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redpandaramblings · 3 years ago

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Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 6

Part 1 Here

Next part Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship, Bakugou is a dumbass but so is y/n

Where we left off-

Before Bakugou could reply, the jeweler came back into the room and handed Denki a piece of paper.

“All right sir, here is your receipt! Your ring should be ready in three days.��

“Thanks.” Denki shoved the receipt into his pocket, quickly making his way to the door. “See you around Bakubro. Don't want to be late for my shift.” The door closed behind him with a bang.

Bakugou wasn’t annoyed though. Now he could pick out the perfect ring for Y/N and not worry about Kaminari being nearby. Everyone knows Kami can’t keep a secret to save his life.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep all of this a secret.” Denki moaned into his hands. He was sitting with his head buried in his arms. Y/N reached across the table and gently petted his hair.

“I know what you mean, but I don’t think either of us are in a good position to start telling people.”

Y/n and Denki sat in a secluded corner of a dimly lit cafe. Both of them had this time free and both of them definitely needed to talk. They stood a lot less chance of anyone asking questions if they were just two friends getting lunch instead of them privately going to each other’s apartments.

Denki looked up, giving Y/N a wide eyed expression. “I know, but I wasn’t expecting Bakugou to show up when I was dropping off that abomination of a ring! I just was lucky the jeweler had already taken it to the back. You were right by the way, that thing is absolutely horrendous. Like, was the designer blind?”

Y/N snorted. “From what I’ve heard, great great grandpappy had a lot more money than brains and wanted to impress his omega by shoving as many stones onto a ring as possible.”

“No kidding. I think it can be seen from space.”

“Very likely.” Y/N chuckled before slumping back into her seat with a sigh. “Though I might have an idea about what Bakugou was doing there.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Y/N nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. When I got back he invited me to the summer festival. I’d forgotten about it.”

“Ah shit, yeah. Isn’t that your guys' anniversary?”

“Yep.” Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Of course he had to pick this time to actually celebrate. We haven’t gone or done anything… God, I think since he became a hero.”

“So you think he was getting a gift.” Denki sat back as the server came, placing your orders in front of each of you. You both murmured your thank yous and waited until the server was out of earshot before resuming your conversation.

“Yeah, he had to have been. Makes me feel terrible, but there wasn’t a good time to… Well…”

Y/n gestured between herself and Denki.

“Tell him that you’ve been betrothed to an omega of much superior looks, breeding, and manners?”

You gave Denki a little kick under the table as he cackled. He grinned cheekily as he poked at his food. “Sorry. Humor is my coping mechanism. I get it though. Timing sucks all the way around.”

You nodded, sighing and taking a bite of your own food. “Can’t say anything during his heat. Then his schedule was swamped, and I had to sort things out with you. Then bam, anniversary that for some reason he decided to remember this year.”

Denki snorted, popping a bite into his mouth. “That’s about the long and the short of it. And we haven’t even begun to figure out how to tell everyone we’ve not only accepted arranged betrothals, but that we’re engaged to each other.”

“I don’t know, I was kind of hoping we could just move to Tahiti and never speak to our former friend groups ever again?”

“A valid possibility. But that means we’d have to learn French and maybe Tahitian. You know I only passed English because Hitoshi and his dad coached me.”

“Fair point.” You sighed heavily. “But I’m really not looking forward to these conversations.”

“They have to happen though. You might have some anonymity to hide behind, but I’d rather my friends not find out about our engagement when they see an article about Chargebolt getting married.”

“Really?” You smirked slightly. “Then you’re going to tell everyone at your agency, hmm?”

Denki kicked you under the table. “Shut up!”

You poked at your food again as the smile fell from your lips. “So… Did you get a chance to think about what I sent you?”

Kaminari nodded. “Yeah. And I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”

“I thought about it a lot. I hate to leave the area, but it would be too awkward to stay here after everything.”

A few days ago you had sent Denki an email with a list of places that had job openings that would suit both of you. You both loved where you lived, but after everything, how could you stay? There’s no way the two of you could continue to keep living in the same apartment building as Bakugou. That would be cruel. Cruel to whom you didn’t quite want to think about. You spoke up again.

“Any place catch your eye?”

Kaminari nodded. “I was kind of thinking Okinawa. I have a few connections there. Decent distance from here and from our parents. And that would probably be the easiest transition.”

“Works for me.” You said, as if it wasn’t ripping your heart out to do this. It hurt. But it had to happen. In the end, you had to believe this was what was best for everyone. It might take some time, but this was it. This was what would make everyone happy in the long run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shinsou was worried. Denki had been acting odd. And that’s saying something. The blond omega was usually loud and bubbly, the life of the agency. At least once a week, he invited Shinsou out for drinks, meals, clubs, karaoke, or some other nonsense. But ever since he’d gotten back from his three day leave, Kaminari had been acting strange. When he thought no one was looking, he was quiet. Withdrawn. Like he was puzzling out the toughest problem of his life.

Denki having a problem? Pretty typical. Denki having a problem and not talking to Shinsou about it? Pretty unusual. The blond had always come to the purple haired alpha with even the simplest of problems. Apartment searches, furniture assembly, what support items would suit his quirk best, even things like what to get from Starbucks. And even though he might groan and roll his eyes, secretly Hitoshi loved every second of it. When he had helped by digging through websites, cobbling together a rickety shelf, or reminding Denki that he always got the most cloyingly sweet items on the menu; Hitoshi got to pretend that he was Denki’s alpha.

Shinsou wasn’t sure exactly when he had fallen in love with Denki. Probably had been since high school at least. His dad had warned him against loud blonds while his father had laughed. But he couldn’t help it. Kaminari had been one of the first people to enthusiastically believe in him. Had always sought him out and wormed his way into Shinsou’s life and heart. And now Shinsou couldn’t understand it, but Denki was pulling away. Even as he watched the blond who was typing up a report on his computer, it somehow felt like Kaminari was slipping right through his fingers.

Shinsou cleared his throat. Kaminari glanced up. “Yeah man? What’s up?”

“You doing okay, Denks? You’ve seemed a little out of it.”

Denki met his eyes, startled, then quickly glanced away. “Yeah. Yep! Totally fine.”

“Denki. I know you.”

Kaminari sighed and slumped on his desk. “Just some life stuff. Family stuff. Friend stuff.”

Shinsou frowned, walking over to place a hand on Denki’s shoulder. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Denki snorted and laughed quietly. Shinsou furrowed his brows.

“Yeah” Denki sighed. “I know. But half of it isn’t really my stuff to tell and the other half isn’t exactly worth talking about.”

“You sure? We could go grab one of your obnoxiously sweet coffees after work. Go to mine or yours, watch an old crappy horror.”

“Tempting. Thanks man. I would, really, but I got some stuff I have to do after work. Some other time maybe.”

Shinsou frowned. It was rare for the omega to turn down an invitation for a movie night. Hell, it was rare for Denki to turn down an invitation, end stop. It made him even more worried about his omega… friend. His omega friend. His friend who just so happens to be an omega. Hitoshi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He really didn’t want to ruin the best friendship he had. But he couldn’t keep this up much longer. His alpha had decided on the electric blond long ago, and the omega’s unusual behavior and unhappy scent was driving him wild with the need to protect. He really needed to pull himself together and confess soon.

“Well, whenever you’re free then,” Shinsou said, reluctantly letting his hand fall from Denki’s shoulder. “You know my number.”

Denki nodded and looked up, giving him half a smile. “I do. Thanks Shinsou.”

Shinsou walked back to his desk, his mind made up. He needed to tell his omega how he felt, and soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N twisted and turned, looking at herself in the mirror. It had been a very long time since she’d worn a yukata. It didn’t feel right to dress up like this. But wearing anything else also felt wrong. Everything about this date felt wrong. Like this was the kind of she she did in another life. And now here she was, going on a date with the man she loved. Who she’d always love. And who she’d already decided she was going to let go.

Y/N snorted and fussed with her hair a bit. Maybe she should have just refused this date. Claimed to be sick or something. But that felt wrong too. So, she just had to get through tonight. After all, what’s one more night of pretending everything is fine? Hopefully this could be a good memory from a relationship that just wasn’t meant to be. After tonight, she’d wait a couple days and then talk to Bakugou and let him go like he clearly wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki was going to throw up.

He was going to throw up, right here, all over himself and all over shitty hair, too. His red headed friend was giving him a pep talk as he helped Bakugou into his jinbei. Not that Bakugou needed the help. Or the pep talk. It just was easier to let the squad come over when they had found out about his date. It’s not like he wanted them there or anything. Once Kiri, Mina, and Sero realized he was going to use this date to ask Y/N to be his mate, they had insisted on helping him get ready.

None of them knew about the little velvet box in his pocket and that his plans went further than just asking Y/N to be his mate. Bakugou bit his lip to keep from frowning as he looked over his friends, a certain loud blond conspicuously missing. You wouldn’t hear Katsuki admit it out loud, but he really wished Denki could have been here. He loved the others, and they were great in their own ways. But Denki was his pack’s other omega. He got it in a way that the others didn’t. After tonight, he’d have to make sure to catch Pikachu up on all the news. Hell, maybe he could help his fellow blond finally talk to that purple haired idiot he’d been mooning over for years. Everyone in the pack knew Denki’s family had been harping at him to settle down for quite a while.

Bakugou looked up in time to see Mina coming at him with the hair grease. He threw up his hands.

“Fuck no! Keep that shit away from me!”

“You’ve got to do something about that pile of straw you call a haircut. Besides, Wouldn’t it be nostalgic? Weren’t you interning for Best Jeanist again when you asked Y/N out the first time?”

“Yes, and I’d rather shave myself bald than ever have my hair like that again!”

Mina sighed. “Fine. We’ll do something else. But if I can’t slick it back, you will be wearing eyeliner!”

“IN YOUR DREAMS, PINKY!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You waited outside the entrance to the festival. It was strangely soothing to watch the people flow by, like you were a rock overlooking a stream. There were groups of friends, couples both young and old, families where the laughing children ran ahead of their parents eager to get inside. You gave a small smile at the last. Maybe that could be you someday, a parent getting to see a festival through the eyes of a child again. Though the mental picture was hazier than it used to be. The children you half imagined just blurs of colorful yukatas, instead of loud and stubborn blond haired brats with their father’s eyes and attitude. You huffed a quiet laugh to yourself as a thought occurred to you. If you and Kaminari actually went through with this plan, decent chance the kids would still be blond. The thought hurt a little.

“Y/N!”

You looked up and had the breath knocked out of your lungs.

Katsuki was beautiful. You knew it. Thought it often, even. But tonight he practically glowed. His hair had been tamed into a softer look than usual. The jinbei he wore was the perfect compliment to his skintone. Was that… Yes. Dark eyeliner made his crimson eyes pop. Your heart ached. You’d always love this man. No matter how it tore you apart, he’d always own part of your heart and soul. You smiled weakly and raised your hand in greeting.

“Hey. You look good.”

“Thanks.” Bakugou scratched the back of his head. “Mina got ahold of me.”

“That explains it then.”

“Hey!” Katsuki gently elbowed you in the side before taking his place next to you. “You saying I can’t dress up on my own?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N!” You dodged out of the way as he swatted at you, laughing. Yes. This could be it. One last good night.

“Shall we go in?” You asked, holding out your hand.

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Katsuki asked as he walked past you, ignoring your hand.

You gave a quiet smile as you followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki picked at his food, none of it making it to his mouth. He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick right here and some paparazzi was going to see and take a picture and the big headline tomorrow was going to be “A Puke Worthy Proposal.” He was trying his best to keep up the illusion that everything was fine and normal, but it was rough. It had been a long time since he’d taken his alpha on even a normal date. And this wasn’t any normal date. It didn’t help that things were feeling forced and awkward.

He wanted to hold your hand, but his own hands were sweating buckets. He tried to keep up casual conversation, but that was getting harder and harder as the night wore on. Every sentence he wanted to just blurt it out and get it over with. It was impossible to keep talking about what vendors he recognized when all he wanted to say was “I love you and I’ll always love you and I want you by my side until the sun stops shining.”

It didn’t help that things felt awkward. Almost nothing was feeling easy or natural. It really had been far too long since the two of you had gone on any sort of date. He frowned as he thought about it. It had been over a year, at least. Longer, even. Well, he was going to have to fix that. He’d be able to use some of that pro hero paycheck and spoil you like you deserved. His Y/N. His mate. And soon, his wife.

Bakugou stared at nothing, his eyes going unfocus as he started daydreaming about how spectacular your wedding would be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a disaster. You glanced over to where Bakugou stood picking at his food, looking bored. You’d been trying to keep up the conversation, but for the past several minutes you’d only gotten hums or grunts in response to anything you said.

“It’s amazing how they got all those pro heroes to dance nude as one of the main attractions this year.”

Katsuki grunted.

Yeah, he wasn’t paying attention at all.

You sighed, looking down at your own untouched food. You never should have agreed to come. At least this date was proving it to you. This had to end. The two of you didn’t know how to be a couple anymore. It was even clearer that Katsuki wasn’t even interested in trying. You had no idea why he wanted to have this date in the first place. Some bizarre sense of obligation? Maybe his heat had shaken him up enough that his omega needed the sense of normalcy? This issue was this wasn’t normal for the two of you anymore. It hadn’t been for a very long time. You sighed, glancing around for a trash can to oust you untouched dango.

A loud pop caused you to look up. The fireworks were about to start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bakugou looked up at the sound of the first firework.

“Wanna head to the pier?”

You nodded quietly, following him as he led the way. He was sweating so much now that if he set himself off he’d take out half the city.

This was it. It was almost time. The two of you were going to watch the fireworks from the out of the way pier like you had all those years ago. It was at the end of that fireworks show the two of you had had your first kiss. And this time… Well this time at the end of the show he was going to propose and you were going to say yes, and it was going to be perfect.

That is if he didn’t barf before you two got there.

“Hurry up,” he grunted as he picked up the pace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried not to flinch at Bakugou’s harsh tone. He clearly wanted to get this night over with even more than you did. You tried not to let it hurt.

The pier was empty as it always was. The lack of lighting keeping others away. The first time you had discovered it, it had felt hidden and intimate. Now it felt desolate. Lonely.

You walked up to the railing and stared at the sky. The fireworks didn’t feel magical anymore either. Your fingers wrapped around the railing as you glanced to the side. Bakugou wasn’t even looking up. He was staring at the reflections of flashes in the dark swirling water below.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

No more.

The fireworks illuminated you as your grip on the railing tightened until your knuckles turned white.

“Katsuki?”

“”What?” He asked roughly, barely glancing your way.

“Let’s break up.”

And that was Part 6, my darlings! Hope you're enjoying the drama, because there's more angst on the way! You can scream at me about the cliffhanger in replies, reblogs, tags or asks. :P

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @luajosephdun-blog, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness, @lonelyheart-clubband, @katsuki-cait, @moonwritters26, @animexholic, @kyrah-williams, @emilymikado, @wolvesblaxe360, @ficklemcselfish, @helena-way07, @fandomsaremylifesposts, @baby-bakuhoe, @sukeraa, l@ucypevensie11, @idk-sam, @katsuki-cait, @weirdestlove, @sasa-slayer, @anime-for-live, @kaidousimp, @bluesdustyflames, @vitheria, @milktea0208, @maristaymulti, @whatdidshesayyy, @memesbyeloise , @fandomsgotmefucked, @killmehe, @shy-panda02 Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I’d have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

#reader insert #bnha reader insert #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #reader insert angst #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #omegaverse #omega bakugou #alpha reader #multi part fic #denki #fake dating #fake engagement #part 6

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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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marvelmana · 4 years ago

Text

-Mumza goddess of death prompt

TW: suicide attempt

So after Wilbur's revival Dream with his God compex realizes that the power to bring people back to life isn't enough. So while Wilbur prepares to break Dream out of prison, Dream sits down to remember what more was in the revive book. His eyes shoot wide open as he remembers a short but powerful ritual to summon the goddess of death herself.

So after Wilbur breaks him out somehow. Wilbur and Dream are met by the rest of the SBI family. They didn't come together. Tommy came to stop Wilbur and maybe kill Dream. Techno and Phil just came to get Wilbur so Sam doesn't kill him. As always with this family they start arguing and Dream runs away. They follow him to the L'manhole where he manages to preform the full ritual to summon the goddess of death. Now all the others are terrified because they don't know what Dream did. All they know is that the nice and chill night suddenly became the worst storm they've ever experienced and a weird portal looking thing has started to form on the glass. Tommy starts yelling at Dream to stop. Philza aswell because Dream doesn't know what power he's messing with. Dream explains that he knows exactly what power he's messing with and tells them what or...rather who he has summoned. To Dream's surprise everyone but Tommy seems relived that he's summoning the goddess of death. Tommy's worried because he has no idea that he's the son of the goddess. Before any of them manages to say anything a dark figure emerges from the portal with dark wings as she flies up to the night sky. The wind that had made it hard to stay on your feet suddenly stops and the portal disapears. Dream does his evil laughter and then does his evil monologue but gets cut off by the goddess of death striking him down with one hand and pressuring her foot against his neck. Phil watches her and falls in love all over again. But before there can be a wholesome family reunion Tommy draws his sword out and points it at the goddess' neck.

"Who are you!? What do you want!?" He yells demanding answers.

The goddess melts at the sight of her youngest. He's so cute with that diamond sword, thinking he's so cool. When she doesn't answer Tommy gets frustrated and yells at the top of his lungs

"ANSWER ME!!!"

He was meant to intimidate the goddess but his yell only comes out as a broken cry. The goddess' heart breaks as she sees all the pain and frustration in her youngest son's eyes. There's something in his eyes that is not supposed to be there. There's something that's not meant to be seen in the eyes of a 16 year old. Before she can ask, Phil steps forward.

"It's been a long time, love" he says and takes off his hat.

The goddess smiles at her angel.

"About 16 years, but who's counting?" She jokes completely unbothered by the blade at her throat.

Then the twins comes in to have a small talk with their mother. None of them mentions that she's their mother. Tommy slowly takes away his sword and starts backing away. He takes one look at the unconscious green man by the goddess' feet and then at his brothers and father. This is their business. He should get going. He only gets a few steps away when one of his family members ask where he's going. He tells them that he's going home. The issue with Dream seems resolved and they're all busy with and old friend Tommy doesn't know. At first the goddess is confused as to why her youngest doesn't recognise her. But then again. When he left the end he was only a few months old. The twins had been just around 7. The goddess, who's name was Kristin smiles gently at Tommy and slowly walks up to him. She tells him that she's his mother. Tommy looks at his father and brothers who nods confirming. Normally you'd think Tommy would be excited to meet his mum. But when all his family has brought him is pain, he's not excited to see what a new family member who's also a goddess, can do. So he does the most rational thing he can think off. He runs. He runs with fear of his life. Tommy doesn't wanna die again. The mere thought terrifies him. So he runs, hoping to find someone to help him, anyone. Tubbo, Ranboo, Puffy hell he'd even take the help from Sam now. As he runs past his house he looks behind him to see 4 individuals chasing him. He starts screaming for help as he jumps out the edge by the bench with a water bucket in hand. Kristin who doesn't know Tommy's incredible skill with water MLGs panics and dives after him with her wings. She catches Tommy before he reaches the ground. Tommy starts squirming in her grip hoping to get away. Kristin tries to reassure him that she's got him. Tommy begs her not to hurt him. Telling her that he won't get in her way, that if she just lets him go she'll never have to see him again. Kristin feels as someone shot through her heart with an arrow. And she tells Tommy in what she thinks is a comforting voice, that she's never gonna let him go and that he's safe. Tommy's beyond terrified but lucky for him Tubbo and Ranboo is on a walk towards them. Tubbo and Ranboo immediately gets their armour on and orders Kristin to put Tommy down and that if she hurts him, she's gonna regret it. Kristin gets put off guard by the sudden company. Tommy uses that to his advantage and gets out of her grip and runs past Tubbo and Ranboo who's like protecting wall in front of him. Wilbur tells them to fuck off and that it's a family buisness. That just angers Tubbo even more.

"Family buisness!!!?" He yells almost in shock "You gotta be kidding me! Tommy just started healing after everything Dream did to him and after everything YOU did to him!! Why can't you just let him rest!?" Tubbo yells in anger

That's when Kristin's had enough. She demands an explanation and Tubbo just answers "I'm not gonna explain shit. Who do you think you are?" To which Krstin stretches out her wings and says in a lower tone

"I am the goddess of death. Protector of the end. And his mother" she says and looks at Tommy.

Tubbo and Ranboo looks back at Tommy who just shruggs. Because honestly he has no idea if it's true or not. But Tubbo and Ranboo decides to play along. They answer with a bit of attitude what has happened to Tommy since he came to this server. Everything from the disc war, to L'manbrug, to exile, to the egg trying to kill him and then celebrating his death, to what happened in the prison. After everything is explained the goddess of death is furious. She shoots up in the air and Phil has a very troubled face expression. When asked what's wrong he tells them.

"A father's rage is strong enough to conquer the world. But a mother's rage is stronger"

Kristin is mad at the server for driving her family apart and hurting her baby. So with the power within her she pulls up the egg and it's roots, along with the enire prison, Eret with his castle and Dream's unconscious body. The storm comes back, this time with thunder and rain. Tommy sees this and is terrified. But he's also worried about Eret. It's true he wronged him but Eret has changed.

"We gotta stop her!" Tommy yells.

"She's the goddess of death, you can't stop her!" Techno yells.

But it's no use. Tommy grabs Ranboo's trident. He launches himself in the air and jumps from bits of earth and structures in the air. His main focus is to help Eret out. Eret is ready for his doom. He knows he's not been the best person. But before that happens he hears someone call out his name. It's Tommy. Tommy gives Eret the trident and tells him to get out of here. He hears distant screams of the eggpire and the egg. Tommy doesn't care that much for the egg. But as annoying as Badboyhalo is with his no swearing rule, he's a good guy and Tommy do have good memories with the him. So with no trident Tommy jumps between the rising blocks to get to the people. He sees Dream's unconscious body and for a moment he thinks about it but then shakes his head. Dream is not his priority. Tommy doesn't see himself as a hero. But he's not one to simply watch someone die if he can do something about it. Tubbo knows this. He curses when Eret gets down on the ground and tells them what Tommy did for him. Tubbo looks to Ranboo who nods. He brings up a water splash potion and splashes himself. His eyes widen and a foreign language comes out of his mouth. Tubbo grabs ahold of his husband before he can teleport away without him. Ranboo has gone complete silent. If you can even call him Ranboo anymore. Tubbo has only seen Ranboo like this once. It was terrifying since the half enderman hybrid had been walking towards Tubbo's cabin in snowchester where Micheal was. Ranboo had been covered in water scars and yet he wasn't talking. Just calmly walking towards Micheal. Before he could get there though Ranboo collapsed and woke up with no memory of how he got to Tubbo's cabin. So now, on a floating piece of earth, in the eye of the storm Tubbo had to trust whatever this version of Ranboo was. He called for Tommy but got no response. Suddenly the foreign language comes out of Ranboo as he points with his free hand to some egg rootes. Tommy's jumping between the broken peices towards peoplenof the eggpire.

"Let's go and help that idiot out" Tubbo says and Ranboo teleports them behind Tommy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Tubbo yells which scares Tommy. He turns around and smiles at the sight of maybe the two only people he trusts.

"I could ask you the same!" He yells back to be heard over the load weather.

"We came to help you. Ranboo can you get those guys back on the ground!?" Tubbo yells

Ranboo doesn't say anything but when he teleports closer and grabs badboyhalo and Hannah Tubbo knows he got through to him. Tommy's confused at how strange Ranboo was acting. Ranboo's not much of a fighter but still here he was, standing tall. And how the hell can he teleport without enderpearls? Tommy decides that there's a better time to ask. Instead him and Tubbo keeps the rest of the eggpire safe. During that the egg starts speaking to Tubbo and Tubbo is obviously trying to shut it out but it's hurting him. So once Ranboo gets back Tommy is quick to push his best friend onto his husband and yell at Ranboo to get him to safety. Tubbo doesn't get a chance to object before he's suddenly on the ground again. He struggles against Ranboo and begs his husband to take him back. Tommy knows what's keeping Ranboo from coming back. He can see it. So instead of wasting time, he makes a waterfall with his only waterbucket and puts the rest of the eggpire in it. In his head he repeats the same three words over and over again "Please don't drown". When the people is as safe as they can be in a situation like this Tommy turns to his mother who has definitely grown a couple of feet. Tommy gulps and watches as Dream's body literally explodes in front of his mum's dark eyes.

"Hey!!" He yells and draws his sword again.

Kristin turns to see where the voice comes from and her gace immediately goes soft. But it turns confused when she can't see the rest of the wronguns.

"I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone else!" Tommy says with his blade in front of him

"The mortals needs to be taught a lesson. You'll come to understand when you're older. You're just a mere child" she says calmly

Tommy smirks. He may be young, but he's not stupid. Tommy knows the blade would do nothing to his mother. So he takes a deep breath and holds the sword against his own throat. He doesn't want this. But he won't let his mother hurt people because of him.

"I may be young! But I have seen wars, I have witnessed my best friend's execution, I have been exiled, I have been tortured and somewhat manipulated. I'm not a child anymore!!" He yells

"You wouldn't. I can see the fear in your eyes son. I can feel it. You don't want this" Kristin says but her voice is everywhere as she gets closer to her son.

"I am not a child. I'm a soldier without a mission. Which makes me desperate. So if I have to die to protect them that's something I'll have to do" Tommy says and stares at the eyes of the beast

"I would never hurt your fatber or brothers" Kristin reassures

"I wasn't talking about those idiots. Listen this place is a hell hole! And sometimes it's hard to get out of bed. But you know what!? It's my home. You've just killed the guy who were the source of my problems. You've done enough!!" Tommy yells and pushes the sword closer to his throat. He can feel it slowly digging into his skin. The goddess of death panics and does a quick movement with her finger and before Tommy knows it he's flying in the air, unable to move an inch. His sword is still in his hand but he can feel an invisable force trying to take it from him.

"Tommy. Drop it!" Kristin hisses

Tommy won't drop it. He could see the fear in her eyes once the blade was pressed against his throat. If he could just move his arm he could put the sword back at his throat. But he can't the force pulling away his sword is strong. But Tommy's always been a fighter. He actually manages to withstand the force but doesn't notice the goddess shrinking in sice and flying up to him to grab the sword herself. After taking the sword she throws it down and stares at her youngest. One thing's for sure, her family is not safe here.

Good ending: Tommy and the others talks Kristin down and she goes back to the end but visits every now and then

Bad ending: Kristin sees how much this place is hurting her baby and the rest of her family. So she takes them to the end where they can't leave. Phil would've been able to, if it wasn't for one of his wings being broken.

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talatomaz · 4 years ago

Text

fear | paige dineen x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i’ve been rewatching Scorpion lately and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. this is based around 3x17. it’s a criminally underrated show and so original. also this is the first fic i’ve written in months so, sorry if it’s shit /lh

warnings: mentions of death/coma

word count: 3.1k

masterlist | navigation | request rules

reader is paige’s 18 year old daughter and sometimes helps out team scorpion but when she inadvertently inhales poisonous fumes, she soon finds herself on the brink of death, hallucinating her deepest darkest fear

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Here.”

You said, placing a George Washington style hat on your younger brother’s head.

“Did you know that these are called tricorns and were referred to as-“

“Cocked hats? Yes, and they were worn not only by the aristocracy, but also as common civilian dress, and as part of military uniforms.”

You explained, interrupting Ralph as he stopped adjusting the hat and looked up at you with surprise.

“I was a history major, remember? You’re not the only one who knows things.” You joked, smiling when he did.

“So why am I wearing this tricorn?” Your genius brother asked.

“Well, you’ve got a history project due about Washington and what better way to understand his actions than by getting into his persona and pretending to be him?”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Toby.” Ralph smirked.

“Hey!”

You and your brother turned to face Happy and Toby who had just entered the garage.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a world-class behaviourist.”

“Shut it, doc.” Happy said, but there was no malice in her words.

“Where’s everyone?”

“Mum and Walter went out somewhere and Cabe’s with Allie at Sly’s desk because Sly’s asleep and drooling over himself.”

“Ew.” You said, replying to your brother.

As Happy and Toby left to find Cabe, you and Ralph continued discussing George Washington. You were both interrupted when you heard your mother’s voice.

“Morning!”

Yours and Ralph’s faces lit up when you saw she was holding a bag from Fro-Yo-Ma. Ever since Walter had got himself banned after a petty argument with the manager about a loyalty card which resulted in him having a black eye, you had all been unable to attend the establishment.

You smiled when an idea formed in your head and faced your brother once more,

“Hey, how about we sneak up to Mum whilst she’s distracted and grab our fro-yos?”

Ralph nodded in agreement and you both cautiously approached your mum who was busy telling the team that the frozen treats were for after lunch. As you both flanked your mother, you glanced over at Ralph and gave him a slight nod. Then you grabbed a tub each and began to sneak away as quietly as you came but your Mum looked at you both in confusion.

“Quick. Run, Ralph.”

Ignoring your mother’s laugh, you took a hold of Ralph’s free hand and ran back to the corner of garage you were studying in.

“I got to stop leaving them with you people.” Paige said.

Halfway through eating the frozen yogurt, you heard Cabe announce that Scorpion had a case.

Like your Mum, you weren’t a genius but you did help Scorpion anytime they were down a member, especially now since Toby had said he’d stay back to help Ralph with his project.

You were a little hurt that Ralph welcomed his help more-so than yours, despite you being the History expert, but nonetheless, you brushed it off and gathered your things to join the team’s trip to Greenland.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Arriving at the Granse World Seed Vault, you tugged at the lapels of your winter coat, trying to keep some of the warmth in you which was a large feat considering you were stuck in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere.

The winds, that could only be described as gusting, blew through your hair, further obstructing your view as you entered the building.

Moving the hair from your face, you shivered and looked up to see that the vault was desolate.

“Well, now we know why nobody ever comes out here.” Sly stated.

You all watched as Walter failed to use the key card resulting in Happy jump starting the generator using the battery from the snowcat you travelled in.

Then you all split up to go and complete your tasks.

Your Mum and Walter remained at the entrance whilst Happy started to repair the generator, Cabe went to the breakroom, Sly went to the server room and you went to find the operations centre to locate the power conduit which you needed to switch off and on again.

The dark hallway you were in suddenly brightened meaning Happy had managed to fix one of the power sources. You let out a breath of relief; you didn’t exactly welcome the idea of wandering around a pitch black vault alone where no one had been for almost a year.

You then began to cough as the vents let out some sort of yellow dust. The smell was putrid, almost making you heave.

“God, that smell is awful. So much for this being an antiseptic facility.” You groaned.

“Well, this facility self-purifies its air, but the system's been down for days, so the seeds have decayed a bit, the vents are just stirring up seed dust.” Walter said through your comms.

“Speaking of stirring up, I can only imagine what kind of trouble is being stirred up in the garage. I worry about his maturity level.”

“Mum, don’t worry. Ralph’s the most mature person I know.”

“Oh honey, I know. I was talking about Toby.”

You snickered to yourself and then stopped when you realised you’d found the Ops Centre.

“Guys, I figured out what caused the surge.”

You listened as Sly’s voice crackled through your comms.

After he had finished explaining, you spoke, “So the whole place went dark because the programmers forgot to synchronize their watches?”

“Right! But if I can get the operating system's clock lined up with Finland's, then I'll have this fixed.”

Sylvester paused for a brief moment and when he spoke again, his voice came out in a panicked whisper.

“Is anyone else getting a weird vibe? Like...like we're not alone?”

“Hey, Sly. It’s okay. Just breathe.” You said calmly before telling him to follow your breathing pattern to regulate his own.

“Good job, y/n. Sly, everything’s going to be fine. Fix the server’s clock and we’ll be out of here soon.”

You smiled at your mother’s praise and went to find the panel switch.

You enjoyed working with your Mum, loving the fact that you got to spend more time with her since starting University. But sometimes, you found yourself feeling...lonely because most of your Mum’s attention was focused on Ralph and the rest of the team.

You understood Ralph, in the broadest of terms, that was. You loved him as much as your mum and you knew her looking after Scorpion was her job but it still hurt you because you didn’t have anything in common with the rest of them.

THUD

You jumped when the door behind you slammed shut.

“Mum? I’m locked in.” You shouted out worryingly.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Our blast doors are locked too.” Your Mum said, her voice calming you with every word.

“The vault prioritizes keeping seeds safe so it must go into lockdown when it's most vulnerable, i.e. a reboot. So the doors will open in 40 minutes when the reboot is done. Everything is fine.”

Walter explained before you winced at the shriek that came through on your comms.

“Sly, what the hell?” You yelled, rubbing your ear, as if trying to sooth the pain.

“They’re in here. They’re in here.” The genius repeated as your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Sly, what’s going on?”

“Sylvester, do you copy?”

“Sly!”

You all started to shout in concern, scared for Sly’s safety, before stilling when the latter’s screams fell quiet.

“I was right. I’m not alone. It’s chickens!”

How the hell had chickens got into the seed vault? You thought to yourself.

“Hey guys. I didn’t want Sly to hear us.” Toby said.

You figured your Mum must have called him and patched him through to your comms.

You all listened as Toby explained how Sly was suffering from a psychotic break but when he commented on some yellow dust, he realised that you had all breathed in seed fungus that affected the fear centre in your brain.

You started to get even more concerned when it became apparent that Happy and Cabe were hallucinating but you were shamefully relieved that the ergot spores hadn’t affected you. You weren’t sure you wanted to experience your darkest fear, especially when you were surrounded by your Mum and the team.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Mum. I’m not seeing or hearing anything.” You reassured her, hearing her sigh of relief.

“Okay, thank god. We’ll get you out soon enough, okay, sweetie?”

You blinked, turning around when you heard your mother’s voice behind you.

“Y/N?” Paige said through your comms.

But you just blinked again, because you could see your Mum in front of you and you couldn’t distinguish the look on her face.

“Mum, what’s wrong?” You said.

“What? Nothing’s wrong. Toby. Walt. What’s happening?” Paige said frantically.

“Y/N must have inhaled the ergot too and she’s now trapped in her false reality.” Toby explained.

“We got to get her out of there, Walter.”

Paige said, near tears, before falling silent as she watched you on the security camera. She saw you sit on a chair and converse with an imaginary Paige.

“Mum, what did I do? I’m sorry.” You said, tears forming in your eyes at your mother’s words.

“I told you, I don’t love you. Scorpion is my family. They’re geniuses and you’re not.”

“Mum, please.” Your voice broke, as you started to plead with her.

“I-I can’t watch this. I need to get her out of there. Y/N, listen to me. I am here!”

Paige ran up to the blast doors and started to bang on the reinforced steel. Her attempts, however, were futile, because she knew that the doors wouldn’t open until you, Cabe, Happy and Sly had completed your tasks.

“Paige, you have to keep it together.” Toby said.

“No, my daughter is living her worst fear and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“I know. I want to help Happy too. But we can’t until we figure out what psychological baggage the fungus is unpacking.”

“And we might need to hurry because Sly is getting unsure of foot.”

Walter said as Paige returned to his side to see Sly having trouble keeping his balance.

“God, we need to get them out of there. The exposure seems extensive which means their blood vessels are being constricted, especially in the brain meaning-“

“Less blood flow. And less blood flow means less oxygen. And less oxygen means...coma.” Walter finished solemnly.

“We have to talk them lucid so they can finish their tasks. I’ll take Happy. Walt, you take Cabe. Ralph, you have your work cut out for you with Sly. And Paige-“

“I’ll help y/n. Y/N? Y/N, honey, if you can hear me, I need you to flip the switch on the panel next to you. Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“I’m sorry, Mum. Please don’t yell. What did I do wrong?”

“I told you, you’re just not special so why should I waste my time with you?”

“Please, Mum. I’m sorry I’m not special enough. I’m sorry I’m not smart like everyone else. Please don’t send me away.”

Paige’s heart broke as she watched you cry on her screen.

“Y/N, I love you so much. You are special. I love you.” Paige cried, tears dropping down her face.

“Toby, it’s not working. I can’t get through to y/n!”

“Ralph and I may have come up with another idea. You need to go back to the point when these fears started and attack that seminal moment.”

“Okay, so she’s talking about not being smart enough. I can only guess that this started when I joined the team. Y/N? Baby, can you hear me?”

Paige’s voice softened as she spoke to you once more.

“Yes, Mum?” You replied, sniffling as your tears continued to fall down your face.

“Oh, honey. Just because you’re not a genius like the rest of these guys, doesn’t mean you’re not special.”

“But I’m not.”

“Y/N, yes, you are. You’ve been special since the moment you were born. Since the moment I first held you in my arms. You’re my baby, y/n. You are special in your own way.”

Your Mum grabbed your hand and held them to her heart.

“You feel that?”

“Y-Your heartbeat?” You asked, feeling the light repetitive beating under your palm.

“Yes. My heartbeat. More importantly, my heart. You are my heart, y/n. You have been for 18 years. I grew up with you. You made me into the person I am today. The person I am now. I love you so much.”

“Yes, you’re not as smart as Ralph or Walter or the rest of the team but neither am I. Y/N, you are bright, intelligent. You are twice the person I am. You care so much about everyone. Your heart is beautiful.”

Your mother gently dropped your hand in her lap and lifted her own to cradle your face.

“That’s what makes you special.” She moved to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Now, y/n. I’m already so proud of you but I need you to do one thing for me. I need you to turn the switch in front of you off and on again.”

Paige held her breath as she and Walter watched you slowly stand up on your shaky legs and walk over to the panel that had the power conduit switch attached to it.

“Done.” Your voice echoed on the security monitor.

“Good girl.”

“I’m kinda sleepy, Mum. I’m just going to take a quick nap.” Your voice quietened as you lay down on the floor.

“Uh, Toby. Y/N flipped the switch but she’s really sleepy and I can’t get her to wake up.”

“Oh god, Happy, Sly and Cabe are out too. They’re in comas. They need medical assistance stat or they will die.”

“Walter.” Paige whispered, unable to speak any louder due to fear of losing you.

“We can synthesize a treatment!”

Toby then explained the different seeds they needed to mix together to make the medicine whilst Ralph hacked the vault’s database to locate them.

Once Paige and Walter had manufactured oxygen tubes out of PVC pipes, they hastily made their way to the vault before stopping when they saw you unconscious on the ground.

Paige ran to your side, still holding her breath, and quickly checked for a pulse, relaxing slightly when she felt it, albeit it was weak, but it was still there. She ran her thumb against your cheek in a gentle caress and then followed Walter to the vault, passing the others, also unconscious, on their way.

Easily finding the required seeds, the duo made the medicine oil but when a chemical fire broke out, Walter stayed to put it out whilst Paige ran to give the oil to the rest of you.

She found Cabe first, then Happy and Sly. Once she had rendered them conscious, she ran off in pursuit of the Operations Centre where you were.

Carefully but quickly, she lifted your head to rest against her leg as she poured the oil beneath your tongue.

“Come on, sweetie. Wake up. Open your eyes. Please, God.” She murmured to herself.

You opened your eyes with some difficulty, wincing at the light above you.

“Mum? What happened?” You groaned, sitting up.

“Thank God, you’re okay. I thought I’d lost you.”

Ignoring your question, your Mum gathered you in her arms and hugged you tight against her.

“I love you so much, y/n.”

Hugging her back, you rested your head against the crook of her neck, “I love you too.”

“Guys, come on, we gotta go.”

You both looked up to see Happy standing at the door. With the help of your Mum, you stood up and she then grabbed your hand and you all ran back to the entrance.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

You had all safely arrived back home and managed to make it in time for Sly’s debate.

You sat in the chair next to Happy, slowly falling asleep, exhausted from the ordeals of the day.

Soon after you’d left the Vault and were on your way home, the grogginess of the poisonous fungus had fully left your system, allowing you to remember your hallucination. You’d barely said more than two words on the plane ride home, unsure of the right words to say to your Mum who had undoubtedly heard your fear.

“Hey, sweetie. Stay awake for a little while longer. We’re going home. Sly’s going to look after Ralph tonight.”

Your mother said, resting her hand on your shoulder to rouse you. You nodded in response and got up, following her to her car.

Similar to the plane, the car ride was silent. Not necessarily an awkward silence, but it was far from comfortable. You felt the constant glances your Mum gave you as she drove on the quiet roads. You noticed her lips part a few times too, as if she was about to say something but then stopped herself at the last moment.

Arriving home, your Mum unlocked the door and you made a beeline to your bedroom to get changed into your nightie. As you laid in your bed, you heard a soft knock on your door.

Inviting your Mum in, you saw she had changed too. She sat on your bed, the lamp providing some light in the room.

“Honey, can we talk?”

Not waiting for an answer, she got into the bed beside you and rested against the headboard.

“I want to talk about what happened earlier.”

There was no need for her to clarify what she meant.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, y/n, we do. It broke my heart to see you cry today. And it hurt even more to hear that I was the reason why. I’ve never ever wanted to cause you any pain and the fact that I was a part of your deepest fear just-“

When her voice faltered, you looked up to see quiet tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Mum, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for. I’m sorry that you felt like you weren’t special. But I meant what I said back there. You are special in your own way. Yes, I love you and Ralph in different ways but you mean so much to me. I’m surrounded by geniuses all the time, and frankly, it gets tiring. So I’m glad I have you. You bring me back down to Earth. You’re my heart and soul, y/n.”

Not knowing the right words to say, you simply lay your head against your mother’s chest and hugged her close.

“I love you, Mum.”

“I love you too, baby. I always have and I always will.”

Soon enough, both of your tears stopped and you fell asleep in her arms, her hands gently stroking your hair as she cradled you against her.

You may not have been a genius but you were smart enough to realise that no matter what, your Mum would always love you.

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zwiezraczek · 5 years ago

Text

Criminal - Chapter 2

Billy (viliain) x Female reader (cop)

Prologue/Chapter 1 - CHAPTER 2: He is a loser, he's a bum CHAPTER 3

SUMMARY: You always wanted to become a police officer. And you became one of them, brilliantly and they offered you your first case. “The Ghosts” case. The case of fleeting people and one sneaky bastard parkouring around the town to annoy you. You swore to yourself to catch him them.

WORDS: 2 k

NOTE: So here we are with chapter 2! I’ll try to upload a new chapter every Thrusday, wish me luck for this haha! I hope you’ll like this whole series! 💕

TAGLIST: (leave a comment to be a part of it!)

You had a long day, probably the longest day since a very long time. But you were happy. Happy because you had found a flaw in their code, and you exploited it fully. You smirked as you looked at the ceiling of your room while laying on your matters. Your cat purring onto your ear as you scratched his head while thinking about how well your plan went.

They were up to something lately, you noticed an unusual rate of apparitions in illegal servers that you hoped were theirs. And you were absolutely right. Your informatics team was made of geniuses, and if you could you would kiss each and every one of them on their cheek thanks or because of the work they did, geniuses that had helped you a countless number of times. They managed to infiltrate their group chat, without being kicked out, unnoticed. A victory you wanted to celebrate as it should be and you were so thrilled that you began to move from one foot to another while the messages were flashing up on the big screen they settled for this reunion. You couldn't help but smile as you saw them, your Ghosts speaking. It was almost like spying on old friends, looking for them, looking for the smallest error they would make in order to catch them. To have them under control. Finally, after years of work.

You knew them, you knew how they spoke from the times you had managed to get into their conversations, and from the data you had somehow gathered. Seeing them in action, typing live while you were watching them was priceless. You could feel all the emotions overwhelming you at once, a wave of happiness and adrenaline.

One: Four, you managed to find the plans of this building?

Four: Yup found them

Currently working on the outside of the building

This is some shitty building with a shitty architecture

Not made for parkour :(

Two: Whatever, we don't need to know what you properly think about the building. We need to know if you will be able to handle this.

Four: You doubt me? :(

Two: Should I?

Four: Mean :(

Seven: If I can add something, the building next to the one we're “attacking” is perfect for me

One: You can take the inverted commas back because we're attacking this building

Three: Yeah motherfuckers!

Two: If the only thing you have to say here is “motherfuckers” you can just shut up Three.

Three: Ooooh, Two isn't happy :*

Two: If you continue, I swear to God, I'm going to kill you this Sunday.

Five: Can we please focus? ^^'

One: A person that is FINALLY interested in the mission

Three you're sure we have no cop on our back?

Three: Apparently we're safe now

Four: So bad

I love teasing the cute cops :(

Five: You'll have plenty of time to tease them on Sunday ^^

Four: Right

One: You want some coffee? Pastries? Maybe you want to be left alone in this chat?

I mean WE'RE NOT PREPARING ANYTHING BIG ARE WE?

Five: Sorry One... ^^'

Four: Whatever

Let's talk about real shit

Seven: When Four's in that mood I'm always a bit scared because it means that this mission's going to be batshit

Two: Exactly. Batshit as you say.

A giggle almost escaped from your lips as you had access to all the information you needed to gather a unit. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look as professional as possible while you were burning inside. This case began to be interesting again. You were about to capture them. All of them. Especially Four. You never truly forgot how he had treated you during your first encounter, a few years ago when you managed – with some luck – to catch a glimpse of who they really were. You saw his grin under his dark hoodie before he began to run away from you as you truly couldn't do anything. You couldn't shoot him, you stood there, your hands holding the gun with your fingers on the trigger. One gunshot. In the air. But he didn't stop. And you wanted so badly to beat him up, this cocky bastard. And you let him go, without doing anything.

But not this time, you thought scratching your cat's head.

~~~~

It was two in the afternoon. The sun was high in the sky, and beads of sweat were running down your temple. You were all suited up for the great occasion, almost in a hazmat suit, wearing a bulletproof jacket weighting almost a ton and a large helmet, in one hand a gun – how much you wanted to shoot to scare them again – and in the other a walkie-talkie to give further instructions to the guys with you.

You were leading this operation, but you couldn't stay out of it as any other head of the operation would: you had to face them. To catch them. To finally beat them. A movement. Somebody informed you about movement on the East side. Seven or Four. Five should be already inside the building, One shouldn't be anywhere near, however Three must have been near in a car, waiting for them in any case – in case you would try to catch them. Two was the wild card, and probably the one that would save their asses if something went wrong: she wasn't ready to face you. Absolutely not. Movement at the entrance, a tall woman entering the building with a fur-coat. Two or Five, you thought. Another movement on the East side. You were sure about it: it was Four. Right when one of your men spotted some agitation inside the building, you launched your troops inside. It was now or never, and having at least one of them would under your wing would help you a lot.

You rushed your troops inside, leaving the lead of a smaller unit to Jake as you took another unit with you to the roof – secretly hoping that you would catch Four, that you would succeed this time. Slowly, without any noise, you walked towards the doors opening them with great caution as the men behind you watched your back. You felt adrenaline rushing through your veins and your heart beat faster and faster with every footstep. And when you opened the door, you saw them. Two faces looking at you, one tall blond and the other small brunette. This was Four, and the woman was either Five or Two.

“Shit,” Four exclaimed before beginning to run in the opposite direction to his partner.

“Split,” you yelled pushing your teammates towards the woman who might have been their weakest point if caught. Without a doctor, they would be screwed. “I'll fucking catch you, Four,” you then muttered under your breath as you began to run after him.

He swiftly began to jump from one platform to another, sometimes looking above his shoulder to make sure that he had lost you. No he didn't. How much you regretted that you couldn't shoot properly while running after him, and stopping would be a waste of some precious time knowing how agile he was. You cursed as he began to hide between the boxes of the backroom – why the hell had they chosen this particular place? You had to properly scan it, now you knew it was an important place. Shit, shit, shit.

As he began to hide, you went up where you last saw him. A bit shaky and unsteady, you began to walk on the platforms, between the various boxes and other things you'd then have plenty of time to look at. You heard some movement on your left, and turned around almost immediately, but before you could actually thing or do anything Four was there. Right next to you. You felt his strong arm pushing you towards the edge of the platform, with a smirk on his face as he looked you right in the eye.

“Have a nice fall, lovebird,” he said and you could only widen your eyes before falling and hitting the ground. You felt dizzy, and slowly you closed your eyes.

~~~~

Fantastic, he thought as he saw you fall. He couldn't yet know if he said that sarcastically or not. This mission had become a lot harder since the cop girl decided to join the fight, he thought before jumping down, right next to you. He had found you funny, since your very first encounter a few years ago, right at the beginning of the case and when he teased you a lot. He still remembered that moment, when you went all red from what he had said and lost all composure, which made you miss him with your bullet.

And then he knew he couldn't let you escape from his teasing.

The whole squad was always annoyed when you tried to infiltrate their conversations, their exchanges and information and Four was the only one to get excited when Three mentioned you. The cute cop. He liked that particular nickname that he had given you, and used it as much as possible to talk about the cop in charge of their case. It made all sound way less dramatic than it was, because deep inside, he knew that you weren't just cute, but also smart and you had proven that on that day. He was impressed, as he circled around you, looking at your face behind the helmet you wore, still unconscious.

He couldn't believe that you had infiltrated their information chatroom, and that you had put on a trap on them. A failed one, but still a surprising one. He crouched down, right next to you before taking your jaw into his palm. Through the glass, he saw your eyes closed and some mist. You were alive, thank God. The last thing he wanted was to add a cop kill on his record – even if, he had to admit it, the way he pushed you was really classy. He sighted while looking at you, you never learned your lesson then, he thought right after.

“You're such a complete disaster,” he groaned before scooping you off the ground almost like a feather. “Like, holly hell, how does anyone let you out their sight! Stop picking fight with people you aren't ready for!” He stated for you, or more to himself he couldn't tell as he pulled you towards one of the entrances of the backroom, hoping that right there one of your colleagues would find you quickly and bring you to the hospital if needed – but clearly he knew you wouldn't be that bad.

You apparently were as stubborn as he was. And seeing you all alone chasing him made Four smile. You looked nothing like a badass cop, he saw you the first time without all of this masquerade clothing, you looked frail and gentle. Nothing hinting that you would be such pain in the ass for the whole squad. You had to be big to be able to go alone chasing one of them, leaving the rest of the troop chasing Five – he hoped that Seven took care of them to protect her. All of that seemed pretty funny to him, a little lady like you being the big boss and the big brain of the operation. That was a nice change from the cops he used to deal with.

Suddenly, he saw that you began to delicately move your head, slowly coming back to the world of the living and he smirked again. He had won, another time. But he knew it wasn't the last time he was about to see you. And he couldn't wait to do what he intended from a very long time, but thinking that you were just an average cute cop who would never find them he thought it would be stupid. But now, he knew you were worthy of his attention.

Absolutely.

#ben hardy #four x reader #four/billy #four!ben #six underground #six underground ben hardy #6 underground #6 underground ben hardy #police au

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ironhusband · 5 years ago

Text

The Golden Rule

I’m a new writer to this ship, so if you have suggestions or comments I would gladly accept them.

~~~

Tony had been in love with Rhodey since he was 15.

It wasn’t love at first sight. He graduated from boarding school at 14, and his dad wasted no time in sending him to college the second he got him. When he walked into the room, his roommate wasn’t there yet. ‘Good,’ he thought. His last roommate from boarding school was a nightmare. When Rhodey appeared at the dorms, he didn’t expect anything different. When Rhodey hung up his military posters, one of Captain America, Tony sneered and didn’t expect anything different. When Rhodey found out he was Howard Stark’s son, he didn’t expect anything different. But Rhodey was different.

It was also love at first sight. It was love at the moment Tony woke up, his head aching, his memories of the past night wiped and his eyes begging to be closed again. It was love with his eyes landing on the beautiful brown, slightly mad but mostly concerned eyes belonging to Rhodey. He asked Tony who gave him alcohol. Tony told him he didn’t know. Rhodey said nothing and asked him if he had a hangover food or if this was his first time. Tony didn’t say anything, so Rhodey got him eggs and bacon.

Tony was chowing down his eggs when he whispered, “why are you nice to me? I haven’t been nice to you.”

“You’re just a kid,” Rhodey said, “you need protection.”

That was when he really met Rhodey. When he first got to know Rhodey. The first he wasn’t just a face he would rather avoid. The first time the sound of his voice sent butterflies to his stomach. In that way, it was love at first sight.

As Tony and Rhodey grew up, they became closer. They became friends. Rhodey was a little of a Captain America fanboy, just like Tony once was. It was annoying, but after Tony tired him out with all the stories his father used to tell him, Rhodey took down the poster and Tony felt a little victory. They stayed up late and talked about everything and nothing. They helped each other with homework, and Tony felt it was nice to have someone equal to him in robotics. Rhodey is the one that taught Tony that getting into trouble could sometimes be fun if it was meaningless pranks they did on people they hated or hacking into servers that he shouldn’t be hacking into (which was how Tony learned he could never get in trouble and his family had its perks). Tony didn’t want to come home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, and that was how Tony met Rhodey’s family that sort of adopted Tony.

Sometimes, when he thought Rhodey wasn’t looking, he would stare. Because he felt lucky to have Rhodey. Even if he was just a friend that didn’t see Tony as anything more.

Tony graduated two years before Rhodey did, but he didn’t leave. He asked Rhodey if he wanted to keep living together. Rhodey looked at him like he knew why he really wanted to stay (with pity. Tony doesn’t know if it was because Rhodey knew or thought Tony wanted to stay away from his family). Rhodey was gone half the time, and Tony busied himself with work, but it was about the same as it always was. Late-night talks, seeing Rhodey’s family, loving him but never doing anything about it.

Rhodey was drafted two years later.

“It’s just basic training,” Rhodey promised, but Tony could hear the “for now”. Rhodey was about done with the training when Tony turned 21. He promised Tony he would come home and celebrate Tony’s birthday the proper way; with getting drunk.

He kept his promise. Tony doesn’t know how gone they were, but he would forever treasure the fact that he wasn’t blackout drunk. He wouldn’t remember the way Rhodey looked at him when he told him he was beautiful and gently pressed his lips against Tony’s otherwise.

(Tony remembers a girl at a bar hitting on him the year Rhodey was in basic training. She was smart and pretty, but Tony just couldn’t. She didn’t judge. She just asked, “what’s the matter?” and then teased, “saving yourself?” And Tony almost slipped up and said yes.)

The next day Tony had to go back to the military.

“Stay just a minute more,” he begged.

Rhodey looked at him sadly, “Tony, they only let me go back to... well, they let me go back to say goodbye. I’m being drafted. For real. I’m leaving in two hours. I have to go now.”

Tony was shocked, “how would you not tell me this?” He crossed his arms, and his mood was crossed as well.

“I didn’t want you to worry.

Tony’s heart was breaking. Rhodey always wanted to protect him. He wanted to protect him so badly, it backfired. He wanted to protect him so badly when Rhodey was the one that needed protection. Tony scoffed, “stop. That’s no excuse. We both knew you just didn’t want me to stop you.”

Rhodey laughed, “Tony, you aren’t god. You can’t stop this.”

“I can!” Tony insisted, “I can. I can tell my dad to put you in a different position. He has ties in the military. He could have threatened not to send them weapons anymore. Hell, I could have hacked into the servers. But you told me at the last minute when I could do nothing because you know how I would feel about this.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything. Tony wanted to cry. He didn’t want this to be his last memory of Rhodey. He wanted him to stay. To have a life with him. Far away from his family and the military and everything else that can be thrown in their faces. His heart didn’t thump in heartbeats, just the phrase “I love you”. It was telling him what words he should tell Rhodey. But he couldn’t.

Rhodey didn't say anything. He just kissed Tony. A long kiss. Let Tony melt in his arms, let him break down in his arms, let him babble whatever he wanted in his arms. Neither of them said it. But they both knew it.

~~~

Rhodey didn’t die. A year passed, and they sent letters to one another. Rhodey told him about everywhere he flew to, Tony told him about all the traveling abroad to study he was doing. They weren’t any decelerations of love, although Tony longed for them. They didn’t talk about the night they spent together, although it was all that Tony thought about writing to Rhodey.

But Rhodey promised he would come back to him. Rhodey told him that he missed him. Rhodey told him about all his plans for them. Rhodey told him about his friends teasing him about the letters. Tony hoped all the things he wrote, his quips about missing Rhodey too, about how much he could fit in where Tony was, about how the guys were just jealous of what they had, Tony hoped he did the same to Rhodey, as Rhodey did for him.

But then his parents died. Rhodey was there for him at the funeral. He could bury his head in Rhidey’s shoulder and just breathe in his scent, not think about all his confusing emotions, his guilt and regret, his hate and missing closure, his grief and sadness. He could not think about how he wasn’t missing his parents, but also missed them too much.

After the funeral, Rhodey bought Tony a cheeseburger. He held Rhodey’s hand hesitatingly as he drove them home. Rhodey swiped his thumb over his hand reassuringly.

“I’m getting a promotion,” Rhodey told him, “I’m moving back here.”

“Oh,” Tony said. He wanted to be happy for Rhodey, and he was happy, but those days, he was too empty to feel anything. “That’s great. I’m happy for you. It would be great to have you again.”

“I think we shouldn’t be together,” Rhodey blurted out.

That caught Tony’s attention. “What?”

Rhodey sighed, “Tony, I...” he trailed off, “you know how I feel about you. And if you don’t, just know that I... I do feel for you. But I know my career can be compromised by all this, and yours too. I mean, you’ll be taking over SI now...”

It was the first time since he heard the news of his parents dying that tears rose in his eyes. He didn’t cry in the funeral, but he did over Rhodey messing with his heart. “no, Rhodey, don’t do this to me. I waited so long for you. You can’t throw this away.”

Rhodey cupped Tony’s face in his hands, “please don’t cry because of me.”

Tony didn’t stop crying.

Rhodey didn’t want to see that so he closed his eyes and put his forehead against Tony’s.

“I’m sorry...” he sounded choked up, “at least we had that night.”

Yeah. At least they had that night.

~~~

Tony had many more lovers after that. They were all just for one night too, but not because Tony didn’t want to stay.

There was Maria, who reminded him of his mother, and not just because she had her name. It was because her kind nature could warm Tony’s cold loveless heart and her cooking was pretty good. She seemed to care more than his mother, though, and Tony knew he would just disappoint her.

There was Trey. He was shy for a bartender but could hold a conversation good enough (better than most). His drink mixing skills weren’t that good, but the guy was new at the job, so Tony thought he would give him a lesson. He gave him a look when the lesson was simply the phrase “no matter what anyone asks give them a scotch.” At least it was a lesson to remember.

There was Eve, who he met at eve. Her tongue was sharp and honest, and she liked betting against Tony. It was a good decision since Tony was a horrible gambler and he had lots of cash. By the end of the night, Eve was 600 dollars richer. Although Tony would never have expected his pick up lines to work on her, they did, but her attraction didn’t mean she still took from Tony what she wanted (his watch was also stolen the next morning. He kept her note and never pressed charges).

There was Vic. Tony didn’t know if it was his full name, but that’s what it said on his identification card. They couldn’t communicate with each other since Vic spoke Japanese and Tony didn’t, but his words and sometimes his silence ran deep in Tony. He left the next morning but learned Japanese for him.

And of course, there was Maya. Maya who was smart, probably more than him at the subject she studied. Maya who listened when people talked to her, but was also one hell of a talker. Maya who didn’t take his bullshit but also laughed at his jokes and made her own.

All of them, he thought about staying for them. For some, he almost stayed. But he never actually stayed. He never broke his golden rule: “we had that night.”

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shadows-twilight · 5 years ago

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RWBY Volume 7 Chapter 8

My various thoughts and opinions on Chapter 8 of RWBY Volume 7, "Cordially Invited"

SPOILERS BELOW:

Aww, they included Oscar in the team meeting. That's good.

The classical music that plays when the squad is rolling up to Schnee Manor. I swear I've heard it before, I just can not remember where.

Oh. My God. The hood ornament on Ironwood's car is the RWBY Rex. I thought we'd never see it again. That's it, pack it up! This is officially the best episode of the volume! We're done here!

I think I'm repeating the opinion of most of the FNDM when I say that it's a shame no one got dressed up for the occasion. I mean, I understand making all new designs and models for everyone would have going a bit above and beyond, but come on, we could have at least one of Team RWBY in a suit. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

The joke was funny and all but...what cameras are we talking about?

You know, after my first time watching through, I'm all for jumping on the "protect Whitley" wagon, but...god, does his attitude still get on my nerves.

Aww, I was so looking forward to seeing our favorite 7 Dwarves. I hope he's doing well wherever he is.

While the 2d renders in Volume 4 were absolutely breathtaking, it is quite nice to see Schnee Manor rendered in it's full 3D glory. Ok, there is no way in hell anyone can convince me that Qrow wasn't just flirting with Clover just now. I mean, the only way it could have been more blatant is if one of them had winked at the other at the end.

Oh thank goodness. I was afraid that they wouldn't address Qrow's alcoholism properly after the card game scene, so it was nice to see them address it here. It was a small scene, to be sure, but an effective one nonetheless.

I am slightly disappointed that we didn't get to follow Vine and Elm's evening. I'm getting that it would have had quite a great deal of entertainment value.

Whitley, buddy, I am trying really hard to feel for you right now, but for the love of god, could you kindly fuck right off.

I must say, Robyn being a part of this meeting was not something I saw coming.

Can somebody please give Penny a hug? I really think Penny could use a hug.

I usually reserve this for Nora, but today I think I just might widen the net a little. JNR, please never change.

Funny, usually people T-pose to assert dominance. In Whitley's case, I can't help but feel that it's having the opposite effect. On the plus side, pink is a surprisingly good color on him. He should consider dying his hair.

Wow. I had no clue the first time around that was Chad James voicing the Councilman. Dude's got some impressive range.

Ok, is it even possible for Jacques to drop the condescending tone? I mean, talking like that, the council has to recognize that he's up to something, right? Surely they're not that dumb...right?

Ooh, I like the way Robyn was looking at Winter when she snapped. I'm not sure exactly what it means, but I look forward to it being explored later.

Wow. There is a lot to unpack in that photo gallery. First and foremost, is that Nicholas Schnee? I guess when you're based on Santa Claus, the glorious beard is practically compulsory, but uh, is that the Arma Gigas armor he's wearing?

The sad thing is, that's probably the nicest thing anyone's told that server all night.

Oh my goodness, Willow Schnee. At long last, we finally get to meet her. I must say, she's quite beautiful. Side note, there's another one for the Fullmetal Alchemist Alumni Bingo Board, because she's voiced by Caitlin Glass, aka, Winrey Rockbell!

I absolutely love this conversation between Winter an Penny. I've seen a lot of people headcanon that the two of them managed to form something resembling a friendship since they became part of the same squad, and I can definitely see hints of that here. It's clear that Winter sees Penny as more than just a robot, and they both seem to care about each others' feelings. It's just really nice to see these two have a proper personal moment outside of those that they usually have them with (like Ruby or Weiss) and just...be there for one another. I must say, I flat out adore our first impression of Willow in this scene. On one hand, she's distant, and distracted. It seems to take her a minute to realise who she's talking to, or where she even is (it took her a minute to question Weiss was in her dad's office, and needs Weiss to remind her that Weiss left). She truly does seem to be a shadow, or shell of the woman she used to be. And yet, whatever spark that was there before, it still seems to be there. The way she acts and talks throughout this scene, I can see the trace embers of somebody who was once intelligent, and fierce, and just...strong. I see a semblance of strength left in her, even if it's been chipped away and buried between the years of abuse and addiction. I get the impression that in her prime, this woman was a force of nature, and I think there's a shadow of it still there. Somewhere in there is somebody that wants to fight back, she just...doesn't quite have the strength to do so.

In case you needed to what, Willow? IN CASE YOU NEEDED TO WHAT!?

I think "Good..." for Willow just became what "Always" was for Snape. Holy shit, Weiss has official, video evidence that Watts is alive and working with Jacques. I can not wait to see how this gets used down the line.

"Yo, Watts. what are you doing up there?" "There is no Watts. I...am Batman"

Oooooh, so that's why it was always raining in Mantle. I just figured they were in a rare warm spot. "Without heating or projected Aura, the cold of Solitas can kill you in a manner of hours" "Hey Mom, it's snowing!" Oh...oh dear.

While not a flat out cliffhanger, still quite the foreboding note to leave us on going into our small holiday hiatus.

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby spoilers #rooster teeth animation

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 6 years ago

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Putting the Cat in Catastrophe Chapter 3

Bonjour, mes chers! Sorry for the long delay, but things only just settled down after I got back from camping with my family! I hope you enjoy the third chapter. I'll be posting the advanced chapters up on my patreon here shortly, so keep an eye out and remember pledging a little as a dollar can unlock great bonus content!

Consider supporting me to see more stories like this one! $29/100 down for the podfic goal!

Pledge to me at https://www.patreon.com/mjanderson Buy me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/mjanderson

Click here to read on FFN Click here to read on AO3

Summary: Danny Fenton has just escaped from a secret government testing facility and runs straight into Andrew Riter - a busybody librarian who seems to be obsessed with helping a stray black cat - said stray black cat happening to be Danny himself. The Government gets interested when they find out a seemingly ordinary human can shapeshift into different animals. Danny just wants to return to his family and try to find his lost memories, but he’s having a hard time doing so when he’s finding less and less reasons for leaving Andrew’s side. He couldn’t tell anyone his secret - not again - but… But why did he want to trust this man so badly? (Iambic Prose) (Shapeshifter Danny AU)

Warning: This story will have references to laboratory testing, mentions of vivisections, blood, wounds, character trauma, and things of a similar sort. Most mentions of such things will be vague, but there will be heavy mentions of it and warnings at the beginning of chapters when it gets explicit.

<<First Chapter>> <<Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Three

"I suppose if I miss lunch with Randy he'll be even more worried. He'll probably even try to move back in with me, again." Remembering the hell that came from sharing an apartment with his overbearing and well-concerning brother last time, Andrew groaned and pushed himself to his feet before looking down to the bedraggled scrap of fur still curled up in his arms. "You'll remind me to stop by and get my meds filled, won't you?"

There was a sound between a meow and a purr, Andrew choking on a laugh as he threaded his fingers through the wet black fur. "I've fallen rather far already, so I might as well ask. Would you like to come to lunch with me? You'll have to meet my brother, but he usually pays for lunch and, if nothing else, it's free food that isn't alive and moving."

The cat in his arms seemed to study him for a long few moments before collapsing, rather dramatically, and near falling out of his arms. As soon as Andrew was sure he wasn't about to actually fall and hit the ground, he was choking on a laugh. "You're a dramatic little thing, aren't you?" He was going to take the loud, wild murr sound as an agreement. Besides, if that noise was supposed to be an argument, then it just proved his point about the dramatism. "Come on, then."

Shifting the cat into one arm, Andrew braced the umbrella over them with his other as he began walking through the streets. Memorial Day meant there was a fair amount of traffic running back and forth, but other than that there was absolutely no one out walking - not that Andrew could blame them. They were probably smart enough to check the weather forecast before going outside.

Jeez, it was bad enough that even with the umbrella they were still getting wet. He supposed a cheap little thing could only do so much against wind like this. Ugh. The last dying storms of May always seemed the worst. It was like winter was giving them one last 'present'. It- Well, Andrew could understand why others disliked winter as they did, that was for sure. Maybe-

A sharp meow jerked him out of his thoughts, Andrew looking down in bewilderment the exact second a gust of wind tore through town and ripped away his umbrella and left a nice gash on his palm from one of the prongs snagging him. Hissing at the pain, Andrew quickly curled around the now screeching cat, shifting and moving to get his coat open enough for the little thing to curl up against his, somewhat dry, chest.

"Hey, hey, we're alright. Just a bit of rain and wind." There was another loud screeching noise and Andrew was pretty sure he was being yelled at by a cat. How delightful a day, so far. "Alright, a bit more than just a bit, but it's really not that bad. You had better not be blaming your bad luck either, petit chaton." Andrew tapped at the little thing's nose, grinning at the snuffle. "I had bad luck long before I met you."

Making sure the kitten was reassured enough to curl up to him and settle down, Andrew squinted up through the downpour as he shielded his hurt hand as much as possible. While walking six blocks to the cafe he and Randy ate at was never a difficult thing to do, today it felt like nothing more or less than a biblical journey.

Any dry spots he had left on him were mercilessly soaked to where he felt like he was wading through the ocean. It was only the little black bundle of fur pressed against his chest that kept him from breaking down in the middle of the streets and screaming at God and hadn't he been punished enough-

"Andrew?!" The shout of his name was barely even heard, but Andrew didn't fight it as he was jerked inside an open door and- Oh.

"Bonjour, Amy. Doing well, I hope?" Their usual server, and long time friend, was looking at Andrew as if he had just crawled out of a sewer. He certainly felt it, so he couldn't blame her. "I know what you're thinking, but it really isn't bad-"

"You look like hell. You look like every religion's version of hell- You look like the hell that the religions who don't have hell would say hey, you look like hell." Waiting for Amy to breath, Andrew quickly jumped in.

"Honestly, it's not that bad. I just got caught in the rain when it really started hitting. See? Just a little wet it all!"

"Just a little- Is that blood on your hand? Randy!" Oh, no. "And hide that cat, you know the manager hates even seeing service animals in here." How the hell- "Cat tail."

"Yes, well, shut up." Tucking the kitten more out of sight, Andrew looked up and almost had heart failure as he met Randy's gaze. He had five seconds to regret his life before he was caught up in a hug tight enough that had him squeaking and had the cat giving a startled shriek of a noise. It did help in getting Randy to let go of him, though, so that was good.

"Okay, first question, what the hell was that?" 'First.' As his bundle of dirty fur poked his head out of the coat and hissed at Randy, Andrew gave a tired giggle. He did need sleep soon, didn't he?

"It's a long story." Startling at the dry towel that fell over his head, Andrew blinked to see Amy carrying a whole armful of fluffy white towels.

"Good. You can explain while we dry your stupid ass off. Honestly, walking around in this without an umbrella- And how did you mess your hand up?"

"Ah, yes, that. Well, it's an explanation as to where my umbrella went." Andrew ignored the glare as he held his hand out to Randy's probing fingers, not even able to drudge up the energy to roll his eyes when his brother had his hurt hand dried off, wiped clean, and wrapped in bandages in a heartbeat. Paranoid, he was.

"Winds that bad, huh," Randy snorted, using the towel to gently dry Andrew's hair before grabbing another one, distracting the cat with a bit of clicking and hand movement, and then snatching him up into the towel. He then quickly gave him back to Andrew.

"Oh, yes, give me the murderous ball of fluff." The cat looked less murderous and more confused, though. Andrew would have liked to comfort him, but Amy was already patting down at his back.

"You're a matching pair. Twins, maybe." Mm. "Come on, I already ordered for us." As the two nudged him along, Andrew allowed himself a small sigh. If nothing else was right in his shit life, at least he had a great big brother and wonderful friends. Well. The plural of that last part could be debated, he supposed, depending on the day and friend he was dealing with. "You had better not get sick, either. Really, Andy, I deal with animals, not humans - and I'm not about to be the next Doolittle."

"Actually, depending on which iteration you're talking about, that was a medical doctor who became a veterinarian." Andrew was pushed down into his seat for his troubles. "Seeing as you deal with animals, however, I might just have a new patient for you."

"Yeah, you know, I kind of noticed," Randy snorted, throwing a few more towels on Andrew before he took his own seat. "I think that's the most sickly, bedraggled little thing I've ever seen." Said 'sickly, bedraggled little thing' promptly hissed at Randy and managed to wiggle a paw out to flex claws at him. "Cute."

"Isn't he?" Andrew grinned, grabbing the paw and giving it a little shake. He was honestly surprised he wasn't scratched for that, but he was more amused by the cat's once more confused expression.

"Sorry, I'm a little distracted because you're holding a cat. A black cat. Andy, frérot, don't you have enough bad luck as it is?"

"Oh, please. You and I both know what a silly superstition that is. Honestly, just because a few people in a colony thought they were the servants of witches we now have-"

"Blue eyes." Snapping his mouth shut, he looked to Randy, Andrew swallowing at the look that was very close to pitying. "Andy, your cat there has blue eyes."

Not having a response to that one, Andrew looked down as their food arrived. Shoving his fork around his dry chicken salad, Andrew picked out a few smaller pieces of chicken before beginning to feed the cat still wrapped up in a towel in his lap. It was a bit sad to see there was no suspicion at the food and instead the cat was gulping it down as fast as possible.

He got through four pieces before Randy finally sighed. "Alright, alright, I'll schedule some time to take a look at him tomorrow. He probably just needs a round of shots and maybe some antibiotics." Ah. The cat was hissing again. "Hey, I'm taking time out of my schedule and money out of my clinic to look at you. You had better appreciate it."

"Isn't that illegal to take money from the clinic?" This time Randy was the one to give a long silence. "If you go to jail again-"

"Hey, last time wasn't my fault!"

"Just like the first, second, and third time weren't your fault?"

"They weren't. I just had some bad influences in my life is all."

"Bad influences! You broke into at pet store and freed all the pets!"

"I found them all homes, didn't I?"

"Randy-"

"So, what are you going to name him?" Oh, look, something that managed to shock him into silence. He was surprised Randy had managed to ask him something so stupid. "Well, you're keeping him, aren't you?"

"Wha- Since when did I say I was keeping him! I have no plans on keeping him and so giving him a name would be superfluous at best and-" Pausing as he felt something hit his fingers, he glanced down to see that the cat had pushed his plate closer to him and was now giving him a judging look. He then went back to nudging the plate and didn't stop until Andrew cautiously took a bite of food.

Across from him, Randy started laughing. Brat. "I like this cat already if he can get you to eat your food!" Please. Andrew was never that bad. Usually.

"It's ridiculous." Andrew took another bite even as he fed the little thing another scrap of chicken. He seemed to make sure Andrew was really eating before taking the bite of food himself. It had Andrew remembering something he didn't want to remember. "D… Danny." The cat in his arms went still for some odd reason, but Randy going silent across from him was what had Andrew looking at the table and rambling.

"It's a good name for a cat, don't you think? Danny? It's certainly not a bad name. Nothing like Snuffles or Snowball or Coal or anything stupid like that. It could be a good name. Okay, so-"

"Danny sounds like a great name, Andy." Glancing up to see his brother's smile, Andrew gave a weak little one back as he fed… As he fed Danny another scrap of chicken. Poor thing was still looking exhausted if he was near limp in his arms now.

"I suppose I'm still not ready to let it all go, am I?" Five years. It had been five years and yet still- Well. Maybe it would be nice to think of someone else when he heard that name. He wasn't sure how effective that would be, though. Black hair and bright blue eyes.

Sighing softly to himself, Andrew bowed his head. He really had been doomed from the start in all of this.

"Randy? Can you come here?" Feeling more than seeing his brother rush over, Andrew carefully continued to peel Danny out of the towel around him - the towel that was no longer white. "Is he bleeding?"

"Fuck, you sure know how to pick them if he is." Randy was inspecting Danny at once, the poor thing too tired to do much more than make a pathetic growling noise. "He definitely was. Most of it is scabbing over, but those are some nasty wounds… You have tomorrow off?"

"Wha- Oh, yes." Taking a moment to make sure it was indeed Tuesday tomorrow, Andrew gave a nod. "Yes, I have it off."

"Bring him by around eleven or so, okay?" That bad, then. "For tonight just keep him from moving too much, don't let him jump or run around, and make sure he gets plenty of water. No water or food after midnight, though, okay? I don't know how much he'll need done tomorrow."

"Got it." Andrew tucked the towel back around Danny, shifting him in his arms so he was more comfortable. "Can you pay for the towel, too?"

"You're something else." What was that supposed to mean! "Yes, Andy, I'll pay for the towel, too. Now go home, will you? You're making me near cry just looking at you."

"Mother and I could say the same about you," Andrew sniffed, turning on his heel and choosing to take Danny's strange noise as a laugh. "Danny agrees with me, too!"

"Doesn't he always?" Heh. Guess he wasn't the only one who couldn't leave it all behind. "Go cuddle up with a book, nerd."

"Try not to wind up in jail again!" Poking his head out of the cafe, Andrew sighed in relief as he saw the rain had finally stopped. "See? Our bad luck isn't so bad." Looking around, Andrew jumped as he felt the pricking of teeth against his hand that hand the bandage on it. Danny wasn't biting, but he was certainly getting his attention. "What? Are you bleeding again? Am I?"

After a few moments of nothing else happening, and not seeing any blood, Andrew looked back up to start off towards home before he felt the 'bite' again. "I can't read minds, you-" Ah. "You're reminding me to get my medicine." The teeth left him and Danny gave a soft purr. "Well, you at least can earn your keep, I suppose."

It was probably coincidence, but… It was nice to think that someone else was helping him remember the important things. "Right. First my medicine, and then we can go home." Maybe his luck really wasn't so bad.

#danny phantom #putting the cat in catastrophe #tcc au #iambic prose

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pardonjimin · 7 years ago

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Dinner

credit to original owner for gif

Genre: pure smut

Words: 2,115

summary: you looked like a full course meal -- and jeon sure as hell was starving

Smiling, you looked into the mirror and admired your reflection. Your black body con dress hugged you in all the right ways and your heels gave you that extra height that you’ve always wanted, despite still being shorter than your boyfriend. Tying a diamond choker around your neck, you applied a generous amount of makeup: subtle smoky eyes, mascara, lipstick, and a dash of brown eyeliner. You looked more than beautiful, instead of going for a cute look, you unknowingly went for sexy and stunning. You weren’t ever sure if the person staring back at in the mirror was really you. Tonight, you were going out to a private celebratory dinner with the boys as a congratulations for their Billboards award. By private, you meant only the boys and you. 7 boys and 1 girl, what could possibly go wrong?

Glancing at the clock, you remembered that the boys were waiting for you downstairs. You were currently at your home, but they decided that they should go all together since it’s more convenient. You were just thankful that you didn’t have to drive and use up your gas. Checking your appearance once more, you tucked a small strand of hair out of your face, smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles on your dress, and headed down the stairs. Upon your beauteous descendant, the sound of cameras going off instantly caught your attention.

“This is going to be my new background.” V unintentionally spoke aloud.

“You know... Jungkook is to your left, right?” Jimin whispered in his ear, trying to warn him.

Eyes widening, V’s body turned stiff as his head slowly turned to face Jungkook, wincing as his eyes fell upon his cold gaze.

“I was joking!” V tried defending himself, but it was too late.

Jungkook was possessive of you, everyone knew that. If someone were messing with you and Jungkook felt as though you were threatened, he would rush to your aid. There was a time when he almost punched Jimin because he playfully hit you, but Junkook thought it was much more. Knowing this, the boys were very cautious when Jungkook was around, but once he left, they were free to mess around with you as much as they wanted. You loved being around them, despite Jungkook being like a second mother to you. They were all so caring and fun to be around, so you enjoyed every second with them and of course, Jungkook was right besides you. He wasn’t one of those clingy boyfriends, just the ones that tend to look out for you, even when it’s unnecessary. According to him “A king should always be protective over his queen. Without a queen, there is no king.” He was a good boyfriend and you made sure he knew that by flattering him everyday.

“Oh god, Jungkook...” You began.

“What’s wrong? Is he bothering yo-”

“You look so damn good in that suit.” you praised, smirking as you checked him out from head to toe. “All of you look very handsome tonight.”

“I think I should leave you at home.” Jungkook glared as he proposed, watching your eyes trail all over his members.

Instantly refuting, you laughed as you wrapped your arms around Jungkook, leaning in to give him a kiss, completely forgetting that you two were not the only ones in the room.

“I think we should leave both of you at home.” Namjoon scoffed, interrupting ‘the moment’.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea...” Jin said, looking at Namjoon and shaking his head.

“Let’s go already. I’m hungry.” Yoongi whined as he pouted.

Agreeing with his complaint, you all filed out the door and transferred into the car. The car ride to the extravagant restaurant was filled with off key singing and imitations of one another.

“You guys remember how Namjoon danced during Blood Sweat and Tears, right?” V mentioned, bursting into laughter as Namjoon’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

“I did the same choreography you guys did!” Namjoon defended.

“No, you didn’t.” All the members said in unison, causing Namjoon to sulk in his chair.

“Leave him alone, you dorks. I believe he did just fine!” you spoke up.

“Did you just call us a dork?” Hoseok playfully questioned, “You’re the youngest one here!”

The seven men erupted in fits of laughter upon hearing this fact. It was true, you were younger, but only by a month. Jungkook was older by a month and yet although he dislikes the word ‘oppa’, he loved the way the syllable rolled off your tongue. The members would tease him about it, but he paid them no mind, only ever keeping his attention on you and only you. Once you had arrived, you all walked into the table out by on the balcony. This was your favorite kind of spot, so they made sure to book the entire area. The horizon was plastered with lovely strokes of blue and black, the moonlight contrasting your simple yet astounding makeup. But there was a problem. The servers had miscounted the chairs and you were the only one without a seat.

“Excuse me!”, Jin called out, “We reserved a table for 8, not 7.”

The waiter’s expression instantly became apologetic as he spoke, “I’m so sorry, but we’re completely booked tonight. We don’t have any more chairs to spare.”

“That’s not our fault, you -”

“It’s okay!” you chirped, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Bowing as an apology, the waiter quickly walked away, flooding the scene.

“Do they want to see my wrath? How could they miscount?” Jin scolded.

You shook your head, slightly laughing at Jin’s remarks as you crossed your arms. “Seriously, it’s oka-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Jungkook pulled you on top of his lap and wrapped his arms around the waist. The men at the table instantly praised him for his manliness while your cheeks instantly heated up.

“Jungkook! This isn’t necessary, come o-”

“Babe, it’s fine.” Jungkook interrupted, preventing any further discussion.

Clearly defeated, you sighed and continues to sit on his lap. Momentarily after ordering, you reached over to grab your glass of water. Upon doing so, you just so happened to roughly brush your ass on his crotch, causing him to choke on his steak.

“You better not be doing that on purpose.” Jungkook warned, releasing a low growl in your ear which sent chills down your spine.

“That was an accident.” you said before returning to drinking your water.

At first, it was unintentional, but you loved the way Jungkook got aroused. He was always teasing you in bed, so it’s not unfair to do it back, now is it? Dropping your napkin on purpose, you bent over the table to reach for it, going painfully slow as you rubbed against him. He choked back a loud moan as he gripped your thigh.

“So that’s how you want to play, huh?” You didn’t have to look back to know that he was smirking.

You pretended to not hear him as you continued to binge on the side dishes, but the moment you felt his hands slithering under the thin fabric of your dress, you knew the night was going to be agonizingly long. Acting as if his actions had not phased you, you began to talk to Yoongi about his music.

“Is it safe to suspect a second mixtape being released soon?” you playfully asked him, putting your hand over Jungkook’s as you attempted to stop his hands from sliding into your panties. But it was too late.

Softly, yet roughly, playing with your clit, you harshly swallowed a sound of pleasure as you gripped onto his wrists, unable to stop his movements.

“I would believe so. I’m working on a new track with Jimin and it’s going very well.” Yoong said, praising the younger one in which Jimin smiled shyly in response.

As the men talked amongst themselves, Jungkook took this as an opportunity to slip two fingers in between your wet folds. Eyes widening, you nearly hit the table in shock. Luckily for the both of you, you were seated at the edge of the table. Not only that, the table cloth covered his hands under your dress and Jungkook’s tailored black suit prevented anyone from seeing his movements.

“Don’t you think this is a little too far?” you said, speaking loud enough for only Jungkook to hear.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He feigned innocence as he began leaving butterfly kisses down your back.

Curling his fingers, you bit your lip painfully hard as you clenched the table. Picking up the pace, his fingers pumped in and out of you, your wetness drenching his fingers whole. When your walls began to clench around his digits, he smirked and pulled his fingers out, causing you to release a small whine as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Lift your ass up a bit.” Jungkook softly demanded.

Obeying his orders, you heard the sound of his dressed pants slowly unzipping. Oozing with wetness, you could only think of the pleasure that was bound to follow.Two hand on your waist lowering you down, you gently grasped his erection between your hands, placing it at your entrance. Without any warning, Jungkook shoved you down on him, causing you to accidentally release a loud moan as he shut his eyes in pleasure and rested his head on your back, unable to look his members due to embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” Jin asked, concern washing over his defined features.

You profusely shook your head, “I bit my tongue really hard.”

Laughing at your silliness, they continued carrying on with their conversation, completely oblivious about the scene that was playing right before they very own eyes.

“You got to be quiet, baby. We don’t want them to find out, now do we?” Jungkook whispered into your ears as he played with your clit.

“N-No.” you whispered.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” Jungkook teased, clearly enjoying how you were so sexually frustrated.

“No.” you repeated more confidently, earning a sexy chuckle from him.

Slowly moving up and down, you had created enough friction to satisfy the both of you. With your hands over Jungkook’s, he continuously fondled you as he thrusted in and out. It was nearly impossible to be ‘quiet’ seeing as to how his thrusts were small, yet so powerful. His penetration had you completely filled, every movement was pure bliss. The night was ending and everyone was exhausted, clearly bloated from all they had eaten. Splitting the check evenly, the men started to rise from their seats, causing you both to halt your little performance.

“You guys go first, I need to talk to her privately.” Jungkook said with respect, despite being balls deep in your pussy.

Unaware of the situation, they quietly left you guys alone while closing the door as well as the balcony curtains. Conveniently enough, you sighed in relief which only lasted momentarily before Jungkook pulled out quickly as he stood up from his chair, bending you over the table.

“You’ve been quite naughty tonight, haven’t you?” Jungkook said, rubbing his dick inbetween your folds, but refusing to put it in.

“Yes.”

“You need to be punished.”

“Please, punish me.” You begged as you put both hands on your ass, giving him a better view of your exposed body.

Without a second thought, he thrusted into you, causing you to moan. You could be as loud as you want since everybody had left and the music was being blasted in the main room. No security cameras. No waiters. Nothing. Nothing but you and Jungkook.

Grasping your boob with one hand and the other gently on your throat, Jungkook’s thrust became more and more deep which means that your moans became louder, completely filling the air of the still night. Clenching around him, he gave you one last hard penetration as you both came simultaneously. Fortunately, you were on birth control which Jungkook highly appreciated. Standing up, you sat on the table as you faced him.

“I meant to say it earlier, but you looked amazing tonight.” Jungkook said with a cheeky smile.

“So did you.” you retorted, “but I wish I had eaten more. The food was pretty good.”

Sliding a single digit between your folds, he brought his finger up to lips, seductively licking them clean.

“I’m pretty full.”

#bts smut #bts scenario #bts writing #bts imagine #bts! au #bts army #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jung hoseok #bts hobi #min yoongi #min suga #jimin #park jimin

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arya3601 · 8 years ago

Text

Diners in the Early Hours

Based on this tumblr post

Castiel is a waiter who is too tired after working all night. The Winchesters come to the diner for a meal after a hunt. It's 1:30 AM. What could go wrong?

Read it on AO3!

Castiel was about two seconds away from using the apple pie on the counter as a pillow. After his second 8 hour shift in a row, working in an “open 24 hours!” restaurant at, he checked his watch, 1:34 in the morning, a pie pillow didn't seem like the worst thing ever. He still had about an hour and a half left on his shift, and his manager had ducked out nearly an ago on a “smoke break”. No one would probably even notice if he was asleep. Sure, Chuck was over in the corner booth, but the twitchy writer came in every night and Castiel knew he took a good hour on one cup of coffee. He had just served him half an hour ago, and by the looks of the mug Chuck had already topped it off with the small bottle he kept in his jacket. It wouldn't even be that bad, he thought dreamily. It has a nice, soft crust and a sweet filling...

The door burst open and the cheery jingle shook Castiel out of his sleep-deprived stupor. I'm tearing that fucking bell down first chance I get, he grumbled to himself. The man that had thrown the door open strode over to a table and sat down heavily, a small boy and a guy about Castiel's age following behind.

They all looked just this side of skinny, and their clothes were faded and worn. The man had some serious stubble going on, right on the edge of being almost a beard, and was wearing an old-looking scratched up leather jacket. The younger kid kept flicking his just-a-little-too-long hair out of his face and was sporting, as Gabriel would say, “a wicked shiner”. He was talking animatedly to the older boy, who had a busted lip and was wearing a plaid shirt and heavy jacket over what looked like three other layers. And sunglasses. At 1:30 in the morning.

Castiel shook himself from his observations and grabbed menus to give them. He walked over and placed one in front of each person.

There was a pause before the older boy said, “Ah...thanks...I'll just...read this...” with a crooked smile on his face. The younger boy burst into giggles and Castiel tilted his head in confusion. The man rolled his eyes and kept his face in its no-nonsense expression. Oh, Castiel realized. Sunglasses at 1:30 at night isn't exactly a popular fashion choice... He must be blind, you idiot! You just gave a blind kid a menu he can't read. He snorted before immediately covering his mouth.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” he managed.

“Sam,” the man said in a low voice, immediately stopping the younger boy's increasingly loud laughter. The older boy was still smiling but the lines on his face became hard.

Castiel blinked at the sudden change in mood before launching right into his usual, unfortunately comforting, spiel. “Welcome to Missouri's Diner, my name is Castiel and I'll be your server today. Would you all like to start with some drinks this evening?”

“Castiel?” the younger boy, Sam, said excitedly. “Isn't that an angel?”

Castiel smiled at him, impressed with his knowledge. “Actually, the angel's name is Cassiel, but, yeah, pretty much! My mom thought the 't' in the middle gave it a nicer ring. It's really great that you know that, actually, he's not really one of the more well-known angels.”

“Yeah, Sammy gets really into all kinds of nerd stuff like that,” the older boy grinned fondly in Sam's general direction.

Sam rolled his eyes. “It's interesting, Dean! Stop acting like you didn't know it, too, I know you read that book faster than I did. I don't know why you don't let yourself be smart.”

Dean just shook his head, smile faltering.

The man, maybe their father? cleared his throat. “If we're all done with this getting touchy-feely with the waiter shit, I need a drink. What do you serve here that's alcoholic?”

Castiel felt his real smile freeze into his customer-service-dealing-with-unpleasant-people smile. “Unfortunately, sir, even though it is only 1:30 in the morning, it is a Sunday, and I am not legally allowed to serve you alcohol.”, he said with no small amount of satisfaction.

Dean's grin turned real again. He was really pretty when he smiled like that, his freckles standing out and pink lips moving to reveal nice, white teeth... Castiel shook himself and started weighing the benefits of drinking all six of the 5-hour energies he had stored in his backpack for emergency purposes.

“So, Sammy,” Dean said. “How's a chocolate shake sound?”

“Dean,” the man nearly growled.

“What, dad?” Dean was still smiling, but his tone was hard. “Does it really matter? We're using the credit card, right? We don't have to worry about having enough cash.”

Sam winced at something and said, “No, water's fine.” he glanced up at Castiel. “Please.”

Castiel smiled at the polite kid. Nice for someone to treat him like a person for once. “No problem, water's allowed on Sundays.” He winked at the boy before turning to Dean. “How about you, sir?”

Sam elbowed his brother. “He's talking to you.”

Oh, right, blind.

Dean smiled in Castiel's general direction. “Water's fine for me, too, thanks.”

“Alright, two waters, and you, sir?” his smile turned hard again as he addressed the older man.

The man grumbled before throwing the menu down and muttering, “Water.”

“Alright, those will be out in a minute,” Castiel walked to the counter and filled three glasses with water, not seeing the point in bothering the chef for such a simple thing. He dawdled at the counter a minute, trying to give them time to look over the menus, but once he started drifting off again he headed back over with their drinks.

“Here you are, sirs.” he placed them down carefully. “Dean, yours is on your right hand side above your silverware.”

A look of surprise flashed across both boy's faces. Sam awarded him a gummy grin while Dean just looked quietly happy.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“How do you know his name?” the man said suspiciously.

“Oh, I'm sorry, your son said it earlier. I didn't want to touch him without permission so I thought saying his name would be okay.” Castiel said cautiously. “I apologize if I crossed a line of some kind.”

“No,” Sam broke in loudly, “you're fine! I said it earlier, dad, remember?”

“Yeah, it's cool,” Dean smiled crookedly.

The man glared at him for another few seconds before turning away muttering something that sounded “you never fucking know in these hick towns”. Which, confused Castiel, you never know what? and was somehow offensive.

Castiel sent Sam a grateful smile before lifting his notepad. “Do you gentlemen know what you want to eat today?”

Castiel took their orders and collected their menus with little fuss, walking back to the counter. “Order up, Benny!” He called, passing the ticket through the window. He heard some Southern-tinged muttering before the sounds of cooking started up. Castiel smiled to himself. He knew night shifts were hard, but Benny was just beginning to realize. A new baby on the way meant he was picking up shifts when he could for some extra income.

“Just think, Benny,” Castiel said with fake cheer. “It's great practice for when you'll be waking up all night to change diapers and rock a fussy baby.”

He heard some more Cajun-sounding grumbling interspersed with what he couldn't quite hear but sounded very much like a few choice words. He chuckled to himself.

“Who's the douchebag over there?” a smoky voice asked close to his ear.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “How nice of you to join us, Meg.” He turned around to see the dark, curly hair and impeccable make-up of his manager. “I think that's a new record for a smoke break, what was it?” he checked his watch, “Fifty-five minutes?”

She just smiled at him. “We all have vices, Clarence. Some of them just take...longer to work out.” She raised a dark eyebrow suggestively.

Castiel made a face and answered her earlier question on lieu of broaching that subject. “Assuming you're talking about the young man near the door, his name is Dean. Why did you call him a douchebag?”

“Uh, hello? Sunglasses, inside, at 2 in the morning? The only people who do that are the ones that think they, themselves, are in fact the sun. Douche. Bags.”

Castiel snorted. “Great theory, except for the fact that he's fucking blind.”

She raised both eyebrows this time. “Well don't I just feel like the biggest hag in hell right now.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, did you watch that link Gabriel sent everyone?”

Castiel tilted his head. “I usually find it inadvisable to click on anything Gabriel sends me.” He remarked dryly.

“Well, you are missing out, Clarence. This one included a fake mustache and unbelievable amounts of candy. It starts-”

A ding blessedly interrupted her before she could get any further.

“And on that note.” Castiel said loudly. “I should get the customers their food. Or you could, being manager and all?”

She rolled her eyes at him and shooed him off, but after a couple years on this job he was well used to it.

“Here we are,” he listed off each order as he placed everything in front of its intended recipient. He stood there awkwardly for a second to make sure no one needed anything.

“Well,” Dean exclaimed. “It looks delicious!”

Sam burst into giggles again and Dean looked very pleased with himself, both brothers ignoring the threatening look their dad sent their way. At least, Sam ignored it, Dean didn't see it. Castiel reasoned to himself. Castiel just smiled at Dean's remark. “I'll be sure to tell the chef; he'll probably stop being so cranky with me if he knows you like his food.” He winked at Sam again. “Feel free to yell if you need me. You're pretty much the only customers here, so you don't need to worry about bothering anyone else.”

The last remark was directed mainly to Dean, who appreciated it if his softened smile was anything to go by.

Castiel retreated to the counter to grab the coffee pot and headed to Chuck's table to top off his drink. The writer jumped, as usual, when Castiel approached, but gave him a nervous smile when his mug was refilled.

“Thanks.” he said softly.

“No problem, Chuck.” Castiel replied, just as quietly. “I hope your book's going well.”

“Yeah,” the man's eyes lit up. “It really, really is.”

“Good,” Castiel smiled. The man may always look ten seconds away from a nervous breakdown, but he was a lot nicer than a lot of the other people that came through here. “I'll leave you to it, then.”

Meg was waiting for him at the counter when he returned. “Anyway, as I was saying, the fake mustache is-”

“Oh, sorry, Meg.” Castiel talked over the beginning of her story. Usually he hated being rude, but he'd rather deal with a little guilt than hear this particular story. Especially knowing the kind of video his brother usually sent links to. “I have to talk to Benny, a customer wanted me to ask something about his food.” Castiel escaped narrowed eyes and pursed lips with a smile and walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, brother, what're you doing back here?” The bear of a man asked brusquely, but not without a tired smile. “You rarely visit little ol' me.”

Castiel smiled and leaned against a counter. “Let's just say... With only an hour left on my shift, Meg was getting to be a bit much.” Benny nodded understandingly. “Also, a customer complimented your food and I told him I'd tell you.”

Benny looked surprised. “Someone walked into a 24-hour diner at 2 o'clock in the morning and complimented... the food?”

Castiel chuckled. “Well, there's more to it than that, but don't put yourself down. Your food is delicious.”

Benny tipped his hat in thanks. “Thanks, you know I'm always one to toot my own horn. But what's the 'more to it'?”

“He's blind.”

“... And? You don't need to see food to enjoy it.”

Castiel tipped his head in acknowledgement. “No, I know, Benny, and I wasn't saying your food looks bad either. He hadn't eaten any of it yet.”

Benny looked hard at him for a moment. “This is a bit much for a man my age this late at night, cher. You're saying that a blind man complimented my food, that he couldn't see, before he ate it.”

“Well he's more of a teenager than a man, really, but yeah.” Castiel nodded.

“... Did it smell that good?”

Castiel laughed again. “I think it was more to aggravate his father, the man seems very...” he paused, trying to find the right word, “exacting.”

Benny shook his head. “Well, we all gotta find the light in our lot, huh?” He glanced through the window. “You better get back out there, Meg will probably be gone already and Lord knows we can't leave the counter unmanned this late.”

Castiel sighed and straightened. “Yeah, okay. There’s no one out there right now, so if you want to grab a quick power nap I’ll wake you up when we need you.” He gestured to the fold-out chair sitting in the corner.

Benny gave him a tired smile at the offer but shook his head. “If I do that, I’ll probably end up choppin’ my finger off. Staying tired is better than trying to wake up again.”

Cas nodded in understanding. “Alright. There’s just about an hour left. I’ll be sure to come rescue you as soon as our torture is over.” He laughed when Benny swatted at him with a kitchen towel as Cas left the kitchen.

Back at the counter, the diner was still as dead as one would expect at 2 in the morning. Chuck looked like he was still scribbling away, the parking lot was still empty, bar a big, black car the ragged family must have driven in, and the apple pie looked as good as always. Meg, predictably, had already disappeared again, but Cas didn’t really care. As long as Anna was here in an hour for her shift, he wasn’t even going to try and find their wayward manager.

Castiel grabbed a mug from the back counter and filled it with coffee, putting it on the lip of the order window for Benny. He heard a deep sigh followed by a muffled “Thanks” as it disappeared into the kitchen.

He heard a clatter from the table of three and sighed. He walked over, running a hand though his hair. Please just be a dropped fork or something. I do NOT want to mop up anything right now.

Castiel approached the table with his customer-service smile firmly in place. “Is everything all right over here, gentlemen?” He asked, standing behind Dean.

Weirdly, nothing was dropped or spilled. Cas surreptitiously glanced over their table and didn’t see anything that would have caused the clatter he had heard. Except… the older man’s fist was balled up and pressed to the table. He looked angry. Did he slam his fist on the table? Why?

Sam gave him a shaky smile. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

Castiel looked at the boy’s black eye with a new view. He felt a sudden, irrational anger towards his father, but reined himself in. As awful as it was, and as angry as it made him, calling him out on it right now wouldn’t do anyone any good. He was alone here, the man was obviously bigger than him, and as strong as Cas was, he was tired. If it came to a confrontation, it wouldn’t end well for Castiel. But not starting a fight didn’t mean he had to leave quite yet. “…Alright, then. Is everything tasting okay? Anyone need any refills or anything?”

“We’re fine.” The man growled, fist still clenched on the table. “Leave us alone.”

“Now, dad,” Dean said, his tone sickly sweet. “That’s not a good way to answer the nice waiter that just wants to help us.” Castiel couldn’t see his face from where he was standing, but he was sure the teenager had a twisted grin on his face. He was obviously taking advantage of the opportunity to poke the bear.

“Dean,” the man warned, temper wearing thinner by the word. “Shut the fuck up. We’ll talk when we get back to the goddamn motel.”

Castiel heard Dean draw a breath, no doubt to mouth off again, but the waiter rested a hand on his back, out of view of the father. Trying to warn him to let it go. Dean closed his mouth and Cas breathed a small sigh of relief. “It’s fine, sir.” His smile was forced, but necessary. “No need to worry about me, I have tough skin. I do notice that your glass seems a bit low, though,” he gestured to Sam, “so I’ll be right back with some water for you.” It came much easier to give the boy a small smile.

The bearded man looked like he was going to argue, but saw it would be easier to let it go. “Fine.”

“Great.” Castiel removed his hand from Dean’s back, walking as quickly as he could without being suspicious to the counter. He grabbed the pitcher the diner used for ice water and started filling it, muttering under his breath for it to speed up. Finally, after what felt like much too long, he grabbed a straw and walked back to the table.

The small family looked like they had been having an argument for as long as Cas had been gone, leaning back as he approached. The dad looked pissed off, and Sam looked pretty angry, too. Dean just looked… tired.

“Here you are, my fine sir,” he winked at Sam as he refilled his glass, hoping to make him laugh. Sam didn’t laugh. Just gave him a small smile and a quiet thank you.

Castiel turned to Dean, ignoring the older man’s eyes on him. “Dean?” He asked quietly to get his attention.

Dean turned to the sound of his voice. “Yeah, Cas?” He sounded so defeated, it made Castiel sad.

He felt his cheeks turn a little pink, but forged on anyway. Dean couldn’t see it, after all. “I noticed your lip was split, and thought it might be hard to drink like that. I have a straw here, if you want it?”

Dean looked surprised, but it melted into gratitude. “Yeah,” He said softly. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

Cas smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see it. Maybe especially because he couldn’t see it. He deserved just as much kindness as anyone else. If not more. “It’s not a problem. Would you rather I give it to you or Sam?”

Dean smiled at him. “I can handle it.” He put out his hand, palm up, waiting for the straw.

Castiel placed it in his hand carefully, brushing the tips of his fingers against the skin. The fingers were scarred. The palm was calloused. His skin was warm.

Cas stepped back, glancing over the table. Sam was smiling again, looking back and forth between Dean and Castiel. The old man had closed his eyes at some point, rubbing his hand over his face. Castiel wondered how much of the exchange he had seen. He decided it might be best to retreat to the counter for now, but he was going to keep a close eye on the table.

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

Nothing much happened for the rest of their meal. The man looked tense, Sam looked excited, Dean looked quietly happy. They didn’t talk or rekindle the argument the man’s slammed fist had extinguished. They just ate and drank, eventually standing to leave.

Dean’s father handed Dean a credit card, saying something tersely, before heading out to the car. Cas couldn’t say he was sorry. He hadn’t looked forward to dealing with the angry man. again. Sam led Dean to the register where Cas was waiting, looking like an excited puppy.

“Hey, Cas!” he said once they stopped in front of the register.

“Hey, Sam!” He smiled at the boy. “How was everything?”

“It was great!” Sam beamed at him, hand still on his older brother’s arm. “Wasn’t it, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled in Castiel’s direction, face just slightly too far to the left. “The food was really good.”

Castiel felt himself blush a little again, but ignored it. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I’ll be sure to tell Benny you guys liked it.” There was a pause where Castiel just looked at Dean before coughing to himself. “Um, so… Your bill came up to $15. 24. How will you be paying?” He was already reaching for the card option when Dean surprised him.

“Cash.”

Cas blinked. “Oh. Okay.” He picked the right option on the screen before looking up at him.

Sam looked shocked. “Really, Dean?”

Dean chuckled, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “Yeah, man, it’s just $15. I can cover that, no need to trouble the old man. Also, it’s just… better.” He shrugged, handing Cas a $20.

Cas didn’t really understand how cash was easier, but Sam seemed to know something he didn’t. He looked at the waiter like he had just done something amazing.

Cas was a little uncomfortable, but did his job, making correct change and printing a receipt. He paused before handing Dean back his change and scribbled something on a blank meal ticket before handing it back over.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he felt the different texture of the paper. “What’s this?”

“Um,” Castiel cleared his throat. “I might be… making some assumptions, here… but your dad seems like a really… intense guy.” He glanced up from the counter that he had been staring at, seeing Dean’s face was still confused. “There’s two phone numbers on that piece of paper. One for someone who might be able to help you. Someone that helped me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, slouching a little, remembering old times. Remembering Marv. Feeling every scar he hid and odd twinge from things that had never healed quite right. Remembering Charlie, who had rescued him. She hadn’t fully saved him, but she had tried. Cas had too much he had to fix by himself to award that to anyone but himself. He drew up to his full height again and looked Sam in the eyes.

“She’s a good person. You don’t have to call her, you don’t have to do anything, but if you do call her…” He lost steam a little bit. “She can help.” He ended softly.

Sam looked at Dean, waiting for his reaction. Dean didn’t look angry, like Cas had expected. He looked surprised again. Maybe a little sad, a little thankful. Slightly tired.

“Yeah, Cas.” He nodded, sunglasses slipping a bit. “I’ll keep that in mind. But you said there were two numbers?”

Cas blushed, full force this time. “Ah. Yes. The other is, um, it’s mine.” He raised his hands and waved them as he talked. “I know you can’t, like, text or anything, but if you ever just want to talk.” He looked at Dean, hoping he could feel his gaze even if he couldn’t see it. “I’d like to talk to you sometime.”

Cas could see Sam’s hold on Dean’s arm tighten, and his smile was so bright he was sure Benny could see it through the order window. He tugged on Dean’s sleeve, obviously excited and wanting Dean to respond.

Dean smiled, and Cas could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes above his slipped sunglasses. “That would be great, Cas. I’d like to talk to you, too.” He leaned forward, effectively blocking Sam out as he whispered, “You have a really nice voice, dude.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you. You do, too.” Because of course he did. Dean’s voice was smooth and deep, like the night sky between the stars. It was musical. And Cas must be more tired than he thought if he was having poetic thoughts like this.

A car horn blared outside.

“Well, that’s our cue.” Dean shot Cas a mock salute, paper still hand in his hand. “I’ll keep this safe, don’t worry.”

Castiel laughed. “I’m not worried. Goodbye, Dean, Sam. It was nice meeting you.” He gave Sam a salute, just to mock Dean a little bit, and said, “By the way, Sam, you’re welcome to call me, too, if you ever need someone to talk to.” He shot him a final wink, a last ditch effort to finally get the boy to laugh.

Sam did laugh, and he responded happily, “Yeah, Cas, I’ll call! We can talk about stuff!” He beamed at Cas. Cas felt like he had just gained the little brother he never knew he wanted, and he couldn’t be happier.

Sam led Dean to the car waiting outside, giving Castiel a final wave as he got in the car. Cas started laughing as Dean waved his hand in the air crazily. He hoped Sam would tell him he waved back.

He was really looking forward to their first call.

#my writing #fic #destiel #whelvenwings #look i did a thing #diner #blind dean #waiter cas #kid Sam #mentioned abuse #fluff #less interaction between the two than any of us wanted #eh #based off a tumblr post

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hiraeth-doux · 8 years ago

Note

would you consider writing a one shot about "Who goes on a multitude of dates, none of them successful, who tries to be sincerely disappointed for them but can’t stand the thought that they might not be together forever. ( “not that we are together in that way but you know”)" ? :)

This was meant to be posted almost a week ago, and it wasn’t supposed to be this long, but you know me :) You can thank Nicky for this lovely request, and I hope I did it justice!

AO3

Time Of Our Lives

His name was Steve and when he leaned into kiss Claire good night after walking her to her car, she pretended tomisread his gesture and offered him her cheek instead. Admittedly, she wasn’tthat good an actress. A flicker of recognition flashed across his face whentheir eyes met again, and she knew he wouldn’t be asking her out again, whichleft her relieved and somewhat guilty at the same time. This was supposed to bea date after all. This was a date. She was supposed to want tokiss the man who was nothing but nice and charming, or at least tried to benice and charming, and she did appreciate the effort.

Yet, it felt more like taking a test, andafter 2 hours of conversation about their jobs and the movies they saw and thebooks they liked, she couldn’t name one thing about him, and she also couldn’twait to leave, the weight lifting off her shoulders at the sight of her carparked across the street from the restaurant.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Claire waved her goodbye and slipped intothe driver’s seat, habitually reaching into her purse to pull out her phone,the buzzing she’d heard just as the server asked whether or not they wanted adessert – no, thank you – had been making her palms itch for the past twentyminutes.

There was a missed phone call from Owen,followed by two texts – one asking whether she wanted Chinese or sushi fordinner, and the other one (that came when she didn’t respond) saying that he forgotabout her date and that he was picking up Thai food from a small place twoblocks away from her apartment that she’d never noticed in all the years she’dlived in the area and that Owen found within a week of moving in. He was good likethat, more observant to his surroundings than Claire would ever be. She couldfind an error in a financial statement at first glance and whip up apresentation out of nothing, and then she’d just as easily get lost in athree-block neighborhood.

She wondered sometimes if this was theproblem. If this was why she hadn’t noticed the real him for so long. Likemaybe he wasn’t in her face enough.

Until he was.

Until the incident happened, and suddenlyOwen Grady was everywhere in her life, following her to the press conferencesand court hearings even though he didn’t have to, talking her through the worstof it, his words not as important as the soothing tone of his voice thatwrapped around Claire like a blanket, keeping her safe, being the wall shecould lean on. Until he became the only person who made her feel sane when therest of the world was downright deranged.

However, when Owen said that they shouldstick together, she didn’t exactly envision the two of them becoming nothingbut roomies, didn’t think he would claim her guest bedroom – the one that she’doffered to him when he has nowhere else to go – as his own and spend endlesshours on her couch in the company of beer and Halo. For a while, Claire’s heart kept dropping down into herstomach whenever he stepped into the room, expecting him to… well, do something, give her a sign. Anything,really. He kissed her after all – Claire wasthere, she didn’t make it up. And she remembered the moment all too well, herlips burning for days afterward.

Except it didn’t seem to have meantanything whatsoever. Not to him, at least. Truth be told, she didn’t exactlyexpect him to pounce on her the moment they were alone, but the days turnedinto weeks and the weeks turned into months, and she might have as well beenanother piece of furniture in her practically and tastefully furnishedapartment. Owen cooked her dinners and picked up her mail. He held her hand whenshe cried and saw her first thing in the morning, bedhead and all, handing her acup of coffee without Claire having to say anything because apparently herhabits were easy to pick up on. Come to think of it, maybe he’d seen too much,she mused. Maybe he didn’t want to know what her pre-coffee self was likebefore they even had a second date. Speak of shooting the mystery in the head.

It was a mess, but it was the kind of messClaire hoped they would manage to figure out somehow eventually. God knew shewanted it to happen, preferably before they turned into her grandparents andbrought weekly Bingo game into the picture. She thought they had a chance.

Until Dan from Marketing and PR asked herout a couple of months ago.

That night over dinner, she mentioned itto Owen with pointed casualty, hoping for… well, something. Anything. A part of her hoped that maybethe possibility of her becoming unavailable would push him into action orsomething. Instead, he told her to go for it, live a little – Owen’s words, nothers. And just to spite him, she said yes to Dan, uncertain of whether she’deven liked the guy or not, but since the one she was actually into was far moreinterested in lounging in her living room and talking about the culinary skillsof the Iron Chef contestants, itdidn’t seem like that big of a sacrifice at the time.

Until Dan turned out being about asexciting as a piece of stale bread, and Claire nearly fell asleep, listening tohim talk about long-term investments and importance of the real estate marketfor the economy, or something of that nature. Suddenly, discussing the meritsof different knives became fore more appealing. She’d honestly wished she’dspent the night with a bowl of ice-cream, debating the pros and cons ofcilantro with Owen. It wasn’t that thought that scared her, though, but therealization that it was probably a matter of time before he started datingsomeone as well. Unless he already was and he simply forgot to mention it toher. Not that Claire had the guts to ask….

To say that it was messed up was anunderstatement of the century.

And then Mitch came along, a CommercialLoan Manager who owned a car that cost twice more than all of Claire’spossessions combined. Well-read and witty, he was a step up from Dan in theright direction. They went out twice. He took her to the restaurant that normalpeople needed to book eight months in advance but that he could walk into on awhim and there would always be a table for him, the staff beaming so bright atthe sight of him Claire feared the rest of the patrons would go blind.

He was her type. Hell, he was a definition of her type, and a few years ago,she’d be thrilled to spend time in his company. So what if their dinners wereinterrupted by the phone calls he had to take? She got it. She got theimportance of the things that couldn’t be put off for later. It had never beenan issue before. But it made her think of how Owen wouldn’t even check histexts when they were eating cheap takeout out of paper boxes, and she longedfor it. She wanted undivided attention, and not just anyone’s, too.

Mitch faded away, swallowed by his job,and Claire was more than a little tempted to give up on the whole ‘living alittle’ idea. The only problem here was that she knew that the only way to get overOwen would be to focus on someone else.

Sadly, Steve definitely wasn’t it.

The ‘it’ was probably finishing a secondhelping of fried rice or green chicken curry right now while Meredith Grey didsomething unfathomably stupid on TV. Again. What was it with Owen and Grey’s Anatomy?

He poked his head out of the living roomwhere the residents and interns were calling code something-or-other, a takeoutbox and chopsticks in his hands.

“That bad, huh?” He asked around amouthful of… something.

Claire quirked an eyebrow, her fingersexpertly undoing the straps of her high-heeled shoes “What makes you think itwas bad?” She inquired, uncertain if she was insulted by the assumption or not.He wasn’t wrong, after all.

He left the food behind and stepped intothe hallway, his arms folded over his chest and his hair tousled from hispost-work run and curling at the ends after the shower. She could smell herbody wash on him even from fifteen feet away, her chest nearly caving in fromlonging.

Owen gave her a pointed once over, thenchecked his phone. “For one thing, it’s not even 9,” he noted. “And I know the look.”

Which could’ve easily been a very boldstatement coming from someone else, perhaps, but of course, he knew the look.He’d seen it first-hand. Clairescowled at him without a comment.

“C’mon, let’s fix it.” He peeled of the doorjamband, hands on her shoulders, steered her toward the couch the coffee table infront of which was full of leftover takeout boxes. Her lips curledinvoluntarily at the sight of an ass-shaped mark on one of the cushions.

Truly a view she missed in a fancy restaurant,Claire thought without a hint of irony as she plopped down and reached for hishalf-finished dinner.

“Beer?” Owen asked, offering her a bottle,but she shook her head, her eyes already glued to the screen. He slumped downnext to her and reached into her carton with his fork with the comfort andfamiliarity she no longer found odd, all things considered. “Come on, gimme thedeets.”

“Read my face,” Claire retortedhalf-heartedly, mad at herself more than him for keeping her goddamned hopes upeven after all this time. One of these days, she was going to show up at homeafter work and find a sock on the door, a universal sign for Do not disturb. It was like living witha ticking bomb in her house, the one that was emptying the pantry like a vacuumcleaner and forgetting to unload the dishwasher.

“For what it’s worth – I’m sorry,” hesaid, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. He was watching her, Claire couldfeel it, even though her own eyes were still on the screen, feeling like shewas 13 again, but in a very pathetic way.

“No, you’re not,” she said with a huff.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with asmirk. “Although, let’s face it, we both know what the problem is.”

She turned at him, surprised to find himcloser than she expected, his face barely an inch away from hers, making itpretty damn hard to resist the urge to push his hair back from his forehead,see if it was as soft as it looked. Claire narrowed her eyes skeptically as shetried to ignore her pulse that escalated by the second, her heart pounding sohard and so fast in her chest it was making her dizzy. “Do tell.”

“These guys… They’re vanilla ice-cream,”Owen announced with confidence, digging through the carton of food she wasstill holding but had long forgotten about.

She blinked. “Is that supposed to make anysense?”

“No, I mean it,” he added quickly, shovinga forkful of chicken curry into his mouth and finally looking up. “There’snothing wrong with vanilla ice-cream. Everyone likes it. It’s a good, solidchoice. But no one ever picks it when there’s Rocky Road or Cookie Dough orwhatever else on the menu, you know?” He rolled his shoulders in a half shrug.

“Is that so?” She hummed, struggling tokeep a straight face. “And where does that deep wisdom come from?”

“Oprah,” he replied proudly. “Screw thoseguys, Claire. You gotta find your Rocky Road.” He nudged her shoulder with his andthen pulled her feet into his lap and leaned back, his fingers digging expertlyinto her soles, massaging the tension away. “Or Cherry Garcia.”

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” she promised,shaking her head.

“Either way,” he flashed a megawatt smileat her, cheeky as hell, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You keep coming hometo me.”

She stared at him, the words running on anendless loop in her mind as she took them apart and put them back together, theletters and syllables thrown into a mix, somehow still falling into the samepattern each time she rearranged them. And it was so easy to see more into hiscomment than he’d probably meant, her fingers flexing involuntarily and hergaze dropping down to his mouth curled crookedly while the ambulance sirenswailed on Channel 10.

“Hey, there’s a new guy in my office.You’d totally hit it off. I could introduce you…” Owen said all of sudden and trailedoff. He cleared his throat, his unfinished question falling between them like awall and making her sick to her stomach.

“You know what? I think I need to recoverfrom tonight’s date first.” Claire pulled her feet off of his lap and stood up,the spell broken and the cocoon of intimacy around them torn to shreds.

She stepped over a stack of magazines thathe pushed to the floor to make room for his dinner and trying to pretend thattwo minutes of foot massage were worth the subsequent disappointment.

—

Fuck.

Owen flopped down onto his bed – well,technically Claire’s guest bed, whichwas a double fuck, really – and ran a hand over his face. His chest constrictedwith a shuddered sigh, his gaze fixed unseeingly on the ceiling.

Did he just honestly offer to fix Claireup with someone?

On a scale of one to dumb, he wasofficially unapologetically stupid.

Behind the wall in their shared bathroom,he could hear the water running, Claire drawing herself a bath, probably withone of those Lush bath bombs that would make her and the rest of the housesmell like an exotic resort, or a bubble gum factory. Or a freaking bakery –cinnamon and vanilla. Like he didn’t already want to eat up her alive, his bonerbeing a perfect example of the cause-and-effect charts she loved to use in herbusiness presentations. Once she kicked him out – which he was starting tosuspect was going to happen sooner rather than later - he’d have to buy everythingLush ever made, quite possibly incapable of jerking off to anything else.

How exactly they ended up being the kindof friends who braided each other’s hair and painted each other’s nails wasbeyond him. Basically, they were a stone’s throw away from having pillow fightsin their underwear – not that Owen would ever say no to that – and there was nocoming back from that. In all fairness, it wasn’t like he thought they’d get atit the moment the hotel door closed behind them on Costa Rica, and the firstfew weeks were so intense it hardly was the right time to bring up the ‘I kissed you and maybe we should take it toa new level’ issue. But between that and the fact that Claire was nowdating, apparently, it was starting to seem like he’d missed his windowentirely, and the idea was filling him with dread.

And what was he supposed to say when shementioned that what’s-his-name ask her out? If anything, it only proved thatshe was ready and willing to move on… not from him, obviously, because theywere never a thing to begin with, but from everything else – the incident, theinvestigation, the chaos their lives had turned into.

Owen was more than a little surprised thatthe banker didn’t stick around – from what he’d heard from Claire, they were amatch made in heaven, or however the phrase went, but it was still only amatter of time, he figured, before she got sick of his company and politelyasked him to vacate the premises. They both knew that after a few months, hewas quite able to afford his own place, and Claire didn’t seem like the typewho needed a roommate. Admittedly, it wasn’t just that at first - the incidentbrought them together like no relationship could. There was the kind ofunderstanding between them that he had trouble putting into words. And truth betold, Owen was scared of being alone, locked in four walls one on one with hisdemons, knowing that Claire feared it, too.

“Just ask her out, man,” Barry told him onmore than one occasion. They took to running together now and then, and normallyit was a silent occasion interrupted only by the heavy pounding of their sneakersagainst the pavement, but Owen’s doom and gloom was starting to weigh down bothof them at this point.

“Just ask…” Owen echoed, his breathingcoming out in labored puffs and his calves burning. “S’like saying if you wantto fly to the moon, just fly.”

Barry slowed down and then stopped, bendedat the waist, his hands gripping his knees. “What’s the worst thing that canhappen?” He inquired.

Owen squinted in the sunlight, his chestheaving, the air that smelled strongly of the ocean and magnolias clinging tohis skin. Hands on his hips, he grimaced a little, the pleasant post-run buzzsettling inside him. Scoffed, when he caught Barry watching him quizzicallybecause apparently the question wasn’t rhetorical.

“Where do I even start?” He muttered,which wasn’t entirely a joke.

He had never wanted anyone more than hewanted Claire, and several months of shameless fantasizing about her did littleto help tame his urges. But the most important thing was that she was hisfriend, the one he never expected to find in none other than Claire Dearing, ofall people. If he did something stupid and Claire didn’t reciprocate hisfeelings, he would lose not only the idea of her, however impossible, but alsothe person he could talk to, the one that listened to him and seemingly cared.In the best care scenario, they would end up with a perpetual wall ofawkwardness between them. Their conversations would go strained and their eyecontact fleeting. With Owen’s luck, he’d have to move to another planet and learnto grow crops because anything else would be too unbearable.

So yeah, the stakes were kinda high, andas much as he appreciated Barry’s wisdom, Owen figured he might need a slightlymore solid plan than Why don’t you just.

Which was problematic to come up with whenhe could oh so clearly picture her in the goddamned bathtub only a wall awayfrom him, and all he could think of was kissing every inch of her body andevery freckle and those plump red lips that he was more than certain would feelpretty damn good everywhere on his skin.

No wonder even Lowery, a guy whose lovelife was desperately sad, was making fun of him.

—

“You’recoming to Gray’s graduation, right?” Karen inquired, which sounded morelike a statement than a question. “Claire?”

Her phone squeezed between her ear and hershoulder, Claire bit her lip, trying to stay focused on her sister and thebalance sheet spread before her on the desk at the same time, her eyes scanningthe narrow lines filled with figures. Choosing impeccable timing was certainlyone of Karen’s undeniable talents.

“I’m here,” Claire muttered, rubbing herforehead. “Yes, of course. I told you I was.”

The one good thing that came from thegoddamned incident was, perhaps, patching up her relationship with her familythat had been steadily falling apart for years. She had to admit that there wasnothing quite like a near-death experience to prompt some actual bonding, andmuch to her own surprised, she actually missed Zach and Gray more than sheexpected, or was willing to admit, especially to Karen who had been on her caseabout being more involved with the boys for as long as they lived. Trying notto dwell on all the missed birthdays, holidays, and milestones, Claire wasquite looking forward to her visit to Madison in several weeks, her feetitching to walk the familiar streets, among other things.

Not that was it was making Karen’suntimely phone call was any less inconvenient.

“Andyour… boyfriend?” Karen pressed.

Claire sighed and leaned back in herchair, choosing to give up on the report for the time being. “He is not myboyfriend,” she repeated for what felt like a millionth time, pointed patiencein her voice because she knew Karen couldn’t stand it – probably about as muchas Claire hated this whole conversation.

“I’msorry. The man you’re living with,” Karen snorted. “Gray talked my ear off about him, and considering your situation--”

“There is no situation, Karen. Actually,we’re seeing other people,” she added, which was vague enough to mean justabout anything while not being a compete lie.

“People?As in – plural? Both of you?” Claire didn’t dignify that with an answer,and her sister went on. “Anyway, he is more than welcome to join you.” Apause. “They both seem to think veryhighly of Owen, and… well, it’s up to him of course. And you. I mean… I don’teven know if he can take the time off.”

“I’ll ask,” Claire promised before Karen’srambling got out of hand.

In the past few months, the incidentbecame sort of a taboo topic that neither she, nor Karen brought up, and eitherby an unspoken agreement, or by their mother’s instruction, the boys nevermentioned it to her either, their Skype calls usually revolving around theirdaily lives. She knew Karen got rid of Gray’s dinosaur collection, and neither ofthem would probably go anywhere near Costa Rica for the rest of their lives,but if that was what healing was, Claire was willing to take it.

—

Contrary to popular opinion, Owen wasn’tan impulsive person. His whole life was a series of carefully calculateddecisions and thought-through steps, the consequences of the possible mistakes alwayson the periphery of his attention. Sure, he had his fair share of baddecisions, the nights he regretted, and roughly a hundred tequila shots that heprobably could’ve live without. No to mention a tattoo that Owen had to turninto a Navy one because getting into a truth or dare game with a bunch of drunkbuddies was hardly ever a good idea. However, his choice to join the Navy andthen accept the offer from Simon Masrani was not made lightly.

Therefore, buying a motorcycle with hisfirst post-incident check was not exactly something he did on a whim. Inretrospect, he could have and should have done something useful with thatmoney. Something like getting his own apartment, for instance, and if he wasthinking with his head at least on some occasions, he’d do just that. However,when he cautiously mentioned moving out to Claire, she scanned his list ofselected Craigslist ads, her face pinched like he’d handed her a dead rat,crossing one after another while she explained to him how exactly the peoplewho posted them were going to kill him, and ‘have you never done this before?’

For a moment, it almost seemed like sheactually wanted him to stay, although Owen refused to actually think of it. Buthis search for an apartment had been stalling since. And even Claire didn’tseem particularly surprised when he rolled into the driveway on a slightly usedbut still impressive-looking Triumph he’d found on the used-cars lot, clearlyoverlooked. He didn’t technically need it, but sharing Claire’s was growingmore and more inconvenient for both of them, and a bike seemed like a perfectsolution at the time.

She merely raised her eyebrows when hefinally came to a stop and propped his newly acquired beast on a kickstand, hishands shaking slightly from tension, unaccustomed to the feel of power beneathhim again. It wasn’t exactly like riding a bicycle, but his body knew all themoves, curving at the right angles as he swerved at the curves of the road.There were things he didn’t miss about the island – stifling heat and humiditythat felt smothering and thick, mosquitoes and the shower that kept braking onthe days ending with a ‘y’, but this was something he used to enjoy quite a bit,the accelerated heartbeat and the speed that felt like flying.

On that first day, Owen pulled off hishelmet, grinning at Claire who was watching him from the porch, her arms foldedover her chest. He pattedthe passenger seat behind him, to which Claire informed him that she didn’thave a death wish, thank you very much, although her lips were curved into asmile that suggested that she didn’t mean it, her face soft in a way that madehis heart leap up into his throat – a hot lump that made it hard to breathe.There was some colour in her cheeks, the wind tugging at her hair gently, andhe thought he was losing his mind. She’d been referring it his bike as hishobby ever since, noting that everyone needed one and thank god his was mildlysuicidal but not overly so.

Owen turnedonto their street, slowing down at the curve, the roar of the engine stillringing in his ears.

There wassomeone on the porch when the condo came into his view, two shadows in the palelight of the porch lamp over the door, and Owen’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.Claire had a date by the looks of it, and this time the guy made it all the wayto the door. He felt sick at the idea of her thinking that he wasn’t at homeand maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to invite the guy in – not that Owenexpected his presence to stop her from doing it, and they could always go tothe man’s place anyway – but it still was akin a punch in the gut, and by thetime he rolled up the narrow driveway and stopped in front of the garage door,he was practically hyperventilating.

Maybe heshould have turned around and headed wherever, Owen was thinking, except if hedid that right now, it would be too obvious and deliberate, and he didn’t wantto give anyone the satisfaction of seeing his tantrum. Not that Claire wouldsee it that way, he figured, considering how she didn’t really care. Maybe hecould do that, after all. Pretend he’d forgotten something at work. Pretend… hewas getting frustratingly good at it lately, and it was starting to grate onhis own nerves more than he was willing to admit. At this point, he couldprobably wish her all the best with the straight face, without batting aneyelash, and it made him disgusted with himself to the point of feelingnauseated.

Owen pulledoff the helmet, sliding as gracelessly off the bike as he could, given that hiswhole body was shaking with too much adrenaline coursing through his system.

Claire wasstill wearing her office clothes, as was her date, both of them looking likethey’d just tumbled out of a corporate meeting, except it was nearing 11 PM andthe personal space didn’t seem to be much of a thing, from where he wasstanding. Claire was clutching her purse and a folder with some papers in herhand, her back turned to Owen, and the man was leaning if a little toocomfortably into her, his tie loosened a little, his voice louder than Owen liked.Not that it was any of his business. Frankly, the only thing he really caredabout right now was that there was no back door in her condo through which hecould sneak in unnoticed rather than having to walk past them.

Claireturned to the sound of his footsteps, a flicker of something that looked verymuch like relief flashing across her features for a second, making him pausebriefly in his tracks.

And this waswhen Owen noticed that something was off. The guy she was with was clearlydrunk, and not just tipsy, but shit-faced hammered, and his swaying was notflirty. He simply couldn’t stand still without the gravity pulling him down.From this close, he could see the difference in Claire’s body language as well– tense and wary, her smile bit too tight around the edges.

“Owen.”

ClaireDearing knew how to deal with men – be they drunk, overly opinionated, or justassholes in general. She knew how to say no and get them to understand that shemeant it, and she knew how to make her position perfectly clear. She wasperfectly capable of getting them to back off and thinking that it was theiridea in the first place, and she wasn’t above using physical force to ensureher safety. That being said, it didn’t make certain situations any lessuncomfortable and more than a little uneasy. Especially when they were takingplace on her porch after what felt like a waste of 2 hours of her life shecould’ve spent not hating her choices.

Frankly, shehad never been happier to hear the familiar road of Owen’s bike coming fromaround the corner, a stiff line of her shoulders going slack by the second. Sheknew it was a bad idea to say yes to Nathan – not because she saw his orderingone cocktail after another coming, because she certainly did not, but becauseshe didn’t care about him in any way that mattered. He seemed nice enough andthey worked in the same field, which made it quite impossible to lapse intoextended periods of awkward silence. However, she did it out of habit, said yesbecause it was easy to do so, and it was unfair to both of them, consideringthat Claire regretted it not a second later, knowing for a fact that it wouldnot be happening again. In fact, in the few hours that passed between theirconversation and the actual dinner, she was tempted on more than one occasionto call him and use whatever excuse she could come up with to cancel.

She didn’t.

And now shewas having to deal with the fact that not only he insisted on walking her homebecause she’d left her car parked near the office and he had at least somesense left in him to know he shouldn’t be driving, but with the idiotic idea hecame up along the way.

She hopedher adventures would be over for the night after Nathan dropped her off, but hewas dead set on walking her to the door, leaving Claire with a sinking feelingin the pit of her stomach. And then he got it in his head that he wanted tocome on for ‘coffee and chat’, and nothing that Claire had said in the pastfifteen minutes convinced him to leave. She wasn’t worried he’d do anything –after all, the man downed enough scotch to knock out a bull – but it was darkand he was a fairly large person, and she could easily knee him in the area thatwas meant to be treated nicely, but she didn’t particularly want to go there,or make a scene, or call the police, for that matter.

All thingsconsidered, she didn’t need Owen’s help, like she never needed anyone to saveher ever in her life, but he was here, and her heart grew five tons lighterfrom the familiar warmth of his body that appeared right behind her and thescent of his aftershave that permeated her very skin, the one thing sheassociated with safety for what felt like forever.

“Hey,”Owen echoed flatly, his eyes sliding up and down Claire’s company.

Shecleared her throat. “Nathan, this is Owen Grady. Owen – Nathan Gibbons.”

Nathanoffered Owen a sloppy salute. “Sorry, man, we’re kinda in the middle ofsomething here.”

“Idon’t think so,” Owen responded mildly tucking his hands into the pockets ofhis jeans. Standing beside Claire, he seemed like a solid wall, and just asunmovable.

“It’sokay,” Claire assured him, feeling slightly less wobbly in her stomach.

Nathan’sgaze darted between the two of them, his eyes narrowed. “Wait, him?” He jabbed his finger at Owen’schest. “Is this why you wouldn’t putout?”

Owen’shand darted forward at lightning speed, closing around Nathan’s finger andbending it backward until the other man yelped in surprise and pain, strugglingto pull away from him.

”Isuggest you choose your words very carefully, man,” Owen said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Owen,don’t.”

Thesound of her voice drowned in the swoosh of the first punch.

—

“Wasthat really necessary?”

Owensnorted as she pressed a pack of ice wrapped in a towel to his bruisedknuckles.

Shestill didn’t quite understand how exactly the fight broke out, and moreimportantly – how Nathan managed to even swing his fists, let alone to causeany damage when he could barely keep the upright position. She blamedequilibrium, and a great deal of luck, for the matter. Thank god, it was overbefore one of the neighbors called the police and Nathan stumbled unsteadilyinto the night, making Claire wonder if a little absently if their businessinteractions in the future would be as uncomfortable as she suspected theywould be.

Shedidn’t have a chance to catch a glimpse of Nathan’s face, but Owen ended upwith scabbed knuckles, a split eyebrow and an impressive bruise on thecheekbone that would stick around for a while, she assumed.

“Apologiesfor ruining your date night,” Owen deadpanned. “Would you like me to go catchup with him and apologize?”

“It’snot what I meant,” she countered with an exasperate sigh that only made hisscowl deepen, although it remained a mystery as to why.

“Would you like to run after him?” He offeredin a voice that suggested that he half-expected her to take off.

Sheswallowed down a smile and shook her head. “Thank you,” added softly. “Thisneeds to be cleaned.”

Hergaze on the cut over his eyebrow, Claire reached for his chin to tilt his head tothe side to have a better look, maybe figure out if he needed stitches, but Owenleaned away from her touch.

“It’sfine. Just a scratch.”

Hepushed past her, stepping toward the fridge. Dove inside for a moment beforestraightening up again, a bottle of beer in his hand. In a tight shirt that wasstretching over his chest, his face battered and his hair tousled and stickingout at odd angles, he looked like he just fell out of a bar fight. Which wasn’tthat far from the truth, and which, under different circumstances, she wouldgladly comment on. However, it seemed an unnecessary joke when he was lookingat her like the events of the night were purely her fault. Like he could barelystand being in the same room as her.

Clairedropped her hand. “You can’t possibly be this repulsed by me.”

Owenfroze with the bottle halfway to his lips, his eyes popped out in shock. “Comeagain?”

“Forgetit,” she muttered, turning on her heel to leave.

“No,wait a sec…”

OwenGrady was many things, but slow wasn’t one of them. Unless ignoring her not sosubtle hints counted – in which case he was the deafest and blindest man alivewith the reflexes of a snail. Still, he crossed the distance between them intwo quick strides and blocked the doorway as effectively as a wall would,forcing her to stop, his brows knitted together in confusion.

“What thehell was that?”

“Nothing.”She raised her chin, willing her voice to remain steady. “I didn’t sayanything.”

Exceptshe did, and his frown deepened. “You can’t seriously think that.”

Clairethrew her hands in the air, the frustration she’d been stewing in for the pastseveral months finally boiling over the edge. “What was I supposed to think,Owen? I didn’t quite imagine…”

“What?”

She bither lip, feeling the heat rise up her cheeks. “When you said we should sticktogether, I didn’t exactly think you meant it in the watching-Netflix-on-the-couchkind of way!”

Heregarded her grimly. “Is that why you started dating?”

“Youseemed to be fine with it,” Claire remind him, her voice dripping withaccusation.

“Ididn’t know you needed my permission,” he retorted, and winced when it came outsharper than he intended.

“Ididn’t need your permission. I neededto know what you cared, which obviously was a criminal lapse of judgement on my part.”

For along moment, they simply glared at one another, chests heaving like after asprint and lips pursed into thin lines. The air between them felt charged,their gazes fastened on one another’s – jade-green and deep blue, Owen’s facecontorted with more hurt than she’d anticipated, shimmering underneath thelayer of fatigue that was radiating off of him, almost palpable to the touch.

Shecould feel it now, the seismic shift between them. Could feel it under her skinlike jolts of electric current shooting through body, and the change she’d beencraving all those months was staring right in her face, terrifying in its immensity,making Claire wish she could step away from him, or better yet – disappear, putas much distance between them, chagrined under his stare.

“Fuck,”Owen cursed under his breath, his expression closed-off and unreadable.

Shethought he’d storm out – god knew she would if he wasn’t blocking the door.

Instead,he yanked her toward him, one hand on the small of her back and the othertangled in her hair as his mouth crashed against hers, hard and demanding andunapologetic, claiming rather than asking. Caught momentarily off guard, Clairegasped against his lips, surprised by the suddenness and the sheer force drivinghim and reverberating into her with every beat of his heart.

Herhesitation only lasted a moment, mixed with panic that he might change hismind, and then she was kissing him back like they were still on the island andthe chaos raged around them. Gripping the hair on the back of his head, shepressed closer to him, deepening the kiss and ripping a guttural groan from himthat made her feel like her body was on fire. Owen’s tongue pushed past herteeth, his fingers bunching her skirt on her ass, his desperate needy wantingricocheting right through her with sweet, burning ache. He smelled of his aftershaveand leather and sweat, and the memory was so vivid she could almost hear thescreeches of Pteranodons all around them, muffled by the loud hammering of the bloodin her ears.

She hadnever wanted anyone so much in her life.

“Stillthink I don’t care?” Owen chuffed against her mouth between sloppy, breathlesskisses.

Oh, hedid. Claire could feel it hard and clear – pun intended – pressing against herhip.

“Shutup,” she mouthed soundlessly as her fingers closed around a fistful of hisshirt and she pulled him down to her again.

Theystumbled out into the hallway, bumping into the decoration table, nearlyknocking it down to the floor, and then into the bedroom – whose she had noidea and didn’t care one way or the other – Owen’s hands sliding over her bodylike he had at least six of them all of sudden, tending to whatever parts ofher he could reach, none of it ever enough. She tripped over a cord on thefloor and he caught her before she lost her balance, holding her close to him.

“Claire…”

“Don’tstop,” she whispered, her fingers tugging at his shirt, pulling it from underthe belt of his jeans, hands slipping under the hem to find his skin.

Shescraped her nails down his chest, and he growled and pressed a slow, hot kissto her neck, Claire’s eyes fluttering shut, her breath nowhere to be found.Owen chuckled as he tossed his shirt aside and started to work on the buttonsof her blouse with one hand while the other hiked her skirt all the way up toher waist, his fingers tracing the along the waistband of her panties, inchingcloser to where she wanted to feel him the most. She whimpered, the sound turninginto a shuddered sob when his fingers brushed to the sensitive spot.

More.

“Letme,” she murmured and pulled her half-buttoned blouse over her head.

“Handy.”

In nearcomplete darkness, dispersed by the faint light coming from the hallway, hiseyes looked black and bottomless, his ragged breath on her skin making hershake all over. He raised his hand, traced the strap of her white lace bra, hisfingers slipping inside as his other palm cupped her face, and he was kissingher again, with deliberate precision this time, artfully removing the remainingpieces of her clothing as he did so, allowing the gravity to take them. Her brahit the floor and Owen’s thumb ran over her nipple, earning a tug on his bottomlip in response while Claire’s unsteady fingers tried to undo his belt withlittle to no success.

She couldn’tremember the last time someone consumed her mind so completely, the primal needto feel him until he was all there was in the world zinging through her withsparkling, sharp clarity. Giving in to her desires was not something Claire wasoverly familiar with, the territory she found herself in terrifying with theenormity of possibilities, but when Owen pushed her skirt down her thighs andit pooled at her feet in a puddle of silk, his hands sliding up and down herback, probably leaving blisters in their wake, she knew it didn’t matter, hermental itinerary shredded into confetti.

Hefollowed her to the bed, pressing her into the sheets, his hands and lips trailingover her smooth skin, ready to drown in her. His gaze skimmed lazily over herbody, pale in the dark and more perfect than his wildest dreams, the ones thatleft him incapable of looking her in the eye the morning after for fear ofletting her in on something that felt like a secret. Owen fitted his mouth tohers, his face caught between Claire’s hands, tasting her smile, his fingersdigging into her flesh, marveling in the silky feel of her body, wrapped in thescent of vanilla and something that was purely her.

Hishand slipped behind her back, all but yanking her lace panties off in one swiftmotion, before tucking her neatly beneath him, their lips meeting in hungry,hot kisses, one sound of pleasure morphing into another. Her teeth closedaround his earlobe as his fingers skittered over her belly, her hips rising tomeet him in a silent invitation – she knew what she needed and wasn’t shy todemand it, and for once, Owen was more than willing to oblige. His palm slidalong her side and under her thigh, lifting her knee. Claire’s gasp of surpriseat the suddenness of him filling her completely turned into a whimper ofacceptance, a sound low in her throat that jolted from the top his head to hisvery toes.

Owen caughther wrist, pressed it into the mattress above her head; kissed her again, theslick wetness of her nearly undoing him in the best way. His hips snappedforward, the instinctive need to curb his urges, make the moment last dimminginstantly, pushed back by the raw need he’d been keeping at bay for far toolong. His vision tunneled, zeroed in on her and thank god, and finally,her legs wound tightly around him reeling him closer.

Thesqueeze, the rhythm, her breathing coming out in soft moans, her usuallyimpressive vocabulary now reduced to yesand more, the sound of her voicevanishing in the sheer joy of gliding in and out of her, teetering on theperiphery of his attention. His breathing grew ragged, his quickening thrustsalmost frantic. And then she was shuddering all around him, a delicious clench,grasping and groping, her outcry breaking through his blurred awareness andthrowing him over the edge in the explosion of pure delight.

Theworld shifted into place slowly, taking shape around them, its edges sharpeningand then dissolving, and coming into focus again.

A slow,lazy laughter bubbled up in his chest as Owen kissed her temple, her cheek, hisfingers laced through hers flexing to make sure she was real. Claire purred,nuzzled into his stubbled jaw before he collapsed on the sheets beside her,completely spent in the most incredible way.

“Oh,god,” she breathed out, rolling onto her stomach with a giggle, waiting for herheartbeat to find itself.

Owenthrew his arm over his eyes, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, andsuddenly she wished she could see more than a mere outline of him, her skinstill tingling with the memory of his touch, every inch of her body alreadymissing the contact.

“Ican’t believe it,” he groaned with a short, incredulous laugh.

“Whichpart?” She asked, mellow and limp for all the right reasons, the thoughtshaving serious trouble forming in her mind.

“Wecould’ve been doing this for months,” he responded, sounding comically miserable,making Claire’s smile stretch out wider. “Years even.”

Shesnorted. “Months – maybe. Years?”

Owen turnedhis head to look at her, his features nothing but a dark smudge, but she knewhe was grinning for all he was worth, could feel it wash over her in tidalwaves.

Herolled onto his side. Propped up on his elbow, dipping his head to press a kissto her bare shoulder, then the base of her neck before finding her lips again,kissing her slowly and sweetly and like they had all the time in the world,which they probably did, and the thought filled him with such consuming elationit almost hurt.

Hebrushed her hair that smelled of strawberries and lemons back from her forehead,twisting a strand between his fingers. “I have never not wanted you, Claire,”he murmured between the pecks.

“Youhave a funny way of showing it,” she grumbled.

Owenwiggled closer to her and gathered her in his arms until she was half-sprawledover him, their legs tangled together and their sweat-slick bodies glued to oneanother, and pulled the covers over them when she shivered. He didn’t seem tobe able to stop touching her, tracing the lines of her body and drain lazycircles on her back, cocooned into the scent and the delicious weight of her.God, she felt so good, so right, so damn amazing - all of her curved into everycurve of him.

“ShouldI have punched someone for you sooner?” He inquired.

“Youshouldn’t have done it, period.”

“Nexttime I’ll hold your purse and you’ll do the swingin’,” he suggested.

Shescoffed and rubbed her nose into his chest, pressed a kiss to a spot below hiscollarbone. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Knowwhat?”

“I didn’tthink you were interested,” she explained.

“Bywhat logic wasn’t I interested, Claire? Why’d you think I haven’t moved out?” Mock-insultedsounded good on him, Claire decided.

“Theocean view?” She suggested. “Free parking?”

Hesnorted like she couldn’t have been more ridiculous even if she tried. “Please!You asked me to move my bike so many times it would’ve been less of a hustle tobuild my own garage.”

“Whatwas I supposed to do? Get naked and throw myself at you?” She demanded with ascoff.

“Workedtonight,” he noted, and she smacked him on the shoulder with the back of herhand.

“Youdidn’t make a move.”

Owenlet out a long sigh, his fingers threading lazily through her mussed hair, the amountof affection making her heart squeeze. “I thought you’d kick me out if I did.Thought I was your charity case or something, I don’t know.” He poked the soleof her foot with his toe.

Shepressed her face into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. “You’re suchan idiot.”

“Itseems to be a popular opinion,” he admitted. “So… now what? Are you still goingto keep seeing those morons?”

Clairechose to ignore the second question, caught all of sudden in the what now part,seeing as how even her wildest fantasies never went past sleeping with him – whichwas so much better than she ever imagined that she had no word for it.Afterwards, she assumed, they would probably ignore it happened and move onwith their lives. Which, as it turned out, was not the case at all.

“We canstart with moving you here to my room.”

“Technically,this my room.”

Sheraised her head, finally noticing the chest of drawers that was sitting in the‘wrong’ corner, and Owen’s gym bag left on the chair, and it was only now thatshe noticed that the bedding smelled of his cologne, too. “Technically, it usedto be my office, and I want it back.”

He laughedand pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Well, that can be arranged.”

—

“So, youare bringing a ‘plus one’?” Karen pressed, and for a moment Claire wasn’tsure whether to be amused or offended by her undisclosed surprise. Especiallyconsidering the fact that Karen was the one who kept calling Owen her boyfriendfrom the day she met him.

“Stopcalling him that,” Claire huffed as she flipped through the hangers, lookingfor something to match the dark blue shoes she loved but almost never wore.

“Okay, then… what should I call him?”

And that was a very good question indeed,the one that Claire was still struggling with to a certain degree, torn betweenthe need to label and compartmentalize the progression of their relationshipand the tentative idea of actually letting it unfold at its own pace.

Owenmoved into her bedroom almost two weeks ago, his clothes now crowding hercloset and drawers and his books piled on the second bedside table that used tomostly collect dust. And one day last week, he’d actually turned what used tobe his bedroom back into a study while Claire was at work – a gesture that lefther with glowing contentment pooling in the pit of her stomach.

Attimes, it felt like nothing had changed, their routines seemingly the same asthey were before, and yet her mind was still reeling from the clash of newnessand familiarity, the seamless way their lives clicked together like it wasmeant to be this way from the start, and she knew that if she brought it upwith Owen, he’d have a word or two to say about how their date should haveended differently almost two years ago.

Clairebit into her lip, trying to tune out his off-tune humming in the shower andfocus on the conversation with Karen and maybe getting dressed for work beforeshe was late.

“A workin progress,” she said with a small smile.

“You sound… good,” Karen noted.

Clairecaught her reflection in the vanity mirror – in a tank top and pink panties, hercheeks flushed and her hair framing her face in soft waves she no longerbothered to straighten, not with the same religious devotion she was so intofor as long as she remembered, at least. Frankly, she’d never been happier. So muchso that that the woman looking back at her almost looked like a stranger, butthe one she couldn’t wait to know better.

“Itfeels good,” she admitted.

Thedoor behind her opened, and Owen emerged from a cloud of pine-scented steam,his wet hair slicked back from his forehead and a towel wrapped loosely aroundhis hips, making her heartbeat trip over itself. An eyebrow quirked, a cutabove it reduced to a pale scar that Claire knew would fade before he evennoticed, he offered her a lopsided grin, his eyes glinting with amusement, andshe knew instantly that her not particularly subtle once-over didn’t gounnoticed.

“Reallygood,” she added, hanging up without saying goodbye.

Two minuteslater, she forgot what she wasn’t supposed to be late for.

#clawen #clawen fic #claire dearing #owen grady #jurassic world #claire x owen #jealous Owen will always hold a special place in my heart #so much for quitting...#but maybe a few more stories...

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