#they wear the jacket from the fic but I feel bad for never actually drawing the scenarios from the fic

[the-boy-meets-evil]

take my hands (we can fall together) | lee chan | pt 1

(where you and chan are friends, but he's your brother's best friend. and you've always been just a little out of reach. until one season changes everything.) pairing: brother's best friend!chan (dino) x f!reader genre: friends to ??, pining, slow burn | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut rating: explicit (for the full fic) warnings/notes: mentions of unhealthy relationships (reader x boyfriend), mentions of food, mentions of drinking/alcohol, lots of stereotypical fall activities, reader's brother is chan's age and reader is 2 years older, eventual smut (in pt 3 - see that for warnings), any names of other idols are considered to be OCs word count: ~6.5k (full fic is roughly 23k) a/n: huge thanks to @svthub for hosting this fall collab. check out the full list of fics here. this is part 1, the full fic is in 3 parts and the dates for the next 2 parts are at the bottom. also thank you to my bby indi for beta reading @wongyuseokie and creating an amazing banner @classicscreations. if you want to be tagged in the next 2 parts, send an ask or dm or just comment 💕

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Fall has never been Chan’s favorite season. The weather cools down, but it’s in this weird in-between. One day, it’s cold enough for heavy jackets, and the next it’s almost warm enough to wear shorts. It starts to get dark too early as the days get shorter, which makes it feel like there’s just less time in the day. Or, even worse, there are days when Chan leaves the apartment in the dark and returns in the dark. Everything feels like it’s dying with the leaves falling. It seems like it should be a season of thankfulness and friends and holidays, but it just ends up feeling like an ending in a bad way. He’s not cynical, he’s just not really sure he likes this time of year.

“I wish I had someone to do fall things with me,” you announce to nobody in particular. 

Okay, well maybe Chan needs to rethink this whole opinion on the season. Because here’s the other thing, he’s always been drawn to you. Sure, you’re his friend. It’s just, he’s always been closer to your brother, Jay. Always a little envious, too. You and Jay are friends as much as siblings, despite you being two years older. So much so that your friend group is somewhat merged. Chan knows that Jay has friends you don’t hang around with and that the same goes for you. It’s still nice, though. Seeing the two of you, he understands what it means to love family and also like them. 

Yet in all those years of friendship, Chan can still remember the moment when he started seeing you differently. You’d called Jay late one night, no text or anything, and Jay picked up right away because it was so unlike you. It was your first real breakup, a guy you met and started dating in college, the only time you and Jay had been really separated. Even if the separation was only a two hour drive. You were so devastated that Jay switched to a video call and convinced you to come home for the weekend. All Chan can remember is how much he wanted to protect you from ever feeling that way again. He knew you didn’t deserve the way that guy made you feel. Then, the new school year came around, and he and Jay were on campus with you. The draw has only gotten stronger since then.

“Isn’t that what you have a boyfriend for?” Jay asks. 

You roll your eyes affectionately. “He doesn’t really like the fall. Plus, he’s super busy with work projects. He doesn’t want to go pick apples or adventuring or any of that stuff.”

The way you play it off feels casual, like it doesn’t actually matter. Your eyes tell a different story. Chan’s heart breaks a little as he does everything he can to not show it. Jay, unfortunately for you, also notices.

“Is everything okay with…shit, what’s his name?” Jay asks. 

“Come on, Jay, they hard launched like 6 months ago, shouldn’t you know his name by now?” Lisa, ever the best friend to you, chimes in. 

“Ease up, Lisa,” you say, voice a little tired. “Things with Seungsik are fine, he’s just busy right now.” 

“Hey,” Jay starts.

“We can always do fall stuff with you,” Chan hears himself offer without even realizing he’s saying anything. Several pairs of eyes shoot to him.

“Bro, you hate fall shit,” Vernon scoffs.

“I do not,” Chan retorts.

“Since when? I had to twist your arm for Friendsgiving last year,” Jay counters. 

“That is true,” Lisa agrees.

“No you too,” Chan directs at Lisa.

“That’s really sweet, Channie,” you cut across the bickering. It takes everything in him to remain neutral at your compliment and the use of a nickname. “Maybe we can do some stuff as a group. I feel like Fall is the time for friends anyway.” 

There’s a smattering of agreement, names thrown out of other friends that aren’t there, lighthearted eye rolls at how into this season you are, and more than a glance or two in Chan’s direction. He does his best to ignore those. He doesn’t need to think about them right now. All he can really focus on is that he agreed to get up insanely early on Sunday morning so that you could take this train ride that you’ve wanted to do in the Fall to see all the trees changing colors. Especially since the colors are more vibrant this year. Which is fine. Chan doesn’t really mind being up early, but nobody else is committing to go. Not even your brother. The fact that you seem unbothered at it being just you and him makes Chan’s stomach flip. 

Chan is nervous when it comes time to leave for the train ride. You offered to pick him up since you were dragging him out of the warmth of his bed so early in the morning and even said he didn’t have to go through with it. Which meant you probably wouldn’t go through with it because the two other people that had tentatively agreed backed out the night before. Even over text, Chan could tell that you were disappointed at the thought of not going. And even he had to admit that he was curious about the draw of this particular activity. So off you went.

It only takes one day for Chan to start changing his opinion on the season. Or, one person. There’s something about the way your face lights up the second you’re on the train that takes him over as well. You’re more excited, still, that the train doesn’t seem that crowded, so the two of you will have your own little area to sit in without anyone else that close by. Sheepishly, you admit that the train runs multiple times a day, but this gives you the most time at the top of the mountain. Taking advantage of how rare it is to spend time alone with you, Chan asks you what exactly it is that you love about Fall. Maybe if he hears from someone who loves it, he’ll see it differently.

He watches as your face transforms. Your eyes get wide, and a genuine smile spreads across your face, gone just long enough to ask if he’s sure. All Chan can do is laugh because it’s so endearing. But he nods, and you’re like a kid at Christmas. You start with the leaves as the train pulls away from the station. There’s more to them than just changing color and falling to the ground, at least to you. Yes, they’re pretty, like shades of gold fluttering along with the wind and bringing good fortune. You liken it to growth in a way Chan never considered. Sure, the leaves are changing color and dying. It’s also about growth and release. Trees need to let go of their leaves so they can go into their next phase. So they can be ready to grow new leaves and new life in the spring. You don’t get that without the release in the Fall. 

You like the way things taste fresher, too. The way apples feel crisper because it’s when they were meant to be enjoyed. The way vanilla and cinnamon just warm your soul with everything they’re baked into. You love the comfort, like a warm blanket, of just being able to bake so many things. When Chan points out that you bake all year around, you get that playful smile again. You agree and disagree at the same time. You can bake all year round, but certain things were just meant for when the weather starts to get colder. 

Most of all, you really just feel like it’s a positive change. Of learning to let go of all the things that are holding you back. Of cutting out those parts of life that feel dead or stagnant. Of starting the process to allow new things to grow. Chan doesn’t mention that maybe you’re not as good at that part as you want to think. He can tell you want to be, but he wonders if you realize there’s someone in your life who really isn’t adding anything to it anymore. He doesn’t mention Seungsik and neither do you. 

When you get to the top and step off the train, Chan gasps at the sight. He’s never really stopped to appreciate nature like this and it’s overwhelming in the best way. It makes him feel kind of small, except it’s not a bad feeling, and he’s really glad that you suggested taking the early train because it means the top of the mountain isn’t crowded. He’s so busy taking in the clear views that go on for miles that he doesn’t even notice the way your face lights up watching his reaction. He can’t possibly know how full your heart is at him being so present. 

“This is beautiful,” he whispers. It seems like a crime to disrupt the peace.

“Yeah, it is,” you agree. There’s something in the way you say it that makes Chan look over at you. By the time he looks, though, your eyes are on the horizon as well. 

“Have you done this before? I don’t feel like I remember Jay talking about it at all,” Chan asks, still watching you.

You stiffen for a second in a way that’s entirely at odds with the mention of your brother. Or maybe your mind is a million miles away. That’s another thing that Chan’s always found so interesting about you. There’s a brightness and a lightness about you, but there’s also a sense of mystery. LIke there are parts of yourself that you always hold back. Like you want to appear to be entirely open, even though you’re not. Like there are secret parts that only your closest relationships get to know.

“Jay wouldn’t have,” you finally answer with a smile. “Our grandparents brought me when we were both still little. But Jay wasn’t interested, so he stayed with our parents. I’ve wanted to do it again as an adult, but you know, life happens.” 

“Anyone who cares about you would want to see this,” Chan admits as he looks out at the views again. 

It’s too honest, and Chan knows it, but there’s just something about this kind of environment that makes him want to admit things he shouldn’t. Or wouldn’t, normally. There’s something like anonymity surrounded by this much nature. It reminds you just how small people are in comparison. He’s also thankful that you seem to be agreeing that you can say those unspoken things here. That is, until he feels your hand on his arm, turning him to look at you.

“Thank you, Chan,” you say with more sincerity than he’s ever heard in all the time he’s known you. “I care about you, too.” 

“I, um,” Chan starts and clears his throat. “You’re welcome.”

“We’ve never hung out like this, just the two of us,” you say, still watching him.

“No, we haven’t,” Chan agrees because it’s all he can do to hold onto his rapidly slipping composure.

“I was…okay, this is gonna sound dumb, but I was a little nervous. That’s why I tried to give you an out,” you say. Your voice is soft and you look down at your feet. Like it’s too much to admit while looking at Chan and when it’s so quiet all around you.

“I almost took it,” Chan tells you.

“Why didn’t you? Weren’t you worried?” you wonder.

Chan shrugs to buy himself a second. “Because it was important to you. I figured it was better to roll the dice and risk it being a little awkward so you didn’t miss out.”

You turn away, but Chan catches the look on your face anyway. Catches the way you take a steadying breath. Can’t miss the way you try to hide as you wipe away a tear. The last thing he wanted to do was make you upset. And even though his heart is racing, he pulls you into a hug. He’s not sure what else to do except whisper sorries against your hair.

“No, no, no,” you finally say. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I made you cry,” Chan disagrees.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just so insanely sweet that I was overwhelmed for a minute,” you tell him. 

“Guess it was awkward after all,” Chan says. It’s a little self-deprecating. 

“No, it wasn’t,” you assure him. “This is so much more than I could have asked for. I’m just, I guess I’m not really used to people doing things like this for me.”

Chan is thankful he’s not holding you anymore because there’s no way to hide the way his heart tries to beat out of his chest. All he can do is smile and hope that you can’t read his thoughts because they’re a weird mix. His heart is full that you’re so appreciative of something that seems so small. Sure, life is short, and there are only so many days. But it’s also too short to pass up on opportunities to see something different like this. To actually stop and experience the world around you instead of just rushing to the next day. His heart also breaks at the idea of you not being used to people doing things like this for you. Because it seems so small. It doesn’t seem like some huge thing to do. Chan and Jay have been friends for more than 10 years, so he’s known you for a long time. He knows that you don’t have the best taste in partners. Still, though. He can’t imagine something so small being so impactful to you.

The two of you mostly stick close together, or at least within eyesight of each other. There’s so much to see at the top of the mountain. Little signs seem to ring around the edges, telling people what they’re looking at or giving a history. Each one makes Chan appreciate the views even more. Every once in a while, he also catches you watching him and smiling, like you’re still checking that he’s enjoying himself. He can’t say that, of course, he’s enjoying himself, he’s with you, but he tries to smile back every time. 

Eventually, you suggest having lunch at the restaurant next to the little station where the train stops. He’s been so busy taking in his surroundings that he doesn’t even realize that he’s hungry. Right on queue, his stomach grumbles at the mention of food, and you laugh it off. Once you’re sitting down, you can’t seem to settle on one thing for lunch. Without thinking, Chan suggests that you just share a few different things so you can try what you want. Who knows when you’ll be back up here again? Although you seem hesitant at first, a little reassurance from Chan goes a long way. That and him insisting he’ll be happy with whatever you order. 

It’s truly an entirely perfect day, one neither of you really wants to end, even if you won’t admit it to the other. But you have to take the train down eventually and come back to reality.

“Sorry I have to take this,” you say with a frown at your phone. 

Chan thinks it says Seungsik, which makes him frown, too. It takes a real effort for him not to follow you out of the room with his eyes. Not that Jay, Seokmin, or Jiyeon would notice. They’re currently locked in a Mario Kart battle, with Jiyeon winning yet again. Chan risks a glance in your direction and makes a snap decision. 

“Do you guys want anything from the kitchen?” Chan asks.

“Yeah, something to drink,” Seokmin says.

“Is losing making you thirsty?” Jiyeon teases. 

“You can’t win forever, Ji,” Jay shoots back. “Come on, Seok, we can work together on this.” 

“That’s cheating,” Jiyeon giggles. 

Chan ignores the banter to go to the kitchen. Ostensibly, he’s actually planning to get drinks for the group in the living room. Realistically, he’s curious about what’s making you frown and if you’re okay. From his spot in the kitchen, he can hear your voice drifting through the door of Jay’s bedroom. It’s hard to focus on getting drinks.

“I understand that your work is important, but,” you start, working to stay quiet despite the annoyance in your voice.

Maybe this was a bad idea because he wishes he could hear the other side. Or at least know for sure that it was Seungsik. 

“Yes, I’m aware that you think it’s just a stupid Fall tradition,” you huff. “No, baby, I’m not saying your work doesn’t matter. It’s the weekend, though.”

Well, at least he knows that it’s Seungsik. Not that it makes it any better.

“That’s not fair, baby. I’m not saying that I don’t want you to work hard or try to get that promotion. You know how much I support you. It’s just I want to matter too,” you say, and Chan’s heart fully breaks at the heartbreak in your voice.

What is wrong with this man that he can’t take a second away from work to spend time with one of the most beautiful people in the world? 

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you in weeks. You’re always working or networking and…” you trail off. “No, I do get that networking is part of the job, and you’re up for a promotion…Wow, yes, I do get how hard your job is. But do you get that you keep making promises to me and breaking them?”

There’s a bite to your voice that’s entirely foreign to Chan. It’s also at complete odds with the undercurrent of defeat. There are two sides warring during this conversation, and Chan doesn’t really recognize either of them. 

“It’s not just some stupid fall tradition,” you say. It’s without any bite now. You’re defeated. “It’s…yeah, I get it. You think it’s dumb. It’s fine, I understand you won’t be coming.” 

It feels like the conversation is probably ending, so Chan turns his back away from the bedroom to focus on drinks. All he can do is hope that nothing about his posture gives him away. But he can’t help listening anyway, and he hears you ending the phone call before shuffling towards the kitchen all the same.

“Oh,” you nearly gasp. 

As casually as he can manage, Chan turns around towards your voice with a bag of chips in one hand. That plan goes out the window when he sees you rubbing your eyes. All he wants is to be able to protect you from the world. Because you deserve better. Not that he thinks he’s better. He just knows you deserve more than this. More than being unhappy every time he sees you. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Chan asks. He meant to ask if you wanted anything to drink, yet couldn’t ignore your frown.

“How long have you been in here?” you ask. 

Chan shrugs. “Not long, just came to get them some drinks and figured I’d grab chips. Do you want anything?” 

“That’s a loaded question,” you say under your breath. 

“You okay?” Chan asks again. He knows you’re not, but he doesn’t really want to admit that he was listening to your side of the conversation. 

“Can I…ugh, this is so weird, but can I just have a hug?” Your eyes are a little wide and a whole lot vulnerable. 

It’s silly, but he would give you anything if it meant that you wouldn’t look broken. No, that’s the wrong word. There’s nothing wrong with being a little broken. It’s just that he wishes Seungsik wasn’t letting you down time after time. Chan sets down the chips and opens his arms without a word. There’s relief on your face as you step forward and wrap your arms around his middle. Your head rests on his shoulder and he feels the moment that your body releases the tension. Feels the moment when your breathing relaxes to match his own. When you step away, your eyes at least look a little happier.

“It’s never weird to ask for a hug from a friend,” Chan tells you. 

You laugh at that, a real laugh, and for a second, Chan wonders why. “You seem to be getting a lot of my emotional side lately.”

Chan just shrugs again. “I’m happy to see whatever side you wanna show me.”

Just then, Jay comes into the kitchen, grumbling about losing another game. He doesn’t even look at Chan or you before going to grab the drinks on the counter. It’s probably the perfect timing so that Chan doesn’t say anything else that’s too honest.

“I thought you were leaving,” Jay says to you. 

“Wow, trying to get rid of me already?” you ask without any of the normal teasing Jay is used to.

“Of course not. I just thought you were going apple picking with Seungsik,” Jay answers. 

It’s then that he seems to really look at you and realizes something is wrong. He looks like he’s about to take back his words when you open your mouth. “No, he’s too busy with something for work. So I’ll probably just stick around here.” 

Chan looks at your brother and hopes he picks up the same wavelength. It seems he does because he sighs in resignation. But it’s a mark of how concerned he is that he doesn’t mention Seungsik being a dick for this. “Why don’t we go with you?” 

“What?” you ask.

“Hey,” Jay calls into the living room. “Who wants to go apple picking?” 

“I’m in, beating you and Seokmin is getting boring,” Jiyeon answers. 

“You haven’t won every one,” Seokmin whines. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you say softly to your brother.

“Oh, are we going with you?” Jiyeon asks. “I’m in. Can I call Vernon and drag him along?”

“We should ask Lisa if she wants to come too. She loves that stuff,” Seokmin suggests. “I haven’t actually gone apple picking in forever.” 

“It’s a lost cause,” Chan tells you, “we’re all going apple picking now.” 

“Fine,” you pretend to sigh, “but can I ride with you? Jay’s a shitty driver.” 

“I resent that,” Jay scoffs. 

It takes a little time to let everyone know where to meet, but Jay manages to wrangle the group well enough so that they all make it to the orchard. True to your word, you ride with Chan. Jay and Jiyeon go to pick up Vernon, and Seokmin goes to pick up Lisa and Mina. Once everyone is there and the bags are bought, groups start to wander off in different directions to look for the best apples. Because, of course, Jiyeon has turned this into a competition and is convinced she can make the best apple pie. Chan knew by the sparkle in your eye that you weren’t going to just settle for that one. 

“You’re on,” you say and shake on it. 

“Well, this is interesting,” Jay notes. 

“Come on, Jay, you’re on my team,” Jiyeon says and grabs his arm.

“Uh, hello, that’s my brother,” you argue. 

“Yeah, and he’s tall, better for reaching the perfect apple,” Jiyeon says with a shrug. “Snooze, you lose.”

“If you’re that worried about the perfect apples up high, I’ve already won,” you reason before turning to Chan. “Come on, Chan, you’re with me.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate for a minute, which would probably be a little embarrassing if he wasn’t actually looking forward to the afternoon. It seems you have a plan, and all he really has to do is follow along. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been alone with you, either. Any awkwardness left with the train ride. 

There’s more to picking apples than just picking the first ones you see, as Chan quickly finds out. You consult the little flyer about which ones are in season and start talking about which types of apples make the best pies. Which are the best for tarts. Which are the best for a bunch of desserts that he’s never heard of. It goes way over his head when you’re talking about the different flavors of apples and which goes best with cinnamon and nutmeg and all the flavors that remind you of the Fall. He’s always known that you loved to bake, but there's something different about seeing it in action like this. And you’re not even actually cooking. 

Despite your insistence about the height of apples, you do come across some trees where the lower ones all look bad, even by Chan’s standards. When there’s a ladder around, he offers to climb up it so that you can have the perfect apple. It seems to make you smile every time. The system works pretty well until you come to a tree with the perfect apples and no ladder in sight. In hindsight, it’ll definitely seem stupid. That he helps you fixate on something so small as the perfect apple. Yet, at the moment, it makes perfect sense.

“Here, climb on my shoulders,” Chan offers and bends down.

“No, it’s really okay,” you say, waving him off.

“If you want the apples, then let’s get you the apples,” Chan insists.

“I’m too heavy,” you protest.

“You’re not,” Chan promises. 

“You’re not going to drop me, are you?” you worry.

“Never,” Chan assures you. 

He stays crouched down to allow you to climb onto his shoulders. Once you hook your legs around his back and he grabs your knees, he stands up, very thankful that he’s never skipped leg day. What he’s not counting on, or prepared for, is your surprise. Because in that surprise,  your thighs squeeze either side of his face. He’s sure it’s an involuntary action. He’s sure you don’t even realize you’re doing it. Yet it makes him swallow hard all the same. As soon as he steadies himself (mentally, that is, because physically he’s fine), he steps towards the tree. On his shoulders, you’re easily tall enough to reach the apples you wanted in the first place. 

“Thank you,” you say softly when he lets you back down.

“No problem,” Chan says, ignoring the slight dryness in his throat.

Apparently, taking the perfect pictures in the orchard is just as important as picking the apples. Chan does roll his eyes about that a little bit but agrees to be your photographer anyway. It’s the same thing all over again. Your face lights up at having someone to do all these things with and he’s putty in your hands. It’s impossible to say no. There’s a moment where he can tell that you’re a little upset that your boyfriend isn’t there to take pictures with you. Obviously, part of the whole thing should involve him in your perfect world. Yet he’s not the one that’s here. Instead, Chan offers to take a picture of the two of you and then take some with your other friends when you meet back up. 

The group also has to decide just how to judge this baking contest. The only rules that you and Jiyeon agree to is that it has to be something baked and it has to use the apples. Beyond that, it’s up to whoever wants to participate just what they make. It’s not usually Seokmin’s thing, but he offers to help Mina bake and, since neither of them are that good, you and Jiyeon allow it. 

“Why don’t we get together next weekend and do something else?” Vernon suggests. 

“Like what?” Jay asks.

“Pumpkin carving!” you shout out.

“You know what? That actually sounds fun, and we haven’t done it in years,” Jay says.

“Yeah, we always used to have the best pumpkins as kids,” you agree.

“They were pretty cool,” Chan agrees. 

“So pumpkins and whatever baked apple thing to see who wins?” Vernon asks.

Everyone agrees, and Chan can’t help but look to you. Anything you might have been feeling over your boyfriend missing yet another Fall activity that matters to you is forgotten. Or you’re doing a very good job at hiding it. All your face shows is happiness. It’s kind of infectious. 

It doesn’t get much more stereotypically Fall than going to the pumpkin patch and taking pictures. Really, it’s pretty cliche. Yet, you seem unfazed by the entire prospect. You’re layered up, just like everyone else, to fight off the crispness of the air. Unlike everyone else, your face lights up when you pull up to the orchard, a different one than where you picked the apples. There are rows upon rows of pumpkins, all waiting to go to the perfect homes. You’re out of the car and off to walk through the rows before anyone else, and you don’t seem to have a care in the world. 

There’s an art, Chan learns, to picking the best pumpkin. It all depends on what exactly someone wants to carve. Too small, and it feels crowded, too big and the face gets swallowed. Unless you make everything bigger, which is always an option. That gets a chuckle out of Vernon and a smack to his arm from Lisa. Lisa, always entirely honest, is really just in it for the pictures and then for whatever baked goods they get to taste test later. She’s happy to carve a pumpkin too, but she wants to use a stencil. And fully admits that she’ll probably get bored halfway through. 

Almost unconsciously, or maybe by habit at this point, Chan finds himself wandering through the rows with you. Every now and then, you pause to consider a pumpkin before moving on. There’s so much concentration on the task, and he can’t help but to wonder if you’re just excited or if you’re also avoiding thinking about other things. 

“What are you looking for?” Chan finally asks. 

You turn and regard him for a second, evidently deciding that he’s just curious rather than judgmental. “Okay, don’t think it’s lame…”

“Why would I?” he asks honestly.

“I sort of have a couple ideas for what I want to carve,” you admit. “Do you, is it okay if I show you?”

“Yeah, of course,” comes Chan’s immediate reply. 

There’s that smile again, the one that lights up your whole face like this is the best day that you can imagine.  You pull your phone out of your pocket and open your photos. It’s hard to miss that all the recent images are from the things you’ve done as a group or screenshots or things saved from random searches. There aren’t any recent ones, as you quickly scroll, with you and Seungsik. His attention is pulled back to the task at hand when you show him a couple of different carving ideas you have. 

“Which one do you like best?” you ask after showing him several. 

“It’s hard to pick. Honestly, I think you should get a couple of pumpkins,” Chan answers. 

That actually seems to make you happier as you pluck one from nearby that’s apparently perfect for at least one of your ideas. Chan offers to hold it for you as the two of you carry on in finding just the right pumpkins. It’s interesting, especially having picked apples with you, that you spend so much more care in this. You explain that some of the pumpkins don’t have the best sides so they don’t look as good when you carve them. They’re good for displaying as is or good to back with, but you want the prettiest pumpkins if you’re carving something.

Well, he can’t really argue with that. 

Once you’re all back at his and Jay’s apartment, everyone splits off in different directions. You and Jiyeon immediately go to bring out your apple desserts. Chan’s a little surprised, still, that Seokmin and Mina actually made something together. But it all looks good, and he’s kind of hungry. Lisa, who suggested ordering actual food, manages to get the bags inside with Vernon’s help. The two of them get to work setting all the food out on the counter for people to start getting plates. Chan starts pulling out plates and glasses for everyone. Jay clears off their little dining table, which isn’t big enough for everyone, as well as the coffee table. It’s not like this is anything formal anyway. 

Even though you and Jiyeon want to start with the desserts, Mina manages to convince you to have actual food first. Then, as everyone is carving, they can start trying whatever looks best to them. You reluctantly agree from your spot on the floor. There’s plenty of space to sit on the couch, but instead, you sit on the floor, right next to Chan’s legs, occasionally brushing against him as you move. It’s a little harder for him to watch you without being so obvious and just as hard to ignore your presence. There’s a vibrance to you again, like everything in your world is right. Like nothing could possibly be missing. It doesn’t escape his notice that you don’t mention Seungsik; don’t seem to be missing him during this activity. It’s not like apple picking where he bailed. He was never part of these plans. Maybe that’s the key, or maybe you’re realizing that doing all of this with friends can be just as fun. Whatever the reason, Chan wants you to keep smiling like this. 

After protesting, sitting on the floor to eat, Chan has to agree that sitting on the floor to carve pumpkins makes the most sense. It’s easier when you’re not bending over to the coffee table level. It also gives him more space. Like Lisa, he’s using a stencil that he printed out. He wants it to be perfect, and he’s not sure he could do it freehand. 

“Okay, I want dessert. Who’s going to tell me what’s what?” Vernon announces.

You’re up before anyone can say anything to grab your desserts. Plural. “Okay, so I made two…”

“Which is cheating,” Jiyeon interjects.

“Is not,” you reply and stick your tongue out at her. You open each container. “These are just apple fritters and these are salted caramel apple bars.”

“Tell me you did not make caramel from scratch, too,” Jiyeon whines. 

“It’s so easy, of course I did,” you retort. 

“Ugh, of course,” Jiyeon groans. “Anyway, I made apple-pomegranate cobbler.”

“Which looks amazing,” you compliment, causing Jiyeon to beam. 

“And since we knew these two would go totally over the top, we just made plain old apple pie,” Mina says. 

“Hey, we worked hard, don’t undersell it,” Seokmin points out.

“I’m sure it’s great, Seok,” Lisa says to pacify him. 

“I’m going to eat it all,” Vernon announces.

He goes to get a plate and, true to his word, puts some of everything on it. You carry on carving and wave off Chan’s offer to get you something. It’s hard not to play favorites, but he also doesn’t want some of everything. At least not yet. So he grabs one of the salted caramel apple bars that you made and some of Jiyeon’s dessert. Things get quiet again as everyone is either enjoying the dessert or focusing on their pumpkins. 

Despite Vernon taking a break to eat as much dessert as he could stomach, he does get back to working on his pumpkin and it’s annoying how good it looks. He went in without a plan and his pumpkin is one of the best. Chan thinks his could probably be a lot better, but he’s also happy with it. As predicted, Lisa abandoned hers halfway through and has been picking music to play ever since. It’s kind of nice, though, to have her doing that. It makes the whole afternoon into the evening pass by in the best way. 

Chan should probably think of new words, but this is another one of those days that just feels like the best of the season. Everyone is together and happy. Nobody is fighting, unless it’s you and Jiyeon playfully arguing when your apple bars win as the best dessert. It’s fine to be in your feelings, and Chan meant it when he said he would be happy with whatever side you wanted to show him. It’s also important to have the lighter days. The easy days. The ones that make weathering the storm a little more manageable. It’s clear there’s definitely still a storm, and he’s thankful for the little breaks like this. 

However, as it turns to night, everyone starts to filter out of the apartment. Seokmin, Mina, and Lisa want to go out to the bar and ask if anyone else wants to come. Jiyeon and Vernon already planned to go out to dinner. They’re still in that phase where they want to act like they’re not dating, even though they definitely are, and everyone is happy for them. Jay’s been talking to someone off some dating app that he wants to go hang out with. That just leaves you and Chan.

“I’m actually kinda tired, so I think I might just stay in,” Chan tells Seokmin when he asks again if either of you wants to come to the bar with them.

“I don’t really feel like going out,” you admit before looking at Chan. “Do you mind if I stay here with you?”

“Course not,” Chan answers, ignoring the look he knows Jay is giving the two of you. Your brother’s never really been good at being subtle. 

“Lame, but I get it,” Lisa says with a shrug.  Everyone but Jay filters out for their plans and he disappears into his bedroom to get ready. Chan gets up to start cleaning up and putting everything away. 

“You don’t need to help. You’re a guest,” Chan tells you when you join in on the cleaning.

“Wow, a guest? And here I thought we were friends,” you scoff. 

Chan shakes his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“I figure if I help then I can rope you into watching a movie with me,” you answer.

“Fine,” Chan says, pretending to be put out.

Truthfully, he’s going to agree to whatever you want to do. You could say that you wanted to learn a new language and Chan would probably at least give it a try. Down horrifically bad. Yet, he’s too caught up in thinking about hanging out with you again that he doesn’t see the way you look over at him every few minutes. Misses the way your gaze softens at how much care he uses in moving the pumpkins. Misses the way your eyes rake over him as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize things are starting to shift for you as well. 

Instead, the two of you finish cleaning up mostly in silence and are settling onto the couch by the time Jay reemerges. Convenient timing given that he doesn’t have to even make up an excuse about why he can’t help. You’re quick to call him on it and he’s just as quick to brush it off as he runs out the door. It leaves you and Chan on your own for the night. So you pick the place for take away and Chan picks the first movie. Just like that, you settle in for the night. 

part 2 coming on dec. 3rd, part 3 coming on dec. 6th. let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged 💕

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Interest 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

Note: this one is a bit longer than I anticipated!

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You have everything neatly tucked into a box for your delivery. You're anxious, more so to get it done and over with, than to meet the demanding buyer. Your mother finishes up and hurries you to get ready. You can’t help but take your time.

You bring another box, this one full of parcels to be sent out. After dropping those off, you’re back in the car hug the last order in your lap. Your mother pulls into the lot, just behind the garden center outside, now selling wreaths and pine trees in lieu of the season bulbs and petals.

You get out and check your phone. Your mom comes around to read over your shoulder. You keep an arm around the box as you lean it against the car. You bring up your Etsy messages.

‘Think I got here early. In the garden center checking out the garlands.’ 

“Oh, great,” your mother says, “we won’t have to waste too much time.”

“Mhmm,” you agree and bring your other arm around the box, pressing your phone to it as you follow her. 

She doesn’t wait as she walks along the wall of the garden centre and dips through the door. You catch up inside, nearly bouncing off of her as you hold the box ahead of you. She squeals and points out a shelf of ornaments made of pine cones. You humour her with a smile and hum.

“Those are cute, mom, but we’re not here to shop,” you huff as you peer around.

That woman in the patchwork jacket looks like a farmer. She has the square jaw of a real hard lady. You know she’d probably best you in any physical combat. You meet her eye, tilting her head in question, ‘are these your crochet goods? Huh? Did you make me come all the way down here?’

She frowns and quickly turns away. Alright, not her but you’ve definitely creeped her out. You glance back at your mom as she ogles the ornaments. You wonder how she manages to work from home effectively.

“Excuse me, uh, SashayCrochet? Um, I think that’s for me?” A voice draws you back to face the rows of trees and hanging wreaths. You almost fall over as you recognize the man approaching you. No flipping way. “Hey,” he points at you in a similar epiphany.

“Uh, Farmer’s Delight?” You grimace.

“That’d be me,” he smiles. He’s wearing the same tan jacket, you note the stain by the pocket, “thanks for meeting me here.”

“Uh huh,” you squint at him. What a gosh dang diddly darn coincidence this is. “Here, everything’s there. Have a good day.”

“Oh, wow,” he sputters as you push the box against his stomach, slowly placing his hands on the corners. “Do you mind if I check to make sure or–”

You hold back a sneer. You can’t believe this. You had a bad feeling all along. You somehow don’t think this is fate. You think this guy has a problem. Why would he needs a lady’s magenta cap and matching mitts?

“Honey,” your mom finally catches on to the scene behind her, “oh, is this him?”

“Um, hello,” the weirdo smiles at her, “yeah, uh, it’s me. Cole.”

He offers his hand as he shifts the box under his arm. Your mother shakes his hand and nearly vibrates in excitement. She loves finding a new mark for her unending small talk. They deserve each other.

“Cole, that’s such a cute name,” she rescinds her hand, holding it over her chest coyly, “matches you well.”

“Mom,” you growl, raising your chin defiantly at Cole the creep, “I included an invoice so you can see everything’s there. Go ahead and check, we have things to do.”

“Honey, don’t be so rude,” your mother chides, “so, Cole, you live on a farm?”

He sets the box down on the corner of a table and shuffles through the contents. You stay where you are as your mom steps closer. You wonder if she sees the silver in his beard and just thinks that’s some festive touch. He’s ancient.

“Yeah, my parents’ place. I help out. As much as I can.”

“Oh, wow, I always dreamt of living out in the country but I’m too much of a busy body. The city is where I belong,” she preens, “but my daughter, she’s loves being at home. Don’t you, honey?” She beckons to you but you don’t move. “Spends all her time making this stuff,” she motions to the box.

“It’s very nice,” he says as he admires the beret style cap, “good handiwork. Talented.”

“Yes, a good hobby,” your mom insists, “not so useful as working the field, I’m sure.”

He chuckles, “yeah, I guess, but it takes all sorts.” He lifts the box up again, “my mother is going to love all this. Her birthday’s just around the corner and I didn’t really wanna walk in with another gift store teddy bear.”

“Too sweet,” your mom chimes, “any mother would be so lucky. Honey, get over here.” She reaches back blindly and grabs your arm, forcing you up next to her, “she always makes me something pretty for the holidays but you can only really have so many socks and scarfs.”

“Mom,” you snarl again, glowering at Cole as amusement dimples in his cheek.

“Actually, uh, I was just coming from the market. I have a booth there. I sell plants, so, uh, I have some in my car. If you wanna have a look. You can have one for free… some probably won’t last that much longer,” he suggests.

“Oh, plants! I love plants. And with this weather, everything’s so grey,” your mother trills. “We’d love to have a look.”

You almost hiss at her again but you don’t want to argue, not in front of this man. He smiles and leads her out of the garden center. You trail behind reluctantly. Your mother glances over her shoulder and snaps her fingers at you. You come up behind her and lean in close.

“Mom,” you whisper, “do you really think we should follow this stranger to his car?”

“Stranger? He’s so nice.”

“You said two words to each other.”

“Don’t be so cynical,” she snaps back, lowering her voice as she talks out the side of her mouth, "he's gorgeous."

He takes her to a pale blue truck and opens the back door, he tucks the box on the floor and steps back, gesturing to the back seat. You furrow your brow at your mom. She is easy pickings.

“You can have a look. Mostly cacti,” he shrugs.

“Don’t mind if I do,” your mom steps up and peeks into the back seat.

You can see the edge of a cardboard tray as she moves around the small pots. You stay a few feet back and cross your arms. Cole edges towards you.

“I guess… we’re running into each other so I can apologise,” he says, keeping his voice notably low, “about the bookstore.”

“Huh, bookstore? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m being nice. I just wanna make it up for you. Why don’t you take a plant too?”

“I don’t have much of a green thumb. I’d rather knit my plants,” you sneer.

“You mean crochet,” he corrects you. You look at him sharply and he lifts his brows plaintively, “I’m learning, see?”

“Mom,” you put your hand up as if to say ‘talk to the hand’ and block him out, “hurry up. We gotta grab that thing for dad. Remember?”

“Great, I’m heading inside too,” Cole says, “they have some sod in stock and I need some chicken wire.”

“I like this one,” you mother shows a prickly cactus with a little red cushion on top, “and wonderful, you might know what this is,” she fishes out her phone with her free hand, “something for the sink. My husband sent me a link…”

You die a little as your mother shows him the web page. Of course she can’t just let him go. She can’t let you get out of this. She thinks this guy with his dumb blue eyes and sandy brown hair is some sort of Prince Charming.

“Maybe I’ll just wait in the car,” you say.

“Oh, honey, don’t be silly, it’s too cold for that.”

Cole looks at her phone, “oh, I know exactly where those are. One sec.”

He shuffles past her to shut his truck door. You glare at your mom but she doesn’t notice, she’s completely enamored with this tall hunk of weirdo. Whatever, you’ll have to sneak away and hide in the pet section and daydream about the puppy you never got.

[graveyardviolence]

Tell me about your aftg ocs!!

THANK YOU‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

okay okay okay so theres like a dozen of them but ill tell you abt my baby mercer (i may or may not be writing a fic for him)

Mercer Kyrie Reyes | #13, offensive dealer, 20, 5’7”, leo

mercer joins the foxes his sophomore year of college (he transfers) after wymack shows up at the bar he works at and basically forces his hand. this follows the events of tsc, so he & neil are the only sophomores on the team. he has a pretty mild relationship with most of the foxes since he’s not really around them that much off court. moving from bum-fuck nowhere connecticut to south carolina is a bit of a mess.

he majors in drawing (idk)

how he plays on court is usually dependent on how his day has gone. if he’s had a bad say, he won’t be of any use on court

he has a little sister, marcella, who he loves and would do anything to protect. he’s her current legal guardian.

he’s the second oldest, his older brother is 5 years older than him and has gone no-contact with the rest of his family, only really checking in every few months to make sure his siblings are alive. he has one younger brother who’s two years younger than him, and then theres marcella who’s four years younger

he has a sweet tooth that rivals andrews, it’s actually ridiculous bc this man always has candy on him no matter what

HATES spiders & flies (they freak him out)

slushy fiend

he’s vv picky eater & will only eat spicy foods

will drink lemonade no matter the season

he can COOK god hes so-

he enjoys sketching random shit he sees. if his sketchbook isnt on he’ll take a picture of whatever it is that caught his interest- but that’s almost never the case so whenever the foxes see him outside of practice he’s usually drawing

he also writes poetry! nothing serious, but he’ll write what he feels in the moment.

his relationship with wymack & abby is a little shifty. he’s got a lot of trust issues (obv) & parental issues, but abby lets his sister stay with her and keeps her fed, and wymack lets him use the foxes credit card (i forgot what its called) to buy things for her when needed, so it’s as bad as it would be if he were there alone

hes a smartass, of course, and usually gets sent off court for talking shit. he has a habit of taunting other teams. kevin usually falls victim to it during practice. he’s also very flirtatious, with just about everyone, though its usually superficial, he just likes seeing people get worked up

his nails are always chipped with black paint

he’s got his signature leather jacket that he wears no matter the season. it’s got a bunch of different pins and patches sewn into it

he drinks enough energy drinks to have a heart attack, and his hands tend to shake a LOT bc of it

he has chronic migraines! they happen at least once a day (if hes lucky)

very bad insomnia, my mans usually gets like 3 hours of sleep a day if he’s lucky. he tends to nap a LOT

he has tattoos! he wants to open up a tattoo/piercing shop, and he usually practices on himself! for marcella’s 16th birthday he gave her a small sun and moon tattoo on each of her inner forearms

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas22: Day 11: Hybrid-verse Babyfic

I cannot believe I'm posting this.

Let my bad judgment be a gift for you all.

This is one of the baby-verse concepts that I considered for Hybrid verse. This is the most coherent one, I think. Ask flowerslut, she is the champion of these takes.

ANYWAY, I might have to do a follow-up for more baby-Jasper interaction but this is definitely something that establishes the universe.

This fic is very much entrenched in the characters, world-building and mythology of Hybrid, so I would hit the tags to catch up if you haven't. Or play it fast and loose and go in blind; I support you.

I hope you enjoy it and I don't lose all credibility <3

Graduating from high school eight months pregnant wasn’t exactly something I planned for. 

But then, getting pregnant in high school wasn’t on my to-do list either. I’d felt ridiculous taking the pregnancy test in the first place, when Mom had told me that I was infertile my entire life. All of my plans had been based on the fact that I’d never be a mother, and that had always been my normal. I’d known it so long it wasn’t a tragedy, it was just a fact. 

To be faced with two extremely positive pregnancy tests was impossible. It had taken me over a week to believe it. That despite everything I knew about myself, about how my mother had raised me, I was pregnant. 

And I somehow had to tell my parents, and find a way to contact the Cullens. 

It went exactly how I expected - both my father and Simon were incredulous and there was a very emotional lecture when I confessed. About how this would change my life, how young I was, how they had wanted more for me. That I had a choice to make. 

That made me feel sick. Because my first instinct was abortion. I wasn’t even eighteen, my boyfriend and his family had disappeared without any contact details, and the combination of the baby’s biology was… messy at best. There was no guarantee my baby would make it full-term, let alone be able to function in human society. And maybe I was panicking, maybe I felt alone and very young and small and lost, especially with both my father and Simon looking at me with such exasperation. Maybe I wanted to fix this mistake, undo it, so they would stop looking at me like that. So that maybe they’d give me a hug and tell me that it was going to be okay.

But the practical side of my brain told me that it was incredibly dangerous to opt for an abortion now. That I risked drawing too much attention if I went in for any medical procedure - I had no idea what my bloodwork would look like in comparison to a humans. That any sort of official medical records outside of broken bones and a concussion were dangerous - especially without Jasper around to hack the hospital database to fudge anything abnormal. 

And the idea of a baby. Jasper’s baby. We’d never talked about children because they had never been an option. I had no idea whether he’d wanted children when he was human, whether if we had known it was possible. This decision felt too huge for me to make alone, but I had no way of calling him. And I really hated him for that; that Bella and Edward’s awkward drama was the reason that I was watching my father pour his second shot, and Simon just kept pacing. 

And what if… what if this was my only chance? What if I never saw Jasper again, and I got the abortion, and regretted losing my chance? If this wasn’t just the result of Mom lying to me about my body, but an actual one-in-a-million-chance? 

It was too much.

//

I tried so hard to conceal my pregnancy, which wasn’t easy when I weight 95 pounds soaking wet. For a while, my saving grace was layers of winter clothing, hiding the bump under sweaters and swing dresses. 

But nothing good lasts forever. The charming Lauren Mallory cornered me in the bathrooms towards the end of winter; the school had the heat so high I’d been sweating under all my layers and had slipped into the bathroom to peel off my jacket and sweater for a moment. And wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, there was no denying I was knocked up. Lauren had been delighted and scandalised by her discovery and the prospect of drama; she found out at the beginning of fourth period and by lunch the entire school knew. 

In a town as small as Forks, gossip is practically currency and I was a prime target from classmates, admin staff and teachers - everyone had an opinion, a though, a back-handed insult or joke to make. Lauren and some of her cronies had thought it was hilarious to make jokes and whispered behind my back, just loud enough so I could hear it. The other students treated me like a parasite, or a punchline. Several nasty jokes - and a betting chart on who the father was - were scrawled across the back of a toilet door. Some asshole broke into my locker and filled it with condoms.

It was tough. 

Bella treated me with more contempt than usual when she found out, obviously assuming that I’d hooked up with someone human after Jasper. She took to avoiding me, blatantly moving cafeteria tables when I tried to sit with her and talk. I wanted to shake her, to point out that the Cullens had left us and this loyalty to them was admirable but unhelpful, especially when the kid was Jasper’s. But Edward had somehow convinced her that I was an anomaly, a singular impossibility, or maybe a liar, and that vampires could not father children and that whatever Jasper and I had was less than her and Edward because of some imaginary hook-up I’d had with one of our classmates. 

Maybe I was a little bitter. 

But despite Bella’s very best efforts, everyone at school had correctly guessed that Jasper was the father. More than once, I heard people call me names under their breath, or people yelling things out at me, about being the reason the Cullens had left. 

I had a hard time caring, truly. My decision to keep my baby was not one I was regretting, but it wasn’t exactly how I imagined it when I had gone over my new reality. I was exhausted, sick, sore, and miserable. Carrying a half-vampire baby was hard work - angry bruises bloomed all over my stomach every time he kicked. I was eating twice as much as I had before, and yet I was losing weight. More than once, Simon had hooked me up to a drip to rehydrate me. Morning sickness was a joy that hung around long after my first – and second – trimester. Seizures, fainting, and dizzy spells were all common occurrences.

Dad was terrified for me, I could tell. Simon was handling the medical side of things as best he could, and Cynthia had become my champion - the one who was always reminding me how wonderful a baby would be, how everything would be better once he was born and I wasn’t so sick anymore. But Dad… he was the one that checked on me through the night when I was exhausted but the aches in my body prevented me from getting a wink of sleep; he was the one that made me snacks at one in the morning when I was starving. He was the one that was with me through every seizure, every fainting spell. 

“You’re going to be okay, Alice.” He would kiss my head and say that reassuringly, and I know he was trying to convince himself but he convinced me. I would be okay. 

//

By the time the summer arrived, I was as ready as I could be. My bedroom now sported a crib that Cynthia and I had painted blue, pushed against the wall next to my bed. I had learned to knit, and managed to make a wonky blanket, a hat, and a pair of lopsided socks. I’d bought most of the baby’s clothing and toys from thrift shops and online, to try and get my pitiful savings and my allowance to stretch far enough. Dad had bought the crib and a pram for me at a garage sale. Simon had bought the baby a fancy plush bear; a sign that things weren’t perfect but I was forgiven, at least.

The only good thing about losing so much weight was that I didn’t need to buy any maternity clothing. Almost everything still fit me fine. 

//

My baby boy, Oliver Brandon-Whitlock, was born at 3:11 am, five pounds even. He had slightly curly black hair, and big green eyes. And there was no mistaking who his father was - he looked just like Jasper. 

Simon had insist that I risk a hospital birth, terrified that something would go badly wrong if I opted for a home birth and, honestly, after all the pain I had been in over the last eight months, he didn't have to argue with me for long. I wanted all the drugs they could give me. And even my dreams didn’t warn me of the result - an emergency c-section three weeks early in the middle of the night. 

And he was beautiful. The second that they laid him on my chest, I knew him. He was mine and Jasper’s. Even though I had never gotten a clear view of him in my dreams and visions, I recognised his face. 

He seemed more alert than a typical newborn, his eyes meeting mine as he watched me carefully until they whisked him off to be tested and bathed, as the doctors stitched me back together. 

I’d like to say Ollie and I bonded in the first few hours of his life, that I held him and promised him the world and sang to him, but that would be a damn lie. I bullied the first nurse who walked into my room into helping me take a shower, and then I slept for fourteen hours without disturbance. My family, my doctors, the nurses… they all just let me sleep, assuming it was the emergency surgery that knocked me out. But I was just… so sad. Sad that I was alone. Sad that Jasper didn’t even know about Ollie. Sad that I’d brought a baby into such a messy, unplanned life. 

It wasn’t until Ollie was nearly a whole day old that I finally held him. 

// 

The plan that Dad and Simon had helped me make was that I would defer college for a year. And I would spend that year preparing to move out, just me and Ollie. Dad and Simon would pay me my allowance, plus a little extra for housekeeping whilst they were at work and Cynthia was at school. The logistics of how I would afford to live and study and raise Ollie were still fuzzy, but it was the start of a plan. A future. A life. 

//

Ollie wasn’t a big fan of sleep, unfortunately, and I blamed his father’s genes for that particular joy. It was a good night when I managed five hours of broken sleep, but it was hard to be mad when his little face lit up every time I appeared. His favourite place to sleep was on my chest, or if I dragged his crib in front of my bedroom window when the sun was shining. He liked it when I sang to him, cooing at me happily. 

Having Ollie in the house changed the mood, and I quickly became determined that I could do this alone. I had survived the pregnancy by myself, I could raise my baby by myself as well. I was the fuck-up, the one that had made this choice, so it was all on me. No one in my family would be woken in the middle of the night by Oliver’s cries. No one would have to deal with his laundry, with feeding or bathing or calming him. They could cuddle him and play with him, but everything else was up to me. 

I began mainlining sugar and black coffee like a crack fiend, and took to sleeping the rare times when Ollie did. Days blurred together a lot with exhaustion, but I had a routine. Not once did I miss doing the laundry or picking up the groceries or vacuuming. I didn’t want to give anyone the chance to tell me I was a shitty, terrible mother. That I was out of my depth and I was taking an innocent child down with me. 

I knew my Dad was worried, and Cynthia too. I overheard Simon tell my dad a few times that I was just trying to get into the rhythm of having a newborn, that he was watching me for depression. That I’d come to them if I was struggling. But it sounded like Simon was trying to convince himself, too.

And I really did fucking love my son. I loved how he gurgled at me when he woke from a nap; I loved the way he rubbed his face against his bear, how he giggled and squealed and just was - such a happy baby. I had taken hundreds of photographs of him, capturing very little grin, every giggle. 

//

At the end of July, Simon dropped the bomb. 

I’d had a long day - Ollie had decided to run a fever overnight, and spent most of the day grizzling and insisting on being held, not even allowing me to put him in the sling. I’d finally gotten him settled before dinner, and the exhaustion was weighing me down - it had been tempting to go to bed as soon as he’d fallen asleep. But I’d managed to make it to dinner, and was pushing my food around - I was both ravenous and too tired to eat. 

And then Simon carefully set down his fork and looked meaningfully at my father before he spoke. 

“The Cullens are back.”

My fork scraped against my plate when he said that, but I didn’t look up. I hadn’t been prepared for that - I simply wasn’t getting enough sleep to have a full vision, and hadn’t for months. They were there, just beyond my reach, but with Ollie waking up so many times at night… well, they’d just have to wait until he was sleeping through the night. 

“Apparently Esme Cullen didn’t like the city,” Simon continued, his voice gentle. 

“Or rather, Edward got over himself,” I murmured, taking a minuscule bite of rice and fish. It was easy to blame Edward and Carlisle for this; Edward’s word was family law and Carlisle gave in to Edward far too easily. Jasper’s choice to go with his family instead of staying with me was a raw spot that I avoided at all costs. I wasn’t… I wasn't angry but I was hurt and heartbroken and lost. Just thinking about Jasper made me feel like a wounded animal, cornered and trying to last out to protect itself from hurting more. 

And now they were back. I had somehow survived with a healthy baby without them, and they’d finally come back to Forks. After months of being so goddamn sick that I’d had to cut my hair off because it was so brittle it was snapping; after being on I.Vs to rehydrate me; fistfuls of vitamins every single day because my absorption was so low; Simon forcing fortified protein smoothies on me at every opportunity - he was still trying to do that, honestly. All the bad and ugly was done, so the Cullens had deemed it time to return. 

Maybe I was angrier than I realised. 

“What are you going to do?” Cynthia asked quietly, watching me. She’d been a rock during all of this - several of her friends had ditched her on their parents’ orders because of me, and she had said she didn’t care and didn’t want to be friends with judgemental assholes, but I still felt terrible. 

“Cynthia,” Dad said firmly, as I took another mouthful to avoid answering that question. I chewed slowly before I looked up. 

“I’m going to finish dinner, and have a shower, and go to bed,” I said calmly. “I am going to get some sleep. Tomorrow, Ollie and I are going to Port Angeles to pick up some stuff. On Saturday, I’ll go and talk to them.”

“Alone?” Cynthia was looking worried now. 

“Alone,” I said firmly. “I don’t want Oliver near them until we’ve had a talk.”

“No, I meant… do you want me or Dad or Pa to go with you? As back-up? You don’t have to do this alone.”

I looked at my younger sister, who was looking at me so kindly. Who hadn’t said a single negative thing to me since I got pregnant. I needed to tell her how much that meant to me. How I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of love and loyalty, but I treasured it. 

“No. Not this time,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt. “Maybe the next one, when they know about Ollie.”

“Do you think…” Dad began before stopping. 

“What?” I asked, looking at him, and Dad sighed. 

“Do you think the Cullens will go for primary custody?” Dad asked. “Is Jasper likely to…”

“No,” I said with certainty. “Jasper won’t try to take Ollie away.” I was far more worried that the discovery we had a child would make him disappear again.

//

My so beautifully planned out visit to the Cullens did not transpire as I envisaged it. Which was mostly go over there looking gorgeous, being distant and perfectly articulate and giving them a piece of my mind. 

Instead, Simon was called in to cover a shift at the hospital at the last minute, and Dad had taken Cynthia to Port Angeles to see a movie. He’d offered to take Ollie with them, but I hadn’t wanted to spoil Cynthia’s plans - and Ollie had started crying when I went to leave - so I decided to bring Ollie with me. 

So instead of a blow-out and the insanely cute purple lace sundress I had planned on, I found myself walking up to the Cullens’ front door in a t-shirt and cut-offs with my son in the sling across my front, cooing away. 

I felt like I was sealing my doom when I knocked on the front door. Like everything had suddenly become much, much more real. 

“Alice?” Esme looked delighted when she opened the door - perfectly unchanged from when I had last seen her, except she was wearing a hideous yellow plaid dress that had to be destroyed at all costs - but then looked utterly perplexed as Ollie’s presence registered when he squealed. “Alice, Jasper’s going to be so pleased to see you, come in.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” I said, adrenaline running through me, as Esme escorted me through the house. 

“What’s that smell?” I could hear Emmett in the sitting room as we walked through. I wondered what Ollie would smell like to them - to me, he just smelt like baby, with a hint of the shampoo I used on him. Sweet and familiar. 

“Alice!” The whole family - and Bella - were gathered in the living room, turning to greet me as I walked in. 

“Hi,” I said awkwardly, with a smile that was more of a grimace as their smiles faded into confusion and shock, Ollie letting out a coo of delight at the prospect of eight brand new people who would, in his limited life experience, want to cuddle and fuss over him. 

“What…” Emmett said softly, as Bella shook her head at me when we made eye contact; judgemental pain in my ass.

“Oh my,” Carlisle managed, looking like he’d really like to be pouring himself a drink. 

But Rosalie was in my orbit in a split-second, her hands practically twitching. “What’s his name?” she asked, watching as Ollie looked around the room in curiosity.

“Oliver,” I said, my hand falling protectively to his head. 

“Can… can I hold him?” Rosalie looked at me, her eyes oddly hopeful. 

Oliver let out a sound of enthusiasm at the sound of Rose’s voice, one little hand reaching towards her. 

“Sure,” I said, slightly surprised. I knew Rose’s complicated history with children, but I also assumed she’d be much, much crueler to me. That she’d be one of the worst of the Cullens to deal with. I carefully lifted Ollie out of the sling and passed him over into Rose’s waiting arms. As she cradled him, the most beautiful smile lit her face. 

“Aren’t you handsome?” she said, and Ollie beamed at her, his chubby hands reaching out for her hair. “He’s perfect, Alice. Aren’t you, little man?”

Suddenly, there was a gentle hand on my shoulder, and Jasper was standing next to me. I forced myself to meet his gaze and resist the urge to fling my arms around him, slap him, or burst into tears.

His expression was peaceful, utterly calm. But the look in his eyes was complete heartbreak and misery. 

“Congratulations,” he murmured. “I’m happy for you.” I could see it so clearly, that whatever he was assuming - that I had moved on - was the end for us. That the situation was utterly hopeless for him. 

And the righteous indignation rose its ugly head. He couldn’t look at me like that, as if he had lost something.

I scowled, crossing my arms over my chest. “You and I need to have a talk,” I said flatly, as Rosalie and Esme absconded with Ollie to perch on the couch together. Ollie was the center of attention, and loving every moment. Carlisle and Emmett were crowded around the couch, too, watching as Ollie examined the world around him, occasionally squealing or cooing.

“We don’t have to. I understand,” he said, and the unhappiness was practically seeping from him. It made sense, honestly. The sight of his mate with an infant that - in his eyes - was someone else’s child. The human side of him might have academically understood that I could move on, but the instinctual part… 

I was actually surprised that Jasper hadn’t recognised Ollie yet. Vampire instincts were so sharp and almost animalistic - I had assumed Jasper would recognise Ollie by scent. Or the fact he was a tiny clone. I was practically a damn Xerox machine. 

“You missed all the really fun parts – like telling my parents. They were not happy. And finishing high school looking like I had a watermelon under my dress. All the judgement and gossip. Oh, and labour. Sixteen hours, and then they had to take me to surgery because I was too small,” I said. “Next time, a phone number or an email address would be super helpful.”

“What?” Edward hissed, but I was too busy watching emotions flicker across Jasper’s face – confusion, hope, fear, relief, and sheer bewilderment. 

I marched over to the couch and plucked Ollie from Rosalie, before handing him to a suddenly wide-eyed Jasper, who held him away from his body. Luckily, Ollie was cheerful and just blew a spit-bubble at him, before sucking on his hand.

“Happy father’s day,” I said, and if Jasper could have, I think he would have fainted. 

“W-what?” he managed, looking down at Ollie, who stared back. 

“What?” Edward said, jumping up in shock.

“He’s Jasper’s?” Esme gasped. 

“Did any of you actually look at him? Of course he’s Jasper’s,” Rosalie sniffed. “That’s not how you hold a baby, Jasper.” She was at his side, trying to resist taking Ollie back, but I could see it was a losing battle. 

Everyone just stared at Ollie, who was done with all the strangers looking at him, whilst being held so awkwardly, and let out a wail that had both Esme and Rosalie cooing at him, and all the men looking alarmed, as I scooped him back up and let him rest his head on my shoulder.

“He was born three months ago, but he’s definitely advanced,” I said, quietly, pulling a pacifier out of my pocket when he began to whine. “It’s been hard to hide that.”

Jasper was clearly not yet processing anything beyond the word, ‘father’, so Carlisle came to the rescue. 

“It was a normal pregnancy?” he asked, as Ollie whined, snuggling against me. 

I let out a bark of laughter. “There was nothing normal about it. It lasted the longest eight months of my life,” I said frankly. “It was hard. I… I didn’t think we’d both make it at times.” I could feel Jasper moving closer to me, a protective gesture. 

“But you and Oliver are both healthy now?” Carlisle looked fascinated by the concept, and I didn’t want my baby to become an experiment. 

“For the most part,” I replied. No one could deny that I was at least ten pounds underweight, and Simon still hadn’t ruled out postpartum depression. He had me at the Baby Clinic every Wednesday to chat with the nurses, just to make sure. And Ollie had just recovered from what I was assuming was a mild allergy to our fabric softener. 

“And he’s human?” Esme asked, her eyes soft and her hands clasped in front of her. 

“He’s advanced,” I said, rocking him as he grizzled at me. “He’s already laughing and grabbing things.” Dad and Simon hadn’t commented on that aspect, and I was grateful for it. “The nurse said he looked closer to four or five months when she saw him last.”

“He’s beautiful - just like his mother.” Jasper’s voice was low, for my ears only, and I turned to smile at him. He was looking at me with this devoted look, one that he usually only wore when we were alone. 

“Sit down Alice,” Esme said, motioning for me to move to the couch. “Why don’t you tell us everything?” 

I moved carefully, Rosalie half orbiting me, but Ollie was dozing now. 

“How is this even possible?” Edward finally blurted out, loud enough that Ollie let out a whine around his pacifier, and I rubbed his back to soothe him. 

“When a man and woman love each other very much,” I intoned sarcastically and Edward scowled at me. “Edward, Jasper and I had sex and I got pregnant. I know you’ve convinced yourself and Bella that I’m some kind of miracle or impossible occurrence or a liar, but…”

“He’s not even a little bit like us?” Edward shot back. 

Jasper let out a rumble of displeasure and Bella moved closer to Edward. 

“He hasn’t been a big fan of sleep,” I admitted. “He doesn’t seem to need much.”

Jasper was sitting beside me now, one hand oh so carefully reaching out to brush a curl from Ollie’s face with a look of wonder. 

“I want to say I’m still mad at you all. I’m furious, I’m hurt and I don’t trust you not to pull a stunt like this again,” I said flatly, making eye-contact with Carlisle. “I’m here because Ollie deserves both of his parents.” And I still love his idiot father. 

“Of course. If we had known…” Carlisle began apologetically. 

“No. It doesn’t matter if I was pregnant or not. You should have respected me - and Bella - enough to talk to us. To communicate like adults. Left us a way to contact you if we needed help or just closure. It was cruel,” I shot back. “Edward shouldn’t get to dictate your entire family’s lifestyle based on whatever pang of guilt or nihilism he gets. I won’t let him do that to me or to Oliver.”

“Edward truly thought it was the best…” Esme began.

“No. He thought about himself. He didn’t think about us at all. About Bella sitting in a room for months, so depressed she was practically catatonic. He didn’t think about me being taken to the E.R. six months pregnant because I was having back to back seizures,” I said calmly. “He didn’t think about the fact that Victoria and Laurent are still out there, and we both have a target on our backs. Edward decide to run away rather than face his feelings and problem solve. We were an inconvenience to a life dedicated to self-indulgent misery, so it was easier to run.”

Silence. 

“I mean…” Emmett began, and everyone glared at him. 

“Catatonic?” Edward turned to Bella, horror on his face, and Bella averted her gaze.

“Yup. All through winter. I did my best to be a good friend, I understood how bad it hurt to be left behind,” I said sweetly. “Supportive, understanding, the works. Thanks so much for having my back during the pregnancy, Bella.” My tone was poisonous and Emmett whistled. 

“Some unresolved issues?” He offered, and Rosalie scowled at him. 

“Thanks to Bella’s constant protests about who knocked me up, there was a betting schedule on the back of the girl’s bathroom door right up until graduation,” I said. “Really made me feel supported.” Like I would have for her, if Edward had ever deigned to touch her. 

“You were alone?” Jasper asked me, and I could almost feel his irritation. 

“Cynthia had my back from day one, without question,” I said. “Dad was onboard before Simon was, but I think Simon … I think he was so worried about the medical side of things that it came across as anger. I was pretty sick.”

“But at school?” Ollie was limp against my shoulder now, completely asleep. I could hear him sucking on his pacifier as we spoke; a comforting sound to me. 

“When the estranged daughter of one of Forks’ most out gay couples gets pregnant in senior year and the family of the baby’s father leaves town with less than two days notice, the gossip is pretty intense. Everyone has an opinion, and most of them aren’t good,” I shrugged. “It’s over now. I graduated, Ollie’s healthy, I’m alive.”

“We can help with the medical bills,” Esme blurted out, and it was a sweet gesture. I knew - even before I came over - that Esme would want to fix things, to heal hurts. But some of them would take time to fade; there was still a lingering urge to start screaming at them. 

“Of course,” Carlisle said. “I will arrange to have that taken care of on Monday. Your parents shouldn’t have to deal with the entire financial burden of a newborn shared by both our families.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to refuse because of my pride but honestly, Dad and Simon’s savings had taken a hit from my pregnancy - especially with them so carefully putting aside money for when I did move to college. It wasn’t like I could live in the dorms with a baby. Not to mention that Cynthia would be headed to college in three years, and I didn’t want her college fund to take a hit on my account. The Cullens had gross amounts of money - my hospital bills would be loose change to them. 

“Anything you need, Alice. At all,” Jasper looked up at me. 

“Thank you,” I said finally, wondering exactly how the conversation would look when I asked Jasper for some kind of goddamn allowance to keep Ollie in diapers and pacifiers. God, my life was ridiculous. 

//

Standing out by the car, I carefully put Ollie into the carrier in the backseat before I turned to Jasper. 

“I’m sorry for being so dramatic and coming over …” I began but he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to cradle my face so gently, and I absently leaned into his touch. “For everything.”

“It’s going to take time,” I said honestly. “If you want to try again, if you want to be in Oliver’s life as his father… it’s going to be take time for me to trust that you’ll be there when I turn around every single time.”

“Alice…”

“You need to make that choice; I made mine a year ago. Whether you’re up for raising him with all the human needs that goes with that, all the late nights and puking and diapers and crying. The bad and the good. You can’t just disappear without communicating. We would have to be a team,” I said in a rush.

“And if you and I are going to be together again, we need to take it slow. We need to build up that trust again, we need to figure out how to balance us and him, I need to figure out how to be a mom, if you want to be involved, you need to figure out how to be a father…”

“Alice.” Jasper took both my hands. “I don’t need time to decide. I want you both. Without question. All the bad and sad and ugly pieces. You are my family.”

I couldn’t resist it then; I leant forward to wrap my arms around him. “I missed you, you dumbass,” I mumbled into his shirt. Maybe I got a little teary, but when I pulled back I wasn’t sniffling. 

“You should come over tomorrow, and we’ll have a talk alone. Work out how this is going to look,” I said. “Let you hold Ollie without Rosalie looming over your shoulder.”

Jasper let out a chuckle. “I think Esme was over the other shoulder,” he said. 

“You should see my family with him, it’s ridiculous,” I sighed, and then checked my phone. “I need to go, or his routine is going to be out and I will pay the price tonight.” 

His gaze wandered to Ollie, sleeping comfortably in his carseat. “What’s the W stand for?”

“Hmm?” I turned around; Ollie’s blanket was tucked over his legs, the wonky monogram that Cynthia had carefully stitched into the fabric visible. “Oliver Whitlock Brandon.”

Jasper’s immediately looked up at me, surprise written all over his face.

“We can change it. I didn’t want to hyphenate incase you wanted to opt out,” I said quickly. “And I didn’t want to give him family names because I wanted him to be his own person. But we can get his birth certificate reissued.”

“Whitlock,” Jasper said. “Not Hale. Not Cullen.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Because he’s not a Hale or a Cullen. He’s a Whitlock,” I said. “We can make it Brandon-Whitlock if you want. You can pick out a middle name or-”

Jasper leant down and kissed me suddenly, lifting me til I was on my tiptoes. 

“You are perfect,” he said as he broke the kiss, my head spinning. 

//

Jasper looked pained as Ollie vomited his entire breakfast down Jasper’s shirt. I laughed, reaching out for him. 

“Welcome to fatherhood,” I said cheerfully, wiping Ollie’s mouth. He was still spotless, thankfully. “A lot more puke than you’d ever expect. Throw your shirt in the hamper, and I’ll take the laundry down.”

Jasper stripped off and honestly, it made me rethink how slow I wanted to take rebuilding our relationship. I had been the one to put a pin in our sex life - especially until Carlisle could figure out a functioning form of birth control for us - but seeing the boy half-naked in my bedroom was definitely testing me. 

“Alice, can I borrow your charger?” My bedroom door flung open, and Cynthia walked in, still texting before looking up to see Jasper shirtless, me in my underwear, and Ollie babbling in my arms. 

“Huh.” Cynthia looked Jasper up and down before flouncing over to perch on the end of my bed. “No wonder you ended up pregnant.”

“Cynthia!”

Jasper was smirking, as I put one hand on my hip as I faced my sister.

“What? I speak the truth. If you took a photo of all that,” Cynthia gestured towards Jasper who was pulling on a clean shirt, “and showed all those judgemental bitches who question ‘how someone ends up pregnant at 17 in this day and age’ exactly what you’re working with, I think they’d get it. Hell, I think they’d thank you for continuing the gene pool.”

“Knocking. Have you heard of it?” I asked through gritted teeth, as Jasper took Ollie back from me. 

“I need a charger,” she said, holding up her phone.

“Ugh!” I stormed over to my desk. “This is the gift I give my son. To be an only child.”

“Thank you Alice,” Cynthia simpered at me as I tossed her the charger. Well, threw it in the direction of her head. 

“We’re not going to have any more?” Jasper asked me, sounding wounded, and I span around to stare at him in horror, Cynthia looking between us like a tennis match. 

I was about to lose my temper on both of them before Jasper cracked and started laughing and Cynthia joined in. 

“You’re all terrible,” I informed them, right as Ollie started laughing too. 

—

[vibrantlifeboringdeath]

Tag Game to Better Know You

tagged by the very lovely @zozobruh thank you SO much for thinking of me <3

What book are you currently reading?

it WAS Time is a Mother, the poetry collection by Ocean Vuong, but it's currently lost on the london subway :( next on the list though is Secret History, my friend got it for me for christmas and I really wanna start!!!

what’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year?

I'm ngl I don't think I've been to the cinema yet this year!! But I'm very excited for Asteroid City (which I might get to see this week) and Barbie. I am becoming very unhinged about Barbie tbh-

I will say though, I REALLY wanna see Banshees of Inisherin that u mentioned in ur own post!!!

what do you usually wear?

monochrome (with the occaisional splash of red or blue), short skirt & long jacket (like the cake song), lots of jacket pins. I wore a dress on saturday that was a bit risky in terms of my dysphoria but i FUCKING LOVED IT ACTUALLY. I also adore my new barbie crop top-

how tall are you

5 foot 10-ish I think??

what’s your star sign? do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event?

I'm an aires and I have the same birthday as Nathan Fillion, Mariah Carey, Christine Sydelko from Vine & apparently a bunch of tiktok stars I've never heard of lmao

do you go by your name or a nickname?

my name, Envy. A couple of people have tried V against my will, I hate it tbh

did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

When I was a child I did not even know I was a girl lmao. I wanted to be a rockstar and I *am* in a band though, so????

are you in a relationship? if not, who is your crush if you have one?

oh boy lmao (I'm single and mostly fine with it. I think I need to figure myself out a bit before I think too much about this one)

what’s something you’re good at vs something you’re bad at?

I am good at playing guitar. Not great, competent. I lack the focus to really grind out the practice to break the barrier into being Really Really Good at something. So I guess I'm bad at learning??? But my actual answer to that is I'm bad at picking up on social queues/figuring out where I stand with people

dogs or cats?

I love them both, I love going to someone's house and they have a dog, but I'd personally rather live with a cat

if  you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite  picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this  year?

A lot of what I've written this year are song lyrics that are NOT ready for anyone else's eyes lmao. You can have this little snippet from an Our Flag Means Death fic I'm working on though:

The dull Toronto sky barely seemed real as Ed stared gloomily out of his studio apartment window. The whole city felt fleeting, a hastily-painted backdrop to an imitation of life that looked as if it could start peeling away at any moment. He remembered coming here with his mother as a teenager, resenting the city’s skyscrapers for blocking his view of home, all the friends he had to leave behind. It was childish to feel that way again, Ed thought, but he also knew he couldn’t help it. Stede made him happier than he’d ever thought possible, and everything that came between them was cruel in its indifference. They hadn’t arranged when to see each other again – that was normal, Ed needed to know his schedule before he could commit, and he normally called from a payphone once he had something to offer. But the wait until then didn’t make it any easier.

what is something that you’d like to create content for?

I want to make a video game lmao. I started designing a top-down shooter a while ago to see how it felt and I. It activated all the special interest neurons in my brain I want to make game mechanics and spend ages making little pixel art icons bc I will get v obsessive about the art style and- but that's not really what the question was lmao. Uh. I've only recently started getting into writing fanfic and stuff, I'm writing for Our Flag Means Death right now but I had some ideas in high school for Doctor Who fics that I might dust off at some point-

what’s something you’re currently obsessed with?

YuGiOh, our flag means death, whatever Ryan Gosling has going on right now

what’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

my year has NOT been going how i expected it to at all and some of it stings a bit, I won't lie, but that's unfair of me because things are really, really good when I get over myself and really think about it. I am happy, I'm just a little bit insane, but I'm leaving the place that is making my mental health tank in about a month so things are looking up!! and they were already good, I just!!!

what’s a hidden talent of yours?

I am good at So Few Things, I would not hide a talent, I am trying to seem like a good hire

are you religious?

No, but I think the sense of community and catharsis and connection to something so much bigger than myself I get when I see my favourite artists at a concert is close to the feeling I think a lot of people are chasing, and can feel, when explorign their faith. I would say I'm some kind of spiritual but I think that feeling just comes from Us, not because there's something Bigger out there

what’s something you wish to have at this moment?

A reason to leave this island Right Now I'm moving up north to be with my friend in a month and I could NOT be more excited but this is going to be the longest month of my life lmao

going to tag @school-marm-charm if u fancy sharing!! No pressure though <3

[eating-you-alive-cutely]

Hi yes hello

I have some more sun n moon doots to share!

There was an eclipse yesterday night but ofc I didn’t get to see it cuz it was stormy asf

To make up for it I made a bonus eclipse concept design :D

Btw the “self insert” is actually an OC hdhdhdje their name is Whyen (he/they) and they serve in place of me cuz I don’t like putting my actual self in the fics

You know how it be

[taehoneys]

BAD GUY | FOUR

+ Jungkook is trying to sort out his feelings and seeing you with Taehyung isn’t helping

A certain video circulates the school after your big mistake and you never do mistakes, but you did this time… a big one: J e o n J u n g k o o k

— Pairing: Jungkook x Reader ft. Taehyung

— Genre: Drama

— AU(s): College!AU Fratboy!AU

— Warnings: Fingering, Oral, choking, all kinds of sex, okay? Oh, and sometimes it’s unprotected.

— Word Count: 5.9K

— Note: This is the first actual fic that I will post to Tumblr! I’m nervous/excited. I hope you enjoy it.

PLAYLIST ♪ | MASTERLIST | ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

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04; No Bad Guys

Kim Taehyung.

The guy in Beta Tau Sigma. The guy who's Jeon Jungkook's best friend. The guy who saved you from the incident in the bathroom and gave you his hoodie. The guy that you now are trying to find to give back said hoodie.

The very one that you're always seeing around campus, vape between his lips and hair wet from stepping onto campus right after his shower, yet you can't seem to find now (though, it'll be harder this time since you have the hoodie he always wears in your very hands).

Yup, that Kim Taehyung.

Is it obvious how much you've thought about him?

You contemplate checking the quad, your body lazily steering towards that direction. It's the usual spot all frat boys hang around like the vultures they are. Since everyone usually needed to walk across it to get from the services building to the lecture buildings, they loved that not one girl could be missed. It explains how Jeon Jungkook could find you so easily after the economics lecture when tossed you his little 'invitation'.

You sigh internally at the thought of Jungkook. This morning, he wasn't there when you woke up, but you expected him not to be. After all, the two of you only came together because well, you came together. You're just concerned that if you run into him at the quad, that there would be some awkward tension between you two, a result of his decision to comfort you after your run-in with your ex.

Entering the quad, you crane your neck and look around, squinting your eyes to protect it from the wind. You spot Taehyung towards the center, sitting not on the concrete bench, but on the wall block while hunched over as he spoke to the girls sitting on the actual bench. Today, he was wearing a black puffer jacket, unzipped to show a white loosely fitted sweatshirt that uncovered his collarbones, paired with tightly fitted distressed black jeans, exposing a knee. Intimidating, hell yes. More intimidating? The girls sitting on the bench talking to him.

Calm down, you're just going to give him back his hoodie.

With a very dramatic deep breath, you walk over to Taehyung and when the girls realize that you're headed straight for him, they stare and arch an eyebrow sky-high as they cut their conversation short. The silence after they catch Taehyung's hoodie in your hands speaks volumes.

Taehyung's eyes draw up and when he catches you, he's surprised. He sits up straighter as you approach him. Looking at his face, there's no doubt about how fine he is, but you have to remind yourself that he's no different from the other guys — all on some fuckboy shit.

Before you say anything, Taehyung grabs his bag and hops down from the bench, not bothering to utter another word to the other girls. Putting up his arm, he bids them goodbye with a light wave of his fingers.

He walks alongside you, his hair covering his eyes, but his wide smile seen. "Hi."

You smile back, not sure where you should walk to, but anywhere far away from those girls would do. "Hey... Um, here's your hoodie back. There's probably something inside there that you needed, anyway."

He laughs as he accepts the hoodie into his hands, your eyes lingering a second too long on his ring adorned fingers. He asks, "Did you use it?"

You shake your head. "No, I don't... vape."

Like a total good girl. You question why Jungkook's voice rings into your head, hating how clear you could hear him say that. It makes you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

Taehyung tilts his head to the side almost as if he didn't expect that from you. Then again, you were certain that everyone that hung around with them vaped or smoked and it wasn't like you were against it, you just never found yourself in the right room with the right people.

"By choice or religion?"

You chuckle, "By choice. I mean I'm not around it that much."

"What? You're telling me that no one in Gamma Psi smokes?" He covers his mouth with both his hands, laughing when I look at him and realize that he's totally kidding.

"I'm playing. I mean...we all have different ways of getting high, right?" Taehyung looks at you with a gentle smirk, shrugging off his jacket and extending it out for you to hold.

You hum in response, taking the jacket into your hands and watch as he throws his hoodie on. Judging by how fast he puts it on, it's clearly his favorite. You almost feel bad for taking it away for a couple of days, but you also feel a little flattered that he lent it to you.

Taehyung throws an eyebrow up, folding some fabric in his palm as he brings it up to his nose.

"Oh! I washed it. It should smell—"

"Like honeysuckle."

"That's right," you breathe.

He laughs softly, bringing it up to his nose once more, closing his eyes with a pleasing smile.

Reaching for his jacket, you meet him halfway. When he grabs it, though, he leans in closer down by your ear — or at least you thought it was your ear. You wait for him to say something, paralyzed by how close he was.

He says nothing. Instead, you watch as his chest rises and falls before he pulls back and takes his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes averting to the side as he takes steps back. When he looks at you, his face lights up and he flashes a smile.

"I won't need that for a while, this is enough for now," He tugs on his hoodie.

You tilt your head, superconfused. What is it he doesn't need?

He points his eyes to your jacket pocket playfully before turning to head into a lecture building. Just before he gets too far, he cups his hand around his mouth and shouts over his shoulder, "I will eventually though!"

After his comment, he picks up his pace slightly and heads into the building. You decide that now is a good time to reach into your pocket and see if his eyes meant anything when they pointed toward it.

Feeling the familiar shape of his pen, your jaw drops.

.

Entering your economics class, you get yourself situated and pull out your phone, nearly choking on your last-minute coffee at the text you read.

Juli [10:00am]: Keeping secrets from me?

Luckily before your heart beat right through your chest, she sends another.

Juli: Why didn't you tell me you got us a table right in the quad for Meet the Greeks?!

You exhale in a quick huff. The text had nothing to do with Jungkook and yourself. You totally forgot that you snagged a good table during sign-up. It was all thanks to pulling an all-nighter at the library with Yoongi a while back.

Speaking of whom, you think about how he walked into your room this morning, sitting on your bed as you finished putting on your sweater. He was silent for a while, and a blush crept up his neck as he rubbed it with his hand, a sign that he was thinking of all the different ways to start a tough conversation with you. It was a habit of his for as long as you could remember and it always ended with you bringing the topic up first.

"I'm not smoking. It's Taehyung's. I just borrowed his sweater." That was all you had to say for him to relax, but only for a second.

"Why did you borrow Taehyung's sweater? Don't tell me-" Yoongi almost sent his glasses flying by how fast he looks up.

You put on your backpack as you stared at him, watching as various expressions flashed across his mind — confusion, surprise, and finally disappointment. He tilted his head, "___, why are you hanging out with them? I thought we..."

Hated them. I know. The party was supposed to fuel that hatred more, but it sparked something new entirely. You couldn't deny how exciting these past few days have been since you met them, and no lie, you didn't want them out of your life. Though, you have to keep in mind how unfair Beta Tau Sigma has been to Gamma Psi Alpha. They constantly were overtaking your reservations, getting all the best spots for recruitment, and spreading awful rumors about your frat. And to be fair, you were keeping a distance... only, it was between them and Gamma Psi.

Your eyes scan the lecture hall, checking if Jungkook's already made it inside. By now he should've already been sitting beside you, bugging the hell out of you. This time he had a valid reason to tease you: crying over an old ex that you barely harbored feelings for.

Instead, you find him just walking in, eyes concentrated across the room with a small smirk. Curious, you look over to find that he's making eye contact with a girl (who you didn't realize was in the class) waving her little fingers with a giggle. Her friend, next to her, lightly elbows her to which the unnaturally blonde responds by pushing back with a smile.

Oh, that's interesting. Was she always in this class? Obviously. It wasn't like you ever would've cared or noticed.

Jungkook gets in the row in front of you, walking across the seats without even sparing you a look. His cologne travels to you, a scent that turns your stomach in knots as your mind flashes back to last night — when he was all over you and you were all over him. Awkwardly, you look down and pretend to be writing something instead of looking like you were waiting for him 'cause why should you have been?

You try to remember the moments after fucking, your mind trying to connect all the bits and pieces of what you can recall. Jungkook had said something about wanting the thing between you to last a little longer and judging by his reaction just now, you rejected that very bad idea. You actually didn't even need his reaction to confirm that. Whenever you drank alcohol, whatever came out of your mouth was cursed honesty. And if he were to ask you once again for a "No Strings Attached" situation, you know that you'd have to turn it down again because you didn't know how to do that yet. You would've gotten clingy and a person like Jungkook would be the worst to get attached to.

Sneaking a glance over at the blonde, you catch Jungkook playing around with her, snatching her pencil from her so she couldn't take down notes. Blondie pouts, leaning over and surely making her voice cute as possible as she asks for it back. You could never and you wondered if that was what Jungkook really liked. Had his interest in you been abnormal? A hiccup? Experimental? The wide smile and droop of his eyelids in a flirtatious manner was enough to tell you he was going to be fine after your rejection. Exactly, how you expected. So then... why did it feel like a slap in the face when he wasn't doing anything wrong and doing exactly what was right?

"__," Dr. Lim calls your name, making you aware of how zoned out you've been for... 30 minutes according to the clock on the wall.

Your eyes are still on Jungkook when he turns around to make eye contact with you for the first time. Only, when he does, he lowers his eyes before looking away, shaking his leg under his desk as he writes something down.

You blink twice and straighten up, apologizing to your professor for your inattentiveness.

Dr. Lim frowns, though it's out of concern. She repeats her question, a question that you've seen come up in the readings, but you couldn't remember the answer to.

As you struggle to answer, a hand shoots up in the air. Looking over, you see that it's Blondie.

Dr. Lim looks at you one last time with a raise of her eyebrow, checking if you would answer before she calls on the other student. Defeated, you sit back in your chair and look over at the other girl who smugly gives her answer.

"Well done, Jeanie. I'm glad that you're grasping the concept perfectly. This is actually one of the most difficult chapters you'll read in your textbook."

You narrow your eyes as you remain focused on Jeanie. Bitter? Yes. But because you didn't look away yet, you catch Jungkook sliding back his notebook on to his desk.

He had written down the answer for her.

You suck in air through your teeth. Taking out your phone, you quickly type out a message to send over to Jungkook.

- Couldn't answer for yourself?

You don't send it though. Instead, you take a deep breath and erase it. If Jungkook didn't want to talk to you, nor debate with you, then so be it.

As soon as the lecture was over, you pack up your things and race down the stairs, in a hurry to get out of there before your head explodes.

Jungkook watches as you snake between students before disappearing past the doors. His eyes drift to the large windows on the side of the lecture room. From his seat, he catches Taehyung talking to a small group of familiar faces, playing with his backpack straps as he looks up and catches you exiting the building. So that's why you were in a hurry.

With a roll of his eyes, he packs his things, completely forgetting about Jeanie right beside him until her hair practically whacks him in the face as she flips it over her shoulder.

"So Jungkook, when's your next class? I was thinking we could-"

"Can't."

She stills, her hands still clasped together.

Jungkook folds his desk away and stands, turning to her with a tight smile, his mood so soured he couldn't even fake it. "Next time. I have a frat thing."

Jeanie nods her head slowly, "ah, okay."

Jungkook thrusts out two fingers in a 'V", bidding goodbye to her and whoever her friend was. Jogging down the stairs, he aims for the opposite exit, not wanting to run into Taehyung and you. Just before he pushes the door, the professor calls out from behind the podium.

"Jungkook, awfully quiet today?"

He stops and looks over at her.

" As was ___. Usually there's discord amongst the two of you. While it's disruptive at times, I do appreciate participation from my two top students. I just hope nothing's carried over outside the classroom."

Jungkook drops his eyes, pushing the door before truthfully replying,

"Don't worry. Nothing has at all."

.

For the next several days, Jungkook avoids you and Taehyung, arriving late and leaving early to the lecture and spending as much time as he could away from the frat house (which sometimes would be spent in another girl's bed).

He was hoping for his anger to kind of fade away, trying to remind himself that you were just another girl. It would have been easier to forget if you chose another guy. Why Taehyung? And why did Taehyung cross the line this time? They never messed with each other's girls - hookups nor past exes. Though, Taehyung somehow made the exception this time and went after you. Would things have been better if Taehyung had told him beforehand? No. That's still weird to him. When did you two even meet? What was it about you that Taehyung started liking? Sure, you were hot and not boring or whatever, but when exactly....

Memories of your night out flip through his mind. It was just a casual night out, but it was still a good time. As if you two did that every night. Were you also doing the same with Taehyung?! That would explain why he's been coming home late every night so far... Jungkook clenches his teeth when he thinks about the time you rushed out of class for Taehyung. You weren't afraid of people finding out about you and Taehyung, but when it came to Jungkook, you'd rather not be seen or interact in public?! Taehyung's worse than him so what the hell?

Jungkook lets out a frustrated huff, his ego hurt at getting played at. Grabbing his backpack he decides to go to a change of location in preparation for "Meet the Greeks".

"Going to the library," he mumbles to one of his frat brothers as he throws his backpack over his shoulder.

Namjoon, who had just walked in and was taking off his slippers, looks over his shoulder and lifts a brow. "Hm? Library? Why? We have a study room."

Jungkook twists his mouth. Yes they did, but Taehyung could easily find him if he was here.

"Oh, by the way, something came in for you. Taehyung was trying to give it to you, but he said he hasn't caught up with you in a min."

Namjoon sets down his gym bag and walks over to drawer, pulling something out before walking over and extending it toward Jungkook. Looking down at the envelope, Jungkook catches the name of the foundation. It's his scholarship check for the term.

"Thanks." He takes it and puts it safely into the front pocket of his backpack, making a note to stop by the financial aid office to drop it off.

Jogging down the front steps, he sees Taehyung's Charger roll by, heading to the side lot of the house.

"Must be nice to never have to work for anything," Jungkook mutters as he finishes jogging down the rest of the steps, heading over to the bus stop a block down.

.

Jungkook starts to feel eyes on him on the bus. Normally, he wouldn't find it strange. He always attracts some type of attention wherever he goes. But this felt, different. It felt... vengeful? It could very be one of his latest hookups. It's happened before.

Running his tongue along the inside of his teeth, he cocks an eyebrow and turns toward the stare. He's taken aback by how they don't even try to hide their stare from him. He tilts his head in a frown as he stares right back. He doesn't think he slept with her, but he very well could've.

Then it clicks - or rather he reads the pin on her. She's in Gamma Psi Alpha. The short one that's always around you. Juliene?

Seeing his stop approaching, he stretches out his leg before attempting to get up. Unfortunately for him, the girl happened to quickly bounce up and swing around the pole to the exit, stumbling right over his leg.

With a yelp, she clings onto the seat nearby. Jungkook throws an arm out and then awkwardly throws it behind his head. Oops.

She doesn't turn around though. With a huff, she pushes the button to notify the bus driver that she wants off on the approaching stop. Jungkook stands up and follows her, it being his stop as well.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he debates apologizing. Knowing her, if she already hated him, she was going to think she did it on purpose.

"Juliene!" He calls for her as he jogs up to her. Dang, she's fast for being so small.

Catching up to her, he leans over to look at her face. "Hey, back there that was an accident. I didn-"

"Did you just call me Juliene?" She scoffs while crossing her arms, "If you're going to talk to me, then get my name right. It's J-u-l-i, Juli."

Before Jungkook could get another word out, she storms off.

It wasn't even worth his time to go after her. Did it even matter if she hated him? If anything, she would go to you and tell you about how he "pushed" her to the ground off the bus and that would mean you would then come to him to tell him off. Jungkook smirks at the idea. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

As Jungkook approaches the door, he finds Juli struggling to scan her student card at the door. Jungkook says nothing, he just starts a line behind her, crossing his arms and waiting for her to get it open.

She mumbles to herself as she keeps trying.

Jungkook yawns, and she stiffens.

"Need some help, Juli?" Leaning over, Jungkook scans his own card, unlocking the door. "Maybe you should get a new card." She's probably scanned it so many times that it's wearing out.

Juli throws the door open and marches inside. Jungkook could've sworn he heard her mutter "Shut up, attractive jerk" as she sped off.

Guess no one in Gamma Psi likes to say "Thank You". With a shake of his head, Jungkook heads inside the common area, hoping to find a quiet spot to work on the video for the event. A spot he did find, but it was all but quiet. Every few minutes, someone was coming up to him, the boys bumping fists with him as they caught up and the girls fluttering their fingers with a giggle much too shy to start a conversation. One of the guys that stopped by reminded him about the frat party that was happening tomorrow night, making Jungkook stretch his arms behind his head and nod that he'll see him there.

They didn't have parties every Friday night, but pretty much every Friday night. It surprised him that they even planned to have one when the event was the following day. That explained why Taehyung was home early today. He was most likely setting up his DJ equipment.

After what seems like hours but was really 30 minutes, Jungkook closes up his laptop and goes out to the cafe in need of a cup of coffee to keep him focused. As he walks out, he lays eyes upon Juli once more, her hands occupied with a stack of books higher than her head as she walks toward the front desk to check out.

Jungkook rolls his eyes and while he could've just walked away and let her struggle, he wasn't that type of person.

Walking over to stand in front of her, he lay a hand on top of her stack. "Let me help you."

Juli stops in her tracks, looking to the side of the books and when she saw it was Jungkook, he raised his eyebrows.

"No," she responds.

Jungkook would not back down. Instead, he grabs the stack from her and started walking to the front desk.

Juli scoffs and walks alongside him in a brisk walk. "What a coincidence that we keep bumping into each other Jung. Kook."

With the way she broke his name up into two syllabus meant she implied he was some psycho planning all these run-ins.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm. And suddenly you're so nice to me?"

"Ever think it's not just to you, but that I'm just nice?"

She laughs like he was trying to humor her. "Please, You're just acting like it. Did you really think that I wouldn't get what you're doing here?"

Jungkook lays the stack of books onto the counter and leans against it as he stares down at her. "And what would that be?"

Juli looks him up and down quickly before sticking her chin up, "You're trying to use me to get back at ___."

He's suddenly unwell, his face falling.

"That's what I thought," she mutters as she turns to the front desk worker and takes out her student card.

Juli knew about you two... Did you tell her everything even how you rejected him for Taehyung? That's why she assumed that he was coming up with a plan to do the same with her best friend?

"What are you talking about?" He asks lowly, his heart rate speeding up.

"Yeah, you're pissed about how she left you high and dry at the party," She snorts.

What. Throwing his head back, he frowns at her as he thinks about what she said for a second. Unless he smoked something new during the party enough for him to produce delusions for days... that wasn't true.

With a laugh almost escaping him, he tilts his head and squints at her, "Uh...no she didn't."

"Whatever helps your reputation."

What was it with people mentioning his reputation?

With a lick of his lips, he challenges, "And what would you say if I told you we fucked? At the party, in the bathroom at Lecture Hall C, and in her bedroom a weekend ago?"

"Can you put these books on hold?" Juli asks the worker sweetly, setting aside half the stack before grabbing the other half to carry. Jungkook realizes that he's been oversharing at the front desk and awkwardly steps away to follow Juli. She turns to him, narrowing her eyes. "If you spread that shit around, I'll fuck you up."

Jungkook matches her glare. "Why? What exactly would be so wrong about it?"

"A girl like ___ would never date someone like you, Jeon Jungkook. Unless it was to mess with you."

His heart drops.

"What did you just say?"

.

It's Friday and you're at the library after your economics class and while your mind should've been on that 6-page paper due this weekend, it was unfortunately on a specific boy with a long cross earring and who's been adding on to his new tattoo collection on his arm.

You tried to forget about him and it was working until Jin surprised you with a text one night. The text talking about how sorry he was for the interaction at the store and how much it hurt to see you with someone else. How hypocritical. You didn't bother to text him back, but you were tempted to. You wondered what Jungkook would've said to that...

You play with your bottom lip as you zone out, only refocusing when your laptop screen dims, catching the reflection of a girl that could use a better night's sleep. As you get back to writing the assignment with a sigh, you overhear a group of girls giggling nearby. Turning to look over your shoulder, you look at them, catching Blondie and her crew, in her hand was a familiar black and gold invitation.

Hearing a page of your textbook flip, you jump in your seat, turning to see Taehyung's face close to yours as he hovers over your shoulder.

"I took this class before."

"Y-you did?" You're still shocked to see him here. He must have spotted you as he hung around for his next class.

"Mhm," He nods. Holding on to your chair, he lifts his head up and catches something from the corner of his eye.

With a clear of his throat, he hurries to take a seat beside you, throwing his hood over his head and laying his head down. Tilting his head your way, he begs, "Hide me, please."

Curious, you look back in the direction he had looked at, catching a group of 3 girls walking around. With the way they were scanning the room, they were trying to find him.

"Won't they recognize you from your hoodie?" You whisper down to him, teasingly.

Taehyung lifts his head up and peers behind you to see how close they're getting. Biting his bottom lip as he grins, he looks at you with a twinkle in his eye, telling you that an idea just went off in his head. Leaning back in his chair, he gently tugs you closer to cover him. Your eyes widen as you reach out and hold on to his chair to prevent yourself from toppling over.

Taehyung lets out a giggle as he looks up at you, noting your rosy cheeks. His attractiveness is something that you'll never get used to.

"'... Jungkook did?"

"Mhm, he even promised that if I called him tonight, he'll make time for me."

"Tch. Where's Taehyung?"

At the comment about Jungkook, your heart stung. Whenever she calls him, he'll make time for her? You doubted it was something he said only to her. There was also that blondie in your lecture that he was all cozy with. Then there was also you... The thought that he was just adding you to the collection was nauseating. Also because he made the moments between you guys feel so... genuine. How could you fall for that?

"Imaggginnee if one of us got to date them. With all that money, I'm sure they shower their girlfriends with gifts. Jungkook's the hard one, but Taehyung..."

With a shake of your head, you clear away from your thoughts, shocked that they've basically outed themselves as money leeches. Frowning, you watch until they round the corner before looking at Taehyung. His playful smile seems to have faltered. Continuing to stare at you, his hoods droop flirtatiously. "I like you."

Your eyes widen at his sudden confession and your eyebrows furrow because Taehyung couldn't mean he liked you like that.

Taehyung starts to sit up, causing you to sink back into your chair. Tilting your head up, you look up at him as he looks down at you with a small smirk. Hooking his ankle around the leg of your chair, he scoots you closer until there's no room between you too.

"I... like you too, Taehyung." You shrug casually with a smile to which he shakes his head.

With a tilt of his head, he looks endearingly at you, "Cute, but what I meant was I like you." He emphasizes the word so that you can understand that he wasn't trying to tell you he liked you as a friend, but that he was genuinely interested in you.

"We just met..." You laugh lightly in disbelief, "How do you even know?"

Taehyung shrugs his shoulders while flashing a cocky grin, "When I like someone, I'm going to tell them. Why waste any time?"

His upfront personality was refreshing. It added to his charm. No wonder girls were always flocking around him when he was walking sweet nectar. Dating a carefree person like him would be fun, but - again - you weren't looking for a relationship. A big ha-ha from the universe since while you were just trying to get out there and play the game, everyone was retiring.

"Taehyung, I-"

He raises an eyebrow in a complete surprise like he wasn't expecting you to turn him down.

You nip at your bottom lip, telling him you were unsure of yourself for a second. What he never expected was for you to ask, "Do you want to be friends with benefits?"

He cocks his head and holds back a laugh. You're definitely different. "Do I?"

You nod your head, completely serious that it leaves him speechless. While you were asking for clarity, he assumed you were proposing. Closing his eyes for a second, he imagines how that would play out. The idea was exciting. You calling him and begging for him to rush over because you needed him and only him at that moment? Taehyung hums, opening his eyes and catching a person behind you. Jungkook.

He was still a few feet aways, but Taehyung was certain that he must have caught the last bit of your conversation with the way he was frozen there. Remembering how Jungkook's been avoiding him for an entire week straight, Taehyung keeps it up, tapping his chin and acting like he didn't notice him.

"You're asking me if I want to be friends with benefits?"

Jungkook clenches his jaw tight before averting his eyes and disappearing in between the bookshelves. This causes Taehyung to smirk. It was the first major fight between the two of them and as terrible as it sounds, it was actually fun.

"No, I meant... isn't that what you were going to ask me?" You shake your hands in front of you.

Taehyung catches your hands and chuckles, drawling out a "Nooo." And leaning close, he whispers, "I want you to be my girl."

Taehyung and you had something in common. "No Strings Attached" would never work for either of you. Taehyung's reason was that he was beyond possessive of his things and he got jealous way too easily. Sure, he got tired of being in a relationship easily and his longest lasted like two months, but for that time, sharing was out of the question. He's far from controlling and closer to a hopeless romantic so when he's "bored" it's really that his expectations had fallen short.

You hesitating was making him nervous - a first for him. Usually, his looks or his status was enough to warrant a 'yes'. Not this time. It wasn't like he hasn't been rejected before because he has. Most of the time it was when a girl was trying to make their way to Jungkook, which he always accepted. However, he's never been rejected after a girl's heard about how much money there is to his name. He admired that about you, especially after overhearing the girls talking about how much money he has (which wasn't a lie). Taehyung was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, coming from 4 generations of money. Only Jungkook really knew of that. The farthest anyone else has gotten to know him was him revealing his father owned three companies and was about to acquire a fourth. If you ask him what companies, Taehyung didn't know or cared.

"It's cool. You don't have to answer me right now," Taehyung ducks his head as he stands, stretching when he straightens up. He didn't want you to feel pressured, but maybe it was also because he didn't want to be rejected by you. It was something that he had to figure out still.

You tilt your head up to watch as his hoodie lifts, giving you a glimpse of his abs once more. Were you really going to pass that up? Taehyung smiles down at you and it takes your breath away for a moment. As he looks at you, you could've sworn you heard him ask how he could take up more space in your heart than-

Unexpectedly, he leans down causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. You wait, not knowing what to expect because it's Taehyung. Feeling a puff of air against your ear, you inhale sharply.

Taehyung chuckles softly. And when you open your eyes, he's already makinga his way across the library with a wave of his fingers - the silver of the rings gleaming under the lights.

While you have your eyes on him, he mouths something before pointing his eyebrow to the table. Turning, you find a familiar black envelope with gold lettering across it.

Another invitation.

His last words?

When you know, you know.

________________

Author's note;;

I’m curious about what team everyone is on because it’s so hard for meeee. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and if you want me to start a tag list let me know! I’ve never done one before, but I’m open to it.

[dr3amofagame]

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?” 

[palbabor-writes]

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking 

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash. 

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class. 

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.     

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late. 

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance. 

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction. 

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace. 

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows? 

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black. 

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression. 

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him. 

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him. 

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him. 

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely. 

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.” 

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle. 

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you. 

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier. 

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work. 

But today? Today takes the cake. 

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.  

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work. 

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.���

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details. 

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.   

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are. 

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips. 

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with. 

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf. 

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.  

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!” 

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.” 

Great. 

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick. 

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more? 

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing. 

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names. 

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position. 

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better. 

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint. 

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way. 

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine. 

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.  

You haven’t hit the enter key. 

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.” 

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward. 

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.” 

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing. 

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up. 

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters. 

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse. 

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you. 

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster. 

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface. 

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip. 

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips. 

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his. 

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses. 

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you. 

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him. 

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.” 

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small. 

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.” 

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up. 

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.” 

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.” 

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs. 

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.” 

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance. 

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.” 

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle. 

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?” 

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with. 

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands. 

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt. 

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?” 

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books. 

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch. 

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you. 

“Who said the video was on?” 

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing. 

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach. 

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch. 

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty. 

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush. 

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola. 

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back. 

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.” 

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.” 

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back. 

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again. 

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek. 

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.” 

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @evesmores​

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((

[dreamingmanip]

“MADNESS LOVE” PART 2

*GIF NOT MINE*

You can find part 1 here.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warnings: None (if I need one let me know in my ask!)

Prompt: NONE

Word Count: 2,026

A/N: Hi guys! Like I said before, this is part 2 of 3 for this imagine. I loved this fic so much I could’t stop writing. I hope you liked it, like always if you like this, please like it and reblog it. This would be pin on my page so you can find it without problems.

The tears kept rolling down your face all the way home, you didn't bother to wipe them away when you met your neighbor in the lobby, asking you if you were okay. You weren't, you were holding yourself to not break down in the middle of the hallway, making a scene. 

Your keys jingled while you opened the front door, your hands trembling; you shut the door behind you. There was some light coming from outside the window but mostly it was dark,and that's how you felt, as if somebody took the light inside you leaving you blind. You leaned you back on the door, your body sliding down to the cold floor, sitting there looking at nothing. A cell phone started ringing in the distance but you didn't want to move. Your eyes fluttered trying to focus in the dark, searching in your jacket for it, the screen on the phone  glowed  and illuminated your face, Jay's name showed up, and the killing pain came back to your chest just looking at his name, so you decided to turn it off. 

God knows how long you were there until you decided to stand up and go to your room to take a shower, put on some pajamas and grabbed the bottle of wine that was in the back of your fridge taking it to your room. Jay's words echoing in your head, over and over again.

Did he commit to his job, to his Unit, that he was fine letting you go? His words were etched in your mind. Of course you understood the full situation, he was right; you were the new still, not a detective, but that wasn't what was hurting you, it was realizing how he believed you both could never say anything because your jobs were more important. 

Somehow you fell asleep before finishing the bottle of wine. The clock on your nightstand began to chime, it seemed that you had barely fallen asleep. Your room was still dark thanks to the curtains but some rays of sun could creep in. You stretched out your hand to turn off the alarm, and at the same time, your cell phone began to ring, you probably turned it on again in the middle of the night, you were a cop and sometimes you did stuff automatically; you raised it a little to be able to answer.

"Hello?"

“Hey Y/N, please don’t tell me you were still in bed.”

Your voice was a little croaky when you spoke.

“Uhm, no I wasn’t. My throat feels weird this morning, so… yeah.”

Kim’s voice was joyful even on the phone, you turned to see the clock, in a bright green color it said “8:15 AM”. You sat up immediately, moving the soft sheets wrapped on your body away while Kim was still talking.

“...So I called Kevin and we decided to bring you some donuts and your favorite coffee before the event. We’re 10 minutes away.”

“Fuck”.

You murmured getting in the bathroom. Kim looked at Kevin a little concerned.

“Sorry Kim, I spilled some water on the table but, uhm, yeah. See you in 10”.

Ending the call, you got in the shower, didn’t even wait for the warm water so you screamed a little feeling the coldness on your skin. The fastest shower you ever took in your life, leaving you with only five minutes to get dressed up and do your hair. 

You were in the final touches of your makeup when a few small knocks on the front door warned you of the arrival of Burgess and Atwater. Taking one last look at the mirror to put a smile on your face before one of them would notice something, you felt anxious and devastated and trying to hide it from officers and detectives required a lot of self control.

Both of your friends smiled when you opened the door, Kim was holding a little box with cartoon drawings of donuts on the top while Kevin was offering you a cup of your favorite coffee. All of you wearing uniforms.

“Thanks guys, I barely ate something this morning”.

You took the coffee from Kevin’s hand, taking a little sip before walking out of your apartment, closing the door behind you. The three of you were talking about random stuff all the way to the car and to the downtown, well, Kim was the one talking with Kevin, you were mentally preparing yourself to see Jay, it wasn’t working at all.

“So Y/N, Jay called me last night, which was a little weird if I have to admit, he asked me about you”.

Kim was looking at you through the view rear mirror, you blinked a couple of times without saying anything. Why did Jay call Kim to ask her for you? You had no idea and that's exactly what you said.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I was at home last night. He’s weird sometimes you know that.”

“I know, right? He asked me if you were with me last night but we were at Molly’s. Adam, Hailey, Kevin and I, we miss you by the way.”

Kevin looked at you, knowing something went wrong between you and Jay.

“We invited Halstead to celebrate but he said he was busy filling some forms for Trudy after shift.”.

“Well, I don’t know him so well. I think he prefers to be alone. Look, the press is here too”.

You passed some news cars, reporters were setting their cameras to get a better view. Jay hated this, he wasn’t comfortable seeing his face on the paper just for doing his job and also Voight taught them that when his unit was formed, and everyone did almost the same.

You got out of the car after Kevin parked near the place. Hailey was the first who noticed you, she raised her hand and started to wave it. You smiled, Kim was doing the same and started walking towards her, Kevin patted your shoulder making you go slowly.

“What happened last night? Jay called me too, he said he was worried about you”.

“Well, he doesn't have to do that anymore. We’re done”. 

“Wait, what?”

Kevin stopped for a moment, that news caught him by surprise.

“Y/N, are you sure of this? Don’t get me wrong, I’ll support any decision you make, all the way, but I know your feelings. Working together could get harder.”

You nodded your head, you knew it. It was going to get hard in every possible way, seeing him every morning not able to steal a kiss from each other at the coffee room or staying up watching a movie with your head on his chest; suddenly a bunch of memories came back to your mind, you shook your head slowly, you gave him a side smile.

“Kev, I got this. I’m gonna be fine. C’mon”.

You bumped his arm with yours while you reached out to Hailey and Kim, for a moment Hailey looked at you and nodded, Jay talked to her too. You nodded back to her.

A few moments later, Voight and Trudy joined you. In the place there were a small, but considerable, number of people but no matter how much you searched with your eyes, you could not find Jay. The coordinators asked you to take your seats, for obvious reasons the Intelligence Unit was in the front row, it wasn't until that moment that you could see Jay in his uniform, you had always liked the way he looked in it. However, he didn't seem very happy, he seemed calm but you noticed the pressure on his jaw, his straight shoulders and his gaze in front of him, but he wasn't looking at you.

He was sitting next to some superiors in the platform in front of you. The Superintendent stepped up to the microphone to start his speech, some photographers started to point their cameras to the people and then to the "big hero". 

The ceremony wasn't too long, you all met in the back while reporters were asking now questions to some people. Voight was smiling, which was rare, while Jay was walking towards the group. 

Adam was the first to talk, and like always, started to make some jokes. 

"There he is, the super cop Jay Halstead. The man of the year!"

He padded Jay's shoulder, he had a shy smile on his lips. Uncomfortable by all the attention he was receiving. 

"Thanks Ruzek, I think the cartel in Mexico didn't hear you". 

Everybody laughed, including you. Jay looked at you for a moment, actually felt more like 2 seconds. 

"Alright, let's go back to the district and back to work. We can celebrate later at Molly's". 

Voight spoke and all dismissed to the cars, you went with Kevin again, this time Kim decided to ride with Ruzek, the awkward sensation was still there so she didn't want it to push it further and make you uncomfortable. Once inside the car, you kept quiet all the way, Kevin knew you were lying but he also knew how you dealt with a broken heart. 

You went to the locker room and just arrived at the district, it was too damn warm to keep it all day, also it was used just for events like this. When you got to the door you spotted Hailey, she was putting her badge on her belt. You kept your head down, trying to avoid her, you greet her with a quiet voice. 

"Uhm Y/N, can I talk to you for a moment?" 

"Yeah, sure."

Hailey closed the door and crossed her arms on her chest, her  cautious blue eyes looking back at you. 

"Look, when Jay told me he was dating you, I told him it was stupid. Not worth it if your careers could be over just for a romance that could last just a few months". 

You knew Hailey, she was a bad ass woman and probably didn't say it to her so often but you admire her. She was serious, she didn't like to play games when it comes to her friends. 

"I'm sorry for telling you this, but that was before seeing how good you are together as partners and as a couple. I was scared for both of you because I love you and I care about you. I'm not on Jay's side or your side, left me out that but Y/N, it's not easy to Jay open his heart like he did with you. He doesn't want to lose you and I guess the only way he can control that feeling it's not letting anybody know about it. Forgive me if I was a little obtrusive". 

You didn't notice there were a few tears on your cheek, cleared your throat to be available to speak but you failed at finding the right words, it took you a few seconds to speak. 

"It's okay Hailey, but what about me? What about my feelings? I know Jay is right, we could lose our jobs but, why make me feel like his dirty secret?"

Hailey took a few steps closer, her blue eyes now looking sad.

"Of course your feelings are valid. Don't get me wrong, I have been in that position before and it's not easy. All I'm saying is, you shouldn't leave things unspoken, this stuff gets heavy later."

She hugged you tight, rubbing your back. You held her too, she knew what she was talking about, you never asked before 'cause she was very private but you believed her at anything she said. 

After changing your clothes, you came back to the bullpen, nobody was talking, you sat at your chair and looked around; it seemed like everybody was tense for no reason. Voight was in his office and the unit was on some paperwork. You felt someone looking at you, directly. There was no need to look up, you knew Jay was looking at you from time to time. You haven’t talked to each other yet, you needed to, but that wasn’t the right place.

Tagged some beautiful people ✨:

@itsdesiree86 @mrspeacem1nusone  @anotherfan07 @thestarrynightslover

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?

"short fics," I said, like a liar.

anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.

Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!

---

Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.

It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.

He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.

“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.

“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.

“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.

“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”

“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”

“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”

“That’s cheesy as anything.”

“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”

Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.

He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.

“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.

Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.

He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.

And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?

Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.

“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.

“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.

Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…

If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.

“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--

“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.

“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”

The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.

“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”

Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?

Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.

Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.

“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”

Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”

And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.

And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”

It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.

He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.

Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:

“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”

And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.

“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.

“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.

When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.

However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.

[fbfh]

dave strider dating headcanons

1k words, spoiler free

warnings: some swearing, mentions of brief fears (spiders, heights, loud noises), some swearing

pairing: dave strider x gn reader, optional brief skirt wearing

a/n: I am still in act 4 of homestuck so pls !! no spoilers !! take my interpretation of the characters with a grain of salt !! 

also  why is there no homestuck x reader fics?????? Am I looking in the wrong place????? Why are there barely 80 dave x reader fics on ao3 and almost none on tumblr??????? Did homestuck’s popularity just miss the x reader fic train???????? if so I fully intend to fix that (this is the first two or so pages of my dave dating hcs doc, I’m on page five and show no signs of stopping)

also since I’m still in act 4 right now I’m only writing for Dave, probably Jade, John, and Rose (maybe some of the trolls but it’ll be on a case by case basis until I feel like I know them well enough to write for them)

aged up to 18+ for moderate sex jokes lol

=>

Someone told me once that they think Dave is the only character they know of who can match my feral chaotic energy

And honestly I have to agree

Dave is a very strategically feral, chaotic person

You know that thing where 

Wait I’ll see if I can link it here

I can’t find the post but 

I forget what it said verbatim

But basically that if you want to take the piss out of someone who has an Intellectual Superiority Complex you just need to act brazenly confident and sure about something you know is incorrect and as long as you don’t let on that you’re joking they’ll argue with you endlessly and it’s fucking hysterical

Dave does that

All the time

He will deadass argue with the Smart Kid in his class that the moon is fake for hours

He’ll argue endlessly that Terry Crews, Kevin Hart, and Kevin James are the same person shifting forms with randos online

He does that thing where he one ups conspiracies with more outlandish conspiracies

“The moon landing is fake”

“Uh, bro, you still believe in the moon?”

You got a truly delightful video once of him arguing with a smart kid in class about one of those ridiculous topics

Like glinda being a princess

He leans forward, tilts his glasses, and says in the most confident self assured voice

“Okay- riddle me this, bro,” 

He points to the guy

“If pee isn’t stored in the balls, where do you hold it? In your hands?”

The entire class erupts into screaming laughs

The teacher enters to the guy getting up in Dave’s face screaming about sperm and piss

Both of them got a detention

If you can match his irony and sense of humor beat for beat

His brain goes into in love overdrive

You basically never “break character” and it’s fucking immaculate

He didn’t know you could vibe so well with someone

Every bad joke you make

Every meme reference

Every act of idiocy for the sake of the joke

He falls harder

It’s kind of scary for him at first

Having these raw genuine feelings so close to him

He covers with humor as usual

But part of him is freaking out a little

It’s sort of like finding a possum in your house

And then you realize there’s more possums hidden around

Then you run into the bathroom, look in your closet, check the pantry

There are possums everywhere

They don’t seem mean

They’re actually kind of cute

But what the fuck

Aren’t possums usually supposed to stay outside?????

So yeah when he falls he falls hard

I might do Dave crushing on you hcs too

One of his favorite ways to spend time with you is just chilling together doing separate activities and periodically updating each other

He’ll be working on some sick beats 

You’ll be sitting on his bed doing something you love

Drawing, bullet journaling, blogging, editing videos

Whatever your thing is

It genuinely makes him feel so close to you to just

Be near you

He has this sort of deep quiet admiration for you

For a while he genuinely has no idea how to connect the two aspects of his feelings for you and how he’s used to expressing himself 

He feels like he can’t tell you how much he likes you cause like

That’s not swaggy bro

So a lot of his affection is in little ways

He knows all of your favorite snacks and drinks

Favorite candies and gum 

He will protect you from anything you’re afraid of

Spiders? Gets rid of them so fast you literally didn’t know it was there

Loud noises? Has you listen to his latest mixtape when you’re going through somewhere noisy

If you have any mental health problems or we you bet your ass he will do so much research on how to support a friend with [insert thing]

Picks up on a lot of your cues and mannerisms quickly

Knows exactly when to give you his jacket, when to show you the perfect meme, when to take a study break

When to just pull you into a random dance party

He really likes dancing badly with you

Just failing around and spinning you around

If you like to wear skirts he likes the way your skirt flows when he twirls you

It looks so flowy

Like water or something

His favorite part is after you’ve been dancing for a while

When the song ends or when you get tired

How you’ll both kind of slow down and laugh and catch your breath

You’re still holding his hand

And you’re standing really close to him

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful

He never wears his sunglasses when you dance

He claims it’s because he doesn’t want them to fly off

But it’s really bc he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of watching you laugh and smile so much

Oof he’s got it bad for you

[lillupon]

I've noticed that Mingyu has never called Mr. Jeon "baby" before and I wonder what Mr. Jeon's reaction would be, the first time that Mingyu will call him that 💕💕💕💕

Hmm, maybe the first time Mingyu calls Wonwoo baby, it’s after Wonwoo has had a god awful day at work.

(lmao this snip is called "Wonwoo and the the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day". We get to see angry and frustrated Wonwoo for the first time! It also ended up being canon-divergent, oops. I almost didn't post this, but then I was like... it's not even part of the actual fic, what am I worried about???)

Wonwoo barely got any sleep the previous night, stressed by all the assignments and tests he has to mark, and all the deadlines he has to meet in time for reporting. Pressure from admin, pressure from parents. Every time a student fails, it's his fault. Apparently, he "doesn't actually teach". So what the hell am I doing in front of the classroom, four hours a day, if I'm not teaching? he wants to demand. Picking my nose? Doing stand-up comedy? The cherry on top: he has a teaching evaluation in two days. His anxious mind keeps him up all night.

He ends up sleeping through his alarm. He jolts out of bed when he realises what time it is. A quick splash of water on the face is all he has time for. He brushes his teeth while relieving his bladder. He loses his balance while trying to jam a leg into his trousers and nearly face-plants. He sacrifices breakfast and his morning drip. Even then, he barely makes it to Pledis on time. It’s not a good start to his morning, and the day only gets worse from there.

A senior class first block is usually a gentle start to the day. But prom is coming up soon, and everyone is talking about who is going with whom, who’s going to be riding in so-and-so’s limo. Students chatter about after-parties; there’s more than one, apparently, and one of them is far more exclusive than the other. There’s gossip about relationships and cheating. One girl bursts into tears in the middle of his lesson because another girl is going to be wearing the same dress as her. She’s a loud crier. Maybe Wonwoo would have handled all of this better if he wasn’t so irritated, but he is irritated, so he doesn't.

He stops dead in the middle of a sentence, lips tightening, teeth grinding. He clenches his fists. He's shaking, he realises. It takes physical effort to unclench his jaw to speak. “Are you serious? You interrupted the entire class because of a stupid dress?”

That makes her cry harder. “You don’t understand, Mr. Jeon. I posted a picture of the dress I was going to wear to my Insta first.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. And I don’t care, either,” Wonwoo responds coldly. “I need you to leave my classroom. You’re disturbing everyone.”

She swipes a forearm across her eyes and does as she’s told. She makes for the door, wobbling on coltish legs.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wonwoo thinks. His eyes flicker to the ceiling, halfway to an eyeroll, but not quite there.

Jihyo stands to go after her friend.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wonwoo demands.

Jihyo casts a forlorn glance toward the door. “I was just--”

“No, you’re not. Sit down.” Once Jihyo settled, he says, "As I was saying, you have a test next Fri--"

A boy cuts in: "Mr. Jeon, no, that's evil! That's the day before--"

"Don't interrupt me while I'm speaking," Wonwoo says. "The test is next Friday. You are seniors. Get your priorities straight." He turns around the write the test date on the whiteboard. That's when someone mutters under their breath: "Wow, Mr. Jeon needs to get laid."

And that--an indirect insult to his alpha, who is sitting right there--has his anger exploding. He can't hold back the snarl when he whips around and says: "Get out of my classroom."

It's the loudest he's ever raised his voice, and it shocks the entire class silent and motionless. The boy who made the comment gapes at him. Wonwoo glares him down, seething. He holds his body so tight that it quivers with tension. Mingyu is taking care of him, dammit, as best as he can given their situation; he knows Mingyu would do more, if asked, if allowed. Wonwoo jerks his head toward the door. "Get out," he says again. The boy listens this time.

Wonwoo sweeps his eyes over his students, taking stock of his class. He avoids looking at Mingyu.

His entire body feels hot. Sweat prickles at the nape of his neck, under his arm. He wonders if this is a sign of pre-heat, or if he is just this fucking incensed. He draws in a breath, holds it in his chest, and then exhales it slowly.

Already, embarrassment is welling up to replace his anger. He wishes that Mingyu didn’t have to see him like this. There were a million ways he could have handled this situation. Why did he have to react like this?

His grade 9 class doesn't go much better. There’s a group of students that he can't stand, even on the best of days. He finds them rude and disrespectful and entitled; they are popular enough to influence the classroom environment--usually for the worse. Today, they are even more oppositional than usual. They insult him and his teaching, not even bothering to lower their voices. They undermine his authority at every turn. It’s stupid that fourteen year old kids are able to get under his skin like this, but they do.

It's bad karma, he thinks, for the way he acted this morning.

Finally, the lunch bell goes. Students clear out immediately. They don't loiter the way they normally do, chased off by his waspish mood. Wonwoo goes to close the door. The sounds of the hallway are blotted out, leaving his classroom in blessed silence.

Wonwoo's throat feels tight all of a sudden. His eyes blur, hot and stinging. He drops down onto his chair, tears off his glasses, and then puts his face in his hands. Digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. His chest deflates with a wet and shuddered exhale.

Three knocks sound at his door.

Wonwoo ignores it. Maybe if he doesn't answer, they'll assume he isn't in, and they'll leave him alone.

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his jacket, the sound muffled. Wonwoo ignores that, too. It isn't until his ringtone goes off with the unique chime that he assigned to Mingyu, that he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

"Hi," Wonwoo says.

"Hey, I'm at your classroom door. Are you inside?"

Wonwoo wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Yeah."

"Can I come in?"

"Is it just you?"

"It's just me," Mingyu confirms.

Wonwoo goes to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough for Mingyu to slip inside. He knows he shouldn't be alone with a student behind closed doors, but he doesn't want anyone else to see him when he's this pathetic. He doesn't want Mingyu to see him this pathetic either, for that matter, but his desire to be comforted outweighs his shame. He closes the door.

Mingyu takes one look at his face, makes a soft crooning sound, and gathers Wonwoo into his arms. Wonwoo goes easily, melting against a warm chest. His nose instinctively finds the hollow of Mingyu's throat even though he's on blockers and can't actually scent anything.

"Oh, baby," Mingyu whispers, pushing his face into Wonwoo's hair and pressing a kiss there. "I'm sorry. We were such fucking idiots this morning." He goes on talking, alternating between soothing Wonwoo and cursing out his classmates.

The words, spoken in Mingyu's low tenor, wash over Wonwoo without registering in his brain. His mind is still turning over those two carelessly spoken syllables: baby, baby, baby.

Wonwoo tightens his arms around Mingyu's neck and lets out a small whine of need. He wants Mingyu to call him that again, but he doesn't know how to ask. It's a little weird, isn't it, wanting to be called that by someone so much younger than him?

"Hmm?" Mingyu questions with a hum. He runs a palm up and down Wonwoo's back. "What's wrong?"

Wonwoo, face still hidden in the curve of Mingyu's neck, shakes his head.

Mingyu nudges his temple with his nose. "What is it? Tell me, babe," he urges.

It's a long moment before Wonwoo can bring himself to admit it. "I like it when you call me that," he mumbles.

"Oh," Mingyu says, sounding surprised. That obviously wasn't what he expected to come out of Wonwoo's mouth. "That's good." He swallows. Wonwoo can feel his throat bob up and down as he does so. "I wasn't sure how you would feel about it. But that's good, because I like calling you that."

[izzielizzie]

life’s uncertain and sometimes it’s strange chapter one

okay this is the fastest i’ve written the first chapter of a fic like... ever but here’s the crossover i considered writing here!! i actually had a lot of fun, and it jumps around so feel free to ask me questions about anything that doesn’t make sense

song title from The Sun Will Come Up, the Seasons Will Change by Nina Nesbitt

Maeve

Wednesday, December 15

“Okay so remind me what the problem is again?” Luis asks me as he sits on my bed, watching me pack my bags.

“The island, Luis."

Luis stares at me and I sigh, crossing my room to curl up in his lap. His arms go around me instantly. “And, what, my love, is wrong with an island?”

I sigh again, stretching out so my head is on my pillow. “It’s cold. There’s nothing fun about an island when it’s covered in ice!”

“Can you even get to an island in December?” Luis asks, absentmindedly drawing patterns on my stomach. When my mother had told our family over dinner last week that she had been invited to a mansion unveiling by her former best friend - some vaguely famous guy named Archer Story who basked in the glory of being young and rich in New England along with my mother - Bronwyn and I had no say in whether we were going or not. Our father got out of it easily with an arsenal of work excuses, but no trips to New York City with friends will stop our mother when she’s deep in her planning mode. Especially if it means she gets to go back to being rich on an island off the coast of Boston.

“That’s what I asked and Bronwyn laughed at me.”

Luis snorts. He and my sister have never gotten along as well as Nate and I do, but it’s stopped bothering me at this point. “Well, Maevey,” Luis hooks an arm under me and lifts me up so I’m sitting. “It’s just one week on the weird ass island and then you get to go to New York City with the rest of us. What could go wrong?”

I grin, my bad mood ebbing away at the thought of spending a week with my boyfriend and friends in one of my favorite cities. “Ugh fine.”

“Good. Now are you really going to bring all of my sweaters?”

I laugh as Luis lifts me up so we can sort out the sweater ownership debate that’s lasted for nearly a year now. 

Aubrey

Saturday, December 18 

“No plans of swimming in that water I hope?” Uncle Archer asks as I look at the ocean from the balcony of Catmint House. Yes. The same one that burnt down over the summer. Gull Cove Island is essentially the same as it was when I moved back to Oregon in July, with the exception of the large manor. 

When the media asked Aunt Allison and Uncle Archer what they wanted to do with the remains of their childhood home, they hadn’t said anything, but in secret they both agreed that burning the ashes might be overdramatic, but most certainly warranted. Almost as if they had overheard, the Gull Cove Island Historical Society swept in and restored the mansion to its former glory, ultimately gifting the new building to Milly and I. Since Jonah North isn’t really part of the family, it’s not his.

“Who the hell would want that place?” he’d asked when we told him about the exclusion. Fair point.

“Hey, hey, don’t look so sullen,” Uncle Archer says, bringing me back to myself as he slips an arm around me. I hug him back with all my might. When I think about how close we came to losing him, I want to cry.

“Sorry,” I mumble into his shoulder. 

“Don’t be. Now I hear we’ve got a family of three coming from California today. The kids are around your age.”

“Fun,” I say, making a face. Uncle Archer tugs on my sweater sleeve. 

“Hey, their mom was my best friend. They’re probably good kids.”

Almost on cue, the doorbell rings. 

“That’s them?” I ask as I look down at the black car that - presumably - houses the family in question. Archer nods. “You go. I’ll find Milly and Jonah.”

My uncle fakes a punch to my nose as he saunters off. I giggle. Rehab has done him well. I watch him walk away, and then exit the balcony into the hallway. I turn left towards my and Milly’s room, staying close to the middle of the hall. It’s strange being in here after what happened over the summer, especially since it feels almost unrealistic that everything could be restored so quickly. But I guess the fire Paula started didn’t really burn down the entire house. Just like, half of the inside. If I pause for long enough, I can still smell the smoke. Or maybe that’s just my imagination. Sometimes I’m fine, and other times I feel like I’m back with the gun pressed to my neck. I felt so helpless then, and I never want to feel that way again. 

I knock on the door to our room, and I hear Milly and Jonah’s voices floating towards me, half giggly, half teasing. Whatever is going on in there, I do not want to see. “I’m coming in!” I call, pushing the door open with my eyes shut. “There is a person. Entering this room!”

I hear a crash, and I open my eyes to see Jonah perched awkwardly on the corner of my bed. Oh fun. At least they’re separated. 

“What’s up Aubrey?” Milly asks, smoothing down her hair. After spending months angsting about cutting it or not, Milly decided on a respectable bob. She looks gorgeous, especially now that it’s grown enough to be just touching her shoulders. She’s more dressed up for the occasion than I am in a red knitted pullover tucked into a pair of black jeans. I glance down at my faded grey crew neck and my blue jeans.

“Should I change?” I ask in response. 

“No way! You look beautiful,” Milly says, standing and pulling me to stand in front of the mirror. I look at my long blonde hair. 

“Maybe I should just braid my hair or something?”

Milly huffs. “Jonah!”

“You look adorable Aubrey,” Jonah says dutifully from his spot behind us. I glance over at him. 

“Easy for you to say! You look like a J.Crew model.”

Jonah grins. “Wow you just described my life’s ambition Aubrey,” he says dryly.

I grin and shake my head. I’ve missed this: being back with my cousin and friend. Even if they do spend a lot of time kissing each other. “Come on you two, the first guests are here,” I say, throwing my arm around my cousin.

Ezra

Sunday, December 19

“Ellery please stop bouncing,” I say to my sister. We’re on a train to New York City from Boston and Ellery is way too excited.

“Ez! I can’t! Do you know how many unsolved murders there are in Manhattan alone?”

“No. I do not.”

“And no one should!” Mia adds from the seats behind us. Ellery turns to see if Malcolm will back her up, but he’s asleep. Probably exhausted from dealing with her. 

Ellery is still looking super excited so I turn to her. “Okay, I’ll bite. How many?”

“More than 480. And those are just recorded homicides.”

“Shhh,” I say, shushing Ellery as I catch sight of a red haired girl looking at us strangely from across the aisle. “Sorry, my sister’s really weird,” I say to her. She looks around our age. She’s wearing a fashionable beige coat and a black cap, but something about the way she’s burrowing into the jacket tells me she’s not used to the cold.  There’s a boy sleeping in the seat next to her, whose hand she hasn’t let go of.

The girl smiles. “It’s alright! My best friend solved two murders once.” She pauses and makes a face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.” She shakes her head. “This is really odd, I'm sorry. I’m Phoebe Lawton.”

I grin. “I’m Ezra Corcoran, and this is my twin Ellery.”

Phoebe grins back. “Twins! That’s so cool. I don’t really know any twins.”

“Wait, can we go back to the part where you said your best friend solved two murders?” Ellery asks, leaning across me to look at Phoebe, who smiles a little. Mia groans from behind us. I turn to see her pull her headphones up over her ears. We exchange a look. Leave it to my sister to ask the awkward questions. 

“Yeah well, we’re from Bayview, California, and I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about the-”

“Oh. My. God.” 

I look down at Ellery, who looks as if she’s hit a goldmine. Phoebe looks startled but resigned. 

“We’re from California too, before we moved to Vermont,” I offer, surprised despite myself. The story of Simon Kelleher was all over California before we left, and if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who this girl is talking about.

“Wait so your best friend is Maeve Rojas?” Ellery asks. 

“Did someone say Maeve?” a new voice asks from the seat behind Phoebe. A boy who looks vaguely familiar with tan skin and wavy dark hair pokes his head into the aisle to look at Phoebe.

Ellery gasps. “You’re the boyfriend!”

The boy blinks slowly. “I… what?”

“Okay so in mysteries there’s always this boyfriend that is part of the drama but not really? And he like jumps around but he’s got a heart of gold and-”

“Ellery,” I hiss. “Let’s not reduce strangers to stereotypes please.”

“Murder?” yet another voice asks. This time it’s attached to a person the entire country knows well. Cooper Clay, pitcher for the Padres. Ellery takes a strangled breath. She looks up at me and I sigh. 

“Switch seats with me,” she says in her “don’t mess with me” voice. I happily oblige, pulling out my own headphones. Maybe Mia was right. Just leave this crazy girl to her own devices. 

[miracleonice87]

I’ll Take Care of You, part two

a Tyler Seguin fic

a/n: this one’s from Peyton’s perspective. back in the fall when I first started writing fics again, I wrote part one in first person, which I don’t really do anymore, but I’m keeping that consistent for this one. read part one here first if you haven’t already. 

tw: fainting, mention of miscarriage/loss of pregnancy/infertility/periods

“Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this to occur with first pregnancies. It happens more often than you might think. It certainly doesn’t mean you won’t ever be able to have a baby. My rule of thumb is to let couples try to get pregnant again naturally for one year without any intervention. Then, if you’re still having difficulties, you can come back in and we can talk about other options.”

It had been eleven months since my doctor had spoken those words to Tyler and me following the miscarriage that had nearly broken us both.

Those eleven months had seen us try again and again each month with no success. I tracked my body temperature and ovulation cycle each and every day before even leaving bed. I’d completely removed alcohol and caffeine from my diet and monitored everything I put into my body, controlling every single factor I could possibly control.

And yet, on the thirteenth day — the unluckiest of days for multiple reasons — of each month, like clockwork, my period arrived. If Tyler was at home when it happened, I simply left the bathroom with a sorrowful shake of my head, curling into his waiting arms as he comforted me silently, holding me close, disappointment weighing heavily on us both. If he was on the road, I texted him only a “🔴” symbol, indicating that my monthly visitor had shown up unwelcome yet again. He replied each time with an, ”I’m sorry, sweetheart,” though he had nothing at all to apologize for.

My patience and determination, along with Tyler’s, were wearing thin. It was feeling more and more impossible to keep the faith — more and more unlikely that this would happen on its own.

I had all but given up hope.

But then...

The eleventh month arrived, and the thirteenth day of it came and went with no sign of my cycle. And then the fourteenth day. And then the fifteenth.

And with that, the smallest sliver of hope glimmered from out of the darkness in the depths of my heart.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited. With Tyler on a road trip to the East Coast, I barely slept those three nights, tossing and turning and wondering if I should take one of the numerous tests stuffed in the bathroom cabinet.

On the sixteenth, after Tyler had already left for morning skate, I decided it was time. Though I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I also couldn’t stomach the thought of waiting for Ty to return — let alone the thought of seeing his disappointment in the event of yet another negative test.

Thankfully, though, the sixteenth was a Friday — the day that Fanny, Klinger’s fiancée, and I had long ago set aside for morning yoga in my home gym. Fanny, now six months pregnant herself with her and John’s first baby, would arrive at 10 a.m., and I decided that that was as good a time as any to find out what was next for Ty and me — we would either finally start the family we’d always wanted, or it would be time for a different approach.

After greeting one another and stretching over small talk, Fanny carefully broached the topic that I had brought to her, heartbroken, so many times in the past year.

“So how have you been feeling?” she inquired gently from the mat next to mine, bending to the side for a new pose. “Are you on your cycle?”

From where I stood with my arms extended straight out, my face turned away from hers, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and pondered what to say next.

“Well,” I began before clearing my throat, “That’s, um... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

You pivoted to face Fanny, her pretty eyes now wide as saucers. Slowly, she stood up straight.

“Stop it,” Fanny whispered incredulously, joy etched in her expression.

I shrugged a bit. “I’m late,” I admitted softly. “But only by three days. And I haven’t taken a test-“

“Peyton!” Fanny warned through her giggles, hands finding her hips. “You have to!”

I smiled, appreciating my dear friend’s excitement for me while still feeling the familiar tightness of anxiety in my gut.

“I will,” I promised. “I seriously told myself I was gonna wait to do it while you were here. I couldn’t do it alone and I... if I’m not... well, I just can’t bear to see Ty’s reaction again…”

Fanny nodded solemnly. “Oh, sweetie. I understand,” she assured. “Maybe after we finish up? Or not. I mean, we can do it whenever you feel ready.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and attributing it to my frayed nerves.

“God, is it hot in here?” I asked, unzipping my lightweight jacket and throwing it aside, still fanning myself though I now wore only a sports bra and athletic shorts.

Fanny frowned, looking at my reflection in the mirrored wall in front of us. “No, I feel fine,” she said.

I tied my ponytail into a high bun to get the hair off my neck, noting a faint ringing in my ears as I placed my feet in position on the mat once more.

As I reached down for my toes, the ringing grew louder, and I suddenly saw stars in my vision.

With trembling hands, I wiped the sweat from my now-dripping brow and stood straight up, but apparently too quickly, as the room around me quickly fell from focus, darkness taking its place.

“Fan... I-I don’t feel good...”

Alarmed at the weakness of my voice, Fanny turned to face me and gasped.

“Babe, oh my god!” she exclaimed — the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

_____

The next thing I heard as I came to was my husband’s voice, which sounded distant and faint. I moaned, squinting at the bright fluorescent lights above me as I realized that I was lying on my back on the floor, with Tyler’s face inches above mine. I opened my eyes slowly and heard him draw a deep breath, announcing, “She’s awake.”

I felt him cup my cheek tenderly as I offered a weak smile.

“Hi,” he breathed, relief heavy in his tone. “Hi, sweet girl. You scared us pretty good.”

“What happened?” I asked, confused by the hoarseness of my own voice. I moved to prop myself up on my elbows, but Tyler gently pushed my shoulders flat once more.

“Shh, shh, hey, don’t get up,” he instructed. “You passed out while you and Fanny were working out. Do you remember that?”

With a furrowed brow, I nodded. I saw Fanny standing behind Tyler, covering her lips with her fingers as she stared at me nervously.

“Oh god, Fan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, still feeling weak and shaky.

Fanny shook her head and took a couple of steps forward, standing over Tyler’s shoulder. “Babe, no, don’t apologize,” she insisted. “I was just worried about you. Tyler came in the door just a minute after it happened but I had already called 911. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, my eyes fluttering closed once more. “That’s okay,” I said softly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door upstairs, and Fanny hurried up the steps to answer it. I rolled my head to look at Tyler, who stared down at me with deep concern.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he promised, pushing some hair from my still-damp forehead. “We’re gonna get you checked out and see what’s going on, okay?”

I nodded as I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, and two paramedics followed Fanny to where I lay, still on my yoga mat.

“Hey there,” one of them smiled. “I’m Maria, and this is my partner, Chris. You’re Peyton?”

I nodded as Maria knelt beside me, opposite Tyler, with Chris placing a medic kit on the floor next to him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peyton,” Maria said kindly. “How are you feeling right now?”

I cleared my throat, attempting to blink the fog away.

“Not as bad as I did a few minutes ago,” I half-joked. “But I still feel shaky, and hot.”

Maria nodded, pressing the stethoscope to my chest.

“Can you tell me what you’ve had to eat and drink today?” she asked.

“Um... I had two cups of coffee, a yogurt... and some water during yoga,” I replied.

“Okay,” Maria said as Chris took my pulse, with Tyler holding tight to my other hand and watching their every move. “Any history of fainting before this?”

I shook my head. “No, never,” I said.

“Any blood sugar issues? Diabetes, hypoglycemia?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are you currently on your period?”

My cheeks warmed. This certainly wasn’t the way I had planned to tell Tyler of our latest development.

“Um, n-no,” I admitted sheepishly, glancing at him. I could see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind even as he watched the paramedics instead of me.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Maria asked gently as she folded her stethoscope into her bag and reached for a blood pressure cuff.

Shit.

“Uh… actually, yeah.”

Immediately, Tyler’s head snapped toward me.

“Wait, what? Really?” he inquired, joy exuding from his whole being.

I simply shrugged, beaming. “I’m late.”

A small, knowing smile crossed Maria’s face. She wrapped the cuff around my arm and began to squeeze the pump.

“Okay, well, that could be the reason,” Maria noted. “Sometimes when you’re early in a pregnancy, your body might not be getting all the extra rest and nutrients and hydration it needs. It happens sometimes, and often, it’s no big deal.”

I nodded, reaching for Tyler’s hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said with a scrunched nose. “I just didn’t want to get my hopes up, let alone yours.”

Tyler brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he told me with a shake of his head. “I get it.”

I smiled gratefully, and Maria removed the cuff from my arm.

“Your blood pressure is a little low, which doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Again, this can happen. Just to be safe, I wanna take you to the hospital for an EKG and monitor you for a bit, and we’ll do a pregnancy test there too, okay?”

I nodded, looking to Tyler for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he said, knowing exactly what I needed to hear. “I’ll be right there with you.”

_____

One ambulance ride later, with Tyler beside me and Fanny following behind in my car, I had arrived at the emergency department and was being poked and prodded and hooked up to a plethora of monitors. A cardiologist soon confirmed that everything was fine with my heart, and my pregnancy test was then the only result that hung in the balance.

I sat propped up on pillows in the hospital bed, Tyler standing at my side as we waited in silence.

Out of nowhere, tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to swipe at them without Tyler noticing — a futile attempt. When he heard my faint whimper, he stepped closer and gathered me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“Hey, hey,” he spoke softly. “What is it, baby?”

“I’m scared, Ty,” I whispered, head buried in his chest. “Whether it’s positive or negative. I’m just scared.”

“I know, babe,” he replied, slowly caressing my back. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too. You’ve been through hell.”

“We’ve been through hell,” I corrected, sniffling as I looked up at him. Tyler nodded and smoothed his thumb along my jaw.

“We just have to believe that everything is gonna work out this time,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “Good things are coming, Peyt. I can feel it.”

After several more minutes, my nurse, a sweet woman named Beth who spoke with a thick Texas accent, entered the room holding my chart. I could actually hear my own heartbeat in my ears, this time not because I felt faint, but because I was overwhelmed with anticipation.

“Well, Miss Peyton…” Beth began with a smile. “Congratulations. You’re gonna be a mama.”

I let out a sob and covered my mouth with my hand immediately, and Tyler choked out a breathless laugh. His hands grasped my face as he kissed me firmly.

“You hear that? We’re having a baby,” he whispered, eyes glossy with tears. “God, I love you so much.”

I giggled excitedly. “I love you, too, baby daddy,” I replied, causing Tyler to chuckle, too.

As Beth looked on with a grin, she wrote a few things down on my chart, then said, “Congratulations, you two. I’ll give you some privacy. Peyton, honey, we’ll be back around to check on you in about half an hour, okay?”

I nodded, tears streaking my face. “Yes, yes, thank you,” I spoke. “Thank you so much.”

With a kind nod, she left the room, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind her.

Before the door was even shut, Tyler’s lips found mine once more, his fingers holding my cheeks reverently. Eventually, I pulled away for a breath.

“You were right,” I told him, nudging his nose with mine.

Still completely giddy, he asked with a smile, “What was I right about?”

I reached a hand up to work my fingers through his curls. “You told me good things are coming,” I reminded, voice quivering. “You were right.”

Tyler was overcome with emotion once again and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. For the longest time, we stayed that way, embracing with only the sounds of soft, happy cries filling the room.

_____

eight months later...

“Are you the most handsome little man in the whole wide world? Hmm? I think so,” Tyler spoke to the tiny baby he held in his arms. “I think you’re just the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled from my hospital bed, feeling more exhausted and more in love than I ever knew I was capable of.

“And it’s a good thing you look like your mommy,” Tyler added, smirking at me before kissing the baby’s forehead — our baby’s forehead. “Uncle Jamie is gonna say that too. Yes, he is. I might as well beat him to it, huh?”

I chuckled, patting the mattress beneath me and gesturing for Tyler to join me.

“Bring him back over here,” I pleaded. “I miss him already.”

Tyler hummed knowingly and rose from his chair, carefully cradling the baby in his arms.

“I know,” he said. “I miss him, too, and I’m literally holding him. How is that possible?”

I smiled. “Because having kids means your heart walks around outside of your body,” I spoke, kissing our boy’s chubby cheek as Tyler took his place on my bed. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”

He nodded. “You’re damn right,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel it already. I never knew it was possible to feel this way, Peyt. As bad as we wanted a baby, as much as it hurt when we lost the first one...” Tyler choked up as he spoke of the loss we’d experienced now almost two years ago. After a pause, he continued. “I still just never thought it would feel this incredible.”

I curled my hands around his arm and kissed his bicep. “Me either,” I admitted airily. “I’ll never forget the pain we felt then. And that baby will always be our first. But this... this is the best day of my life.”

Tyler beamed, wrapping one arm around my waist while cradling the baby to his chest with his other.

“So, are we decided on this little man’s name?” Tyler asked as I touched the baby’s pouted lips, making us both giggled at his expression.

“I think so,” I confirmed, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Are you still thinking what I’m thinking?”

Tyler looked down at me with hooded eyes, full of adoration, and nodded. “If you’re sure,” he spoke.

I’d been sure for a few months now, since the first day that I allowed myself to browse a baby name book, still riddled with fear of the unknown, while also waiting expectantly and with hope for our new journey ahead. I didn’t get far, only to the B’s, when I found the perfect name... one that meant blessed. 

As I peered down at the boy in my arms, no name seemed more fitting than that one I’d whispered into being long ago. 

“I’m sure,” I replied confidently. I cradled the baby’s head in my hand and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Welcome to our world, Bennett Tyler Seguin,” I whispered, overjoyed and humbled to finally have the privilege of having a son to name not only for his daddy, but also for the precious, long-awaited gift he was to us.

“Our boy,” Tyler whispered reverently.

[catzula]

Smile For Me

AN: thank you to the anon who requested Artist Shinsou, it was a really cute idea! I'm sorry for writing the requests really late too but here's a 5.6k fic lol I'm sorry, it's not edited btw cause I'm at holiday and dont know how to write fics on mobile I literally can't :(

Warnings: nope

Genre: fluff

Pairing: shinsou hitoshi x reader

It was a cold day.

You had a sweatshirt on, nothing too thick. The wind was blowing like it was trying to wipe you out the earth. You hugged your body tighter, trying to find some warmth.

The school had let you off early this day since a heavy rain was expected. The logical thing was to go home and do your preparations, but you didn't want to go home just yet, so you had decided to meet one of your friends. You decided you could wait at a park that was near where you were, hoping to find a small Cafe to at least drink something hot, but to your disappointment, nothing similar to what you had in mind was to be seen.

You sighed as you sat on a free bench. You texted your friend to tell her you were sitting at the park, groaning when she told you she was probably going to be late. You leaned forward to take your book out of your bag, trying to forget the cold wind that was sending chills down your body. You wrapped your scarf tighter to your neck, hugging your body with your arms.

You weren't aware of the boy sitting a few meters away from you, a notepad and a pencil in his hands, watching everyone.

***

Shinsou was in a bad mood. He needed to draw something for his art class, but he just couldn't find anything that piqued his interest. He could always draw the baby that was crying in the sand pool, or his mother that was blowing cool air from her mouth to soothe the small wound that was caused from the sand, but none of them looked interesting enough for him to go through and finish a whole piece of art. Maybe the flower standing there could be a reference but-

He sighed. He hadn't slept last night, looking for something to draw. He usually slept very late, but not sleeping at all was a whole new level. His pencil moved over his notepad, though he wasn't drawing anything specific. Shinsou looked at the girl that was sitting on the bench, probably about to freeze to death. People were wearing gloves and winter coats while you only had a sweatshirt and a deep red scarf on. Your eyes fixed on the book you held, your face relaxed, a cute smile now on your lips.

As his eyes wandered over you, he didn't notice his hand starting to outline your figure.

You were lost in your book. You didn't even notice the cold anymore, only when the wind blew your pages did you curse under your breath. When you finished the chapter you were reading, you felt your back hurting and you opened your arms, stretching your body.

Only then did your eyes catch a glimpse of the unruly hair, purple locks defying the gravity in an odd way. He didn't notice you staring at him, he was too concentrated on what was in front of him. He looked like he was drawing something, his eyes, which were the same color as his hair, were fixed on the paper, brows furrowed.

You looked away because if you didn't, he probably would have thought you were a creep, though you could feel your eyes gazing his way every once in a while. You snapped out of your thoughts and just when you were about to keep reading your book, you felt something jump on your lap, making you shriek in surprise.

It was a black cat on your lap, nuzzling its face to you, it sat right on your book as if it was trying to get you to stop reading. You giggled as you pet it, a big smile on your face. You always felt special when cats did this, it felt like you were chosen by some greater good.

You didn't notice the boy across you was watching you as you spoke and giggled to the cat. One of his brows quirked up as he smirked slightly, a girl talking to a cat-like so wasn't something he saw every day.

But maybe it was just what he needed to see.

You were smiling brightly as you talked to the cat, one of the prettiest smiles Shinsou had ever seen. Without taking his eyes off of you, he tried to copy this scene in front of him to the paper.

He was so focused on what he was doing, he didn't even realize you were shivering. He felt like he had seen you before, though he didn't want to waste his time trying to figure out where he had seen you, instead, he was trying to draw that smile of yours, though he just couldn't draw it the way he wanted to.

He just had to see your smile one more time.

But when he lifted his gaze from your sketch to look at you and the cat, you were nowhere to be seen. He stood up without thinking, looking around frantically. He started to run when he saw a glimpse of your deep-red scarf, not even thinking about what to say when he reached you.

When he caught up -he was heaving and his cheeks were red from running- he touched your arm, not sure of what to say. " 'Scuse me."

A deep voice called out, touching your arm slightly. You jumped with surprise but smiled sweetly when you saw it was the guy from the park, the one who was drawing.

"Oh, um, hi." You told him, your smile making his heart beat faster, even though he literally ran with all his might just now. "Did you need something?" You asked, watching him as his hand scratched the back of his neck, moving in his place uncomfortably.

"I- uh, I do need something." He too you as he held his pencil so right, his knuckles turned white. He was never an extroverted person, and what he was doing now was a big blow on his social anxiety.

"Do you have time? I would like to ask you something."

Was this boy asking you out or something? And why did he look so familiar? You could swear you'd seen him quite a lot before, though not really knowing where from. "I'm waiting for my friend, actually. So I have time till she shoves up."

Shinsou was not expecting a positive answer. How was he even supposed to ask you to model for him? Would that be too creepy?

You walked in silence, back to the bench you were sitting at. You were starting to get anxious as he eyed you every once in a while, not saying a word. "I- I'm an art major." He finally started, pulling when you didn't say anything. "I have my finals coming up and I have to draw someone... I saw you talking to the cat just now and I-"

"You saw that?!" You exclaimed, cheeks getting heated as you looked at him wide-eyed. "I- uh, I did. But you see, I think it was really nice and I kinda- actually, let me show you."

Wow, this was going bad, wasn't it?

He held his breath as he opened the notepad in his hands, opening the unfinished sketch he just drew- of you. You gasped as you saw the beautiful drawing, not even acknowledging for a moment that it was you who was smiling and petting a cat, so detailed and so pretty.

"Did you do this now?" You asked him, touching the paper so softly, as it would crumble under your touch with the smallest amount of pressure.

"I did. But I kinda need you to stay a little longer to finish it, I know this is a weird request, but I really need to finish it... So, what do you say? Could you stay a bit longer, not much, just till I finish it?" Your eyes followed his hand as he ran his finger through those purple, soft-looking locks, making you wonder how it would feel like under your hands.

"Wait, you actually want me to model for you?" You asked him, brows borrowing with confusion and disbelief. "Is that weird?" He asked you, a hopeful look in his tired-looking eyes.

"No, I- I mean yes!" Oh, damn, you were awkward. "What I'm trying to say is-" you started, a little calmer, trying to answer with a full sentence this time, "It is very unusual, but probably not as weird as me talking to a cat."

He chuckled at that, a rich sound making your heartbeat a little faster. "Yeah, probably not."

"So does that mean, yes? Will you model for me?" You shrugged as you giggled. "Sure, why not."

He smiled, relief washing over him. "Thank you so much, I can't even tell you how much this helps." He was taking his notepad out but stopped as he saw you trembling like a leaf. "Oh, here." He shook his jacket off his shoulders, handing it to you.

"I can't take this." You told him, wishing you could, "It's yours and it's really cold." Plus, it was your fault you didn't bring a jacket with you and he shouldn't be cold because of your irresponsibleness. "Just take it." He said gruffly, "I'm making you stay here so it's only fair if you took this."

Now that was a solid argument. You accepted the jacket he offered -why did it smell so good? Like soap and a bit like lavender?- and smiled gratefully. "Thank you for that." He shrugged to say it was nothing.

***

Hanging out with Shinsou was better than you had expected. He was such a chill guy, so calm and smart, he didn't talk much but when he did his quick, smart remarks making you admire him a lot.

Even though he had told you it wouldn't take long, the sun was already setting when he was giving the drawing it's last details, though both if you didn't mind it at all. It was supposed to be a quick sketch, all he had to do was to draw the outlines and then he could go on without you, but he just couldn't tell that to you, afraid you'll leave.

He was having fun, too much fun, to let you go. He never thought having a chat with some stranger -who talked to cats, too- would turn out to be so fun. And you were nice. So nice that he felt like he could tell you anything, and you wouldn't judge him, which was a feeling foreign to him.

As he scribbled the last pieces of shadings -he knew he was just adding useless details now- he felt a weird weight in his chest. He didn't want you to go, wanted you to stay with him, and talk even more. He was a quiet guy, in contrast to you -you talked a lot of he was going, to be honest, but he thought of it as adorable and even though it was mostly you talking and him listening, it was obvious both of you liked the presence of each other.

At some time, your friend had canceled, telling you she couldn't make it and she was really sorry, but it hadn't bothered you the least. In reality, you were glad you got to spend more time with him.

You gave him your scarf at one point, and he looked so cute, his face wrapped with a deep red scarf, the color matching his cheeks.

"It's really pretty." You told him, caressing the paper with your finger. "It's you who makes it pretty." He answered, causing your cheeks to heat up.

"I don't know how to answer that." You finally told him after a long silence. Your blunt answer made him giggle, once again scratching his neck, making your heart flutter.

"It was really nice to meet you." You let out, sad that you have to go, and that you'll probably never see him again. "It was really nice to meet you too, and you have no idea how much this helped." He answered though he looked like he wanted to say something else.

"Maybe I'll see you around, you know if you ever come here again." He mumbled, eyes looking at yours awaiting. "Sure." You smiled brightly, happy that you weren't the only one that wanted to meet again. You looked at the sweatshirt you were wearing, the one that belonged to him and was too big for you. "I should give this back."

But instead of taking it, he shook his head. "It's still very cold. You can give it to me the next time we see each other." You smiled, the idea of having some kind of excuse to see him again making your heart hammer your chest. "Then you should keep my scarf too, and I'll have it back when I give you your sweatshirt back."

He smiled too, touching the scarf like it was made of gold. You stood up, your legs sore from sitting for so long. "I should go now, it's getting pretty late." You told him as you looked at the drawing he did one last time. It really was pretty.

"Yeah, I guess." He really shouldn't have felt this bad. "See you around?"

"Yeah, promise you'll have your sweatshirt back." You giggled and turned your back, making your way back to your home, an odd feeling finding it's way to your heart.

Shinsou watched you leave, the same feeling you were experiencing, sending shivers down his spine.

***

It had been a week since you saw Shinsou. And oddly enough you missed him.

You could visit the park only once since that day, disappointed that he wasn't there. You weren't really sure if he had ever visited the park too, wondering if he had thought of you as often as you thought of him.

He probably didn't, and you were making a fool of yourself, but you just couldn't stop, couldn't make the thought of him just go away, though his smell from his sweatshirt was already going away.

You sighed, not being able to focus on your lesson. When the bell finally rang, you stood up, stretching your body as you saw your friend coming next to you. "Hey, what's up-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" She screamed- asked, earning glares from other people in the class. "How could you hide this from me?" Her hands were on your shoulders, shaking you with every word that left her lips.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, confused.

"Oh, come on, don't play dumb now." She told you, though still not saying anything that has the slightest bit of explanation.

"I literally have no idea what you're referring to." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she eyed you suspiciously. "Wait, " her eyes widened when she realized you meant what you said. "You really don't know?"

"Nope." You answered.

"Oh my God." She started giggling, making you a little scared of what was happening. "Are you going to tell me now?"

"No way." She answered between her giggles. "I'll show it to you instead." Now, if that wasn't the most suspicious thing you've heard, you didn't know what was. "I'd really rather you tell me." You told her, though you knew she wouldn't tell you even if you begged on your knees. "Oh come on." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "You know I would never tell you. Just wait for a little and see for yourself."

You sighed but didn't say anything, knowing it wouldn't be anything other than wasting your breath. "Okay, whatever. Show it to me." You sighed.

She grinned as she tugged at your wrists, pulling you in a direction. You let her lead you for at least 15 minutes, you had left the campus, entering the main campus, and then the art gallery.

You knew the art majors were exhibiting their finals projects in here, though you never really had the time to come and look at them. "What are we doing here?" You asked her, but she ignored your question, leading your way in the halls of the maze-like halls of the gallery.

And then she suddenly stopped, making you lose your balance by doing so. "Why did we-" you choked on your words as you lifted your gaze up, looking at the piece of art on the wall.

It was a charcoal drawing, a big one at that. Black and white had so many tones between them, shading was so professional, so detailed and so beautiful, it was like the art was alive, you could swear you might see it moving if you looked closely. But it wasn't the beauty of the art that had you in shock, it was what was on it.

You.

You were in the painting. Talking to a cat.

You knew this drawing, you knew it very well, that was because you had spent every second of the last week, thinking about the artist who drew it.

You turned to your friend, who was watching you with a knowing smirk. "You have to be kidding me." You mumbled. He was at your school? How was that even... Was that why he looked so familiar?

"How is this... Wh- Who did this?" You asked, finally able to say a whole sentence. Her nose scrunched in confusion. "You mean you don't know?"

You shook your head.

"It's Shinsou Hitoshi from 2-A." She answered. "I thought you knew him."

"I do know him." You told her. "But I didn't know- I didn't know we were in the same school, or that he was a grade older than me. I didn't even know he was..." You gulped. "I need to go." You told her, leaving her with many questions to be answered.

"Wait, where are you going?!" She screamed after you.

***

You were running, though you hadn't even stopped to think for a second. What were you even going to tell him when you found him?

Hey, it's me, the girl you drew as an art project? The girl talking to a cat? We met a week ago, I still have your sweatshirt, might be nice to have my scarf back too. You remember me, right?

Yeah, probably wouldn't work out, would it? You decided it was the best to go with the flow -it really isn't- and didn't stop to even think for a second.

You entered the art building, feeling the eyes of the students on you, though you weren't sure if it was because you looked like you were running for your dear life, or maybe it was because you were the girl on the art that obviously everyone saw.

You didn't care about the looks they were sending at you and ran until you stood in front of the door you were looking for.

2/A.

Now that you were finally able to stop and breathe, and actually think about what you were doing, you thought maybe this wasn't a really good idea. You had no idea what to say, you weren't sure if it would actually go with the flow either, and you just didn't know how he would react.

But most of all, you were a little disappointed that you haven't seen him that one the time you visited the park. Did he even ever visit? Yes, maybe you only visited once, but he wasn't there, was he? And maybe it was just dumb to expect anything from-

"Oh, hi!" You heard a girl's voice from behind you. It was a brunette girl who was looking at you with a wide smile, her brown eyes the biggest pair of eyes you had ever seen and she had the sweetest face. "Hi, I was looking for-" You mumbled back, feeling shy, but couldn't even finish your sentence.

"Oh my God, 'Chako isn't that the girl?!" Another girl came running towards you, a big smile and wide eyes on her face as she shouted at the girl talking to you. She had a pink-tinted face, like she was blushing constantly, but it looked cute nevertheless. The brunette nodded like they were sharing some big secret, though the secret was more than necessary at this point.

"You're looking for Hitoshi, right?" The pinkish faced girl asked, her hands holding yours as she jumped in her place.

"Well, I- uhh, I was looking for Shinsou." You told her and she giggled when you couldn't call him by his first name. "Oh my God, you're too cute! I'm Mina, by the way, " she informed you as she tugged you from your wrists to the class. "Come on, he's in here."

When you entered the class, more like pushed from the back by Mina, you lost your balance slightly, recovering quickly. You cod feel everyone looking at you, wondering who you were or why you were here. Though a few of them looked like they knew what was going on, watching you with big interest. You scanned the room for one specific pair of indigo eyes. And you found him, your heart beat picking up almost instantly.

He was there. Sitting in his desk, he had his earbuds in and was looking at his phone with tired eyes, his purple hair hidden under his hoodie. As you saw him just sitting there, you thought maybe this was a bad idea. What if he simply didn't want to see you? Both of you didn't know you were in the same school, and what if he thought you were creepy or clingy or...

His gaze lifted from his phone only for a glance to see why his friends were suddenly so quiet, only to see you standing in front of the door, cheeks tinted red and looking very uncomfortable. Shinsou's eyes widened as he put his phone on his desk and stood up. Looking like he couldn't believe you were there, standing just a few meters away from him, he slowly got closer to you.

When he stopped in front of you, he still looked like he couldn't believe his eyes. "H-hey." You told him, smiling anxiously. Everyone in the class was watching you both, and neither of you felt the slightest bit comfortable there. "You wanna go somewhere more... Private?" He finally asked, ignoring his friend's giggles and 'ooohhhh"'s.

"Oh, yeah, that would be amazing." You answered, letting him lead you out of the class. After a short walk, you found a quiet place, looking at each other awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"I didn't know you were in this school."

"I saw the drawing."

Both of you talked at the same time, making you giggle. "How did you find me?" He asked, his words setting a horrible feeling down your chest. Did he?...

"Y-you didn't want me to find you?" His eyes widened when he realized how his words sounded like. "No! I- I'm actually really happy you did, I was pretty sad when you didn't show up at the park." He mumbled, he seemed so sincere about his words, it caused you to blush. "You went back to the park?" The words tumbled out of your mouth with a much more hopeful tone than you would like.

He scratched the back of his neck anxiously. "I- I did. But you weren't there, so I thought you didn't - uhh, didn't want to see me." His cheeks slightly tinted pink, indigo eyes looking at everywhere but you, you couldn't help but think how adorable he looked.

"I visited the park too." You answered, noticing how close he was, all of a sudden. You could feel his soapy lavender smell, making your heart beat faster and faster with every second.

"I found you because of the drawing." You finally answered his question. "I was there with my friend, and she told me you were the artist." That wasn't exactly true, but you weren't lying either, right? Though he didn't seem to be listening either, his gaze fixed on your lips, smirking.

"I probably should thank your friend, then." He answered, making you chuckle. "Maybe you should."

***

Epilogue

"I really can't believe you're going on a date with Shinsou Hitoshi." Your friend repeated for the 100th time as she applied some highlighter to your cheeks.

"I can't either." You answered, feeling all giddy inside. It didn't take long for Shinsou to ask you out after you both found each other, and almost everyone knew about how you met now. Your friends eyes wandered over you.

"I understand everything but that sweatshirt, " she told you, face scrunched with disapproval, "you really can't wear that to a first date, you know." She told you, looking at the sweatshirt on you like it was the ugliest thing in the world but you ignored it. It might not be the prettiest thing you had, but it had history and you secretly liked wearing it, the lavender smell calming your nerves.

"I'm gonna be late." You told her, standing up when she finished the make up. As you arrived to the Cafe Shinsou and you decided to meet at you felt anxiety and excitement washing over you.

It wasn't far from your campus, making it easier for both of you. As you entered the Cafe, a smell of ground coffee filled your senses. Your eyes wandered around, looking for one particular head of purple hair.

You smiled when you saw him, all wrapped up in your red scarf you had given him, the biggest smile on his face when he saw you wearing his sweatshirt.

He thought you looked like a piece of art.