#he likes to try and hop onto the desk where he isn't allowed when he's understimulated

[lovesthecure]

[haitaniplug]

OBLIVIOUSNESS PT 2

haitani ran x fem!reader

summary: you and ran both like each other, but are so oblivious to each others feelings.

genre: best friends → lovers , childhood friends , angst, smut , fluff

cw: fem!reader, intimacy, jealousy, mutual pining , secret crush , slow burn, romance

part one part 3

the next day, you invite ran over to your house so he can help you study for your exam. he's sitting on the floor, back against the wall with his knees up, whilst you are on your bed, laying down as you face him.

"try that flashcard," you slightly bent your body over the bed frame and pointed your index finger to the orange flashcard on the floor. ran leans forward and picks it up, clearing his throat before reading the question, "how do plants get their nitrogen fro-"

"from the air right?" you cut him off and he looks at you, nodding. "um, let me think, just give me a moment..." you hum allowing your brain to focus, "something about a triple bond.... does that count?"

ran shakes his head, "answer the full thing otherwise I won't reward it to ya."

"ran, cmon!" you groan whilst he shook his head, tutting rhetorically, "nah, answer it."

"give me a hint at least."

ran drops his eyes to the flashcard before moving them back up to you. "you were right about the triple bond. something about energy too-"

"oh! plants do not get their nitrogen from the air because nitrogren atoms have a triple bond which is very strong and hard to break, takes lots of energy to break those bonds which makes it difficult for plants to split the nitrogen molecules in order to get raw atoms it can use."

ran looks at you in disbelief, relief flowing through him that he dropped outta school because his mind couldn't comprehend all this useless knowledge.

"i hate science so much, when will i ever use the knowledge of plant molecules and shit in real life," you scowl as you spoke, hopping off your bed and moving on the floor where ran was. you lean forward to grab all the loose flashcards that were splayed all over the floor.

you also noticed how silent ran was being and how this isn't usually like him. "why are you so quie-" the words died in your throat when you saw where his eyeline was at. you look down, seeing your cleavage on display as you leaned forward to grab the flashcards.

"you're such a perv," you grab onto his face, squishing his cheeks in the process and moved it to the side so he was staring at the wall. "what?" ran smiles , "they just happened to be in my line of vision,"

"yeah and my fist is going to be in your line of vision too if you do that again," you say while frowning, acting annoyed even though your body was tingly at the thought of ran staring at you in that way.

"won't happen again," he says in a sing song tone which from the numerous amounts of times you'd heard that tone in the past before, you knew he was lying, "im serious ran. how would you feel if i looked at your dick all the time."

"well-" he was about to speak till you cut him off, "actually don't answer that." you knew his answer was going to be perverted the second you saw that grin on his face. "you need to leave, i need to study now."

"what? i can't stay and watch you study?" ran pushes his back off the wall so you were both sitting facing each other.

"won't you be bored though?" you ask and he shrugs. to be frank, he would never be bored in your presence.

"i like your company," he admits and you feel heat crawling up your cheeks. "o-oh okay." you mentally slap yourself from getting flustered so easily, he didn't even say anything worth getting you acting this way. ran haitani's charm is something you'll never get used to even though you've known him for years on end.

you stand up, dusting your clothes before sitting on your desk, grabbing your notebooks and starting to write away. meanwhile ran just watches you from the other end of the room.

he thinks you look stunning, and all you're doing is studying. he doesn't know what's up with him recently. first jerking off to your voice at 3am, now watching you while you study.

am i being a creep? ran thinks, shuddering at the thought of him becoming some perverted weirdo. he just needs to be so close to you at all times, touching you even in a non sexual way. just like a hand on your shoulder, or your waist, or your ass-

"could you pass me the yellow highlighter?" your voice cuts him out of his thoughts and he's glad you did. the last thing he wants is to get a boner in your room with you inside. humilation at its finest.

"um, sure." ran reaches over to your pencil cases that dropped on the floor when you were on your bed. he grabs the yellow highlighter and tosses it to where you're at. your eyes were still fixated on your notebook since you half expected him to stand up and hand the highlighter to you like a normal person.

so you could only imagine the sudden shock when the highlighter hits you right in the face, "ran what the fuck!?" you bring your hand up to cradle your eye and ran stands up, "oh shit, i didnt-" he stops himself while laughing.

"it's not funny! my eye hurts." you plant your heels on the floor and scoot your chair away from your desk. "ow, ow ow," you stand up and all traces of laughter fade away from ran's face, "yo, are you good?" he stands up and rushes towards you so quickly.

"it hurts ran," you say as you cover your eye. ran stands infront of you, grabbing your chin to lift your face up to his. "remove your hand," he speaks and his tone is stern. you keep your hand on there, disobeying him.

he grabs your hand and gently lifts it off your face, eyes scanning over your face to assess the damage done. you could almost laugh at how serious his face looks right now. in fact, you did. snickering before grabbing your stomach with both arms, "i can't believe you fell for that!"

ran clenches his jaw and it makes you laugh even harder. "you do care for me," you fake pouted as you continued to laugh. "i'll shove that highlighter down your throat," ran finally speaks and you laugh even louder.

he gets sick and tired of you laughing at his expense and picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, "ran? what are yo-"

before you could even finish, he tosses you onto your bed, covering your entire body with the covers, "keep laughing while you suffocate."

you managed to squirm your way out from his grip, the covers falling onto the floor. "you're just a sore loser ran."

he rolls his eyes, "don't even do that to me again."

"do what?"

"i really thought i hurt you man, it was scary," he admits and your eyes widen "ran- i know you'd never hurt me." you sit up and crawl towards him, resting your head on his lap. you shift on your side so you were facing upwards.

ran's hand comes down and rests in your hair as he looked down at you. "i'd never hurt you. but i'd hurt anyone that hurts you ok?"

you nod, taking his hand in your hair and placing it on your cheek and you nuzzle it, “i’ll hurt anyone that hurts you too ran.”

you say and at this moment, ran’s never felt softer in his life. just looking at your sweet innocent face turned something in him. the feeling resonating deep down inside his chest to protect you. never let anybody hurt you. never let anybody touch you.

this is the moment ran haitani declares you’re his. you belong to him. once he gathers the courage to ask you out.

so you could imagine his shock when he sees you a week later, hand in hand with a boy as he kisses the top of your head before entering the building.

ran’s face twitched as he saw the look in your eyes as you watched him disappear into the building. you sighed dreamily before spotting ran across the street and waving to him.

ran simply lifts his hand to send a wave back. you look both sides before crossing the road, panting by the time you reach ran. “how long you been standing there?” you ask, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“not long,” he says, “who was that?” he gestures with his chin over to where you were standing not to long ago. “that’s my boyfriend. he sent me a confession letter in my locker like 4 days ago and asked me out.”

“so you just said yes?” ran asks and his tone startled you but you ignored it. “well yea? what’s the big deal?” you say in the exact same harsh tone ran gave you. ran ignored the way he felt when he saw this bitch boy touch your hand & kiss you. “never mind. congratulations i guess,” ran sends a fake smile before walking down the street.

you noticed that was a little out of character for him but shrugs it off. thinking it’s nothing.

“did you know she has a fucking boyfriend now?” ran speaks angrily into the phone. rindou yawns before responding, “yeah i know, what’s the big deal?”

“and nobody fucking tells me shit?!” ran is shocked the fact that rindou knew before him, “when did you find out?”

rindou thinks, “like 4 days ago. i was there with her when the letter dropped out from her locker.”

“what?”

“she opened the letter, and told me it’s a love confession. at first she was unsure and i told her to go for it since this is probably like the first and last time she’ll get one,” rindou starts laughing, “she got mad at me for saying that, then got jealous at the amount of love letters i receive. it’s actually funny cause a girl gave me a love letter like 10 minutes before the locker incident-,”

“rindou. stay on topic please.” ran’s voice was gruff as he spoke and rindou forgot he’s been rambling off topic the entire time. “sorry,” rindou apologises, “but anyway, i told her to accept it, so she did and met him after school. now bam they’re dating.”

ran stills on the other end of the line, “so this was your fault?”

rindou stiffens, “yes..? no.? i don’t know. wait-why does this even matter?!”

“cause i like her! you fucking idiot!” ran loses his temper and rindou stops speaking. “oh… OH SHIT! BRO IM SO SOR-,” rindou’s voice is cut off because ran hangs up the phone.

ran breathes in deeply as he walks back home. the fact you didn’t even tell him you’re dating someone. do you not trust him with information?

ran slowly feels you slipping away from his grasp, now you have a whole ass fucking boyfriend ? it hurts, every footstep he takes makes his chest feels heavy.

taglist : @sunaspillowprincess @q-the-rockaholic @luno614

[penisman420-69]

A gentle glow from the computer screen washes over the dark desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Dream's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.

Betrayal.

Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green.

"Dream?" He hears George say faintly.

"Wait, did he leave?" Sapnap asks.

"It says he's on the call, still." George's voice slowly grows closer. Dream begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Dream?"

The concern in his voice makes Dream sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yes, yes, hello, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing green grass blocks and Sapnap's avatar crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did you end the stream?" He quickly tabs out just in time to see George laugh.

"No, but I'm about to. Couldn't end it without you saying bye," George says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Dream's chest.

He smiles. "Oh, alright. Bye stream!"

"Bye!" Sapnap yells.

George waves to the camera. "Bye you guys, thank you so much. Also, pray for Dream's air conditioning."

"And my broken fan," Dream adds.

"Bye bye," George repeats, then disappears from Dream's view. This stream has ended. A familiar feeling creeps into Dream's chest whenever that message appears post-stream; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.

He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of your stream complaining about the weather," he says, clicking back to the server. Sapnap has placed an oak sign before him that reads: wee waa dream can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes and breaks it.

"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," George says. His avatar bounds over and starts placing doors on the ground. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"

"Soon, I hope," Dream answers with a huff, opening and closing the doors to appease George. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Dream had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice, though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?

"Oh my god, shut up," George says. He sounds embarrassed.

Sapnap coos. "Maybe I should stream with my camera on too."

Dream laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."

"Oh yeah, are my streams not interesting enough for you Dream?" George says, flying after him.

"What?" Dream says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your streams."

George continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."

"I didn't mean to," Dream whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."

"Yeah right," Sapnap says, "you couldn't have been doing just that for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Dream repeats, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then clicked onto George's stream to see where he was, and of course George was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Dream's soul—

"You were AFK for a while," George says, "we were still talking to you though and thought you'd muted yourself or something. Chat thought it was embarrassing."

"Oh," Dream says.

"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Sapnap asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "Lil too excited watching George?"

Both Dream and George explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Sapnap.

"Sapnap!" George sends a series of hits raining down onto his avatar. "You are so inappropriate off-stream."

"You're gross," Dream says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his George-less ceiling. Why did George have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. George's face does get me excited."

George groans, making Sapnap and Dream laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."

"Flustered, you mean," Dream inputs quickly.

"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," George says, immediately exiting their server. "Consider this a rage quit."

GeorgeNotFound has left the game. Dream sends a :( into the chat.

"Noo, Georgie," Sapnap pleads.

"You did a great job today," Dream says, wholeheartedly. "I'm going to re-watch what I missed of it later." George laughs.

"I seriously have to go. I'll talk to you soon," he says, a small sound emitting from Discord signifying he's left the call.

The feeling returns to Dream's chest—it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming coffee mug. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, mini-games, coding, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when George wakes up early enough to keep him company. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Florida night and the English sunrise.

So whenever George jokingly becomes angry with him, Dream can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows George will call again tomorrow, and that he isn't nearly as upset as he lets on. Yet he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to George's name switch from green to a pale grey.

"I think I'm gonna hop off too," Dream says to Sapnap.

"Alright, seeya."

After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the humid air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.

He sighs and wishes for rain.

He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in from the sea, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric—a brief temperance from the smoldering air, green palm trees swaying in the wind, the hint of thunder and lightning—but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.

He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.

A text from George.

I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Dream clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a new 'Glass Animals' song.

"Heat Waves," he responds, smiling. Very funny.

He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Dream finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. George is a thoughtful guy. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Dream finds it unnerving that interacting with George has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth the overthinking.

Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Dream rolls onto his side.

Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cold pile of sand.

Confused, he grasps at the foundation beneath him only for the rocky grains to slip through his fingers.

He sits up rapidly, glancing at the beach now surrounding him. Although the image is narrow, he can tell there is a murky-purple lagoon lapping a few feet before him. The moon ripples across its ominous surface. The night is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.

He looks down at his hands, seeing his bright sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Bright green.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing where the shadows at the edge of his vision are coming from, and raises a hand to gently graze the ceramic covering his face. He doesn't need a mirror to know what the mask looks like.

He pulls up his hood, tensing as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the trees that'll say—

"Dream?"

He freezes. That's—that's not right, it isn't supposed to be—

"George?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution. George stands a few feet behind him, goggles perched atop his head and an axe in his hand. He's looking around their location, dazed. The starry sky reflects itself on his lenses.

He walks across the sand towards Dream slowly. "Where...are we?"

"Um." Dream considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. "My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let George in here—it isn't safe.

"It's pretty," George says, sitting on the sand next to him.

Dream's heart aches faintly at his remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell George that after so many years of frantically slipping on the sand, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark water, and running from the woods—it has become a thing of nightmares.

He stares at George. Can he feel the memories here?

"So this is..." George gestures around with his axe vaguely. "Florida?"

Dream cracks a smile. "Yeah, you finally made it," he teases softly. George's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's a lagoon I used to come to as a kid."

"You make it sound like that was lifetimes ago."

Something foreign and lost weighs on the tension in Dream's features, forgotten behind the ceramic. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."

George says nothing. He lifts a moon-soaked hand to point at the water. "Do you see those?"

Dream turns his head, and small glowing blobs appear near the shore. Their light blue color is stark against the darkness as they float idly.

"They're moon jellies," Dream says in disbelief. He's never seen them here before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life besides him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.

George hums in approval. Dream looks at him again, grateful for the mask covering his own features. Pale moonlight makes George's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.

The word bubbles up from deep in Dream's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.

Beautiful.

He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.

"Why are we here?" George asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Dream. The word here hangs with a heavy lilt, as if he'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?

Was it you?

In his large brown eyes Dream can see the faded reflection of his sloppy black and white smile.

"I know why I'm here," Dream says carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of leaves and twigs behind them causes him to tense again. "It's dangerous here, George. We should go."

"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"

Dream ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. George doesn't try to stand. He keeps them rooted to the white shore with a confused frown.

"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," he says.

Dream feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."

George looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."

Now that his arm is draped protectively over George's small frame, Dream becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense George's body heat, watch his chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on his neck. Dream's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet him? To hear his voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to ebb away into fondness.

The moon jellies rapidly multiply until the lagoon is dappled blue, and gleaming.

George grins. "I told you it's pretty."

"Because of you," Dream says warmly. Even though George rolls his eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing water and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.

George's gaze lingers on Dream for a few heartbeats, before letting go of his axe. He raises his hand to reach for the ceramic mask.

Dream freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His hood falls when George runs his fingers gently through his wavy hair—he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when George finds the metal clasp on the back of his head, he exhales when he feels the weight of the mask drop from his face.

The breeze is cold on his cheeks. He can smell the nearby saltwater. He opens his eyes, and sees twice as many stars as usual.

"How did you do that? I've never..." He looks at George, who is smiling softly.

"I know honesty is important to you," George says. His hand moves to gently touch Dream's cheekbone.

Dream reaches and delicately takes George's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans closer, studying George's eyes until he slips down, further, to his soft lips. His breath is trembling.

"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"

George's eyes grow wide. "I—well, Dream—you—" he stammers, giving Dream exactly what he needs to let go.

Their movements happen nearly all at once—the inclining of George's jaw, the slide of Dream's hand into his hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. Hot embers rise from Dream's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of George's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the dreamland. His hand rises to softly cup George's jaw. He pulls his face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly ebbs into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses George again, and again, and again. George emits a soft noise that makes Dream melt. He can feel George's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.

Dream pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at George's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed red. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of George, just for him.

Dream parts his lips to say something, anything—and promptly wakes up.

I have heatwaves saved on my computer it doesn't phase me anymore I've read this several times you can't hurt me with this

[rikuphobic]

A gentle glow from the computer screen washes over the dark desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Dream's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.

Betrayal.

Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green.

"Dream?" He hears George say faintly.

"Wait, did he leave?" Sapnap asks.

"It says he's on the call, still." George's voice slowly grows closer. Dream begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Dream?"

The concern in his voice makes Dream sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yes, yes, hello, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing green grass blocks and Sapnap's avatar crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did you end the stream?" He quickly tabs out just in time to see George laugh.

"No, but I'm about to. Couldn't end it without you saying bye," George says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Dream's chest.

He smiles. "Oh, alright. Bye stream!"

"Bye!" Sapnap yells.

George waves to the camera. "Bye you guys, thank you so much. Also, pray for Dream's air conditioning."

"And my broken fan," Dream adds.

"Bye bye," George repeats, then disappears from Dream's view. This stream has ended. A familiar feeling creeps into Dream's chest whenever that message appears post-stream; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.

He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of your stream complaining about the weather," he says, clicking back to the server. Sapnap has placed an oak sign before him that reads: wee waa dream can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes and breaks it.

"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," George says. His avatar bounds over and starts placing doors on the ground. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"

"Soon, I hope," Dream answers with a huff, opening and closing the doors to appease George. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Dream had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice, though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?

"Oh my god, shut up," George says. He sounds embarrassed.

Sapnap coos. "Maybe I should stream with my camera on too."

Dream laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."

"Oh yeah, are my streams not interesting enough for you Dream?" George says, flying after him.

"What?" Dream says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your streams."

George continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."

"I didn't mean to," Dream whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."

"Yeah right," Sapnap says, "you couldn't have been doing just that for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Dream repeats, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then clicked onto George's stream to see where he was, and of course George was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Dream's soul—

"You were AFK for a while," George says, "we were still talking to you though and thought you'd muted yourself or something. Chat thought it was embarrassing."

"Oh," Dream says.

"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Sapnap asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "Lil too excited watching George?"

Both Dream and George explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Sapnap.

"Sapnap!" George sends a series of hits raining down onto his avatar. "You are so inappropriate off-stream."

"You're gross," Dream says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his George-less ceiling. Why did George have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. George's face does get me excited."

George groans, making Sapnap and Dream laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."

"Flustered, you mean," Dream inputs quickly.

"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," George says, immediately exiting their server. "Consider this a rage quit."

GeorgeNotFound has left the game. Dream sends a :( into the chat.

"Noo, Georgie," Sapnap pleads.

"You did a great job today," Dream says, wholeheartedly. "I'm going to re-watch what I missed of it later." George laughs.

"I seriously have to go. I'll talk to you soon," he says, a small sound emitting from Discord signifying he's left the call.

The feeling returns to Dream's chest—it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming coffee mug. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, mini-games, coding, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when George wakes up early enough to keep him company. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Florida night and the English sunrise.

So whenever George jokingly becomes angry with him, Dream can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows George will call again tomorrow, and that he isn't nearly as upset as he lets on. Yet he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to George's name switch from green to a pale grey.

"I think I'm gonna hop off too," Dream says to Sapnap.

"Alright, seeya."

After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the humid air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.

He sighs and wishes for rain.

He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in from the sea, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric—a brief temperance from the smoldering air, green palm trees swaying in the wind, the hint of thunder and lightning—but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.

He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.

A text from George.

I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Dream clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a new 'Glass Animals' song.

"Heat Waves," he responds, smiling. Very funny.

He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Dream finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. George is a thoughtful guy. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Dream finds it unnerving that interacting with George has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth the overthinking.

Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Dream rolls onto his side.

Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cold pile of sand.

Confused, he grasps at the foundation beneath him only for the rocky grains to slip through his fingers.

He sits up rapidly, glancing at the beach now surrounding him. Although the image is narrow, he can tell there is a murky-purple lagoon lapping a few feet before him. The moon ripples across its ominous surface. The night is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.

He looks down at his hands, seeing his bright sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Bright green.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing where the shadows at the edge of his vision are coming from, and raises a hand to gently graze the ceramic covering his face. He doesn't need a mirror to know what the mask looks like.

He pulls up his hood, tensing as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the trees that'll say—

"Dream?"

He freezes. That's—that's not right, it isn't supposed to be—

"George?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution. George stands a few feet behind him, goggles perched atop his head and an axe in his hand. He's looking around their location, dazed. The starry sky reflects itself on his lenses.

He walks across the sand towards Dream slowly. "Where...are we?"

"Um." Dream considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. "My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let George in here—it isn't safe.

"It's pretty," George says, sitting on the sand next to him.

Dream's heart aches faintly at his remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell George that after so many years of frantically slipping on the sand, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark water, and running from the woods—it has become a thing of nightmares.

He stares at George. Can he feel the memories here?

"So this is..." George gestures around with his axe vaguely. "Florida?"

Dream cracks a smile. "Yeah, you finally made it," he teases softly. George's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's a lagoon I used to come to as a kid."

"You make it sound like that was lifetimes ago."

Something foreign and lost weighs on the tension in Dream's features, forgotten behind the ceramic. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."

George says nothing. He lifts a moon-soaked hand to point at the water. "Do you see those?"

Dream turns his head, and small glowing blobs appear near the shore. Their light blue color is stark against the darkness as they float idly.

"They're moon jellies," Dream says in disbelief. He's never seen them here before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life besides him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.

George hums in approval. Dream looks at him again, grateful for the mask covering his own features. Pale moonlight makes George's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.

The word bubbles up from deep in Dream's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.

Beautiful.

He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.

"Why are we here?" George asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Dream. The word here hangs with a heavy lilt, as if he'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?

Was it you?

In his large brown eyes Dream can see the faded reflection of his sloppy black and white smile.

"I know why I'm here," Dream says carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of leaves and twigs behind them causes him to tense again. "It's dangerous here, George. We should go."

"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"

Dream ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. George doesn't try to stand. He keeps them rooted to the white shore with a confused frown.

"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," he says.

Dream feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."

George looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."

Now that his arm is draped protectively over George's small frame, Dream becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense George's body heat, watch his chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on his neck. Dream's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet him? To hear his voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to ebb away into fondness.

The moon jellies rapidly multiply until the lagoon is dappled blue, and gleaming.

George grins. "I told you it's pretty."

"Because of you," Dream says warmly. Even though George rolls his eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing water and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.

George's gaze lingers on Dream for a few heartbeats, before letting go of his axe. He raises his hand to reach for the ceramic mask.

Dream freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His hood falls when George runs his fingers gently through his wavy hair—he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when George finds the metal clasp on the back of his head, he exhales when he feels the weight of the mask drop from his face.

The breeze is cold on his cheeks. He can smell the nearby saltwater. He opens his eyes, and sees twice as many stars as usual.

"How did you do that? I've never..." He looks at George, who is smiling softly.

"I know honesty is important to you," George says. His hand moves to gently touch Dream's cheekbone.

Dream reaches and delicately takes George's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans closer, studying George's eyes until he slips down, further, to his soft lips. His breath is trembling.

"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"

George's eyes grow wide. "I—well, Dream—you—" he stammers, giving Dream exactly what he needs to let go.

Their movements happen nearly all at once—the inclining of George's jaw, the slide of Dream's hand into his hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. Hot embers rise from Dream's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of George's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the dreamland. His hand rises to softly cup George's jaw. He pulls his face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly ebbs into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses George again, and again, and again. George emits a soft noise that makes Dream melt. He can feel George's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.

Dream pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at George's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed red. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of George, just for him.

Dream parts his lips to say something, anything—and promptly wakes up.

oop there’s the entire first chapter of heatwaves

[cynicalglitch]

Mha fanfiction suggestions:

Nana Shimura vs All for One: The Battle of the Christmas Dinner

Summary:

Nana Shimura (somehow) survived All for One's attack, but felt that the best way to keep her children out of All for One's clutches was to stay away.

Years later her daughter Inko has tracked her down and invited her to Christmas with her husband and son. Nana goes and learns Inko's choice in husband was...not someone she'd approve of. Awkwardness ensues.

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Accumulation into being

Summary:

As the quirk came into being, stockpiling everything around it as its only cause and purpose. It was never meant to gain anything more.

Yet Fate is rarely recognizable as it happens, and sometimes, the creation of a new being can be accidental, unforseen, and change everything.

(Izuku IS one for all)

——————————

Bough breaks

Inko’s new hero boyfriend sexually abuses Izuku.

Summary:

In life, nothing is certain. Pro-heroes aren’t always the good guys. Children are not spared from the darkest realms of humanity. Izuku isn't acting like his normal self at school lately, and his homeroom teacher has taken notice. After learning about the mother’s new, unwelcomed boyfriend, Aizawa’s concern shifts into dread. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep his student away from harm.

————————————

From muddy waters

(Dad for one fic. •Izuku and inko try to get away from AFO •shoto thinks Izukus being abused as well tried to be friends •all might realizes that Izuku is AFO son)

Summary:

- but the sleeve of his tracksuit was bulging, tearing and ripping and a mass of twisted flesh, nearly as big as the boy himself and nauseatingly familiar (the arm of the man that had torn a hole in his side with a grin and left him a frail shadow of himself) swung forward and slammed into the flat face of the giant robot.

Izuku wants to be a hero more than anything.

—————————————

Hero class civil war fair

Summary:

Heroes lead by Bakugo.

Villains lead by Midoriya.

Seven days prep time.

Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

Basically there’s a training exercise and Izuku is chosen to lead the villains while Katsuki leads the heroes. Class 1A and 1B + Hitoshi Shinsou are separated into heroes and villains.

This is a really good story. It has 33 chapters.

—————————————

“Izuku, You’re thirteen”

Summary:

It takes a moment for Shouto to process the tears and questions coming from Izuku. He doesn't know how to respond. How does he tell a thirteen year old Izuku that he saved him from himself? How does he convey just how not worthless Izuku is? And how soon can Shouto go find Bakugou to give his dick frostbite for undoubtedly being the one that made Izuku think like this.

A fic where 18 yr old Izuku was turned 13 again, had the lowest damn self esteem ever, and got to see how good his future turns out.

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A chaotic neutrals guide to time travel

27 year olds Hitoshi Shinsou goes back in time to first year.

Summary: “You claim you are from the future,” Nedzu said, hopping onto his desk. “Do you have anything to prove this?”

Hitoshi fished around in his pocket. “Here’s my hero license,” he said, holding it up.

Nedzu opened his mouth, but Hitoshi kept right on going, producing a handful of odds and ends from his pocket. “Also a movie ticket, some dryer lint, some, uh, didn’t know I still had that but it’s old gum—“

That was when Aizawa walked in, capture weapon floating around him. “What’s the emergency?” he asked, clipped, as he kicked open the door.

“—and the left arm of a Deku plushie,” Hitoshi finished, unruffled. “My cat ate the rest.”

————————————————

Conversations with a cryptid

Izuku is allowed to interview all for one he ends up doing it like every Saturday.

They end up making a bond and Izuku calls him out for his bad tactics and All for one calls Izuku out for  not looking out for himself.

Also at one point in the fic AFO is like I should've just given shigaraki to Yagi (All might)  and taken you.

There's also a sequel.

Summary:

The man was over a century old. There had to be more to it. In hindsight, it hadn’t been one of Izuku’s better ideas.

[shinebrite97]

Part 15

Read part 14 here

"There she is!" Yuri looked up, expecting the typical exuberant greeting from Luke with the casual quiet addition from Simeon, but was instead met by a scowl and a stem frown.

Uh oh.

"Yuri!" Luke hurried over, pulling her to the cluster of desks she'd come to share with them, and plopped her into the seat. "That article that came out before, they weren't lying?"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Simeon asked a bit more gently.

"I...I'm sorry you guys," she replied. "I wasn't sure how much I was allowed to say, and even then... it's still…"

"Yuri," Simeon said. "I understand your desire to help others. I'm trying to piece together everything I can about this situation, care to enlighten us now?"

"I can do that!" She smiled.

Yuri spared no detail from the day Diavolo "borrowed" her from their shopping trip, the semi-awkward dinner they shared where he dropped the bombshell request, to the interview with the demon on the newspaper team. The two nights she spent in the castle, and the plans for the future as she knew them now.

"So it isn't real!" Luke beamed. "Thank goodness!"

"Yeah…" she replied. "It's not like we're really in love or anything."

"That'd be insane," Luke agreed. "I would hate to see you fall, Yuri, you've got such a good heart and a clean soul."

"Well thank you, Luke."

While she smiled and spoke to the young angel, Simeon held back in the conversation, observing as he typically did. Not just the words, but her body language. All the unspoken things that told him all he needed to know.

You're in pretty deep, aren't you, Yuri?

She wasn't sure what to expect after such a public display and what she felt to be her most powerful speech ever, perhaps all the targeting that Diavolo had warned her of, and sure, she wasn't going to stick around any one spot for too long, but with someone by her side as usual, she wasn't worried about the implied threats from the demons who glared her way.

She wasn't prepared for the respect that some now paid her. Instructors bowed as they passed her in the hallways, students allowed her more chances to speak in class, and there wasn't a single line for her to wait in.

Yuri found herself in the library with Satan and Solomon toward the end of the day, selling into a velvet red chair by a large portrait window and sighing with relief.

"Tough day, princess?" Solomon asked.

"What, a human can't just be a little tired after a full day of demon school?" She snapped.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I was just joking around."

"I know," she replied. "Sorry, Solomon. It's just...been a bit weird."

"And I'm afraid we're not making it any easier for you, Yuri," Satan added. "But you are entirely correct, it has been weird, really ever since that article was published."

"And I can't really blame you all for feeling that way."

"I say we fix that." Satan said.

"Really?" She asked. "How?"

"Remember that photo I sent you two recently?" He asked. "Of myself and a cat, with the feline filter?"

"Yes," Solomon smiled. "Quite the brightening my day needed, by the way."

"Let's take a photo together," he said. "As per Yuri's suggestion."

Yuri found herself hopping right up without saying a word, only offering a grateful smile as she latched onto Satan's shoulders from behind, smiling with her cheek pressed against the side of his head, and Solomon crowded in on the other side. Satan snapped the photo, taking a few to pick the best one, and scrolled through as the other returned to their chairs. Solomon stood up, perusing the bookshelf beside them for something, even muttering to himself as he searched. One long thin finger flowed along the spines as he searched, and Yuri tapped away on her D.D.D.

"So Yuri," Satan said after a few moments of silence. "Will you be home today?"

"I think so," she said. "I don't think I have any reason to be at the castle today."

"I wondered when Lord Diavolo will just have you move in…" Solomon mused, snapping his fingers triumphantly when he finally found the book he'd been searching for.

"Move in?" She asked. "Why?"

"Unfortunately it does make sense," Satan said. "If you are to keep up the appearance of being in love wouldn't you want to share a home together?"

"I guess you're right," she said. "But...I'm not going to worry about that right now. Lord Diavolo told me that his family will be assuming control up until the wedding. So he has more time to spend with me."

"That is customary," Satan agreed. "So he'll be properly courting you now."

"I wonder how that will look."

"Expensive," Solomon suddenly said.

"I'll bet."

"Speaking of expensive," Satan said. "What's with the ring, Yuri?"

"Oh!" She glanced down, catching the glimmer of the bloodstone under the fluorescent lights. "He gave it to me right after the announcement, he told me it was his mother's at one point, apparently I'm like her in some ways. And he wanted me to wear it."

"Already received your wedding right, then?"

"Well, maybe engagement ring." She replied.

"Hmm." Satan looked down at the book in his lap and remained silent. Yuri looked over at him, waiting for him to say something else. But no. He remained steadfast in his reading, and on her other side, so was Solomon.

What does that mean?

Diavolo had not messaged her that day. No invitations back to the castle, and by the time the day was officially over, she passed his young cousins in the main entry, each looking far less spritely than they had been that morning. Yuri smiled as Diavolo appeared from the council room with Lucifer, an exhausted Buer dragging themself along close behind.

"Yuri!" He beamed. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not at all," she grinned.

"Man, I'm hungry…" the voice came from Barnabee. Beside him, Scylla had plopped down on the ground, no longer floating like her siblings.

"I'd imagine so," Diavolo replied. "Come along your four I will take you to Hell's kitchen to thank you for your hard work." Diavolo smiled at their meager attempt at excitement, far too drained for anything more than a collective groan. And he looked over to Yuri.

"Will you be joining us, my dear?"

"Um…" she glanced over at Lucifer who made quick work of looking elsewhere, fumbling with the tomes in his arms.

"Thank you," she said. "But I think I'll head home today. It's been a while since I had dinner with Lucifer and his brothers."

"Of course," Diavolo replied. "Perhaps another time, my dear."

"Yes." She smiled, taking his hand as he offered it. He smiled kindly bringing her knuckles up to his lips and pressing gently. "Have a good night, my darling."

"You too," she said. "Enjoy dinner, you guys."

"See you tomorrow, Yuri!" Barnabee called back as they followed Diavolo.

Now it was just her and Lucifer.

"Gracing us with your presence this evening?" He asked.

"Is that a problem?" She replied.

"Of course not," He said. "Just send a message to Beelzebub to let him know. He is on cooking duty tonight."

"I'll even offer to help," she said brightly. "In exchange for him helping me last week."

Her text to Beelzebub received a sticker in response. The Karasu in a red hoodie saying "thank you" and as she entered the house with Lucifer, the evening seemed to just be getting started.

In the common room, Asmodeus and Mammon sat in opposite ends of the room, each lounging about with their homework while Satan seemed fully invested in the large book in his lap.

"I'll be in my study." Lucifer said. Yuri watched him leave silently, before turning her attention to the parlor and waving into the room.

With barely any response, she followed the sounds and smells to the kitchen where Beelzebub stood. Dressed down to just a white tee shirt and gray sweats, wearing an apron and looking quite adorable and silly, with his head buried in a cookbook.

"Yuri, thank Diavolo you're here," he said. "I'm trying to focus on the recipe but I'm so hungry I can't stop staring at the pictures.

"I'm here to help," she beamed. She made quick work of washing her hands as Beelzebub stood behind her, fixing her long hair up into a loose bun at the top of her head, and tied an apron around her waist.

They worked in comfortable silence for a bit. Yuri pawned off all the chopping to him, steering clear of the more poisonous-to-human ingredients, and kept a close watch on the stove.

"It's nice to have you here," Beel said while he minced up hellfire onions. "Feels weird on the nights that you aren't."

"Really?" She asked.

"Yeah…" he said. "Maybe we've just gotten spoiled."

"Thanks, Beel," she replied, turning off the heat on the spicy newt curry. "That means a lot."

"Yeah…" she turned around to pick up the serving bowl for the curry, only to hit Beel's torso and chest straight on. Looking up, he hadn't looked down at her and she blushed.

"Sorry," she said. "Didn't realize you were…"

She was cut off by his hug. Strong arms and mindless twisting to and fro. His hand was gentle on the messy bun on her head, his own handiwork to keep her hair out of the way.

It was the little things he did to show he cared. Things he did without any real attention brought to them. Warm hugs and a huge heart. The sudden reminder of his kindness was enough to make her cry.

She cleared her throat, giving him a quick squeeze, and looked up at his face, only to see him studying her.

"You always know," she said. "Just want to do and how to do it...to make people feel better."

"We're you upset, Yuri?" He asked. "I just wanted a hug."

"I didn't think I was," she said. "But even if I was, I'm not anymore. Thank you."

"Sure," he said. "Let's get this food out, I'm starving.