So here they'll stay.

It's okay. Someone's here. You can give in now.

No. I can't. I can't let them see me like this.

What choice do you have? You already look awful. Let them help you.

A covers them with another blanket and places a gentle hand on their back, rubbing slowly. The firelight flickers, casting light and shadow across their solemn face. “B. Tell me what you're feeling, and I'll get you what you need.”

B swallows down the rising panic, the helpless vulnerability they feel, and takes a shallow, shaky breath. “I…I guess I just feel….not right. I’m always cold...but it's...worse.” They sniffle weakly, trying to still and order their swirling thoughts. “Chills, fever, cough, sore throat, kinda stuffed up. And it just hurts everywhere.”

A nods slowly, then leaves the room. They return in a few minutes with a few small bottles, carefully scanning the labels and holding them up for B to see.

“Can you take this? Any problems with this one?” B had to take a moment and match the brand names with their usual knockoff brands, but soon they had a couple over the counter medicines picked out, along with something for their cough.

A glances at the medicine labels once more. "This one says to take with food. I've got some leftover chicken and dumpling soup I can heat up - does that sound okay?"

B nods almost imperceptibly. "Sounds wonderful." A gets up to heat the soup, and B feels the anxiety rising in their stomach when they're not in the room with them. A returns with a mug and manages to gently spoon a few sips of broth into B's mouth before B starts falling asleep, clutching the grey blanket even tighter to their shoulders.

A smiles sadly. “That blanket's my favorite whenever I'm not feeling good. It's the best thing you could have to fight off what you’ve got. Trust me.”

B curls into the soft fabric. It was as if the warm environment of the apartment and the comfort of the blanket had been a signal that it was safe to leave survival mode, rest for a moment, open the floodgates that had been holding back whatever had been ailing them for weeks.

After B takes their medicine, A’s eyes shift awkwardly around the room. “So….when you’re sick, do you like having someone with you? Or do you want to be by yourself?”

A sudden rush of emotion crashes over B. They’d so rarely had the choice. It takes all they’ve got not to throw themselves around A and beg them not to leave. “Stay, please,” they ask in a small, trembling voice. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smiles halfway and gently pats B’s leg. “Seeing as how I live here, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” They take their spot at the end of the couch and pull B’s legs over their own, flicking the TV to a familiar movie. B tries to keep up with the plot, but they keep falling in and out of a fitful, restless sleep, tossing, turning, unable to get comfortable enough.

When B’s about ready to cry from exhaustion, A’s there, covering them up with another blanket, bringing them a glass of water, gently stroking the damp hair off their forehead before laying a cold cloth over it. They flinch at first, but the cool dampness eases the fire of their fever, even for just a moment. The last thing B remembers before falling unconscious is a gentle hand squeezing theirs.

It could be minutes or hours later when they jolt awake from a fever dream in a cold sweat, choking and coughing. They’ve kicked off their blankets and the cloth is nowhere to be found, but the chills are back in full force. A appears in B’s blurred vision, hand held to B’s forehead. “Poor thing. Your fever’s worse,” they murmur.

B’s still gasping for breath, curled up in the fetal position, body wracked by the shakes as they try force the words through their chattering teeth. “A...It's so cold. I’m so scared.”

If B was more lucid, they’d see something in A’s eyes crack wide open at their weak, fearful cries. A pulls the trusted grey blanket from the floor and wraps it back around B, rubbing their arms to try and make them feel warmer. There's something in the tenderness of the gesture, and B’s panicked gasps turn into soft, quiet sobs. They try and cover their face with one hand, but A’s hand is there, catching their wrist and wiping the tears away with their thumb.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get through tonight, alright?” A’s voice matches their usual cheery demeanor, but B can see the fear in their own eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing either.

“Why are you helping me?” B whispers in a tear-roughened voice.

A shrugs. "You're sick. You need help. Is it that so surprising?"

B's eyes flash a delirious spark. "You don't get it. I'm a broke scholarship student. I'm nothing like you. I'm not fun, or bubbly, or rich, or any of those things you are, and I don't fit in here. So why?"

B can't stop the words now, every single insecurity laid bare. "Why do you try to talk to me when I'm nothing but rude to you? Why'd you invite me here? Am I just a project to you? Why are you helping me? I'm not worth it!" The words spill out before B can stop them, and the raw hurt in A's eyes nearly rips B's heart out of their chest.

B claps their hand over their mouth, tears flooding their eyes. Now they've done it. They've laid it all out there. A's gonna kick them to the curb. And B won't blame them one bit.

But instead, A just looks at them, and pulls B into a hug. Their voice wavers only a bit as they whisper in B's ear: "You're not a project. You are completely worth being cared for. And you’re not the only one who knows what it feels like to not fit somewhere. Trust me.”

Alone. In a big, empty house. Studying on a Friday night. No plans of their own.

A, are you lonely, too?

Their words are so simple.

And yet they're everything B didn't know they needed to hear. A's got one arm around their shoulders, and one hand threaded through their sweaty, fever-damp hair, and they're cradling B so tightly it’s like they're the one who needs to be held.

B can't find the words to apologize or comfort them back. They're too tired for that. But they wrap their other arm around A and let their head rest on their shoulder. They stay like that for ages until their head begins to drop, and A shifts so they’re both laying down, B curled against A, A’s arm wrapped around their shoulders as they tuck a blanket around them both.

And finally, finally, B lets go. It's safe to fall, this time around. Because for the first time, there's someone there to catch them.

[cdroloisms]

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?” 

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Obnoxious Couple | Stiles Stilinski

✦ pairing — Stiles Stilinski x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 1.3k

✦ request — Obviously the reader(female preferably) would be plus sized. Maybe, she’s having a bad day concerning her weight and image. And she compares herself to Lydia and Allison. So she wants comfort from Stiles but he’s not there atm so she takes in of his hoodies, which doesn’t fit correctly,and she gets frustrated and stiles walks in and sees her distress and then comforts her. Maybe end it with a minor make out sesh. But nothing beyond that?

✦ warnings — angst, self-esteem issues, some vagueness in an attempt to not trigger anybody’s dysmorphia, light fluff.

════════════════════════

Stiles found you crying at the foot of the bed, arms tangled in black fabric as sobs raked your body.

It wasn’t the first time he saw you cry, he knew it wouldn’t be the last either, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“Baby,” he softly spoke to get your attention.

You lifted your head, startled. Embarrassment washed over you, only making you sob harder.

He approached you slowly as though you were a hurt animal, frowning as he tried to figure out what you were wearing.

Crouching down, he hesitated as his hand trembled. He eventually placed it on your back.

You couldn’t stop crying — you didn’t know how you’d ever look at him in the eye and explain what was going on.

Your day started poorly, honestly. From the moment you made the mistake of looking at yourself in the mirror while attempting to get ready, you knew it would be one of those days.

It made you consider canceling plans with your friends which in hindsight you should have done.

But you didn’t. You sucked it up and met Allison and Lydia. You missed them, life often got in the way and you didn’t want to lose them just because you weren’t teenagers with free time anymore.

However, the moment you arrived at the meeting point, you knew how badly you had fucked up. They looked so pretty and so happy to see you — that should have been enough, and it was until you observed Allison was wearing her partner’s oversized t-shirt.

People weren’t supposed to feel like shit around their friends, even less when their friends had missed them and are glad to see them. So feeling like shit prompted you to feel guilty.

You knew it wasn’t completely rational, but you couldn’t help the way you felt.

You came up with an excuse to leave early. Allison and Lydia knew you were lying, but they let you be — you needed space.

You truly did, but you didn’t want to be alone. And when you felt like not being alone although it would be wiser, you always went to Stiles.

He wasn’t home. He didn’t tell you he’d be busy or what he’d do while you were out so everything you could do was wait.

Your shared bedroom felt too big without him and too small all at once.

Big. Big. Big. Big. Your brain wasn’t helping.

Comfort became a need as the minutes passed. You had always found Stiles’s scent comforting and seeing as he didn’t seem to be getting home soon, you took the liberty to pick a piece of clothing from his closet.

As you inhaled his scent, you remembered how good Allison looked in her partner’s clothes.

That was what lead you to cry on the bedroom floor, stuck in your boyfriend’s hoodie.

You knew the idea had been silly, he was smaller than you, but you had to try to fit in his clothes. You had always wanted to wear something of his.

“I just wish I could wear your clothes like my friends wear their partners’.” Admitting it was not only embarrassing but unbelievably sad.

You had never told him how you felt about sharing clothes so he wouldn’t get upset. What if he didn’t even want to wear yours?

“I know.” He rubbed your back in circles. “But their partners are bigger than me.”

“Well, your girlfriend is bigger than their girlfriends,” you bitterly answered. “And than you.”

He sighed heavily. “Did you expect me to change my body when I started dating you?”

“No.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to change yours either. I’m not an asshole.” He made a pause then admitted, “I mean, I am, but not like that and not towards you.”

You attempted to huff a laugh, but your clogged nose didn’t let you.

He wiped your tears. “Let’s get you out of this thing and clean your pretty face.”

You lifted your arms, avoiding his face as you waited for him to get you unstuck from his hoodie.

Stiles tugged on the fabric and pulled the hoodie off you. “Oooh, is this new?” he asked, referring to your blouse.

You nodded.

“It’s pretty. You look good.” He threw the hoodie onto the bed and stood up. “You need help?”

“No. I’ll wash my face in the bathroom.”

You looked down at the sink as you stood in the bathroom. You felt stupid for crying over a hoodie that didn’t fit; clothes hadn’t fit you before and it had never hurt like this.

Cold water hit your skin and you reminded yourself to avoid the mirror as you lifted your head to dab your face dry.

What would Stiles think of you now? Would this make him realize he wanted to be with somebody who fit in his clothes?

It took you some courage to go back to the bedroom.

“Come here, baby.” Stiles patted the other side of the bed.

He had already changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. As you approached him, you observed the tv control was on his lap.

You sat with your back against the headboard. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing yet.”

You hummed.

“Hey.” He placed his hand on your thigh so you’d look at him. When you did, he said, “You can always talk to me when you have a bad day.”

“I know.” In fact, you often told him how you were feeling and why, but this particular thing was different. “It’s kinda embarrassing, though... I mean, it’s not something I can suddenly change, is it?”

“No,” he admitted. “I just don’t want you to go through that all by yourself.”

“Yeah, but you’ll tell me there’s nothing wrong with me or whatever and—“ You interrupted yourself.

“And what?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to put it out there and manifest it or something.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, but it’s normal to feel bad sometimes.” He turned the TV off, shuffling on the bed to face you properly. “Look, I get insecure every time you hang out with your tall coworker, but you come home to me, so who cares?”

“Yeah, but come on! You fit in my clothes but I don’t fit in yours, it’s...”

“Cute?”

You glared at him.

“I think it’s cute,” he assured you. “Besides, you smell better than I do.”

“I like the way you smell.”

“You can wear other things I own. A scarf? I think you’d look beautiful in my yellow scarf.”

“That’s a nice scarf,” you conceded.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “We can also wear matching jackets or something if you want.”

“You hate it when people wear matching clothes.”

“Maybe it’s time we become an obnoxious couple.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Resting your head on his shoulder, you told him, “I think we’re already obnoxious.”

“How dare you?” he feigned offense. “We’re perfect, baby.”

“Whatever you say.”

He wiggled his shoulder so you’d lift your head.

You did so and gazed at him. “What?”

“Give me a kiss.”

You gave his lips a peck. Stiles frowned and reached over to take you by the face. He brought you onto him and captured your lips with his.

Kissing him back, you shifted so you wouldn’t hurt him or yourself. Stiles prodded your mouth open and deepened the kiss, holding you tight.

Once you parted, you rested your forehead on his. He smiled at you. “You know I love you, right? Like a lot?”

“I know.” You inhaled and exhaled softly. “I love you too. So much.”

“Mmhmm. I like hearing it.”

It was your time to smile.

As the day came to an end, the room got darker and although you didn’t know what time it was exactly, you knew many hours had passed since you left your friends.

“I should probably text Lydia and Allison...”

“Yeah, you should.” Stiles allowed you to move as he sat up. “Can I choose what we watch?”

You nodded before leaving the bed in search for your cellphone.

[sleephyjhs]

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

[teasty]

kiss yourself (01) | h.js (m)

● pairing: han jisung x (female) reader 

● genre: angst, smut, fluff  ||  fwb to lovers au 

● warnings: consumption of alcohol | degradation + praise | reader and jisung are not in a relationship at the beginning! | choking | semi - public sex | suggestive dialogue | profanity | hair pulling |

● words: 6.9k ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ summary: 

It all started when you and your best friend for life, Han Jisung, got a little bit too tipsy at a party and ended up waking up naked in the same bed. After that unfortunate night, you and Jisung confirmed there be a distinguished “friends with benefits” relationship between the two of you, with a few rules. 

Number One: No one else is supposed to know about this relationship. 

Number Two: The minute one of the two of you starts a serious relationship with someone, the benefits are cut off immediately. 

Number Three: Have to respect the other’s wishes, if one doesn’t want to do it, then there’s no argument.

Number Four: No falling in love.

But, when Jisung starts crushing over your classmate, you start to break the rules. One by one.

a/n: first story here :D my dirty mind couldn’t resist smut so here we go

CHAPTER ONE | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.”

It was a stupid way to start of a weird relationship with one of your best friends, Han Jisung. A stupid way to let yourself succumb to his stupid antics and a stupid way to let him be more than a friend, but less than a lover. 

It was a few months ago, and your second year of university was just starting up. Jisung had convinced you to go to some party the week before school would start. But, you were reluctant at first. Unlike Jisung, you were never too much of a party animal. Never too much of a social person to begin with. Jisung was another story entirely. He would always be out late and wouldn’t go back to his house or his dorm room until late, according to his roommate, Jeongin (who thankfully kept tabs on Jisung for you whenever you were suspicious that Jisung wasn’t telling the truth to you and would go out to some party, when he would tell you that he’s just going to meet up with other friends. You didn’t want to overbear him, but you worried for his health at times). 

It was your first party, too. You had never bothered going to one in high school, not wanting to be crowded by drunk teenagers, being thrown up on or spilled on, or watching two people fuck in the corner of the room. It was never your go - to, but Jisung had convinced you to go after he promised that he’d never leave your side, even if he was being dragged away by “some hot chick trying to hop on his dick”. Even if you had wanted to say no, you couldn’t get a “no” past his pleading eyes. So, you had hesitantly agreed to go, and he was beyond excited to take you to your first party. 

He even helped you pick out an outfit, and had taken hours finding the right one for the occasion. You’d never been very fashionable, unlike Jisung, who usually decked out in expensive clothes and accessories (you preferred comfortable, classic clothes like hoodies and leggings instead of skin - tight jeans and overly designed shirts). Jisung had basically tore your closet apart trying to find the “right outfit”. It was tiring, but you will admit that you had fun with trying on new clothes and hearing the praise from Jisung. He had eventually chosen an outfit for you that you felt quite uncomfortable in, but nonetheless beautiful. You had worn a tight pair of black leather pants, a maroon red tank top (that was tucked into the leather pants) and a black jacket. You will admit that it was sexy, and Jisung seemed to like it. 

A lot. 

But, he claimed that guys there would be drooling over you and trying to sleep with you, but he’d be there to keep you safe. Even so, you wondered why he’d make you wear such an outfit to a party if he was only going to keep you away from a one night stand, one you wouldn’t even remember anyways. He did claim that he wanted you to ‘keep your innocence’, which was total bullshit since he knew you weren’t a virgin (you lost it to some jock in high school who had been eyeing you during a football game) and definitely not innocent, as you both liked to constantly make dirty jokes here and there. 

The party was at some rich kid’s house, and their parents were out of town. Their house was gorgeous and big, but filled to the brim with loud university students, some you had even recognised as your classmates. Jisung had kept his hand interlocked with yours as he pulled you through the crowd at the entrance and to the living room, where there was a table full of food and drinks, and even a cliche bowl of spiked punch. You were glad not as many people crowded the table, but Jisung obviously had some friends there, since he hugged one of them before going back to you. 

“Hey, Hyunjin. Felix. Have you guys met (Y/N)?” Was the first thing he had said to them, and you were somewhat flustered by the sudden attention. But you suspected that you should have expected that kind of attention, since Jisung seemed oh - so excited that he’s taking you to a party. 

“I don’t think we have,” said one of the two. You were taken aback by how deep his voice was. It wasn’t forced either, his voice was so relaxed, you almost felt like you’d be pulled into a deep sleep if you were to listen to his voice for hours. He was handsome, too. His bleached hair was a little long, but not as long as the other man’s, with brown roots peaking through the top of his head. “The name’s Lee Felix. I didn’t know Jisung kept such pretty friends away from us.” 

“Oh, don’t be a flirt,” says the other man with long hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. You had concluded that he was Hyunjin, if the other was Felix, “And, no. I think I’ve seen you around though. But not in… those types of clothes.” 

“Yeah, and you call me a flirt?” Felix cocks a brow at Hyunjin, who only glares back. 

“It’s not flirting if it’s just stating a fact. I’ve seen her around… but in oversized hoodies and leggings,” Hyunjin counters. 

“Alright, alright, pipe down,” Jisung interferes, stopping what would have become a petty argument about who’s flirting and who’s not. “Well, since you both can’t make a decent introduction… (Y/N), this is Felix,” he points to the man with the deep voice, “and this is Hwang Hyunjin. I think you guys might be in the same chemistry class last year, am I right?” 

“Oh, yeah…!” Hyunjin claps his hands together, “You’re the one who nearly blew up the whole class! Oh, I remember, now.” Hyunjin and Felix laugh together, and Jisung gives you a weird look. 

“It’s a long story,” you sigh, chuckling along with their contagious laughter, “Let’s just say that I was too tired to function and got mixture A mixed up with mixture B and almost made a really severe chemical reaction. I don’t think it would have blown up the whole school, though.” You fold your arms, and Hyunjin shrugs his shoulder.  

“Who knows,” Hyunjin says, and you squint at him. “I’m not a chemistry genius, but it could have been bad. That’s not the point. I’m glad to meet you, (Y/N). I hope we can be closer.” 

“Ditto,” Felix smiles down at you, and you chuckle awkwardly, flustered, “You seem like an interesting person. How did you and Jisung meet?” 

“We used to be neighbors, like, a decade ago,” Jisung answers for you, leaning against the table filled with drinks and food, “Since we were the same age, we stuck together. Even after I moved again, we still talked like every day over the phone until university hit. Thankfully we got into the same school, and we both are going to live on campus, so… It’s been a lot easier.” 

“Surprised you two were able to stay close even through distance,” Felix comments, and you and Jisung share a brief look and smile, “Not a lot of people are able to hold a strong relationship when the only thing they have is a phone or computer. Take Hyun for example, he couldn’t stay friends with this one chick even if he tried.” 

“Wasn’t my fault she sucked at holding conversations. She always expected me to make up all the interesting shit. Kinda glad she ghosted me, now,” Hyunjin laughs, almost defensively, as if embarrassed by such a situation. 

“It was your fault for trying to cling to her,” Jisung intervenes.  

“Oh shut up, shortstack,” Hyunjin grumbles, and Jisung’s brows raise in challenge. 

“Say that again, pretty boy, I dare you,” Jisung threatens, and you glare over at him, but he didn’t seem to care for your glare. Hyunjin and Jisung did end up getting into a petty argument about it and you had to stop it by asking Jisung to show you around the place. But, not before trading numbers with Felix and Hyunjin, since they insisted that they wanted to get to know you better (Felix still grumbling irritably about how Jisung kept “such a pretty friend” away from them for so long). You wouldn’t deny new friends, even if they were Jisung’s party animal friends and flirtatious, it didn’t really matter to you. You could use some new friends, anyways. 

You had met a few more of Jisung’s friends (who all seemed to be so handsome that your heart would race every time they’d smile down at you or talk to you), three seniors,Seo Changbin, Lee Minho and Christopher Bang, and another, younger man named Seungmin. Out of all of them, Seungmin and Christopher seemed the most genuine. Minho, Felix, Changbin and Hyunjin just seemed pretty flirtatious. You could admit that you were intimidated by them, and by the party in general, but with Jisung next to you the whole way, you had at least some sense of security. 

Your first drink of the night wasn’t until a few hours into the party. You were a little bit more comfortable with the setting. Jisung had sat you down in one of the living rooms, as you learned there were many. Not as many people were in this room other than people talking or flirting. It felt nice to finally sit down on such a comfortable couch, since you had been standing on heels the whole night, and relax. Jisung had already had a few mixed drinks, and you could see his face getting redder and redder due to the alcohol. 

He handed you a plastic red cup filled with something orange that stunk of different kinds of liquor. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too strong,” Jisung reassured, and you huffed softly. A bit nervous to drink it, but you did, anyway. It wasn’t terrible, but you could taste the liquor clearly through the citrusy taste. Jisung watched you as your face grew from confused to scrunched up from the bitter taste. You had alcohol before, but every time you had it, it was like the first time all over again. But, when you got used to the taste, the cup was empty in a flash. 

You didn’t know when it started kicking in, but after you had Jisung fetch more drinks and you tried to stand up, you immediately plopped back onto the couch as an instant wave of fatigue washed over you. Your head started to ache, and it was getting warmer than it should have been. Sure, it was nearly the end of summer, but it was like someone shut off the air conditioning. So, you took off your jacket while waiting for Jisung to come back. It felt like forever until he came back, and you instinctively began to miss him. He’d stayed by your side the whole night, and it was weird without him. It was lonely, too, even if there were other people in the same room. You were too nervous to talk to them, though.  

When he did, and handed the drink to you, the minute he had sat down, you clung to him. 

“Woah, you alright?” Jisung laughs it off as you take the red cup in one hand and the other latching around his strong bicep. You were never usually one for skinship, but now was a different story. Each time you looked at Jisung, you felt like he was going to magically disappear. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so anxious or just you being lonely, but you weren’t really going to let go anytime soon. At first, Jisung was tense, and it took him a minute to get used to you huddling so close to him. 

Like the first, the cup you had was empty sooner rather than later, even though Jisung advised you to sip on it instead of gulping it down, like you had been. After that drink, you didn’t order him to get another drink, you were too focused on the feeling of his bicep to ask for another. 

“You can’t be drunk after two mixed drinks,” Jisung said after a while. 

“Not drunk… just a bit tipsy, is all,” you responded, more of a low grunting than a talking voice. You liked how you could hear Jisung’s voice loud and clear the closer you were to him. 

“Sure. Your tolerance isn’t very high, you know,” Jisung chuckles, and your body moves along with the bounce of his for each laugh. You only grunted in response, having already known that. “And, by the way, you don’t have to cling onto me like that. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Shut up,” you snapped, but you didn’t really want him to. You just didn’t want him to talk about you letting him go, since you didn’t want to. To prove your point, you squeezed harder onto his arm, “I’m comfy. Lemme have this moment.” Jisung deeply sighs and complies. After that, there’s a comfortable silence. 

You were staring at the way your legs pressed against his as his legs relaxed in a (hot) manspread. His head leaned back, slightly tilted towards yours, which was squished against his shoulder. His hand rested delicately against your thigh, not moving much but sometimes his hand would press against your thigh. It was nice, and you could faintly hear his heartbeat. 

You and Jisung weren’t strangers to cuddling, as you both had a lot of sleepovers before (with a strict talking to from your parents about having sex, and why not to do it), but this was different. Almost intimate. You’re both adults now, so cuddling like you would years ago when you were both barely teenagers wouldn’t be so innocent. Especially with Jisung’s obvious sex drive, things wouldn’t go so well. You both had never done anything like that, either. You both have never even kissed before. Well, there were times when he’d kiss your cheek or hand and vise versa, but nothing more than a peck and nothing more than that. 

You wouldn’t deny your attraction to Jisung. You couldn’t really see yourself in a serious relationship with him, but damn is he attractive. He really matured over the years, too. His beautiful brown hair is in need of a cut, but you liked it a bit long. He might not be the tallest man alive, but his face made up for it. Even if he had the cheeks of a chipmunk, his jawline was as sharp as a knife. You could stare at him for hours, just admiring how he was built. You wondered if he felt the same about you. If he could stare at you for hours just admiring your beauty. Of course, it would probably never even cross his mind, even if Jisung would say how pretty you looked with a specific hairdo or how you looked beautiful in a certain outfit. 

You found yourself staring at him as your thoughts carried on. Your arm unhooked from around his, and you watched how his eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping, but you could tell he wasn’t by the way his hand gripped you just above your knee. You were staring at him, and then at his neck. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. 

Your mind grew hazy, void of thought as your lips parted slightly, your breath fanning his neck. His hand squeezed harder around your leg and you could faintly see his brows furrow. He doesn’t do anything nor say anything, but you watch as his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. You want more of a reaction. You don’t know why and you can’t form a reason why, but you do. You push yourself a little bit further until your lips connect just underneath his jaw. Your warm tongue pressing against his warm skin. You can feel how his hand trembles and the way his leg twitches underneath your own. Jisung emits a breathy groan, and you can feel it against your tongue. 

“(Y/N)...” Jisung musters out, but you only press wet, slow kisses along the side of his neck, “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is deeper, raspier and darker. Almost scary. If you weren’t so blank in the mind, you would think he’s mad. But all you can think about is urging him on further. You don’t want to answer him. You don’t have an answer to begin with. 

“Just relax,” You whisper closely to his ear, nipping at the skin below his ear, and he sharply inhales. At this point, you don’t care who’s watching or why you’re doing this. The soft, breathy sounds Jisung emits makes you feel different, and the feeling of his warm skin against your tongue is addicting. “Don’t push me away.” You whisper again, one of your hands creeping up over his defined chest and along his neck. 

“You have no fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into,” Jisung groans out, and you only chuckle against him. Briefly halting your wet kisses to his neck to smile lazily. “I’m being serious, (Y/N).” You know he’s serious just by the tone of his voice. 

“Mmm…” was all you responded with as you pressed your body against the side of his. Your hand gripping his shirt as your leg creeps over his more and more. Edging yourself on top of him. “Sunggie…” you teased him by groaning his nickname into his neck. Sucking gently on his skin, giving it a blue and purple hue. You gave him multiple marks, and his hand caressed your arm gently as you breathily moan his name against his neck, “Sunggie… Jisung - ah.”

And that seemed to break him. His hand snaps up to grip your cheeks, aggressively pulling your head away from him to make you look him in the eyes. And it’s a look you’ve never seen in him before. It wasn’t anger or disgust in his half lidded eyes, but a pure sense of utter lust and desire. His hand grips your chin, his fingers pressing against your cheek as his eyes examine your face. His face is a pretty pink from the alcohol and you guessed from him blushing. Now, you’re on top of him. Straddling his lap, and you can feel his hard - on underneath you. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, (Y/N). I’m giving you one last chance before I take you back to my place and break you,” Jisung says, and you liked this side of him. Sure, you’ve seen him being aggressive, but not like this. No, this is different. You don’t have much courage to speak, so all you can do is let your tongue fall out of your mouth and guide his index finger in between your lips. His mouth parts slightly in shock as he watches your mouth engulf his finger. 

“Fine, you wanna be like that,” Jisung brows furrow, and he stands up quickly, and you let out a yelp as his hand yanks itself from your mouth as both of his hands latch around your thighs. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your arms around his neck, “We’re going home.” 

It wasn’t easy, leaving without being spotted by one of Jisung’s friends. Felix had come over to see us when he saw Jisung’s arm wrapped around you as your head stuffed into his neck (teasingly kissing his neck). “Oi, Jisung. Everything good?” 

“Yep,” Jisung gives Felix a convincing smile, and you smile against his neck, “I’m taking (Y/N) home. She got a bit too crazy tonight.” 

“Really? She’s been pretty quiet,” Felix notes. 

“Well, she has her different sides to her,” Jisung laughs, “Uh, yeah, well, I gotta get her home, Felix. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Let Hyunjin and everyone else know that I’m leaving.” 

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, bud. Take care of her for me, alright?” 

“Oh, I will,” Jisung smiles, and you squeezed tighter onto him. 

After that, it was foggy. All you could remember was how Jisung treated you. Calling you dirty things all while praising you. Making sure you were alright while tearing you apart blissfully. 

It was the next morning where everything was decided. 

You were the first to wake up, having the sun shining brightly in your face. You had a blazing headache, and you could feel your head pulsing that morning. You couldn’t even open your eyes after you woke up because it hurt so bad. You hadn’t even considered where you were or why you were completely nude at first. But, when it hit you that there was only a thin, soft blanket covering you, you had the courage to open your eyes and see where you were. 

It was a familiar room, that’s for sure. The bed was much bigger than your own, and you usually had more pillows and blankets than this, so it wasn’t your room. It didn’t really hit you where you were before you looked to your side. You nearly screamed when you saw Han Jisung, your best friend laying next to you. His back turned to you, and completely shirtless. You held the blanket around your chest. You stared at him for a moment, brief memories of last night running through your mind. You wanted to cry as embarrassment and shame powered through you, but a sense of want overpowering it. A part of you didn’t want this to be just a one - time thing. 

“Jisung!” You whispered, nudging his shoulder. He didn’t budge, “Han Jisung! Han Jisung - ah, wake up!” Your voice raised as you shook him, “Jisung!” 

“What, what? Is everything okay?” Jisung bolts up after you yell his name. Sitting up straight, he hisses when the sun makes contact with the sun. His hand rubs his eye, and you try not to note the scratch marks on his back, the hickeys littering his neck and chest or how he was just as naked as you, only being covered by the comfort of the thin blanket. “Fuck, (Y/N), don’t scare me like that.” 

“Why are you acting so calm?” You didn’t raise your voice, as your head ached terribly because of it, “Look at me Jisung.” 

And, so he did. He looks up. He didn’t seem as tired, as he saw the blue and purple hickeys lining your neck and what he could see of your breasts as well as red scratch marks on your shoulders. You both don’t say anything for a while. You’re both an uncomfortable distance away from each other, and you didn’t want to admit that you wanted to cry right there. 

“I’m sorry,” Jisung is the first to say something after that tense silence, and your brows furrow, “I… I shouldn’t have… I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll… I’ll.” 

“Why are you sorry?” You asked softly, and Jisung seemed hasty. His hands were trembling as he gripped the blanket, and he didn’t make eye contact with you. 

“I shouldn’t have done anything to you. Everything’s ruined now,” Jisung’s head dips, “I shouldn’t have let the stupid alcohol guide me. Fuck, (Y/N), I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Hey, nothing’s going to change between us,” You crawl towards him, still keeping the blanket firm around you as your free hand cups his cheek and lifts it up towards you. “It was both of our faults…” Jisung stares up at you, “I was the one to make the first move. If anything, it was my fault.” You let go of his face, as he watches as you sit on your feet. You swallow the lump in your throat, and utter out, “And, besides… I don’t regret anything.” Jisung’s mouth falls open, and his brows lift in what you can guess is shock, “I might not remember all of it, but I how you made me feel.” 

There’s another silence, both of you staring at each other. 

“I want to feel it again.” 

Jisung didn’t answer right away, but his bottom lip got entrapped between his teeth subtly. 

“You don’t know that,” Jisung whispers, “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“Of course I do,” your brows furrow, almost angrily. “I know what I’m saying, Jisung. And I’m saying that I don’t want this to be just a once in a lifetime thing and never think of it again.” You look away, resting against Jisung’s headboard. “I know that we don’t share romantic feelings for each other. I know that, Jisung.” You look over to him, “So, I want benefits.” 

“You mean…? Friends with benefits?” Jisung musters out in a low, unsure voice, “I don’t know, (Y/N). I don’t want to ruin this friendship.” 

“But, that’s the whole point of it, Jisung,” you chuckle, “I know that you don’t want our friendship to weaken, and neither do I. But, Jisung, I’ve always been attracted to you. Not exactly like I want to be your girlfriend, but I want you in some way. I just don’t know if you feel the same way, so I’m saying it now. Do you want me, Han Jisung?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, which makes you nervous of his answer. But, his answer satisfies you, thankfully; “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I hate to admit it, but I do. I couldn’t resist last night.” 

“I know. It was my fault for urging you to do that even when you warned me not to,” you chuckle. 

And, from then on, you two concluded that whenever someone needs to let off stress or steam in the form of sex, the other should be open for it. Of course, there’d be rules along with it. You didn’t want this to just be a ‘come by for sex and leave’ kind of thing, or thinking the other is romantically attracted to the other so you wanted to make some ground rules. Jisung agreed, thankfully. 

There were four rules. Number One was that no one is to hear about this relationship. Not only would it cause rumors amongst school and your friends, you both agreed that it should be kept top - secret. Besides, you both didn’t want people to think you’re both in a secret relationship and that it’s more than just a friends with benefits type of relationship. 

Number Two was that the minute one of you gets into a serious relationship with someone, all benefits cease. This one is quite obvious. Neither of you wanted to be defined as a cheater if either of you do end up in a relationship with someone else. No matter how much the other person wants it, if one of you is in a serious relationship, until that relationship ends and both are single, there’s no sexual activity. 

Number Three was that both had to respect each other’s wishes entirely. No matter how bad they want it or how horny they might be, if the other person is uncomfortable with something or doesn’t want to have sex, then the other must respect their wishes. Again, no matter how horny or how much they want a certain thing. This also leads to a safe word between the two of you, which was just basic yellow and red. Yellow being to slow down or to take a short break and red being to stop completely without argument. 

And finally, Number Four was that there’s no falling in love. This one was actually Jisung’s idea. Everything else was yours. You agreed with him, but was still skeptical about it. If you did catch feelings, you’d have to hide it. Jisung seemed pretty serious about it, though, which kind of scared you.

And, those four rules led to the present day, months after this event. You lean against a family bathroom sink with Jisung’s fingers curled around your hair, keeping your head up to watch him in the mirror as he slowly pushed himself into you. Your leggings and panties barely pushed down past your ass as Jisung undid his belt and pushed his pants down. Not even prepping you before he pushes himself into you. His cock, covered by the condom, which he had learned to always carry around, slowly dragging against your wet, oversensitive walls. 

He’d been teasing you all day in the movie theatre he’d taken you to with his friends. While watching the movie alongside Hyunjin, Felix and Christopher, he was slowly playing with your clit, edging you on and on. Finally, the movie ended and after half an hour of pure torture from Jisung’s sinful hands, you dragged him to the family bathroom (which was one bathroom with a lockable door). He didn’t even hesitate before bending you over the sink, making you watch him and yourself as he fucks himself into you painfully slow. 

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.” 

You delicately whimper at the sound of his words from behind you as he fills you. Jisung liked to call you by pet names during sex, like baby, babygirl or babe (anything with baby in it, really). 

“Oh, fuck… I’m not gonna go slow, baby.” Jisung warns the minute his pelvis presses against your ass. 

“I don’t care,” you groan in response, eyeing him in the reflection in the mirror, “Break me, Jisung. You’ve been teasing me all fucking day - oh my god!” you would have screamed if it wasn’t for Jisung stuffing the end of your hoodie into your mouth before his hands grip your waist before pulling out and ramming himself back into you. Once his hand lets go of your hair, your head dips down in pure bliss. Your teeth grinding against the fabric of your hoodie and your hands gripping the sink. 

“I know you like it, baby,” Jisung grunts out as he starts to thrust into you, “I know how much you like it when I play with your little pussy in front of everybody like the little fucking slut you are. I know you like it, baby.” You let out choked moans at his words. The degrading words only make you wetter as you move your body back to meet with his thrusts. One of your hands reaches back to grip his wrist as Jisung’s hands dig into your hips to move your body with him. The way his cock rammed into your tight cunt burned in a blissfully sinful way. 

Jisung had pulled your tank top and bra underneath your breasts so he could lean over you to play with them harshly. His hands gripping your bare, warm breasts as his chest presses against your back. His head presses against your shoulder as he breathes heavily against your neck. His tongue occasionally jutting out to lick stripes up your sensitive neck. Sucking gently on your skin, trying not to leave too many marks.  

“Fuck, fuck…” Jisung curses breathily, and you try your best not to scream as he ruts into you as if it were the last time he’d ever have the chance to fuck you again. Your saliva coats the part of the hoodie that stayed in your mouth for you to bite onto. Your hands weakly grip the sink to try and hold you up, but your legs can barely hold your waist. “Oh… my god, babygirl.” Jisung sweetly moans into your ear. 

Your mouth opens to let the hoodie fall out of your mouth, and you utter out, “Jisung… Jisung I can’t… oh, fuck… I can’t stand.” Jisung is quick to fix the situation by turning you around so that you’re sitting on the sink, legs thrown over his shoulder and your back and head leaning against the mirror as he fucks himself into you. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to grip onto your neck, but careful not to let off air flow, just pressing his fingers on either side of your neck as he rams himself into you. Your hands creeped up to grip his wrist, which only seemed to make Jisung more and more confident.  

He pressed his hand against your core, slowly down slightly to allow himself to focus on pressing his thumb against your extremely sensitive and extremely erect clit. The minute his thumb makes contact with your sensitive bud, waves of pleasure and chills run through you, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as your back arches up, your nails digging into Jisung’s arm. 

“Oh my fucking god, Jisung!” You pitifully cry out, trying your very best to contain your moans so no lingering ears would hear. But, it was getting difficult with Jisung’s hard cock thrusting ever so quickly into you and his thumb pressing firmly against your clit as his hand wraps around your neck. 

“Shh… babygirl, you don’t want anyone to hear, do you?” Jisung chuckles darkly as he looks down at you, no mercy in his eyes as you clench around him. Beyond sensitive to every touch. “I want you to cum on my cock, but be as quiet as you can, baby. Try and be quiet, but I want you to cum.” His hands move from your neck to your mouth, his middle and ring finger slipping between your lips and pressing down against your tongue. 

The moment his hips start to stagger and his thumb pressed harder and harder against your sensitive clit, your hip bucks violently as you feel your climax approaching. Jisung doesn’t slow down when he feels your warm walls clench around him tightly. He speeds up despite how his hips falter and tense as his own orgasm edges up, you let out a series of high pitched moans, muffled by Jisung’s finger, and Jisung lets out a string of low groans against your neck. His thumb softens against your clit, rubbing small circles to ease you out of your climax. 

Your stomach twitches as Jisung pulls out of you, his thumb finally coming off your clit to gently press against your abdomen as he eases out of you. You let out a sigh as let your body relax once Jisung’s no longer in you. His fingers pull out of your mouth to deal with the condom, and you catch your breath. Your hands clutching the sink as your legs stay limp on his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You made such a fucking mess. How horny were you?” Jisung teases as he eyes the cum and pure wetness still seeping out of you. You glare at him. 

“Very. And it’s your fault.” You snap, and Jisung raises his hands in defense. 

“Hey, guilty as charged,” Jisung chuckles and pulls up his underwear and pants, not bothering to tighten the belt around him before he reaches over to grab paper towels to help clean you up. 

“Still. You were the one teasing me during the movie,” you utter out as Jisung wipes away the cum with the paper towel, “Couldn’t even focus on it. You seemed to enjoy every bit of it, though.” 

“You know it,” Jisung jokingly winks at you, and you playfully hit his head. 

Once he’s finished cleaning you, you get off the sink to pull up your underwear and your pants, sighing deeply at the sore feeling in your core. “Fuck… Jisung, you’re carrying me back to my dorm.” Jisung couldn’t argue with you, since you’d always have the upperhand, especially since Jisung knows he can become an animal when fucking you, and usually blames it on ‘not being able to hold back’. 

“As you wish, princess,” he teasingly calls you, and you glare at him as he buckles his belt before turning his back to you and crouching down for you to get onto his back. 

When you do, he unlocked the door and started heading out, both of you not really caring for the wandering eyes of people who were curious why two adults came walking out of the family bathroom. Luckily, Felix, Hyunjin and Christopher were all gone, since you couldn’t spot them anywhere. The movie theatre was in the center of a mall, so you had suspected they were somewhere, roaming the stores of the mall. 

“I swear, I’m going to have arms bigger than Changbin’s at some point. Having to carry you everywhere,” Jisung complains, and you groan. 

“It’s not my fault all you do is go rough,” you counter, and you can see Jisung roll his eyes, “Maybe if you were a bit more gentle you wouldn’t have to carry me. But, hey, you need the workout.” 

“Do you not like it rough?” Jisung teases.  

“I never said that,” you mutter, and Jisung laughs triumphantly. 

At first, things were a bit awkward between the two of you, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t until Jisung was knocking on your dorm room door at three in the morning and railed you while your roommate was out grabbing groceries (at three in the morning? You didn’t know why, either.) because he had just gotten into a fight with one of his friends and “needed to let off steam”. After that, everything even related to the benefits you both have turned into a normal thing, and you both seemed to get even closer with each other. You both could talk about information that would be considered weird between normal friends, but since you’ve both seen each other completely nude over a dozen times, it wasn’t as weird anymore. 

“But I don’t just like it rough, you know? If it’s intimate and slow, then I don’t care,” you sighed, resting your chin comfortably on his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t respond. In fact, he frowns at you. Why? You had no clue. All the more, it was a silent walk back to the dorm buildings. Jisung dropped you off at your dorm, and your roommate, a geeky, yet strange, girl named Jeo Jeongja thanked Jisung for taking you home. 

“And, by the way, (Y/N),” Jisung said before leaving, and you raise a brow as you climb up onto your bed, “I expect you to meet me at the D.R. tomorrow night. Jeongin’s gonna be outta town for the weekend.” Jisung winks at you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

D.R. was your secret word for ‘dorm room’. Since saying directly, especially in front of others, that you’re going over to a boy’s dorm room when they’re roommates going to be out of town is suspicious to say the least, you both decided to come up with that. 

“Are you alright with that?” Jisung asks, his tone lacing with a delicate worry. 

“Definitely,” you shoot him a playful smile. 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. See ya, Jeongja,” Jisung waves at Jeongja, who gave him a subtle wave back, not really interested or immersed in the short lived conversation you and Jisung were having. And with that, Jisung left, closing the door behind him. 

There’s a subtle silence between you and Jeongja. You both might be roommates, but you could never really consider her a friend. The most you two talk to each other is when you help each other study with whatever topic. Once Jisung leaves, Jeongja sits up on her bed and stares at you with a playful smile. 

“Oh my god, I don’t get how you’re not crushing on him” Jeongja giggles. 

“He’s my best friend,” you sigh, laying down on your pillows to try and soothe the ache in your gut from your last session with Jisung, “I could never picture myself with him, you know. If you want him, have at it. But, be warned, he is a player.” 

“Oh. I know that much,” Jeongja laughs shortly. You should’ve known, since Jeongja seemed to have ears all around the school. Every rumor eventually gets to her, and through your ears, whether you want to hear about it or not, “I heard he’s been fucking with most of the popular girls.” 

“Oh, really now?” your brows raise. For some reason, it sparks an angry flame in you. Sure, you might not be in love with him, but the fact that you both have an intimate relationship makes you jealous when you hear that he’s been with other girls, but you try not to show it as much. 

Jeongja shrugs a shoulder, “Just what’s been going around. I only report what I hear. And, apparently, Jisung knows all of the rumors. He just hasn’t said anything about it.” 

“Well, he hasn’t talked to me about it,” you sigh, taking your phone out of your pocket, debating whether or not to talk to Jisung about what you're hearing. After a few brief moments of staring at your locked phone, you decide against it and let it fall onto your stomach. “Do you mind keeping me updated on this shit?” 

“Why? Is someone jealous?” Jeongja wiggles her shoulders and brows at you, smirking. 

“Hell no,” you groan, your head falling back, and you rub your eyes. Exhaustion crashing over you, “I’m going to bed, Jeongja. Do whatever you want, but don’t turn the lights back on.” You get up briefly to shut the lights off before climbing back under your blankets, slipping off your bra. 

“But, it’s only nine!” 

“I don’t give a shit. I’m tired.” 

But, a part of you wasn’t. A part of you was beyond eager for what Jisung had in mind for tomorrow. Your aching core began to throb at the thoughts.

[imagine-nation20]

Sunshine and The Art of Picking Your Battles

Summary: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Requested By: Anon

Request: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.” for Jason Todd (with the reader being kidnapped by any villain you want)

A/N: Jason Todd will forever and always be the best robin and I will not take criticism. Also I love writing established relationship with superheroes where one doesn’t know the other is a vigilante, so enjoy some reader having no sense of self preservation, and Jason outing himself as the red hood.

~~~

You hated Gotham. Or rather, you hated the criminal underbelly of Gotham, which wasn’t so much an underbelly as it was a very obvious toupee on the top of the head of the city. Gotham was built on crime, and it would probably crumble under the weight of crime. Most people who lived there were either involved in crime, or involved in the vigilante justice served by the masked crusaders.

Running a bar in Gotham was bad, running a bar in the crummy part of Gotham was worse. That is, if you could claim any part of Gotham wasn’t crummy.

Still, it was a better job than some of the other options. Who could blame the owner of the place appointing you manager and fucking off to his apartment in the only part of Gotham that could afford working deadbolts.

So it was no wonder that you got jumped on your way home after a particularly grueling shift.

Three men dressed in suits too nice for the area. It was pretty much common sense to learn some form of self defense if you were going to live in a city like Gotham, however, three against one wasn’t exactly fair odds.

They tied your wrists, dropped a bag over your head, and then hit you with something heavy and blunt that was probably going to leave permanent damage.

Waking up was a headache, to say the least. Your head pounded like a drum, the blood rushing through your ears sounding like the waves against the harbor. Or maybe that really was the harbor.

It didn’t really matter, because you had a bigger problem to worry about than whether or not the ‘whooshing’ in your ear was blood or water. 

A man, dressed in an expensive suit, stood a few feet away. His head was covered in the dark, slightly shiny material of a mask, shaped like a skull. Beady eyes peered through, staring you down.

“So, what is a bartender like yourself doing associating with the Red Hood?” Roman Sionis was easily recognizable, and his identity was not a secret to the citizens of the city. He seemed almost proud to lord the fact that everyone knew who he was, but couldn’t put him away for anything tangible.

Unless of course that person was Batman or one of his many disciples.

“What the fuck are you on about?” You slurred. You cursed yourself internally for your inability to keep your mouth shut. Most of the time you were okay, but you were tired, and in pain, and this was the third time this week you had been assaulted, so you were over it. Criminals and crime lords were a dime a dozen, and despite his very intimidating reputation, you could not care less about Black Mask.

He laughed, and it almost sounded genuine, “I’m talking about the fact that I have on good word that Red Hood has been in your shitty little bar almost every night for the past week.”

You were going to kill Kallista.

You avoided associating with vigilantes, but your coworker, and the woman who worked most night to day shifts, was known for giving vigilantes free drinks when they dropped in. Now, it seemed you had been mistaken for her. Serves you right for having the audacity to pick up her shift when she was sick.

You had seen a few of them drop in on your way out, but never Red Hood. She probably told him not to catch you, since you would have reemed her for it. Red Hood wasn’t a criminal, but he was known for incurring their wrath like no one else, and that usually ended up in situations like this.

Yes, Kallista was going to die… so long as you made it out of this.

“Listen pal,” you started, glancing around the room for a way out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t a bad friend, and you certainly weren’t going to sick Roman Sionis on your friend. Even if she did get you in this situation in the first place.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He yelled, taking quick steps towards you. You winced back, hearing the flick of a switchblade, and feeling the cold press against your cheek.

“Listen, if I was associating with the Red Hood, I would have told you by now.”

“For some reason, I just don’t believe you.”

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in,” A voice echoed through the warehouse. From above, you could see the familiar brown leather jacket, and bright red helmet of the Red Hood. He was reclined against a support beam, legs dangling off the one he was sitting on. “I’m going to be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Hopping down from the beam, he landed, knees bent, feet light. It was almost impressive, the way he could silently drop. If you weren’t so tired, you might have taken the time to marvel at the way his pants bunched and stretched. Kallista was right after all, there was a certain appeal to the vigilantes in uniform.

Roman shifted around you, knife going to your neck. You took in a sharp breath, glaring at the Red Hood as he faltered in his pace.

“Take another step and she dies,”

“I was gonna say thanks for coming, Hood,” You glared, “but you’ve kinda made the situation worse.”

You could almost see the tick of annoyance through the mask. His fists clenching slightly, he grumbled, “This is the thanks I get?”

“I’ll thank you when I don’t have a knife to my jugular.”

Black Mask tightened his grip on you, knife digging in a slight bit. You didn’t think it had pierced skin yet, but you couldn’t be sure. 

The next few seconds seemed to go by in an instant. The shattering of glass, the whizzing of something through the air, the knife nicked your neck, then was gone, and so was the grip of Roman Sionis.

Red Hood moved towards you, gloved hands untying the ropes that kept you bound to the chair. You looked to the side, seeing Black Mask passed out on the ground, a strange arrow sticking to the outside of his helmet. You could have sworn you saw little strings of electricity still moving over the black material.

The masked vigilante hoisted you from the chair, his arms slipping behind your back and beneath your knees.

“Seriously?” You deadpanned, “I can walk, you know. My legs aren’t broken.”

It didn’t seem like he cared, as he scoffed, “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

“I didn’t think heroes were so egotistical.”

“Not really a hero, sunshine,” you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the strange effect his helmet gave off. You went stiff at the name.

Jason faltered mid step, and you knew you had him. Spewing a flurry of curses, you wriggled out of his hold and onto the gravel below. The rocks bit into your skin, and Jason moved to crouch and help, but you were already up and slapping at his arm.

“You son of a bitch, Jason,” you whisper shouted, “you’re so stupid. How long have you been the- no, I don’t want to know.”

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t you sunshine me, Todd,” you growled, “You didn’t think to tell me you were a fucking vigilante? And moreover, you were getting free drinks from my coworker while she ranted to me about your thighs?”

“What?” Jason asked, shaking his head. “No, no, I wasn’t… I was looking out for you! I was trying to make sure you got home safe! What about my thighs?”

You paused, mouth hanging open. You hadn’t known Jason for very long. He had come in during one of your shifts with a busted lip and a dazzling smile, and left with your number and the promise of a date. You should have guessed back then, if you were being honest, but you believed him when he said he had gotten jumped. Maybe he had been telling the truth, just not the whole truth.

Stalling so that you didn’t give in to his guilty look so easily, you glanced around. So it had been the ocean you were hearing. You turned back around, trying and failing to hold the vicious glare.

“You better have a ride back to my apartment, cause we are about to have a long talk about impulse control, honesty, and the art of picking battles.”

“You sound like my dad.”

Silence.

“OH MY GOD IS BRUCE WAYNE-”