#pac fanfiction

[debbiechanclub]

If you called just to get off on my voice, I'm hanging up.

PAC x unnamed OFC 1,551 words Explicit sexual content (other applicable tags listed on AO3)

Requested by @majorheelturn for Smutober (Sort Of). All prompts courtesy of this list.

Read it on AO3 (locked to users).

[ghostficwriter]

Lightweight

Fandom: AEWPairing/Form: Pac x OC / Blurb

Warnings: Technically an alcohol mention (being a lightweight as a metaphor) though no one drinks in the scene Word Count: 195 Plot: Pac and his new beloved are on their second date, and he’s not the only one who can tease. A/N: This is just a random blurb I’ve had in my drafts for ages. I don’t really plan on expanding on it here but thought some might get a tickle out of it <3. 

“What do you think?”

“I’m surprised.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I thought it would be somewhere nature-y again. Since you find it so peaceful.”

He chuckled. “I thought about taking you to some gardens near here, but it’s too public. Too crowded…I still want to keep you to myself…don’t get me wrong, I’ll want to show ya off too, but right now,” he turned to look at me, his eyes almost hungry for a moment, “I want our time together to be just us. I want you to only see me, and I want to be the only one who sees you.”

I kept walking, looking at him instead of at where I was going, backing away from him. “You better be careful what you say, Pac.”

He followed, slowly, taking one step for every three I took, keeping pace but letting me stray ahead. “Why is that, love?”

My head tilted, but our eyes never broke contact, “Because I’m a lightweight, and your attention is intoxicating.” 

He smirked and I fought a shiver. “You’re bold today, little dove.”

My lips mirrored his, “I’m a kaleidoscope, dear. Endless angles - you’d better stay on your toes.”

[lutraviolet]

the art of sundelion: chapter 3

[solsays]

they are so precious to me

Here’s the fic this lil doodle is based off of, by @yourfauxentropy on ao3 (go read it it is fucking adorable and they’re a great writer)

[miscellaneoussmp]

I can see the Forever and Bad wedding now, actually. And it goes something like this (Edit: This fic was made before January 5th 2024.):

It's decorated in black and white, straight down the middle. Those in bright smiles sit in the bright white! What a happy wedding this is! It's perfect! Those without smiles sit in the darkness. This isn't a wedding at all. It's going to end up a funeral.

Cellbit stands on Bad's side, even if he's supposed to be Forever's best man. He can't bring himself to stand in the blinding white. They aren't his friends. Those aren't their smiles. He misses their actual smiles. He wishes he could stand with them. He's wearing almost all black. This feels like a funeral.

Jaiden stands at the altar. She's the officiant. Her smile is small, and she hates the fact that she feels like she's almost forcing it. She is wearing grey, a mix of the happy couple's colors. It's a happy occasion, a wedding. Why are people crying like it's a funeral?

Foolish stands next to Cellbit. He's wearing black at Bad's request, afterall he's Bad's best man. He doesn't like that it feels like a funeral. This is his idea, but he doesn't like how sad it feels. He wishes he could stand in the white. He wishes he could pretend this is a happy wedding. He knows it's a funeral.

Pac stands next to Forever, where Cellbit is supposed to be. It's not perfect, but it's fine! He gets it! He really does! Cellbit just wants to support Bad, one of his oldest friends! His nails are digging into his palm. Why is that? Everything is fine! It's Forever's special day! His wedding! That's why he's wearing a different shade of white, to not outshine his friend. What a happy wedding!

Tina stands at the end of the aisle. She doesn't like wearing black. It's not typically her color. Mouse stands at the end of the aisle. She doesn't usually wear all black. She prefers black as an accent color. Tina is holding a wicker basket of flower petals. Mouse is holding a pillow with two rings atop it. Tina pretends not to notice the tears running down Mouse's face. Mouse pretends not to notice how Tina's smile looks so terrified. They're in the roles found at a wedding, yet they're dressed for a funeral.

Phil walks up the aisle with Bad in tow. He decided to be the one to walk their friend up the aisle. He's not used to wearing black, but he thinks it fits. He noticed how Bad hadn't talked all day. It's fine, he doesn't have to be happy. If it all goes well, this will become a funeral, not stay a wedding.

Forever stands at the altar, in front of Bad. He can't believe it! They're getting married! How perfect! It's perfect! Bad isn't smiling, though. That's okay! He'll start smiling when they're officially married! They didn't even stop the clock joke for his wedding, how rude. Jaiden's voice is really nice! He's so happy she agreed to be the officiant!

"If there is any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Etoiles stands from his seat, sword already drawn. He ignores the sound of other weapons being drawn and gasps and cries and sounds of people grabbing explosives. This wedding will become a funeral, it doesn't matter how. It's not truly a funeral if the end goal is almost like a rebirth, is it?

Quesadilla Island wedding tradition states that there should be at least one death and explosion at a wedding. Sometimes, people outdo their own traditions.

[tomfrogisblue]

I just wanna thank cc!Cellbit for fulfilling my personal Wishlist of Fuckery while he was rampaging with Baghera today

Fucking with each member of Fuga Impossível individually ✅️

Searching out Pac specifically with The Voice ✅️

Messing with Ljoga and Malena ✅️

Threatening Natalan ✅️

Generally having fun torturing his friends and strangers alike ✅️

And finally, murdering anyone he wanted ✅️

[plutoliver]

🌹OPENING STAGE🌹

Capa que fiz pra hideduo zine

[qsmpzine]

CHAPTER SPOTLIGHT: RAMÓN

Featuring art by @/lish_lishii (twitter!) and @routeriver and writing by @ravendarkwood - with a special accompanying illustration by @casart, and sticker and chapter illustrations by @feminetomboy and @cyburnya!

Ramón's chapter features a stunning fic titled Fireflies, featuring Fit, Richas, and Pac, with four stunning accompanying illustrations, as well as two show-stopping full page illustrations. This chapter follow's Ramón's quest to show his father just how wonderful bugs can be, giving us a look into Ramón's life on the QSMP - including his relationship with his father, his father's boyfriend, and his father's boyfriend's son.

There are only 3 DAYS remaining before our preorders close!

Chronicles features over 20 chapters, each dedicated to the EGGs and their stories! With over 60 artists and a team of 20+ translators, Chronicles is one of the longest MCYT zines ever, with over 180 pages of original content!

Check out our Kickstarter for further details, and to order your own!

This zine is a limited edition, and there is no guarantee you will be able to get a copy after our campaign ends! Don't miss out!

[pactw]

a trapped pac asks "god" for a miracle, which is exactly when fit appears to rescue pac with a codebreaker

[missingkeyy]

I found a fanfic on Twitter, so I decided to create this

//OMG ITS 01:10 WHAT???? //

[seriouslycalamitous]

THE OFFICIAL HIDEDUO MURDER MYSTERY AU IS NOW AVAILABLE TO READ!

Title: Blood In Our Wine

Multi-Chapter

Detective/Widow AU, Hideduo

Link

AU Co-Creators - @sourlemonjuice and Pastel

[debbiechanclub]

Part 1: The Man in the Blindfold

A House of Black magic AU

Pairing: PAC x OFC x Malakai Black Word Count: 3,357 Warnings: Alcohol use and the teeniest tiniest bit of smut so 18+ only

Strange things start to happen in her dreams one night. But she finds that reality might be even stranger.

Masterlist | Read it on AO3

A/N: This is a repost/re-write. I've changed the tense from a second-person "you" to a third-person nameless "she," and included Buddy Matthews from the get-go (when I first started writing this fic, he was not yet in HOB). Thank you to everyone who read the previous version, and I hope you enjoy this one just as much :)

tag squad: @aussiearrow @cowboyslariat @knifepervert @sldghmmr @rusevday @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09 @adriii-omega

It started in her dreams one night.

It had been an entirely ordinary night. She’d come home from work and spent the evening alone with a carton of Chinese takeout and the television, a typically uneventful Thursday in the dead of winter. But when she finally shut off the TV and crawled into bed just before midnight, her entirely ordinary night turned… strange.

It wasn’t often that she dreamed. At least, not that she could remember, and the only dreams she ever did seem to remember were the ones not worth remembering at all. But that night, she dreamed a dream so vivid that it was permanently seared into her mind’s eye.

At first, she’d thought she’d woken up. Being a rather light sleeper, she had the unfortunate tendency to wake up more than once throughout the night. But as she turned over in hopes of drifting back to sleep, she noticed a light. A warm, otherworldly glow that danced and flickered against her bedroom walls like so many candle flames. But her blackout curtains were drawn closed, and there was no source for the light that she could see. It just… was. And as she tried to figure out how it was, she saw him. A man, standing motionless next to her dresser.

She would have thought it was a bout of sleep paralysis if she hadn’t jolted upright with a startled gasp. But then she was paralyzed by shock, pupils dilated, heart in her throat. And all she could do was watch him.

He looked, for the most part, like a normal man. Shorter than average, but more muscular, too, with a rather unkempt dark beard and long dark hair that was pulled into a knot at the back of his head. But what stood out as peculiar was a dirtied, white cloth blindfold tied around his head.

“Who are you?” she managed to ask, and she was proud that her voice didn’t waver. But the man didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward her. Slowly, deliberately. And she didn’t shrink away or cower under her covers. She sat transfixed, captivated, filled with an inexplicable sense that he wasn’t there to hurt her.

And then he was right in front of her. He reached out. Her breath hitched in throat as calloused fingers brushed her cheek—

And then she woke up.

It was as if his touch had sent her back to consciousness. One second, she’d been sitting up in bed with him in front of her—solid, whole, clear as day—and the next she was curled up underneath her comforter, alone. The otherworldly light gone, her bedroom dark.

But her heart was still pounding just as hard as it had been in the dream.

It was a fitful, restless night after that. The next morning, she sucked down a venti cold brew to make it through the workday and tried not to think about the man in the blindfold. But it was an impossible effort. Because she’d realized: that hadn’t been just a dream.

It couldn’t have been. It had been too vivid, too real, she’d felt him touch her. She tingled at the memory of it now, how rough his fingers had felt against her skin. He’d appeared in her bedroom, in her subconsciousness, for a reason—a purpose. And she was determined to find out what that purpose was.

On most Fridays she met up with friends for happy hour after work, but that Friday she made up some excuse to go straight home. Part of her wanted to turn in early, eager to fall asleep, to enter that strange dream realm again and ask the man in the blindfold what it was he wanted. But that same inexplicable instinct told her that it couldn’t—shouldn’t—be forced; it just had to happen. So, she went about her evening as routinely as possible and went to bed around the same time she always did.

But she couldn’t fall asleep.

She was too keyed up, too anxious, and she tossed and turned in frustration, tangling the flat sheet under her comforter. Forty-five minutes ticked by, and she was on the verge of getting up to pop a couple melatonin gummies when she felt something. A presence in the room. She closed her eyes—and when she reopened them, she was in the dream realm.

The strange, warm light filled her bedroom again, illuminating the dark. But the man in the blindfold wasn’t standing in the corner. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, right beside her.

She sat up, but not quick or startled like the night before. Curious. He seemed to look right at her despite the blindfold, as if he could see in some way other than with his eyes. She knew that was the case when he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. But his touch didn’t send her back to the waking world that time; it exhilarated her. She leaned into it, heart racing. Her body seemed to move of its own accord as she traced her fingertips up his forearm to gently wrap her hand around his wrist. She wanted to see his eyes. But something told her it wasn’t yet time.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Ever so slight, almost imperceptibly, the man in the blindfold shook his head. “Not yet.”

His accent caught her off-guard, rough and some type of British. But then he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip just so, and she re-awoke in her dark bedroom. The presence she’d felt before she’d fallen asleep was gone now. But her lip still tingled with the ghost of his touch.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Saturday and Sunday night each came and went without a visit from the man in the blindfold, and by Monday she’d checked out entirely from the real world. She spent time on the clock at work researching things like lucid dreaming and astral projection, hoping to dig up an answer to what was happening, how it was happening. But nothing quite fit or made sense. Frustratingly, it seemed that only the man in the blindfold would be able to enlighten her.

And, thankfully, on Monday night he visited again.

He appeared at her bedside just as he had three nights before. She studied him, interested, something electric and palpable pulsing between them, and it wasn’t long before he found the curve of her thigh underneath the blankets. He ran his hand slowly up, higher, higher, until he stopped just shy of where he wasn’t sure he had consent to go. Her body flushed hot with sudden desire. She wanted to feel him.

She ripped the blankets aside and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers gripped her thighs, and she brought her hands to either side of his face and kissed him. Lustful, rough. His beard scratched her skin, and she moaned into his mouth when he squeezed her backside. He felt as good as real—his lips, his skin, the muscle underneath. And as she threaded her fingers into his hair, she felt the knot of the blindfold at the back of his head.

She pulled back and looked down at him. She wanted to undo the knot and remove the blindfold. She wanted to see his eyes. And when he didn’t pull her fingers away, she knew it was time.

The knot was tight, and it took a few seconds for her to work it loose. But even though her fingers trembled, she wasn’t afraid of what she might find underneath. And when the knot came free and she pulled the dirty, worn cloth from his face, her heart sank.

His eyes were white. Entirely white, other than a faint, milky outline of what should have been his irises. But she didn’t get the sense he was blind; not really. She knew he could see her. And she also knew that whatever had happened to his sight wasn’t natural.

“Who did this to you?” she breathed.

But like all her other questions, it went unanswered. And the next thing she knew, she was awake and alone in her bed again, back underneath the covers, the cloth blindfold still gripped in her hand.

* * * *

One… two… three… four nights passed without another visit. She grew impatient, and then frustrated, and then worried. Was this a test? Was the man in the blindfold discerning if she could be trusted with the answers she sought? Or had she pushed too far too soon? Whatever the case, she sensed there was another party in this, another person, another entity she had yet to encounter—the one who had turned his eyes that eerie, milky white. And based on how quickly he’d disappeared after she’d asked who, she wondered if it maybe was for the best that she didn’t find out.

But her need to know was stronger than her fear. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

When the weekend arrived, her best friend insisted that she get out and unwind; she hadn’t been herself the last week. Admittedly, her friend wasn’t wrong—she desperately needed a distraction. So, she agreed to go for drinks at their usual spot, a cozy Irish pub downtown. They sat at a table for two near the bar, but even after two drinks she still bounced her foot anxiously against the floor. She wanted to confide in her friend about what she’d been experiencing, but she neither knew how nor if she even should. She didn’t want to fail if this was a test from the man in the blindfold. She didn’t want her friend to think she was insane.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” her friend charged. “You’re completely in your head about something, I can tell.”

She flicked her eyes up at her friend and bit the inside of her lip, bouncing her foot faster. How could she possibly begin to explain what was going on? I’ve been having strange dreams. But they weren’t just dreams. The blindfold tucked into the nightstand drawer back in her apartment was proof of that.

“Well?” her friend pressed.

“I…” she started; but a draft of cold air suddenly invaded the warmth of the pub, and the most imposing man she’d ever seen walked through the door.

He had to be six-foot-five and close to three hundred pounds, with dark hair slicked back with grease and a long, unkempt beard. He was followed by a young, pretty blonde who looked comically small and out-of-place beside him, and then an auburn-haired man who obviously spent a lot of time in the gym, the black hoodie he wore stretched by the muscle underneath.

But if those three had captivated her attention, it was nothing compared to the fourth person who walked through the door.

He was dressed in all black just like the others, tall and athletic with a stern, commanding brow and a tiny crescent moon tattooed above his cheekbone. She could tell by the way he carried himself that he was the one in charge—of what, thought, she wasn’t sure. But when he turned and met her gaze, every thought left her head.

And then the man in the blindfold walked in.

Every muscle in her body tensed at once. It was him. He looked nothing like how he’d appeared to her in her bedroom—he was normal, completely normal, with a black beanie on his head and square glasses on his face—but she knew it was him. She could sense it. And when his eyes scanned the room and found hers, she knew he recognized her, too.

“Hello?” Her friend snapped her fingers in front of her face and redrew her attention. “Seriously, are you alright? You’re starting to freak me out.”

“Yeah,” she answered. But she glanced back at the group that had just walked in. “I just think I know that guy.”

Her friend’s brow furrowed, and she discreetly looked toward where the four had settled at a table on the other side of the room. “Which one?”

“Glasses.”

Her friend looked a beat longer, clearly confused still. “From where?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up her glass and drained the last of her drink. “I need another,” she said, and she stood up and started for the bar before her friend could argue. She actually did need another drink now. But she also hoped that, if she went to the bar, the man in the blindfold would, too.

She set her empty glass on the bar top and asked for another of the same, and it wasn’t long before she got the distinct feeling that someone was watching. She fidgeted, tempted to turn around and look; but she leaned on her elbows and tried to distract herself with the extensive collection of liquor lined up in rows underneath the large, decorative mirror behind the bar. And then she saw movement—his reflection in the mirror. He was coming up to the bar, just like she’d hoped. Their eyes met in the mirror, and then he was right next to her.

He ordered a beer, and a tingle crawled up her spine at the sound of his voice, here, out in the real world. It was the same voice, the same accent that she’d heard just over a week ago, unmistakable. They found each other in the mirror again. His eyes weren’t inhumanely white now. They were a shade of greenish blue with a black pupil in the middle, entirely normal.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she quietly asked. She wanted verbal confirmation, a nod, a grin, something. She turned her head and looked directly at him. He smirked.

“Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

Her stomach flipped. That was confirmation enough.

The bartender set both their drinks in front of them. He picked up his and glanced at her. “Don’t drink too much tonight,” he said, and as he walked back to his table, she knew it wasn’t just an unsolicited suggestion. It was an order. Because that night, he’d visit.

* * * *

She left the pub as soon as she finished that drink. Thankfully, her friend stopped prying after the second time she told her she was fine, she didn’t want to talk about it, she just needed to go home and sleep it off.

Her friend didn’t need to know what she really meant by that.

No sooner had she walked through her door than she stripped down to her underwear, pulled on an old, comfortable, oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed. She had a buzz from the alcohol, drinking on a largely empty stomach, too anxious to eat; and as her bare legs slipped between the sheets, she thought of his last visit. The feel of his hands on her body, his lips on hers, the way he’d grabbed her ass as they’d kissed. She slipped her hand under the covers, down her stomach—

And then she was in the dream realm. She opened her eyes. He was with her, overtop of her; and instead of her fingers slipping into her panties, it was his. He pushed them inside her and she let out a moan. He bent his head and nipped at her neck as he worked; she clung to his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin. His arousal pressed against her thigh, and she ached to feel it, to feel him inside her—but then he bit her skin hard enough to bruise, and it pushed her over the edge. A cry of pleasure tore from her mouth as her back arched, and then bliss as all her muscles relaxed. He looked down at her; she reached up and pushed his hair out of his face so she could see his eyes. They were white.

“Sleep,” he told her. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

That time, she didn’t awake in the physical version of her bedroom. She slept. More soundly than she’d slept in months, maybe years. When she awoke the next morning, there was a note on her nightstand. It didn’t say much—just an address, date, and time scrawled in black ink. Directions to see him again in just over a week. Not in her dreams, but in reality.

* * * *

Time passed more slowly than she would have liked before the date written on the note finally arrived. She was nervous in the way she might have been if a friend had set her up on a blind date. Butterflies teemed in her gut; she didn’t know what to wear because she had no idea what the evening would entail. So, she just put on a nice top with her favorite pair of jeans and white high-top Converse. It would have to do.

Upping her nervousness—and admittedly, her intrigue—was the fact that the address on the note was that of a private residence in the pricier, historic part of town. She’d recognized the house as soon as she’d pulled it up on Google Street View; she’d admired it many a time before on the way to her favorite ice cream shop. She’d wondered about who lived there many a time, too.

She’d find out tonight.

The note had instructed her to arrive at 9 p.m. sharp, and so she left her apartment with time to spare. She’d considered taking an Uber but had decided it would be best to drive herself; she didn’t want to rely on someone else if she needed to make a speedy getaway. She also hadn’t told anyone where she’d be. It was irresponsible, she knew, but something told her it was information that shouldn’t be disclosed. Besides, she trusted the man in the blindfold; she genuinely felt that he didn’t mean her any harm. And truthfully, she hoped that this cryptic invitation meant he finally trusted her, too.

She found a street parking spot at the end of the block. It was quiet and cold on the walk to the house, and her breath came out in puffs of translucent white from her mouth. She hesitated when she reached the wrought iron gate. It was wide open and there were cars—expensive cars—parked all along the U-shaped driveway, but even though she’d been invited it felt like an intrusion to walk in from the street. But she swallowed down her nervousness and made her way to the front door.

The house was built of brick, stately and old, but well-kept and updated with modern curb appeal. Flames flickered in wrought iron gas lamps mounted on either side of the door, and she thought of that otherworldly light that always danced on her bedroom walls with the appearance of the man in the blindfold. And then a little voice in the back of her head warned: something dark and terrible could be behind that door. But her intrigue, her deep-seeded need to understand, to discover the purpose, drowned it out and drove her forward.

She walked up the steps, treading lightly so as not to disturb the atmosphere of the place—but she had a feeling he already knew she was there. She reached out and pressed the doorbell with her index finger before she could lose the nerve. And then she stuck clammy hands into her coat pockets and waited.

But not for long.

The door opened; her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the man in the blindfold who had answered, but the man with the crescent moon tattoo. He was dressed again in an all-black, this time a suit. He smiled down at her; disarming, strikingly handsome.

“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

He pulled the door open further and stepped aside, gesturing with his free arm for her to come in. And for a second, she hesitated. But then she felt a pull, something beckoning her from inside the house, urging her. There was power and knowledge beyond understanding of what she thought was possible, if only she’d cross the threshold. And so, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and entered the house.

[keirawantstocry]

qfit finally coping with having gynecomastia bc his boyfriends also have tits and are taken seriously as men

boobs for everyone

Fit spent years hiding the extra tissue on his chest. He wasn't quite sure what caused it and he had tried everything he could think of to fix it. Exercising, eating less, eating more. There were no doctors in the wasteland, nobody who could tell him what was wrong with his body. All he could do was wrap. It started with cloth wrapped round and round but it grew to be uncomfortable. Fit had stopped for a while to see if the pain lessened. And it did, but his embarrassment and fear of people noticing and calling him less than a man was stronger than any pain the wrappings caused. 

Things were so incredibly different on the island. He still binded his chest, ignoring the pain but there was something that felt… calm about the island. 

And then there was Pac and Tubbo. They were his best friends. He had honestly never thought he could care about people to the extent he cared about them. They were strong. The awe he felt seeing them in battle was indescribable. And part of him couldn't stop and think, now these are real men. 

Fit was thinking it now as he relaxed down in the soft blankets that Tubbo had gathered for the three of them. Tubbo was brash and protested affection until he was blue in the face but he cared. So much. That was why he did things like this. Made sure Fit and Pac got the sleep they needed after sleepless nights working and watching over their kids. 

The kids were with various other islanders currently. Ramon and Richas with Mike while Sunny was spending the night with Tina, Bagi, and Empanada. 

They had the house to themselves. 

Fit tried to relax but the bindings around his chest made it hard to breathe. He tried to keep any visibility of it away from his boyfriends. Truthfully he knew they wouldn't care but the fear from deep down was stronger. 

Tubbo gave a contented sigh as he looked over the pile of blankets and pillows, hands on his hips. “I don't know about you two but I'm so fucking ready for bed.” 

Pac and Fit laughed in unison but Fit's laugh died as he watched Tubbo peel off his shirt. They had never all slept together in sleepover fashion like this before so the sight that met his eyes was surprising. 

“Uh,” Fit said, trying not to stare but failing tremendously. 

Tubbo blinked at him as he reached down to the bottom of his sports bra. “What's wrong?” 

“You're wearing a bra.” 

Pac turned to look at him curiously while Tubbo continued to stare. “Uhh, yeah, man. It hurts to bind for too long so I wear bras half the time.” 

“Bind?” Fit repeated slowly. 

“I have tits,” Tubbo said plainly. “You know that right?” 

Fit shook his head. 

Tubbo's expression turned to one of surprise. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry, man. I thought you knew.” A sliver of self doubt was forming in his stance and Fit snapped himself out of his surprise to reassure him. 

“I didn't. But it's okay. It doesn't matter to me.”  

Pac laughed, sounding a bit nervous. “I should hope not, considering we both do.” 

Fit turned his head to look over at him. “You… you do too?” 

Pac nodded, flatting the front over his shirt to show how the fabric clung to the roundness of his chest. “We thought you knew, Fitch.” 

Fit shook his head slowly. “Um.” His heart was racing, thoughts buzzing around his head. “I'm not. Trans. But I have.” He shrugged and reached back under his shirt to undo the bindings. He let them fall onto his lap, feeling his body visibly relax. When was the last thing he took those off, he wondered but was interrupted by both of his boys, throwing their arms around him.  

“Thank you for telling us that,” Pac murmured in Portuguese, Fit catching the translations as they flew up above his head. “I know it can be hard coming from such a backwards place to accept yourself.” 

Tubbo didn't say anything, just let his body language speak for itself as he held Fit tightly, tracing his fingers over his back where the cloth had dug in so tightly. 

Fit was too overcome for words. He just let his body fall back, both of them still in his arms as they snuggled into each other and the blankets. 

“Wait,” Tubbo squirmed out of the grip before pulling off his bra. “Can't have that thing on.” 

“Why not?” Fit asked as Tubbo settled back down. He was so incredibly warm. 

Tubbo squinted at him. “Cause it hurts your chest. It's not meant to be contained like that.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he smacked Fit on the arm. “Have you been wearing that thing for years?? No wonder you have so much body pain.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Pac said, butting in. “No more of that.” He shook his finger threateningly in Fit's face. “We're gonna make sure you take care of yourself. No binding for a while. We need to assess the damage to your chest and figure out when it will be okay for you to bind again.” 

Tubbo and Pac fell into frantic discussions of medical stuff that flew right over Fit's head. But he didn't mind. He was relaxing. He was safe. And he was laying with two of the strongest men he had ever met. Nothing about their bodies could ever change that. He smiled and pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before drifting off to sleep. 

[olzs-stufz]

QSMP HEAD CANON:

Tubbo's other friends are demonic entities who Tubbo seemed to charm and become friends with and sometimes they try and help him out

Tubbo groaned hearing the entities he called his friends tease him to no end about his feelings for the Brazilian who was standing next to him concerned. "Don't worry its just the entities again" Tubbo said brushing it off.

If it were anyone else Pac would've been worried out of his mind trying to help them, but he trusted the entities Tubbo seemed to be surrounded by. The boy in question was ranting to Pac about his Machines when he felt the vibe change. He could basically tell when one of the entities possessed him.

"Hi. Which one are you?" He asked "I'm Aimee" the entity said. They sounded feminine "And you're Pac right?" They asked "Sim" he replied "He likes you too" She said "¿Q-que?" the entity sighed "he has MAJOR feelings for you and your boyfriend. He's just too scared to say it because he thinks you'll hate him" she said.

Pac's jaw dropped, did tubbo actually have a crush on him and Fit? I mean he had feelings for him, and he was 70 percent sure Fit did aswell so it wasn't too far out for him to like them back

He zoned back in seeing Tubbo very flustered trying to explain himself to Pac saying she was just joking around. Pac could see right through that flustered expression on his face that was so fragile, even the slightest touch would break it.

"Look, Aimee was saying nonsense it was a prank I swear-" he said cutting himself off hearing one of them say something "I should probably head to bed, sorry for the trouble pac" he said tears threatening to fall.

Pac smiled grabbing his hand pulling him closer. He rested his other hand on the brit's cheek with a soft smile. That was enough to break him. He clung to Pac sobbing. The two sunk down to the ground, Tubbo on Pac's lap crying his eyes out while Pac holds him,giving him soft kisses and rubbing his back.

After awhile he stopped crying. He just sat there curled up on Pac's lap "do you wanna talk about it?" The other shook his head. "Okay. I'm ready when you do. I'll always be here for you Tubbo. I love you, eu te amo." He said watching Tubbo smile at his words. He smiled, knowing he was able to help him feel better made him feel good. He kissed Tubbo's head once more before hearing fit

"I leave for a month and my boyfriend and best friend are dating, my god" he said joining the two on the ground. He gave Pac a kiss on the cheek before kissing Tubbo's forehead. God they really needed to talk about this later.

WHAAAAT FIRST FANFIC IN 3 MONTHS IS POLY MORNING CREW??? Seriously though I haven't written anything other than school stuff in so long it was nice to post this. I'm posting this on my ao3 2 so. Bye

[solsays]

have the official designs for my paranormal investigator fic, would you guys like the official designs for Burnt Espresso? It would be Pac, Fit, Mike, Tubbo at the moment but I will add others as they come (might do Maxo Tina and Bagi too)

(it’s taken a backburner right now since I can only deal with one extensive fic at once, but I will start it when we’re close to the end of/after the end of Burnt Espresso)

[miscellaneoussmp]

I miss my beloved cubito, aka happy pills Pac, so here's a fic! It's been a year, come back to me!!!!!!!!! (cw/tw: character death implied/mentioned, medical terminology, mentioned drug abuse).

This isn't the first time Pac has dug a grave. It won't be the last. At least it's not raining. At least he's wearing his own clothes. At least the blood in the room is his. At least there aren't bodies from him to cry over. Maybe that's worse?

His heart rate is rapid. Pac feels like he can feel his heart touch his ribs. Tachycardia caused by the pills? Maybe the withdrawals? His breathing is shallow. It's a cycle. The quicker his heart beat, the less time his lungs have to switch out carbon dioxide for oxygen. Pac bets if checked his blood pressure, it would be way higher than 120/80. That's why he feels like he's going to die. Or maybe it's the pills? Who could say? Maybe Pac needs to go to the doctor?

What is he doing? He looks down at the crudely dug hole. What is doing in the lab? What was he doing before this? One of the lab tables looks messier than usual, even in the dim room. Right. His notes. The cure. A possible cure. Pac isn't that good at chemistry or medicine. He isn't even really a scientist. He just pretends to know what he's doing. It worked well enough raising himself and Mike. There's a reason why Mike is (was?) better than him in every way conceivable way. It's because he stopped listening to Pac before it was too late. He wonders how long it'll take before everyone else stops listening. He hopes it's soon. There's crumbled up paper in his hands. Right, notes. Focus.

It's definitely worse not having a body to bury. There's nothing to cry over. An empty grave feels worse. Pac isn't even able to leave the lab to go look for the bodies of his best friend, his child, and one of his newest friends. Why is he in the lab? An antidote. Right.

Tachycardia has many reasons to happen. The heart doesn't need the brain to tell it to continue beating. It has its own nervous system, basically. The heart will keep the blood moving for as long as it can. Shortness of breath often goes hand in hand with tachycardia. The lungs try to keep up with the heart to perform gas exchange. There's many causes for high blood pressure, too. Ranging from genetics to diet to medication side effects. What is he doing again? There's blisters forming where his grip was tightest on the shovel. Pac is in the lab. Notes. An antidote. A cure. Right.

There's a black liquid in one of the bottles. It's bad lab practice, but he reaches for it, to drink. Pac stops. He can't do this. He can't. He wants the artificial euphoria. Pac can't face reality. He can't. What is reality if not something Pac can manipulate to his benefit? His reality. He drains the black liquid down the sink, washing it away with cool water. For a brief second, he thinks about trying to consume the small remainder of the antidote. That thought is chased away with the taste of plastic and artificial sweetners in little white capsules.