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justporo · 1 year ago

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Twists and turns

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Chapter 9

Astarion and Tav finally get to their first dance. While Tav feels a little like she's going into battle, the vampire can't stop throwing her for a loop - quite literally.

Author's Note: Oh, it really has been long since I updated this, huh? Don't worry I haven't abandoned this story, but I'm still finding a way to balance the excessive urge to write with everything else - and barely sleeping anymore doesn't seem to be the answer, sadly. Anyways, enjoy this part!

Songs: The Vampire Masquerade - Peter Gundry Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: none

Astarion's and Tav's first waltz: Tchaikovsky - Swan Lake Waltz

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

~~~

With his signature smirk on his lips and his chin lifted up high, the pale elf, whose skin almost looked pearly in the bright and silver moonlight, grabbed your hand firmly while one of his eyebrows twitched in anticipation. He quickly lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.

“Let’s not waste more time then, my sweet”, Astarion practically purred. Then he swiftly joined his fingers with yours and spun you around under his arm before pulling you to his chest again. You giggled and grinned at your loved one: “I love it when you’re being cheesy.”

“I am being perfectly serious! And now, giddyup!”, the vampire responded and swung your arm by your held hands to push you to get going. You just playfully bumped into the vampire and let yourself be led towards the ballroom again.

Passing by the unstopping stream of servants you made your way back through the few rooms on the bottom floor. When you could already see the ballroom getting into view through the suite of rooms and their widely flung open doors, you heard a voice rising above all other noises at the party. Surely it must have been amplified by some magic then.

“…am eternally grateful for the warm and generous welcome, all you wonderful and lovely Baldurians have presented me with in your beautiful city, that – if I dare say so – has so much wonderful potential!” You could hear the crowd erupting into loud applause and even whoops of cheering – alcohol had very obviously been flowing generously, even in the more civilised parts of the event and loosened up even the stiffest of collars. While the host was speaking the orchestra played softly in the background.

But this then must be the elusive host, addressing all his guests. You looked at Astarion as you dragged on his hand to hurry him up – you were actually very curious to see this mysterious man. At least maybe a little closer than when he had made a short appearance at the top of the gallery.

But Astarion had actually even stopped walking. With furrowed brows he was staring intently at the ground. His lips were slightly parted as he obviously tried to desperately concentrate – or remember something? Absent-mindedly he almost let go of your hand.

“Astarion?”, you asked carefully and felt suddenly worried about the sudden change in his mood. The vampire was usually quite whimsical but something in the way his eyes stared at the ground flicking around while a thousand leagues away made you worried.

Meanwhile, the host continued with his appreciative speech, so very obviously sweet-talking his audience to get into their good graces: “Having meticulously prepared this very evening for months,” (you snorted, as if he personally had moved but a finger) “I am so incredibly happy to have you all here for this grand night and my humble entrance” (you snorted again, now almost ripping Astarion out of his stupor with your attitude) “into the society of Baldur’s Gate!” More cheers and whoops from the audience.

You softly squeezed Astarion’s hand. The vampire’s eyes flicked to yours, almost coming back to you. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and shook his head softly.

The speech yet wasn’t over: “And now, because I don’t want to keep you too awfully long from your indulgences” – a sultry laughter that was immediately taken up by the enchanted crowd while you could nearly feel yourself having to gag – “how about we get to a big dance, so everybody really gets their blood pumping?”

The crowd erupted, cheered and clapped. You almost felt like you were in your favourite tavern again. For that moment, when the bard of the evening tuned in for the crowd’s favourite song. Definitely not like you were at a high society event right this moment. You heard that the orchestra was beginning to prepare for the announced dance. You heard another voice shortly carry over the rumbling and loud chatter that had broken out about everyone finding their desired dance partner and getting ready to show off. A clear female voice that you realised belonged to the elven singer you had seen before in front of the other musicians declared that the next dance would be a waltz.

You threw Astarion another glance, he seemed to have gotten out of his little fluke.

“Are you alright, my love?”, you asked him silently.

He shook his head once more. “Yes, my sweet, it’s nothing, just a random intrusive thought flashing through my mind.”

You blinked.

“Well, as long as the intrusive thought wasn’t ‘let’s murder everyone at this godsdamned party’ and you intended to act upon it… we’re good?”

Astarion slowly lowered his head as he stared at you.

“My love, for how long have we been together now for you to know me better? I’m not a Bhaalspawn, darling, merely a victim to my own carnal lusts and my desires for you, little siren”, he replied sassily. One of his eyebrows lifted up and he smirked lewdly at you.

But you really had gotten to know him very well and saw the telltale hints that he wasn’t entirely genuine. His old defence mechanism of deflecting something with a sultry comment was something he’d very easily transformed into harmless everyday banter (because he loved to fluster you at every given opportunity). But combined with how stiff his upper lip seemed and how the wrinkle between his eyebrows hadn’t fully flattened again you knew that there was something he wasn’t letting you in on.

But unfortunately, you also knew, that it was an absolutely helpless endeavour to push him about such a topic. Especially since you still were very much in public and Astarion hated nothing more than airing out his dirty laundry to other people – unless maybe it was literal dirty laundry (and maybe lingerie at that). But you made a mental note to come back to it later and try to talk it through with him if he was willing to open up.

For the moment you just gave a defeated sigh at his languid comment and eyebrow wiggle.

Then Astarion obviously remembered what his actual intention had been, and he grabbed your hand again and softly dragged you forward to get to the ballroom again. “Now”, he said teasingly while rushing around people swiftly, “are you finally going to dance with me or not, love?”

“Well, since the perfect opportunity just presented itself, why don’t we actually give it a go instead of just talking about it?”, you replied just as teasingly. You knew that you opened up a challenge to him with your words, but you felt excitement rise up in you already.

Dancing at a ball? In a beautiful dress? With your version of a fairytale prince?

The vision made you kind of want to gag a little because it was so against anything you had been your whole life and stood for. But then again deep down you felt giddy happiness about maybe just experiencing this for once in your life. Just one night of kitsch and cheesiness and a fairytale ending?

Although looking at the way Astarion kept eyeing you, sensing your energy, you were sure the night wouldn’t end with something parents would tell their children at bedtime.

You passed by the buffet, then the pyramid of crystal glasses again, before you were nearly at the ballroom again. Couples were already positioning to start dancing while the dancefloor had spontaneously been expanded to almost envelop the whole room. Leaving almost no bystanders for the coming dance.

In passing you grabbed another glass of champagne from a silver tray and downed it in one go: as much as you were excited, you also could feel yourself getting nervous. The thought of dancing with so many other people being able to watch suddenly making you a little anxious.

Astarion just looked at you with round red eyes in surprise but a soft smile played around his lips as you were already getting rid off the empty glass again.

“I keep being surprised by your drinking habits, love, but then I remember what kind of establishments you used to frequent before we knew each other”, the vampire said while scrunching up his nose a little in disgust at you for having drunk that expensive champagne like a cheap shot.

You shook yourself a little when you felt the fizzy alcohol run down your throat and then deliciously warm you from the inside out. Both of you kept walking towards the dancefloor that was still filling up with more eager couples.

“I keep being surprised by how much of a pretentious prick you are sometimes, darling, and then I remember you used to be one of them”, you countered and waved around to signify you meant all the nobles around.

“Ouch”, the pale elf replied but he did actually grin at your quick and witty comeback. The way he could bicker with you being one of his favourite things about you.

While you approached the other couples you moved your head around as if trying to crack your neck and rolled your shoulders a little. You almost felt like…

“You are not going into battle, love”, Astarion remarked dryly watching your shenanigans.

You stared at him with a bit of a grimace: “With that many people around we might as well be. Also…” – you sighed – “I know you taught me, and you did a wonderful job, but… At home no one was around to judge me, really”, you confessed while you stopped at the very edge of what was seemingly deemed the space for dancing.

“What about the night at the tavern, hm?”

“Do you have an idea how drunk I was?”, you asked him in return. Astarion just scoffed.

“Also, there was magic at play!”, you desperately tried to justify yourself.

Astarion cocked his head at you: “Is my love for you not magical enough for you to forget all your worries and fears, darling?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him unblinkingly – not responding to that nonsense in any kind of way. You turned your gaze towards where the orchestra were readying themselves to play for what was probably the big moment of the evening.

“My sweet, are you seriously telling me that you were – as you have pointed out yourself, just about a few minutes ago, not afraid to take on a literal god but you are afraid to dance around some coiffed poodles and drunken imbeciles now?” Astarion’s voice rose up at least on octave as he talked himself into a fit.

Now you felt called out by him and you didn’t like it. You nervously looked over to him again, but the vampire’s face was scrunched up in a grimace looking at you. His brows were furrowed and the wrinkle between them was very steep indeed. Barely the only thing missing was for him to put his hands on his hips and stomp his foot.

Your mouth pressed into a line as you stared back at him – you felt more nervousness as you noticed everyone getting into position.

“Can we just go and get started please?”, you pleaded with Astarion.

But your vampire kept staring you down. His expression changed slowly, and you could almost see the cunning plan form behind his eyes. His gaze became sultry as yours became alarmed.

“Astarion, whatever you are thinking: NO!”

A grin split the vampire’s face: “Oh what, my love? All I’m going to say is when I am done dancing with you every single person in this room will either want to be you or be with you.” His eyebrow twitched and he licked over his bared teeth while he took a step towards you. His gaze was almost predatory. And the intensity on his wickedly beautiful face in that moment almost took your breath away.

“Ready to take on all that competition then, Astarion?”, you answered weakly in an attempt to get back at him for baffling you. He just knowingly lowered his gaze at you – because he knew. There was no competition as long as he was around.

The conductor of the orchestra very fittingly chose this moment to tap his baton against his music stand. Then he lifted his arms and the room’s anticipation rose to a max. Breaths were held, chins lifted up, feet silently shuffled around.

“Let’s just go, please”, you scream-whispered at Astarion as the room had mostly become silent for a second in heated aspiration. You turned away from him and wanted to finally enter the dancefloor while the music started to rise up. Couples started to slowly turn – some immediately and horrendously arhythmic. Maybe you really didn’t need to worry that much.

You only got about one step in, when you felt a firm grip on your wrist.

“Ah ah ah, we don’t rush, my heart!”, Astarion scolded you and dragged you back as you were seriously getting annoyed at him. “I don’t remember formally inviting you to dance with me.”

“Do you need a three-day notice or what?”, you snapped at him and actually did stomp your foot. But the vampire was not to be ruffled as he made you turn to him again at the edge of the dancefloor.

He smirked at you: “Come on, play along, indulge me. Once in a lifetime opportunity.”

You tapped your foot but the vampire’s gaze and grin didn’t falter. You sighed in desperation and motioned him to go on.

The swelling music was filling the whole room, sending goosebumps all over your skin now. You noticed that it was considerably louder now than it had been when you had arrived. Your brimming anxiety and anticipation probably were amplified by it.

You stared at your partner who in a very theatrical manner now put his heels together, incredibly elegantly bowed and dramatically reached out his hand to you.

“My beautiful darling, Tav, would you be ever so gracious as to honour my humble self with your hand, if only for this dance? And let me twirl you around as if you were the princess that I’ve been wooing for months with my eloquent love letters and could only hope to admire from a distance so far?”, he asked and put on his poshest of accents. He almost sounded as if he was reciting poetry although you heard the humours hints in his voice.

Gods, and for as much as you hated all of this and for as much as it wasn’t who you were: you couldn’t help but giggle giddily in this moment – as your admirer had just propositioned to you, how thrilling!

He had gotten to you, you were now fully ready to play along – if only for shits and giggles.

“Oh my love, Astarion, I would love nothing more but to be spun around in your arms and then afterwards keep dreaming about it forevermore”, you replied and put your hand in his in an overly exaggerated motion.

You desperately had to bite your cheek to not start laughing. Astarion shortly moved your offered hand to his lips to press a kiss to them. You could see that he too was barely containing laughter with the terrible histrionics you’d both put on. The way he bit his lip showing off one of his pronounced canines for a moment.

But then he finally rose up from his elegant bow and swiftly spun you under his arm once before he finally led you upon the dancefloor. He lifted your hand up high in his and confidently walked through all the other couples that seemingly were intimidated by your mere presence alone. No one dared to cross your path as Astarion walked you straight to the middle of the dancefloor.

You saw that quite a lot of pairs of eyes were watching you. Probably from the scene you had caused earlier or because you were fashionably late to the waltz. You tried not to think about it.

Once in the dead centre of the dancefloor, Astarion swung you around to face him, grabbed your other hand to lift it up while the other wandered to the small of your back. You planted your other hand softly on his shoulder just as he had taught you.

“Time for another lesson, love”, Astarion said as his ruby eyes twinkled mischievously at you – one of his white curls had fallen playfully onto his forehead too. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Once you start, never stop dancing!”

And then he finally started dancing with you. He effortlessly led you around the dancefloor at breakneck speed. Your skirt was flying around you as you turned and turned.

You were entirely sure that you were looking at your vampire like a deer being snuck upon in the woods. Your heart was racing as you felt both incredibly excited and very nervous still – the rush of the sheer speed you were waltzing around the room with amplifying both.

Astarion’s eyes were solely on you as he held you close and without showing an ounce of effort elegantly made you sweep across the dancefloor. The many lights sparkled in them, making them look like rubies. You could’ve gotten lost in them.

But keeping up with Astarion, even though he was masterfully leading you in this waltz and his arm was firmly holding you, was still taking a lot of your attention. The two of you had practiced quite a lot. And you had learnt the steps and routines quite quickly, but you had been anxious about making a fool out of yourself.

“You’re thinking too much, my heart”, you heard Astarion say softly – despite the loud orchestral music that only seemed to keep swelling. You blinked at him and almost stumbled right then and there because he had taken you off guard.

You didn’t even dare to reply because you were now awfully aware of your feet and about everything that could go wrong. You gulped and felt how your arms got shaky – even the glass of champagne you had right before this couldn’t help you anymore with this. Anxiously your gaze dropped downward to check if your feet where still correctly doing what they were supposed to.

“Ah ah ah”, the vampire scolded you and with a swift movement he lifted his hand from where it had been on your back to raise up your chin again. “What did I tell you, my sweet, chin up, you’re the second most beautiful person in this room.”

Somehow his teasing brought back some of your cool. “How many times do you want to switch up that compliment, dear?”, you spat back and felt the sudden urge to step on his foot again – why was he always so irritating?

Astarion’s face split into an enormous grin as he kept turning with you in his arms. “As much as needed”, he replied, and you saw how one of his eyebrows twitched. “You look so beautiful when you’re annoyed with me, love.”

Oh, the audacity! Trust Astarion to turn a romantic moment into a godsdamned punchline. You stared him down angrily – meanwhile forgetting to struggle with the dancing.

Astarion’s grin kept growing, now even revealing his fangs. He knew exactly what he had done. And you had to be honest with yourself: you were grateful for it. As always, he had figured out just the right buttons to push.

“I hate you”, you simply threw to him, too stubborn to acknowledge how he had gotten you to loosen up. But a smirk was growing on your face now.

For that remark Astarion quickly moved to make you spin under his arm again. You squealed a little, surprised by the sudden twirl you were forced to take. Then you were right back, pressed firmly against the vampire’s chest. He looked at you with mock disappointment, slightly shaking his head and clicking his tongue. All of course while the dance was still going.

“We don’t lie, my heart”, Astarion said with both eyebrows drawn up and cocking his head a little, his tone teasingly condescending.

“Maybe if you were being nice.”

“Am I not being nice right now? Am I not the perfect paradigm of a courteous, gallant gentleman right this very moment, my darling?”, the vampire drawled sarcastically.

“Paradigm of being full of it, is what you are”, you offered him in return.

And he threw you for another unplanned and uncalled for spin under his arm.

“STOP IT”, you whisper-screamed at your vampire and struggled to not fall while also conveying your anger at him. Astarion just laughed at you. But he quickly went back to just genuinely smiling at you, admiration clear in his eyes.

“Just close your eyes, my heart, enjoy the moment – just let me lead you, you know the steps, love”, he said gingerly after a little while without a note of mocking in it now. You stared at him for a moment longer, asking yourself if he might be meaning to make you fall – but then you followed his suggestion. You trusted him after all – fully.

You only felt unsteady for a short moment. The vampire’s arm around you was holding you securely as you tried to concentrate fully on the sensations surrounding you.

The first thing was probably the music – the way it was filling the room completely and went through your body. You felt how the skirt around you kept flying and how the dancing and the speed of your turns and other couples passing by made for small of gusts of wind.

Your feet now effortlessly found their footing and as you kept swirling around, you felt how the anxiety slowly disappeared. Astarion’s body was so close to yours – reminding you that you had a steady anchor with you, always. You focused on how his hand felt on the small of your back, his other in yours. How the fabric of his fine doublet felt pleasantly under your fingertips.

And joy crept into your heart as you enjoyed being turned around seemingly endlessly in your lover’s arms. Your head fell back, and you felt a smile creep onto your lips. The joy you felt manifesting as some kind of untameable force as you kept feeling the rush of moving at impossible speed. The alcohol you’ve had. The things you’ve experienced. The man holding you.

Just you being here with your soulmate, enjoying this moment.

You opened your eyes then, focusing on nothing really, just letting everything rush by in a blur of colours while you kept focusing on how it felt to be swirled around in Astarion’s arms. Lights flashed by, music was thrumming through your entire body. You were desperately aware of how close you were to the person you loved the most in this world. And you also heard your vampire softly chuckling at you finally just letting loose in the joy of the moment.

It didn’t get any better than this.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @aurasyn @margoteve @usuallyunlikelyfox @hollowmasque @worryknotdear @wraithmaine

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of fake smiles and hidden lies #tav #bg3

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weniswastelandwenis · 4 months ago

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Man Under the Sea

// Hancock x Sole Survivor x X6-88 Oneshot //

The sky lit aglow with an ominous green haze, enveloping the entire wasteland in its uneasy lime hue. A sharp thunderclap sounded out, accompanied by violent howling winds which whistled through the broken windows. Sole lay uneasily on a mattress on the floor, waiting for the radstorm to pass. She had attempted to catch an hour or two of sleep, but every so often the booming thunder would startle her awake, or a tiny droplet would sneak through a hole in the roof and land on her forehead.

She resigned herself to stare at the ceiling, before being startled slightly at the sound of the door opening. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the room and without looking up she knew who was approaching by the cadence of his uniform steps.

“You’re still awake.” X6-88 observed from where he stood above her. He must have finished patrolling the perimeter. Sole looked up at him silently at first. His face was expressionless and set resolutely as he stared at her.

“The weather is keeping me up.” She explained.

“You need to sleep, otherwise your body will fail.” He affirmed, droplets of rain dotted his face and armored coat. The water pooled at his boots and in the doorway. X6-88 didn’t take notice of his current state and continued to stare at her.

Lighting struck, illuminating his stoic face, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. She sat up quickly and looked to the window, but he did not react to look away from her. Her Geiger counter ticked ominously and X6-88 stepped forward.

“We should get back to the institute. It is clear you will not be able to sleep under these conditions.” He said. She reluctantly stood, the old springs of the mattress creaking as she gathered herself. He watched her silently, holding his arm out expectantly. She gazed at his arm with unsure eyes.

“This always makes me feel sick.” She said.

“If nausea occurs, we can visit the bioscience division if necessary.”

She placed her hand on his arm, bracing for the inevitable vertigo to come.

“X6-88 ready to relay back to the institute.”

White light flashed before her eyes blinding her temporarily, before settling on a cascading kaleidoscope of cerulean hues.

When she opened her eyes father was standing before them, hanging brain.

“Daddy.” X6-88 said firmly, performing a dual-handed salute.

“Both hands?” Father asked proudly. “Your two handedness has improved. I do hope to see more of that in Daddy’s bedroom.” He whispered in his ear, hoping Sole hadn’t heard.

She did.

Sole cleared her throat, both men unaware she too was in the room.

“Excellent, you’re back. I do hope your travels in the commonwealth have proven fruitful?” He questioned, both hands clasped behind his back, dong still hanging and swaying slightly in the breeze produced by the institute’s air conditioning.

“They have, thank you.” She forced herself to look at him eye-level even though the shriveled thing was just hanging there like that.

There was still rain on X6-88’s form, along with perspiration which was produced quite quickly much to Father’s chagrin. He gave X6-69 a knowing look. Sole excused herself from the room quickly yet respectfully and left to explore the rest of the Institute's bowels. She looked over her shoulder, and as she was leaving she saw Father plugging his phone charger into X6-88s multi tool sexily.

Sole strode through the halls, trying to forget what she just witnessed. She would never get used to the sterile environment the Institute provided. Synths strode past her like worker bees, not paying her any mind. She supposed Father was the queen.

Absent-mindedly she peered down at her Geiger counter and noticed it was getting dangerously close to the ‘dead’ level. A trip to the med-bay wouldn’t hurt.

When she arrived at the med-bay her Geiger counter strangely began to go off again. When she looked up she found Hancock, rifling through the medicine drawers and filling his pockets with jet. To his left was a dead doctor with the star spangled banner tied around her neck in a lethal stranglehold, hanging from the ceiling.

“Hancock, what in tarnation!?” Sole half squealed and half screamed. She was happy to see him as they were friends with benefits, but brushing another Hancock-induced death under the rug wasn’t what she had planned for today.

“Sister, check out this haul! No wonder these bitches love being down here so much, they’re all high as a kite and jerking each other off.”

“Tell me about it. I just saw my son’s dong.”

Suddenly X6-88 strode into the room, his tall gait strong and immovable. His muscles rippling and writhing under his skin. His height was impressively tall. He opened his mouth and an alarming air horn-like noise emitted from it.

“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”

Sole and Hancock covered their ears (although Hancock just has ear holes) in an attempt to not be deafened.

All the sudden Father sprinted in, almost tripping as his pants were around his ankles.

“What seems to be the problem!?” His eyes shot to the dead doctor. Hancock had a “did I do that?” expression, kind of like Urkel from Family Matters.

Everyone’s eyes shot to the handkerchief around the dead doctors neck, that clearly had “property of Hancock” lovingly stitched onto the edge. Sole blushed and covered her “property of hancock” tattoo lovingly stitched on her arm.

“X6-88,” Father said expectantly and held out his hand.

X69 shot out his multi tool as ordered.

“Get ready for the ass beating of your life you little bitch.”

”And then, uhhh…” The campfire crackled around the huddled group of dirty children of Little Lamplight.

“You mungo! What happens next?!”

MacCready took a long drink from his juice box and stared up at the stars.

“There is no ending, we’ll never know what happened. And that’s life, sometimes stories just kind of… end.”

FIN

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 7 months ago

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Big Hands: Gladiolus Amicitia x Plus-Sized!Reader (Semi-NSFW)

Contains: Implied sex at the end, self-deprecating thoughts, body image

Despite his promises, his gentle crooning and warm embraces as well as the countless times he had you wrapped around his finger, you still couldn’t get over the looks people were giving you as well as the words muttered under their breath. It was everywhere, people were everywhere, judging you, weighing you as inferior compared to the god-like being standing next to you, holding your hand firmly. You felt like crawling back under the covers of your comfy bed, to disappear from the world.

It was all the same insults and comments, over and over again. The words looming over you like you were in some stupid horror movie. It didn’t shock you all that much about how frail your confidence was.

Shattered like a broken mirror with the brick being just a jumble of words.

He would often fight back, spitting harsh threats at the people that treated you worse than hunters treated their targets. He hated how quick people would turn on others. It was revolting, that humans can be so cruel to one another without even caring.

He was always so quick to escort you away, to care for you, to fix that fragile mirror even if it meant he would cut his fingertips.

But he adored you.

Where he was hard and ridged, you were soft and delicate. He loved feeling your curves, he loved holding something that wasn’t a heavy broadsword or shield that rubbed his scratched up palms raw. He loved holding your hands and absent-mindedly playing with your chubby fingers.

It was all the better as he would always hold you tightly, stopping you from squirming.

“I’ve got big hands for a reason,” he would always grumble into your ear before pinching at the plush curve of your ass.

And he was no different tonight. He had found you sitting on the bed, back facing him. He knew what had happened, heard from Ignis that a few citizens were snickering under their breath as you were helping Ignis and Prompto with a few things. Even worse, he had seen the scale on the bathroom floor, barely sticking out from the cabinet next to the sink. He barely saw it himself, but seeing the contraption only fueled his anger.

“(Y/n)?” he murmured, pushing the bedroom door open a little more.

You didn’t answer. You sat there, still, head down and looking at the floorboards. You could feel your face heating up in embarrassment.

You were only soiling his royal name the more you stayed with him.

The door opened fully, the light of the hallway filled the dark bedroom.

Gladio sighed and slowly stepped towards you. Instead of rounding the corners of the massive bed, he instead climbed up onto the mattress from behind and kneeled behind you. You flinched when his large hands came into contact with your shoulders.

You always loved how his rough hands felt against your soft skin.

His fingertips curled, allowing him to push himself forward until his chiseled chest and abdomen was pressed right up against your back. He hummed softly, slowly moving his hands down the length of your arms until the joined together right on top of your belly.

You bit your lip, feeling suddenly nauseous at how disgusting you looked right now. Oh Six, why did you have to be this disgusting? Why did this being chiseled by the Six themselves fall for you? Oh Six, why does you belly look like that when you sit down? And why are your legs so big and awkward?

Your throat tensed and tightened. You felt like you were going to vomit.

You nearly heaved when he placed his lips on your shoulder, feeling the scratch of his facial hair brush against your skin. He hummed softly and pressed another kiss closer to your neck.

“I love you,” he murmured.

It always fascinated you on how soft Gladiolus could be. He was the King’s shield. He was meant to be a force of nature. He was a behemoth in human skin with how powerful he was and how dangerous he could be. And yet, he’s being so gentle to you.

“Gladio,” you whimpered.

He shushed you, tightening his grip around you and resting his head on the crook of your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your neck.

“I love you so much,” he cooed. “I love you so much, it’s crazy.” Another kiss had you suddenly tearing up, a sob pushing past your sealed lips. “I ever tell you how much I fucking love you?” he hummed in your ear. “I love you so fucking much (Y/n).”

“Gladio,” you whimpered.

He was so warm against your back. It felt nice.

“I love that you’re so soft. I love your cute fingers and how you always blush when I hold your hand.” He tightened his hold around you. “I love how you always sleep on top of me, a perfect way for me to grab at that fine ass of yours.” You couldn’t help yourself but to laugh. A few tears rolled down your full cheeks which Gladio quickly wiped away. “I love you so much, I’m so fucking lucky I met you when I did. And I’m so lucky the Astrals above blessed me with these big hands so I can show you how much I love you whenever I want.”

And just as he said that, his hands flew from your waist to slide under your ass. he hiked you up in the air, suddenly standing on the floor. Carrying you bridal style, he grinned down at your blushing face. His eyes were a fiery blaze, suddenly filling with lust.

He set you down on the bed, kicking the bedroom door closed with his heel.

“I love you so fucking much, it’s not even funny,” he grumbled.

“You know Iris is home,” you found yourself laughing.

“She has friends she can go hang out with.”

And just like that, his belt was loosened and his pants fell to the floor.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #gladiolus amicitia #gladiolus x reader #gladio x reader

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finkinthisfrew · 1 year ago

Text

Anything (Pt.49)

I woke up in Matty's arms, snuggled up against him, our limbs entangled with each other as Matty's phone started to ring. He groaned into my ear, making me giggle as he nuzzled his nose into my cheek.

I reached over to grab his phone where it lay next to us on the couch but didn't recognize the phone number.

"It's a random number, should I decline it?" I asked, turning back towards Matty.

He strained his neck to look over at the number, squinting one eye open, then groaned even louder as he fell back on the throw pillow.

"It's my manager. S'probably calling to ask if I've booked my flight back yet," he grumbled in sleepy annoyance before snuggling back into me."I won't go," he mumbled in my ear stubbornly, "You can't make me."

"I'm glad to hear that," I whispered back with a giggle before I placed his phone gently on his chest, "but I don't wanna get you in trouble."

Matty put his hand over his eyes, then dragged it down his face as he yawned before reluctantly picking up his phone and answering.

I lay there as he spoke to his manager, listening to the soothing melody and timbre of his voice. I let the charm of his accent wash over me, enjoying the hum of his chest in my ear, the way it vibrated against my cheek and the hand I rested upon his heart. He rubbed my back absent-mindedly, pulling me in and kissing the top of my head from time to time as he listened to his manager rattle off flights and schedules.

"Welp," he said after he finally hung up and tossed his phone aside. "I have good news and bad news. What would you like to hear first?" he asked as he turned to face me, running his fingers curiously over my eyebrows which were arched in curiosity.

"Bad. Always bad first," I said firmly as I wiggled my eyebrows under his finger, earning a chuckle from him. Oh, how I adored that sound.

"Well, I have to be on a flight tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.," he grumbled.

"That's not so bad! I was worried you'd have to leave tonight," I said as I leaned forward and kissed the top of his cheekbone, his frown melting into a sweet little smile.

"Mmmm," he sighed to himself in happiness. "These little lips'll be the death of me, you know that?" he said with a cute grin as tugged at my bottom lip gently with his fingers, then planted a soft kiss on my mouth. "I guess you're right," he said with a sigh, "but I was hoping for something a little later... that's the latest they're willing to let me risk."

"I'll take whatever I can get," I said with a small yawn as I sleepily pulled myself closer to his warmth.

"How are you feeling?" Matty asked, cupping my cheek softly, his voice softer now as he looked down at me, concern shaping his brow.

I didn't like thinking about it. I'd been doing a very good job of not thinking about what had happened so far, and I didn't want it to ruin our one night together.

"I'm good! A bit sore and tired still I guess, but otherwise my body feels fine," I said in the most chipper voice I could manage while averting my eyes, suddenly very focused on the string of Matty's hoodie. It felt wrong keeping the truth concealed from Matty, but I didn't know if I had the strength to look at it myself right now. "So what's the good news?" I asked, praying inside that he'd allow me to change the subject.

He looked at me silently, gently tugging at my eyes with his own. I couldn't avoid their pull.

"And what about in here, love?" he said softly, tapping his finger lightly on my cheekbone, his hand still holding my face.

We sat in silence for a few moments as my mind slowly began to allow the events of last night back in. I fought back against them, hard, and I could feel my anxiety ramp up as I tried to shut down my brain. I took several deep breaths, calming myself as Matty sat patiently, watching my internal struggle play on my face.

"I don't know how to answer that question..." I said finally, my voice meek. Matty's arm around me tightened as my brain continued to storm on. Silence enveloped us again as the memories hit me like waves, one after the other.

Feeling foggy and drunk. crash

Not being able to find Juliette. crash

Losing control of my body. crash

Nothing making sense. crash

Matty feeling just out of reach. crash

Panicking. crash

The hands. BAM

The wave took me under and suddenly I couldn't breathe. I'd forgotten all about the man- or maybe I'd subconsciously blocked him out, I'm not sure. But I was swirling around in darkness, and I couldn't tell what way was up or down. My lungs were full of ice- my chest on fire. I was freefalling, but I was also drowning. And it wouldn't stop. I was dying, but it was neverending. It was happening to me all over again...

I think I may have blacked out with rage and shock. All I remember was realizing the extreme soreness in my fists. It was a different soreness than the rest of my body, except for the one in my throat- that one matched. I felt the thuds of my fists reverberate through my body, my pinky beginning to throb from repetitive impact. My throat seared in pain again.

Something soft and glowing entered my swirling darkness, brightening it slightly. I savoured the way it danced through me, its beauty so radiant, it felt heartbreaking.

"...I'm so sorry, my angel... I'm so sorry... I love you..." Matty's voice sung through my hollow chest, pulling me out of my pit of darkness one inch at a time. I realized then that the pain in my hands was from my own actions- I had been hitting Matty's chest like a child throwing a temper tantrum. And he hadn't held me back. He simply let me sob and scream and cry, only interjecting between my outbursts with softly spoken words of love.

Another sob escaped my chest, and I could hear the hoarseness in my voice. At least my throat matched how I felt on the inside. There was something almost satisfying about that, it's pain which neared numbness.

"I hate him."

The words fell out of my mouth. I didn't remember thinking them. They just tumbled out, and I sat there staring at them where they lay on the floor.

"I know baby. I do too," Matty agreed softly.

"And I feel so fucking broken," I said angrily, hissing the last word. "I fucking hate him!" I said again, this time louder, the rage inside me building rapidly.

"I know, Anna," Matty whispered comfortingly.

"I'm so tired of feeling so fucking broken all the time!" I said through clenched teeth. The anger pumped through my veins, heating me from within. "Why do I have to be the broken one! Why can't they be the broken ones for once?! I'm so tired of being made into damaged goods!" My voice was loud now, I couldn't control it.

"You aren't damaged goods, babe," Matty said soothingly, but I wasn't open to receiving comfort right now.

"I am! You can't tell me what I am or am not right now!" I yelled at him, pulling away.

"I know, baby, I'm sorry. You're right," he said, the hurt in his eyes pushed aside by his desperation to help.

"And stop saying 'I know'! You don't know! You don't know how I feel! You don't know, Matty!" I shot at him. "You don't know what it feels like to be assaulted like that! To be violated like that! Or to have that happen to you over and over and over and then be told that pain was my fault! So don't you fucking dare say that you know!" I screamed, losing myself in the spiral. I turned to face away from his look of shock, hiding my shame for yelling at him. I was too upset to be rational right now.

I fumed as I stared at the rain that tapped gently at the wall of windows beside us, its pitter-patter the only relief from the now otherwise silent living room.

"I'm sorry..." Matty said quietly, his tone pleading.

I whipped my head back to look at him, fire blazing in my eyes now.

"You should be!" I yelled, then ripped the duvet off before standing up and walking away, throwing open the door to the patio and slamming it shut behind me.

I stomped my way over to the large outdoor couch, my socks soaking up the rain on my way. I curled up on the couch with my back to Matty. I couldn't look at him right now. I was too angry at him. But more than that, I was too angry with myself for yelling at him, and I hated myself for it. I knew none of this had anything to do with him, but I was just so overloaded, and my body couldn't take it anymore. All I wanted was some relief- just a moment. But it wouldn't come.

I sat there on the wet couch, tilted my head up to the sky, and cried. As I let the cool drops fall on my face, I began wishing the rain, which washed my tears away one by one, could wash my pain away too.

I didn't hear his footsteps as he walked up to where I sat on the couch, his sounds disguised by the steady rainfall. A warm hand on my shoulder brought me back. I turned to look at him, my heart only further broken by the look of sadness on his face. As I turned to face him, he sat and took my hand in his, and we sat in hurt silence together.

"You can be angry at me," was all he said. Quietly. I could barely hear him over the sound of the rain. But there was no judgement in his voice, and no tone of disappointment- only Matty offering me simple reassurance.

At that moment, my chest collapsed, horrified I ever yelled at him. My face fell to my hands, and he reached to put his arm around me. I let him pull me into his lap, realizing how much worse I was making myself feel by ever having left it. He pulled my face into his neck, nuzzling me into my spot for me, then threaded his fingers through my hair. I fought back against the tears that welled as he wrapped his arms around me and rested his cheek on my head.

"You can yell at me- it's okay," he reassured me quietly in my ear. He kissed my temple as he gently swayed me in his arms. "It's okay."

He sat silently just holding me, and his words made my remaining anger shatter. His comforting voice, his warm embrace, his caring demeanour- I knew I was yelling at the wrong person. I finally let my guard down, sinking into his chest.

We sat in silence listening to the rain fall around us. I tried to calm myself, fiddling with the strings of Matty's hoodie, which were now damp from the rain as I struggled to push out my feelings.

"I don't want to be mad anymore," I whispered into his neck, my voice shaking. "I'm so tired of being mad all the time, Matty," I said between the tears that now fell as steadily as the rain that made its way into our clothes.

He pressed a kiss into my forehead.

"One day you won't be. I promise. But right now it doesn't feel okay, and that's okay," he said, his words muffled slightly as his kiss never left my skin. "You can feel however you want to feel- however you need to feel right now," he said. He rocked me back and forth for a bit as I finally let his comforting words work their way through my hardened exterior.

I let his words wash over me, soothing my aching heart. His hand rubbed my back, and I realized I wasn't alone this time. It felt nice to not be alone. Fuck I was so grateful for him. And I had been a complete menace to him. I was so undeserving of him.

"I'm sorry," I began quietly, but before I could finish, Matty cut me off.

"No, don't even start- you don't have to apologize," he said softly, but firmly, his sway continuing to lull me into a calmer state. "

"I hit you. I yelled... I'm so sorry Matty," I whispered, my voice wobbling from the mortifying horror I felt.

"You were upset. Rightfully upset. I could have moved away, but I didn't," he said gently. "I didn't want you to go through that alone. That was my choice."

I looked up at him, knowing already what I'd find. He looked down at me with unwavering sincerity. It made me nauseous, realizing how perfect he was and how terrible I'd been to him.

"I'm so sorry, Matty," I said to him as he shook his head with a furrowed brow. "I'm so fucked up. I'm so sorry," I croaked. My whole body felt like lead, heavy where I sat in Matty's lap. His hand continued to rub my back as we looked at each other, and I clung to his eyes like a liferaft, finding myself waiting desperately for his next words.

"I love you as you are," he said slowly, evenly, his eyes scanning mine, letting me take his words one at a time and savour them as I mulled them over, flipping them over and feeling them in my mind like little novels- each one hefty and full of meaning. "I love you always," he said, the hand in my hair guiding my face gently to his. Our foreheads rested on each other and his breath danced across my numbed skin, bringing life back into me with its warmth. "We're in this together now, you aren't alone. Your pain is my pain, Anna."

We sat in silence for quite a while, the rain soaking our hair and clothes. I clutched at Matty's sweater. I felt like I was hanging on for dear life.

"I'd think I'd die without you," I whispered to him, watching a drop hanging from his parted lips, unsure of if it was my tear or the rain that clung to it so dearly.

"I'd die without you," he whispered back without hesitation, before finally bringing his lips to mine. He didn't kiss me at first, his lips just touched mine, a need for closeness fulfilled. It wasn't enough for me though. I needed more of him. I kissed his lower lip which hung open against my mouth, greedily taking him in, sucking on it with desire for more. His lips closed on mine, meeting my hectic energy with a softness I didn't realize I needed in that moment. I wanted to envelope myself in him, but what he knew I needed most was tenderness. I needed to be treated with care and intention. I needed Matty.

He kissed me perfectly, and I clung to him like a liferaft, because he was one in that moment. The rain poured down our faces, falling harder now, drenching us as we kissed. We kissed forever. My heart felt slightly less broken with Matty patiently picking up its pieces one by one. When our lips parted, I began to shiver- the distraction of our kiss no longer cloaking the cold which now seeped through my clothes to my tired and worn body.

"Let's take you inside and get you warmed up, does that sound alright?"

He carried me back inside, and we both knew I wasn't healed or fixed or everything was fine now. But I realized as Matty patted me dry with a towel, wrapping me up in fresh dry clothes before tucking us back into our spot on the couch, that we were in this together now. I didn't have to decay in this darkness alone anymore. I had him. I had Matty.

#matty healy #the 1975 #at their very best #love #bfiafl #tender #matty the 1975 #lovers #fanfic #fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #matty smut #matty #matty 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut

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sablewing · 10 months ago

Text

Alien Communication

As the door opened, Barbara made sure she had a good grip on the leash. Doxy was scratching at the door while Barbara fumbled with the lock, ready for his morning walk. She cautiously opened the door, Doxy nosed it opened and bolted for freedom. Fortunately, she had experience with Doxy's eagerness and had the leash firmly wrapped in her hand before she opened the door. Barbara enjoyed a good walk, but not a run when she had to chase after Doxy as he ran down the street.

She yawned as they walked, with Doxy stopping to check out every bush and mailbox. He had been very eager this morning and had been pushing his button for "walk" and "out" while she laid in bed trying to sleep in. The buttons were very helpful in communicating with him but there were times she regretted teaching him to 'talk' to her. However, after watching other pet owners use their button boards, she knew it would be helpful for her and Doxy.

"Morning Barb," her neighbor Mamie said as she walked by the yard. She was out weeding the flowers in the front of her house, pulling them up and dumping them in a bucket next to her. She brushed herself off and stood up for her morning chat with Barb. The summer heat of southern California hadn't dried out the flowerbeds yet, so there was plenty of weeds to pull. Unusually, there had been rain every day, just a few sprinkles, but enough to keep plants from drying like they normally did each summer.

"Morning Mamie, good to see you out and about," Barb said as she stopped by the fence. Doxy was taking advantage of the stop to sniff each and every fence post within reach of his leash.

"I see Doxy got you up bright and early. Or are you eager to solve the puzzle of the alien stop signs this fine morning?" Mamie asked her.

Barb smiled at the morning joke, "No, not this morning. Just out for some fresh air for myself and Doxy."

"Well, it is a good morning for walking and weeding. Think I'll get back to the weeding, that rain we got certainly got them growing in my flowers. Seems like we've gotten more rain than sun lately, but it's good for my garden. Good to see you, now back to those dratted weeds." Mamie waved and turned back to her weeding.

Barbara started walking again, pulling slightly at the leash. Doxy was still sniffing a fence post but was ready to move on once Barbara tugged on the leash twice.

"Good dog," she said absent mindedly as she moved down the sidewalk. She was thinking about the alien stop signs, as Mamie called them and their strange appearance a few years ago. All over the world walls had appeared in many towns and cities in the space of a single day. The walls were all about six feet high and made out of some strange material. They were called stop signs because they were shaped like a hexagon although they had different colors for each wall. In each wall there were four circular extensions. Each extension had a different marking on it that might be writing of some type. The wall in her neighborhood was a bright red so it did look like a large stop sign. Other signs were bright yellow, green or other bright colors, with no black or white walls around the world.

When the walls first appeared, there was an uproar throughout the world, with countries threatening other countries for their intrusion. However, it was quickly realized that the walls were not of earthly origin, which resulted in a different uproar. Some places tried to destroy the walls, others gathered around them as if they had been given by the gods. In one instance, in one country, they tried to destroy a wall by blowing it up. The wall was not hurt there was additional fear and panic about them.

After several months, when nothing happened around the walls, most people eventually calmed down and they became just another oddity in the world. Some countries had set up observers who simply watched the walls and took notes on any unusual things they observed. Some of the observers pushed the extensions and kept notes of any strange things that happened after they pushed the button. There were internet sites where people discussed the walls and tried to figure out what they were for.

They were getting close to their wall and Barbara found herself wondering what the walls were for. Doxy was pulling at her, anxious to get to the park where another dog was also walking. She recognized the other dog and the owner as they walked ahead of them. He was a neighbor, Tom Jenkins, who she chatted with when she saw him in the neighborhood. As she moved closer to the wall she could also see the wall observer, Kim Wellington, in her usual spot on a bench that had a roof over it. Kim appeared to be looking at something on her tablet. Barbara walked up to the wall and next to Tom as he also looked at the extensions.

"Morning Tom, good to see you," Barbara said.

"Good morning to you and to Doxy," he answered. "You are up early this morning, did Doxy get you out of bed?"

"Yes he did. He was loud about it too, pushing on his buttons to let me know he wanted to walk and go out."

"It's amazing that you've taught him how to use those things. I tried to teach Misty," he said, nodding toward his beagle, "but she doesn't get it. Unless it’s the one for treats, that one she understands too well. I had to put it up out of reach because of how often she pushed it."

"It just takes patience, or at least it did with Doxy. It seems like some animals don't get the concept that well. Once Doxy figured out he could get things from me, he got very interested. "

"Yeah, I can see where it might be easier to communicate with your pet that way. I get frustrated sometimes with Misty, I'll know she wants something but I can't figure out what she wants."

"Even with the buttons, I don't always understand Doxy either. I have to have patience too, sometimes it takes him a while to press all of the words."

Tom turned to the wall and asked, "So have you figured out what the wall is for yet? I keep wondering what it's for, and if it's here to help us or hurt us."

"If it was meant to hurt us, there are simpler ways to do that. I don't know, sometimes it reminds me of something, but I can't make the connection. Kim, anyone figured out what these things are for?" Barbara said as she turned towards Kim sitting on the bench. Kim had been on duty for the first shift for the last three weeks and would be relieved after four weeks. A shelter had been installed and Kim sat on the bench, taking notes on her tablet, glancing up occasionally. She had started carrying an umbrella with her due to the drizzle that had occurred for the last week.

Kim looked up, pushing her glasses up as she thought for a moment. "Nothing new as of five minutes ago. The consensus is that the walls are for some type of communication but we aren't sure how that works. When someone touches one of the extensions something happens but we haven't completely captured what does happen. There seems to be some type of energy sent out on multiple frequencies but we can't trace where it's going to. There also appear to be subtle changes in the markings that revert back once the person quits touching one of the extensions."

"Communication, that seems like a peaceful way to contact us, although we didn't act too peacefully when the walls were put here," Barbara commented.

"That's the other puzzle, if there is another species that wants to contact us, why couldn't they just send us an audible signal," Kim answered. " We think they might communicate in a very different way from us and they felt the walls would provide a method that we could use and understand. The problem is that they couldn't provide us operating instructions since we can't communicate yet."

"Those are good points, hopefully someone will figure them out," Barbara answered.

A soft 'ding' was hear from Kim's tablet and she stood up. "Time to see if an extension does anything different today," she said as she walked to the wall. Looking at her table, she looked up and pressed the extension on the top left side of the wall. "I'm currently tasked with pressing the same button each day at the same time to see if anything changes or happens. Do you two see anything different?" she asked.

Barbara and Tom looked at the wall, squinting as they looked at the extension that had been touched.

"Nope, it feels a little odd, and it does look like the markings change but I think they're back to what they were?" Tom asked.

"Yes, it feels like something happened, but I don't see anything else that is different. Such an odd way to communicate," Barbara said. But as she said, she again had that flash of thought that it was like some method of communication she knew about.

"Same here, but who knows. I'll upload my data and perhaps the LLMs can find a pattern that we can't," Kim said. "Well, back to sitting and observing in case there is a delayed effect." She walked back to the bench and sat down. Bent over her tablet, she went back to reading and entering information.

"Good to see you this morning Tom, and Misty too. Time for me to head back, I'm ready for my morning cup of coffee."

"Yes, it was good to see you and Doxy too. I think I'll stay here a bit longer, Misty needs to finish checking all of this wall for postmarks from her canine friends. Hope to see you tomorrow," Tom said. He started walking with Misty as she sniffed around the wall.

Barbara said, "C'mon Doxy, time to walk the other way now." She didn't say home because Doxy would get stubborn and she didn't want to have to drag him all the way home. She was ready for morning cup and didn't want to delay it any longer than she had to.

After a walk around the rest of the block, they reached home and Barbara opened up the door. As usual, Doxy had found something utterly fascinating to sniff and had no interest in going into the house. With a firm tug on the leash, Barbara dragged him and closed the door behind him.

"Silly dog, you've had your time out, now I need my coffee." She took the leash off and hung it by the door. Doxy slowly walked in and went to his button board. He started pushing buttons to talk to her.

"Out, walk," went the buttons that Doxy pushed.

"Doxy, you just went for a walk." Barbara walked over and pushed the buttons 'out', and 'no' while saying, "No out, all done."

Doxy paced the room and pushed the button for potty several times.

Barbara laughed, Doxy would use the word potty when he didn't like something. He might also need to have a bathroom break outside, although he had watered plenty of plants on their walk. Shaking her head she pushed the button potty and said, "Alright, I'll let you out in the back yard to go potty, although I doubt that you need to go. C'mon, out you go." She walked through the house to the back door and opened it for Doxy. He trotted through and started sniffing around the yard. Barbara closed the door and went back to get her coffee cup.

As she walked back to the kitchen, she passed the button board again. She stopped, thinking as she looked at them. The buttons reminded her of something and then it hit her. The buttons were placed in plastic hexagon pads and the pads were brightly colored. There were stickers on the buttons with a note on what the button would say when it was pushed. Slowly, she looked at the board and remembered the alien wall at the park. She wonderied if the walls were meant for communication just like the animal button boards. The alien buttons didn't make a sound, instead they did something else. But she thought they were meant for humans to communicate with the aliens.

Barbara knelt down to the floor for a closer look at the buttons, thinking as she looked. When Doxy wanted something, he would push buttons to communicate his thought. However, when Barbara started to use the boards, she had to use just one button repeatedly until Doxy figured out he could get something when the button was pushed.

Maybe the aliens had observed humans and didn't understand how they communicated. If the aliens didn't use speech or sound, they might not understand how humans communicate with each other. Or perhaps the aliens couldn't stand sounds or their language was something that humans would take too long to figure out.

Sitting on the floor, Barbara looked at the buttons, remembering back to when she first trained Doxy. She had to repeat the action of pushing the button and associating the sound with an action each time. For Doxy she had started with a button that said "out" and pressed it whenever Doxy stood by the door to have it opened. After repeating that action, Barbara started putting the button in a place where Doxy would bump against it or press against it with his body. When Doxy got too frustrated, Barabara would open the door, after she repeatedly pushed the button and pointed to the door.

After about two months, Doxy used his paw to try and push the button and Barbara praised him. Once Doxy figured out the button could be used to open the door, Barbara added more buttons. If the alien wall was some kind of button board, the aliens seemed to trust the humans could figure out four buttons at a time.

Pressing random buttons, Barbara continued thinking about what an alien might try to communicate. "Dinner", "potty", "play", "yes", "no", different words, but she had started with simpler concepts at first. She felt no closer to figuring out what an alien intelligence might want to communicate about with humans. In her observations of Doxy, she had realized that while Doxy was using human words to communicate with Barbara, his framework was not a human one. The concerns were basic, associated with daily activities most of the time. But there were occasional leaps into deeper areas, such as using the word potty to indicate displeasure. In some ways, communicating with Doxy seemed like communicating with an alien intelligence.

Barbara lifted her head as she heard Doxy was scratching at the back door to be let back into the house. She got up and stretched before walking over to let him in the house. Opening the door, Doxy bounced in and shook himself dry. Barbara sighed, more drizzle and wet conditions, it was turning out to be a wet summer, at least for this part of the area.

Walking back to the kitchen, Barbara sat down at the table, still thinking about buttons and communication. And for some reason, she was thinking of rain and the weather, especially the weather this summer. Three weeks ago the weather had been colder than usual, then two weeks ago the drizzle everyday had started up. Puzzling over the thoughts of buttons, simple concepts and the weather, Barbara suddenly made another connection. She jumped up, excited with her thought. She would have to check with Kim to see if her guess was right or not. Doxy had curled up in his bed, so Barbara grabbed an umbrella and hurried out the front door.

Barbara had walked back to the park and the alien wall, glad to see Kim was still sitting there on the bench. Rushing over, she stood under the shelter and waited for Kim to notice her.

"Hi Barbara, good to see you again, especially in this drizzle. Everyone else usually stays inside when its wet out, it's nice to have some company. No Doxy though, I'm surprised you didn't bring him."

"Hi Kim, it's good to see you too. Doxy was happy to stay home where it's dry. I wanted to come talk with you because I've got a question about the buttons you've pushed."

"Okay, you don't think you've figured out the buttons do you? "

"I don't know, that's why I wanted to ask you about what buttons you've pushed and when. Have you been pushing the same button for the last two weeks, the one in the upper left corner that you pushed this morning?"

Kim squinted while looking at Barbara. "Yes, that is the button I've been pushing. And at the same time each day too."

"Did you press another button for a week or so before that?"

"Why yes, I did, the one in the lower left of the wall and at the same time."

"Have you happened to record the time the drizzle has started each day for the last two weeks? And did you record temperatures too?

"Um, no, I didn't record the time of the weather but I can probably get the records." Kim looked excited as she continued talking. "Wait, do you think these buttons change the weather do you?" she asked.

"I think they might, maybe?" Barbara answered uncertainly. "I thought the buttons reminded me of the buttons I use with Doxy. And I noticed the drizzle seems to start at about the same time each day and we've had it the last two weeks when we would normally have hot summer weather."

Kim thought for a moment and said, "Well, it's as valid a guess as any other one. I'll submit it to the service, they can ask the observers to start recording weather information. Who knows, maybe the aliens use weather to communicate too."

Barbara grinned and said, "Sounds good and I hope this information helps. Thanks for your help in reporting this." Barbara turned around and walked back to her house. Somehow she was confident that the buttons did change the weather and it was just a matter of time to figure out what kind of weather was created when the buttons were pushed.

It was morning again, a much more pleasant morning now that everyone knew the buttons could request a change of weather. She was still amazed that she and Kim had figured out the buttons were connected in requesting different weather like moisture, hot, cold and windy. And the fact that the combinations were set in a way to help alleviate the climate change affect depending on the part of the world demonstrated the aliens were interested in helping earth, not hurting it.

"Doxy, come here, out, walk," she said. Doxy bounded up, tail wagging while he jumped around. She put the leash on him and walked to the door, carefully holding it in her hand. As usual, Doxy tried to bound out the door while she held leaned back and held on to the leash. This was a good morning for a walk so she walked faster with Doxy. As they moved closer to the wall she was surprised to see a large group of people standing around it.

"There she is!", "It's here!" and "She'll figure it out." were shouted out as she walked closer. She slowed and the group opened up for a path for her. Kim was standing next to the wall, tablet in hand, watching as Barbara walked up.

"Good morning Barbara, good to see you," Kim said.

"Good to see you too, I guess. What's going on?" Barbara asked.

Kim didn't answer, just waved a hand at the wall. Barbara looked and looked again. There was now a fifth button on the wall. It looked like there was a new word to figure. She grinned at Kim as she stepped up.

"Shall we?" Barbara asked.

"Yes, let's shall," Kim answered. They both turned to the wall and touched the new button at the same time. Then they waited to see what new message they had sent.

#writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #messageinabottle #short story #writing #writers and poets

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orjange · 11 months ago

Text

Suture

Rating: General Audiences Category: M/M Fandom: Kamen Ride Faiz Language: English Ships: Inui Takumi/Kiba Yuuji Characters: Kiba Yuuji, Inui Takumi Tags: Fix-It Fic, Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix Words: 575 No additional warnings.

Written in 2018 to cope. published on AO3 in 2021

Summary:

Kiba wakes up in a hospital bed. [Spoilers for the very last arc of Faiz.]

Kiba opens his eyes to find himself in a hospital bed, Inui clasping his hand, warm tears dripping onto his fingers. He's never seen Inui cry before, at least not like this. And for whom? The man who had betrayed him. Inui always had more faith in Kiba than the man himself did, or anyone else, really. But he never really realized this, not until now. Raising his other hand to gently cup Inui's face, wiping tears away with his thumb, he tries thinking back on what just happened.

"Kiba?"

He must have passed out. His abdomen is throbbing, his legs feel numb, like they're not even there. Inui must have hit him there, Kiba realizes.

It was a small price to pay in exchange for getting to live. He'd manage even without functioning legs.

"Kiba!"

Inui must be consumed by guilt. Kiba wants to lessen this, somehow. He feels that he deserves way worse than this for what he had done. He wants to reject Inui, push him away, because he doesn't deserve him. Not his guilt and not his-

"Kiba! Just... Say something already!"

Kiba snaps back into the present. "Inui..." His voice sounds awfully hoarse.

"Kiba..." Inui tries to wipe his tears with his sleeve but it doesn't work as well as he anticipated and he gets more snot on it than tears. "Oh fuck..."

Kiba smiles. For a bit he feels like nothing even happened. Like they are back at the batting cages, just talking and enjoying the other's company. Back then, Inui Takumi had a calming effect on Kiba. With him he felt understood better than by anyone else.

But Inui clung to an idea of Kiba when the man himself had already changed. Kiba knows now that he'd been wrong, at least partially. It's no easy choice - humans or orphnoch? But to fight for the humans, who had betrayed their trust times and times again... Kiba was starting to understand what Murakami had been saying all this time. Maybe the humans were eternally meant to be his enemy.

Yet Inui chose them. Inui chose them over him.

Kiba didn't really know why he'd even cared so much. It seemed to be much less about gaining a strong ally and far more about... Having Inui by his side.

He looks over to Inui, who is now frantically wiping his snot-covered sleeve with a tissue.

"Inui..." Kiba says and Inui stops the snot wiping and looks at him, with that soft expression of his, and it feels a bit strange. Kiba is now too awake to ignore the stinging in his chest, or his throbbing headache. "...What happened?"

Absent-mindedly crumpling the tissue in his hand, Inui takes a moment to think. He looks down then, his expression visibly darkening. "...Your legs..."

"Inui..." He takes the other man's hand, the empty one, in his, and squeezes it firmly. "It's okay. It's not your fault... You made the right choice"

Inui's eyes glaze over again.

"It could be way worse. I could be dead right now!" Kiba says in a joking manner.

The other man doesn't laugh. He hums briefly, as if to signal that he has thought the same thing. But it seems to do little to console him.

Kiba absentmindedly massages the back of Inui's hand with his thumb. "I feel no regret... Or malice towards you." It's true. "And I don't want you to feel guilty like this." Or anything.

#kamen rider faiz #yuutaku #yutaku #inui takumi #kiba yuuji #kamen rider fanfiction #faiz #kamen rider 555 #orjange #orjange fanfiction

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stranger-nightmare · 3 years ago

Text

𝐈 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩

Pairing: Druig x (female) Reader

Summary: An intimate moment with Druig where he wants to watch you 👀

Warnings: pure smut, pwp, masturbation, voyeurism, oral (female receiving), orgasm control / denial paired with mind control, slightly non-con I guess?, penetrative sex (m+f), Druig being smug and cocky bc I consider that to be a warning😌 minors DNI

A/N: we’re severely lacking in Druig fics rn so I’m giving it a go! This idea popped into my head pretty much as soon as I left the cinema and it’s filthy lmao sorry. Also clearly forehead touching is a thing for me now, Drukkari have me so whipped😩

Please note this is my first time ever posting anything I’ve written so please be nice. Hope you enjoy!

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. If you click ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

It started how it always does: Druig catches your stare lingering on him, on his body. The way your eyes drag across his build, absent-mindedly chewing on your bottom lip. He doesn’t even need to use his powers to know what’s going through your mind. As always, he’s more than happy to oblige. And that’s how you, again, found yourself pinned to the wall in Druig’s room.

Your lips were intertwined in a frenzy of heated kisses. It didn’t take long for him to open your mouth with his own, sliding his tongue against yours. The sheer force of his kiss forced your head back against the wall. His strong torso secured you in that position, almost crushing you in his desperation to be as close to you as possible. His hands were currently cupping your face, keeping you in position and completely at his mercy. His one hand then trailed slowly down your neck, to your chest, over your breast, heaving up and down with your ragged breathing. Druig continued to drag his hand further and further down, grazing the waistband of your trousers. He pushes his fingers just under band, running his hand from one side to other, and back again. You could feel him smirk against your lips as he pulled his hand, and his mouth, away from you.

A sad whimper leaves your lips as he leans back, still keeping you in place by pinning you with his hips against the wall. You open your eyes to see him staring at you with the cockiest grin on his face.

“What? Why did you stop?” you cry breathlessly. You reach to pull his mouth back down to yours again but he remains firmly planted where he is, staring so intensely at you you think you might melt.

“I want to try something” he whispers.

Your eyes search his face, trying to see what exactly he’s got in mind. He smirks once again before leaning forward, just missing your awaiting lips to brush his own on the corner of your mouth. The passionate frenzy from seconds prior is suddenly replaced by a quiet and yet powerful intensity. His lips move slowly across your cheek, down to your jaw, to your throat, your collarbones. Gentle, featherlight brushes of his lips searing into your skin. You sigh and roll your head to the side, allowing him better access to your neck. He used this opportunity to trail his mouth back up your neck until he is right beside your ear, his lips just touching the edge of your earlobe.

“I want to watch you” he hums, pulling back slightly to to look down at you again.

“What?”

“I want to watch you” he repeats. “I want to watch you touch yourself.”

The way he’s looking at you, his words, his filthy request, it all goes straight to your core. With almost numb legs you allow Druig to escort you over to his bed. You climb onto the mattress, back leaning against the headboard. Druig’s eyes never leave yours as he walks back round to sit on a chair situated at the foot of the bed, giving him the perfect view of you. He leans back in his chair and you take this as the signal to begin.

You lock eyes with him as you drag your hands down your body, grabbing the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. You then make quick work of reaching behind you to undo your bra, which swiftly joins your shirt on the floor. You just about hear the sharp intake of breath from Druig as his eyes shift to your exposed breasts. You once again rake your hands down your body, stopping briefly to knead at your own breasts a couple of times. A small smirk plays on your lips as you see the effect you’re having on Druig. You can tell he’s painfully hard as he palms the bulge in his dark jeans. Your hands go back up to caress your neck one more time before you curl your fingers to deliberately drag your nails down your front, leaving angry red scratches all the way from your neck down to your navel. The quiet “fuck” that leaves his mouth when he sees the marks on you let’s you know you’re heading in the right direction. You really were starting to enjoy this now.

You proceed to make swift work of removing both your trousers and underwear but you ensure to tuck your legs together, denying Druig the pleasure of seeing you just for a moment longer. You then make sure to lock eyes with him once again as you shift to part your legs, completely exposing yourself to him. The satisfied groan that leaves his mouth and the way his eyes drink in the sight of you almost have you cumming right there and then.

“Go on, my love. Touch yourself. Show me how you like it” he demands.

Maintaining eye contact you move your right hand down between your thighs. You swipe your middle finger through your already soaked folds. A quick gasp escapes you as you finally brush against your aching clit. Collecting your juices you add your index finger to the mix and slowly begin circling your clit. You can’t help the content sighs that leave your lips as you do so. Your other hand goes up to grope at your breast as you continue your slow circles. Your hips begin to buck in time with the movement of your fingers. It’s not long before the impatience grabs you and you begin to quicken your pace. You fight to keep your eyes open, focused on Druig as he continues to palm himself through the fabric of his jeans.

“Fuck you look amazing like this” he murmurs, his cock twitching in his pants. “Nonetheless I want you stop before you cum, you hear me?”

You nod absent-mindedly, the command not fully registering with you as you continue to work yourself into a state of pure pleasure. You can start to feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach and you desperately reach for it. You feel the empty ache in your core, wishing you had something to fill you up, but you continue to make do with your fingers frantically circling your clit. Your moans start to get louder, your other hand digging roughly into the flesh of your breast, your nails leaving deep marks in your skin. You feel your orgasm incoming, once again forcing your eyes open to gaze at Druig. His name is on the tip of your lips just as you’re about to go over the edge.

And that’s when you see Druig smirk and his eyes light up gold.

Suddenly you find yourself taking your hand away from your core, your orgasm retreating as you whine incredulously. You pant heavily as you glare at Druig, your hand somehow stuck beside you instead of between your legs where you wanted it.

“W- why? Why did you do that?” you exhale through your heavy breathing.

His smirk only grows as he states “I told you to stop. I told you to touch yourself, I never said to actually make yourself cum.”

Your about to protest when he finishes by clarifying “that’s a job for me, I think.”

He stands, pulling off his shirt at the same time. He unbuttons his jeans as he takes the few steps to the edge of the bed. He leaves his jeans open, just revealing a patch of his pants underneath. You feel the mattress dip slightly as he kneels at the edge of the bed, before slowly crawling up the remaining the space until he climbs on top of you. He leans his face close into yours, for heads almost touching, his strong arms braced on either side of you. His eyes flash gold again and you feel yourself involuntarily lifting the hand that had previously been between your legs. That cocky grin returns as your hand finds its way to his face, and your two fingers find their way into his mouth.

You stare mesmerised, your mind and body completely surrendered to his power as he sucks your slick from your fingers. You feel your body go slack against the bed as his eyes dim down, regaining their natural colour. He gives you no time to recover as he quickly recaptures your lips with his. The fiery frenzy from before finally returning. He doesn’t kiss you too long though before he dips his head to latch his lips onto your neck, this time the featherlight brushing of lips is replaced with harsh nipping and sucking as he leaves his marks across your body. He continues this down the length of your body, following the red scratches left by your own hands just minutes previous.

Your hips buck upwards in anticipation as he approaches your navel. He continues to tease you by kissing down your side, over your hip bone, and down to your thighs. He grabs your left leg and swings it over his shoulder, continuing his attack on your skin, sucking bruising marks into your inner thighs. He teases you relentlessly, kissing right up to the apex of your thigh before skipping straight over your aching centre to continue nipping at your other leg.

“Druig” you whine. “Please…please” you plead with him. He simply answers with a small chuckle before he finally latches his mouth right where you want him.

No more teasing, he delves straight for your clit and sucks it into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue. He works you relentlessly, seemingly to make up for all the previous teasing. You can’t help yourself as your hips buck again and your head is thrown back, the pure bliss of the pleasure his mouth is giving you almost too much. That beautiful pressure starts to slowly build in the pit of your stomach but again the feeling of still being empty returns. Whether Druig actually read your mind or was just able to read your body remained to be seen, but suddenly you felt him push one, and then two fingers into your entrance. A ecstatic moan passes from your lips as he gives you exactly what you want, exactly what your body was craving. He pushes them in slowly, up to the knuckle, before scissoring them open inside of you. He repeats this action a few times before switching to curling his fingers forward, brushing the exact right spot inside you that has you absolutely squirming on the mattress. All the while his tongue continues to furiously work at your clit. Your close now, and he can tell.

His lifts his mouth briefly to instruct you to look at him. “Look at me, my love. I want to see you cum, I want to watch what I do to you.”

You lift you head up to look down at him in an attempt to obey his instruction, but the pleasure is almost too much, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut as you feel your incoming orgasm fast approaching.

Your eyes suddenly seem to open on their own accord and it’s quickly apparent why; Druig’s eyes are once again shining that beautiful gold. You want to reprimand him, tell him it’s unfair to use his powers on you like that. But all thoughts leave your head as you finally cum with a last curl of his fingers and lap of his tongue. That damn smirk of his returning as he watches with satisfaction as you clench around his fingers, fully riding out your orgasm.

“Good girl” he praises cockily as you attempt to regain control over your heavy breathing. It’s in vain though as the next second Druig is moving up your body again to place his mouth on yours. Again opening your mouth with his own, shoving his tongue against yours, making sure you get a good taste of yourself.

He continues to kiss you, feeing the bed shift beneath you you paw at his bare chest as he works to finally remove his jeans and pants, at last freeing his aching cock.

You go to reach for him but he simply grabs your hand and pins it back down to the mattress. Another whine almost escapes you as he shushes you quietly, his lips against the shell of your ear.

He begins that featherlight tracing of your skin with his lips once again as you finally feel the head of his dick brush against your folds. He rubs his dick up and down your folds twice, gathering the wetness there, before slowly sinking into you. He pauses at your sharp intake of breath, the sensation of him finally being inside you almost overwhelming. But you place your forehead against his, looking up into his eyes, and nod gently to signal for him to continue. He does so immediately, pushing into you to the hilt. He begins a languid pace of thrusting into you, your foreheads never breaking contact.

“You going to be a good girl and keep your eyes open for me this time? Or will I have to make you again?” He narrows his eyes at you, allowing them to flash gold briefly to emphasise his point.

He speeds up his pace and pushes bruising fingertips into your hip. He pinches your hip at the same time he goes “hmm?”, demanding you answer his command.

“Y-yes” you sigh.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes. I’ll keep my eyes open, Druig” you voice falters on his name as he thrusts deep and hard, right into that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“Good” and with that he shoves his other hand down between your legs to play with you clit. The sensations inside you build quickly, your fast approaching another orgasm, but this time you’re determined to keep your eyes open for him, you don’t think you could stand him suddenly pulling away at the last second as punishment for disobeying his command. With your foreheads still touching you rolled your head up slightly so that your lips could touch his again. The kiss is only brief before you have to pull away and put all your focus into keeping your eyes on him.

“Come on baby, I can feel your close. You’re almost there, just keep your eyes on me” he coos.

And with that your climax hits you, clenching around him. And this time you were sure to keep your eyes on him as your mouth falls open and you moan quietly.

“Fuck, now that’s exactly what I wanted to see” he groans as he finally stills and cums inside you, your clenching pussy and flushed face pushing him over the edge. He squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his head into neck as he does so.

Once you both come down from your highs he lifts his head again to place his forehead on yours. You stay like this for a little while, your bodies connected, your breath mixing. All too soon, though, he pulls out and gets off the bed, but not before placing a kiss to your temple and whispering a quick “good girl” in your ear.

He grabs a towel from somewhere in the room and cleans himself off before heading over to you and gently wiping you down. He grabs himself a pair of boxers and pulls them on before proceeding to give you the shirt he was wearing earlier. Druig walks back round to the bed to settle in beside you. You lay on your backs next to each other with only your heads turned so they just barely touched once again.

You hear him chuckle gently beside you. “Why are you pouting my love?” He questions you.

“It’s not fair. You using your power to force me to look at you whilst I came. You didn’t even award me the same curtesy” you huff dramatically.

He laughs quietly again as he gazed into your eyes again. He raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind you ear and rest his palm on your face, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Next time, my beautiful beautiful y/n. Next time.”

—————

A/N: I have another Druig oneshot in the works rn, a little bit more angsty than this one so please be sure to follow me to see when it’s posted! Anyway I hope you enjoyed this!

See my other Druig oneshot here (smut, minors DNI)

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moogleannywrites · 3 years ago

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Have a Flowery Day! [Matt Murdock x F!Reader] - Chapter II

Chapter summary: Matt Murdock goes once again to the flower shop to thank reader for the flowers, and she decides on what she could sell him to make his house more beautiful and aromatic.

Number of chapters: 5

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of cancer, mentions of assault, mentions of robbery, spoiler free.

Read the first chapter here! | Read it on AO3 | My masterlist ❤

Currently working on the shortfic's masterlist!

hello once again! I know I am kind of late, but decided by the last hour to post today so I could actually get a break from studying. You see, I have an important exam tomorrow :) sorry I could not reply to anyone here yet but I thank all the comments, likes, reblogs and follows from the bottom of my heart! And many thanks to my beta @areiko, I've put on some different things after he read it, so let me know if there are any mistakes! Also maybe this fic will be five chapters long instead of four? Not sure yet. Enjoy your reading!

gif is mine

ii. daisies

daisies: mean purity, beauty, friendship and new beginnings.

Not a single person stopped by Nelson & Murdock that day without leaving a compliment to the flowers.

Not any.

The stalk covered in white flowers was firmly tied to a stem, so the blossomed open petals and soon to be buds were both hanging just a few inches away from the root, suspended in the air almost face to face with the chair Karen had in front of her desk to welcome their clients. From time to time, Matt Murdock went to her place with any excuse he could possibly think of, just to have a chance to smell the aromatic scent from the orchids. Since his nose was somewhat sensitive, the fragrance was far more distinct for him than for anyone else. It was also a great opportunity to let his thoughts travel back to his encounter with a lovely girl from the flower shop, whose heartbeats anxiously sounding like a drum made Matt wish it was already 5pm so he could meet her again.

And, by the end of the day, you were exhausted from handing pamphlets to everyone. Sure, there were some nice people, who entered the store and asked prices of arrangements so they could gift their friends or family, while others did not pay any attention. Someone rushed in asking for a rose so they could give their girlfriend for her birthday. The flow of people, in and out the business, made your heart flutter; although not so lucrative, it was enough for a first day. And, of course, your thoughts were far from there, since the charming young man who stopped by that morning did not leave your head.

A small smile showed on your lips while you absent-mindedly handled some flowers, and, as if summoned, a familiar voice echoed throughout the shop:

“Care to give me the best flower you have for my house's decoration?”

The smile grew between your cheeks, while your cheekbones definitively acquired a strong hue of red, noticeable by the hotness over your skin.

“So, did anyone like the flowers?”, you hopefully asked while turning to face him on the doorstep.

“Literally everyone who came to the office today complimented the orchids.”

Matt entered the store, closing the door behind him while placing his hand over the counter, succeeded by a gentle noise of a bell ringing to let you know you were not alone. Even if nobody appreciated the flowers – which was impossible – he would come again.

“I’m glad to know!”, you rubbed your hands on the apron. “Really interested in some flowers, aren’t you?”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and your heart beat faster when you got closer to Matt. The only thing you did not notice was that his heart also skipped a beat as soon as he felt your amazing perfume amidst the flowers.

“Of course I am! Also, I’d like to take a few pamphlets for my seeing friends, if you have some to spare.”

You bit your lip while looking at the few flyers over the counter.

“I do… But the catchphrase is kind of dumb. I’m afraid they’ll dislike it.”

He frowned.

“What is the catchphrase?”

You gathered a lot of courage to say it aloud for the first time that day:

“Flowers can also bloom in Hell”, you blurted. A few seconds of silence went by. “It’s dumb, I know.”

“It’s not… dumb”, Matt answered. "I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? Considering it is Persephone and this is Hell’s Kitchen. It’s charming”

Your mouth turned into a thin line of upper and down lips squeezed before a nice smile showed underneath your nose.

“Thank you, Matt.”

You started to move around and see what beautiful flowers you had for the day. Some roses would be nice, but not quite the atmosphere of what you’d imagine for Matt’s apartment, as well as the fact you needed something that did not require a lot of work, since he had a job which kept him busy the whole day. A few ideas started to show inside your head, and you asked:

“Do you have any preferences? If you’d like, I can bring you over here and you can decide on something.”

He drummed on the counter, a mischievous grim appearing over his lips:

“Surprise me.”

The freedom to arrange flowers. That was one of your favorite sensations in the world, where you could put an extra dose of heart on the decisions you made. But, before anything else, something had to be clarified.

“Would you like something aromatic for your house?”, you questioned. “Some daisies would be nice.”

“I like daisies… Isn’t there something related to daisies being about death on the Greek mythology?”

“It’s Celtic, actually”, you corrected. “They said, when kids died, the Gods would spread daisies to help the grief of their parents.”

“That’s so sad”, Matt mourned “they do have a nice smell, and are sweet to the touch.”

“Be careful while touching flowers, alright?”, your eyes moved from the daisies to another type of flower as you continued: “they dislike the hot body temperature. I mean, you can touch and talk to them, I highly recommend doing the second one a lot, however, be careful.”

“You talk to your flowers?” he seemed surprised.

“Every single day.”

From the back of the shop, since it was quite cramped, it was possible to hear a giggle and Matt’s voice murmuring “how cute”, which made your pulse erratic, and, for a short minute, you forgot all the memories attached to the flowers whose stalks you just held.

Fast hands started working on an arrangement in a small plastic full of water at the bottom. Some white jasmines and a few green branches were soon over the counter, a small sensation of satisfaction emerging from your chest as you gave it to him. It was beautiful, but easy for him to manage with just one hand.

“I actually decided on some jasmines…”, your voice suddenly came to a halt as you felt your throat go immediately dry. Still was a difficult topic for you to talk about, and, although Matt kept quiet, he noticed your voice crackle. “I’ll give you the daisies next time”, you changed the subject.

He laughed. A tender, beautiful laugh.

“You can put them inside a vase, or just leave them on this plastic, it would just be nice to change the water like, once in two days. Do you live nearby?”, you asked. “I can help you take it home.”

“Once again, I thank you for your kindness”, he said. “But I can handle it just fine. If you, perhaps, have a paper bag that doesn’t destroy its petals, I’d be grateful.”

“Sure”, you took one from under the counter and put the flowers inside, as well as some pamphlets. “The flyers you asked are here, too.”

“Amazing, thank you.”

When you opened the cashier, after saying the price for the arrangement with a bit of discount and receiving the payment, you noticed the extra money he’d given earlier waiting to be returned.

“Oh, right. You gave me some extra money earlier. Here is your change and the extra from before.”

“Keep it”, he gently pressed your hands. And feeling the warmness of his palm over your fingers suddenly made a shiver run through your whole body, among other things such as your voice stuttering, you having to moisturize your dry lips with the tip of the tongue and a few heavy breaths. “It’s not much, but it’s a way for me to support your business.”

“Thank you”, you whispered. He made his way to leave before you called out his name again.

“Yes?”, Matt answered.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you come by tomorrow before you go to work?”

Little gears worked hard on the back of your head. Matt tossed his head to the side, a little confused, but agreed.

“Why not? It’s on my way to work.” Actually, even if it wasn’t, he would find a way to go.

“See you tomorrow, then”, you saw him at the door.

“Have a lovely night”, Matt said whilst leaving.

“You too.”

Not too much later, you closed the store and went home to call it a day.

Meanwhile, as soon as Matt Murdock got home that evening, he put the flowers over a counter next to his kitchen. The flowery smell quickly took over the apartment, filling his lungs with a nice sensation of peace, which continued even after he entered through the window after saving the city as Daredevil.

He slowly touched the tip of a petal, although he clearly remembered the advice on how flowers disliked the high temperature emanating from bodies, but just for him to feel the tenderness of the contact over his skin, embracing the harshness of his fingertips, reminding him of the back of the florist’s hands earlier that evening under his palms. The jasmine let it’s perfume out on the whole living room, kitchen, and stretched itself to the bedroom. Matt inhaled the air calmly while changing and wishing for the next morning to arrive soon.

“Thank you”, he whispered while taking off his mask and letting go of the flower.

In the middle of his chest there was a small seed, which was meant to grow a little bit more every encounter he had with the florist.

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photiniainsummer · 4 years ago

Text

Dancing with the Dark

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: You've taken to lingering around Dark's office late at night when he thinks he's alone with his old jazz standards.

Or so you thought, until one night you find the door open.

You've always wondered what exactly he does behind it...

It's listen to music. Get your mind out of the gutter. ;)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 6860

Author’s Note: No warnings - this is really all just tooth-rotting, tender, slow build romance. There is dancin' and smoochin', though. 👀 Also posted to AO3!

It wasn’t something you had intended to intrude on. The Manor is big, but not that big, and it just so happens that the quickest route to your bedroom means you have to pass Dark’s office suite. As your nights have gotten later and later, trying to keep tabs on Mark and the poor, scattered egos he’s made and dumped, more and more often have you caught soft, crackling music drifting out from behind your sort-of boss’ heavy office door.

At first, you mostly ignored it, noting it with a small smile and continuing to bed. It’s really none of your business what the shadowy man does in his free time, you figured. Plus, you all manage to live on top of one another, despite the Manor’s size, which puts privacy at a premium - who are you to deny him some when he can get it? But as time has passed and you’ve worked intensely together, the original enmity between you two has turned into a professional respect and eventually, you’d hazard, a friendly banter. At least, such as Dark is willing to joke around.

And so, tempted by your mutual softening, and maybe a little curiosity as to what kind of music your ‘leader’ listens to, you’ve found yourself pausing in your path to bed when you catch him playing a record. At first, you only stopped briefly at the top of the stairs with his office across the landing from you, taking a moment to appreciate a few bars of dreamy jazz. It was peaceful, almost magnetically melodic. But you quickly grew self-conscious in your eavesdropping, and, not wanting to seem nosy (despite the fact you definitely were being nosy), moved along to your room.

You crossed the landing to the bit of wall near his door, next, but kept a keen eye on the stairs behind you in case you needed to make a sudden retreat. For a week or so, you took longer, lingering there at the mouth of the short hallway to his office. You would take in a full song before you got antsy, concerned Dark might get up to make a late-night cup of tea and discover you. Even so, you had found it hard to pull yourself away from the lilting voices of his records - time seemed to slow, for just a little while, and you felt you breathed easier, deeper even, once you were back in your bedroom.

Finally, now, and most nights for the last month, you’ve let yourself truly relax just outside his door. He never leaves, not that you’ve seen, and so you’ve taken to resting in the shadow of the short hallway and letting the hypnotic drags of a brush across a snare, crooning voices over a string quartet wrap around you. Dark’s music is never truly jazzy, never truly swinging, and it soothes you like very little else can these days. It’s steady - you think that’s what’s so appealing about it - drawing you in at the end of a long day for a moment of reprieve, floating outside of time in the gentle shade of this corner of the Manor.

You’ve gotten used to it, to be sure. The sleepy, tripping dance of a horn greets you at the end of each long day spent combing through Mark’s videos, hunting for hints as to his next move. The quiet moments spent letting the gentle jazz unwind some tight thing in your chest have become just as much your routine as they are Dark’s - and you understand why he takes the time. Until you started lingering to listen, you were harder up for time alone than you thought with barely a moment to spend in your own head. Everything was focused on maneuvering around Mark, a seemingly endless game of cat-and-mouse that left you tossing and turning and jittering yourself into an exhausted unconsciousness each night. But now, you fall asleep faster, wake up feeling more rested having actually relaxed before bundling down under your covers. You had found a little corner of peace, thanks to Dark. And, perhaps, thanks to your damned nosiness, as the man himself had called it once.

Only occasionally as you lean against the wallpaper have you allowed yourself to think about the man behind the door. For all your collaboration, Dark is still a mysterious, calculating, and distant figure. It’s by his own making, too. He’s been content to work closely with you planning Mark’s downfall, but keeps his own cards so close to his chest you have to wonder if he can even see them now, so to speak.

Perhaps he knows them well enough not to need to.

You’ve learned not to pry too much about any of the egos’ pasts and what they remember of them, unless you’re just in the mood for awkward, dead-end conversations. Wilford doesn’t seem troubled in the moment, human bouncy ball that he is, but responds vaguely - even for him - before up and disappearing for a few days. Google spouts some kind of technical jargon about his assembly warehouse that you can barely keep up with, then focuses intently on changing the subject. The Host only gives you one of his polite little smiles and reminds you that your futures are ‘of a more pressing nature’ than his past is.

The only one you’ve totally avoided trying to bring up the subject with is Dark. Your first real conversation had edged on it, and his reaction - aura practically blowing all the lightbulbs in the room, crackling copies of himself writhing in rage - had been pretty clearly in the ‘not positive’ camp. You’ve not had the stomach to unnecessarily incite his ire, so most of what you know about him, you’ve put together yourself. A vague understanding of his blended nature, the people he was before, their relationships to Mark… But it’s all guesses and deductive work about people long gone from the plane you inhabit. Grasping at shadows and context clues to paint a portrait of how the being, who deeply dislikes the outsize attention his central role as Mark’s primary ‘villain’ commands, came to be.

Yet, you do know some things about what he’s like. That he doesn’t seem to need to eat or take breaks of any kind. That he’s single-mindedly devoted to stopping Mark in his tracks, and intensely methodical about the whole endeavor. Even when you think you’ve caught him reading something for fun, it turns out to be Mark-adjacent. It’s impressive, you admit, but also why hearing those strains of songs sung long ago, finding him doing something unproductive has captured you so. To think of him taking time for himself, doing nothing but enjoying some music… it simultaneously feels incredibly decadent and comforting. For all his hardworking exterior, there are quiet moments Dark takes to relax. Even more than his music, that soothes something in your heart you didn’t even know was tense.

Plus, good lord. The man listens to croony, moony, love-sick music late at night when the rest of the Manor has retreated to their own separate corners. How could you not melt?

Yet it’s impossible for you not to wonder what exactly he does behind his office door. It’s always firmly shut, and even with the proclivity toward psychic abilities in the Manor’s residents, you can’t completely school the curiosity it inspires. Listening to a couple croon about the stars or something equally cheesy from your spot out in the hall, you’ll often picture him relaxing in one of the high-backed armchairs situated near the heavy fireplace. Maybe he’s shut the door to his workspace proper, allowed himself some wine from the cellar, propped his feet up… Maybe he’s truly relaxing, thinking of something altogether having nothing to do with his work. It’s anachronistic enough to your steadfast image of him to be ridiculous, but you also can’t help but hope it exists in some form, protected behind the dark wood that muffles already-quietly trilling piano keys.

This is why, late one night, you’re stopped in your tracks at the foot of the stairs, already able to hear his music. You’d been just about to pull yourself up the stairs by the handrails, eyes bleary from staring at your screen all day when you’d picked out the dreamy march of brass. You’ve only ever been able to hear his records when you’re standing on the landing - is something wrong? Cautiously, you ascend the tightly winding stairs, your thoughts mirroring the spiraling steps as they scramble, chasing away any haziness.

Reaching the landing, you find dancing firelight spilling out across the thick Persian rug there, Dark’s door cracked shockingly wide. The sight is almost obscene, illuminating the spot that has been your shadowy cocoon. It’s only made more stark by the clarity of the music that lilts through the air. You have the keen, embarrassed feeling that you should not be seeing what you’re seeing, that you’re intruding, infringing on something private - even though all you can see of the office is a little bit of wall just inside the door. Even so, the sudden need to stop this, to preserve something personal, quiet, safe for Dark overtakes you. You’re spurred into action, crossing the space on careful feet. You move to shut the door, to right this obvious wrong, but as your hand takes the old brass knob, the music from within murmurs tender thoughts of lovers embracing after an age apart. Even with your goal so firmly in mind, you can’t stop your eyes from flitting over the sliver of his office the crack in the door reveals.

And, oh, what it reveals.

As if intentionally centered for your view, Dark is, as you’ve imagined countless times, tucked into one of the armchairs near the fire. His suit jacket has been carefully folded and hung over the back of his chair, his starkly white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a bit of the skin at his throat. More is revealed by the tilt of his head as he rests it back in the crook of the armchair’s wings.

You’ve never seen him so… undressed before. You immediately flush, embarrassedly shooing the thought away before it can become anything more than a passing observation. You’re thankful to see that his piercing eyes are gently shut, the breaths he draws steady and quiet. Even his aura is still, nonexistent except for his colorlessness. The dull ring that accompanies him, too, is almost completely silent. Whatever remains is drowned out by the softly crackling gramaphone to his side.

Although you know he doesn’t need to sleep, the tender image of him relaxed enough as to fall into it twists something so totally in your heart that it keeps you there, hand on the doorknob. You know you need to close the door back, and carefully, too, so you don’t pop whatever bubble of peace he’s floating in, but… It’s like having a dragonfly land on the tip of your finger, spotting a deer at the edge of your garden, catching the sun breaking over the horizon and truly beginning to dawn. How can you look away before it ends?

But you’re playing with fire in waiting for this moment to end, and, unfortunately, you get burned.

At least, it feels like you do. Suddenly, Dark’s head comes up, his eyes cracking open, and the cold heat of being caught scalds the back of your neck. You go to close the door, but it’s too late - his black eyes catch yours, and he calls your name. It’s gentle, a distant question, but it still makes your heart sink into some pitiful little depth of your stomach. There’s no way to play this off casually; he sounds truly awake. Either he wasn’t actually sleeping, or you’ve startled him enough to banish any hint of drowsiness from his voice. You’ve ruined this precious little thing, your knowledge of it revealed, and, gosh, you feel miserable for it. But you were called, and so you crack the door a little wider, an apology already on your lips.

“I was just going to shut it for you, I’m sorry,” you offer, quietly, as if trying not to interrupt the music still going at his elbow.

Dark doesn’t immediately respond, watching you with his usually piercing, contrasted eyes. Yet, they’re softer, tired - was he actually sleeping? The gramophone crackles like the low fire nearby. The record playing spins wobblingly, curled with age. The music is even dreamier unfiltered like this, giving the lowly-lit room a hint of unreality. Time seems to stretch between you, and when he finally speaks, his echoing, multi-throated voice only adds to the feeling you’re imagining things.

“...you may come in, if you would like.”

Something has gone horribly wrong. He, or another ego, is dying or has died, you’re certain of it. That, or Mark has figured out your plan to collect them and gotten to one first, maybe Yancy or the Captain, taking them out of the picture or scooping them up for himself. It’s the only obvious explanation your startled mind can offer for seeing Dark so markedly undone - his jacket, his shirt, the door…

Just as quickly, you realize how ridiculous the thought is. Dark wouldn’t look like a rather sleepy cat, cozied up to the fire with his music of choice, much less invite you so casually into his inner sanctum if things had gone to hell. No, there’d be more rending of reality or quick, tense words - a contingency plan thrown into action.

Which means you actually have to deal with being invited into his office late at night, a place you’ve hovered around and imagined for nigh on a month. You force yourself to respond casually, nodding as if this is normal for the two of you as you step over the threshold. He gestures for you to shut the door, and you do, gently putting it to rights before crossing the bookshelf-lined room to join him.

Like you always do. Obviously.

Once near the fire, you can see his aura is beginning to stir once more, the edges of him blurring with compelling darkness. In all the imagining you’d dared to entertain, you have never considered what his face would look like in these moments. His brow is relaxed, his expression open, and though his attention is fully fixed on you, it doesn’t cut through you or hunt for answers. He is merely regarding, the firelight only able to cast dancing shadows across his face for all its warmth. He’s relaxed. Relax-ing .

It’s, again, almost obscene. So much more than you anticipated. It’s one thing to imagine all that you have in theory, a different one to see it in truth, to experience it. And Dark, relaxing, is something you can barely take your eyes off of. He looks so much more like a person, undone after a long day of work, not quite ready to trip off to bed. With his aura so reserved, only mildly undulating at the very edges of him, you could almost dismiss it as a trick of the light, if not for how he absorbs and negates color.

Just a man.

Trying to stay casual, you prop yourself on the chair across from him, chin in hand, and you both watch each other for a moment. Both quiet. Both tired. Except your silence is tinged with subtle awe. At being invited in, at being here, at seeing him this way. It’s like the killer panther that typically stares you down from the shadows giving you a lazy, sun-warmed blink. As much as you try to treat Dark normally, there are moments when you can’t help being amazed - though it’s usually due to his eldritch powers and not him engaging in the simple act of sleeping.

Which begs the question - why leave the door open while he was so indisposed? Mild concern rises again, and you feel compelled to ask.

“Is everything okay…?”

You swear his eyes twinkle, amused. It’s hard to tell with the fire dancing like it is, his face remaining otherwise unchanged. You want to frown, wondering how loud your thoughts have been, but leave it.

“Yes... and no, as always. Nothing has changed, if that is what you mean. There is no need to worry.”

Coming from anyone else, it would be a formality. Your shoulders would stay hunched, your brow might furrow. But when Dark says it, when he speaks more quietly than you think you’ve ever heard him speak, it scatters whatever remaining fears his invitation had kicked up to the wind. You exhale. It is a comfort, but… It doesn’t explain why he invited you in. If you had really ruined his illusion of privacy, would he so readily let you walk over its remnants?

Suddenly, the answer is clear - so simple and obvious as to be startling. You speak before you can question the thought.

“Just want some company?”

Dark continues to watch you, but his gaze loses some of its lethargy. The panther stirs, considering. Weighing. Calculating. Heat rises up your neck ever so slightly - that will teach you to jump to conclusions.

But then he hums and gives an affirming nod. He gestures to the seat you’re leaning on. “Again, if you would like…”

Is that hesitancy?

You really feel like you’re dreaming as you settle across from him. He just wants company. He hesitated. He couldn’t even ask for it. Notably distant Dark, who never joins the rest of you for meals, for after-dinner drinks, who you rarely ever see outside his office… wants company. Although the chair’s winged back curls around you and radiates warmth absorbed from the fire, you find it difficult to relax as he continues to, turning his black-and-white gaze to the fire. Does he want conversation? Comfortable silence? How are you meant to parse what he’s wanting against the background of how surreal it is that you’re actually here?

But little things remind you that this is very much happening - the heat of the nearby fire, the music’s volume being slightly louder than you’d imagined. Although, you remind yourself, you’ve been hearing it muffled by heavy wood until now. It’s still relatively soft, just clearer up close. Your eyes fall to the gramophone piping it out. You’ve seen it in passing, but it registered about as much as the carved wooden globe on the mantle - furniture, meant as a finishing touch for the room. It looks like a true antique, though, its curved neck and ornate mouth lovingly maintained, polished to a shine apart from a few inevitable age spots. It’s close enough to Dark for him to operate without getting up, records tidily shelved underneath.

Your eyes edge back to the man seated so nearby. His slowly awakening aura is gently tugging at your attention, but he himself pays you no mind. That relieves you, somewhat, a silent answer to what his idea of ‘company’ is.

You realize, then, that you’ve never simply existed with him before. Throughout your time at the Manor, you two have only ever been in each other’s company to work or exchange information. There’s always been a goal, something to focus on, to accomplish. But now… there’s nothing. Nothing to do but exist.

Why does that suddenly feel so hard?

You must be thinking rather loudly, because Dark’s gaze slides leisurely from the flames onto you. He tilts his head, but not in that strange drifting motion it sometimes does, gravitating to some sick angle of its own accord. No, he’s just curious. You smile sheepishly, wondering if all your mental spinning has disturbed his peace, made him second-guess inviting you in.

“Too loud?”

Another amused flicker in his colorless eyes. “No louder than usual.”

So tired Dark has jokes , apparently. You give him a look. “Not exactly comforting.”

“To be fair, they are much quieter than when you arrived.” It’s almost a compliment - at least he’s not calling you loud anymore. Letting that be a comfort, you attempt to relax back into the chair. It, like the rest of the Manor’s furniture, feels straight out of a period drama with none of the damage of age. It’s still as soft as it was whenever Dark crafted this bubble of reality.

“It’s hard when you can’t control it - like I have noise cancelling headphones and can’t hear myself or anyone else.”

He hums. “You do not need to explain it to me.” Ouch. You look to the fire, taking the inside of your cheek between your teeth. When will you learn to keep your foot out of your mouth? Dark senses the sudden silence and mildly clears his throat. “I mean… Only to say that I understand you do not have the same ability. I do not hold it against you.”

His voice still has that quietness to it, a low, gentle undercurrent. It’s practically an apology, how he chooses his words. You shift, rubbing your finger joints with your other hand. You’ve been told it looks like hand-wringing, but it soothes you and the soreness there. “I think you saw it differently, when I first got here,” you hazard, just as quiet as you look back to him. Dark is watching you evenly, but something shifts in his brow as he recalls that first day. How different your tones had been, how differently you’d approached the other. You’re only feet from where that first conversation took place, and yet…

“...much was different, then,” he murmurs. “I was, perhaps… harsher than I should have been. I was unaccustomed to the sensation, not at my best.” He seems to stop himself there, closing something that was edging open before looking back to the fire. “I have grown used to it. The sound of your thoughts does not trouble me, but you have also improved at closing your mind. It is impressive, for someone unlike the rest of us.”

Good lord, maybe he actually is dying. You don’t think you’ve heard so many kind words from the man in all your months of living together. His gaze stays fixed on the flames, even as you stare at him, a little stunned. Silence draws out between you, filled only by tonight’s accompaniment. Yet, it doesn’t spark with nervous energy or prickle in pointed coldness. It crackles like ancient records warped with time, old oak burning to warm a place apart from the rest of existence. You settle deeper into the armchair, eyes turning from the shadow you’re keeping company.

He only barely catches your pleased little smile, finding it hard to look at you for too long.

From then on, Dark leaves the door open for you, although cracked much less wide than before. When you call it a night, you make your way through the Manor to your seat near his fire instead of right to bed. Although the weather of the world still reaches you, the place Dark maintains is always just slightly colder, so the fire’s warmth is never unwelcome. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you sit together in silence, but regardless of how chatty either of you feel, there’s always music curling underneath the moment. Dark doesn’t sleep like he did the first night, but he always has his coat off and that softer turn to his eyes by the time you arrive. It’s strange, at first, to see him switch so much between his work and leisure personas, and at first you wonder why he’s not always so relaxed. Surely things would be less tense.

And then you remember Wilford’s incessant gunfire, Google’s underlying objective, the weight of his very existence. Without his steady, cool glare, the Manor would be full of bullet holes, and they’d all probably be dead with Mark free to break reality to his whim. If Dark wasn’t so tightly wound, everything would come undone.

So you enjoy - scratch that. You let him be how he is, in each moment, without comparison. Sure, it’s nice to talk to Dark when he isn’t grinding out words from between his teeth, and seeing him undone has removed whatever distance might have remained between you, but to say you enjoy him…

Christ. Who are you kidding - you really enjoy him.

It really happens without you noticing, and it almost drives you nuts with how cliche it all is. Things just build up - he has a pillow placed in your chair just so for your lower back, you pull the smallest of smiles of him with a well-put observation (and find that his eyes crinkle the same way the other egos’ do) - until one night he asks you to dance.

He’s not quite so blunt as that about it, but it’s essentially what happens. You’re sitting together, having fallen into one of those comfortably quiet moments when a song comes on that you recognize. Not from your time lingering around Dark’s door, but from before you came to the Manor, vague memories welling up of a ballroom dancing class in undergrad you’d taken for fun full of sore toes and sweaty hands. You laugh, suddenly, startled at just how far away that moment feels. You try to cover it with your hand, but you continue to chuckle as something about the ridiculousness of it gets to you, and Dark watches you with some mix of amusement and concern. There’s a little of that predator’s intentionality there - searching for answers. You shake your head as you calm, dropping your hand but still smiling.

“Just… I know this song.”

“Oh?” Read: Continue.

“Well, I… Back in my first year at university, I... well, I signed up for this ballroom dancing unit. This was one of the songs we used, I think.” Dark inclines his head as something changes in his gaze. Your last little aftershock of laughter passes and you settle back into watching the fire lick at its grate, content to let it lie. But Dark continues to watch you. Feeling him still staring, you look back - very little of that soft turn to his eyes remains. He is a man focused. “What?” you eventually ask, shifting under his stare.

“I did not know you danced.”

You fluster, then, scoffing at the idea, eyes falling to the carpet between you. “I… don’t. Unless you count slow dancing, I guess. It was just the one class. Forever ago.”

He’s not content, fixated. But quiet. Considering. Weighing. Then…

“Would you like to?”

You look back quickly enough that you wonder if his aura pulled at you in tandem with your surprise. “Wh. I… Now?”

He nods, slowly. You just stare, trying to process the idea and coming up with no clear thoughts. Then he does something funny - he actually shifts under your scrutiny, gaze flickering away for the briefest of moments before returning to you. That alone is enough to stun you further, Dark looking practically shy, but he explains. “In my day, I was an avid dancer. I enjoyed little else outside of… work. I can show you how.”

You momentarily wonder which of his past lives he means before you find yourself nodding in agreement. Even if you hadn’t wanted to, this is… new. Dark offering so much at such little gain to himself, unfurling those cards from so close to his chest. Refusing now might mean they would never come away again.

“Can you?” Your voice is surprisingly dry, distant, but Dark doesn’t seem to notice, focused on the task now at hand. On you. He only nods and rises from his chair in a smooth motion before offering you a hand.

From experience, you know he leeches color from whatever he touches, even things in his vicinity if his aura is expansive and active enough. Yet, you’ve never had reason to make direct contact, and so you still watch in minor surprise as your hand loses its luster and gains a black-and-white cast when you take his. “It isn’t permanent,” he explains as you stand to join him. “It’s only… plants, that can’t handle it.” He sounds mildly embarrassed, and it clicks why you’ve never seen him in the Host’s garden. The future-sighted ego had probably barred him from the place years ago.

“Oh,” you reply lamely, and he ducks his head somewhat before leading you to the more open space between your chairs and the outer office door. There, he turns smoothly and you’re in position, having used his hold on your hand to subtly guide you closer. Your other hand lands on his upper arm, almost at his shoulder, and he gently shifts his elbow under yours to guide it to rest on top, near his collar. His own hand comes to rest higher on your back than you remember from class, almost on your shoulder blade.

It feels so proper, how you stand, how he holds you… Against the age-old music set to guide you and the Manor’s unchanged decor, you can almost see who he was before - the swish of a beaded skirt, the creak of a heavy cane - but then he speaks, heavy with shadow, and all you know is the darkness in your arms, here and now.

“Just a simple step. You remember a waltz?” You nod - did we dance this close together back then? “Good. Then you know to follow me. Stay relaxed...”

The idea of relaxing flies out of your mind the minute he guides you backward. All your mental energy is focused on not laughing in pure nervous surprise as he seems to get closer and closer before your muscle memory manages to kick in and you’re stepping back with him. You’re slightly out of sync, and he slows just so to catch up with you before he brings you back up to the pace of the song. “Relax,” he murmurs, dipping his head so much closer to yours than feels decent as he speaks, as if sharing a secret. “I have you.”

You certainly do, you think, immediately glad you’ve been practicing keeping your mind closed more often. With all the time you were spending with Dark in his off-hours, you had felt it was only fair that you didn’t overload him any further. That extra practice is coming in handy now as your thoughts swirl behind the dam you imagine holds them back from the general psychic public - your dance partner in particular.

True to his word, Dark keeps it simple, guiding you slowly around the open space, easily turning you in lazy patterns across the floor. And thank goodness for that - anything more complicated and you wouldn’t be able to balance it with how hyper-aware you are of everywhere the two of you touch, the feeling of his firm shoulder and crisp dress shirt under your hand, the skin of his palm against yours - softer than you’d imagined, with calluses inside his first finger from years of pen-writing.

All the same little anxieties bubble up, long-forgotten but haunting you now with a vengeance. Are you gripping him too tightly? Are you anticipating his movements too much? Is your hand getting sweaty, or is that normal? Can he hear you breathing funny? You’ve thankfully settled into a comfortable angle of faces, yours turned slightly to the left and down, eyes fixed firmly on the curve of his shoulder. You don’t think you could trust yourself to make eye contact just now. You can’t say how exactly Dark’s face is turned, though, so focused on keeping your eyes where they are and your thoughts in check that you haven’t looked - nor do you hear him speaking your name until he squeezes you ever so slightly.

You turn, bidden, and you’re practically nose to nose. His stark eyes are already watching you when you meet them, and it steals whatever shallow breath was in your lungs. Up close, you would think you would be able to discern a hint of color in his irises, find that they were really a dark, dark brown. But they are truly, completely black. And they watch you so carefully, thoughtfully, with barely any room to breathe between you.

Your face must betray how the proximity startles you, because you get treated to another of his small, almost imperceptible smiles. Up close. You can see how it pulls at his eyes, and you’re thankful now that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I… Yes?”

“You’re quiet,” he explains, after a beat.

“Do you… typically talk, dancing like this?” When did your throat get so dry? Dark chuckles, low and only for a moment.

“You can... But I was referring to your thoughts.” Uh oh.

“Oh…?” You try to sound normal, mildly interested instead of panicked, already floundering for what to say. Dark’s eyes flicker across your face, and you feel horribly exposed. As if, through the underbrush, you’ve just caught the gleam of a predator’s gaze.

“The closer you are, the more clearly I hear them. Yet…” He pauses, turning you past a low table. “I can barely hear you at all.” Then his voice grows softer, somehow, and your throat feels like it’s never known water. “Where did you go?”

“I…” You swallow fruitlessly, dropping your gaze back to his shoulder, to safety. What can you say to explain the sudden, obvious gap without blurting oh, it’s nothing, I only just realized I’ve been falling in love with you for the past couple of months when you asked me to dance and now I’m trying not to lose it while you hold me. “I’ve… been practicing,” you try. It’s the truth, at least. But you still can’t meet his eyes, though you feel them keenly observing you. “Didn’t… Didn’t want to be shouting at you, from, well... this close.”

He’s quiet then, focusing on sweeping you steadily around the room. The song has changed, your pace slowing somewhat to match the new one, and he takes the chance to guide you through a slightly more complicated step, jettisoning words in favor of taking you through a lazy spin before you fall back into the same step as before. You think you might have dodged a bullet as you settle into the movement, your gentle contact not so new and mind-reeling as it was when you started. But then he speaks, and the echo of his voice almost covers his words for how low it is.

“I… enjoy hearing your thoughts. Hearing you.” Dark’s hand holds yours more firmly as the one on your back brings you close to his chest. He’s practically cradling you against him, and you turn your face towards his in the moment to keep from being trapped looking away. You’ve never seen him make the face he’s wearing now - so serious, brow pulled just slightly, intent, yet that searching intensity has faded. Earnest . “I… I enjoy you. Unless you want your privacy, you are free to… be open with me. If you would like,” he's quick to add, his signature phrase that feels so much like as you wish.

You’re grateful he brings you to an easy stop, even as the music continues behind you because dancing has become beyond your grasp. Your eyes flicker across his shadowed face, mind scrambling as the dam you imagine creaks dangerously within. How much is too much? You hunt for clues in his expression, his face betraying so damn little like always, but then - then - his eyes flicker ever so briefly to your lips, and your eyes perceive a slightly darker shade of gray unfurling across his cheeks.

So you let go.

You don’t drown him in it, of course, but you allow your mind to open slowly once more. He inhales a forcibly steady breath, eyes searching yours once more as he processes, weighs, and finally draws you completely into him, head turning just so to finally fit your lips together in a kiss that feels like crisp, refreshing relief and wood smoke under a winter moon. You breathe in, feeling how cool he is to the touch, how steady he is under your hands, your kiss, even as his aura constantly roils.

Dark drops your hand to cradle your head and draw you further in, your arm finds its way around his broad back. His lips leave yours and you’re already starting to imagine your next kiss before he interrupts and gives it to you, a low sound in his throat and his hand bringing a tilt to your head that makes you incredibly thankful for how he’s holding you up. You kiss, and kiss, parting and rejoining in soft pecks and long presses that make the old standards you’ve bonded over sound like both the truest truths and palest lies.

Eventually, though, he withdraws, letting you catch your breath, soothing you with small kisses trailing from your lips to your jaw and back toward the joint of it and your neck. He’s adoring and unhurried - though the farther down his lips descend, the less air you can properly draw in. He slows on the softer skin there, hand still supporting your head where you tipped it back for him, and inhales gently as if he, too, needs to be steadied. His voice is a distant rumble, as much in your head as it is spoken. “Is my music really so moony...?”

It’s so sudden, your thoughts laid bare against the hint of his insecurity. A laugh bubbles up and out of you, breathless waves shaking your body. You only hold onto him tighter, and he squeezes you back in turn. You can feel him really smiling down against your neck, the pull of his lips and rounding of his cheeks evident against your sensitive skin. Why had you even tried to hide?

“The fact that you could sing any of them while gazing longingly at the stars should answer your question,” you tease, and he’s laughing with you, settling into just holding you close. “...but I like it. It’s romantic.”

“It was not my original intent, but...what wonderful results,” he murmurs, kissing your throat once more before coming back up, letting you catch your breath properly. How does he make the cheesiest things sound good?

“Mine either,” you admit. His brow quirks above warm eyes.

“No? What, then, was your intent in imagining how I chose to relax?” he asks, a wicked tease coloring his tone. You blink, and then heat rises up the back of your neck, your ears burn. He knew?? The whole time?????

“You could…” Your voice is distant as Dark draws the back of his hand softly across your cheek, fingers trailing the blush rising there. His eyes dip to follow it, watching it unfurl under your skin with the most damnably amused smile you’ve ever seen him wear. Damn him. Damn him, of course he knew!

“You should know doors can do very little to stop me…” You groan miserably. “But I liked it. It was romantic,” he continues, echoing you. It has such buried mirth that it only serves to embarrass you further, so you worm your arms against his chest, trying to push him off. He only chuckles that deep chuckle and holds you closer, lips pressing to your temple. “And so kind of you to want to protect me and my little moment… Did I really look so deliciously undressed...”

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” And here he had been playing coy this whole time! Letting you just dangle all your most embarrassing thoughts for anyone to see! You continue to struggle against him, if only to register your complaint. “You’ve completely ruined this, I hope you’re happy, you insufferable--” He dips and catches your lips again, humming and silencing your insults with his kiss. For all your indignant protesting, it’s impossible not to melt against him, your hands that tried to push him away stilling against his chest before sliding up to meet behind his neck. When he finally breaks your embrace, you huff softly. “I can’t believe you.”

He’s smiling, but sobers slightly as you hold each other, his eyes just taking you in. “...it was a comfort to me, to know I was not alone in my affection… despite all my hesitation in admitting it. I did say I enjoy hearing you for a reason, lamb.”

You’re melting, but then your nose wrinkles. “Lamb?” Dark tilts his head.

“Pet?”

“Why all the animal names?”

It’s his turn to huff, then. “It seems I am not as skilled as Wilford when it comes to terms of endearment.” Your nose wrinkles further, the rotating cast of gushy names the mustachioed man throws around only making you wince with laughter.

“Please, no, I know you can do better than those.”

Dark puffs up a little at that, somehow pleased by the implication. “I’ll have to put my mind to it when I’m fresh, then. But for now…” He draws back, taking your hand into his, the other sliding up your back and into position. “Shall we?”

“Gladly,” you murmur, and he leads you in an altogether different dance.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #ego fanfiction #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier #mad market pliers ramblings

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radiant-and-terrifying · 2 years ago

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Surely, the outlander should feel some degree of shame from the blatant glance she gives as Gehr.man bends down to tend the fire, dragging down the loose fabric of his shirt, lingering on the faint curls of hair visible in the fabric’s slit. It takes her another moment still to pretend she’d simply been studying the fire-- Phobos knows she’s not exactly known amongst her peers for understanding social cues, but at the very least she knew not to stare. (Or to only stare when one was certain no one was watching.) His eyes meet hers, and her breath snags in her throat uncomfortably. He was confused. He was confused, and she could not offer the explanation he sought. What little she could read from his eyes was fleeting, and only served to fuel her own uncertainty. Perhaps she’d overstepped; misread something somehow... The gentle touch of his hand on hers, rough and dry yet so, so warm, coaxes her thoughts back into a dull whisper. She cannot help but embrace it with her own, dark and cool yet oddly comforting. And still, he kept speaking, lamenting on his inability to prepare her a gift of all things when she’d appeared, unannounced, far past any normal hours. It takes a moment for Phobos to realize she has lifted a single finger to press against his lips, gently quieting him. “It is alright,” she says, rather firmly, but not unkindly by any means. “I... you do not need to provide me with anything. I am grateful you opened the door at all.” Her other hand is gently placed atop the one caressing her cheek absent-mindedly, enjoying the warmth. “And, besides, I am hardly picky about tea.”

@radiant-and-terrifying

Hot tea laid bare an unpleasant affliction upon his sensitive skin. Many a time had he found his mouth scalded, seething in pain for the for-told future. His gaze was wary, testing her reaction even now that she had compliment its flavour. She enjoyed his concoction, as simple as it was. A bitter liquid that found itself sweetened by her presence.

“ Good, good. Now, why did you pay me a visit? It certainly isn’t for a social visit. Help with exams, perhaps? Or do you need something mending? ” It was lucky that Phobos had chosen to attend his cottage. Other students would be disgruntled, either studying for exams or fast asleep in their dorms. Gehr, on the other hand, granted himself very little sleep. He slept late at night and awakened early in the morning. No one truly yearned for his presence, did they? He was a work man, paid a salary and expected to work. Even his closest friends were fond of his ability to create, to form objects from simple parts. Phobos would not be any different, he assumed, although it pained him so. A simple groundskeeper. He was beneath even the least wealthy of students at the college in status and goods.

“ I need to teach you how to sew. I have no idea how you keep tearing your clothes. ” He scolded her in the form of a sharp ‘tut’, not harsh but enough to maintain his disposition. His fingers sought her blouse, testing the torn lace at the front. “ A mess… ” He leaned closer. “ I’ll need to remove, repair and… a long task. Lace is so fickle, you see. It would take the whole night. Do you have a formal meeting tomorrow? If so, I should get to work. ”

#how do i make this even MORE sexually tense? oh i know #; phobos #𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗖𝗘𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗘 • nox &&. venator [ phobos x the hunter ]#; verse ; bloodborne

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cdroloisms · 3 years ago

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take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

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

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

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

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

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

(16k words !! :D long boi)

Michael loves MCC.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

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

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

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

“Michael!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s no real easy answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LEFT!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Like you did that much.”

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

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

“Fair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

Keep your head down.

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gottem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smile slips off his face.

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

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

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

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

---

“Shit-”

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

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

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

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

A sudden shock of clarity.

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

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow.

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

Keep your head down.

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

Not this time.

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

---

“What the hell was that?”

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

“I- I-”

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

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...liar.”

“What?”

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

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

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

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward.

“Quackity!”

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

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

The world explodes into white.

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

“LET’S GO!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I don’t feel so good.”

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

“Dream-”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for everything, Scott.”

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

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

Well. Here goes nothing.

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

“Michael?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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greta-van-chaos · 3 years ago

Text

Drive-In

Pairing | Danny Wagner x Reader

Warnings | Explicit sexual content, public sex (ish), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it friends), cursing, a pinch of hair pulling

Danny and I haven't been out on a date for months. He promised me every single day he was away on tour that he would take me out as soon as he got back.

As we drive through the ticket booth he places a hand on my thigh. "Do you want any snacks or should we just find a place to park?"

"I'm not very hungry, let's just park." I find it funny that he asks if I want snacks despite the fact that we literally just went out for dinner.

He pulls around to lot number 4 and drives around for a few minutes, scoping out the best spot. Eventually we pull into a slot at the very back, right in the middle. We have a perfect view of the screen and no one else has parked in the row with us.

The beginning ads and start to play and and I can't help but flick my eyes to look at Danny every few seconds. His hair falls around his face so perfectly and his nose and mouth are works of art. Heat pools low in my stomach when I trail my eyes down to the hand that's still resting on my thigh. He starts drawing circles over my knee absent mindedly and I grab his wrist.

"We're not going to get through this movie if you..." I trail off, realizing how innocent the gesture was and how wound up I am for no apparent reason. "Never mind" I laugh it off but I can feel his eyes on me.

"If the offer still stands," he leans into my ear with a mischievous look on his face, as if he can read my mind, "I have no problem forgetting the movie and fucking you right here in the backseat"

My eyes dart to meet his and the serious yet lustful expression he's sporting is enough for me to unclick my seatbelt and pull myself into his lap, attaching my lips to his with a needy haste. I pop the bottom half of the buttons on his shirt --as he always wears them partially open and trail my hands down his chest. I slip my fingers along the fine hair of his happy trail and lean into his neck, placing a kiss on his pulse point.

"I don't think we're going to make it to the backseat," Danny groans when I unbutton his pants, still kissing his neck.

"Fuck it" I breathe in response

I pull back and allow Danny to help me slip off my shirt. The pink lace bra that resides under it catches his breath in his throat, pink is his favorite colour on me. "God, you are so fucking gorgeous."

"Shut up and kiss me," is all I can manage to mutter when he cups my breasts, one in each hand.

The fire behind the kiss is electrifying the air, our tongues and teeth ungracefully clacking and sliding against one another.

I help him shimmy his pants down and he pulls out his dick, pumping it a few times before taking off my bottoms. The matching lace underwear adorning my body makes him groan audibly and he rushes to push them aside and swipe his fingers along my folds. When he draws them back up, covered in my slick, I take the digits into my mouth, enjoying the effect I have on him when his eyes darken.

"I can't wait any longer," he grunts and lowers me down onto him.

I grab the headrest of his seat and dig my nails into the leather in favor of keeping his shirt in tact. "Fuck- you feel so good." I throw my head back and grind against him.

The whine that leaves my lips when he bucks his hips up into be is filthy and I bury my face in the crook of his neck, which isn't to his liking. Danny fists my hair into a makeshift pony tail and draws my head back curtly. The sizzling pain melts into pleasure as it spreads from the back of my head, down my spine.

"Look at me, I want to see you"

My eyes strain to stay open against the sultry rocking of his hips against mine but I keep them firmly locked on his. I get so lost in the sensations that I barely feel the coil in my stomach tightening, almost to the point of shattering and sending me into a mind-bending orgasm. I can tell by the way Danny's mouth is hanging open in an o shape and his eyes are rolling back in his head that he's chasing a high of his own and slowly getting closer with every thrust.

I slide my hand down my stomach and circle my clit with my fingers, the building of a new, more intense pleasure wracks my spine and I moan out, tipping my head back. The hand in my hair tightens and Danny holds my head in tipped back position so he can brings his lips to my neck. He thrusts sloppily while marking the skin of my collarbones with hickies and other sorts of love bites. The windows of the car have significantly fogged and the movie is lost to us at this point, having already started without us even turning on the radio.

"Danny, don't stop" I mewl when his pace begins to falter. I'm so close to reaching my high that I seethe under my skin and grab Danny's hair in the sturdy fashion that he holds mine. He keeps his mouth pressed against my neck when my walls begin to flutter around him.

"You gonna cum, baby?" His hips begin to stutter and I wrap my arms around his neck.

"Fuck-" I can't help the high pitched whine that leaves me when a particularly deep thrust sends me reeling into my orgasm. I feel like I'm seeing stars and Danny helps me ride out my high by continuing his pace until he reaches his own climax.

We stay connected for a few moments after, sweaty and fucked out. "You are so fucking magical."

If you want to be tagged in upcoming posts you can join my taglist!

Taglist | @sarakay-gvf @celestialfauna @eeeloraaa @gretavanfleas @koifishkoifish @age-of-nyahh @trplshotofdopamine

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kira-fluff · 4 years ago

Note

Hey heyy, have you thought about writing another common trope headcanon / oneshot with the MysMe guys?

Because the “only one bed” was extremely good!!

Even if you decide not to do it, just know that your blog and your talent amazes me<3

a/n: Did you even have to ask??? OF COURSE IF YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME LOL thank you gorgeous <3 I decided to try putting it in a fanfic (one shot unless requested) format since it's definitely quite long and making a mini-series featuring those you request for me to include in my next fic or a pt2! :) also this is a slow burn and is quite spicy <3 Also, I did my best not to make it like the whole share the room thingy again!! ***I’m not fluent in French pls don’t @ me

Length: 6k lol

A Series of Unfortunate Events Fake Dating - Jumin Han

A sudden message beep surprised you, causing you to look down at your phone. It was a text message from Jumin: Call me. Immediately suspecting the worst, you quickly pressed his contact, the number dialing in seconds. There was a few seconds that ran by before the other end answered with a curt, "Y/n." "Jumin, hey, is something wrong?", you asked, worriedly. "Everything is perfectly fine. I was calling to ask you a favor -- feel free to decline." Jumin never asked for favors, or your help in general.. you knew whatever it was you were determined to assist him in the best way possible. "Of course, Jumin! Anything." There was silence for a moment as if he was contemplating whether or not it this favor was truly worth asking before he spoke, "Please decline if you are unable to but... I was wondering if you'd be willing to indulge my father. He's insisted that I bring you with me to our business closure." "Jumin", you began, "I'd be honored. I'd love to!" On the other line, there was a sigh of relief (or of worry, you weren't sure). "Mr. Kim will be at your apartment to pick you up tomorrow. The meeting is taking place in Monoco -- pack for a ten-day trip" There was a pause before Jumin breathed out a quiet, "Thank you." You couldn't hold back your smile, thankful that the conversation was over the phone, making it impossible for him to see your dopey expression. He hung up, leaving you to pack. Your mind quickly wandered from what you needed in your suitcase to worrisome waters. You and Jumin had a very deep friendship following the party you’d thrown, spending the time following the ginormous celebration to get to know each other. It warmed your heart that your newfound friend took so much joy in being with you -- even when he tried not to show it. You lost track of the number of times you ended up sleeping over at his penthouse after accidentally staying up until 4am talking with him, swishing expensive wine in your mouths. You didn’t expect falling in love to come so easily. You were someone who was quite choosey with your partners -- you weren’t one to fall easily for anyone. Even in your past relationships that sometimes lasted years, you’d never felt the way your heart felt now that you were with him. And yet, you were best friends. You were sure you meant something to him in so far as friendship, but you had respected him when he’d gotten drunk one of the first nights he met you and spouted out his heart to you..

- “Y/n, to tell you the truth.... I’ve never fallen in love before.” He gazed up at you lackadaisically from his position on the sofa -- head rested over the top of the sofa cushion, his arm lazily resting under his chin. He started at you for a moment, his gray eyes gazing into your own with a hazy, absent feeling in them. You laughed, “I find that hard to believe.” You walked over to him, absent-mindedly running your fingers through his tousled hair. He let out a long, uncharacteristic sigh, his eyes closing gently. You leaned in close to him, looking him in the eye. “Can I tell you something, too?” He nodded. “I haven’t either.” - You grinned at the memory. You firmly believed that conversation was what brought you and him together closer than ever before. He’d always found an excuse to call you over for the silliest of reasons. Either he needed a certain form that he was positive he accidentally slipped into your bag on accident and needed to see it first-hand to check, or he realized he’d bought more wine than was necessary for a night alone. It made you smile for months that he couldn’t get out the words “I miss you” or “I want you to come over”. Even to you, the words sounded intimate.. but that was the way your relationship worked -- you were very close with each other, as two best friends ought to be. Still, as much as you tried, you couldn’t control the way your heart began to constrict when he got especially close to you. You couldn’t help it when you’d shiver when he gently brushed cat fur away from your cheek. You were shocked that despite his perceptive personality, he didn’t seem to notice or acknowledge your deep blush during these interactions... maybe he was uncomfortable with them.... you hoped not. There were times the air was knocked out of you. Literally. Once, you weren’t paying attention to the fact that the sidewalk had ended and you were walking straight into oncoming cars coming off the highway when a muscular arm slid around your waist and pressed your body flush to his own. You stared with eyes wide open at Jumin, who comically seemed equally surprised at his actions. You couldn’t help the way your eyes trickled down to his sultry lips, taking in their beautiful red-wine color, blooming like dark roses. Thankfully, he seemed too preoccupied with your current state of mind and physical wellbeing. When you finally managed to get your mind out of the gutter, you thanked him profusely, grabbing his hands impulsively and begging to reward him in some way. His answer surprised you, “I--uh-- a movie. I’d like to do more research watching one of those movies you enjoy watching.. for business sales and such.” “Sure!! I can recommend anything! I’ll drop the email by your office tomorrow” you answered. A panicked expression took over his face for a moment before returning to its familiar stoicism, “You won’t watch it also?” Your eyes widened in confusion before you answered hurriedly, “Oh! Yeah, I’ll watch it with you. I just wouldn’t want to bother you if you were doing it for work purposes.” You could never bother me you thought you heard him say, but you couldn’t be sure. Yep, you were in love with Jumin. When you at last finished packing, you went to bed, looking forward to the mystery that befell tomorrow. - You rose bright and early to prepare for the exciting trip that was bound to come. You couldn’t help the extra bit of effort you ended up putting into your appearance in anticipation of seeing Jumin again and.. possibly sitting next to him on an aircraft. Right on time, you received a text message from Mr. Kim, indicating that he had arrived at your apartment right on time. As you opened your apartment door to carry your luggage downstairs, you were met with numerous familiar faces of Jumin’s employees who quickly took your heavy luggage items for you. You thanked them, making your way to the elevator with them. You texted Jumin: Thanks for the help with my luggage :) In a matter of seconds, you received a reply, Jumin: You’re welcome. Grinning down at your phone, you didn’t notice your driver's light chuckle, a look of astonishment in his eyes. These blind kids. You continued to chatter along with Jumin on your phone, at last arriving at the rendezvous point where Jumin and the Chairman pulled in identical black limos alongside your own. “Thank you, Mr. Kim. I can take it from here.” Mr. Kim nodded in obedience, ushering you to go to Jumin. Jumin patted the leather seat next to his own in the sleek limousine. You held back a laugh, there were plenty of other seats open for you to sit.. but it warmed your heart that he wanted you right next to him. As friends. The Chairman joined the two of you, sitting across from his son, a mischievous glint in his eyes that only Jumin could recognize. A silent conversation took place between Jumin and his father -- Jumin beginning with a raised eyebrow. The Chairman replied with a sly smirk. Jumin with a scowl, his father with a growing grin. You watched the conversation continue silently before the Chairman at last spoke, “Jumin, my son, I’m overjoyed to see you’ve brought your Y/n with you.” A flash of annoyance crossed Jumin’s face as he said, “My... Y/n?” You blanched.. of course the thought of you being his made him uncomfortable... but you didn’t think he’d be angry. “Y/n, I’m glad you could join us. However, as much as I hate to ask this of you, there is something I desperately need from you.” Before you could speak Jumin interjected, “Absolutely not.” You caressed his hand, looking up at him with kind eyes, “Jumin, hey, it’s okay.” Looking toward Jumin’s father you said, “Whatever it is, I’ll do my very best.” Jumin’s jaw feathered a bit, but he said no more. He grinned, “Aren’t you a kind girl. Well, in this business deal, the contract was originally contingent on Jumin marrying his daughter -- which I was against from the beginning. After all, I know the importance of loving the one you wish to be with.” (Jumin rolled his eyes at that.) “Anyway, I declined the offer.” You were confused, unsure where your part came in. As if reading your mind, he continued saying, “However, I perhaps let it slip that you two were engaged. I figured you both are so close with each other already, that it would be no issue to play a bit of husband and wife for the sake of business, no?” Jumin was furious, his nose flared, jaw clenched with hands gripping his knee. “How dare--” You glanced at him, biting the inside of your cheek, a worried expression painted your face. When he glanced at you, his eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed. This did not go unnoticed by the Chairman. “We’ll do it, won’t we Jumin?” he looked surprised but made no objection. You leaned in close and whispered shyly, “I want to do something as thanks for this amazing trip.. and for you.” - Jumin dared to swallow. For me? What the hell does that mean? You were driving him crazy. Every time he looked at you he had to fight to readjust his attention to something else. Does she know what it does to me when she touches me? Even a little bit? When you’d put your hand on him, Jumin felt his chest and neck grow impossibly hotter, hotter than he’d been feeling when you’d first sat down next to him. Hotter than when you leaned in close and breathily asked him, “Jumin... how long until we’re at the airport?” It was like you’d drawn out every syllable, breathing out every consonant -- your breath tickling his neck. He imagined what it would feel like to have your plump, rosy lips on his neck, on his chest, on his lips, on his-- he was in over his head. He cursed himself for his lack of control. Usually, control was not an issue for Jumin -- in fact, he considered it one of his greatest strengths. From his leadership position in his father’s company, C&R, to his well-controlled temperament and stress management.. Jumin just didn’t do “no control”. At first, it intrigued him. He could remember the exact day it hit him. He’d invited you to an elegant dinner his company hosted to celebrate (in a sort of “humble-brag” sort of way) yet another successful business closing with one of the biggest corporations in America. He’d been finishing off yet another glass of his new Domaine de la Romanee-Conti he’d bought when his eyes at last placed you at the front of the champagne server. His eyes raked up and down the soft, silk gown that clung to your body in all the right places. The gown hung loosely, exposing your back and most of your chest, a sultry slit separating one of your elegant legs from the other hidden in the fabric. It was a breath-taking emerald color... but all Jumin could really think of is how he’d take it off. Your hair was curled and done-up marvelously with little white pearls decorating the crown of your head like you had stars in your hair... but all Jumin could really think of was how he’d mess it up. His cheeks were on fire. Everything in his body had risen in temperature of what felt like a hundred degrees. He twirled his wine glass between his fingers before setting it down at one of the well-decorated tables. I must have a fever, he thought, that must be it. Your eyes found his person just as he was turning around to leave, speed walking to one of the penthouse balconies for fresh air. You raced after him or at least followed him as fast as your obnoxious heels allowed you to go. You breathlessly met him as he was staring out into the night. Jumin realized that his temperature was slowly returning to normal. Perhaps the room was a bit suffocating. I’ll be sure to message Mr. Kim about increasing the air conditioning in the room. But... looking back on it now, Jumin knew he was lying to himself even then. Because, when he turned around he almost let out a shout. And his breath became uneven again, and it felt so burning hot all over again. You slowly crept toward him, donning a concerned expression saying, “Jumin... are you alright?” Jumin backed into the marble railing. He was so eloquent normally but all he could let out then was a choked, “Fine.” He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every step closer, he wanted to run. The stars were reflecting in your eyes and the moonlight made your supple skin look impossibly softer... You gently cupped his face and whispered, “Jumin, talk to me..? Please?” Jumin was heaving, looking down at you with rosy red cheeks and burning ears. “I--I think I have a... fever. A fever.” You gasped, taking one of your hands and lightly grasping the back of his neck, pulling him down slightly. His eyes widened as you took your other cold hand and placed it on his burning forehead. “Oh my god! Oh my gosh, we -- ambulance! An ambulance.. a doctor? Or.. are you... drunk?” “My room... please,” he begged. You looked him up and down, examining his face for strain or discomfort. When you couldn’t find any, you let out a breath -- perhaps you’d overreacted. Nonetheless, you swung his arm over your shoulder and trudged through the now quiet dining area. Most had filtered out to the ballroom for dancing. You’d been here a million times, so remembering the way was no chore. You fished through his shirt and coat pockets, running your gentle digits across his chest, assuming the moan Jumin gave off was due to pain, still, a blush flushed your cheeks. “Sorry, I’m almost done.” You held him against the wall since at this point he couldn’t stand. Maybe I am a little drunk, he thought. You moved down to his pants pockets, your hands roaming through a business card and other odds and ends, eliciting another soft groan from Jumin. “Almost there...” you breathed, at last pulling out a key card and with a soft beep, opening his penthouse suite. You gently carried him to his bed before going to grab a glass of water and a cold washcloth. When one was placed on the table and the other on his forehead, you at last placed a warm throw blanket you’d found in his closet over him. ...That memory became a source of numerous dreams. Jumin couldn’t forget it, no matter how many times he’d wished he wanted to (or wished it all to happen again). - You gazed at him, looking at the way his expression hardened at times, softening and then suddenly switching to an expression you’d never seen before. What was he thinking about? You bit your lip, nervous that Jumin might change his mind upon meeting this woman his business partner wanted him to marry. She was certainly more beautiful, right? After all, Jumin hadn’t necessarily made any physical contact voluntarily toward you more than an occasional back rub in your asked after a long day at work, or if he got drunk while you two accidentally stayed up late -- then he’d sometimes caress your face with a love-sick expression and saying little things like, “You’re beautiful.” It was cute, for sure, but what drunk doesn’t turn into a soft puddle of goo, complimenting everyone around them? You leaned into him as subtly as you could manage, closing your eyes to concentrate for a few minutes. - You jumped awake when a deep voice rumbled in your ear, “We’re here.” You could hear the slight smirk in his voice, and sure enough, when you looked up, you saw a slight smile on his face. “Did you have a good dream?” You looked toward your left, thankful the Chairman was already out of the limousine and speaking on his phone to someone. “I--I had a dream?” Jumin’s smirk stretched a little wider, “Yes. You said my name a couple times.” Your eyes widened in shock before saying, “Oh! That dream! Yeah, I was dreaming that you were being eaten alive by bears and I was forced to watch!” God, you were such a bad liar. Jumin blinked. He felt sort of stupid. “Oh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “I see--” Grateful for his gullibleness, you added, “Why, what did you think I was dreaming about?” Jumin avoided eye contact saying, “Not anything in particular.” A call for Jumin interrupted your conversation, making Jumin almost run out of the limo. You smiled a bit, a little flush rising up to your ears. Jumin returned again, grabbing your hand. “This way,” was all he said. You followed him to the private jet that the Chairman was already boarding. You caught yourself staring at Jumin again as you followed him up the stairs to the entranceway of the cabin. Jumin smartly chose a seat far away from his father’s field of vision. He’d had enough of his unnerving looks when you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, whispering things Jumin was beyond grateful only he could hear... at least he hoped. When you occasionally began to whine a bit louder he’d quiet you down by running his hands through your hair and stealing glances toward his father nervously saying, “A nightmare.” He wondered if he’d fooled his father, because the Chairman lightly chuckled and made his way to the passenger seat of the limo, sliding the privacy door shut. It had only gotten worse from there, you almost shouted his name, but he covered your mouth. Heat had been pooling in his stomach for a while now, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. Still, every time he thought of waking you up, you’d grab at his chest or legs, effectively completely embolizing him. You, of course, were unaware of all of this. You sat down next to him eagerly and wrapped your arm around his, pulling him close to watch a movie on the jet screens. It was almost 9pm by now, the night sky beginning to close in on the quiet aircraft. Neither of you could remember when you fell asleep, only waking up to the soft announcement of arrival from the pilot on the overhead and a soft blanket placed over the two of you. You both groggily made your way to your waiting limousine to take you to the complimentary hotel stay at one of the chains owned by your expectant future business partner. “Of course, I know you two are just friends.” The Chairman looked at you two before continuing, “So I have two hotel rooms, you’re 17 and you, Miss Y/N, are 18. I’m in master suite 3, so feel free to reach out whenever.” His eyes glittered as he said, “Have fun. Remember to act like a loving fiance! Especially you, my son." Jumin pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in contempt. You turned your head toward Jumin, “Um, well, I’m pretty tired as you could probably already tell,” you laughed uncomfortably, “so I think I’ll head off to bed.” Jumin blinked a few times before saying, “I will as well. Goodnight, Y/N.” You whispered a shy goodnight in reply before slinking into your hotel room. - You awoke the next day to a call from a maid outside your door - room service. You thanked her before diving into your waffles, complete with chocolate dressing, whipped cream, strawberries, and powdered sugar. A glass of orange juice was delivered along with various other breakfast options and a bowl of kiwi, dragonfruit, apple, watermelon, honeydew, and almost any other fruit you could think of. Following your delicious breakfast, you padded over to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and running the shower. Going through your morning routine helped calm you despite the role you weren’t at all prepared to play in just a few hours. You jumped at the knock at your door. Looking through the peephole, it was Jumin. Flinging the door open, you looked at him expectantly. You were met with silence other than a few “uh.... uh....”s. You looked at him sarcastically, “What?” He continued to stare, not at your face, however. You laughed but quickly grew silent as you met his gaze. You were an actual moron. What. The. Fuck. You were still in your fucking panties?!?! You slammed the door shut, running to slip on some shorts you found lying on the ground in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath you gently opened the door this time. Jumin was standing still as a statue when he snapped out of his trance at last. He looked away, “Try not to be dressed. I mean STRESSED.” he sputtered, “I-I’m going to leave now--” “Um, Jumin?” He slowly turned around, face as red as a strawberry, “Yes?” “Um, sorry. About before. Um. Do you-- do you want to get some coffee? I’m still waking up, if you couldn’t already tell,” you laughed nervously. He smiled warmly, “I’d love to.” You awkwardly nodded before shutting your door. You ran to your hotel bed and screamed into one of the pillows. You cursed under your breath before making your way to the bathroom once more to finish the makeup look you had begun before being interrupted. After 45 minutes, you looked your outfit up and down. You packed outfits that were elegant -- you bought clothes that looked expensive but in the kind of way that was subtle. Nude tones and deep colors, specifically. You were aiming for a look that said, “I’m not rich, I’m just comfortable. And by that I mean I’m rich.” You were never insecure about the difference in your and Jumin’s paycheck.. but when you’re supposed to play a part. And if you showed up in your comfy joggers and t-shirt like you normally wore when you visited Jumin or were free from work.. you had a feeling their reaction wouldn’t be the most inviting or understanding. At last, you stepped out of your room, turning left to knock on Jumin’s door. He beat you to it, opening his door unexpectedly. This caused you to instead lean forward from your momentum and place your hand on his chest. You hurriedly adjusted his tie, doing your best to act as if that’s what you’d meant to do all along. Jumin appeared to be just as surprised, but grinned, “No leggings and t-shirt today?” You jabbed him with your elbow as you made your way to the coffee bar, “Do you think they’d be all welcoming to your soon-to-be wife if she showed up in lounge clothes?” “I’ve never complained.” You scoffed, “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re nice. And, you apparently understand that not everyone can live in a suit every day.” He paused for a moment before mumbling slightly, “Who cares what they think anyway.” “I do! I don’t want to let your dad down. I told him I’d do this. We’re in Monaco, Jumin! C’est la vie!” “Parles-tu français?”* “Oui..?” Jumin chuckled darkly before leaning in, saying, “Tu es juste trop mignonne.”** You blinked before replying, “...oui...?” Jumin looked at you incredulously with a slight smile on his face as he laughed, lightly ruffling your hair. Jumin ordered for you -- apparently, it was quite clear you only knew a few words in French. Unfortunately, he also paid for you, despite your objections. Before you could yank his platinum card out of his hands, the transaction was already complete. He gazed down at you, an eyebrow raised with a triumphant smirk, “Elle aura aussi beaucoup de crème dans son café.”*** “Hey, what are you saying?! Jumin!! Speak Korean or English or Japanese! Something I can understand!!” You complained. The worker interjected, “C’est tellement agréable de voir un couple sur leur ‘oneymoon.”**** You instinctively interjected, “Oh, that’s not--!” But Jumin just smiled and nodded. Upon sitting down at one of the many open tables, you let out a little giggle, “I wonder what it’ll feel like when I’m on the real thing.” Jumin quickly looked up from his staring contest with his coffee, “Real.. what?” You grinned dreamily, “Honeymoon.” “You.. want to get married?” “Don’t you?” Only to you, he thought. “Maybe. If the right person came along.” If you’d ever say “yes”. You held back the nervous twinge you felt in your throat, “Alright then, don’t be shy. What’s your type?” “My.. type?” “Yeah! Like, your ideal girl.” He paused, looking pensively at you. “Well, then I suppose my ‘type’ is a girl who is beautiful, and smart, and pretty... and always makes me laugh. And is bold but also shy.” His eyes widened as he grew quiet, “...something like that.” You were shocked. He said he’s never fallen in love before.. but it sounds like he already has some girl in mind. “Wow. You’ve... thought a lot about this.” Jumin looked surprised at himself -- he cleared his throat, “Just some ideas.” You were still skeptical but changed the subject, “So, what exactly does this whole ‘wifey’ thing entail?” “Most likely just a ring on your finger and a fake smile.” “Oh come on, there’s more to it than that.” “I’m sure my father has the details.” As if on cue, his phone chimed. “Ready to head out?” “Yep!” You weren’t entirely sure, but you were beside yourself with nervousness and a bit of excitement. If you can’t have the real thing, you shouldn’t complain about a chance to fake it, right? And sure, you knew it was much more complicated than that -- what if he realized your true feelings?! ...You shook the thoughts out of your head and made your way to the waiting vehicle outside of the hotel. - “Monsieur Lorenzi! Good to see you!” The Chairman shook hands with who you assumed was the boss. “Let me introduce to you my son, Jumin, and his beloved fiance, Y/n.” You waved, smiling despite the twang in your heart. You and Jumin shook hands while Mr. Lorenzi introduced you to his daughter. “It is so nice to meet you! This is my daughter, Ginevra.” Immediately, you sized Ginevra up -- and she does not look happy. “So.. you’re the bitch who stole Ju-Ju from me?” “Ginevra! Be polite, please?” Mr. Lorenzi practically begged her, but she wasn’t budging, “Oh, come on. Their ‘engagement’ hasn’t even been released to the press yet!” You looked worriedly between Jumin and Ginevra, but Jumin lovingly put his hand over yours, a soft smile on his face, “I’ll handle this, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help himself and lightly pecked your cheek, smirking into the kiss when he heard you elicit a small “oh!” Facing the irate woman, though, Jumin smiled in a way you’d seen him smile when he wasn’t particularly...happy.. about something. “Miss Ginevra, I can assure you Y/N and I are completely in love. She is my fiance, after all. That being said, we decided not to alert the media because we wanted our own privacy until the wedding.” Ginevra scoffed, “Please. You barely even look like you’re dating. Face it, I know you want me, Jumin.” She bit her lip in a way that was supposed to be seductive, but Jumin couldn’t hold back the slight cringe that crept onto his face. “T-that’s enough Ginev--” “God! Shut up, Dad! Mr. Lorenzi backed down at that, looking apologetic and embarrassed toward the Chairman and Jumin, and especially toward you. You were growing tired of the entire conversation, “Shall we sit down?” All except Ginevra agreed readily, the Chairman coughing in a way that sounded more like a laugh he was trying to conceal. Jumin's jaw clenched when he sat next to you, to your left and Ginevra quickly sat in the seat to his left. The meal went as well as expected. Jumin's father recognized that Jumin had his hands full and spent the majority of the dinner talking business with Mr. Lorenzi without his son. Meanwhile, you were awkwardly playing with your filet mignon, avoiding eye contact with everyone until Jumin leaned his face down to your avoidant eye level. You snapped out of your trance immediately. You looked up at him -- his eyebrow was raised with an inquisitive expression. Okay, that was adorable. You held back your intruisive thoughts, blinking up at him, silently asking, "What is it?" Jumin stared a little longer than necessary, before snapping out of his own trance and leaning in further and whispering in your ear, "...Are you alright?" You nodded in reply, "Just a little uncomfortable." Jumin gazed down at you in concern, "We can leave if you--" "No. No, I'll stay." Who knows what that girl will do if I leave. He didn't look convinced. Suddenly, Ginevra was calling for Jumin. Repeatedly. He turned in annoyance, "Yes?" Her voice got low, clearly to exclude you from the conversation, "Let's go somewhere..." she looked Jumin up and down slowly, "...else.." And with no shame, she lowered a manicured hand to his knee, slowly trailing it up to his thigh. He immediately grabbed her wrist, saying in a low, deadly voice, "I have a fiance." She sighed in frustration, "You're kidding yourself, baby--" Jumin's eyes widened suddenly, and not due to anything Ginevra was saying. Your hand was high on his thigh as you leaned into the conversation you'd heard the entirety of. "Miss... whatever your name is.... Jumin is my husband. Soon. We have something you could never dream of every having because your personality sucks. And honestly, only you can fix that." There was silence at the entire table for a moment before Ginevra turned her head quickly toward her father, "Daddy?!" Her father had already gotten up, ushering the business conversation to continue rather than deal with his trainwreck of a daughter. She huffed, looking red in the face, perhaps in embarrassment as well as anger. "Well, you still can't prove that you're even dating!" You very furious now, your glare cold enough to freeze the desert, "Is proof really the only thing that will shut you up?" Before she could even answer, you geared your pissed off expression toward a semi-intimidated, semi-turned on Jumin and grabbed his face, meeting his lips with your own. Your kiss was meant to only last a few seconds at most, but when you tried to pull away, Jumin only deepened the kiss, pulling your face harshly toward his own. He tugged at your hair, earning a loud moan from you as he forced his flush lips further onto yours, his tongue gaining entrance into your mouth. His eyebrows were deeply knit into a consentrated expression, groaning as he felt you readjust your position onto his lap. You stradled his lap, a leg on either side of him, your tongues battling for dominance as you fished for air between you two. At last, you both parted, heaving in big breaths as a string of spit clung between your mouths -- only to go in for another searing kiss. You began to roll your hips against his own, gently at first but quickly gaining more momentum and roughness as you two continued to make out. You'd noticed his hard-on the moment you'd straddled his lap but it only grew as you two began to explore the other's body. And just like that, you realized you were still in a formal dining setting. With other people. You pushed against Jumin's chest, looking around you in a frenzy. Ginevra was long gone along with the Chairman and Mr. Lorenzi. It was just the two of you, it looked as if it was after hours for the dining here. Soft jazz still played melodically through quiet speakers. Your eyes met back again with Jumin. He was smirking, still breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with mischief and a clear message that said something you probably would blush saying out loud. You laughed a little at the sudden turn of events. Did he like you? You wondered. He made quick work of dragging you (because your legs turned into jelly) out of the dining hall and back to his hotel suite. Jumin hurridely opened his hotel door before slamming you against the wall and continued to kiss you furvently on your neck, chest and of course, lips. He began to grind on you, letting out a soft curse when you mewled in his ear. Both your cheeks were completely red from the heated exchange and the embarrassment that both of you felt at your candid feelings. Yet something still bothered you. You pushed him away with all the strength you had because he was just so addicting. "J-jumin.... wait..." You gasped between breaths, "...I-I don't do this sorta thing... for fun..." Jumin frowned at this, his jaw feathering as he said darkly, "I don't either." You shook your head, "No, Jumin... I mean... I-I......" You took a big breath of air, "I'm in love with you. Have, for long time... pretty sure you don't feel .... the same wa--" Jumin's eyes narrowed as he dove in for another kiss with so much force that the air was nearly knocked out of you. "Y/N," he began, "Do you have any clue how much I've held back? Even now, do you know how hard it is for me not to pick you up and fuck you right here and now? Do you know how long--" He laughed sardonically, "Y/N, I swear you're doing this on purpose." "Doing wha--" "Making me fall deeper and deeper in love with you! I'm already pass the point of no return. Hell, I've never felt a fraction of what you make feel in a moment... in my entire life." You took a moment to really look at him. The expression of complete and udder desperation was now clear as day on his face, his cheeks flushed, breathing heavily, his tie loose around his neck, chest slightly exposed. He began again, "Please. Please... put me out of my misery. Say you're mine, please." Your eyes never leaving his, tears prickling your eyes, you answered, "I always was Jumin.. and I always will be. And, and if the offer still stands--" You blushed, looking down shyly and your feet, ashamed of your own boldness. Jumin's eyes pooled impossibly darker as he picked you up and led you to his bed, laying you down gently and asking, "I know this is probably soon but... Y/N, will you make me the happiest man on earth?" You laughed, pure joy on your face as you shamelessly cried, "Yes!" over and over again. Jumin couldn't hold back the huge grin that took over his face as he kissed you in between laughs.

TRANSLATIONS: * “Do you speak French?” ** “You are just too cute.” *** “She will also have a lot of cream in her coffee.” **** “It is so nice to see a couple on their honeymoon”

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