#heres a fun game take a shot every time i say typically | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 months

Text

Change

Roman was acting like himself when Thomas was younger, yk overdramatic, prince aesthetic, love of theater etc etc but after a fight with Virgil he decides he wants to be respected and completely switches up reads body language, stays quiet and subdued, refuses to state any opinions the other sides wouldn't completely agree with – himguy

Read on Ao3

Warnings: bullying, more unsymp!sides than I normally go

Pairings: none

Word Count: 8613

Roman is over the top, bombastic, and enthusiastic. He is prone to fits of passion and emotional outbursts. Such is the nature of Creativity. But the others...don't like that. They aren't exactly ambiguous about it either. Or, Roman struggles to walk the line between being himself and being something the others can tolerate. It gets far worse before it gets any better.

“I mean—it’s outrageous! Despicable! Why, the very greats of theater performances past are affronted at the very notion!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, lounging against the bottom of the stairs. “Are you done?”

“Am I done? Am I done? How can you even ask such a question like that, when you have awakened in me passions the likes of which would make the Ancient Greeks rise from their slumber—“

“As if your tantrum hasn’t awoken them already,” Logan mutters under his breath and Janus muffles a snort.

“—to speak in verse so as to demand an answer to the question of why you have decided to make a mockery of their livelihoods! What—how can you ask me if I am done when it is you who started this in the first place!”

Virgil yawns.

”And now—how dare you?”

“Here’s a fun game, take a shot every time Princey says ‘how dare you.’ You’ll be dead in two minutes.”

“We only drink responsibly, Virgil,” Patton chides.

“Yeah, which means you agree that he’s saying it, like, every other sentence.”

“Exactly, so if we’re going to be playing a drinking game, then you should pick something that’s either happening less—“

“Roman being reasonable?”

”How dare—“

“Quick, everyone, take a shot, he said it again!”

Roman puffs his chest up, spluttering, and Virgil just snickers, mocking his half words until Roman’s face is as red as his sash, laughing the whole time. Even Logan has to try and hide his grin as Roman keeps trying and failing to articulate much of anything.

“Oh, give it up,” Virgil sighs after a while, “you’re not making sense, Princey, you haven’t been making sense for like, half an hour. You just keep saying ‘how dare you’ and going on these monologues that don’t mean anything.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t mean anything?’ Have you not even been listening?”

“Nope.”

“Well, then, you should—what did you say?”

“I said no, Princey, I haven’t been listening. It’s not worth listening to you when you’re not really saying anything.” Virgil scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’re just…you know, talking. Making noise. That’s what you do.”

“What exactly is talking if not making noise, then?”

“Well, ‘talking’ typically refers to stringing words together in a way that actually communicates something worth saying, and ‘making noise’ is just that. Nonsense.”

“That’s not—“

“L? Back me up here.”

“He’s right,” Logan says, crossing his arms as Roman starts to puff up again, “you’ve been wasting our time with these dramatic fits and tantrums that are not and have never been productive. So unless you have something that’s actually worth saying, then I agree with Virgil that you’ve made enough noise for the evening.”

“Or ever.”

“Kiddo,” Patton scolds, “it’s not nice to say that Roman shouldn’t ever make noise again.”

“But you agree with me.”

“…I think that—“

“That’s a yes,” Janus says helpfully, smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth when Roman glares at him.

”What is this, Pick On Roman Day? Did I miss a memo where you all decided it would be good funny to belittle me?”

“More like did you decide to wake up and abuse our eardrums for ages and ages.”

“How is this more productive than the things I was saying?” He flings his hand out at Virgil. “He’s just insulting me?”

“Yes, which is doing the productive task of making sure that you’re not monologuing anymore,” Logan sighs, rubbing his temples. “I believe I’m going to call it here. If there’s nothing else pertinent…?”

“No,” Janus says before he can say anything, “nothing.”

“I will see you all for dinner, then.”

”Wait, Logan, you can’t just—“ Logan sinks out before he can finish his sentence— “how come he gets to do that and when I do it you all yell at me?”

“Because he’s doing the healthy thing of respecting his own boundaries,” Patton says, “and not just deciding that he doesn’t want to be here anymore.”

“How is that different?” Patton just looks at him like he’s the most disappointed he’s ever been. “What? Don’t look at me like that!”

“I’m gonna go too. I’ll see you kiddos later.”

”Wait, Pat—“

“He’s gone, Princey,” Virgil declares, still lazing about like some great over stuffed cat, “he’s not coming back.”

“What, are you two going to sink out next?”

“Oh, no, please,” Janus drawls. “Don’t mind me, this is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in weeks.”

”What is?”

“Watching you be a peacock getting your feathers plucked.”

Roman yelps, hands going automatically behind him, and both of them burst out into laughter. Embarrassment and humiliation burn his cheeks and they just keep laughing, calling him a tomato, a pincushion, a whoopee cushion, and—and—

“Aww,” he hears Virgil simper, “is Princey gonna cry?”

Something deep inside of Roman’s chest snaps.

The living room disappears. He’s standing in his bedroom. Did he sink out? He doesn’t remember. His hands burn. His chest is splitting in agony. He can still hear laughter ringing and ringing in his ears, louder and louder and louder and louder—

Distantly, he registers that he’s on his knees, somehow, hunched over until his forehead burns into the rough shag carpet. The balloon in his chest keeps snapping hardly against his ribs with every rough inhale, the ache in his hands giving way to the sharp bite of his own nails in his palm. He splutters again, gasping for breath. It doesn’t work. He does it again. His chest feels like it’s about to splinter into pieces. They just keep laughing. Why do they always laugh?

Peacock. Tomato. Pincushion. Whoopee Cushion. Spluttering, overblown, overdramatic, messy, nonsense Prince.

That wasn’t fair. It isn’t fair.

Life isn’t fair, Roman, he can hear Logan sighing, you can’t just complain about everything all the time. You have to work for things.

Fine. They want Roman to work for things? They want him to act like he’s someone worthy of respect? Fine. He’ll play their stupid game.

***

”Ah. Roman.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, I know, I was caught up in—“

“It doesn’t matter,” he continues, turning back to Patton like Roman hadn’t been speaking, “at any rate, I find it highly unlikely that a video on the animal shelters nearby will be a successful venture for Thomas.”

“But it’s a good thing to do, Logan! Besides, they have a fundraiser thing going on right now, we could help raise awareness?”

“Yeah, but what if that’s not what they’re asking for?” Virgil shakes his head. “We might just end up making things worse.”

“Besides, Thomas’s content shares to far more than just a local audience. It would be in an effort to reach the wrong demographic.”

“Well, as Thomas’s Creativity, I think that we should—“

“Oh, good, here we go, Princey’s gonna lecture us again.

Roman frowns. “I’m…but I am Thomas’s Creativity. It’s my job to come up with ideas.”

“Come up with ideas and order everyone else around like we’re your personal servants are two very different things, Roman.”

“I didn’t say that, you slippery snake—“

“Name calling will not do you any favors.” Logan’s voice cracks across the room and Roman just manages to resist the urge to flinch. “You showed up late, Roman. You do not have the authority to override anyone else, as much as we all know you wish you could.”

“Only we can,” Virgil pipes up as Janus gives a little wave, “sorry, Princey.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“Neither are you, and you should be for being so rude.”

“I—“

“They’re right, Roman,” Patton says quietly, “go on.”

Roman looks around at all of them. They stare at him expectantly. A lump grows in his throat and he mutters an apology.

“That’s better.” Logan turns away from him again. “Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…”

The others respect Logan, at least, they think that he’s worth listening to. And he’s not scolded for interrupting anyone. Maybe he could be respected the way Logan is, if he shows them that he knows what he’s talking about.

***

Roman shows up to the next meeting with his arms full of binders and notebooks. Janus raises an eyebrow as he sets them all in a neat little row around himself, waiting for the meeting to start.

“Jeez, Princey, did you murder enough trees yet? You know we’re trying to save the planet, yeah, not just kill it faster?”

“It’s research.”

“Research,” Janus repeats dubiously, just as Logan shows up.

“Ah, good, nice to see we’re all on time this time.”

“Uh, Patton’s not here yet.”

Virgil scoffs. “Snitch.”

“How am I being a snitch? You can clearly see he’s not here.”

“There’s no need to be rude, Roman.” Logan eyes his pile suspiciously. “Despite how…overeager you might be.”

“But I just—“

“Sorry, sorry!” Patton rises up. “Sorry I’m late, I just lost track of time!”

“It’s alright, Patton—“ how come it’s alright when Patton’s late, but not me?— “we can get started now.”

Great. Roman picks up the binders and starts trying to hand them out, only for Virgil to raises his eyebrow and nudge it away like it’s radioactive.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?”

“It’s…it’s research. For the video idea. I was looking into media study theories about the subjects that we wanted to include—“

“‘We?’ There’s no ‘we’ in this, Princey, we haven’t even made a decision yet. I feel like we went over this.”

Roman chews on his lip. “I know, but I wanted to have evidence for my side, and—“

“There are no sides anymore, Roman,” Janus sighs, looking almost bored, “we’re working together on this, remember?”

“…okay, I wanted to have evidence to back up what I wanted to say, is that better?”

“Well, considering you’re trying to hand me a phone book, no, not really.”

Roman huffs, letting the binder fall to the floor. Patton tuts disapprovingly at the noise. “You guys like it when Logan brings in a bunch of evidence, why can’t I—“

“Excuse me?” Logan’s expression darkens. “Is that all you think I do, Roman?”

“Oh, shit, you’ve done it now,” Virgil mutters as Logan takes a step forward.

“I—I just—I wanted to—“

“I bring in evidence to support the things I say because that is the responsible this to do. I choose the sources that will most accurately and succinctly back up my claim because I respect the time of the people I am talking to.” Logan looms over him, even though they’re about the same height. “If you are so desperate as to try and steal what it is that I do because you don’t feel as though your ego has been properly sated—“

“Ooh, get him, L.”

“—then I highly suggest you do your research.”

Janus is openly grinning and Virgil is hiding snickers behind his hand. Logan stares at him for a moment longer before he drops the binder with a thud. Roman flinches. He barely hears anything else over the rush of shame in his ears as he gathers up all of his binders and clutches them to his chest.

If they’d even bothered to look inside, they would’ve seen his summary of the academic essays and papers he’d read where he put in only the relevant parts and annotated his ideas with them, but they didn’t. They didn’t look inside. Not one of them. That wasn’t fair either. What else is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to get them to listen?

Remus. They pay attention to Remus when he shows up. Maybe he should ask Remus what to do.

***

“Remus? I—whoa!” He dodges a flying piece of…something. “I had something I wanted to ask you!”

Remus looks up from his perch on top of a mountain of various animal parts and grins, sliding down what Roman hopes is a giant tongue and shaking himself off. “What’s cracking?”

“How do you get the others to listen to you?”

“Scream until their eardrums bleed, that’s a good way.”

Roman winces. “But then they’re not—then they can’t hear at all.”

”That’s not my problem.”

“No, I mean—when you show up, everyone pays attention to you. How…how do you do that? How do you get them to take you seriously?”

“I find holding a very sharp weapon does wonders for making sure you’re listened to. Especially if they know you’ll use it!”

“I don’t want to hurt them, Re.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I just—I’m struggling with getting them to take me seriously. They don’t want to listen to me, they don’t really respect me, I just—“

“Here, hold this.”

“—I want them to—ack!”

The ball of whatever-it-was Remus placed in his hands explodes into a noxious cloud of spores, making him crouch and flail as Remus cackles. The familiar burn forms the lump in his throat and he tries to take a deep breath to calm himself down—

—only to go into a massive coughing fit when he inhales the spores again.

“Sheesh, Ro, maybe you should’ve learned your lesson.” Remus pats him on the back with mock sympathy. “Did you want to say something?”

Roman opens his mouth and promptly swallows another round of the spores and has to double over, hacking them up. Remus just grins. He waves his arms frantically to get those stupid things out of the air and glares.

“Aw, lighten up, bro! You looked like you could use a laugh.”

“Re, I came to you for help.”

“Pfft. That’s your fault, not mine. What’s the matter, Ro? I’ve never had problems with getting them to take me seriously.”

“Well, yeah, because they’re scared of you.”

Remus freezes. The smile slides off his face. “Wh-what?”

“You threaten them with weapons, you scream at them until their ears bleed, wouldn’t you be scared?” Remus’s lower lip wobbles. “Wait, I didn’t mean—“

Remus sinks out before he can say anything else. He groans in frustration and scrubs his hands over his face, remembering too late that there are still spores there, and he sinks out to his bathroom to wash them all off. Scrubbing at the skin doesn’t really do anything to dull the frustration of Remus being so unhelpful and the guilt at…upsetting him.

No sooner has he dried off—actually, better make that started to dry off—does he feel the familiar yank of being summoned. He rises up in the middle of the Dark Side’s living room to see a teary Remus in Janus’s arms and an absolutely furious Virgil.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you,” Virgil spits in his face before he can even say anything, “how the fuck can you be so cruel?”

“I didn’t—“

“You actually fucking told Remus that we’re all scared of him? What the fuck, Princey?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just—!”

“Please,” Janus hisses, voice laced with enough venom to make his throat tingle, “tell us what you did mean, since clearly we must be missing something.”

Virgil glowers and folds his arms. Remus sniffles, head still pillowed in the crook of Janus’s shoulder. One of his hands rubs soothing circles over Remus’s back and a jolt of longing makes Roman’s chest ache anew.

“Well?”

“…I just meant that he threatens you guys all the time, and he—“

“Wow.” Virgil scrubs a hand over his face and starts to pace in a circle. “Just fucking wow, Roman.”

“What? He does! He admitted it, that’s what he does whenever he shows up!”

“And of course he only shows up to be the bad guy, right? That’s what you’re gonna say next?”

“I never said that! I didn’t say that! I would be scared if someone showed up and threatened to hurt me with an extremely sharp weapon or scream until my ears bleed, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, jeez, Princey, seems like you got it all figured out. No use asking us how we feel, no, you already got everything all sorted. Just the way you like it, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant, I just—“

“What is all of this racket about?”

Roman’s heart sinks when he sees Patton and Logan come in from the hall. Patton, of course, catches sight of the still-sniffling Remus and rushes over, all soft care and concern that makes Roman burn with envy, and Virgil wastes no time telling Logan about all the horrible things he said and how he’s refusing to apologize for it. Sure enough, Logan’s disappointed look turns on him in less than one minute.

“Roman,” Patton says sternly, “how could you say something like that?”

“Is there something I’m missing here? Do other people not get scared when someone shows up and threatens to hurt them?”

Patton frowns. Logan and Virgil don’t bother to hide their disgusted expressions. Janus bends down to murmur something comforting in Remus’s ear. Roman throws his hands up.

“I don’t get it! What am I not getting? Please, someone tell me, tell me what I don’t get about—“

“That’s enough.”

Patton’s tone, cold enough to freeze even the brightest stars, stops him cold.

“You’re behaving horribly, Roman, and you know that. You’re reacting in a very immature way and I expected more from you. Now, do you have an apology to make to Remus, or are you going to keep throwing a tantrum about getting caught doing something bad?”

Roman swallows around the lump in his throat. He looks at Remus, who peers out from Janus’s protective hold to look at him. In truth, he never meant to hurt his brother. He does feel bad about it, and yes, he wants to apologize.

But he looks around at the sheer force with which the others have decided to support and care for Remus, and he just…

“I’m sorry I said everyone was scared of you, Remus.”

Janus bares his teeth and hisses and Patton’s face darkens.

“Out.”

“But I said I was—”

“Get out, Roman.”

Virgil steps forward as if he’s going to bodily shove Roman out of the room and Roman quickly sinks out, listening to the comforting words of the others as they start to gather around Remus and he—he—

You know what? Fine. Fucking fine.

They say he’s being immature and dramatic and stupid and disrespectful and cruel and mean and a peacock and a tomato and a pin cushion and selfish and egotistical and badly behaved and he’s throwing a tantrum then fine. Then fine,

He sinks into the Imagination atop a vast, barren wasteland of dry cracking stone and winds racing across miles and miles of absolutely nothing. Sand stings across his exposed skin and he pays it no mind. The ground begins to split and crack under him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. He’s not allowed to be passionate about anything or be hurt when people make fun of him. He’s not allowed to do research or do anything similar to what anyone else might be doing. He’s not allowed to go ask for help because he’ll say the wrong thing and everyone else will immediately take the side that isn’t his. He’s supposed to be this stupid dancing monkey that no one has to listen to and he never gets to actually say any of this out loud.

When was the last time someone asked him if he was okay? When was the last time someone actually listened to him? But no, Roman doesn’t get to be taken seriously. Roman doesn’t get to be hurt and upset and want things like everyone else. Roman doesn’t get to do any of that.

Roman gets to scream himself hoarse in a sandstorm until the sand scrapes his tears from his cheeks and the grind cracks under him, that’s what Roman gets to do. He gets to scream and rage and shout that it’s not fair, because it’s not fair, in a place where no one could or would care enough to hear him. He gets to scream and rage and be hurt all on his own where even the wind won’t give him the breath to speak and you know what? Maybe this is better.

Because when he looks around at the scar in the face of the earth he’s made with blood on his knuckles and an undying ache in his chest, maybe the others were right.

***

That was three months ago.

Roman wasn’t allowed to come to the meeting for a while. Remus went instead. Roman spent his time in the Imagination trying not to let the hurt in his chest turn him to stone. They dropped off a list of everything they needed him to do after the meetings were over and he did them.

Then he was allowed to come back on a sort of trial basis as long as he behaved himself. He didn’t know what that meant, but he knew they didn’t like it when he said things or acted like he knew what to do, so he didn’t say anything. Remus was still there and Remus interrupted and said things and the others laughed or listened or told him his ideas were good. They didn’t ask Roman if he had any ideas.

They still got mad if Roman was late, even if he wasn’t saying anything anyway. They still got mad if Roman wasn’t paying attention, even though they didn’t listen to any of his suggestions when he wanted to make them. They still expected him to do all of the things they wanted, even if that wasn’t something that he could do and he tried to tell them that and they told him to stop being lazy because Remus was doing all of this stuff too. It still wasn’t fair, but Roman knew better than to ask why now.

He still went to the Imagination. The Imagination didn’t judge him when he wanted to make his ideas, or when he wanted to just say something wasn’t fair out loud. He went there almost every night just to feel a little bit better, to go sit by the waterfalls and watch the rainbows form, or to go sit in the glowstone forest for a while and listen to the chirping of the tasselflies. Mostly he went to go take care of his dragon. She didn’t mind if his hands shook as he brushed her scales or if he needed to whisper-ramble to himself about how much it hurt to be in the meetings now. In the beginning he tried not to cry on her because he worried that it was rude but then she snuffled into his face with hers and wrapped her tail around him so he figured she didn’t mind too much. Sometimes he just went to her so he could lie against her scales; she was warm the way all dragons are and if he was very tired or very upset, it was almost like getting a hug. She couldn’t hug him, outside of wrapping her tail around him a few times, but she was warm and she was nice and she let him cuddle up to her, so it was okay.

Then he gets called to a meeting that isn’t the one they have planned and he only just gets there on time. He rises up into the living room and everyone else is already there, staring at him. He straightens his shirt a little self-consciously—he stopped wearing the prince costume when Janus told him he didn’t need to dress like he was always about to go to his own coronation—and waits for someone to explain what’s going on.

Logan eventually breaks the silence, sighing and straightening his glasses. “Roman, do you know why you’re here?”

He shakes his head.

“You’re because we think—well, we feel that this temper tantrum has gone on long enough.”

Temper tantrum? What temper tantrum? He’s doing what they want, isn’t he? He’s not being dramatic, he’s not doing anything wrong, he’s—he’s behaving. Just like they wanted.

“This moping, the silent treatment, the lack of initiative you’ve shown,” Logan continues, “whatever point you’re trying to make, it would be better if you just said it. Then we could come to a solution and move on.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

”He means,” Janus says, his voice way too condescending, “that this little poor-me-I’m-the-victim charade you’ve been putting on isn’t fooling anybody. So if you wouldn’t mind using your words?”

But he…they didn’t like it when he was being the way he was before. Why would they want him to go back to that? That was bad, they hated it, hated him, he—he doesn’t understand.

“Roman?” Patton prompts. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Told you,” Virgil mutters, “here we go.”

“I…you didn’t like it when I was being dramatic, or when I tried to give ideas or said I knew what I was doing—o-or when I tried to research what I wanted to do and show you, so I…I didn’t…I don’t—what am I doing wrong?”

“For fuck’s—you can stop it, Roman,” Virgil groans, “whatever act you’re doing, great, we bought it, show’s over, now tell us what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on! I’m not trying to trick you guys! I’m just trying to be what you want!”

Janus scoffs. “And you think what we want is a limp, wet blanket of a person that shows no initiative and barely bothers to put in the effort?”

Roman’s mouth just opens and closes a few times, staring at him, before his gaze desperately lands on Remus. Remus will understand, he has to, he has to know Roman’s not trying to play a trick on them or anything, he has to—

“Remus,” he starts, and has to swallow when Janus moves slightly in front of him as if to protect him, “Re, please, I didn’t—I’m not trying to do anything, I swear.”

“…why else would you be acting like this?”

Any hope he may have had that Remus would come to his defense drops like s stone to the bottom of the deepest ocean in the Imagination. The lump swells up in his throat and he has to look down.

”Oh, look, here it comes,” he hears Virgil mutter, “he’s gonna cry.”

“I’m not.”

Virgil huffs and now Roman has to do everything in his power not to cry in front of them. He won’t do it. It’s not fair. He’s not giving them the satisfaction of it.

There’s a long pause before Patton sighs.

“Do you have anything else you want to say for yourself?”

He shakes his head.

“Then perhaps it’s better if you don’t come to the meetings until you’ve sorted yourself out.”

He just nods. Patton must’ve expected him to say or do something else because there’s a sigh.

“Then you can go.”

Roman sinks out the second he’s given permission and hits the rocky cliffside on the way up to his dragon’s favorite perch. He’s already losing the battle; tears and sniffles leak out of him as he fumbles for his bag with her brush and her snacks in it, stumbling up the cliff as the clouds roll in. He manages to clear the threshold of her mountain-top cave before his knees give out and her brush clatters out of the bag.

In an instant, she raises her head and turns to look at him, letting out a concerned rumble and promptly scooping him up in one of her claws and taking flight. He clings to her talon as they fly down to one of the small coves on the edge of the Great Sea, settling in the soft, warm grass and letting go. With tail, wing, and snout, she maneuvers him into the lea of her, wing lowered protectively over him like a blanket with her head turned so her nose nuzzles into the soft part of his chest.

“They still think I’m—I’m being bad,” he hiccups as she purrs soothingly, “they think I’m faking all this, that I’m—that I’m trying to—to trick them or something, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, and it’s not fair because Remus gets to be as messy and over-dramatized as he wants and they like it, they’re not even—even mad about it, it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not—not fair—“

He dissolves into stupid, blubbering sobs and his dragon just huffs, blowing warm air over him in some phantom embrace and he throws himself in a heap over her snout, trying in vain to hold her back. She purrs in contentment, though he has no idea why, and just lets him be a mess all over her. He’s just so tired of this; of not being right, of not knowing what they want, of not being able to just exist without being critiqued or criticized or mocked. At least he won’t have to attend the meetings for a while, but then that means he also won’t get to see the others for a while.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Distantly, he hears the sound of water sloshing. He peers out to see the arms of the Kraken rising up from the water, the very top of his head poking out. The dragon lets out a rumble of greeting as an arm reaches toward them. She opens her wing to allow it to rest on the grass and Roman reaches out a shaky hand. He’s still sniffling too much to say anything but he pats the arm and the Kraken trills. At the questioning burble, he shakes his head and curls up a little tighter. The water around the arms churns into a slight froth as the Kraken shifts. Another low trill rings out and the arm slips away, the shadow fading beneath the surface and moving away. Roman closes his eyes again, resting against the dragon’s scales, until he hears a faint voice coming from the water.

“—drag me off like that, you know better, what is it you want to show me so badly over here?”

Roman’s blood runs cold. Remus. Ollie went to go get Remus.

He curls up even tighter and the dragon snuffles, lowering her wing protectively.

“Roman’s dragon? Why’d you bring me here?” Footsteps on the grass as Remus gets closer and the dragon growls in warning. “What’s wrong? Are you—wait, Ro?”

No. I’m not here. He curls up as small as he can go but that damage is done.

“Ro, what’re you doing? Did you fall? Are you hurt or something?” The dragon’s growl turns to a snarl when Remus keeps getting closer. “Why’re you…are you just upset that we figured out your acting thing?”

There’s no way in hell he could ever hope to disguise his flinch. The dragon lifts her head and properly bares her teeth at Remus. Ollie rumbles in warning too.

“It’s—I don’t get it, Ro. You had to know—it wasn’t exactly a believable thing.”

“Remus? Are you over here?”

“Fuck, this place is pretty. Why do you think we’ve never seen it before?”

”Roman hoarding it to himself, most likely.”

No.

No, no, no, why are they here?

The Imagination is his space. His place to be alone, to be messy, to be himself. They can’t—if they take this too, where else could he go?

“Yeah, I’m up here, so’s Ro, we just need to—whoa!”

Ollie had grabbed Remus bodily around the waist and thrown him far out into the water with a single arm. As the others come over the hill, more arms rise up and the Kraken takes a defensive stance, head raising with water pouring off the sides as it rumbles. The dragon growls too, her tail coming up to circle protectively around him.

”Roman,” he hears Patton call, his voice a little higher than normal, “Roman, come out and talk to us, please.”

Nope.

“Fuck, that thing’s huge,” he hears Virgil mutter and part of him wants to snap not to call Ollie a thing. “And the dragon too—how are we gonna—?”

“We won’t have to do anything, because Roman knows when enough is enough, and he’ll come out and talk like a mature person, won’t he?”

Nope. No, the fuck I won’t. The dragon growls too.

“Roman, be reasonable,” he hears Logan say, “you can’t expect us to take you seriously if this is how you want to have this conversation.”

On the contrary: this is the most seriously they’ve taken anything to do with Roman for a long time, and he has no intentions of having any sort of conversation right now.

“You’re not doing a very good job of demonstrating that you’ve learned from your mistakes,” he continues, “nor that we should be taking you seriously.”

“Or that we should continue being so patient,” he hears Janus mutter.

He knew it was coming, it’s been the only thing coming for months now, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Ollie heard it too, though, and gasps and scuffles come as more of the arms reach and Roman feels a sudden stab of fear—

He throws his arm out and miraculously, Ollie notices. He pauses, a questioning burble, and reaches an arm to lie on the grass near Roman. Roman rests a hand on it again, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“They’ll be mad at me,” he whispers, “please—please just—just let them. I can’t—I can’t anymore.”

The dragon rumbles and Ollie makes a discontented noise, but his arms lower back into the water with a splash. Just then, another splashing noise accompanied by Patton’s cry of relief signals Remus’s return to the cove. Roman closes his eyes and tries to forget that he’s here. Maybe if he stays still and quiet enough, they’ll leave.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Remus says, “he wasn’t trying to hurt me, just get me away. Why he didn’t say that when he was the one to bring me over here in the first place, I don’t know, but—“

He’s cut off when a furious set of burbles comes from Ollie.

”Slow down, I can’t understand you like that.”

“Uh, Remus, could you get some sort of translator so we can all understand?”

“Sure. One sec.” A brief whiz and a flash of light. “There. Now: from the beginning?”

Ollie burbles again, but this time a deep gravely voice comes from what Roman guesses is the translation device.

“Red Prince is upset.”

“Red Prince? Is that Roman?”

“Yeah, that’s what they call him. Why’s he upset?”

The Kraken shifts. “You have made him upset. Red Prince comes everyday to She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds and he cries. He is cold. He is scared.”

“Scared?” Remus asks as the others mutter. “Why is he scared?”

“He was scared when I brought you.”

Roman flinches. They’re all going to take that the wrong way.

“Why was he scared when you brought me?”

An arm lifts from the water and points. “Because you bring the others. The Untouched. Those-Who-Do-Not-Shape.”

“Those who do not shape? I shape very much, thank you.”

“He means you don’t control the Imagination, Janny. But why would Ro be scared of that? Of you guys?”

Now his dragon snarls, her voice coming from the translator. “Because you do not protect him. You protect Green Duke. You do not protect Red Prince, you are cruel to him. He is scared of being hurt when he comes here. He is scared now because you have come where you are not supposed to be.”

“Uh, Miss Dragon? We only followed Remus, Remus brought us in here to show us something. We watched him get taken by that monster—“

“Don’t call him a monster,” Remus says lowly as Ollie growls.

“—sorry, sorry, by, um…by him and we wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Why’d you bring me, Ollie, if you knew Ro was scared?”

The Kraken shifts as the water froths. “I brought you because you are his brood mate. I thought you were going to help.”

The condemnation in Ollie’s voice is enough to make Roman wince, squeezing the arm still on the grass lightly. The Kraken stills ever so slightly, the arm pressing back against his hand. The dragon noses his hair, blowing warm breath over him.

“I am sorry, Red Prince. I did not mean to bring this here.”

He shakes his head. He could never be mad at Ollie.

”Perhaps we’ve not had the best of first impressions,” Logan says, “I’m not sure either of us has the full picture here, but Roman—Red Prince, if you prefer—has been…acting unfairly towards us in the past, and we are concerned about his behavior.”

“You are correct in stating you do not have the full picture,” Ollie says, rising to an even more terrifying height, “for you do not know how much hurt you have been causing Red Prince.”

“I’m not sure you understand—“

“We understand that Red Prince is provoked to defending himself while the One-Who-Speaks-In-Storms mocks him. We understand that the One-Who-Speaks-In-Lies ridicules and confuses him. We understand that the One-Who-Speaks-In-Absolutes sees him as a disobedient child who only acts to get attention and not with other cause. And we understand that you, One-Who-Speaks-In-Rules, do not see him.”

The dragon picks up where Ollie leaves off, lifting her head to glare at them over the wing covering Roman.

“You mock and belittle his interests and scold him for being hurt over it. You act proprietary over the things you deem yours and chastise him for doing the same. You hold him accountable for every word he speaks and do not think that your words could be wielded just as carelessly. And when one of you is hurt by him,” and here she snarls at Remus, “you are quick to turn on him like a limb caught in a trap to be torn off.”

Roman hears the tense silence after she finishes speaking and braces himself.

“…I don’t believe this,” Virgil grumbles, “is this what Princey does everyday? He comes here and what, makes them believe we’re bullying him? Abusing him?”

“Torturing,” Janus says lightly, “I believe torturing would be more apt.”

“I understand that you’ve heard Roman’s perspective,” Logan says, his voice a little harder now, “but surely you must understand that there are two sides to every story. Are you not at all interested to hear ours?”

“From how you have behaved since setting foot on these shores,” the dragon growls, “no, we are not.”

“Do you even know what he said about Remus?” Patton says. “What made him so upset and us all ‘turn on him?’”

“He said that Green Duke is scary, and that you are scared of him. Because he threatens you with weapons that are sharp and screams that make your ears bleed.”

“Don’t you see how that’s mean?”

“Mean or not, it is the truth. And it is what Green Duke has said of himself.”

“They’re right,” Remus says before anyone else can say anything, “I did say that.”

“What—why?”

“Because it’s true. He came and asked me why you guys listened to me and I said it was ‘cause I…well, yeah.”

“Oh, Remus,” and Janus’s voice immediately softening hits Roman like a lightning strike, “you don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I think that yeah, you guys are scared of me sometimes. I…got caught off guard when Ro said it because Ro’s never been scared of me. At least…not until now.”

Wait. That’s why Remus was so upset? Because he thought Roman was scared of him? No, that’s—that’s not—

“But what do you mean ‘being proprietary,’ Ollie? Over what, the Imagination?”

“It is Red Prince’s job to come up with ideas. He claimed ownership of the role and was scolded. And yet when he tried to work in the way that the One-Who-Speaks-In-Rules does, he was scolded once more.”

“Wait, wait, wait, is this about that research thing Princey did like four months ago?”

“You mean the ‘thing’ that Ro spent days on, researching and annotating his stuff so that you guys would understand how much goes into creating stuff for Thomas? That ‘thing?’”

There’s a pause.

”They did not even look at it,” the dragon says, “they tossed it away while the One-Who-Speaks-In-Rules took offense to Red Prince’s comparison to his diligence.”

There’s another pause.

“We’re not…we’re not seriously buying this, are we? That Roman’s—that Roman’s—“

“Currently got a very angry Kraken and dragon defending him and still so scared that he hasn’t said a fucking word to us the whole time we’ve been here,” Remus interrupts Virgil, “yeah, Virgil, I think we’re buying it. Why the fuck didn’t any of you guys tell me this shit?”

“We didn’t—“

“Didn’t what? Didn’t think I should know that Roman’s been hurting? Didn’t think that Roman was hurt?”

“Don’t act all high and mighty,” Janus warns, “you also thought he was putting on an act until a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, and I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that that’s not true and I’ve been a real Class A Dickbag to my brother for like, three months.”

Logan’s scoff hurts. “Why would Roman act like that and believe it? In what set of circumstances would he ever behave that reasonably?”

Roman would not like to be here anymore. He shifts and taps the dragon’s side and she unfurls, humming soothingly as he climbs up into the dip on her back. Ignoring the shouts from the others. They take flight, climbing higher and higher into the sky, breaching the cloud layer and only then does Roman slump. Tears drying against the scales.

“Take me somewhere they won’t find me,” he begs, knowing she’ll hear it over the rush of the wind, “anywhere, please.”

***

“You guys,” Remus growls as the dragon flies away, “are dicks.”

”Again, Remus, you also believed—“

“Yeah, I did. But hey, guess what I don’t do: I don’t make fun of Roman for getting upset or excited about stuff, I don’t disregard his work or tell him he’s stealing my shit, and I don’t make fun of him for being scared. My whole fucking life, our whole fucking lives, Roman’s never been scared of me. Not once. And now? Guess what, now he’s scared of me. Because of this shit.”

“How could we have known this was how Roman was feeling? It’s not like he told us?”

“Yeah, I wonder the fuck why the person whose emotions you make fun of didn’t want to tell you his emotions. Oh, wow is, what a mystery this is.” Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Ollie just watches them, arms idly toying with the water. He looks up at him, running a hand through his hair.

“You said every night?”

“Every night, Red Prince comes. Sometimes he is able to smile. Not often, not anymore. Mostly he cries, or is too quiet.” The arms shift again. “I have not heard Red Prince sing in a long time.”

That, more than anything else, sobers them. Roman sings. That’s what he does. The sky is blue, the grass is green, Roman sings. Remus takes a shaky breath and Logan adjusts his tie.

“Why is Roman crying?”

“He does not know what he is doing wrong. You did not like him as he was, you do not like him as he is now. You believe he is trying to trick you. What would he have to gain by tricking you?”

“Perhaps he thought that we would realize we treated him unfairly, and that we would apologize.”

“And did you?”

There’s another long pause.

“…oh, dear.”

***

Roman’s awoken in the night by his dragon snuffling at his shoulder. He blinks, sitting up from the bed of soft moss and flower-down to see a figure approaching the dragon’s cave. He blinks again and the silhouette of the wolf fades into view. The dragon hums a greeting and the wolf’s nose bows, before he steps aside and another figure appears.

Roman draws back and the dragon growls.

“It’s just me,” Remus says, hands raised, “I promise, I’m the only one here and I locked the Imagination behind me, no one else can come in. He can confirm.”

The wolf huffs. Roman eyes both of them warily. The dragon’s wing drapes around him.

“Please, Ro, please, I just wanna talk.”

The warring fear and hope make him stand on shaky legs, edging from the dragon’s protective embrace to where Remus can just about reach him. The wolf is a reassuring presence—he wouldn’t have brought Remus if he didn’t think he would be okay, he knows them both well enough.

The twins stand there, looking at each other in the thin shaft of moonlight.

“Are…are you scared of me, Ro?”

“No.”

“…really?”

“I’m scared of them. They all seem to think you need protection from me.”

“I don’t,” he says in a rush, “I never did. I should’ve told them, told you—“

“I said it wrong. It’s not your fault.”

“You said it fine, Roro, you said it fine. I—I miss you. The real you.”

A long pause. The dragon rumbles and the wolf blows out a long breath.

“…it’s not fair,” Roman whispers in the quiet of the night, “it’s not fair, Re.”

“I know, I know it’s not. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, I’m sorry I didn’t know—“

"They hurt me, Re, they hurt me and they didn’t care at all and then they made it seem like I was always doing the wrong thing I I never knew what I was supposed to do—“

“I know, I know—“

“I just wanted them to listen to me, I just wanted them to take me seriously and they never do, they never did, it’s not fair, it’s not fair—it’s not fair—“

Remus bundles his brother in a massive hug that sends both of them to the ground, Roman sobbing into Remus’s chest as someone hugs him for the first time in ages. He’s so cold, he’s so warm, everything hurts, everything is so scary, he has no idea what the hell’s going to happen next, but then he feels the soft brush of the wolf’s nose over his forehead and the gentle rumble of the dragon lowering her wing around the two of them and he thinks maybe…maybe he can just exist here for right now and that’ll be okay.

***

“Princey? Whoa, hey,” Virgil says, raising his hands and taking a few steps back when Roman startles terribly, “didn’t mean to scare you, sorry, sorry.”

Roman just eyes him warily.

“We, uh, we wanted to talk to you. In the, uh, in the living room. Are you…free right now?”

“…I guess.”

Virgil’s shoulders slump in relief. “Great. Great, uh, that’s good. Uh, Remus is there too, so…”

Oh, thank god.

He follows Virgil downstairs and still balks when he sees everyone. Thankfully, Remus is standing in his usual spot by the TV and he holds out his arm for Roman to come stand with him. He goes over and Remus immediately snuggles up to his side.

“Roman,” Logan says, and his voice is so soft that it takes him a moment to even realize he’s holding something, let alone that it’s one of the binders from forever ago, “thank you for joining us. We owe you quite the apology.”

“Wh-what?”

“I apologize for how I’ve treated you,” he continues, still in that soft, soft voice, “it was rude and cruel of me to dismiss and belittle you the way I did. Especially with this—“ and he lifts the binder— “this is fascinating, and I would love to discuss it with you. I…understand that I’ve caused you considerable distress recently and I want you to know that I…I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry.”

“Me next,” Patton says, “I’m sorry too. I assumed you were being immature and rude to us and so I was immature and rude to you. But you were just trying to get us to understand how you felt and I didn’t let you. I’m sorry, Roman, really. You didn’t deserve any of that, kiddo.”

“Now me.” And fuck, Janus is speaking gently to him too and Roman can’t deal with this, he can’t—but Remus holds him firmly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It seems I—I seem to have a horrible habit of being very, very mean and cruel to you and I’ve never been more determined to break a habit.”

“Guess that leaves me.” Virgil grins sheepishly from under his fringe as Roman turns to stare at him. “I’m…I’m a real piece of shit to you, Princey. And I’m gonna work on it. It’s—I’m the reason shit feels really unfair to you a lot of the time ‘cause I’m the one poking you until you snap back at me, and then only you get yelled at, which sucks. So I’m…I’m gonna work on that. But it still sucks, also I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to accept any of them,” Remus murmurs when Roman just stares bleakly at them, “you don’t have to decide anything right now either.”

Roman just blinks.

“Do you need to go be alone right now?” He nods. “Okay. You tell Ollie I say hi?”

He nods. Remus plants a big obnoxious kiss on his cheek and lets him go and he sinks straight into the Imagination, leaving the rest of them in the living room.

***

That was three months ago.

He did cry again that night, just because he was so overwhelmed. His dragon cuddled him and Ollie swam him around the pretty coral reefs to make him feel better. The wolf even gave him a ride over to Remus’s side to see the galaxy clouds from the tall tower.

He did accept their apologies after a few days, but he said he’d need time. They agreed and he felt…strange.

He went to the meetings, Remus by his side, and slowly he started to share his ideas again. It didn’t go very smoothly, not at first, but then bit by bit it got a little better. He still didn’t want to talk about anything that was actually important to him, because that was too scary.

Then he had a panic attack when Remus wasn’t there and Janus wrapped him up in all his arms, murmuring gentle reassurance in his ear while Logan carefully talked him through it. Patton made him hot chocolate and Virgil covered him in a weighted blanket so he could rest. He was so confused, so scared, so unable to relax until Janus helped him take another sip with a gentle kiss on his cheek and he broke.

It took Logan two seconds to figure out he was touch starved.

Tuesday nights became Cuddle-Roman nights, all of them swaddled in blankets and pillows while Roman cried a little—or a lot—just from how new this was. They got very sad when he said that and he didn’t sleep alone for about a week.

He still went to the Imagination. Sometimes he needed to be by himself and there was nothing wrong with that. His dragon took him flying and cuddle with him on mountaintops, Ollie went swimming with him and the wolf went on walks when he was upset and needed someone to just be there. And Remus would always come play with him whenever he wanted to.

And maybe…maybe things would be okay. Maybe things would get better now.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sander #fic

26 notes · View notes

cecexsblog · 7 months

Text

Cold Seat | L.Hughes

Warnings: none again. Fluff asf

Pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

a/n: lowkey a blurb. This is basically based in a high school setting more then anything. Specifically my high school. The whole Friday night hockey games where all the high schoolers sit at the very end of the bleachers that only take up one side of the ice. When the girls only go to hang with their friends (watch their crushes play and find them on the hockey website then add their snaps) yeah that’s how this writing piece is working. Except Luke is actually into you and not just some typical hockey boy. You aren’t official but it’s still fun for you to sit in the freezing cold for 2hrs then take a photo with him after:) Can you tell I’m speaking from personal experience?

Tonight the U18 team had their final game in which determined who won the finals. My whole high school was going. The whole town usually takes up every seat in the stands but always leaving room for the high schoolers at the end of the bleachers. Me and my friend f/n had gotten there early to grab seats, the rest of our friends not far behind us. It was just me, her and couple other students sitting down when warm up started. The most entertaining part of the game. Luke was the star player in my little home town so as soon as he stepped out everyone cheered. He didn’t pay attention to it though, he just went on with his warm up and began shooting pucks and skating in random circles.

“He’s not even the best on the team” a girl behind me says.

I choose to ignore her. The thing is Luke was actually the best in his division, he had so many offers for elsewhere but he really just wanted to stay in his home town and play with his friends.

“Please stand for the national anthem” I hear the announcer say. The announcer being Mama Hughes. Everyone stands, the boys lined up on the blue lines with their helmets off. Luke’s curly hair already sweaty from warm up. He looked down at his skates.

The game started. Luke at face off starting the game of right with a pass to one of his team mates. Nearing the end of the first period the score was still 0-0. That was until Luke made a shot and got it in. The crowd went crazy, he did a stupid bow and his teammates rushed over to him. They all hugged by the glass in front of me. He looks over his shoulder at me and gives me the cheesiest smile. I smile back. I hear the girl behind me scoff.

Near the end of the 3rd period we were tied with the other team at 5-5. Everyone knew if we lost this game we were just second place. There was 10 seconds left in the 3rd and everyone was nailed biting, sure over time was fine but it’s not the best. All of a sudden Luke is shooting down the ice making a break away and pulls his stick back making a wrist shot. The puck flies straight down the ice and right past the goalies glove into the net right as the buzzer goes. The arena goes wild. I look across the ice to see all the boys jumping over boards and onto the ice to congratulate the team. Me and all the other students are all screaming, I’m hugging my friends with tears in my eyes. I look down the bleachers towards the penalty boxes and the announcers boxes, I see Ellen waving me over. As soon as step in the box she gives me a big hug.

“They won!” She screams.

“I know!!!” I scream back. “Now we don’t have to deal with Luke’s cranky butt all night”

“Exactly what I thought!” She exclaims.

I look at the ice and notice all the stick, helmets, and gloves scattered across the ice as the boys continue congratulating each other. Mr. Hughes giving Luke a tight hug. Since it was Luke’s senior year the moment was bitter sweet. A bored member brings the banner out to the team and they take a big photo.

“Would Luke Hughes, number 43, please make his way to the penalty box” I hear over the intercom. I look at Ellen who’s speaking into the mic. She shoots me a smile. “There’s someone very special over here who wants to see you”

Ellen opens the gate for me to step on the ice. Luke skating full speed towards me. He picks me up and spins me around while still on the ice.

“Guess what!” He says to me.

“What?!”

“We won!” He says, again with a big cheesy smile.

“I know!” I say with a squeaky voice.

He leans down and places a kiss on my forehead.

“Hey captain!” I hear one of his coaches yell from across the ice. “I gotta get a photo with you”

“I’ll be right back” he says while letting go of my hand.

When he comes back he brings the banner with and says we need a photo, Ellen steps out to capture it. Then we get one without the banner. Before the last photo he leans into my ear and whispers… “I love you”. A smile creeps onto my face as Ellen captures another photo, totally oblivious to what Luke whispered to me.

“I love you too” I whisper back.

a/n: sorry this is short and kinda bland but I thought it was cute. wish all hockey boys were like my version of Luke.

#lukey pookie #luke hughes #nj devils #canada #hockey

49 notes · View notes

laughingsapphic-creates · 1 year

Text

Inukag Week day 5: Heat

Yesterday's story was over 5000 words and I didn't even post on time. Today you get a snippet lol

@inukag-week

~~~~~~

Summertime Savage

Kagome sighed in relief, setting down the last basket.

"Alright! Everyone ready?"

"Hard to say, since you haven't told us what we're doing," Shippo pointed out, "but I took off my vest and shirt, if that's all you meant."

"It is! And since it's been so hot lately, I thought a water balloon fight would be a fun way to beat the heat!" Kagome explained, picking up one of the colorful balloons.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sango hummed, sounding unsure. Kagome had brought a swimsuit for her to borrow, and a skirt to go over it if she wanted it, which she had.

"Don't worry, you look great! And if Miroku gets handsy, just start chucking," Kagome grinned, tossing the balloon to Sango. She caught it easily, careful not to squeeze the taut rubber. "Oh! Shippo, here, these are for you, too!"

Kagome grabbed the bag she'd carried the balloons and hand pump in, picking out a pair of children's gardening gloves.

"Is this part of the game?" He asked, pulling the first glove over his hand.

"Not typically, but most kids who have water balloon fights don't have sharp claws. They're not much fun when every balloon pops in your hand before you get to throw it."

"Not that I'm complaining, Kagome," Miroku assured as he and Inuyasha returned to the group, stripped down to their hakama trousers, "But what exactly is the objective of this game?"

"There isn't like, a win condition, per se. It's just trying to land as many hits as you can while not getting hit. Like a snowball fight, but better, because it's hot out, so getting hit with something cold is actually nice," she shrugged, going back to the bag. "Here, Inuyasha, I have gloves for you, too."

"Feh, I don't need 'em," he huffed.

Kagome watched as Shippo narrowed his eyes, picking up one of the balloons with his own gloved hands.

"Hey, Inuyasha," he hucked a bright orange balloon. "Catch!"

Inuyasha reached out to catch the balloon, which he did.

And then he closed his hand around it, which punctured the delicate material. He squawked in surprise at the jolt of cool water, clenching his fist around the shredded balloon.

"You little brat!"

Snatching the gloves from Kagome's hands, he gave Shippo about a second's head start, picking up one of the baskets and beginning to chase him down.

"Spend all morning pumping balloons by hand so we can have a fun afternoon, and now they're being used in anger," Kagome sighed, shaking her head. Kagome patted her shoulder, flashing a smile.

"Don't worry so much, Kagome. This is just how they have fun, you know?"

"You think so?"

"For sure," she nodded, still smiling as she took a balloon in each hand and turned her gaze on Miroku. "I'm starting to see the appeal as well."

"Sango?" Miroku asked, smiling through his nerves. "Sango, let's talk about this!"

"Start running, Monk!"

Kagome sighed, but smiled, eyes flashing at the sight of Inuyasha, who had chased Shippo to the low boughs of the nearest tree.

"Kagome! Kagome help!"

"Get down here and face me!"

Picking up an armload of water balloons, Kagome strode over, hucking the first at the back of his head. Another indignant squawk escaped him, and he whipped around to stare at her

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"What? Like you?" He asked smugly. Smirking, she threw another balloon, hitting him square in the chest. With a laugh, he picked up a balloon from his basket, and Kagome got one more shot in before she took off running with a laugh, Inuyasha taking chase automatically.

The valley surrounding the base of the waterfall echoed with shrieks and laughter for more than two hours. Kagome had to implement a "no picking up baskets" rule when Sango took two and used Kirara to implement a tactical air strike against Miroku, and Shippo had eventually gotten his shirt back and began filling it with balloons, tackling people as a means of attack. Miroku had thought to use his staff to deflect the projectiles, but they usually ended up splashing him anyway. The absolute enragement from Inuyasha whenever a balloon he threw managed to not pop on impact was hilarious to watch, but he was still clearly having a good time.

Kagome had distracted him from targeting Sango, and gotten him to chase her again. The balloons had almost run out, she only had one more on her, and she wanted to make it count.

When she reached the dead end, Kagome turned, throwing the balloon, which caught him in the shoulder before he had her backed up against the base of the cliff, one hand planted to the side of her head, the other holding a red balloon

"What's your plan now, wench?" He asked with a superior smile

Kagome didn't answer, blinking up at him with wide eyes and a soft expression. She held his gaze, looking startled but not upset.

Inuyasha's brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, before Kagome's eyes moved down, looking Inuyasha over slowly, and his face erupted with warmth as he realized what she must be thinking.

"Y- Kagome I-!"

Quick as a flash, Kagome grabbed the hand with the balloon, which had lowered in his shock, and smashed it into his chest, splashing them both.

Inuyasha grunted in surprise, eyes blown wide. And before he could even yell in indignation, Kagome pecked his cheek, reaffirming his shock.

Slipping out from between him and the rock, Kagome grinned as he turned to look at her again.

"Turnabout. Not a bad plan, for a wench," she laughed, winking at him before bolting back to the baskets, to see if she could get her hands on one more balloon and definitely not to distract herself from what she'd just done.

Inuyasha watched her run, a tiny, incredulous smile on his lips, before he took chase once more.

#this was supposed to include Kagome complaining about not being able to cuddle Inuyasha at night in the summer #because there's no ac in the feudal era and he's a walking talking furnace #so her solution was to take him swimming at the base of that waterfall from the first few episodes #bc Inuyasha is constantly craving all forms of affection and gets upset that they can't touch as much when it's hot #but i would never have finished in time if I'd gone with it #i might write it out properly as sort of a continuation to this but we'll see #Inuyasha #inukag #inukag week #inukag week day 5 #inukag week 2023 #tayto writes

57 notes · View notes

brilliantfantasticgeronimo · 4 months

Text

66.7512 meters episode!!!

i think i broke his heart! oh well!!!! ÑLKÑLK ruby y are u so happy about this all the time skfljdks1 (waiting for the karmic writing where someone breaks *her* heart....). tbh also very doctor-like. they are *so* unhinged

i was looking for some Spin-off foreshadowing in this war between land and sea business but best i've got is that... it will probably be set in wales ksdlfj

nuclear war is hilarious. fiften u are not all right.

That's the most bizarre "circle" ive ever seen. if anything is the orthogonal projection of a geodesic dome.

"A pee around the back"…….. dr pee foreshadowing

AESOP #1: children, when u are doing "off the road tourism", don't disturb sacred sites

susan twist's "thing" is just gonna be: "take revenge from being killed so many times". like she's just red-shirting all over the place (maybe it's gonna be a bit of meta commentary of the high body count of this show? that it's all for our sadistic pleasure but doesn't always have real significance skfldj)

I guess inflation is a recurring theme this season?

liminal spaaaace

"and then there's the blood""w-what blood?" i laughed ngl sksksk

the different color fonts in iplayer are a bit distracting tbh…...

ah yes. welsh racism...

hmmm… runy sitting in the chair... to wait in front of the tardis... "The one who waits?"

Thats' what men do skdksk love me some "Intergalactic fuck boy" subtext being voice and made text

Poor ruby ):

it's about the [metaphor for being stigmatized]!!!

Ohh the doctor was the first to disappear by the curse, maybe?

"even ur real mother didnt want u" Bro this monster is so mean wtf Kate!!!

AGAINST HIM, SOMETIMES!!!!!!!!! Antagonist kate be coming!!!

"well, that's classified"

This timeline might be suspended along ur event???

WE INVENT THE RULES AND MAKE THEM WORK!!! THEMES!! YOU HAVE TO COUNT EVERY GRAIN OF SALT!!! IT'S THE GAME THEME CONNECTING TO THE SUPERSTITION THEME!!!!!!!!

theeeemes

the more unit gets competent the more sinister they become

her going "cheers!" to her personal satan. i love u ruby

FUCK YEAH. ICON. GO KILL THE PRIME.MINISTER

...only guys in ruby's little montage ]: im heartbroken T.T rip the x5 times wlw companions streak dream it seems

"except the bed thing that was u" narrator voice: it wasnt

"Which is what?" KILL THE PM KILL THE PM DO IT ICON

Rtd connected to the universe skskdk oh beautiful synergy

[also literally how Y&Y starts... ]

"No more" feels loaded/intentional here, considering how it's been used before as an Important Phrase is War's arc.

the emo advisor guy intrigues me

Ruby having to solve this whole thing + cold war vibes.... mmm very ace coded

[lol @ soc dem / liberal writers being so scared of "populism" and "the dumbness of crowds". peak soc dem / liberal] [what is a "political allegory story" by a soc dem without the punchline being that "I think The People are really fucking Stupid actually"] [i do enjoy the side point of british politicians being so desperate for relevancy that they fire nuclear missiles for the fun of it. yeah… that tracks]

[lol becoming independent from nato being a bad thing. lol #"fucklybia!!"#signed:thisepisode]

the directing is very fun in this

Ruby get on your feets and make it happen

She's gonna say u forgot to say hi to this lady

ruby's asking to be shot again sksks

Iris u say…........ eyes emoji

[ok but also. lol not to go " ah, peak liberal again!" but lol. this resolution is peak liberal [ie. fundamentally antidemocratic, a few 1% technocrats (obvs, privileged and from the global north) with the answers "know what's best"]. this lad may have been crazy but they voted for him for a reason that "the system" wasnt providing.but in typical soc dem fashion they can't ever fight the fascists on The Real Deal ie. strength of a proposed political project + material gains resulted from those political projects + committing to real system change, so they have to scramble for antidemocratic solutions like [timey wimey prisons] to ""fight facism""" (ie not fighting it at all and by proxy, just making the fucking cockroaches stronger each "election cycle" because they can't fight them in a meaningful, political sense) bc the people are just too stupid!!! and this is why democracy was a mistake!!!!!!! ... sigh rtd. oh well good thing i didn't expect more on this front tbh sdlkjfdsd in that sense the s1-s4 rewatch prepared me well lol]

clara vibes in this ep in a lot of moments (old!ruby, sort of "mausoleum tardis", etc)

"i didnt travel with him long..." "but it felt like a lifetime" became literal…

"Everyone has abandoned me my whole life" T_T

AESOP #2: kids u are never alone <3 u always have ur inner demons :) and the unrelenting spectra of death~

There's always something a bit unsatisfying about self closing paradoxes... kinda like "oh it was all a dream so it didnt matter". but i think in this one it was crunchy enough with other things that i think it was balanced.

Very turn left-y ending! CONCLUSIONS!! people kept saying in the press this episode was gonna be "super scary" tbh i just found it.... profoundly sad sdxkljflkfj ruby's life just *screams* "missing the important bits by focusing on the unimportant" and "obsessing over things that don't matter" and "companion becomes detached from real life to the point they become super unhinged and callous" ("im sorry i couldn't help you marti")

(c+p some stuff i put on a discord): tbh i rolled my eyes at the political stuff but i don't think im even mad about it this time lol (too tired irl to get properly angry at doctor who these days ig)

anyway i dont think the political stuff is what it was really "about". i found this story very moving on what it was (imo) rlly about: ruby's fear and experience of being abandoned and also the general "fear of approaching death"

and obvs a bit of other emotional beats that are more specific to doctor who's long running stories: like the doctor "always does this" ie leaves everyone of his friends behind and there's the lingering tragedy that this will happen, as well, to ruby inevitably, then also both ruby and the doc becoming 'detached' from real life (ruby basically never investing anything in those relationships w/ those guys bc she was 'absorbed' by this mystery /clearly a parallel to her being absorbed by her parental origin) and also how tourists cant watch where they step / the doctor and co arent always respectful to the 'silly traditions' of the places they visit (tbh excellent bc to overcome my "this show has the white man's burden' engraved in its dna" meta... the show is gonna have to keep making story like and like Demons of Punjab for at least 3 more decades lol) (basically tldr i think it fumbled the politics stuff but it was rlly crunchy where it mattered. also, ....... i think this pretty much confirms that ruby isn't her own mother / the person who let herself at the door step in Christmas, right??? like rtd had said was the short story he had concocted years ago, and was the insp for this... but he kinda used up that trick here… so it must be something/someone else, right?) (another thing: ruby going "i used to be able to make it snow" made smth click....... ---> if ruby's whole focus rn seems to be about "the mystery", and this quest seems to be not only something she *needs* but also something that like... means joy and adventure, and traveling with the doctor... when she finds out the Truth,,, that probably means all the whimsy in her life will go away? (so she may come to a point where she Doesn't want to know Actually (which would be very "thirteen regretting throwing away the watch" realness mirror again)

#crunchy and symbolic just how i like my toast #tho not rlly as scary as ppl said lol i guess only if u are a soc dem #doctor who #dw spoilers #73 yards #dw meta #phew lots of typing #which always mean sdklfj good or bad at least it was a soapbox-y episode

12 notes · View notes

mashas-rotting · 2 years

Text

Queen of hearts

This is a slow burn with Mira and the reader, timeline is sometime before arisu and usagi get to the beach. There will be heavy smut later. Possible threesome. Also if you want a list of the books Mira recommended lmk

Warnings: f/f, drinking, mentions of blood and choking cannon typical death.

Sitting in the back corner of the library reading was how you ended most nights. You didn't like being around people for long periods of time unless you were drunk, and even drunk the men were annoying. This was especially true since you were required to wear a bathing suit at all times and your body filled out a two piece in ways that made most people suspect you were a porn star in the real world. They were wrong though. Most of the inhabitants of the beach were uninteresting. Which is why you were here, sitting on a black leather chair with your legs curled up beside you.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be here." You look up to see Mira brightly smiling at you. "Why aren't you drinking with everyone else?" She questions, tilting her head to the side. "I do sometimes, but they're all so boring. Predictable. Books are far more interesting." You reply setting your book down. "Exactly! The best way to learn about the human heart is to study all the different ones in books. I find that most authors write what they want to be and not who they are, but the best books are the honest ones. Filthy thoughts and actions decorating page after page." Mira shifts slightly as she says this as if it excites her. "I'd love some recommendations." You say smiling, taking note of her delicate body. Mira always wore a cover over her bathing suits but that did little to stop you from imagining what was under all of it when you saw her at the executive meetings. "Oh? That's right youre a hearts player too. How fun!" She claps her hands. "I'll bring some by your room later. I'll let you finish your book now. Sorry for interrupting." She waves and leaves.

Strange woman, that one. You couldn't deny your interest though. Mira is beautiful and twisted. And she would look beautiful twisted in your sheets. Sex and relationships were pointless in the borderlands though and you figured she wouldn't bother with those things when she played games almost every night. Not that you would risk something like that anyways.

Although, Mira seemed to be the only person besides you who actually enjoyed the games. Sure niragi had fun, but he had fun killing. That had nothing to do with the games themselves. Last boss enjoyed the freedom the borderlands offered, but still the games themselves offered him little joy.

The library was big, not huge, but you and a few others regularly went on trips to gather new books to add to the collection. Normally you liked having the room to yourself, but as you went back to reading to thought it would be nice to have Mira reading beside you. You decided to invite her next time you saw her.

When you went back to your room there was a white gift bag with one glittery red heart on the center of it sitting in front of your door.

The next day you woke up later than usual. Mira must have been busy because you couldn't seem to run into her. Which is why you found yourself at the bar drinking tequila shots by midnight and shutting down everyone who tried to join you. That is until Kuina came up to you.

"Those aren't water you know." She said with a hand on her hip. "They're not? Then why am I not drunk yet?" You reply with exaggerated frustration. "If you're trying to get drunk we should try a drinking game." She said raising an eyebrow in a challenge. "What did you have in mind?" You reply not minding the intrusion. You'd hung out with kuina before and, while she wasn't a hearts player, she wasn't the worst company. On the rare occasion you did go drinking she was normally you drinking buddy.

"Never have I ever?" She suggests. You burst out laughing. "Yaah that'll do it." You say grabbing a bottle of tequila and walking with her over to a couple couches where the music wasn't as loud. "Never have I ever spit." You start. "Does it count if it came out your nose?" Kuina says and you both giggle. "It's a drinking game so yes it counts." Kuina pores her shot and quickly downs it with a shiver. "Never have I ever had sex in public." She says. You take a shot then say "Who decided all the questions have to be about sex?" "God probably." Kuina replies as she takes another shot. "You didn't have to take that one ya know." You tell her. "Never have I ever kissed a girl." Someone says sitting on the couch on the opposite side of the coffee table.

"Oh I've done a lot more than kiss a girl," you say taking a shot and smiling at Mira who is holding her own bottle and sporting her usual unsettling smile. You find it appealing. Raw. Unhinged. "Never have I ever wanted to fuck an executive." Kuina says giving the two of you a knowing look. Both you and Mira smile at her, then Mira takes a shot straight from her bottle and then hands it to you. You keep eye contact as you take yours. "I didn't think you liked to drink?" kuina say to Mira. "I don't mind it, although I prefer wine. I just don't have much time to with all the games and such." She says moving her hands as she talks. "Never have I ever been in a fist fight pre-borderlands." You say. Both Kuina and Mira drink. "I don't think I can take much more of this. I'm going to dance." Kuina says as she clumsily stands and disappears into the crowded dance floor.

"Should we join her?" Mira asks but the way she says it sounds like shes asking something else. "Only if you're afraid to be alone with me." You challenge. Mira swings her legs over the coffee table and settles on the edge of it, her legs between your knees. "Not at all. Should I be?" her eyes flicker from yours to your lips. "might be more fun if you were." You breathe leaning forward slightly. "Then i think you should do something that frightens me" Mira says softly. A thousand images go through your mind. Your hand around her throat, blood running down her breast, welts on her bare ass, and that fucking smile on her face the whole time.

Before you could decide how exactly you wanted to defile her, kuina stumbled over. "I might need help back to my room." She slurred as she swayed, mira jumps at the intrusion and turned her eyes to the side without turning her head. "I guess we have other plans." Mira said cheerfully, which somehow sounded like anger on her. You chuckle and lean forward to Mira's ear. "I'd love to continue another time." You whisper then move to wrap kuinas arm over your shoulder and start towards her room.

After you get her to bed, you walk with Mira to her room in a comfortable silence. The warmth of her presence is peaceful. You wonder what she was like pre-borderlands. Apparently someone who used to fight you think smiling. "What are you thinking?" Mira asks breaking the silence. "How often did you fight back in the normal world?" She looks surprised, it's the first time you've seen this expression on her. "Oh, just once in grade school. I was never a big fighter. I've always used ones heart to get what I want rather than physical violence." She answers looking lost in thought.

"Do you plan to use my heart to get what you want?" You say amused. Mira stops walking and turns towards you, brushing her fingers along your hand. "What if your heart is what I want?" She asks after a moment. You step closer and lean in slowly. "Have you really never kissed a woman before?" You softly ask, running your thumb over her bottom lip. She shakes her head and opens her mouth slightly. "Would you like to?" You ask realizing you have her backed against a wall with one hand on the wall behind her, the other now tilting her chin up to look at you. "Yes." Mira whispers and you lean down pressing your lips against hers. She grabs your hips and pulls you into her. You melt into each other slowly. The throbbing between your legs has you grinding your thigh between hers. The friction making Mira moan into your mouth. You pull back and shes breathing heavier than normal, her cheeks rosey. Cute, you think to yourself. You'd like to see how undone you can make her.

"Something wrong?" She asks. "I'd like to make a mess of you." You take her delicate hand and kiss the top of it. "But it's 4 in the morning and you deserve all night. I'm afraid we'll have to take a raincheck." You hold her hand against your cheek. Mira huffs a bit but doesn't object and you almost laugh at her annoyance but think better of it.

Once you reach Mira's room she stands at her door looking conflicted. You cup her face with one hand and say "would you come to library tomorrow night?"

"that's not what I thought you were going to say."

"aand what did you think I was going to say?" Mira blushes at this. It was getting easier to make her blush. You were going to have fun teasing her. As much as you liked her unhinged smile, these new reactions were exciting. "I should go to bed." She says pulling away, but before she can you pull her back to you and kiss her cheek. "Yes, you should." You leave her there touching her cheek and smiling as she watching you go.

#reader insert #fanfiction #alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #mira kano #slow burn #eventual smut

39 notes · View notes

falling-like-fall · 1 year

Note

STOP what if get this college!iwaizumi goes to las vegas for the first time with the seijoh 4 or just new friends he made in California??

the amount of songs I know named / that talk about california is insane. ANYWAYS I love this idea, matter of fact, ik you didn't explicitly state a fanfic but.. it was gonna happen anyways.

also theres gonna be random names inserted, idk the first names that pop in my head. apologies if this isnt quite what you're looking for :)

(hopefully there's no typos....)

FETISHIZERS DNI

(please)

iwaizumi and seijoh 4 (no set ships)

warnings: swearing, maybe a bit of angst ? depends on how you look at it

Despite all the fun he was having Iwaizumi had the hugest headache.

Whether that was because Oikawa had gotten on his nerves again or because the sun was so bright, he didn't really know.

But regardless, it was there. He had always thought of pain medicine as a sort of pointless method, but the undesired ache was starting to get to him. So he popped two tylenol's, something he had learned more about once he came to America.

Which, in hindsight, hadn't been the most pleasant adventure. Studying abroad was a tough decision the four of them (seijoh third years) decided to make, but the crave for memories drove them out west.

"You know, I heard Las Vegas is a big attraction here." Matsukawa shrugged, appearing in the doorway of Iwaizumi's room. The shorter male looked at him before nodding.

"Yea, we've been out here for a year or so... and uh, Alex had mentioned Las Vegas being huge. Glad we could finally make it out here." He said, standing up and stretching.

"Yea. Oikawa hasn't shut up about the lore of this place, seems like he really read into it. He's entertaining the others right now, per usual. I came in to see what was taking you so long." Matsukawa said, his normal bland tone shining through.

"It was nothing, small headache." He explained with another nod. Which is typically how Mattsun's and his convos went, a nod every other sentence.

"Well I'm assuming you're better now, they wanted to play a game of volleyball today, and you know how Tooru gets." Another nod from iwaizumi.

"Right. Yea, I am."

"Iwa," Tooru started. "Don't get too ahead of yourself alright? It's a big place, you might get lost." He teased, a smug look on his face.

"Don't you get distracted either, I know how you get around boys." He shot back almost too nonchalantly, sitting down between Hanamaki and Ethan. His comment caused a few stifled laughs.

"Don't start going at each others throats now," Mauricio laughed. his normal boisterous one. Oikawa nodded and Hajime sighed, but both ultimately agreed.

"Right. Now let's get on the road, shall we?" Alex asked, the others saying (or shouting) an agreement in unison.

Vegas was another journey checked off their lists. Iwaizumi couldn't help but feel nostalgic driving down the highway with the windows down, music blaring. It almost made him cry (almost), but he would never admit that. For now, he took the Cali sunrise with him, and woke up with the fondest memories.

#haikyuu!!#hq oikawa #hq iwaizumi #hq matsukawa #hq hanamaki #seijoh 4 #haikyuu #hq

7 notes · View notes

mathcs · 1 year

Note

4, 20, 25?

send a number for me to talk about one of the following topics!

oop this one got really long! thank you for sending ✨

4. multiple people threads

pretty fun, i've seen those! i think how they can work is the muns take turns replying to the thread in the same order every time minus plotted moments (at least on tumblr)?

there's big fun potential with said threads though, i could be down for something like that if some details are plotted (even if i would probably be slow as usual with them the fear of me slowing down multiple other muns tho oh n o) and whenever i see one in our general vicinity nowadays it's exciting!

20. violent threads

this is interesting! basically i'm a canon typical violence(tm) writer, trying to fit the mood of whatever moment/verse the thread is in! like my "angst has to be meaningful" philosophy ways, any violence would have serve some purpose, even if it's a little purpose, as long as it's not there just for the sake of it.

and now i just remembered how i made jude get shot and ambiguously die in my bad!end drabble DKJFLKJK he hates me just to show how dire things have gotten for him (i guess that means that verse is rated M now. it's a tad darker than x2... and that's ok because he's a badass in it).

speaking of that M rating! i can similarly see myself writing typical horror violence stuff for jude, because that could be fun not for him (e.g. tone/intensity levels similar to games like fatal frame, higurashi, the last of us) but i probably wouldn't get into the extreme details of said violent stuff unless it was super necessary or something. some stuff is better left to the imagination for sure.

in terms of violence during fight scenes, canon typical violence stuff is again my benchmark! i've done the my muse and your muse vs npc fight scenes which is fun, but i don't really have experience with the 1v1 my muse vs your muse in the parking lot type but i'd only feel inclined if the details were plotted beforehand (e.g. knowing the conclusion/set direction of the thread) and if the fight in said thread/scene held some narrative weight.

basically i'm way more interested in the emotional tone/importance of an action scene (plus the impact of it later) rather than just writing it to focus on the technical details of the fight of who would win etc. to me, the latter is just a vehicle to make the whole thing come togetherー it's important, but incomplete without the whole 'why' part. because then it'd feel a lot less like writing out a smash bros match rather than just playing it (i think that's my weirdest metaphor yet LMAOO) personal preference strikes again though!

25. your character ( the gushing commenceth / unhinged version )

i've somewhat(?) properly gushed about him here and related it to writing so if your name is Lin you're no stranger to me saying things about Jude UMM i'll just talk about his hair LMAOO

the beautiful and subtle asymmetry of his hair in x1 especially that slightly longer piece of hair off to the side of his head here. is it underrated or does everyone love that part, i have no idea sldjflsdkf but he really doesn't sport the super generic flat mc hair, it's just a little wavy/longer at the back! the non-wild/cute and round hair look suits his quieter personality here too T_T plus he's so cute bYE

his extremely amazing hair in x2. described aptly. this coupled with his new outfit = i now have an entirely different concept of "one year timeskip" i remember thinking at first "WAIT THAT'S HIM? NO WAY... idk... let me think about this..." but now he makes me faint so. who won here. it suits him bc he's even more mature, and his character design changed so much but in the best way i think. i'm so glad this version of him exists LMAOO good job x2 for all your faults and amazing moments

#mail .#unborderedreflection #this devolves into talking about jude's hair slkdjfklkj #ooc .#long post

2 notes · View notes

quick-drawn-a · 2 years

Text

@chronal-anomaly asked:

What does Jesse do with his time off? Given, say, two weeks off - no missions, no responsibilities, just him and some free time - what would he do? Does he travel somewhere? Blow off steam around base? Does he sit still during these times, or does he crave other stimulus that he usually gets from missions?

though jesse’s never truly off the clock, he ENJOYS his down time, however rare it does come around.

despite popular belief, he’s actually quite the busy man. he plays a lot of different rolls around base and within the team, and he takes that responsibility very SERIOUSLY ( in most aspects ) — which, in turn, makes his usual day to day extremely taxing both mentally and physically, even when he’s not deployed.

the “ lazy ” stigma and general consensus among his coworkers wasn’t necessarily a shot in the dark, however. i’m sure it would quite easily come across that way seeing as most of his down time is spent SLEEPING.

he’ll make plans to go out, agree to parties or just meet up with friends for a few drinks — and you’ll never have a single doubt that he’ll make it. he’s a man of his word after all. HOWEVER — one could bet he’ll be asleep within the hour and they’ll win EVERY TIME. it’s particularly bad post mission — jesse claiming he’s not “built” for time zone hopping as much as he does...

while it’s typically against his will, he can still appreciate a good nap here and there and being able to sit back and just relax every now and then. he was always fond of SILENCE, being able to kick his feet up and just take in the moment — at least, he did back on the farm. it was different here on base. perhaps it was because the silence was DIFFERENT — probably didn’t help that genuine breaks like that were so sparse, it’s really when he started to develop those itchy feet of his. it’s why now he’d much rather do some of the other things he finds fun and interesting.

if he has to entertain himself, you can usually catch him playing some sort of video game — mainly shooters, but he also has quite a few strategy and puzzle games he enjoys playing, along with the occasional card simulator ( variations of poker ). he also has a few TV shows he tries to keep up with, should he have enough time. and you can still find him in the gym and at the range during these breaks — he enjoys them both enough that it doesn’t quite feel like work to him. once he gets over not wanting to leave base, he’ll take day trips around the coast on his bike, but not heading anywhere in particular.

if he manages to find some ( good ) company ? he’s probably still doing those things — BUT he’s fairly open minded and is willing to tag along to most stores, bars, clubs, parks, etc. if they had something else in mind. he’s found he’s a pretty big fan of karaoke this way...

HOWEVER, all of that being said —

too much of any of these things and he IS going to go stir-crazy. as i mentioned earlier, he has become accustomed to just WORKING, and once a certain amount of time passes by where he doesn’t, he gets antsy. and if it goes on long enough, he’ll no longer find any of those things entertaining enough — and that’s when you’ll find him in reyes’ office practically BEGGING for an assignment.

so, TL;DR: he’s pretty chill about it until he isn’t.

#✯ — waтcн and learn × [ headcanon ]#✯ — ѕoмeone нad тo вreaĸ тнe ιce × [ ask ]#chronal-anomaly #jesse and lena just lock themselves in his room and play COD for 27 hours straight —#but only after a 12 hour nap #thank you

2 notes · View notes

lutawolf · 2 years

Text

Unforgotten Night (2022) Ep 1

My brat with a British accent wanted to write this together. Her once again covering the sub and me covering the Dom. I told her that she was a sadist and this was supposed to be bad. Iffy "noooooo, no, I'm just a special word for someone who wants you to suffer with me" You will be able to find the lovely iffy's companion post here.

It didn't help that I got so many requests to watch this. I think some of you are sadists. Is there something about doing this to a sadist that turns you on?? I included the Coconuts Mafia in my torture because if I'm going to take one, then the team should too. Thank you so much for the support and commentary! @biochemjess @suga4mycoffee read here @mematryoshkame @minisculecosmos @hereiswhereitbegan28 @akitbeast and their commentary here and Pebee. Also make sure to read @feralpansexual bdsm red flags post here

For those that know nothing about the series and this is your first time hearing about it: Kim (sub), a 25 year old office worker, has been in one sided love with his senior, Day, for a a long time. To forget about him and move on, he decides to have one night stand with a random stranger he met at the bar. What he didn't know was the stranger would start liking him to the point of no return. Kamol (Dom/Sadist), a 30 year old mafia, has some special needs in bed and so he keeps switching partners but no one is able to satisfy him. One night he meets Kim, who perfectly meets his needs. Right at that moment, Kamol decided to make the man his own.

Promo Poster

Seriously guys, what the fuck is that picture above. His FACE. "When you want to be tied up, but the idiot you're fucking doesn't know how to do it properly." I would like to be on the side of the Dom here but I can just hear the sub saying "Gotta do everything my damn self" Also, why are they using a glorified shoelace?? I mean, I haven't even started the episode yet and I'm dead. Where is the chemistry? What is it with these poses? They feel like their about to give a beginner's class in couples yoga with fun accessories.

Episode 1

So begins my drinking habit, I mean watch. No really, this turned into a drinking game. I took a shot every time a sub cries. I was tipsy by the end of the show. There was torture... Of the audience kind. Ellen DeGeneres shoes, constantly running water taps, 80's music and a horrible English breakfast with anemic sausage. On the plus side, I laughed a lot. I highly recommend as a group hate watch.

We meet Kamol as a "business tycoon" and you can tell they are trying to set an air of arrogance and command. The typical portrayal of a Dom. I didn't feel it though. I was deeply underwhelmed, he really wasn't giving strong power vibes. Ohhh, the ominous whisper "Something big is coming up." I'm all a flutter. Also, this might be an American thing but he just gave the weakest hang shake ever. As a Dom, I would be embarrassed. That's the one area where it is completely acceptable to have a pissing contest and you just barely held finger.

The next scene shows a weeping and marked up submissive. I've got no issue with one night stands but you still put the work in. Not only should there have been respect for limits but also aftercare. Instead he leaves him and has his bodyguards take him out. Can we get more Dom low class?

Why, yes we can "They always say they can take it but they never last" Yeah, okay. He wasn't any more satisfied than you buddy, so who is the real problem here? That's just stupid. You don't pick someone off the street and go, lets do a little whip and tickle. It takes a masochist to like pain and every masochist likes a different type of pain. This is like me asking if someone likes ice cream and then making them eat the flavor that's my favorite. Dumbass, I said I like ice cream, doesn't mean I like that ice cream.

We have a lot of weepy sub scenes. Then the girls aka assistants, take their boss to the bar. I don't know how they thought this was a good idea. The music alone would cause me to cry and drink too much. However, it's at the bar that Kamol (aka shoelace Pillsbury Ceo) shows up and notices Kim. Finally we have the moment they meet. In a bathroom, because the mafia apparently really appreciate bathrooms.

Kim is stumbling drunk into the bathroom and Kamol thinks this is a brilliant. Follows him into the bathroom. Where we have the conversation of,

Kim "Are you starting at me"

Pillsbury "I'm staring at you"

Kim "you interested"

Pillsbury "Yes, you caught my eye"

All why the mother fucking water facet is going!!!

Weepy Sub "in that case can you help me forget him"

Pillsbury "As long as you can tolerate it" 🙄🙄 Because yes, I like chocolate chip ice cream and so will you! 🤦🏻‍♀️

Weepy "No problem, you can do whatever you want" that's a good way to get stds kid and then you'll really have something to cry about.

Oh look! We finally have the, you're drunk, who me talk. It went as expected. Weepy sub is now up against the bathroom counter. Managing to avoid the still running water! It's torturing me! This is not my flavor of masochism! Then he calls him Baby. Which fits weepy sub. It's a very accurate pet name.

We show up at Pillsbury's place where they are magically changed into robes.... And they ones again talk about if baby is drunk. Yet they never talk about what kind of kink they are into. We apparently just gonna wing it, cause yeah that works. Guess we can blame it on him getting all hot and bothered at being called Mister. 🤦🏻‍♀️

The most consent talk we get is, you can suck this up right. And then he beaks out the Toys-R-Us cuffs that baby can easily slid right out of. He started him off real light with luke warm wax that's barely dripping. Yet we get this face.

At this point, I'm thinking boy can't handle much. Then Pillsbury breaks out a horse flogger. You guys, I wasn't expecting accuracy and if you want me to give a break down of why the flogging was so fucking God Awful that I took two shots! I can. Needless to say it was grossly inaccurate but even that doesn't match the horror of this.

Meanwhile his flogging is on the level of "I’m going to FLOG YOU……with kindness"

"W-would you like to talk to me about my childhood wounds as I whip you very gently"

On the plus side, there was a very nice, very accurate bite mark. I've got a bitting kink myself and no way THAT was fake, so kudos for that.

Then the true torture again. Dripping faucet. While Pillsbury finally gives some kind of aftercare. A bath with sweet kisses. While whispering sweet nothings of "You are the one".. It's not much but it's finally something so we'll take it.

But then baby wakes up alone to a Best Western breakfast. Is it any wonder he booked it? Maybe start acting like a Dom and taking care of your subs? Hmm.

I can't leave you without mentioning the stick on tattoo.

It shifts. For a second I thought we were going to get a shifter bl but they were just teasing. It's just a bad fake tattoo.

So there you have it. My torture is now our torture. Especially if you made it all the way through, what ever, that was that I wrote. Hope you got a few chuckles 💜💜💜

#unforgotten night #unforgotten night kink #luta #luta opinions #luta question and answer #weepy boy and Pillsbury dough bo #really bad flogging #turn off the mf faucet #coconuts mafia

127 notes · View notes

theringers · 3 years

Text

friends with benefits - charles leclerc

summary: type A planner best friend lives with no thoughts head empty best friend and they decide to start sleeping together

request: 37 , 70, 78 w charles😃

prompts: 37) “Please? I'll be good, I promise!" 70) “we’re just…friends.” “friends don’t do this type of shit!” 78) “Not to make things weird, but I thought about you when I came last night.”

a/n: charles, head empty no thoughts just his hot roommate and his inability to keep things to himself

warnings: nsfw, 18+, angst kinda, friends to fuck buddies, oral sex

“Could you uhhhhh do me a favor?” You asked Charles. The fuzzy blanket was draped over both of you and he was about to press play on the movie.

His eyes rolled. “What do you need, my love?” He asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Can you maybe make some popcorn?” You tried to slow your words down a bit, for some reason thinking he would be more inclined to say yes if you asked like that.

He exhaled loudly. “Fine.” He tossed the blanket over to you so he could get up off the couch. “But only because now you’ve got that thought in my mind and I want it.”

“If doing things for yourself instead of me makes you feel better, that’s okay with me.” You smiled. This was a typical weeknight for the two of you.

You were a self proclaimed movie critic. Charles just got stuck with a self proclaimed movie critic as a roommate, but it made for some entertaining nights.

The two of you met in high school and immediately formed a bond. Everything between you two was easygoing and laid back, which he loved. He was never a huge people person or party type and neither were you.

You found peace in each other’s silent company and eventually realized you had more in common than you first thought. That following summer, you did practically everything together. Charles had a couple girlfriends here and there and you had a couple boyfriends as well, but it didn’t really matter. Nothing ever stuck.

College rolled around and you weren’t sure what to do. You wanted to stay in Monaco close to your family, but you just couldn’t live at home anymore. Lucky for you, Charles offered to let you move into his spare bedroom until you could make a decision. It had been years and you were still in that spare bedroom. The thought of moving out and doing something different hadn’t crossed your mind since the day you moved in.

“Do you want butter or no butter?” He asked from the kitchen, hands full of popcorn bags.

“Come on is that even a question?”

“Right. Butter. Lots of it.” He threw the bag into the microwave and it started to pop.

He came back with a bowl full of steaming popcorn and handed it to you.

“Be careful it’s,” he looked at you to see your mouth wide open and steam coming out, “hot.”

“Almost hotter than you,” you said once you caught your breath.

He rolled his eyes and fake laughed. “Hilarious, y/n.”

“I’m being serious.”

“C’mon, we’ve talked about this.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I think you’re hot,” you said. Every time this was brought up, he got so flustered. Which was why you continued to joke around with him and flirt with him. He would never act on it.

“Y/n…. I’m gonna go to bed if you keep this up.” He was annoyed.

“I’m sorry. Please stay? I’ll be good, I promise.” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“Fine, but you gotta stop,” he said, pulling your legs onto his lap so you could lounge more comfortably.

A rom-com was playing on the TV and the sound of munching on popcorn was filling the room.

A long distance relationship played out on the screen. Lots of phone calls, lots of phone sex, lots of jerking off to each other’s photos. You shifted in your seat, trying to seem casual and not uncomfortable.

“Not to make things weird, but I thought about you when I came last night.” You stopped shifting and looked at Charles.

“So much for ‘we’ve talked about this’.” You held up air quotes. “Care to elaborate?” He was known for saying out of pocket things. Sometimes you weren’t sure if he fully thought things through before he said them.

“I mean, not really. The movie just reminded me of it.”

You couldn’t think of a response quick enough so he continued to talk. “You always say whatever’s on your mind so I thought I might try it out.”

“You don’t do that enough already?”

“I’m trying to be more honest.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes at him. “I applaud you for that. But you can’t just leave me hanging like this.”

“Don’t hate me, that’s all I’m going to say.” His hand rubbed up and down your shins that were resting on his lap.

“I could never hate you, Charles.”

“Last night when you took a shower, you left the bathroom door wide open. I was just walking back to my room from the kitchen, I didn’t mean to-”

You laughed and interrupted him. “Charles, it’s okay. That’s my fault.”

“I just glanced, I promise. But I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind. And my cock was still really hard after a while.”

“You knew I was awake, you should have come to my room,” you said. It sounded good in theory but if you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t know what to do if he showed up at your bedroom door with a boner.

“We’re just friends though. Friends don’t do that type of shit.” He took a deep breath and looked off in the distance. Anything to avoid eye contact.

“Says who?” He looked at you and tilted his head in confusion. “A lot of friends do that type of shit. There’s even a word for it.”

“Have you thought about this before?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t… Charles, we’re two young twenty somethings that live together. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what it would be like if we were sleeping together.”

“I don’t mean this in a bad way but I honestly didn’t think about it until I saw you.”

“Maybe it’s just the hopeless romantic in me.” You had thought about what a perfect storyline it would make for you two to sleep together but never the reality of actually getting into bed with him. Now that made you nervous.

“More like the horny romantic”

“Very funny…” You tossed a piece of popcorn at him and he swatted it away.

“So, are we doing this thing?” He turned his attention from the TV to you.

“Tell me you didn’t just actually ask me that question.” He was blunt and never beat around the bush.

“I did, and I would like an answer, please.” You wanted to smack that stupid smile off of his face for how he was making you feel.

“What’s this thing?” He needed to spell it out.

“Are you,” he pointed to you, “going to let me,” his finger moved to himself, “inside of you?”

You burst out laughing. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty. We need to set some ground rules for this.”

“Rules?” He didn’t look like he was a fan of rules. And as his roommate, you knew he wasn’t a fan of them. Just ask the groceries you’ve gone shopping for two months in a row.

“Our friendship, our cohabitation, you know. I’m not just going to let you go willy nilly on me without making sure you aren’t going to leave me friendless or homeless after.” Nothing could be done with you unless it was carefully planned. All possible outcomes had to be thought through.

“I would never leave you friendless or homeless.”

“Even if I was the worst person at sex, in the world, ever?”

“I highly doubt you’re the worst, but even if you were.”

“You’d still fuck me, even if everyone in the entire world was better than me. Damn I’m lucky.”

“Here’s a rule for you. You need to tell me how it feels. I’ll fuck you however you want to be fucked so you better tell me when something feels good.” Charles said.

“I can do that. If you like something I do, tell me. If you don’t, tell me.” You talked a big game but telling Charles how he made you feel sexually made your spine tingle, and you weren’t sure if it was anxiety or desire.

“I doubt there’s anything you can do to my body that I won’t like.” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. He was a guy after all.

“You wanna bet?” You asked, lunging at him jokingly.

“Sure, I’d like to see you try.”

“I guess I will, then.” You just needed time to plan it first.

He stood up and held out his hand for you to take. “Now that we’ve talked about it, I can’t get it off my mind.”

“You want to do this, right now?” Panic set in. This was too sudden.

“Right now,” he said, confidently. “If, that’s what you want, of course.”

“Okay.” You followed him into the hallway, bypassing your bedroom and ending up in his.

You took a few shy steps around, like you’d never been in there before. “Do you want to get on top or do you want me to?”

“Y/n…” He needed you to just relax and let go.

“Right, right, let’s just do it.” You took a step forward and he grabbed your face in his hands. Your lips moved with his, feeling soft and warm. There was only so much in your life you could plan. This was never part of it.

He slowly guided you to his bed and gently pushed you backwards. His shirt slid over his head and you admired his body, looking at him in a different light. He never took his shirt off around you with sexual intentions but this was new. And fun.

You smiled at him, both of you acknowledging what you were about to do. It made you explode inside thinking about how much you were enjoying this, letting someone else take control and letting go. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, you thought. Snap out of it.

“Before we start, is there anything you really don’t like?” He asked, reaching for the button of your denim shorts. You nodded side to side, giving him permission to pull the shorts down your legs.

He immediately pulled your thong aside and slipped a finger between your folds. He smiled feeling the wetness. “Thinking about us fucking is turning you on, isn’t it?”

“Don’t embarrass me,” you shot him a look and he understood.

“I’m not embarrassing you. It’s sexy.” He kneeled between your legs on the floor.

“Well, keep it to yourself,” you said.

“Why would I keep it to myself when I have physical proof that thinking about us is turning you on?” One of his fingers easily slid inside of you and your hips shifted as you rolled your eyes at him. “Is this okay?” He asked, concerned by your movements.

“Yes,” you said, unsure of what else to say. You didn’t want to give him any more ammo to make fun of you. You told each other everything but this was one side of you he never saw, and you didn’t think he ever would. Vulnerability at its finest, but you agreed to this.

His finger moved in and out of you and the sounds of your wet pussy made you want to cover your face and hide. He added a second and slowly curled his fingers up to hit your g-spot. A soft moan escaped your lips despite the fact that you were trying hard to keep them to yourself.

“Tell me how it feels.” He said.

“It feels,” you took a moment to breathe in, “so good.” He used his other hand to play with your clit, causing you more pleasure. You were looking at the ceiling, finding it hard to acknowledge that Charles was the one making you feel like this. If you squeezed your eyes shut hard enough, maybe this wouldn’t be something you needed to worry about.

A euphoric feeling began to build in your stomach, your legs slowly going numb in the best way possible. You continued to try and hold in your moans but when you hit your climax, everything was uncontrollable. Your body jerked and moans fell as you rode out your high.

You opened your eyes to see Charles pulling his fingers out and smiling. He made you feel that way and while you lay half naked on his bed post-orgasm, it was starting to feel okay. How much more vulnerable could you get with him than this?

He stood up and pulled his sweatpants off, his hard cock springing out of his cotton boxers. Your jaw dropped and you couldn’t help but stare as he stroked himself, preparing for you. He noticed, but ignored it, granting your request of not embarrassing you. The look he shot you was enough to know that he was aware of your stares.

“I’m only gonna say it one more time,” he said, leaning on top of you with his hands on either side of your head. “You need to tell me how it feels, or I’m going to start talking really dirty with you.”

You laughed, feeling more relaxed than before. “I almost want to keep quiet on purpose just to see that.”

He dipped his head in disappointment. “Not funny.”

“I think I’m pretty funny.”

“You are, but I want to make you feel good. I’d rather know then instead of you telling me I sucked after.”

“Okay, okay,” you obliged. He nodded and positioned himself at your entrance, slowly pushing himself inside of you.

You had to adjust to his size - his dick was nothing like his fingers. He didn’t give you much time before he started moving and you didn’t even care. He felt so good inside of you and seeing his body on top of you was putting you at ease rather than stressing you out, like you had expected it to.

His head rested in the crook of your neck, giving you perfect access to his ear. Almost like he did it on purpose, to make you more comfortable. You didn’t have to look at him in the eyes and admit how good he was making you feel. “Your dick feels so good,” you whispered in his ear and he grunted in response.

“You’re so tight, fuck,” he said into your ear, slightly nibbling on the lobe.

His hips moved rhythmically while you lifted your feet onto his back to change the angle. You couldn’t help but let more moans slip out at the feeling. “I think I’m gonna cum,” you said, quietly.

“Let go,” he said followed by a few expletives. His pelvis ground into you, creating a sensation on your clit you’ve never experienced.

You felt your second orgasm of the night build up as he continued to fuck you, keeping the same pace. You held your hands on his back and let moans fall to his ear making sure he knew how good you felt.

He pulled out of you and your body felt like deadweight. You were glued to the bed and couldn’t find the energy to get up. “How was that?” He asked. Of course he couldn’t give you a second to recover before opening his mouth.

“Great,” you smiled, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Did you finish?” You sure hadn’t felt him cum inside of you and you don’t think he wore a condominium either.

“No, but I just wanted to make sure you felt good.” He picked his sweatpants up off the floor and went to put his boxers back on before you stopped him.

“Unacceptable. I’m not going to let you jerk off thinking about me two nights in a row. Especially not after I was just naked in your bed.” Your post-orgasm confidence was showing when you dropped to your knees in front of him and took his still hard cock in your hand.

Slick juices still covered it, making it easier for you once you took him in your mouth. He was bigger than you expected, so you started swirling your tongue around the tip while your hand worked at the rest of him. “Shit,” you could hear him say.

You slowly took more of him, hollowing out your cheeks in response to his moans. His hand found the back of your head but rested there, not wanting to pressure you for more but he couldn’t resist once you fit almost all of him in your mouth.

The sounds he made caused butterflies in your stomach knowing that you were the sole reason for those sounds. His grip got tighter on you and he started to thrust into you when you felt a warm liquid shoot down your throat.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he grunted while you took every last drop. You stood up and took a step back, swiping your finger over your bottom lip.

He looked at you with the same eyes you looked at him after he finished fucking you. “So, uh,” he said. “Where do we go from here?”

You nervously looked around the room. “Should we finish the movie?”

“Great idea.”

You both put your clothes back on and sat back on the couch. “Let’s talk about that.” He never knew when to shut up, but sometimes it was for the better.

“What about it?”

“Did you like it? Should we do it again? Do you want to move out?” You laughed at his last question.

“It was really good,” you said, your thoughts wandering to just a few moments ago. You wouldn’t mind having him on top of you again. “We might as well.”

“Just one more thing,” he said. “Don’t fall in love with me.” He smiled and let out a giggle. You weren’t sure if he was being serious or not, but you laughed along too.

#f1 imagine #charles leclerc smut #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 blurb #smut prompts #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #cl

606 notes · View notes

cdroloisms · 3 years

Text

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

332 notes · View notes

bonny-kookoo · 4 years

Text

Kind like you (JJK x Reader) 💜🔞☁️

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff/romance, smut, angst, comfort, friends to lovers

Warnings: kinda dense Jungkook, JK being a brat, slight Tsundere JK, Koo struggling to sort his shit, kind reader, Crush!Reader, soft smut, praising, groping, kissing, pool sex, aftercare, heart to heart convos, they talk about toys lol,

Summary: Jungkook dearly wants to be kind like you. He wants to be so sweet, and gentle, and soft like you’re with him all the time; yet all he does is tease and pick on you, it seems.

Jungkook isn’t kind.

He likes to portray himself as such, whenever it’s needed, but he’s unable to quite make this characteristic a part of himself truly. It’s not like he’s a bad person, not at all; he’s helpful, caring, and well mannered. But he’s mean, he finds it funny when he gets onto someone else’s nerves. It’s like playing a game for him; and he loves winning. He’s good at it; it’s natural for him.

Then there’s you. You’re even more awkward with strangers than he is (which says a lot), but you’re everything he wants to be. You’re so soft spoken, always seeming to know what exactly to say in any situation. You’re kind, always thinking about everyone around you before you think about yourself, typically asking everyone else’s opinion first before you make up your own. You don’t like it when people fight, you never get possessive over things like he does. It’s even the tiniest things to him that make you seem so goddamn angelic; like that one time he whined about the fact that you got the last pack of butter cookies, immediately taking one for yourself to stuff between those soft looking lips, before shyly giving him the rest of the pack- still almost full. He had taken them without thanking you. He thinks about these moments a lot. He wants to treat you like Jimin does whenever you two interact. He’s so sweet with you, easily complimenting you and making you blush with his words, always playfully holding you close without ever making you uncomfortable. It’s weird to Jungkook how much that pisses him off the most. Whenever he’s alone in a room with you, you look uncomfortable- but when it’s Jimin, or Taehyung, you seem at ease. You joke around, and hug them like it’s second nature, while at the same time, you can’t look him into his eyes at any point of time.

He hates it.

He’s talked to Yoongi about it, after he’s seen you leave his studio one day. He knows you sing, he’s heard your voice, has saved every single cover song you’ve made on his phone to listen to them whenever he needs to just shut off his mind and think about nothing. He wants to do a duet with him, yet he knows he won’t be able to ever publish it because of his position in the industry. It frustrates him, yet he would be happy just singing with you for fun- he doesn’t need to publish it, he doesn’t need anyone else’s opinion on it; but he can’t ask you, it doesn’t matter how hard he tries. He can’t get the words out, even teased you for your voice before.

“You sound like a kid!”

He wants to take it back so desperately, but now, weeks after that comment, it would be weird wouldn’t it? It would just make him look like the fool he knows he is. So now he’s sitting in Yoongis studio, listening to your voice by second hand of you will, having been too unsure to come inside while you were recording. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “She sounds great, no? Really like the slight tilts she has here..” Yoongi murmurs, placing the visual pointer of his mouse on the spot he’s talking about. He’s right, and Jungkook wants to say that, but he simply shrugs. “You don’t like it?” He asks, and Jungkook again, simply lifts his shoulders.

“Not my style, I guess.”

But Yoongi sees past that attitude as he raises his eyebrow questioningly. “Since when? You sing the same kind of songs all the time too.” He says, and Jungkook just chews on the inside of his lip. “You feeling competition?” Yoongi teasingly asks, and Jungkook scoffs.

“I’ve been trained for years, she’s a simple YouTuber. There’s no reason for me to feel competitive.”

But Yoongi suddenly laughs, burying his face in his hand as he stops the song. “Do you have a crush on her or something? You’re acting weird as hell Jungkook.” He says, and looks at Jungkook, who seems like he doesn’t react- only the tips of his ears grow red, as Yoongi laughs again, breathlessly as usual. “Oh my god you do! Little Jungkookie’s got the hots, I can’t believe it!” He barks out, and Jungkook whines.

“I don’t!” He says. “I absolutely don’t. She’s way too shy, and she’s so girly and all..” he complains, but Yoongi continues to smile. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Topic change then.” He says, and Jungkook nods. “Why were you and Taehyung fighting yesterday? Heard you’ve got him quite bad with a pillow.” He asks, and Jungkook groans.

“You said we’re changing the topic!” He says loudly, and Yoongi seems to have the time of his life.

“I am! How should I know the fight was about her?” He asks, and Jungkook kicks his legs with frustration.

“It wasn’t!” He said, and Yoongi raises his eyebrow, resting his head on his hand.

“Why are you getting so defensive then?” He asks.

“Because he shouldn’t send her a topless picture of him like that.” He says.

“I thought it wasn’t about her?” He chuckles.

“Fuck you.” Jungkook retorts, and it’s where Yoongi draws the line.

“Hey hey, calm down yeah? Didn’t mean to poke too much.” He says, and Jungkook nods, apologizing under his breath. “I thought you didn’t like her?” He asks, and Jungkook shrugs again.

“Never said that. But she’s so awkward around me.” He says, now a bit more defeated.

“Ever tried being nice to her?” Yoongi asks, while he continues working on the track to take some pressure off the maknae.

“I don’t know..!” He whines and throws his head back. “In my mind it’s so easy; go up to her, say hello, maybe tell her she looks nice, done!” He exclaims. “And then I say hello and screw it up by making a joke on her account and boom, congrats, fucked it up again.” Jungkook sighes, and The rapper doesn’t say something for a moment until he responds.

“You’re just not like that, I guess.” He explains to the younger one. “But you could try to tone it down a bit. Some of the things you say are actually quite mean.” He scolds gently, and Jungkook nods.

“I don’t know how to do that though.” He says.

“Wrap your compliments up in you remarks.”

“How?” The younger one asks.

“Well, you can’t say she looks nice, right?” The older one asks, and Jungkook nods. “But you always call her shortie.” Again, a nod. “Tell her she looks like a doll.”

“But isn’t that mean too?” He asks, and Yoongi snaps his fingers.

“It’s one of those comments that makes you think. Is it an insult? A compliment? You don’t have to go all in. Tease her in a way that can be taken positively as well. She’s smart enough to get innuendos like that.” He explains, and Jungkook seems to understand as he nods.

Maybe he’ll try that next time.

The next time you’re visiting them, Jungkook is as ready as he’ll ever be to make things count. As you take off your shoes, and hang up your red jacket, he snickers, as he walks by. “What’s up red riding hood?” He says, and he can hear Jimin chuckle from the couch as you follow him into the living room. “She looks like a Disney character with that bag and the jacket.” He says teasingly, and to his own surprise, he can see the edges of your lips move upwards into a shy smile, because he remembers vividly how you'd once told Jimin how much you liked the old classic disney films instead of the new ones.

It’s working, and it’s making him feel daring. Jimin retorts something along the lines of if he’s the wolf in that case and if he would eat her, and he finds his head suddenly on your shoulder, gently reaching over your now seated form on the couch to steal a dumpling from Jimin as he speaks.

“Nah, I’d only eat the ugly ones.” And this time, you’re actually giggling.

It makes his skin tingle.

And the night goes on like that, his typical picking covered in icing sugar, as he watches you become restless on your spot on the couch across from him. He grows addicted to the view, of that sight of your teeth digging into your lip as you grow giddy under his hidden compliments, and Jimin seems to catch up on it pretty quickly. He watches in fascination, as Jungkook keeps his eyes on you, and Jungkook himself feels a pull on his heart when he states that he's slightly (very) upset that you're leaving so early, even though it's almost one in the morning and he typically never even so much as waves you goodbye whenever you leave.

He doesn't mind the slight bullying from his hyungs after he'd waved after your leaving form before you dissappear from his sight.

Jungkook isn't kind.

He likes to portray himself as such, whenever it’s needed, but he’s unable to quite make this characteristic a part of himself truly. It’s not like he’s a bad person, not at all; it's just that he can't help himself when it comes to you. He's quite the sadist really, always bathing in the slight pout and amusing anger radiating off of you whenever he does something to rile you up. It's just like now; even though he knows you hate it, he loves to take advantage of the difference in height between the two of you. He laughes while holding his bowl of cereal while you struggle on the very tips of your toes in the kitchen, trying to reach the pack of sweet breakfast treats that he had placed way higher than necessary.

But it's when you climb onto the counter that several things happen.

First, it's the unintended panty-shot he gets, his pupils practically zooming in on the soft pink fabric on display for his greedy self, making him feel like a schoolboy that just sneaked a glimpse of a naughty magazine his friend had brought into class. It makes his mind fill with images of you, oh-so sweetly laying underneath his form as he pulls the cotton fabric to the side, ready and wanting as you patiently wait for him to connect your souls and bodies in the most intimate of ways.

The other thing however wipes away those images, as his doe eyes widen. It's the realization that you're wearing pink fuzzy socks, on a marbled kitchen counter, the danger of slipping as high as it can be. He knows you're clumsy, knows you're always attracting trouble wherever you go, and it's the small moment of your knee bending, your foot a breath too far off the counter, as you suddenly loose balance. He practically throws his almost empty bowl on the kitchen table before he reaches you, luckily managing to make you fall ontop of him than the cold kitchen tiles below.

At first, it's awfully quiet- there is no one here other than him and you after all. Then, the pain hits him, drumming like the beat of his favorite song, making him drop his head on the floor with a groan. You immediately move at that, getting off of him as you look for anthing that could be the cause. It's when he holds his hand, red seeping through between his fingers that you move. Grabbing kitchen towels for first aid, you help him as best as you can, as he watches you, pain already not so bad anymore as he looks at your delicate hands working on his larger ones with so much care.

He's ready to use it to his fun, yet he stops himself when he sees the tears on our cheeks. "Why're you crying?" He asks, and you suddenly sob more loudly, sniffling as you continue to try and clean his scrape on the back of his palm with running water. He shuts the water off, his hand not even bleeding that much anyways anymore, as he holds your shoulders, body folding over a bit to properly look at you. "Hey hey, why're you crying? I'm hurt here!" He chuckles, but it doesn't seem to do much good- as you just continue.

He suddenly grows more gentle, the hug a bit awkward at first, the close proximity weird for you both, but once he starts to softly rock you both from side to side, his unhurt hand running over your back before he sloppily wipes your tears off of your face- intentionally messily to make you giggle and push his hands off. "You're such a crybaby!" He laughs, as you hold his hand in yours, looking at it again.

"Does it hurt?" You ask, looking up at him, and he swallows hardly as he suddenly grows uneasy with the closeness of you two.

"No, it's just a scratch." He says, suddenly cleaning up the kitchen table where he spilled some of his leftover cereal and milk- simply using it as something to distract himself to calm down. "Why were you even climbing there at all? That's dangerous as hell." He said. "You could've just asked me to get it for you." He ends, and its the most truthful thing he's ever said to you.

Because that's where his deepest intentions with you were hiding. He's so used to being the youngest, of getting away with so much and getting babied by everyone around him, staff or his members, that he craves to take care of someone instead for once. He wants you to ask him for help. He wants you to hide behind his back when you're terrified of Taehuyungs tickle-attacks, he wants you to loose to him when playing video games, just so he can pull you onto his lap, his hands over yours on the controller to show you how its done. He wants you to proudly tell him of any achievement you manage to make no matter how small, just to gain his praise.

He needs you to need him.

Because whenever he's with you, he knows that those compliments and that pure amazement on your face is not because you want something in return, it's simply what it is. You make him feel so appreciated, so desired, so wanted for himself and not for his outside qualities. Because at the same time he loves how passionate you get whenever you notice that you know something better than him- how excited you get when you explain something to namjoon or to Hobi. He want's you to teach him things too, he want's to know what you can do, what you're better at, not because he want's to get better than you, but because he knows you're so much smarter in so many things than he is.

It's your voice that gets him out of his internal terror.

"Oh.. I didn't want to bother you though." You meekly say, and he wants to groan at this, to throw a fit, to be frustrated with you because that's exactly what you never ever do; you could never bother him to the point where he would refuse to help. No, he wants you to bother him. "I-what?" You say, and he suddenly turns around abruptly.

"What?" He asks, terrified if what he thinks just happened really did.

"You said 'But I want you to bother me'..?" You ask, and he wants to slap himself.

"I- I mean, I meant it in like, you can bother me, it doesn't matter much, you know?" He scrambles out, drying his hands after washing his bowl and leaving it in the sink. He suddenly grows uneasy with you in the room, yet he stills at your next words as if frozen in time.

"Oh.. I-" You start, before you step closer. "Thank you then, Jungkookie. I appreciate it." But its not only that, it's the tiny sentence you say and the action that follows that simply fries his mind. "You're not so bad after all." And you place a small kiss against his cheek.

You kiss his cheek.

Your soft lips touched his skin.

And he stands there for a while longer, not knowing what to do.

Jungkook isn't kind.

But over the course of days where you start to grow more and more comfortable, more daring, and more used to understand his language, he slowly mutates into an overgrown puppy.

He demands your attention, loves the way you blush under his teasing, and craves the way you squirm around whenever he's close to you. He's almost certain he's got a chance with you, making his own creativity thrive under your spell. He takes more photos than ever before, starts to be even more active (after you'd accidentally let it slip that you actually like how strong he is and that it makes you feel safe), and all in all simply falls for you.

But its all gone to waste at a certain dinner with his hyungs, that his food suddenly tastes stale, and his appetite is gone. "I want to confess to her, you know? I think I really got a chance." Jimin says, and Yoongi glances at Jungkook, concerned for the youngest since he knows his secret crush. "I mean she even gets along with the brat here!" He playfully says, playfully hitting Jungkooks shoulder lightly, but he doesn't seem an innocent gesture in it. No, Jungkook is riled up, and suddenly stands at the table, taking his cutlery and dishes to discard them in the sink. "Jungkook?" Jimin asks, confused, but Yoongi shakes his head with a sigh after the youngest simply retreated into his room for an early night.

"Jimin, I don't think that's a good idea." Yoongi says, and Namjoon seems confused. "I don't intend to be rude, but your interest changes weekly. Now it's her, the next week its someone else. Jungkook however-" He calmly explains, ignoring the slightly offended look of the dancer across from him. "You know him. He's never shown interest before- in anyone." Jimin slowly seems to understand, as Taehyung nods at it. "He really likes her. Think about it. Once you take that step, there's no going back. There's no 'lets stay friends if we break up' because that's just awkward. There's no second chance for Jungkook."

Jimin slowly nods, suddenly without much taste for his food as well. "I didn't know, honestly."

"It was kind of hard to see not gonna lie." Hoseok chimes in, putting his chopsticks down as he swallows the last bite of food. "He's all over her recently." He explains, and everyone nods.

This wasn't just a simple crush for him.

This was full blown love.

Jungkook isn't kind.

But he also can't say no to you.

He wants to be mad, he really tried to as well. But it's just- he sees your smile and hears your voice, and he's all in your hands, ready and willing to your very command. That's how he finds himself at your tiny apartment, helping you to put up some of your latest paintings on your walls- because initially you'd asked if he or his hyungs had a ladder in his dorm, but after you'd told him you'd use it to climb up to hang some paintings, he'd instead told you he'd help you instead, just to make sure you wouldn't fall and have an accident or something.

He want's to be mad, because he knows Jimin must've made his move at this point.

You seem so at ease, so happy, your steps so light and almost jumpy he wants to cry internally at how cute you are, for someone that isn't him.

"Ah, yes, that's perfect!" You say, and he slowly steps down from your chair he'd burrowed to boost his height a little, your hands weakly trying to steady him while he finally reaches the floor again. "I've made some cold stew yesterday, do you wanna stay and eat a little?" You ask, and he wants to nod, but doesn't.

"I don't wanna intrude or something." He says, grimply smiling as he brings the chair back into the kitchen area where it came from. He hates how deflated you suddenly look, how almost sad you simply nod as you trail after him like a lost pet, something many would find bothering, yet he loved it. He loved how you were always around him like a little shadow, as if to silently stay close to him. "So, you and uhm.. Jimin?" He asks suddenly, unable to keep the words inside.You blink, once, twice, before tilting your head in question. "He.. hasn't talked to you?" He asked, and you shook your head.

"No, what would he want to talk about with me?" You ask, and a very terrifying thought comes into his mind, like a tiny devil on his shoulder whispering in his ear. He hasn't made his move yet, so if he plays his cards right, he could still steal you from him quick and swift. You'd be his, he knows you're too kind to say no if he confessed, and Jimin would stand no chance. But just like the tiny devil, a tiny angel was there as well. Who was he to interfere with someone else's romantic life? He knew Jimin liked you enough to ask you out, and even though his hyung was never one to stay long, it would be an absolute dick move of him to ruin his chances.

But he loved you.

"Oh, you mean about you and me!" You suddenly said, and Jungkook almost choked on his saliva. "He said something about you liking me, and uh, that I should confess to you even though I know you're not interested in me like that- I'm sorry if he said something weird, it's just a weird crush, I'll get over it-" But he short-circuits, and blurts out what comes to his mind before he can think about it.

"Don't!" He says, a little too loud, and your eyes grow wide. "Don't.. get over it. I-" He's suddenly confused, overwhelmed, and has no idea how to handle this sudden turn of events properly. Should he kiss you now like in the movies or something? But he should also ask if he should, otherwise its without consent, but it would kind of ruin the moment, and oh god why do his hands suddenly get sweaty, thats so gross-

It's the shy and delicate touch to the very tips of his fingers, hand splaid out on the kitchen table that you're touching with yours, cheeks red and eyes down, and he suddenly thinks, 'fuck those movies', as he leans in and kisses you, slowly, just to make sure you're okay with it.

You're so okay with it.

He grows hungry at the movement of your lips, brows furrowing as he lets himself ride this wave of pure euphoria, holding your cheeks so lightly that you barely feel his touch at all. You snake your arms around his head as you tug him down a bit more, and his neck aches, so he simply reaches for your behind to help you up on the kitchen table for better leverage. "You're-" He starts between kisses, and can't help his smile. "-mine." He ends, and you nod with excitement, just as high on happiness as he is. "Can I, like-" He starts, almost frustrated with how he can't stop his lips from chasing yours even if he's the one talking. "-Touch you?" He finally gets out, and again, you nod, even if the tips of your ears grow a bit red at the suggestive question. His hands suddenly wander, over your shoulders down your sides, before they find your thighs. He loves the softness of them, his fingers on your knees as he opens your legs so he can get even closer to you. As if on instinct, your socked feet pull him towards you, and he chuckles at that, finally slipping his tongue between your lips as you push a hand into his dark hair, making him groan. He cups the sides of your breasts at first, delicately feeling them, before he squeezes gently, getting a proper idea of their plushness under his fingers.

He loves them already.

"I don't-" He starts, and is breathless just as you are as he places his kisses on the side of your neck. "I don't wanna fuck you on the kitchen table baby." He finally gets out, and you mewl at that. "Hm?" He asks, but you shake your head, too shy to say anything to that. He suddenly reaches for your behind, lifting you against his chest as he walks around with you, making you and himself laugh as he opens the wrong door before he finally finds your bedroom- cozy and cold due to the open window you always leave so that you can sleep better at night. You sigh at the cool feeling of the sheets underneath your hot body, and he grins down at you as he can't feel anything but pure ecstasy. Suddenly, he laughs, and groans lodly against your chest as he lets his forehead rest against it.

"What?" You ask between a laugh, and he begins to whine.

"I don't have a condom, fuck." He drawls out, and he really feels like an idiot. He's a fully grown man, he should have shit like that with him at all times, especially when he knows he's gonna visit his crush- but its so sudden, so unprepared, that he simply didn't think this would ever happen. He's deflated, painfully hard, and frustrated with himself, as you speak up again.

"Uhm, theres an orange handbag in the bathroom, its like, next to the shower. I think I still have one in there."You say, and he looks up questioningly. "It was a joke-present from a friend, please don't ask." You say, growing shy again as he simply chuckles, before getting up and searching for the bag you mentioned. It's safe to say that he doesn't only find the condom, but also a still fully packaged vibrator toy, in the same bag. His interest is definetely woken, but he decides against using it to tease you this time.

He'd get his chance soon.

But in that moment, as he climbs ontop of the bed again, it's all about you and him- its not about mindblowing sex or unusual experiences. He just wants to be inside you, close to you, he wants to claim you in ways that only lovers can. He's surprised, when he takes off his shirt, that you suddenly hold your arms high.

You're absolutely adorable in his eyes.

He chuckles as he helps you out of your sweater, kissing your nose, your cheeks, your lips, as he unhooks your bra to finally get a skin to skin feel of your breasts. He loves it even more like this, warm and soft under his palms, and you mewl in enjoyment as he continues his antics. He doesn't even notice when you'd discarded your shorts and underwear, his pants gone in a flash as his inked fingers reach between your legs to sloppily prepare you for him.

He knows he's a bit more on the.. bigger side, to say the least, a grower more than a shower, and it used to make him nervous in a weird kind of way. You're so delicate, so sweet, that he doesn't want to hurt you, and hes slow and steady as he finally enters you after putting on his protection. But you take it, you're such a champ, and pull him towards you by his neck as he moves slowly.

He picks up his pace at your demand, lost in euphoria as he lets himself go, lets himself enjoy as his mind is filled with your voice, your sounds, your scent, your everything. This is what he wanted, this is where he wants to stay for the rest of time. Not nescessarly buried withing you (although that's not a bad sound he thinks), but in your embrace, within your presence. He want's to stay at your side forever, keep you close to him so no one can hurt you, not even yourself.

He comes with a whine, an arch of his back, and his fingers on your pearl, desperate to get you over the edge as well.

It works.

And he's happy, exhausted, and absolutely in love as he falls down the mattress at your side.

"I always thought it would be weird." You said after you'd both taken a shower and cleaned up properly. He'd texted his hyungs, telling them with obnoxious emoticons that he's spending the night with his girlfriend, and Jimin plus Yoongi had reacted with a vomiting emoji.

Yet they were happy.

"What would be weird?" Jungkook asks, his hand running up and down your arm as you laid next to him, snuggled up onto his body.

"You know, having sex." You said, and it takes a moment before he suddenly snaps his head to you.

"Wait, that was your first time?!" He exclaimed, utterly shocked at it as he'd been convinced you weren't a virgin. You have had boyfriends before, he knew that, hell, he'd seen them too, and considering you were pretty close agewise he couldn't imagine. He feels bad about it, if he'd known, he would've made it more special, hell he would've asked you more times if you were okay with him taking something so precious from you. Now you could never get it back and he'd fucked it up.

"I mean, kind of?" You explained, suddenly hiding your face. "I mean, I've done, like, stuff with men before.. and I also used a.. you know, 'thing', but like, never the real.." You tried to come up with different names for the things you wanted to say, yet you simply ceased to talk.

Jungkook chuckled. "You used what? A dildo? Like, a fake dick?" He said, and you hit his chest with a whine, utterly mortified by his way of talking. "Come on I saw that vibrator in your bag there, but I never though you were a virgin!" He said, and you whined again.

"Technically I wasn't!"

He scoffed playfully. "Baby your first time was with a toy considering what you just told me, that STILL means you were a virgin!" He argued, and you groaned, trying to get out of his grasp now. "Come on, at least tell me if my dick was better than that rubber-cock?" He asked, and laughed full on at the way you hid your face behind your hands with a yell. "Don't hurt my ego, say it!" He laughs, and tickles your sides.

"Yeah yeah okay, your dick was better stop!" You laugh, and he grins, suddenly pulling you close to him as he hides his face in your hair.

"Oh baby-" He sighes out. "I love you so much."

"And I hate you." You mumble, before he playfully bites your ear.

"Jungkook no, they could see-!" Yet he doesn't let up, uncaring. The hotel they were staying at had a strict privacy policy- at this point his agency could ruin

them with a snap of their fingers just because they leaked a single strand of his hair. He wasn't concerned at all, as he continued to bite and kiss at your neck,

unable to keep his hands to himself as he grows hard.

He loves the high he gets from being in danger of getting caught.

Its silly, in a way, but it feels like a rush of some sorts. It's like he's a teenager again, sneaking in candy even though he's on a diet just to feel bratty, and its not

much different now, even though the scale is another. This was actually dangerous, but since no one else was staying at the hotel, and his hyungs had all gone

to bed, he refused to give in.

He wanted you, and he would take you.

Jungkook never liked sharing, nor giving away what was his when he himself didn't openly give it away. What was his, was his, there was no room for

discussion, even though he'd become a bit more understanding nowadays. Yet he would never let anyone see you like this, so vulnerable and wanting for him,

ready to become his slave to quench his thirst for you at anytime. You loved him just as much as he loved you, and this exchange of feelings always got him

riled up to the point of desperation.

Just like now, as he helps you stay afloat with his forearms underneath your own arms, kissing you silly while he pushes his thigh upwards underwater, feeling

you rut agains it like an animal in heat. He loved how you got whenever he pushed your buttons right, loved the sight, the sound, the entire situation. It ruined

porn for him in a way, modern erotica in no way reaching the level of satisfactory aesthetic that the sight of you could bring him. He'd taken pictures and videos

of you in nude positions and explicit situations to keep him entertained whenever he was far away, because whatever he found online of strangers couldn't bring

him a release worth working for anymore.

So it was utterly welcomed by him, when you had surprisingly told him that you had arranged to share the hotel room with him, and that you were tagging along for two weeks of his tour. Of course, his happiness was mostly simple enjoyment that you were there at his side, that you would sleep right next to him, yet it also was of a more carnal side of himself. And now, while his blood was still hot like lava inside his veins, adrenalin still high from his last concert, he was desperate to let go, end this day in a way he never thought he properly could.

He sloppily pushed the barrier between himself and your core to the side underwater, pulling his length out of his swimtrunks as well, uncaring on making it romantic. He knew he didn't need to always go overboard, he was clingy and touchy enough that you always felt appreciated and loved, even if he was impatient like that. He groaned out, mixed with a chuckle as he suddenly realized what he was doing, dipping his head down into the crook of your neck to bite and leave open mouthed kisses, rhythm just as steady and on-point as onstage just hours ago.

He came quicker than he'd liked, tattooed hand gently pushing you over the edge as well. you whined as he helped you out the pool, utterly mortified but still happy at the way he simply picked you up bridal style, carrying you out and back into your room, ready for a good nights' sleep.

The best he had ever gotten while on tour.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions

1K notes · View notes