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noiryinn · 1 month

Text

study sessions

pairing(s): oblivious!itoshi sae x flirty!male reader

summary: you are giving one too many hints that you like sae, but he gets none of them and assumes you two are a bit too close for friends. you decide to take matters into your own hands and be his secret admirer

warnings: none!

word count: 4.5k

a/n: thanks for the support on my last post i love you guys!! it’s like one of my biggest headcanons that sae is oblivious to things such as romance cuz the only thing he canonically knows abt is football 😭. i had no idea what to write for the notes so...yeah. also, i didn't intend for it to be so long, i just kept writing. anyways enjoy this mess of a fic! <3 (not proof read)

you sat in class, leaning on your right hand, thinking and a bit annoyed. how hasn’t sae taken the hint? you don’t just flirt with your friends, dammit! you probably couldn’t even ask him out cause he’d just assume you were joking. you don’t ask friends out as a joke either do you? friends…that word left a bad taste in your mouth. you were so blatantly obvious, but he couldn’t take the hint? you started thinking of plans that might work. then you settled on one. be sae's secret admirer, then reveal who you are! the more you thought about it, the more the plan seemed like a good idea. it was around a week from his birthday too, maybe that'd be your gift to him, a new boyfriend. you grinned in excitement, this was gonna be fun!

after you got home, you decided to write him a note and put it in his locker. you changed your handwriting while you were writing the note, not wanting him to discover who it was immediately. it was pretty simple, but kinda (very) directed at his obliviousness, but it was nothing out of his comfort zone. the note read "i think you're pretty cute, but you can't take a hint. maybe start paying attention to how others act around you!". you wondered if your plan would work, but only time will tell.

the next day you arrived early and put the note in his locker. you hoped that he wouldn’t throw it out like the other love letters and confessions he got. your prayers were answered though, as during lunch, when you were sitting at your guys’ desks, he said something. “i got a note in my locker today,” he said bluntly. “yeah?” you grinned, “and you didn’t throw it out?” you silently celebrated. “no, something about it was different.” he gave you the note and crossed his arms before leaning them on the table. “what did she mean by ‘start paying attention to how others act around you’?” his eyebrows furrowed in curiousity. “she, huh? you think it’s a girl?” you looked in his eyes. “are you implying it’s not?” sae raised an eyebrow. “just saying, ya never know” you smiled.

you stared at the note a bit longer. “kinda funny how they say you’re cute but then say you’re oblivious,” you chuckled, “can’t blame ‘em” you flirted, but the tone was quite subtle. “what’s that supposed to mean?” sae looked at you curiously, “don’t worry ‘bout it” you waved off. “seriously—nevermind. you’re impossible anyway” he sighed in defeat. you grinned at him, “yeah, i know.”

you looked over at the note again, “honestly, i think it’s a sign to think about anything other than football.” you remarked as you toyed with the edge of the note, your fingers tracing the words as you tried to gauge sae's reaction. “football is not the only thing i think about. it's important to me, though.” sae said, his tone a bit offended. “you literally don’t pay attention in class because you’re thinking about it.” you stared at him with an eyebrow raised, “that’s why we go on like study dates all the time.” you put the word ‘date’ on purpose, wondering how he’d react. “i guess you’re right.” he said indifferently. no reaction... “hey, we gotta test tomorrow, right? let’s go to my place and study for it!” you suggested, “but we have to practice for our upcoming practice match after midterms…” he protested, both of you were on the school’s team and often practiced together. “well you won’t play if you don’t keep up your grades!” you protested right back. “…fine. i’ll go over to your house.”

after the school day was over, you waited at the gates for sae so you two could walk home. he was late, which made you annoyed. so you decided to text him. his contact name read ‘sae ❤️’ which he never commented on, for some odd reason. you texted him “where r u?? i’ve been waiting for like 10 minutes”. after 1 or 2 minutes he responded with “sorry, some girl confessed to me. i think she was the one who left me the note.” oh how wrong he was…

sae finally met up with you and he was as stoic as ever. “well well well, look who showed up,” you got up from the wall you leaned on, “betcha you rejected that girl without hesitation as usual, didn’t you?” you smirked, seeing how she was clearly upset and tearing up. you hoped that wouldn’t be you… “i wouldn’t say without hesitation…” sae shoved his hands in his pockets. “yeah right! you totally did, she’s crying cuz of ya, playboy!” you snickered a bit, “it’s not funny, l/n. and don’t call me ‘playboy’” he looked at you coldly. “you’re such a buzzkill, it was a joke anyways, handsome.” you teased with a coy smirk before putting an arm around his shoulder. “ugh, don’t call me that either, what’s even the point of calling me that?” he replied with a grimace. “ah, just saying cause you are, and all the girls seem to think so too.” you smirked. “don’t joke around like that.” he said, a face of disdain became more evident. “see? a total buzzkill…”

you opened the door to your house before turning and speaking to him, “so, you wanna tell me what happened with that girl?” your curiosity was out of this roof. “she confessed to me like any other girl. but i think she was the one, cause she handed me a letter and the handwriting was pretty similar.” sae mentioned. “that so? and what if it doesn’t stop?” you asked, already knowing the answer. “try to find out who it is, i guess”

the two of you went up to your room. it wasn’t messy but it wasn’t clean either. you grabbed an extra chair, put it at your desk and you two started studying together. you regularly had the urge to stare at him for long moments of time, and “accidentally” brush your fingers on his when grabbing a pen. sae's gaze flickered to the folded paper on your desk, a curious expression crossed his face, “hey, what’s that?” you looked at the note, it was the second letter, but you couldn’t ouright tell him that, “uh, it’s a grocery list my mom gave me for tomorrow, cause she won’t be here.” and he took it, like that. “oh, okay.” then shrugged it off…

“hey, can you help me with this question?” sae asked, you already knew all the material, since you actually payed attention in class. “sure,” and you leaned over, a bit too close (on purpose), and started helping him with the question. “you get it now?” you asked, after some frustration. “yeah, thanks. you’re actually kinda smart.” he remarked backhandedly, “hey! what’s that supposed to mean? i’m very smart thank you very much! i wouldn’t even be in this situation if you actually paid attention in class. stop focusing on football so much!” you hit him on the head lightly, but in a playful manner. he tried to hit you back, but you dodged, right before your chair tipped backwards and you fell. “guess you could say i fell for you— ow!” then your head got hit, not as lightly by sae. “don’t say stuff like that.”

you faked a sulk for the rest of the time he was there, maybe he’d feel bad for you and kiss you or something. “you gonna keep pouting?” he asked, “yeah. maybe you should leave, you’re ruining my vibe with all this negativity!” you didn’t really mean that, but of course he thought that. sae really didn’t get social cues. “wait! i didn’t actually mean that—” then he shut the door. now you were actually sulking. stupid sae…didn’t even give you a kiss either.

it was day 2 of your plan, you bought a cute little seagull plush keychain and wrote a note to go with it. it read “hey, handsome! just wanna say, you’re a bit dense for not even getting one clue. but keep it up! i believe in ya!” maybe he’d get that ‘handsome’ was something that you’d often say to him…yeah probably not. it was a stretch. you did the same thing, go to school a bit early, put the things and his locker and pretend nothing happened. a part of you wanted this to continue, but the other didn't. there was an urge to tell him you liked him and get it over with. but where was the fun in that?

as you sat in class, you finished your test, which was fairly easy. but you seemed to zone out after that, your mind occupied on how to get sae to realize that it was you. the thought got you frustrated, but pumped out as you wondered what sae's reaction would be to your note. after class, there was a few minutes before the next teacher came in. "hey." sae said as he sat next to you, "soo...what'd ya think?" nudging him playfully with your elbow, his expression nonchalant as ever. "about...?" he asked, "about the test, silly! you think you passed?" he had to be fairly confident, i mean you helped him out. "uh, sure. it was kinda easy." he dismissed it, as always. "it's totally cause i helped you out, right? right?" you teased, "...right, whatever you say."

something seemed to be on sae's mind. maybe it was about the notes. your suspicions were confirmed when he said something, "i got another note today," he mentioned, his expression puzzled. you couldn't contain your excitement as you took the note from him and examined it before giving it back, "wow, another one huh?" you remarked casually, trying to conceal your eagerness. "what's it say?" you asked, your breath hitching in your throat. sae shrugged, clearly confused by the note's contents. "it's just… encouraging me to pay more attention to things," he replied, his brow furrowing in confusion. you tried to avoid yourself from smiling inwardly, knowing that your plan was working. "maybe they're trying to help you out," you suggested playfully, hoping he would catch on to your subtle hints.

despite your frustration, you found it impossible to not admire how clueless sae was, it was adorable, in its own irritating way. you tried to drop hints and flirtatious comments, but he seemed to brush them off without a second thought as you just "joking". but as much as you wanted to reveal the truth, there was a part of you that hesitated. what if sae didn't feel the same way? what if it ruined the friendship you had worked so hard to build? despite all this, you didn't want to give up either. you were so deep into this already.

so, for the rest of every period, your gaze remained fixed to him. thinking on how to confess to him, also admiring him. after a bit of thinking, midterms were the day after sae’s birthday, unfortunately. must suck, must suck even harder because all club activities were canceled for the rest of the week due to midterms too! but, there was a good part to it too, maybe he won’t focus so much on football. after school, before he was going to walk home, you called out his name.

“sae! wait up!” he turned around to see you jogging to him, “what?” sae snapped at you, not too rudely though, a bit annoyed he couldn’t be alone. “you wanna come over to my house to study for midterms? cmon, i know you’re not learning anything in class, as always!” you could see him be reluctant before sighing. “fine, but not today. i’m busy.” fair enough, it was fine, as long as if you got to confess to him on his birthday. “you better not be saying that so you can play football!” you turned to look at him and you saw he was avoiding your gaze. “you’re totally obsessed…” not like you could say anything. you were pretty much obsessed with football too (and him), but not as much.

the atmosphere was kinda awkward after that, so you decided to say something, “did you get another clue to who that person was?” you asked casually, trying to read his expression. “not yet,” he admitted, “but i know it’s someone closer to me. how else would they know seagulls were my favorite animal?” he wondered holding up the keychain, admiring it a bit in the light. “you gonna keep it?” you looked at the keychain as well, hoping he said yes, “yeah, it’s pretty cute. i don’t want to throw something like this away either.” you eyes naturally set on the way his lips curled up ever so slightly, the way his hair fell on his face and caught the sunlight. your face flushed as you scrambled to look away. if you didn’t realize it before, but now was when you realized how much you actually liked him.

“so, this one’s different, huh?” you tried to change the subject, “what do you mean ‘different’?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. you fumbled for words, as you thought about if he caught you staring or not, “i mean, normally you throw out any gift and reject every person…what’s so different now?” you swallowed nervously, hoping your words didn't come off too blunt. "i just meant... well, you usually don't keep stuff like this. but this time, you're actually considering it," you explained, trying to sound nonchalant. sae nodded slowly, seeming to think about your observation. "yeah, I guess you're right. It's just... different," he admitted, his gaze shifting to the keychain in his hand. he beat you to saying something else before you could, “it’s like, they’re close to me, right under my fingertip and i want to know who.”

“yeah?” you smiled at him again, admiring his features once more. “hey, hypothetically, if the person was a guy, would you care?” you asked on a whim, “i guess...not really." he replied with a shrug. "why do you ask?" you shrugged nonchalantly, but secretly felt relieved. at least he wouldn't out right reject you. trying to keep your nerves at bay, you tried to justify yourself, "just curious, y'know? it's interesting to think about." sae nodded in agreement, but you could sense a hint of suspicion in his gaze. it made you wonder if he was starting to suspect something, if he was beginning to piece together the puzzle of his secret admirer.

you waved him goodbye as he walked into his house. tomorrow was the weekend, so you couldn't outright give him anything, but you'd still hint at it when he came over to your house to study. that night, you tossed and turned in bed, partly from the thought of confessing, but also how good he looked on the walk back to his house. you rolled around in bed, almost like a middle school girl in a shojo. it wasn't your best of times, but you refrain from the thought of him, and him piecing together the puzzle had you biting your bottom lip in nervousness and excitement.

when saturday came, you paced back and forth in your room, thinking of what to say and do when he came. you felt pretty damn tired, too from last night, barely got a wink of sleep. you mumbled 'don't screw this up' over and over again when you heard a knock at the door. "sae! you made it!" you said with a sigh of relief, at least he didn't ditch you to watch game footage or anything like that, "yeah, i did." you tried to go in for a hug but he quickly dismissed that.

after an hour or so of studying, you got bored so you decided to hint what you were doing for his birthday. “sae, your birthday’s coming up right? october 10th?” you tried to put in the conversation casually, “yeah, why?” he looked at you with some suspicion, "i'm just asking. but, i'm sure you'd love me for my gift" a small, yet cocky smirk crept onto your face, "don't you mean i'd love 'it'?" he expressed, some more suspicion in his tone, "oh no, i know what i meant, you're gonna love me." he sighed in defeat, he knew there was no point in pushing it further.

so, that's basically how it went for the next few days. him being stupidly oblivious, you trying to drop the hint even further. you got nowhere, on wednesday, the day before his birthday, you decided to give him a flower. not an overly big bouquet, you'd probably save that for the actual confession, instead, you opted for a single flower. it was a flower he'd seen before, and that you knew he liked. there was a vase with a single flower in your room, his eyes consistently focused on it. it was a light pink hydrangea, it was beautiful, so you understood why he stared at it often. maybe he'd understand then. you decided to take the one that was in your room, when he came over that day, maybe he'd ask why the vase was empty and get the god damn hint already,

as per usual, you went early, dropped the gift off, and went off. there wasn't any note this time, as you were kinda sick of writing them. plus, the big day was tomorrow, you'd save every pent up emotion for then. you waited for him in the courtyard, when you spotted him in the courtyard examining the flower you went up to greet him. "hey, sae! looks like you got a flower now, huh?" you wrapped an arm around his shoulder to break him out of his trance, "yeah. this is the same flower that's in your room, right?" at least he got the hint, you pretended to study it for a bit before replying, "hm, yeah, it is. funny ain't it? maybe they know you really well." you looked at sae to gauge his expression, he did a simple nod and kept his blank expression. you clenched your fists in frustration as sae brushed off your flirtatious comment, a knot forming in your stomach. whatever, he'd have another shot when he went to your house anyway.

you were right, because when he went to your room, he noticed the empty vase immediately. "the flower is missing." he pointed out, "gave it to someone real special" you looked at him as you said that, "it was a nice flower, you should've gave it to me...but i can't really complain if they're that special to you..." you were instictively drawn to the way sae's expression softened when he talked about the flower, a hint of vulnerability shining through his normally neutral face.

you stared at him in a 'are you serious?' look. well yeah, you did give it to him, and he was special, "sorry, was that rude?" sae took note of your expression, "oh no no, it's something else," you quickly went back to focusing, "let's just cram for midterms" you muttered, hoping to divert the conversation away from your failed attempt at dropping another hint. you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that sae didn't seem to catch on to your subtle gestures. but you pushed those feelings aside and focused on studying for midterms.

nothing special happened, just some plain ol' cramming. but, you failed to focus on it. all your thoughts went to the day tomorrow. the thought had you feeling all sorts of emotions. sae noticed your unusual quietness and said something on the matter, "is something wrong? you're being awfully quiet." you felt yourself tense up, "just nervous for midterms...don't wanna fail...haha..." you made a pathetic excuse of a lie, he narrowed his eyes a bit, trying to examine your actions before ultimately deciding to drop it. at a desperate attempt to change the subject you decided to point something out that you noticed, "hey, the bracelets you normally wear, you don't wear them anymore," you pointed out, "oh, i lost them. hadn't gotten the chance to get new ones." you kept that in mind, you'd probably get him a new bracelet for his birthday.

you could barely sleep that night, you stayed up thinking what'd you say, do, act. everything had to be perfect, it probably wouldn't end up that way, but you tried your best. a voice popped up in your head that made you not even want to confess in the first place. it said the same things that made you reluctant before, 'what if he didn't like me back? what if i ruined our friendship?' what if this and that. but what if he actually liked you back, and everything turned out even better than you hoped? every thought was about the next day, it made your head spin. after a bit of staying up, you realized being all tired and having eye backs wasn't cute and a good look for a confession, so you forced yourself to sleep.

on the morning of sae's birthday, you woke up with a flurry of emotions swirling inside you. today was the day you would finally reveal your feelings to him. you couldn't focus on anything else, not even the midterms the next day. every thought was consumed by sae and the confession that awaited. as the day progressed, you found it increasingly difficult to contain your excitement. you kept glancing at the clock, counting down the hours until you could see sae and tell him how you felt. It felt like time was moving at a snail's pace, each minute dragging on endlessly. you went to his locker and put in the last note, 'meet me at the rooftop at 7:30'. it was short and straight to the point, no cryptic messages or hints.

you stood at the rooftop, your back leaning on the railing. your palms felt sweaty and you could hear your heartbeat get louder. your mind was full of feelings you wanted to get out. you were looking up at the sky to get your mind off of everything. the scenery was beautiful, you were lost in it until you heard the sound of the door opening, and there you saw him. the man you've liked since forever. his face was a mix of a lot of emotions, it was hard to read, to be honest.

as sae stepped onto the rooftop, the setting sun casting a warm glow around him, your heart skipped a beat. you felt the breath get sucked out of your lungs, he looked stunning, more than usual, actually. "hey, sae," you began, your voice trembling slightly with nervousness but filled with anticipation. "i'm so glad you actually came." his eyes widened in surprise, his gaze flickering between you and the breathtaking view spread out before him. "it was you?" he breathed, his voice tinged with disbelief. you chuckled nervously, your fingers fidgeting with the delicate bracelet you had carefully chosen for him.

"surprise…? if it wasn't obvious enough…" you paused, your heart pounding in your chest as you took a step closer to him. "there's something I've been wanting to tell you," you confessed, your voice soft but determined. with trembling hands, you slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of his skin. "i really like you, sae," you whispered, your gaze locked with his. "it's been this way for a while, but I never had the chance to say anything." you reached out, presenting him with the bouquet of pale pink hydrangeas, their soft petals illuminated by the fading light. "these are for you," you said softly, a shy smile playing on your lips.

taking in a deep breath, you continued, your voice filled with sincerity and vulnerability. "i've been dropping hints since the beginning of time and i was hoping you'd catch on, but i realized i had to take matters into my own hands. i needed to tell you how i felt eventually. sae's eyes softened as he listened to your heartfelt confession, his expression shifting from surprise to something warmer, something more tender. "i…i didn't realize," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "i never knew you felt this way." you took a step closer, your heart pounding in your ear with anticipation as you reached your hand out to gently cup his cheek.

"i've been waiting for this moment for so long..." you admitted, your voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the breeze, "to finally tell you how much you meant to me. so please, can i be your boyfriend?" you gazed directly into his eyes, waiting for the dreadful answer. as you waited for sae's response, the tension in the air seemed to thicken, every passing moment feeling like an eternity. sae's gaze softened as he took in your confession, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and something else you couldn't quite place. you held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you awaited his answer.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, sae's lips curled into a gentle smile, a warmth spreading across his features. "know that i know how you feel, i don't want to waste anymore time." your heart skipped a beat as you felt a surge of hope and anticipation wash over you. could it be…? "sae," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the wind, "what do you mean?" a soft chuckle escaped sae's lips as he took a step closer to you, his eyes sparkling with newfound clarity and determination. "i mean… i want to be more than just friends," he confessed, his voice steady and sure. "i want to be with you, too."

you felt excited and shocked and every other emotion there was out there. you uttered a single word, "really?" your heart felt like it was about to explode out of joy. sae nodded, his smile widening as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "really," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "i've been blind for so long, but now that i see… i don't want to let you go." you wanted to cry, that's what. "you're so stupid for not seeing this...i never want to let you go too..." your voice trembled, you sniffled while saying it too.

"i'm sorry. i really am." he admitted, and without another word sae closed the distance between you two. time stopped, it was as simple as that. everything went to a halt as you tried to process what happened. the kiss was sweet and simple, just as you two liked it. in that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the setting sun and the gentle rustle of the breeze, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in the sweetness of the moment. you pulled away after what felt like ages.

"happy birthday sae," you said softly, your voice at a barely audible level. "you're right, i did love you for this gift. thanks for everything." he smiled, his face totally different from his usual unemotional look. "no problem and," you held your breath for the next words you were about to say, "i love you." you felt at peace, you finally said what you've always wanted to say, "i love you too."

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nouearth · 9 months

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a letter to spider-man.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: spider-man launched his own help line and you need his advice in talking to your crush: peter.

wc: 1.2k. genre: fluff, comfort!fic. warnings: holland!peter, social anxiety, mention of death, crushes, college!au. notes: i was re-reading perks of being a wallflower again, OOF. i kinda want to make this a series, so please tell me if you'd like to see it become one!

peter wasn’t sure what made him decide to do this: a spider-man help line. one day, he woke up and wanted to fulfill a sense of purpose more than he already has—to help out the public more, to build a community that peter has been wanting to fix since the death of his aunt.

so far, they’ve been pretty simple tasks: walking the dogs, helping a blind woman with grocery shopping, fixing a broken pipe with his webs—it was all out of the kindness of his own big heart. a heart that his aunt once nurtured.

it was hard at first. from being a ‘save the world’ hero to a ‘save the dog from burning up in a locked car’ hero, it was a downgrade one might find—peter did at first.

but it’s been a while since he saw the relieved smiles on the public’s faces whenever he swung from the corner. true happiness that he was envious of at times, but nonetheless grateful for, and so that would become his motivation.

maybe it can make the world a better place if people happen to be inspired by his actions. small stuff that regular civilians can achieve. a domino effect that peter hoped for.

—april 10th

dear spider-man, so, this is a thing now, huh? the future is so unpredictable, so i actually never thought i’d be writing to you. well, i guess the future would be me texting you like you advertised, but i like writing. it makes my hand cramp, and my handwriting is terrible (sorry, i hope you can still read this), but it feels good. like... shouting at the sky, i would imagine, so i prefer it. i’ve also been watching a lot of ‘80s and ‘90s movies, which could also be a major factor. and i just realized i’m supposed to tell you about my problems! this is kinda hilarious because i think i’ve probably rewritten my letter six times already. also, are you living your citizen life as a therapist or something? because why else would you be helping people this way? not that we don’t appreciate it, but it’s different. you’ve probably stopped reading by now, but in case you haven’t, i’ll keep the rest short. i guess my problem is… i like this guy. i know you’re not a relationship therapist (your secret is safe with me if you are though), but i figured a guy like you knew how to talk to people? you save people on a daily basis, so you probably aren’t scared anymore, right? that theory worked better in my head, to be honest, so scratch that! anyway, his name is peter. we’re both freshmen in college, so we’ve been seeing each other a lot, especially since we’re in the same classes. did i mention that i’m a guy as well? i don’t know him that well. i’m pretty quiet, i guess. invisible, maybe? it’s funny. sometimes, my professors would forget that i was even in their classes until i would speak up. but besides that point, he probably doesn’t even know that i exist either. the perks of being invisible—i’m not even sure if there are any, because i’m noticeable enough on days where people want to say stuff. mean, terrible stuff. i wonder if he notices me, though. probably not, but a guy could only hope. i think we’d get along. again, hope! he’s smart and humble, always insecure of his own answers even though he knows—everyone knows—that it’s correct. kind, too. also awkward, like me. but the cute-awkward, not the me-awkward. i like him. i want to be friends with him. maybe even more? but i’m not greedy! i can settle with being friends. i guess, how can i approach him?

thank you, (m/n)

it caught peter off guard at first—seeing his name in the same vicinity as spider-man became a jump-scare. even though, the sender kept everything pretty vague to keep the named crush relatively anonymous, there was a gut feeling telling peter that it was him—the culprit of (m/n)’s stolen heart.

nah, there are so many peters..! just a coincidence.

it took him longer than he thought to come up with a sufficient reply. usually, a task would’ve been done because all he had to do was use his body, his webs to do good—not his words. inexperienced yet excited, peter smiled while writing his letter.

peter wasn’t great at consoling people. hell, he couldn’t even make himself feel better. but he’ll try, like he always does.

—april 23rd

hi (m/n)! sorry for taking so long to get back to you! life’s been crazy with everything going on. did you know that there’s been at least ten deli robberies that i managed to save this week alone? something about that chicken salad sandwich drives people nuts… like you, peter’s actually been pretty swamped with exams and graduation. i also want to congratulate you for being the only one that has written a letter to me instead of using the chat service! i’ve never written a letter before, so excuse my rustiness. my handwriting is way worse than yours. mine looks like if you gave a dog a pen and made it write. freshman year of college is a big year for you, for everyone. i remember the feeling of feeling so lost! still know the feeling. don’t get me wrong. yes, i’ve become braver since i started this spider-man stuff. but i still get scared, you know? life is so unpredictable and you never know when something might go wrong, and unexpectedly go so right. like, just the other day, i got anxious when i was ordering from a drive-thru! they didn’t hear me, so i had to repeat my order. then again, because the mic sucked or whatever! even though it was only me, i felt so embarrassed, like my cheeks swelling and itchy skin type of nervous. but then it quickly went away because… okay, well i got my burger and fries pretty quick, so that helped. but you know what i mean? there’s this potentially negative outcome that we’re so afraid of. when in reality, it’s only ever so fleeting. you said he’s a nice guy, right? he could also be scared to talk to you, and you would never know because you’re too busy knocking yourself down! everyone is awkward. I’m awkward. so are some of my family members, my friends too. and that feeling won’t ever go away. sometimes, it’s meant to be shared. being invisible isn’t so bad sometimes. i definitely know the feeling, even wished for it at times. you can listen to music without being bothered, that’s a bonus! but from what i’ve noticed from feeling invisible, it would always come when i was being unkind to myself. i had the worst perception of myself in the eyes of my peers, and that made me withdraw. i purposely isolated myself because i was being unkind. the way you view yourself reflects onto others. not all the time, sometimes people are genuinely just assholes. but from what you’ve been telling me about this peter guy, he seems pretty special. if you’re awkward, be awkward and laugh it off. there’s nothing more charming than being genuine, and being kind to yourself is part of that progress. I’m rooting for you (and peter)!

from your friendly neighbor, spidey.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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oxymorayuri · 3 months

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𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝟷𝟷

𝐹𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡! »

𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝐷. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝐿𝑎𝑤 ✘ ♀ 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: Katsumi Ishizuka

Story: The princess of Tanata

(Long Fic)

➽ Click on this link to see all chapters.

Spoiler: none

Warnings: none

slowburn with plot

Wordcount: 2413

Text in italics emphasizes the reader’s thoughts

Bold and italic text emphasizes Law's thoughts *~*

Tagging: @slytherinambitious - @sassyyassi - @norasincubi - @cottoncandyloverrrr - @one-piece-frvr7

A/N: Hello my sweeties ♡ Thalia is an important character in this story… Even if she's not the main character, I have big plans for her... And to be honest, I've already fallen in love with her character! Stay tuned. I already talked about her appearance in the last chapter, but I wanted to give you a picture of her, or something that matches her aesthetic. I present you; our Thalia!

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓: left | right

Before you know it, a week has passed.

It's been quite an exciting week and you're amazed at how well everyone has settled in. Some friendships have formed, not only between you and them but also between the pirates and some of the citizens of Tanata.

With a smile, you think back to these days. You are glad that everyone gets along so well.

Law and Chopper told you a lot about modern medicine and you were amazed at how professional they were in their element. Every evening you met for a cup of tea in the royal family library and talked about medicine. Even though it was always a lot of informative stuff, you still go relaxed to bed and sometimes with butterflies in your stomach.. because every time Law leaned over to you, to show you something in a book, you felt the heat building up inside...

With your eyes closed, you enjoyed the memories. You sit on a bench by a large training ground and calmly swing your legs.

You finished your duties a little early and you are apparently the first to arrive at the meeting point.

Ambrosios found a really good friend among the pirates, so it seems. He met Zoro in a pub yesterday and the two of them hit it off right away, or so you think…

Because this morning Ambrosios showed up at Hera's palace full of determination and challenged Zoro to fight. If you know Ambrosios then you know that's a good sign, because he only wants to fight those he respects or puts on the same level as himself.

You are really looking forward to the fight, which is about to begin, and a few others want to watch it too.

You can hear Thalia and Nami shouting in the distance.

You get up from the bench and wave cheerfully to the women.

"And y/n, who do you think is going to win today?" With an arm around you, she pulls you close to her. She's a little shorter and you have to bend a little, but you return the hug by wrapping an arm around her too.

You think about it for a moment.

"Uhmmm, so I've known Ambrosios my whole life… He's almost as strong as Zelos and I know that through experience." Even though you were a princess, Ambrosios never treated you gently when you fought together. You were a worthy opponent to him, more like a rival.

"But when I run into Zoro, it's either that he's training or drinking. They're quite similar in that aspect, so I'm really curious… It's 50-50." You can't quite make up your mind and remain neutral.

"I'm sure Zoro will be the winner!" Nami says proudly, with her hand on her chest. Together you burst out into a laughter.

Together you take a seat on a picnic blanket that Thalia had brought with her and Nami surprised you with a basket full of tasty treats from Sanji.

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the sweets. Sanji even included a little note: "Bon appetit, ladies." he wrote in a fancy handwriting. That gentleman.

Your eyes go over to Thalia, who is delighted with the dessert. Sanji had actually prepared her favorite dessert…

The two of them have started a 'little romance' over the days...

"Tell me, Thalia.. you and Sanji? How close are you guys?" You lean over to her. Your mischievous grin crosses your face. The blonde is startled, blushing in a deep red and is about to tumble backwards, but Nami reacts quickly and catches her.

"Well, it's the same as before…" She runs her fingers through her fine blonde hair a little insecurely.

The backstory to this: This 'little romance' the two of them are having, is truly a love drama...

They write poetic letters to each other, sometimes several times a day! And when the two of them met by chance in the city or when she is with you, they would talk as if they were in their own world. From the outside, they seem like soulmates.

Totally cheesy, but it suits your best friend.

Over time, more of the pirates and friends came to the fighting ground. Bepo came running up and happily called your name. Behind him you can see Law, Shachi, Penguin and Ikkaku following.

You girls give the new arrivals a friendly wave. They joined you on the meadow. Ikkaku took a seat on the blanket and took something out of her bag.

"I've brought us something really delicious!" she happily presents the bottle of wine. Yaaaaay!

You women cheer and pour yourselves some of the wine. You talk cheerfully like teenagers while you wait for the fighters.

Ambrosios was the first to enter the square. He proudly presented himself to you ladies in his golden armor.

"Greetings, beautiful ones. Greetings, my princess." he greeted you separately and kissed your hand. You roll your eyes at him. That Casanova.

"Where is the swordsman?" He asks energetically, spreading his arms. His muscles flex at the slightest movement.

"He's probably lost again." Nami makes a remark as she calmly drinks from her glass.

Your gaze wanders across the sky. The sun flashes through the trees, creating a beautiful play of light and shadow.

"Ahh, there he is!" Ambrosio's battle ready voice brings you out of your thoughts.

Zoro and Robin come walking up. Zoro and Ambrosios greet each other with a firm handshake, their looks are serious but eager to fight. They grin at each other.

"Hey Robin! There you are! Good thing you brought Zoro, we've been waiting for ageeeees." complains a slightly drunk Thalia. She has barely finished a glass and is already tipsy but she's a lightweight when it comes to alcohol anyway. Robin laughs a little at her as she settles down and closes the gap between you and Thalia.

"Yeah, I met him on my way here. He seemed a little disoriented." - "HAH! I told you so!" sneered Nami.

While the men warmed up briefly, people chatted amongst themselves. Some placed bets on their favorite and talked about why they were betting on the person in question.

You listen intently as Penguin and Shachi argue about the possible winner and Law sits between them... The back and forth between the two and the way the captain tries to get out of their argument, brings a giggle from you.

From the side, you hear the clink of swords being unsheathed. All eyes are now on the men, as they stand opposite each other in a fighting stance. All conversations came to an end and everyone waited eagerly for the one making the first move.

You never really noticed until now, but Zoro seems to be fighting with three swords. One in each hand and the third between his teeth. Ambrosios draws his sword and holds it firmly in both hands. The huge blade reflecting in the light.

He has taken the family heirloom out of the cabinet for this fight. Remarkable. It is a sword that has been passed down in their family for generations.

Ambrosios was the first to make a move. He dashed straight at the green haired man with insane speed, his blade pointed directly at him.

Zoro continued to stand in place, his posture firm. Just before Ambrosios could swing his sword, Zoro leapt into the air and spun around to make his first move.

"Oni Giri!" Zoro tried to charge a strike from the air but Ambrosios was able to deflect it with ease. The broad blade of his sword makes it easy to dodge attacks.

With quick movements, their swords clashed constantly. It was hard to keep up, even for you. It almost seemed as if their energy was limitless and you can see the passion burning in their eyes.

They both give their all.

You can see that they both find it downright thrilling to fight with each other. Those madmen. You think.

The fight has been going on for a while now and it looks like that both are on the same level.

"Oiii ZORO! COME ON! GO, GIVE HIM ALL YOU GOT!" Luffy shouts as he jumps excitedly into the air.

The crowd cheered for their favorite every time he landed a good hit or blocked a heavy blow. The fight is even and in your eyes you're just waiting for someone to make a mistake.

You know that Ambrosios is a man of perfection, but you realize that Zoro is also an attentive opponent.

Even when the two seemed visibly out of breath, it didn't change their fighting spirit. Their pride is too great for them to back down.

After countless blows, however, the unpredictable happened.

Ambrosios fended off a strong attack and began to falter. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. Completely out of breath, Zoro stood over him. His grin almost wider than his face. With one of his swords pointed at Ambrosios, it's clear who the winner is.

"I'd say the match is over." Satisfied, he puts his swords away and gives him his arm so that Ambrosios can pull himself up. As they both stood in front of each other, the Tanata warrior placed a hand on Zoro's shoulder.

"You are an excellent swordsman, my friend." Zoro holds him firmly by the arm, returning his words.

"I can only repeat that." The two come walking arm in arm towards the cheering group. This was never about who was the strongest. It was about the passion to fight.

The two have forged a noticeable bond through the fight and both toast to their fighting with a mug of beer.

"Now that I've warmed up, I want to fight your strongest man!" Zoro announces, as if the hour of fighting just now, was a piece of cake.

Ambrosio's laughter was very hearty at first, but towards the end his laughter had a sinister edge to it...

"Zoro you are insatiable." Ambrosios lies down on the grass, his gaze directed upwards.

"If you want to fight the strongest, I'll have to disappoint you. Zelos is currently on a mission and therefore not in the city."

Zelos is still in the process of building a line of defense, in the forests of Tanata. The strange ship still seems to be circling the island and from what the king says, it is now certain that they are not trying to get out of the storm…

Zoro groans unhappily. He looks like he still has so much energy he wants to get rid of.

"But there's one more person." Your eyes go over to Ambrosio's without moving your body.

Don't you dare, Ambrosios.

He looks at you without anyone noticing. His grin widens as you shake your head slightly.

"Is it the king?" Nami asks. Ambrosios bursts out laughing loud and heartily. The young woman looks over at you, confused. You shrug your shoulders a little warily and smile gently at her. You hope that Zoro will lose interest, but unfortunately you don't know him well.

"Come on Ambrosios, spit it out, who is it?" He shakes his battle partner and looks at him expectantly. Ambrosios sits up.

"No, it's not the king. The king is strong but he's the fourth strongest in my opinion." He answers Nami's question.

The people around you are very curious and no one makes a sound.

"Zelos is the strongest man, but there is one woman who is stronger than all the others." Zelos eyes are on you and quickly you realize that everyone is looking at you.

Zoro's broad grin disappears.

"And who is this woman?" Zoro didn't seem to get the message.

Luffy joins the confusion and applies some pressure.

"That's right! Tell us, who is it!" Excited, Luffy gets very close to Ambrosios. Without any problems, he pushes the boy away from him with his hand in his face.

Annoyed, Nami groans and pulls Zoro towards her by the ears.

"THAT'S OBVIOUS, YOU IDIOT!" She scolds him. You can literally see the gears moving in Zoro's head… but there is no sign of realization. Frustrated, she lets go of him, she just can't take any more.

"It's y/n!!!" She yells at him.

In a flash, Luffy and Zoro's eyes are now on you too. Luffy looks at you with a sparkle in his eyes while Zoro's combative grin returns.

"Uhhhh hehe, well now it's out." you admit in defeat "Surprise!" you add a little uncertainly.

You feel quite uncomfortable that all the attention is on you. Of course you're excellent with a sword, but you're pretty overpowered thanks to your devil fruit.

You know how hard the others train and even think it's unfair that they call you the strongest… Of course you have trained a lot and even if your fighting technique is excellent, you think that someone else could certainly be stronger with the devil fruit.

Zoro ignores the uncertainty in your voice and stands up, only to kneel in front of you.

"Princess, please do me the honor of fighting you!" he lowers his head.

"I can't Zoro. I don't fight for pleasure." you reply softly as you cross your arms in front of you. Hastily, he looks into your eyes with a serious look.

"This is not about pleasure. It's about honor and respect. I respect you my princess, so please do me the honor and let me fight you!" His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword. His eyes flash at you with a steely determination and to your disadvantage, the people cheer in unison 'Go princess!, go princess!'.

You admit your defeat and sigh. Your eyes meet his again. You can't shake the feeling that if you don't fight him, he will annoy you until you part ways.

…Until you part ways…

"You know what, Zoro?" Who knows, maybe one day you'll regret it.

Maybe one day you'll regret not showing the pirates Tanata's strength. The ambition, courage and technique.

"LET'S FIGHT!"

You jump up and some of the people cheer and follow suit.

See you next time, kiss kiss ♡

➽ Next chapter

#trafalgar d water law #trafalgar one piece #one piece #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x oc #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #one piece fanfiction #one piece fandom #trafalgar law

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kisskissbanggang · 10 months

Text

Contention - pt. 1

[2.1k words/<10min. read - Skz! Love Triangle, Non-Idol!AU - Personal Assistant!Seungmin x Female Reader, SFW/VERY Suggestive/✨Spicy✨, Smut in Other Chapters - Arranged Courting, Hwang Hyunjin has Demons and One is his Mother, Dirty Secrets, All the Taboo Thrill of Infidelity Without Actually Cheating Because You Aren't Even Together, Heavy Forbidden Makeout Sessions in Uncomfortable Settings, Seungmin is the Goodest Boy (For Now), Exorcising my Seungmin and Hyunjin Brain Rot One Fic at a Time, References to Toxic/Abusive Parent/Child Relationships (Not Reader)]

[Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

Sunday, 3:36 pm

It wasn't as though you blamed Hwang Hyunjin for any of this.

You’d lost nothing. Rather, if anything, there was almost too much to gain. Nothing was lost, or broken, or hurt.

Except for maybe your pride.

Your correspondence, your interviews – they’d all been with Hyunjin's mother.

In her eyes, you were the most perfect potential partner for her son that she’d ever met. The only problem was that he’d been impossible to convince towards any concept of settling down with someone she approved of, belligerent to any inkling that she could really know what’s best.

None of this had been disclosed to you, of course. As far as you’d known, Hyunjin adored you; he was simply too busy with work to come meet you in person. His mother was only helping him arrange all this. It was his idea that you move in for a trial run.

A six month long trial run.

For the sake of saving face and appeasing the accountants, you’d be Hyunjin’s “personal assistant.” You were to never leave this goddamn penthouse for six months. By the end of it, you would either be engaged or paid handsomely for your time.

It was an easy – if not incredibly daunting – yes.

In your mind, Hyunjin was already mad about you. He wrote you letters, he gave you photos, all scented with his cologne and accompanied with flowers. He was too good to be true, gorgeous and tall with sharp eyes and full lips. It never occurred to you that you were being naive. Mrs. Hwang was so earnest, so humble about her role in all of this. The potential financial gain was only an extremely generous consolation prize should it not work out. She just wanted her son to be happy.

You’d laughed along when Hyunjin’s mother introduced you to the doorman in the lobby.

“Remember her face, now. If you see her within the next six months, you call me.”

She’d laughed. The doorman laughed. So you laughed, too.

Nothing prepared you for meeting Hyunjin. First, he was incredulous, wondering if this was all a prank.

Did you know his friends?

Maybe his boss put you up to this?

But the second you mentioned his mother, all the pieces fell into place. The penthouse was a new arrangement for him as well. He instantly recognized the handwriting on your letters as hers. The small, precious still life he’d painted for you had actually been missing from his bedroom for weeks.

This was Mrs. Hwang’s grand scheme to finally get her insubordinate son married.

You pleaded, bartered, begged for a way out of this. The writing was on the wall: you were fucked. You'd quit your job, you'd moved out of your apartment, signed an NDA – all stipulations laid out in her contract you'd signed. Hyunjin was helpless. She controlled his finances, managed his social circle, and watched him like a hawk.

No. You didn't blame Hyunjin for any of this.

But it didn't make it hurt any less that he wasn't interested in giving you a chance.

And it wasn't like you didn't understand why; that much was clear and obvious. His mother adored you, so he simply wouldn't.

The two of you awkwardly cohabitated for a whole month leading up to last night. It was easy to have separate spaces within the shared home. You had your own room, and there were, plain and simply, too many ways to spend time by yourselves. The penthouse was insane, a lush little suite with a pool on the patio, a private roof, and a dedicated elevator. You were reading in the living room that night, stretched out on the plush couch when Hyunjin brought a girl home for the first time.

The couch conveniently blocked Hyunjin from seeing you and your mortified face, but you could see clear as day.

“Okay, I think my roommate is asleep.”

Roommate.

You were gutted.

Five more months of this until the payday of your life.

And if there were going to be any more nights like this, maybe you could even afford a lobotomy. How could you be so stupid? A sickening ball of desperation and humiliation burned in your gut.

That brought you to today, the point where everything shifted. You were feeling sorry for yourself at the breakfast nook, and why wouldn't you? It’d taken you weeks to allow yourself to fall in love with the idea of Hyunjin and work up the courage to take on this ludicrous deal in the first place. And now you were stuck here.

In your refusal to hear anything since the previous night until this girl was gone, you were stubbornly still wearing your headphones while you miserably picked at a croissant. You didn’t hear Seungmin come in whatsoever, not until he appeared in front of you in the kitchen, startling you with a new box of pastries.

As you’d quickly learned, Hyunjin had a real personal assistant. Seungmin drove Hyunjin around, ran his errands, and – apparently – even chauffeured his one-night stands home. You’d met Seungmin early on, and he was just as disquieted about this arrangement as the two of you already were. Thankfully, it didn't seem to outwardly affect his hospitality at all. Seungmin was kind, he was attentive, and he was probably the only person who gave a damn about you while you were locked up in here. At that moment, at the breakfast nook, he silently waved and opened the box to offer you a fresh, warm croissant. You nodded appreciatively before he took his box of goodies with him, no doubt sanctimoniously kicking open Hyunjin’s door for a wake-up call.

They had a weird relationship. The two men were clearly boss and employee, but they were also unmistakably friends. Maybe it was because they both answered to Mrs. Hwang.

Shortly after, Seungmin passed by the kitchen again, ushering out a gorgeously disheveled young woman and an unsurprisingly pristine Hyunjin. Sundays were a social day, which meant Seungmin would be dropping him off at the gym and he wouldn’t be back until much later that day, hopping from brunch to shopping to late lunch and maybe even dinner and drinks. You sighed when you had the penthouse to yourself again.

This was the part you didn’t think through all the way when you were considering this ridiculous proposal. Hyunjin worked and had a busy social life. It had quickly become apparent that Mrs. Hwang intended for you to be available at all times at home, maximizing the opportunity for you two to get close, but this also meant that you were alone for a majority of the time. Some days you never changed out of loungewear. Some days, even, you never changed out of your pajamas. You would binge watch shows and movies, endlessly scroll online, maybe try to exercise or lounge by the pool, all in a loop that was quickly starting to grow stale.

Maybe that’s what made everything go the way it did when Seungmin came back in through the elevator that afternoon. You poked your head out from the living room and caught sight of him nearly dropping his armful of groceries. Today was a day where you never changed out of your pajamas, your cozy cardigan covering up your thin camisole and modest shorts. Your warm socks made you almost slip on the tile floor. Seungmin was humbly grateful when you jogged over to help, even grabbing a bag out of his hands to ease the load. He followed you back to the kitchen, where you’d briefly crossed paths that morning.

“I should’ve asked if you need anything,” he regretted out loud, setting his bags on the counter and sorting through them.

You blinked back at him as you did the same with your own bag. “You don’t need to do that; you bring me things all the time.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “but I want to. I want to know what you want.”

“Seungmin, I promise you, this is more than enough.”

It’d only been a month, but Seungmin was occasionally bringing you books and magazines. The bag you’d grabbed from him had your favorite canned coffee in it. Lately, he’d been quizzing you on what drinks you liked, what snacks you indulged in, and he’d readily have whatever it was the next time he saw you. He would always make sure to check in on you whenever he came by. For all intents and purposes, Seungmin was your saving grace during this bizarre, voluntary home arrest.

It was worth repeating: maybe this was why everything that came next happened the way it did.

For such a lavish kitchen in such a spacious home, you and Seungmin managed to trip over each other while putting away the shopping, landing on the floor in a tangled heap, wedged into the counter. Those damned socks. Some cosmic being was playing a prank on you, surely, when you found yourself on top of Hyunjin’s assistant on the floor. The two of you groaned in unison. Your knee was likely pressing uncomfortably into Seungmin’s ribs, so you obviously leaned off, and now, mortifyingly, you found yourself straddling his hips.

And you weren’t the only one to notice.

Seungmin was reclined back on his elbows, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Maybe it was just the moment.

Maybe it was something more.

He leaned in first, and you automatically did the same.

Your skin erupted into goosebumps.

Both your breathing was shallow, like you were trying to slow down time to think for a goddamn second.

Maybe you were lonely.

Maybe it was something else.

The kiss lasted three seconds.

Three.

He was so warm.

Two.

His kiss was so gentle.

One.

You wanted him so badly.

Your mouths parted, but only barely. It was a stalemate; the next move would decide everything.

And Seungmin decided to slide an arm up around your waist.

You melted into him then, your fingers running through his hair and slipping his glasses onto the tile when you kissed him again. The breaths you’d been holding were gasped and sighed into each other. His chest sought for air against yours, close and tight in the cavernous home. You were quickly dizzy, high off the adrenaline of finding yourself locked in a heated embrace with your intended fiance’s assistant, but you nonetheless found yourself curious. There was one question on your mind. When you tried to lean up from Seungmin, he hungrily reeled you back down, his daring tongue tempting yours to keep pace. You gathered his hands from where they were holding your waist and firmly pressed them back into the tile, over his head.

Even while catching his breath, his hips were canting up into your own. He was distractingly, temptingly hard between your legs. He grinned, panting. “More,” he pleaded.

“In a second,” you quieted him, hushed in the giant penthouse. You were unable to hold back a coughed laugh while you tried to more steadily inhale. “You just have to tell me: is it me you want? Or the opportunity?”

Seungmin was visibly confused. “Of course it’s you,” he answered, his volume matching yours. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I mean,” you faltered for a second. “I’m apparently not good enough for Hyunjin–”

“Hyunjin’s insane,” Seungmin smirked. “You’re perfect.”

The simple move of you letting him go fell into sync with him pulling his hands free, but you weren’t expecting Seungmin to roll the two of you over, his lips and tongue joining his hips in pinning you to the tile floor of the kitchen. His groans and sighs were delicious to hear, the way he wanted you making the exhaustion of the last month feel forgotten. This was incredible, easily enough to make you want to ask Seungmin to come to your bedroom with you, if not fuck you right here in the kitchen–

–when the penthouse elevator chimed.

You untangled from each other immediately, scrambling to regain your senses and look like you had not just been fooling around when Hyunjin casually strolled in. He passed by the kitchen to find Seungmin finishing putting away the groceries while you pretended to scroll on your phone at breakfast nook. Hyunjin looked between the two of you, obviously sensing something odd but unsure of exactly what. He opened the fridge.

“You’re back early,” Seungmin observed. His ears were red.

“My plans got changed,” Hyunjin shrugged, pulling out a can. “Whose coffee is this?”

You meagerly raised a hand. Hyunjin nodded.

“Ah.”

That was it. He put the drink right back in the fridge, grabbing something else and warily eyeing you both again before exiting the kitchen.

You and Seungmin locked eyes then.

Holy shit, you realized, what if Hyunjin found out?

Or worse, you furthered that thought, what if Mrs. Hwang found out?

Seungmin had a small, humble grin, maybe even a bit dazed when he finally left you by yourself in the kitchen.

This was either going to make the next five months much more enjoyable or far more difficult.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin smut #haha you have a crush on kim seungmin 😔

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quil12 · 1 year

Note

souyo + soulmates?

I may have gone a little overboard with this one lmao. It's a little over 3k words - I honestly could write a whole fic with this concept. I used my favorite Soulmate AU trope for this - the one where anything you write on your skin gets transferred to your soulmate's skin as well (the only thing that tops it for me is when injuries transfer - that works more for the benefit of angst though)

Yosuke excitedly grabbed a pen from his desk, going over to his bed, and sitting cross-legged down on it. He placed the tip of it onto his forearm, writing out one simple word.

Hello

He stared down at it, as if waiting for something to happen.

It was his tenth birthday - the day he had been waiting for for such a long time. It was the day he finally got to get into contact with his soulmate. Everything that he wrote on his skin would subsequently appear on his soulmate’s skin - that was, everything that he wrote aside from his own name - at least until his soulmate heard him say it. For whatever reason, those words wouldn’t get transferred over. That made it significantly harder to find your soulmate, although it was still possible. For children with next to no resources though, it wasn’t something that typically could happen.

After a few minutes of constant staring, a black dot appeared just beneath where he had written. He watched with bated breath as the character was formed in penmanship that seemed out of place next to his own, messy handwriting.

Hello

Yosuke’s heart was pounding in his chest. They had answered him. This person who he was supposed to be connected with for the rest of his life had just said his first words to him.

He hesitated briefly, thinking about what he wanted to say, before putting the pen down on his arm again.

I wish I could tell you my name, but we’re soulmates! I’m really excited to talk to you

There was only a small pause before more words started appearing on his skin. It was kind of odd just watching them show up, seemingly without any outside input.

It is odd to not be able to say my name. It doesn’t feel like a proper introduction. I’m excited to talk to you too.

I guess my first question is if you’re a guy or a girl

The handwriting was very neat and precise, and they were talking so formally, he was leaning more toward girl.

Guy. What about you?

He wasn’t entirely expecting that, but he shrugged it off. He would probably be able to relate better to a guy anyway. Soulmates could be either romantic or platonic. He guessed this was just a case of it being platonic then.

I’m a guy too. How old are you? I just turned 10

I’m still nine, but I’ll be ten in about a month.

That settled some amount of uncertainty that had worked its way into his gut. Part of him had been worried that his soulmate was older than him and just hadn’t bothered to get into contact with him. Today was actually the first day that they would have been able to talk.

Yosuke thought for a few seconds. He wanted to get to know him a little bit more.

What are you doing right now?

I was just starting my homework.

What’re you gonna do after?

I’m not sure yet. I just got a new book though, so I might start reading that.

Homework and then reading. That wasn’t something Yosuke could ever visualize himself ever doing. How different were they if that was his plan for the night?

What’s the book about?

As they kept writing, he was quickly realizing a problem. They were both writing fairly small, but there was only so much room on his arm to keep adding things.

As he was writing a synopsis of the book, Yosuke stood up, walking to the bathroom. He grabbed a washcloth, getting it wet with warm water and soap. He started rubbing at some of the words on his arm, erasing some of it to make room for the new conversations. He supposed that doing this was just going to be a part of talking with his soulmate.

They spent the rest of the night talking with each other, getting to know each other’s hobbies and interests.

His soulmate seemed to spend a lot of time reading and studying. Apparently he went to a cram school most nights. He participated in the soccer team at his school, but that was about the only thing he could relate to him on.

Even so, he was really enjoying talking to him. They were different, but it wasn’t a bad different.

As it reached 8 o’clock, his soulmate informed him that he needed to start getting ready for bed. Yosuke was disappointed, but didn’t fight him on it. There was one last thing he wanted to ask though.

Before you go, what exactly should I call you?

What do you mean?

I can’t just go around calling you my soulmate. That’s no good.

Oh. I don’t really care. Whatever you want to.

Yosuke thought about it for a few seconds, one word coming to mind.

Partner.

Partner?

We’re supposed to be linked together our whole lives, so you’re my partner in life.

There was a several second pause.

All right. Partner it is.

Yosuke smiled to himself as he stared down at the words written in someone else’s handwriting on his arm.

Good night, Partner. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Good night.

Yosuke leaned back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling, his chest so warm. He had good feelings for the future.

After a few minutes, he stretched his arms up, blinking in surprise. He hadn’t realized it while they were talking, but he was absolutely covered in ink. Talking to him was going to be a messy process, he supposed.

- - -

Over the years, the two of them kept up a consistent line of communication. It got to the point where he couldn’t even imagine living his life without him there.

They had come to an agreement that they wouldn’t try and figure out each other’s identities - if they were supposed to meet, then they would. They didn’t have to force it.

Besides, it was kind of nice to have someone who knew what was going on in his life who wasn’t actually involved in it. He always had someone to talk to about what was happening who didn’t necessarily have a personal stake in any of it. It just was good to get all his thoughts and feelings out.

And he often did the same thing in return. He felt like he knew things that no one else knew about him. From how overwhelmed he sometimes got from his parents’ expectations of him, to how he felt like all of his friendships were surface level at best, to how anxious he sometimes got when thinking about the future.

He really liked those nights when they would talk about things like that. He liked getting to know who he really was.

He liked how he would sometimes look down at his hand to see that he had drawn a little doodle for him - usually it was a cat. He loved drawing cats for some reason.

Through everything though, he oftentimes wondered what he looked like or what his voice sounded like. How tall was he? What color was his hair? Did he have good taste in clothes? What did his smile look like? What did his laugh sound like?

He wanted to know the answer to those questions so badly. He didn’t know for sure if they would ever meet though, and, even if, by some twist of fate, they met, how would they even know that it was them? Was it possible that they had met already and they just didn’t know it?

Questions like that kept him up at night, but, at the end of the day, there was nothing he could really do about those uncertainties but keep moving forward.

- - -

It was his first day of school as a second year. He was ready for this year to be great. He was ready for these upcoming days to be the best in his life.

That was, he had been ready for all that until he crashed his bike.

He had barely made it to school on time, laying his head on his desk as he tried to push through the pain.

When the new transfer student was introduced, he was barely paying attention - that was, he was barely paying attention until he glanced up to see him walking toward him, heading to the empty desk in front of him.

Just seeing his face made his breath catch in his throat. He didn’t think he had even seen a guy as handsome as he was. He was tall and it looked like he had a decent amount of muscle built up on his arms and chest. There was just something about him that made him want to talk to him and get to know him.

What was his name again?

He tried desperately to remember what he had said, but it was all a blur.

The rest of the day, he spent staring at the back of his head, trying to think of what he should say to him. He could talk to him after class.

- - -

He didn’t get a chance to speak to him after class.

There had been an announcement made saying that everyone was to stay in their classrooms. He had decided to take that opportunity to give Chie back the DVD she had leant him, only to realize that he had cracked it that morning when he had crashed.

He didn’t even want to remember the pain that had happened after that.

He then had to rush to get to Junes to work a shift, so speaking to the transfer student was something that would have to wait until the next day.

After he had gotten home, eaten, and taken a shower, he had climbed into bed, grabbing a pen off of his desk, clicking it open, and beginning to write.

How was your day?

He only had to wait a few minutes before there was a response.

It was fine. It’s a new school this year, but it doesn’t seem bad. What about you?

Huh, that was right. He had mentioned that he was transferring schools. He hoped that everything went well at his new one.

That’s good. I’m sure you’ll settle in in no time. And it was… I crashed my bike on the way to school

Oh no. Are you okay?

I’m fine. Oh, but there is a new transfer student in my class. He sits in front of me, but I just can’t remember his name.

Do you like him?

His face felt hot as he read that question. He had been the only one he had ever told about the confusion he had faced in regards to his sexuality. They had talked for a long time about it and he had eventually admitted that he was attracted to both guys and girls. It wasn’t something he was super comfortable admitting to other people though.

During that same conversation, he had admitted to him that he was exclusively into guys as well. Hearing that had made him a little more comfortable, but also created even more of a kinship between them.

He’s really hot if that’s what you’re asking

That was what I was asking. You should really find out his name though.

I’m working on it.

They talked for a while longer before both deciding to call it for the night.

He was definitely going to talk to the transfer student tomorrow.

- - -

He crashed his bike again.

Straight into a trash can.

To make matters worse, the transfer student watched him do it. He even helped him out of it.

He had never been so embarrassed in his life.

“Are you okay?” he asked, quiet worry apparent in his voice.

He let out a forced laugh, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I really owe you one though.”

“It’s no problem. It’s just good that you’re not hurt.”

“Yeah… Oh! I’m Yosuke Hanamura by the way. We’re actually in the same class.”

“Yu Narukami.”

Yu. His name was Yu.

“It’s nice to meet you. We should probably get heading to school soon though or else we’re gonna be late.”

Yu nodded, beginning to walk in the direction of the school. He really didn’t talk much, did he? Then again, he probably talked enough to make up for two people, so it didn’t really bother him that much.

- - -

After school, he wound up hanging out with Yu and Chie, going to Junes for a while and talking about things. Chie made them promise to try out something called “The Midnight Channel” that night. It sounded kind of kiddish to him, but he would still try it out.

He had gone home after that, heading up to his room and doing his homework, but, before he knew it, it was later at night.

He had some time to kill before midnight, so he decided that he might as well talk to his Partner and get him caught up on what had happened that day.

He sat down on his bed with a pen, beginning to write on his arm.

I know his name.

There was a response almost immediately.

What is it?

Yu Narukami

There was a long pause. A longer pause than he ever remembered there being in the middle of a conversation. Was he all right?

He waited a few more seconds, when, to his relief, there was a reply.

What do you think about him?

Well, like I said, he’s really hot. He doesn’t really talk a lot, but that’s fine. The first thing that he did was to help me, so I like that about him. And, I mean, we didn’t really get a long time to talk, but I really want to get to know him more.

He had written a lot. That had taken up most of the space on his arm.

He took a while to respond again.

I hope you do get to know him better.

They talked for a while longer, but he was acting a little bit weird. Was it possible that he was jealous about the fact that he wanted to get to know Yu or that he thought he was hot? He wanted to reassure him, but he also didn’t want to make any assumptions.

As it started getting closer to midnight, he cut off the conversation, saying that he had things he still needed to do that night.

He still thought it was kind of dumb, but he went to go try and watch the Midnight Channel.

- - -

A lot happened the next day.

All three of them had watched the Midnight Channel and they had all seen someone on it. But then, Yu had said that he had unconsciously gone to touch his TV screen and his hand had gone through it.

Neither him or Chie really believed him. He had to have just been half asleep.

They had gone to Junes after school and gone to the electronics department.

He hadn’t actually been half asleep. When they had gotten there, he had stuck his whole hand and arm into one of the TVs there, eventually sticking his whole head inside.

Both he and Chie had started panicking, and, in that panic, all three of them had fallen completely inside the TV.

There was a whole nother world inside of there. One filled with fog that made him feel exhausted and nauseous.

After a while, they had come across this weird bear… thing, who had offered them a way out.

They were currently standing in the parking lot at Junes, saying their goodbyes. Chie left first, leaving just him and Yu.

He stretched his arms over his head, yawning, “Well, I should probably get going home too.”

Yu looked down at the ground, hesitating before speaking, “Actually, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about if you’d be willing.”

“What about?”

“Well…” He hesitated for a few seconds, “Do you want to come over?”

Come over? To his house? To his bedroom maybe? What did he want to talk to him about in there?

“Uh… why exactly?”

“There’s just something I really need to show you.”

He was looking at him almost pleadingly. Despite his concerns, there was something about him that made him not want to say no.

“All right. Let’s go.”

He gave him a soft, almost relieved looking smile. A smile that made his heart start to pound in his chest.

He followed him as he led him to his house. His younger cousin was home and he briefly exchanged introductions with her before heading up the stairs to Yu’s room.

It was pretty bare in there - only the essentials that he needed for living. Then again, if he had just transferred, he probably hadn’t had a lot of time to fully settle in yet.

He sat down on the couch against one wall while Yu sat in his desk chair.

“So what did you need to talk to me about?”

Yu took a deep breath before reaching onto his desk and grabbing a pen, opening it, then placing it above his hand, writing something on it.

He watched as he did it, his confusion only growing deeper.

After a second, he looked up, meeting his eye.

“What?”

“Just look at your hand.”

At his hand? Why would he look at his hand?

He decided to humor him, lifting his hand up, his breath catching as he saw what was written there in his soulmate’s neat and precise handwriting.

Yosuke

He looked up to see Yu smiling at him - a smile that made his heart start to pound.

“You’re…”

“Yeah.”

Yosuke didn’t even quite register what he was doing as he stood, clearing the small distance between them, and wrapping his arms around him, more or less moving to be sitting in his lap.

He grunted, but wrapped his arms around his waist as well, holding him against him.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. He was so warm and comfortable. Familiar, yet not at the same time.

How could this be real? This was his soulmate. His Partner. They were actually getting to see each other in the flesh. It was almost too good to be true.

After a while, he pulled back slightly. There were tears in his eyes as he spoke.

“I can’t believe that it’s actually you. I didn’t know if we’d ever actually get to see each other.”

Yu reached up, laying his palm against his cheek. It was oddly intimate, but he found that he really didn’t mind it, leaning into the touch.

“It is a little hard to believe that we’d end up so close together.”

“How long have you known that it was me?”

“Not until you wrote my name.”

Yosuke’s heart seemed to stop as he remembered something. He groaned, burying his face against his collar bone, “That means I told you directly how hot I thought you were.”

“‘Were’? You don’t think so anymore?”

He pulled back, glaring at him, “Of course I still think you’re hot.”

He gave a small laugh. A laugh that made his heart start to flutter.

“You’re pretty hot yourself.”

He made a noise, once again burying his face into his collar bone. He had never been called hot before and it was so embarrassing.

Yu began to gently run his fingers through his hair. That was such a pleasant sensation - one that he could easily fall asleep to.

“So, if you’re willing, do you want to maybe hang out like this more often?” Yu asked.

Yosuke pulled slightly back off of him, looking into his hopeful gray eyes.

“Of course. You’re gonna have a tough time getting rid of me now.”

He laughed. “That sounds perfect.”

#souyo #fanfiction #im kind of considering making a fic on ao3 thats just all of these that ive written together #just to have them somewhere less ephemeral #cause ive written a decent amount at this point #that being said #im still down to write more #so feel free to send asks!

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asukamood · 2 years

Text

Dreamswap belongs to onebizarrekai

While I do really love Drue and past Sweammare, I gotta admit that Drani deserved better. Man, Ani didn’t deserve to die this early on.

Anyways, here is a little fic about them dragging their workaholic (and alcoholic) ‘friend’ in ghost hunting with them that I wrote while having several mental breakdowns, ✨ enjoy ✨

***

The castle in which Justice Reigns was settled was old, it was not a secret for anyone. It has been there even a millennia before Dream was given the building, it was passed down from family to family yet not a lot of people talked about the paranormal activities that were sometimes witnessed inside the imposing walls.

Because yes, the place was haunted. By several ghosts actually.

Even Ani, while being very close to the owner of the place, had no idea spirits roamed the halls of the castle until they saw with their own eyes a pen writing down something on paper without a person holding said pen.

Children were gathered around that phenomenon with stars instead of pupils. “Emily came back!” Ani heard them say enthusiastically, waiting patiently for the pen to be put down.

They approached them and crouched to their level, a curious expression on their face. “Who is Emily?”

The orphans flinched, seemingly not having noticed them stepping closer. They stammered, all looking at each other in distress.

“What should we do??” One finally whispered through gritted teeth, eyes darting back and forth between Ani and the other children.

“I don’t know, maybe we should just tell them? Mx.Ani is trustworthy after all.” They all hummed in thought at the comment before nodding like one person and turning back toward them, unaware of the fact Ani heard them very clearly.

“Emily is our ghost friend.” One started, a smile on their lips. “But don’t tell anybody! It could be our little secret!” They brought a finger near their lips to underline the ‘don’t tell anyone part.

“Is Emily the only ghost here?” Many would have spooked or weirded out by the children’s confession, perhaps brushing it off as this ‘Emily’ being an imaginary friend of theirs but Ani did see the pen scribbling down words in messy handwriting. Yet to their surprise, they weren’t scared, just very intrigued.

The children shook their heads. “No, she told us there were more than a hundred here.”

As Ani kept gathering information from the children, an idea gradually bloomed into their mind.

‘I’m going to get a ghost friend.’

Although the children had been given some bribes of information here and there, it was still not a lot to go from, they were going to need a little more help.

Now, who would be of better help than Dream himself, who has been in this castle for decades straight, well, pan? With a newfound determination, the human walked in the direction of the latter’s office.

***

“Why am I getting letters about a potted plant?” Dream wondered out loud, the question not quite meant for anyone in particular. He read the sheet of paper in his hands multiple times but the text hasn’t changed, he didn’t know what was more perplexing between the fact someone wrote this or the fact they sent it to the CEO of the most prominent organization in the entire multiverse.

He was about to curl it into a ball and throw it away until the two tall wooden doors of the office’s entrance slammed open against the walls, the noise the collision produced loud enough to have Dream almost jump out of his skin.

‘Either this is Ani and nothing happens or it’s not and somebody might just get thrown in a cell.’

“Dream! It’s 6 pm, why are you still working?” He looked up from his paper and caught a glimpse of an emerald poncho covering fair skin, and messy black hair falling on the person’s forehead like a waterfall. That was Ani, there was no need to take out his handcuffs then, that’s good.

“Already?” The winged man looked up to the clock on the opposite wall from his and it did show the same hour Ani just exclaimed. “Apologies, I didn’t see the time pass.”

The thin human pouted with a disapproving glint in their irises as they stepped inside the room. “Yes well, you’re coming with me to get dinner, Mister Workaholic.”

Dream opened his mouth but was immediately cut off without even having finished the first syllable. “No, you may not drink. I need you sober today.”

A sigh escaped him but his eyebrows raised once the second part of Ani’s speech was processed. “Why?” He tried to think of his last encounter with the short individual but couldn’t remember if they had anything planned for the day.

“You’ll see, now come with me!”

***

The two of them were quietly chewing on a recently cooked steak when Ani gulped down a glass of water in one go before opening their mouth.

“Hey Dream?” The latter hummed, unable to say anything because of the piece of meat still stuffed into his mouth. “Do you know anything about ghosts haunting the castle?”

Dream froze for a solid second before swallowing down what was left in his mouth. “Why are you asking? Did you have any problem with them?”

‘If they hurt Ani, I swear I’m going to call an exorcist on them.’

Emerald eyes sparkled at the question. “So there are spirits at Justice Reigns! Why did you never tell me?”

Golden eyes blinked, several times. “Well I didn’t see the need to, plus from what I know they prefer to be left alone.”

The adult in green seemed to be listening carefully to the other’s every word. “So you communicated with them before?” Dream nodded, deciding to entertain Ani’s curiosity.

“When I first stepped foot into the castle, the spirits all wrote to me, begging me not to take them away as they thought I was an angel sent to lead them to the other side.” Dream thought back of his nineteen years old self watching pens writing on random papers without a visible person holding them with his jaw dropped.

Ani grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Couldn’t have said it better.” Dream took a sip of his grape juice. Seeing that Ani wouldn’t let him drink any liquor tonight, he had to settle with this family-friendly alternative for now. “But they understood that I was not here for that so now they just occasionally talk to me about… pretty much anything.”

“So you don’t mind their presence?” Dream shook his head, shoving his last fork of meat in his mouth.

“No. As long as they’re not harming anyone, I don’t mind them at all. It just gets kinda cold sometimes.” When Dream looked up, he noticed Ani looking at him with a certain expression. They were going to ask him a favor 100%.

“If you don’t mind…” Ani started, looking down and shifting in their seat nervously. “Could you go with me ghost hunting? I want to befriend the spirits there, they must be lonely.” When they were asking him with that look, how was he supposed to refuse?

“Okay. I’m not letting you try finding phantoms by yourself anyways.” Ani’s eyes sparkled at his answer and they grinned.

“Thank you, let me just grab some flashlights before we begin. See you in the main entrance, Dream!” Then the pattering of naked feet gradually grew quieter until silence dawned in the room once more.

***

As they have stated earlier, the duo did find themselves alone in the main hall, the place only slightly lit up by the light of the moon. Ani approached Dream with a smile, which rapidly faltered and morphed into one of horror.

“DID YOU CUT OFF YOUR WINGS?!” They exclaimed, worry evident in their voice.

“Cut off my- Why would I ever do that?” Dream frowned. “No I didn’t, I just turned them transparent so they wouldn’t get in the way of our investigation.”

Ani sighed in relief, one of their hands clutching their poncho. “Thank god, don’t scare me like that again Dream, I almost had a heart attack.” Dream sent them an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ani nodded to acknowledge his apology and stared at the devices in his hands.

“What have you got there?” Dream pulled up a rectangular device which was divided by four parts: green, yellow, orange and red. Each had a sort of little lamp attached to it, they were currently all turned off. The other seemed to be a sort of mini lamp with holes in it.

“Just some things to help us know if a spirit is indeed with us or not. I see you also have a little bag with you, what’s in it?” Ani had a nervous smile on as they revealed the content of the bag to the blonde man.

“… You came here with sweets?”

“The easiest way to make friends with someone is to go through their stomachs.”

Well Dream had nothing to reply to this.

***

“So which room would you say is the most haunted?” In the darkness, Ani held a lit up flashlight that illuminated anything in a 4 feet radius but even with that, visibility was still at its lowest.

Behind them, Dream hummed in thought. “Either the cafeteria or my office.”

Ani arched an eyebrow at the last location. “Your office?”

“It used to be a bedroom.” He explained, without going into much detail. “A lot of things happened in it and now spirits surround it, there’s a reason why I chose this room and not another.”

“Oh I see— OH MY GOD-“ Ani cut their sentence off and turned on their heels immediately when a glossy yellow thing moved in their peripheral vision. “Dream, I think I saw some—“ When they fully turned, they took notice of golden wings sprang on their friend’s back as the latter rubbed his eyes, likely in fatigue. “Thing…”

Dream blinked once or twice before noticing his wings were back to normal. “Oh, I’m sorry let me just-“ A blink later and they dissolved into the air again. “I lost focus for a minute, my apologies.”

Ani shook their head with a smile, giggling. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing to apologize for. You can go to sleep if you’re tired though, I can do this alone.”

“No.” The tone Dream used left no room for discussion. “I’m okay, let’s keep moving. Cafeteria, right?”

Ani nodded and the duo set off to the location, their footsteps being the only thing breaking the religious silence that reigned over the castle at this hour… which actually surprised Ani a lot. Even though most of the organization’s activities took place during daytime, there were still supposed to be guards patrolling to make sure nobody would try any funny business when most people were sleeping.

Naturally they questioned Dream about it.

“I told them to stay outside the doors for the day, who knows if the guards walking around disturb the spirits in this place.” Ani’s mouth turned into an o of realization, they didn’t even think about that.

“Now that you say it… Oh we’re here.” They both opened the ancient wooden doors at the same time with one hand, the other holding the flashlight and illuminating the path in front of them.

As expected, the place was completely silent save for the sound of old wood cracking somewhere.

“This place used to be the throne room.” Dream spoke after some time, walking in a straight line as his golden eyes stared holes into the device in his hands. “A tyrant used to reign over the universe here and had countless people killed in this place.” Ani cringed at his words, they were never going to be able to look at the cafeteria the same way ever again.

Dream sat down at a table, soon followed by Ani. The man set down the strange device on a table, oriented toward the wall and turned it on. It illuminated the wall with an apple green color.

“Do you want to begin now?” He eyed them with curiosity as they arched an eyebrow.

“Begin what?” Awkward silence.

“Well… The conversation? Am I missing something there?” Ani blinked before the meaning of Dream’s words was processed and they hit their head with their palm.

“Right, sorry it’s two am and I lost my brain cells. Is anybody with us tonight?”

A table was hit nearby and Ani gasped in excitement, irises seconds away from stars. “Dream, did you hear that? They answered us!” Before Dream could even think of answering, the dark-haired adult took his hand and proceeded to run toward the origin of the noise, dragging the winged man along with them.

Even if Dream was not a huge fan of ghost hunting, he thought that if he got to see them smile like that every time, he wouldn’t mind doing this forever.

#Dreamswap #fluff #dreamswap #ds dream #ship #dream #ani #drani #ds ani #dream x ani #ghost #ghost hunting

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bakudekuficlist · 2 years

Note

Do you have any post war arc bakudeku fics any fics surrounding that time upto the apology part in the manga ?

hi! this was a tad bit hard to find in terms of tags so I hope these fit what you were looking for!

Mini-List: Post-War/Apology Bakudeku

You're Not Allowed to Die - TargaryenJedii

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 4117 words | Teen / No Warnings Apply

Katsuki Bakugo is supposed to be the one who wins. He’s always been able to beat anything the universe throws at him, either with his quirk or with his wits. He’s supposed to be the best, the number one hero that’s stronger than All Might himself.

But he has no idea how this war is going to end. For the first time in his life, he has no idea how to beat this. He doesn’t know what the future will look like, or what will happen when Shigaraki and All For One are finally stopped for good.

And he doesn’t know if Izuku will still be by his side when the dust settles. ---- Or: Katsuki finally faces the possibility of what could happen. It leads to more than he was expecting

hold me till i feel better - leahistyping

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 3327 words | General / No Warnings Apply

katsuki had never felt like this before.

so many emotions were swarming through his head at once. he felt anger, frustration, sadness, and especially longing.

he never knew it’d hurt so much to be so izukuless. the damn nerd was always chasing after him, whether he wanted him to or not. but he was always there, even if katsuki pushed him away again and again.

(or, after izuku returns to UA, he gets a fever. but luckily for him, bakugou’s there to help him.)

Desperation - JuiceTricky

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 3824 words | Explicit / Creator Chose No Warnings

‘Now he’ll be out of commission for a week….’ ‘We’ll use this time to our advantage.’

All Might’s words were ringing in Katsuki’s ears, and the look on that shitty nerd’s face was replaying over and over in his mind. He knows. He knows Deku is going to go off on his own, self-sacrificing rampage again, and this time, he’ll make it impossible for anyone else to get caught up in it.

Katsuki takes a deep breath, closes his crimson eyes and convinces himself that it’s different this time. That if he doesn’t swallow his pride, and get it out, he will not see Izuku again.

Fuck, he might not anyway if the nerd has his way, but he can try.

Katsuki sits up, rubs his hand along the back of his neck and heads towards Izuku’s room. He knocks on the door, hoping it’s not too late.

All We Ever Knew - dynamics

Chapter(s): 2/2 | 5275 words | Teen / No Warnings Apply

He knows, deeply and intimately, that these hands have innocent blood spilled on them. They've scarred and they've been cruel and they've caused hurt beyond anything deserving of forgiveness. But these hands, as rough and calloused and war-torn and guilty as they are, can be gentle too.

Katsuki learns the true meaning of kindness and devotion.

Where Are You (and I'm So Sorry) - TargaryenJedii

Chapter(s): 2/2 | 7984 words | Teen / No Warnings Apply

When Midoriya leaves, he writes a letter to everyone in class 1A. While he’s gone, Bakugou decides to write a letter of his own.

And when Deku gets back, he's shocked to stumble onto a few folded up pages containing Kacchan's messy handwriting.

Setting Suns - TargaryenJedii

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 2094 words | General / No Warnings Apply

And it’s not until a few weeks later, when Kaminari stumbles into the common room rambling about another dumb idea, when they see Bakugo simply stare at him with a blank look on his face and nod absently every few minutes, that they finally see. They finally understand why the whole dorm feels like it’s been flipped upside down overnight.

Midoriya left UA, and he took Bakugo’s voice with him. —— [Manga spoilers! *mild swearing] Midoriya leaves UA. The rest of the class tries to keep Bakugo standing while he’s gone

break my fall - enisle

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 7338 words | Teen / No Warnings Apply

Bitterly, he thinks that perhaps cruelty is best served like this: with the world still spinning on its axis and the space beside him unoccupied. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it should be worse. Perhaps all this is simply retribution.

The aftermath, through Katsuki's eyes.

#bakudeku #bkdk #ktdk #katsudeku #bakudeku fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #bkdk fanfic #bkdk fanfiction

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one-sad-human · 3 years

Text

•Worth It• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Velvet Revolver era! Duff Mckagan x Younger! Reader

Requested? Nope!

Theme: Little bit of everything/???

Warnings: Language, panic attacks, anxiety references, drug references

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Fic 2 of 2! This is the longest fic yet! Took a different approach to writing this one, hopefully it payed off. Let me know if you guys liked it or if I wasted my time with this one lol.

You had met Duff in a coffee shop in LA. It was crowded and you were lucky enough to snag a chair before the lunch rush. Duff wasn't, and asked you if he could sit at your table.

You grew up with Guns n Roses, bought his solo album the day it came out when you were just 15, and now listened to Velvet Revolver faithfully. To see your idol, your celebrity crush stand right in front of you holding a cup of coffee and a scone sent you for a loop.

"Of course," you had said, starry eyed. You were only hoping he was as kind as the interviews made him out to be. Maybe have a conversation with you and be polite for a while before leaving and never seeing each you again. That would be good enough.

It didn't end with a coffee, it had just begun. He asked for your number, and you stared at him for a moment thinking you had imagined it. That was until he tilted his head a little and looked at you with a nervous expression. He backtracked and you immediately stopped him.

"No! I mean— yes! Yes, you can absolutely have my number." You scrambled for a pen and paper and ended up scratching your number on a receipt from the record store. You shook so hard you could barely get the numbers down.

Out of all the record store receipts you've stuffed into your bag, the one you gave Duff Mckagan had to be the one for when you bought Velvet Revolver's 'Contraband.' He didn't say anything, just smiled and promised to call.

You honestly didn't think he would've. You played it off as just him trying to be nice. It didn't stop you from answering every call you got for the next three days, however, even if you recognized the number as the tax collector you'd normally never answer.

But then he called.

"I tried calling sooner, but I kept calling the wrong number. You don't have the most eligible handwriting," he had told you. You laughed but really, you were in shock.

You set up a date at the fancy restaurant downtown that always intimidated you. You didn't say anything though, even though you knew you wouldn't want any of the overpriced food and you'd end up eating something you couldn't pronounce and was two portions too small. Maybe even hit up a fast food joint afterwards.

When the day finally came, you couldn't even figure out what to wear. You couldn't tell if you looked underdressed or like you were trying too hard. Did the clothes even fit the right way? What would Duff think? Would he even care?

All questions were answered when you left your house. Duff was leaning against his slick car parked in your driveway, a button up that was barely buttoned and dress pants with boots. He stared at you and you wanted a hole in the ground to shallow you up until he smiles.

"You look gorgeous," he said. You blushed and grinned, thanking him before saying that he looked great too. He drove you to the restaurant and on the way, you talked about music.

You shared some of your favorites, he adored how well rounded you were. You liked pretty much everything from punk rock to the mellowest of mellow. Duff mentioned some of his favorites, some you made sure to remember the names of so you can check them out.

When the ride was over and you finally got to the restaurant, your previous fears came back. Duff reassured you looked better than 90% of the people there and you knew it wasn't true but it made you feel better anyway.

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you saw the prices of the food. You knew it'd be pricey but you thought there'd be more options that stayed within two digit numbers.

Duff saw your panicked expression and said not to worry, he'd pay. It didn't settle your nerves enough and when the waiter came, you ordered the cheapest and simplest thing you could find.

"Chicken noodle soup?" He teased. You shyly looked down and shrugged. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Want me to be completely honest with you?" You nodded. "It's not mine either."

That's all it took for you and Duff to scramble sheepishly out of the restaurant. You both shared a laugh in the car and went to Burger King. It was much more your speed and, as you'd find out that night, Duff's too. You suppose all the money he's had since such a young age didn't completely change his ways. He was like a kid trapped in a 40 year old man's body.

You'd thought at first the age gap would feel strange, after all, you were 15 years younger than him. But after that night, it was barely noticeable. Funny looks from strangers every once in a while was nothing.

By the second date, Duff was already aware fancy spots weren't your forte. He told you it was a surprise and to wear something cozy, as LA nights got chilly.

He packed a picnic basket and drove you out to the most beautiful flower field you had ever seen at sunset. It was secluded and high up, giving a perfect view of the city skyline. After gawking and taking in the sights for a few moments, you regained your ability to speak.

"It's gorgeous. Pretty far from the city, did you take me here to kill me?" You joked. He laughed and rolled his eyes. His lighthearted laugh sent sparks straight to your heart, and you decided that it was your favorite sound.

You unfolded the blanket Duff brought and you both sat down. You ate the sandwiches and sliced fruit Duff packed and talked. You talked about everything, from your family to fears and insecurities.

You told him how you suffer from nightmares. Flashbacks from your broken childhood coming back to bite you in your sleep. Duff shared how he's suffered from panic attacks since he was a teenager. You felt you knew each other for years.

Neither of you felt weird for sharing and neither made the other insecure. You were completely open and honest with each other. It was strange, you've never connected to quickly and effortlessly with someone before. Sure, you've had men in your life, but never had you clicked with someone so fast, never had you fit with someone so perfectly.

Hours passed and it felt like minutes. Only did you realize how late and how exhausted you were when you saw most of the city buildings light have gone off for the night. The city that didn't sleep was dark.

"I should get you home," Duff said to you.

"Will you stay the night?" You felt a little silly for asking. Were things going too fast? Would he even want to stay over?

He agreed, and that's how your first night together went. You both stayed up even later and had more lighthearted conversations, unlike the ones that partook at the field. Like how one of Duff's first jobs was at a bakery and could bake a mean cake and how you can't cook to save your life.

You ended up waking up without remembering falling asleep. You're head was placed comfortably on Duff's lap while his head was lolled back against the couch cushion. He looked so serene and peaceful you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You made toast and somewhat successfully cooked some eggs and bacon. It might have been the first breakfast in years that didn't end with the smoke alarm going off.

Duff eventually wandered into the kitchen and you both ate. By the time he left, another date was already set up. He was like a drug an you were already hooked.

Months later and the addiction still wasn't kicked. You didn't want to, and Duff didn't seem to want you to quit either. You both soaked each other up like the sun on a warm day.

You had almost weekly dates and you stayed over each other's houses almost every other day. Duff did have his kids some days, though, so some days dates were cut short or Grace and Mae slept over his house and you wouldn't see each other.

You were always understanding, his kids came first and you'd never blame or get upset about it. It's something Duff admires about you, your never ending understanding and empathy for him.

One of those days where Duff stayed over at your house started normal. He cooked dinner and you washed the dishes, and then you put on an old Ramones concert you had on DVD.

You were laying on his chest, his fingers running through your hair when all of a sudden, he tensed up. He quickly stood and excused himself to the bathroom. You frowned but before you could think much of it, you heard a loud bang and something clatter to the ground.

You jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. You swung open the door because you were perfectly aware the lock hasn't worked since you moved in.

Duff was sitting on the floor, a pill bottle laying on its side not far from him. You quickly spot the name of the medication and identified it as your anti-anxiety pills. You shoved them aside and sat next to Duff.

He was sweating bullets and his skin felt cold and clammy, his breaths were labored and heartbeat was loud and pounding erratically. You coax him gently to take deep breaths, holding onto his hand tightly and talking quietly.

"I'm sorry, they come on randomly sometimes," he apologized after he'd called down, but you quickly shushed him. You reminded him of just how many nightmares he'd comforted you for and he stops feeling so bad about it.

It was always a true partnership with Duff. Never had you felt you gave or took too much, it was always equal. Always a two way street, with everything.

That wasn't the last panic attack you had to help him come down from. Later down the line you've gotten better at calming him down and learning his triggers, even though sometimes they really do come on suddenly without reason.

A year into the relationship was when you met Grace and Mae. They were young and didn't completely understand why their parents weren't together anymore, so it took them a while to warm up to you. Luckily, they eventually came around.

Duff and Susan met up regularly to discuss their kids and co-parent properly. And while you had all the reason to be jealous of your boyfriend with his ex wife, you never did. You had complete confidence in him, he was honest and loyal and you doubted he'd ever hurt you purposely.

That's why it destroyed you when he left you. Tears were shed from both parties as he gave his reasons for breaking up with you. His insecurities he tried his best to bury had come to light and nothing could change his mind.

You thought you were completely honest with each other, but you suppose his doubt in his relationship with you was the one thing he kept secret. He had somehow convinced himself you'd be better without him, between the constant touring and the baggage that came with him and his kids, he finally buckled under the weight and stress.

You had tried to convince him that he was worth it, but if Duff is one thing it's stubborn. The best relationship you'd ever have and the best year of your life went down the drain within the matter of one conversation.

You were down in the dumps for days. You barely left your bed and didn't ever leave your house. You were in a depression and couldn't get out. A few of your friends eventually found out what had happened and broke into your house and shoved you into the shower before taking you to your favorite Chinese restaurant.

You felt like a disaster. Your hair was ratted despite the shower and you refused to put real clothes on, instead wearing sweatpants and a shirt Duff had left behind. You were a mess.

The hole in the wall restaurant was never busy but always had the best food. You were almost happy your friends dragged you out of your home until you saw Duff sitting at a table, eating egg rolls and lo mein.

You've came here together all the time. The high sodium in the food always made him sick to his stomach and you'd always end up giving him nausea remedies and tea. He never changed his order though.

You locked eyes with him for a while. Dark bags were under his eyes and he looked more pale than usual. He looked as terrible as you felt. You weren't sure if you were spitefully glad he felt awful or if the despair on his face just made your heart break further.

When you couldn't take his intense jade stare anymore, you looked up at the menu. The next time you looked back he was gone, you weren't sure if he was really there at all or if you were finally losing your mind for good.

Another week crawled by. You got better enough to continue working. You had to pick up extra time for calling out for a few days after the breakup. You wouldn't say things were going well, but you weren't crying in bed every day all day anymore.

You had constant dreams about him. Some were nice, ones where he didn't leave and you were together, holding each other tightly. Most were nightmares, flashbacks of when he left. You didn't have him to comfort you anymore when you woke up soaked in sweat and tears, and that might've been the worst.

Another week went by, and you were starting to get back into the swing of things. You still thought about him, even silly little things reminded you of him. Like when you would catch a sniff of freshly baked sweets like he'd bake you or certain songs playing on the radio. It also didn't help that you ran into people wearing Guns n Roses shirts on the daily.

You also refused to get rid of anything he'd left behind. Tee shirts, guitar picks he left from when he'd play for you, or CDs from bands he introduced you to. Reminders of what you lost were scattered around your home but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

Suddenly, it's been a month. You weren't over him, but you had a feeling you'd never be completely. He was something special, you can't forget things as special as your relationship with Duff.

His items still weren't thrown out or returned, instead all packed in a box sitting in your closet. But you'd be lying if you said you would never reach into the box to grab a shirt to sleep in or a CD to listen to when you needed a reminder of the good times. You were making progress though.

You decided to leave your house one evening. You were feeling especially terrible and wanted to take a walk to clear your head. You went to the coffee shop you had first met Duff in. Maybe it was a mistake to go and get a flood of memories but you couldn't stop yourself.

You sat in a seat near the window and people watched, taking occasional sips of your drink. It was quiet except from the talk of the workers and the hum of the overhead speakers.

There was a sudden squeak of a chair of hardwood floors and it broke you out of your daze. You snapped your gaze up to meet the very familiar green eyes you've been trying to forget.

"Can we talk?" He asked, and you couldn't say 'no.' Duff sat across from you and started off by apologizing.

He said he wanted to talk to you sooner, but was too afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with him. You rolled your eyes at that, if only he knew just how much you missed him.

He then started from the beginning and explained why he made the decision to leave you. As it turns out, it was mostly because of stress. His bandmate Scott was having problems with drugs and the flashbacks from his GnR days frightened him. He was worried he would end up relapsing and he didn't want to drag you down with him.

Combine that with all the troubles that came with dating a single father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He felt too guilty.

It all seemed like ridiculous reasons to you. Even if he had made the mistake of falling off the wagon, you still would've stuck with him. And you didn't mind his kids at all, after nearly a year of knowing them and you were very close to them.

"I love you, Duff. I wouldn't have left you over that, I'd help you through anything. And I love Grace and Mae, too," you told him.

"I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with all that baggage." You frowned at that. You reached your hand across the table and grasped his, squeezing it tenderly.

"You're worth it."

After that day, you and Duff started seeing each other again. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe even better.

You were more transparent with each other. If one had a worry or problem, you'd go to the other. You talked everything through with him and he did the same. Even if it seemed insignificant, talking everything through never failed to make it better.

You were happier and healthier than ever before. Sure, there were a roadblock or two, but they only made the relationship even stronger, and you wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

#classic rock imagine #guns n’ roses #guns n’ roses x reader #guns n’ roses imagine #80s #duff mckagan fluff #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan #duff mckagan imagine

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dr3amofagame · 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

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lo-frequency · 3 years

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Hi could I request a denki x chubby reader headcannons please? Like someone said something offensive about their body and made them even more insecure? Thank you!

Aye, my first Denki request! It's funny I got this ask, since I have a multi-chapter, x chubby reader fic for him in works right now, so stay tuned for that ;) . Anyway, please enjoy your request, mention of insecurity under the cut!

-To be frank, Denki isn’t hard to please when it comes to potential partners- but that’s not to say that he’s desperate. Rather, you could say that he has a keen eye for beauty.

-So you really shouldn’t have been surprised when he slid up to your desk during break one day, eyes twinkling with their usual mischief and a little bit of something else. “Hey, Y/n,” he drawled, grinning as you looked up at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. To most people he was a total dork, but to you, those same golden eyes and corny pick up lines held an irresistible charm.

-It wasn’t long before you two became official.

-There was never a dull moment dating Denki. His spontaneity always left you guessing what he’d do next, and he always managed to surprise you with something sweet. “Y/nnn,” Denki whispers to you from his adjacent desk. You look up from your math worksheet to see him offering you a note from under his desk. You snatch it from him quickly when Ectoplasm isn’t looking. Upon opening it, you see in Denki’s slanted handwriting “Hey hot stuff, mind if I plug my solution into your equation ;) ?” and you tried to conceal your loud snort with a cough, but it was too late. “Kaminari Denki, Y/N L/N, I’ll see you both in detention.”

-Always bragging about you to other people. There wouldn’t be a single person in Class 1-A- no, the entire hero course, that wouldn’t know you two are a couple. Denki is determined to make y’all the ‘it’ couple of UA, as if calling you ‘babe’ and ‘cutie’ every chance he got wasn’t obnoxious enough.

-Enjoys making you flustered with his endless compliments, and wolf whistles whenever he sees you in your hero costume. Was definitely distracted the first day he saw you in it. He doesn’t even remember what happened at school that day, only you.

-Would feel you up at inappropriate times, thinking he’s being discreet when really everyone saw his hand grab your butt. Your little jump and giggle didn’t help either, and now everyone’s judging you both (as if they weren’t already).

-Acts like he’s better than Mineta now that he has an s/o, regularly flaunts it in his friend’s face and tries to give him relationship advice- and it’s still trash even tho he somehow managed to get you.

-Always wants to team up with you in class, but bc you two learn to work so well together, Aizawa begins to separate you to prevent any unfair advantages. Speaking of, he trusts you to take care of him when he goes into “yay, yay” mode.

-Despite how much fun you two have together, and how loved he makes you feel, lingering insecurities about your appearance still get the best of you sometimes. Especially with incidents like the one you experienced earlier that day. You were standing outside of Denki’s dorm room when you overheard him talking to Mineta inside.

- “Dude, you’re just jealous of how perfect our relationship is,” you hear your boyfriend say smugly from inside his room. You hear some garbled noise you assume is a snort from Mineta. “As if, I’d never go for someone like that! Only reason I’m still single is because I have high standards. You settled for less, man,” you hear Mineta’s nasally voice blubber out.

-You took in a sharp breath when you heard that, and you were about to turn and leave when you heard a choked yelp from inside the room.

- “Listen up you little incel creep, if I ever hear you talk about Y/n that way again, I’ll send so much electricity through you you won’t even know up from down,” you hear Denki say in a dangerous voice, along with some static pop sounds that were undoubtedly from his quirk. “You wish you had a partner as hot as mine. Now get outta here, Y/n will be here any minute,” Denki said in disgust.

-You jumped aside as the door burst open and Mineta rushed out, not even acknowledging that it was you standing there as he scurried away, complaining about “assault” or whatever.

-You waltzed into the room right after him, throwing yourself against a now flustered Denki with a sappy smile on your face.

-Let’s just say, you had fewer bad body image days after that incident💕

Thanks for tuning in! :)

#denki x reader #denki x chubby reader #bnha x chubby reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #kaminari denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size reader

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thestarsoutofyourwindow · 3 years

Text

To Survive this Pain, Part 1 - 11th Doctor x Reader

A/n: I'm not dead, I promise! I've just been struggling to finish off fics. If this seems slightly rushed it's because I just needed to finish something. It's exam season (it's extra-long now due to a certain virus), but they're over in a few weeks. I've been trying to stretch into writing for different Doctors, and in my new formats, but good old Eleven is easiest to write. Inbox is still open :)

Word Count: 2596

Summary: After the "death" of Amy and Rory, the Doctor is devastated. After deciding to isolate himself on a cloud, he leaves you with the Paternoster Gang till Strax informs you the Doctor wants to see you.

Warnings: Angst, Cold Doctor, Doctor is slightly ooc due to guilt, mild self-inflicted Injury, Bouts of Rage.

I should try to post part two as soon as possible.

This is my first ever Full Story (GIF isn't mine).

Your shoes splashed through puddles on the cobblestone road, on your way down to the park of which you knew he would be.

You hadn't heard from him in a short while now, but Jenny and Vastra frequently advising you to pay him a visit had been getting to you. That's why, when Strax brought you the news that the Doctor wanted to see you, you leapt at the opportunity.

You were worried, you'll admit. It was clear as day that losing Amy and Rory had him tearing himself to pieces. It was only a matter of time before he sent you off, too. Before he abandoned you.

Weaving around the quiet Victorian streets, the sun still yet to grace the sky, you had arrived at the park. Looking around the odd trees that decorated the perimeter, you picked out the tree that you knew had the elusive ladder directly above it. You stepped over the beds of wilting flowers that lined the pathways into the overgrown grass.

After completing the feat of reaching the ladders, consisting of either jumping or using your umbrella handle, you had successfully pulled the ladder down far enough to climb onto.

Making your way up the ice-cold rungs, you take a moment to consider why the Doctor called for you in the first place.

It made little sense to you. After all, the Doctor had been avoiding you for the better part of two months now; what had changed?

The Doctor planning on taking you home became all the more likely in your mind as you began to climb the spiral staircase, shivering as the late-autumn air nipped at your skin. Winter was slowly breaking through the remaining life.

If you weren't so hung up on adjusting to the less-than-ideal state of Victorian England, you would've had more time to worry about the Doctor. However, he was so hung up with his own issues, and you with yours, that he only crossed your mind when you were settling down for the night.

Of course, it hurt that you too. Never seeing Amy and Rory again. You did your best to hold onto the fact that they lived a happy life together.

A life that you knew could never have. You wish you could say goodbye to them, but you chose to carry the loss with you.

You were exhausted, it was safe to say. Spending your days helping out the Paternoster Gang with new cases that come in was certainly frustrating, especially when you had to avoid so much. Milk, green dyes, dodgy stairs, aliens and gas leaks. Nothing was safe in Victorian times.

Not that you didn't enjoy the company, mind you. Jenny always provided conversation, and paired with Vastra, there were plenty of investigations to be had. You just missed them all, sometimes.

The Doctor had become such a vital figure in your life that it didn't seem right for him to not be there. When you had both lost Donna, you were there for each other, and even then, he was a wreck. You had spent those first two months together, and you had never felt closer to someone before. At first, you couldn't admit it to yourself, but after six years, you knew that was when you started falling for him.

There was so much you didn't understand about him, yet so much he had begun to explain. You had seen and done so much together, places that surprised and scared the both of you. In distant worlds and ancient times, there lay so many memories that you had forgotten. Just another thing consumed by time.

A simple flip through your diaries would confirm that through all that, you admired him: mattering not which of his faces. You had accepted from the start that he was an unobtainable desire, no matter how you looked at it.

He was old, alien and a danger-magnet. Many considered the Doctor to be a God.

It upset you to know that the Doctor could never love you, not in the way you love him. Not in the way that he had shown you what love could be, what it should be. But that was what you had to expect from the Doctor.

You assumed that consistently losing those he loved must hurt immensely. You also imagine losing someone he could spend the rest of his lives with would leave another unfixable hole in his heart.

So it made sense to you that the Doctor would never willingly fall for a human. Your short life-spans and weak bodies meant that so much as a single bullet could rob you of your life.

The thought of what a state he must've been in at that very moment was disturbing, to say the least. You had seen the Doctor angry before, and it was not an easy sight.

His heart held so much pain, so much guilt.

After what felt like a good three minutes, you stepped off the staircase. Your shoes now emerged in a cloud, which could somehow keep you from plummeting into the streets below. You felt surprisingly light, almost like you were standing in a pit of feathers, yet some odd force kept you from losing your balance. Plucking your key out of your pocket, you press your hand against the door of the TARDIS. You unlock the door, pulling the key from the lock and stepping into the Console room.

You called out for him. After listening for a moment, you concluded that the Doctor must've been elsewhere.

The TARDIS was a glum sight. Most of the orange lights were dimmed: if functioning at all. A few even had fist-holes in them. There were what looked like hundreds of books cluttering the console, all of varying topics: The Time War, Time Lord Psychology, the History of the Universe, Earth History, Greatest War Losses. Some had bookmarks; others he had clearly tabbed.

Paper littered the glass flooring, each scribbled in several handwritings. They all clearly varied in ages and sizes, some a muddy brown, others a vivid white. Quite a lot were in small clusters of pages, as though they were ripped from a book. You picked up one of the sheets to inspect closer, and your heart nearly broke.

Each page had a sort of date in the corner, which you quickly realised must've been an approximation of the Doctor's age at the time. They were diary entries, ripped out and thrown in what you assumed to be a fit of rage.

The Doctors' tweed jacket had slipped off the console and onto the floor. The contents of his pockets spilt out onto the floor.

You leant to pick it up, grimacing at just how much he was carrying around. Throwing the jacket over the railing, you avoided stepping on any more pieces of paper.

"Tidy some of this, will you?" You addressed the TARDIS, a hand on the edge of the controls, "I'll go talk to him, where is he?" The TARDIS clicked and hummed in response, showing you a blueprint on the monitor, "The Library? Okay then."

Darting out of the Console Room, you attempt to discover the library as soon as possible. You vaguely remembered the three places the library is most likely to crop up. You went from there. Fortunately for you, you didn't have to go far before the library appeared.

You had always felt as though the library was too empty. Four stories of shelves filled with books, all visible from the ground floor, the rows of shelves created a sort of maze of titles and colours. The Doctor must've owned every single book in the galaxy, judging by the sheer size. Not to mention the several dozen or so empty seats. The library could easily hold thousands of people at once, yet there is rarely ever so much as a whisper.

You had a fair clue as to why the Doctor would be hiding away in there.

There the Doctor was, turned away from the door, in an intricately decorated armchair. You could just about make out the top of his head. You loomed behind him awkwardly, unsure or not if he was aware of your presence.

"Doctor?" You faltered. His head perked up slightly, and the Doctor strained out a hum. He stood up, his arms tiredly hanging at his sides after he stretched. It checked out with your fit of rage theory. The Doctor walked up to you, and you only then noticed how fraught he was.

His expression was tired, eyes sunken and lips pressed into a thin line. His shirt was unkempt: the sleeves were torn slightly. It also appeared burnt or covered in dust. His hands were covered in dust too.

However, you noticed that his right hand had quite a few cuts and gashes, which all seeped out orange-tinted blood.

His greenish-brown eyes search yours for a moment as a tear rolls down his cheek. He inhales deeply, nodding to himself.

"Look, I..." The Doctor paused, again glancing over into your eyes, "I'm sorry- I can't, I can't do this," He took in a trembling gasp for air, "I don't want to, but I can't keep doing this. I'm sick of it. I can't keep losing people. I'm so sick of saving the universe." Unsure of what to you, you reach a hand out to the Doctors. He puts a hand on top of yours, keeping the other, bloodier fist at his side. You brush your thumb over his knuckles, his hand hot against yours. The Doctor continues, "Everyone, everyone who travels with me leaves, or dies, and I'm always alone again. Alone and in pain. I can't keep doing this..."

Smiling sadly, you nod, "I understand," You looked back up at the Doctor, "If you called me here to convince me to go home-"

"Take you home?" The Doctor's voice cracked, "I could never. That'd be just as bad as losing you. I need you."

Oh, the Doctor have his way of making you feel important at the worst moments. Your insides bubbled giddily, but you refused to show it. Instead, you ignored it to the best of your ability; what he was saying was important.

Your attention had fallen back down to his hand, and it looked considerably worse than you initially thought. Pieces of glass dug into his knuckles, the skin seeming gnarled by the force of the oncoming storm, "Doctor, your hand,"

"It's fine." The Doctor seethed, staring numbly at you, "I'm not human, it's not going to kill me."

You wanted to protest. However, given the Doctor's already fragile temperament, you weren't going to push it. Instead, after an instant of silence, you asked a simple question, "How have you been, then?"

The Doctor blinked, giving an answer careful thought. He had an earnest grimace as he finally spoke, "Furious."

"I can see, that" You hum, putting equal thought into how you should approach your response, "What do you think you're going to do, now?"

"Stay here. I'm not getting involved anymore." The Doctor spat, pulling his hand away from yours, turning to sit down, "I don't want to care."

"That's fair enough." You reassure. You didn't like the sound of the Doctor retiring too much, but you respected his choice. If he didn't want to save the world, he doesn't have to. You hoped that, in his chosen conditions, he would heal.

You vowed to yourself at that moment that you'd do everything you could to help him. Starting with his physical injuries.

You heard the armchair squeak softly as the Doctor flopped back against it, picking up a book from the coffee table and beginning to read. You headed back over to the door and grabbed the small medkit from the bracket on the wall. You paced back to the Doctor, pulling a pouffe from a few feet away to sit on. The Doctor glared daggers at you, exhaling sharply and holding his arm out in your general direction. You thanked him meekly, beginning to remove the sharp, reinforced glass shards from his knuckles.

If you were new to travelling with the Doctor, you thought that seeing this might hurt you more. However, six years of travelling was more than enough for the two of you to be used to this sort of treatment. He never seemed to care much about his physical health, more about yours. That often ended up in you worrying about the Doctor, not that you minded. You supposed it worked out, as you both fussed over each other. If the Doctor's previous face saw how he was acting, you were sure he'd have a fit. Not that he mattered, as he was still a part of the man in front of you.

You could tell by the downtrodden way he pretended to read his book, staring a hole through it, that something was bothering him.

"Are you scared of me?" The Doctor halted, voice brittle. He had taken note of how delicate you were and had drawn it up to a fear that the Doctor would lash out at you.

"No," You shushed, focusing on removing the glass from his hands.

"You don't sound sure,"

"I am." You reassured bluntly, "I'm just being careful. I don't want to hurt you more."

"I'm not hurt! You don't need to fuss over me,"

You lifted your eyebrows slightly, "There's nothing wrong with feeling, Doctor. As you said yourself, feelings enhance life." The Doctor exhaled petulantly, eyes back on his book. "But not even you can be in pain forever."

"What is my alternative?" The Doctor strangled out, "I forget? I do something selfish?"

You grimace as you remove the last small shard from his pinky. You take out a clean cloth and some water, dampening the rag as you speak, "You're forced to survive this pain, this guilt, but you will grow from it. You make mistakes so that you learn from them."

You gently clear the blood from his hands and start to apply mild pressure to the deeper wounds. The two of you continued in silence, the Doctor only occasionally removing his hand to turn the page.

He was such a different person to the goofball front you were used to. He was melancholic. However, you would see a small amount of your Doctor bubbling to the surface. He would occasionally chuckle at the book he was reading or draw circles on your palm as you held his hand still. It provided you with enough comfort to know that you weren't wasting your time.

You finished up your last-minute medical care with a bandage around his hand. You closed the medkit.

"Alright, I'm just going to go restock this, then I'll go tidy up the paper in the console room,"

"Oh- right that... Must've been a mess. I'm sorry,"

"It's okay." You smiled pleasantly, "Come find me if you need me, okay? I won't be far,"

The Doctor caught your hand in his, just as you were about to leave, he tugged at your arm. You leant down, and the Doctor pressed a short kiss to your cheek. You countered with a kiss of your own on the middle of his forehead. Just like you used to, back with his previous incarnation.

As you wandered off, you were oblivious as to what that gesture meant. Was it a thank you? Another apology? Was it even platonic?

From behind you, you swore that he said something you thought you'd never hear the Doctor say.

#eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #angst #part 1 #crying #slight fluff

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 3 years

Text

I'm Yours

Pairing: Kirishima x reader

Warnings: There's kissing. A lot of kissing. Just some teenagers being dumb really. No canon characters were harmed in the making of this fic. I didn't include a cheating aspect since I don't write for that kind of stuff, but there's still some jealous!Kirishima here >:3

Author's Note:

Uhhhh I kinda forgot to make this fluffy . . . .

Thanks to uwuwuwuwuwuwuwuwuwi from Wattpad for requesting! (that's a really fun username hehe)

Enjoy!

-Sugar

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Swamped.

That was the only way he could describe it. Kirishima didn’t think he’d ever been so busy, and he wasn’t the only one.

Finals had the entirety of the hero course stressed, especially the second-years like himself. Between training, doing homework, and going to class, there wasn’t exactly room for being social. Any time he was able to hang out with his friends, they were studying together. Nothing he'd really describe as 'fun'. And that’s what had him feeling the worst about all this.

He’d started dating you a few weeks ago—going on three months now, actually. Things had been going well between the two of you. You liked him and he really liked you, so to him, there hadn't been any type of problem.

Even so, there was something a little unique about your relationship: no one knew about it. You yourself were never one for letting others get too involved in your business. And besides, you also knew the nature of most high school relationships. Maybe you’d announce yourselves as a couple and make a big fuss only to grow tired of the other and end it all within the first month. But clearly, that hadn’t happened.

There was a strange thrill to keeping your relationship a secret; a novelty your boyfriend hadn't expected. Though he wasn’t much for dishonesty, Kirishima practically lived for the stolen glances across the classroom you’d share, and the way he’d sneak you behind the school for impromptu makeout sessions with no one ever the wiser. You were his little secret, and he was yours.

Until it had all come to a grinding halt with the extra schoolwork.

He still tried to make time to spend with you in one of your dorm rooms, but the both of you finally had to admit to yourselves that neither of you could get any work or studying done when you were alone together. And so it was back to study groups; holding hands under the table as either Bakugou or Yaoyorozu went over the newest batch of hero laws that needed to be memorized.

God, how he wished this could all be over. Kirishima just wanted things to be normal again. When was the last time he’d even seen you? He could remember watching the back of your head duck out of the classroom at the end of the day, but after? . . . Nothing.

He frowned at the physics worksheet laid before him, mind wandering to thoughts of you as one of his sharp teeth sunk into the eraser at the end of his pencil. Kirishima supposed he should go check on you later, once he’d finished up his assignments for the evening.

…

“Did you see (L/N) yesterday?”

Kirishima’s ears unconsciously perked up at the sound of your name. He stood with his tray in the lunch line directly behind some of his female classmates. They were chatting amongst themselves as they slowly stepped forward. Kirishima wasn’t generally one to listen in on conversations he wasn’t a part of, but now they’d captured his interest. Had one of them seen him sneaking into your room?

“No, I didn’t,” Uraraka said in response to Ashido. “Is she alright?”

“Of course she is,” the pink-haired girl said, rolling her abnormal black and amber eyes as she reached for a clementine. “Actually, she may be doing more than alright.”

Kirishima swallowed. Uh-oh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jirou asked, sounding largely uninterested in gossiping about her fellow classmate.

“Well,” Ashido began, bouncing a little on her toes, “I saw her on the tech floor yesterday and you won’t believe who she was talking to.”

“Who?” Jirou asked dryly, probably hoping to get the discussion over with as quickly as possible.

“Kobayashi Tatsuo. The third year,” Mina announced proudly.

The redhead behind them quietly sighed. Thank goodness. They still didn't know.

“And?” Uraraka questioned.

“They were totally flirting!” Ashido said. “(L/N)’s bagged a cute upperclassman boy! They’ll be dating soon, I just know it! If they aren’t already.” She smugly leveled her shoulders, grinning with an odd look of satisfaction.

What?

“I guess that’s good for her,” Jirou commented, picking up her tray from the lunch bar in order to follow her friends to a table.

“I know, right?” Mina said excitedly as they walked off. “And he’s totally cute too! I wish a hot guy would pay attention to me for once.”

Kirishima watched them leave, almost forgetting to grab lunch for himself after being so absorbed in what they were saying.

The majority of him knew he shouldn’t pay any mind to it. This sort of thing was bound to happen. Of course his peers try to figure out who was involved with who, even if it wasn’t really accurate or from the most credible source. The girls didn’t know that you were already taken by someone else, in fact, the very person behind them in line.

At least now he knew where you’d gone after class yesterday . . . but why? What were you doing on the tech floor? And who was this third year you were talking to?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Kaminari’s voice. Kirishima returned the greeting, sliding into his seat next to his friend. As he settled into the atmosphere of his usual table, he couldn’t help but scan the cafeteria for your face, just as he had done every day, even before you were dating.

But for the first time, his search came up empty. You were nowhere to be seen.

…

Kobayashi wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to be spending your lunch with.

Really, a part of you wondered why you had to skip going to the cafeteria at all today. But then you remembered the stack of work that sat on your desk. It stubbornly refused to ever shrink, no matter what you did. Recently, it felt like as soon as you got one thing done, two more assignments would find their way right back at the bottom. And this was just another one you had to deal with.

While reviewing your materials for your upcoming finals, you’d begun to take note of other heroes’ costumes and support items. Particularly, you’d taken interest in a hero from Ukraine who’d debuted a few decades ago. Your quirk was wildly similar to his and you couldn’t help but further research his techniques, costume, and gadgets that enhanced his abilities.

You weren’t one to copy. Actually, you quite liked the way your current costume functioned and looked, with its own unique style of your own. Even so, you’d read things about him and his quirk that you honestly hadn’t even thought of for yourself, and you’d begun to make a special section in your notebook for improvements to your hero ensemble. Was it the best use of your time? Perhaps not, but you did have a practical exam coming up, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if these improvements you were sketching might make all the difference in your performance . . . .

You decided you could use an upgrade. Which is exactly why you went to the second-year in the support course who was in charge of making adjustments to your costume. Until your hopes were immediately dashed when you found out he was sick. Determined, you went to the next best option: Kobayashi.

He was a nice enough boy. Tall, witty, and a whole year older. You hadn’t expected to be spending so much time with him over the past week, but for whatever reason, he kept calling you back to his workspace in the shop for ‘daily check-ins’. At least he was making good progress.

But now you were spending your lunch hour eating with him. It felt strange, being alone in a different classroom with the guy—not an uncomfortable strange, merely “I’m not used to being here”. You’d let him borrow your notebook full of sketches for your costume, and that’s what he was going over with you now.

He’d ask you for clarification on one of your notes before jotting something down of his own right next to your handwriting. He had also been eager to show you his process, explaining the steps of what he was doing while you ate from your bento.

To be honest, it was kind of nice being in a different setting. Kobayashi was fun to listen to; it was clear he was passionate about what he was doing.

But still, he ran out of things to talk about. That was, when it came to your hero suit. Figuring it was too late to go back to the cafeteria anyway, he ate his own lunch with you, striking up a new conversation.

At first, you didn’t pay any mind to it. But then you began to take notice of how close he sat. Then you realized how eager he was to make you laugh, how smoothly the casual chatter flowed between you. And then it struck you just how much he peppered in compliments to you. Finally, it clicked.

Uh-oh.

You refused to meet his gaze when he waved you off after the bell rang. Dashing away, you wondered how serious he might be. Did he actually like you? No, perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

Then again, he had been being awfully nice to you ever since you’d met. But what if that was just how he was? Kaminari could be like that at times, and you knew he didn’t usually mean anything too serious behind it. Or—well—perhaps Denki the Flirt was a bad example for your case. Still . . . how were you supposed to make it clear to Kobayashi that you weren’t interested?

You shook your head to clear it of these thoughts. He hadn’t actually done anything, so what was the point of worrying about it? You were loyal to Eijirou, you knew that. You’d made a commitment to him just as he had to you, and that was all there was to it. No matter what, you’d continue whatever it was you had with him. Kobayashi wasn’t an issue you should be losing sleep over. Besides, you were probably reading too far into things anyway.

Content with the conclusions you’d made, you walked back into your homeroom class for fifth period. Settling into your seat, you faced the chalkboard in front of you, awaiting the return of Aizawa-sensei, unaware of the pair of ruby eyes fixed on your back.

…

Kirishima shot up from his desk the moment he heard a soft knock on his door. As soon as he opened up his room, you came barreling into his arms. “Hey!” he greeted you, reciprocating the hug.

“Study break!” you announced quietly, not wanting to alert his neighbors of your presence.

He tittered happily to himself, leading your bodies back to his desk where he could sit you on his lap in his chair. Settling comfortably on his thighs, you were quick to slot your lips against his. Kirishima melted into your touch.

How many days had it been since he’d last gotten a chance to kiss you? Two? Three? Either way, it had been far too long.

“Shall we take this to the bed?” he joked after a few minutes of kissing.

You chuckled at his harmless allusion. “You know I’m going to fall asleep as soon as I lay down.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, concern morphing his features. “Have you been getting enough rest with all this going on?”

“No,” you admitted. “I was up last night with my English flashcards. I swear Present Mic is trying to kill me with this new vocab, it’s like I can’t get it in my head at all.”

“I could help you study it,” your boyfriend offered, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“That would be productive,” you said sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. “What was it last time? ‘If I get a set right, I’ll get a kiss’ and then next thing I know, we’re making out on your bed for twenty minutes.”

He grinned up at you coyly. “At least I made studying fun.”

“That wasn’t studying!” you protested with a grin. “Speaking of, my timer’s going to go off soon—” you pressed your lips against his for a moment, “—and I want more kisses.”

Kirishima let you have your way with him, threading your fingers through his hair while you savored the taste of his lips. But there was something still nagging at the back of his mind.

“(Y/N)?” he asked when your phone buzzed and you pulled away. “Where were you during lunch today?”

You shrugged, pulling your phone out of your pocket to silence it. “I’m getting improvements on my hero costume. My regular guy got sick so I’m working with this third-year dude.”

“Ohhh.” Kirishima’s worries dissipated almost instantly. “So that’s why you were on the tech floor.”

Confused, you frowned. “Did you see me there or something?”

“Oh, sorry! I just overheard Ashido saying that she saw you down there.” He laughed. “She thought you were flirting with him or something and that you were going to end up dating.”

“Ah, well,” you mumbled, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or not but he, um, actually might have been flirting with me.”

Kirishima’s smile dropped, his arms subconsciously squeezing you tighter to him. “What?”

“I only noticed it today—it totally could be nothing—but I think he’s caught feelings? I mean, why else would he ask me to have lunch with him like this? Not to mention how he was smiling at me, and looking at me, and touching my hand—” You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from saying anything else. Maybe this was more serious than you realized.

Your boyfriend was silent, staring at the floor below you with a troubled expression. His ruby eyes traced over the rectangular patterns on his floor, seemingly lost in thought.

“You know that nothing’s going to happen,” you attempted to reassure him, lifting his chin with one of your fingers so he could look into your eyes. “Those feelings aren’t reciprocated and I’m not going anywhere. I’ve already picked you, Eijirou. There’s no one out there like you.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, sealing your statements, not only to him but to yourself. “We’ll sort this out. If I have to tell Kobayashi I’m taken, then so be it. Maybe keeping our relationship a secret isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”

When you pulled back, you noticed that there was still a pout on Eijirou’s face.

“Aw, what is it?” you asked, tucking one of his fallen sticky spikes back under his bandana.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, pulling you even closer to him.

“Talk to me, baby.” You ran a hand down his back.

“I don’t like the thought of him being around you,” he confessed into your shoulder. “I . . . don’t want him smiling at you like that, or touching you, or letting people think that you belong with him. You’re . . . mine.” He paused before laughing dryly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry. That sounded . . . totally selfish of me and probably not very manly at all—”

“No,” you said simply. “It’s actually kinda hot.”

He pulled back to look at you, perhaps to see if you were joking. Your expression was intrigued, maybe a little flustered. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed. “I . . . like when you call me yours. It’s cute. And besides, it’s okay that you feel that way. Feelings don’t have to make sense. I'm frustrated about this too.” Pecking his lips a final few times, you regretfully stood from his chair. “I wish there was something more I could do right now, but I should get going. I promised Tsu and Uraraka I’d meet up with them. We can talk about this later.”

“See you, (Y/N),” Kirishima said.

You smiled and waved, turning to the door and checking to see if anyone was in the hall before slipping back out. Kirishima watched you go, wondering what he should do.

Kirishima hadn’t even met the guy and he already hated him. Sure, Kobayashi wasn’t aware you were taken, and he had every right to show interest in you, but that was supposed to be Eijirou. It was Kirishima’s job to flirt with you and be there for you and sweep you off your feet. Your classmates should be shipping you with him, not this random guy from another year.

The redhead sighed. He shouldn’t let himself get so caught up in this. He knew you were capable of sorting this out on your own, and if you really needed him, Kirishima would help you. He couldn’t start getting whiny like some kind of child.

Besides, your friends could think whatever they wanted. It couldn’t affect your relationship. They were just high school kids. They didn’t even know what they were talking about.

Despite the fact he was trying to get back into focusing on his work, Kirishima’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Maybe once exams were over you could finally announce that the two of you were together. Then you wouldn’t have to sneak around so much anymore. He could hug you whenever he wanted, and you could sit on his lap during movie night. He’d be able to kiss you in front of his friends, no problem. Maybe, just to see the look on his face, he’d kiss you in front of—

No, no. Japanese Literature. That was what he was supposed to be thinking about right now. The sooner he finished his work, the sooner he’d be able to see you again.

…

Finally it was Saturday afternoon, and you knew you had an entire day to take things a little easier tomorrow. Maybe you’d even try to take the evening off and spend some time with your boyfriend. But of course, you had to meet with Kobayashi about your hero costume first. Hopefully it would be quick, and perhaps even the last time.

You walked down to the tech floor, heading straight for the workshop. You needed your suit for the practical exam next week, so you hoped he was ready for you.

Peeking into the room, you spotted him putting something into a very familiar case.

“Oh, are you finished?” you asked, walking in.

“Yeah,” he said brightly. “You’re all set, (L/N).”

“Thanks,” you said.

“Here,” he popped the little box open, showing off the finalized improvements he’d done and the changes he’d made that you’d spoken about together. He walked you through everything and you listened politely, asking the occasional question. Even with the newfound bitter taste in your mouth at being around him, you had to admit he'd done a spectacular job.

“That should be everything,” you said, ready to go. “Thanks for working with me.”

“No problem.”

Satisfied, you began to walk away.

“Wait, (L/N).”

Apprehensive, you stopped, turning back to him. “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering,” he began, bashful, “if you’d like to grab lunch with me sometime.”

You frowned, apologetic. “I can’t, Kobayashi senpai.”

“Why not?” He looked hurt.

You winced. “I’m already involved with someone else.”

“You’re just ‘involved’?” he asked dubiously, the expression on his face changing. “Please give me a chance. I can see that you feel something for me too. Whoever you’re with, I could be better.”

“I’m not interested,” you said firmly, any momentary sympathy you might have felt evaporating. “Goodbye, Kobayashi.”

He let you go, watching as you walked stiffly out of the classroom. As soon as you rounded the doorway, you felt something grab you. Gasping, you startled, but you were quick to register a familiar head of red hair. You saw Kirishima put a finger to his lips, pulling you further down the hall and towards the empty stairwell for some privacy.

He pushed you up against a blue-gray wall, grinning at you with hooded eyes.

“Eiji, what—?”

“I heard the whole thing,” he murmured, leaning in and capturing your lips for a quick kiss. “I thought that guy might make a move on you so I followed you down here. You held your own.” He kissed you again; this one longer, his tongue sneaking its way into your mouth. “You’re really mine, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, a stubborn trace of hesitancy still present and quavering in his voice.

“Of course I am, Eiji,” you whispered, touching your forehead to his. “I’m yours.”

He surged against you again, kissing you hungrily and pinning you even harder against the solid surface behind you.

You gasped against his force, eyebrows drawing together as you struggled to keep up. “Ei—” you tried. “Not here, let’s go someplace else.”

“Who cares?” he murmured, uninterested in stopping.

“Me. I don’t want to get caught by a teacher or a random fifteen-year-old. We could get in trouble.”

Kirishima sighed, finally drawing back for a moment to meet your eyes. “Okay, fine. But we’re going straight to my room, right?”

You snorted. “Where else do you think I want to be?”

He smirked, taking your hand again. “Good answer.”

Kirishima briskly walked you back to the dorms, his hand migrating ever lower down your back. It wasn’t long before he was sitting you on his lap in his bed, mouth once again connecting with yours right where it belonged.

You weren’t sure he’d ever kissed you like this before, in all the time you’d been together. His passion blazed before you, unrelenting as your teeth and tongues crashed together. He nipped at your lips until they flushed and swelled, and you knew they’d be noticeably bruised by morning but neither of you stopped. He kept going, trailing more kisses from the corner of your mouth, to your jaw, and all the way down your neck only to return right back to your parted lips whispering his name.

Kirishima’s room had never felt so hot and stuffy, even as he pulled off his uniform jacket and helped you out of yours. His cheeks burned red as his eyes, so caught up in what he was doing, the only thoughts his mind was still capable of having were simply You.

It went by in a haze. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d lowered you onto his pillow, or how long he’d been hovering over you and caging you in with his arms as he cherished you.

But he knew one thing. His love for you wasn’t something he could hide anymore. No, he’d never let anyone think they stood a chance with you again while he was around.

One day soon, he would kiss you good morning at breakfast. One day, you’d hold hands in the halls on the way to class. One day, he’d pull you in close after school, slinging an arm around your hips just so he always knew you were there at his side.

But he was happy to be here with you now. He was happy to be your secret. He was happy, even as his kisses began to soften and slow, content with the way your body melded against his as he laid himself at your side and hugged you closer. All that mattered was that you were here with him now, and he was yours.

And you were his.

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