#boy they were right that existence sure can fucking prison

[daincrediblegg]

don't you just love when you have been absolutely gagging to write your fanfic and to have some free time to do some serious progress but when you finally have a fucking day off you can't write fuck all? 🙃🙃🙃

#boy they were right that existence sure can fucking prison #this madness has to end like just let me write about my babygirl. why can't you let me do that? I had FOUR HOURS TODAY #and ALL I WANNA DO is TAKE a NAP

[arizcross]

Summoning the High King

“Are you sure it’s the only way, Zatanna?” A worried John asks from his seat at the round table inside the meeting room of the Justice League’s satellite watchtower.

The wall-like window that faces the open space in front of them allowing them to see numerous space ships ready to invade Earth right outside. Usually, JLD does not meddle with space but this time the weekly random evil alien dictator decided to also use fucking ancient magic from who-knows-fucking-where to strengthen their troops! So, now Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Zatanna and John have to find a way to fight back, and Zatanna did find a way to fightback, well, little Timmy Hunter did, but hot hell he wished the kid didn’t.

“According to Timothy, it’s the only way.” Zatanna answers.

“Ugh, great, just what I needed.” John complains as he ruffles his hair in frustration. “Another eldritch abomination to own a favor to.”

“How fast can you summon this High King of the Infinite Realms?” Batman questions.

“Timothy is looking for the summoning’s ingredients, as soon as he arrives, we will begin the summoning.” Zatanna responds.

“Where in bloody-dammed-hell did the kid found the book to summon the gods-forsaken-King of the Infinite Realms?!” John exclaims as he lights another cigarette between his lips.

“Apparently the Queene herself gave it to him.” Zatanna informs. “It seems that the book our weekly villain used to magically strengthen his army is one of a set of three.”

“Where is the third one?” Superman asks.

Zatanna shakes her head in negation as she answers. “According to what Timothy told me, these books were separated thousand of years ago to keep them away from the wrong hands. The first tome was thrown to the void of space inside a prison of perpetual ice, or at least what they thought was perpetual ice, the second one was given to the fae, for they were of the few that comprehended the dangers of using these books, and the third one was given to the Ancients.”

“The Ancients?” Batman questions. Where have I heard that before?

“Embodiments of the very same concepts that give form to all of reality, like Destiny, Death, Time, Hope, the rulers and guardians of these very same concepts.” John is the one who answers this time. He is looking at the ceiling as he gives a drag to his cig, then he slowly exhales the smoke and continues. “The OG primordials, older than any god or known divinity in this modern times.”

“I have heard stories.” Wonder Woman interjects. “It is said that even Uranus, and later Chronos, had to pay his respects to a being known as the Master of all Time, and that Pandora was not what the old tales say.”

“Correct.” John nods from his seat, too tired to give any more shits until the start of the summoning.

“And we are going to summon something that even those Ancients think it’s dangerous?” Superman asks.

“Bullocks, right?” John responds with a manic, sarcastic smile.

It is in that moment that the mechanic sliding door opens up, allowing Flash to walk into the room.

“So, uhm, there’s this Harry Potter look alike that just popped up into existence in the lobby looking for Zatanna?” Flash informs as he points behind himself with his thumbs.

“That’s our boy.” John says as he stands up and starts walking towards the only physical door in the room, the other occupants of the room following him.

When they arrive to the lobby there is a young man with messy pitch-black hair and equally black eyes, he is wearing a black turtle neck, a burgundy sweater over that, black jeans and black sneakers, on his left shoulder is hooked al old military green backpack.

“Timothy.” Zatanna calls before giving him a hug.

“Zatanna, so good to see you.” He says as he returns the hug. “Constantine.” The young man directs to the only blonde in the room.

“Timmy.” John nods in acknowledgement.

“Welcome to the Watchtower, Timothy Hunter.” Wonder Woman greets.

“Thank you for helping us.” Superman adds.

“Well, when it comes to weird, ancient magic, I’m your guy.” Timothy says as he shakes hands with each of the big three.

“So, Timmy, what’s in the bag?” Jonh asks as he eyes Timothy’s backpack, knowing very well that whatever is inside will be for the summoning.

“Actually, I’ll just show you guys because you’re not going to believe it.” Timothy says as he proceeds to open his backpack and proceeds to take out the summoning ingredients and make them float in front of everyone.

A red apple, the crunchy kind, a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich, a black coffee, hot, and a granola bar with choco-chips.

“Why are you showing us your breakfast?” John asks with bewilderment.

“That’s the thing!” Timothy exclaims back as he also pulls out from his backpack an ominous looking, glowing, Lazarus green book. “This is what the book says it’s necessary to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms!” He adds as he opens the book in the page with the instructions for the summoning. “Take a look yourself!”

And Constantine does. John snatches away the book from the younger’s grasp and starts to read the list of ingredients.

1 Red Apple, the crunchy kind.

A sandwich, any sandwich, but if you can get turkey and Swiss cheese, that would be the best.

A granola bar with choco-chips, no coconut.

1 large black coffee, piping hot, four shots of espresso and ten of sugar.

“Bloody fuck?!”

“I know, right?! And when I asked mother what was that about, she only giggled her little giggle and said: The king surely is an amusing one.” Timothy says with fake, high-pitched voice.

“You know? The fact that the Queen of Tír na nÓg herself thinks that the being we are about to summon is amusing just makes it sound even more ominous to me.” Zatanna says as she takes the book from Constantine’s hands and reads the list of ingredients as well.

Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash are looking at the three sorcerers with curiosity while Batman is looking at the ingredients for the summoning with interest.

“Whatever! Let’s wrap this mess up so I can fuck off away!” John huffs as he starts to walk away towards the conference room where they were going to perform the summoning.

The conference room is empty and the chairs and table were moved away to give enough space to perform the summoning and to not get hit by stray, flying furniture. The glass-wall still showing the magically mutated alien troops waiting out in open space for orders to invade the Earth.

John, Zatanna and Timothy are drawing the summoning circle on the floor with some chalk when Flash, who tagged along to see cool witchcraft, asks:

“One question, why do we need this specific dude to fight back?”

“The spell used to magically mutate these aliens is very specific.” Zatanna starts to explain. “To begin with, its base is ecto-energetic, ergo, what we need to deal with our current problem is obviously to summon the one who rules over all ecto-based things and beings.”

“Ecto…?” Flash mumbles in confusion.

“The thing ghosts are made of.” Batman helpfully adds, which gains him the attention of all the occupants in the room.

“Since when do you know about ghost stuff?” Superman asks.

“There is one in Gotham.” Batman adds.

“There is a ghost in Gotham?!” Superman exclaims.

“And when were you going to tell us?” Wonder Woman inquires.

“I have it under control.” Batman continues. “He is not a hostile.”

“Why is there an active ghost in Gotham?” Timothy questions.

“He is investigating the curse over the city.” Batman answers.

“Ha-ha! Poor bastard.” John laughs at the thought of the poor ghost dealing with that curse. The curse over Gotham is thicker and dirtier than a hundred-thousand layers of slimy grime. Constantine can feel Batsy’s glare on his nape but he doesn’t give a shit about it.

“There we go, summoning circle finished.” Zatanna states as the three sorcerers proceed to take place to start the ritual. Wonder Woman, Flash, Batman and Superman walking away while Timothy places the summoning ingredients by the middle of the circle.

The three sorcerers place themselves evenly by the external circle of the summoning drawing, extending their arms towards each other. First, a Lazarus green electric current flows between them and along the lines of the summoning circle. All of the watchtower’s lights flicker ominously.

“I’m starting to think that doing a mystical, magical summoning inside a satellite in open space is a very bad idea.” Flash says as the white lights of the watchtower turn a disgusting grimy green color, the temperature dropping, and dropping, and dropping so quick that in mere seconds everyone in the room is making small hot breath clouds.

“They have not uttered a single word and the atmosphere is already like this.” Wonder Woman musters in incredulity as she watches the sorcerers’ work.

The ingredients for the summoning once again levitate, a Lazarus green sheen covering them ominously.

“Relur etinifin ho eeht llac ew.” Timothy chants. “Aelp ruo raeh.”

The lights flicker some more and then completely burst, the only light in the room becoming the sickening Lazarus green emanating from the summoning circle. The electric current has turned into a slimy thingy while Constantine, Zatanna and Timothy have started to float, each of their bodies in perfect T position as their eyes and mouths are wide open and emanating the very same Lazarus green fulgor as the summoning circle. Then, the same sickening toxic green slime stars to pour out of the sorcerers’ mouths and eyes, falling onto the summoning circle where along with the slime bleeding out form circle it starts to crawl towards the center of it, where the breakfast menu is placed.

“Ugh, I think I’m gonna puke.” Flash mutters as he feels his stomach twist in disgust at the sight of the three sorcerers basically barfing Lazarus water.

Zatanna, Timothy and Constantine seem to have finished vomiting slime when a vicious wind starts to blow inside the room and around the summoning circle, making the Lazarus looking slime twist inside the circle as it consumes the breakfast menu and dissolves it within itself before turning into a shiny green ball. The antinatural tornado then turns thinner as it centers in the middle of the summoning circle, shaping the Lazarus green slime into a ball as big as a basketball, then the wind dies down and the ball starts to pulsate, the vibration kinda like a low bass reverberating withing the very soul of every individual inside the room, as if the air itself was shaking in fear of what is to come.

The Lazarus green slime ball beats twice and it starts to elongate.

It beats twice more and five protuberances start to form from the torso like shape.

As the ball keeps beating like a strange and disgusting heart, the protuberances begin to take shape; two arms, two legs, a head…

All of a sudden, the toxic Lazarus green light dies down. Zatanna, Timothy and Constantine falling onto the floor and then the damn summoning circle floods everything in a blinding white light.

When the light dies down the conference room’s temperature is below 0° and where the summoning circle used to be is now standing a white cloaked figure, the cloak is white yet it glows Lazarus green and it’s formed by what seemed to be hundreds of thousands of ethereal petal shaped fabric that perpetually flows downside, the hood of the cloak hides its face from view. A top of the High King’s head floats a twisted, wicked looking crown, ice black in color and toxic Lazarus green in glow.

As the High King only stands, immobile and uncaring, Constatine, Zatanna and Timothy begin to regain consciousness but the instant they see the High King their eyes open so wide in both fright and surprise that the three of them teleported right to where Flask, Batman, Wonder Woman and Superman where standing.

“The bloody breakfast menu worked?!” Constantine exclaims in disbelieve.

It is then that the High King moves, it’s head turning to where the seven heroes are standing, allowing them to see two bright, toxic green orbs floating in a void darker than space itself.

“Who calls upon myself?”

Says – growls – a guttural, dark voice, as if a death metal lead singer was reading poetry. The room vibrating like a leave with a breeze at the deep tone.

It is Timothy Hunter who once again takes the lead. “Infinite Ruler.” The young man greets as he properly bows towards the High King. “It has been us, punny mortal souls, that have dared summon your presence.”

“Mortal souls?” The High King scoffs in disbelieve. “You dare take me for a fool, Child of Titania?”

The room shakes at the booming, dark growl that leaves the High Kings void of a face.

“We don’t have time for this.” Batman mumbles and then steps forward, shielding Timothy from the view of the High King. “Your majesty, with all due respect but the fact that we summoned you will not change, so you still have to grand us our request.”

Silence reigns within the room for exactly three very tense seconds when…

“Mr. B? What are you doing with a bunch of sorcerers?” Questions the High King, his voice completely changing form dark and guttural to a smooth baritone with a slight Midwest accent that Batman quickly recognizes.

“Phantom.” Batman says and, oh, someone is in trouble, for the bat has used his slightly annoyed tone that means that he recognizes who he is but he didn’t know he was going to be here.

“W-Wait! I can explain, sir!” The High King, Phantom, stutters as he pulls down the hood from his head and takes away the cloak, twisting it away along with the black crown into a void of inexistence.

Everyone is slightly surprised at the High King’s actual appearance. Before them floats a young man, about twenty years old, as tall as Kon-El, lithe like a swimmer, with weird flowy white hair that reminded of a dense mist and bright, oh so bright, toxic Lazarus green eyes that perfectly match his pale, pale, pale skin. He is wearing something akin to a personalized hazmat suit, mainly black, the top has some white lines that went from around the white turtle neck flowing down towards his forearms where the white lines turned into white gloves, covering his feet are a pair of white boots that do not touch the ground. All of him is radiating a soft Lazarus green hue.

“Later, Phantom, there are more pressing matters to attend right now.” Batman says as he rises the palm of his hand to stop Phantom from rambling anymore.

“Oh, yeah, the reason you guys summoned me.” The entity says as he stops midair to later follow Batman to the window/wall of the room to show him the thousand alien troops about to invade Earth. “Ancients, that does look like a very serious problem.” Phantom comments. “I can feel ecto from them, why?”

“Their leader found a forbidden magical book that he used to enhance his army’s strength with ecto-based magic.” Batman explains.

“Rude.” Phantom mumbles. “Yeah, alright, I can deal with it, but I want the book used for that in exchange.” The entity says to Batman.

“Fair enough.” Batman agrees and then they shake hands.

While all of the above is happening, the other six individuals in the room are watching with open mouths and eyes the exchange between the bat and the ghost.

“Alright.” Phantom nods and then turns towards the other six heroes in the room. “Hey, shattered soul blondie, you and I will have a chat when this is done, alright. And no, it’s not a question nor optional.” He says while pointing at Constantine.

John shakily nods his head, eyes wide open.

“You should warn your allies I’m gonna be the one outside.” Phantom says with light tone. “I don’t want the JL and associates to think of me as a hostile.”

“Flash.” Wonder Woman says to the speeder, who in return only nods his head once and then exits the room, his super-speed not even allowing a blur to form.

A loud, red alarm then screams inside the watchtower, the voice of Flash warning all individuals in the watchtower that the High King of the Infinite Realms is an ally and that he is about to perform an attack against the enemy’s forces.

“You may proceed.” Batman says to the ghost.

“Sir, yes sir.” The white-haired entity mock salutes and then pops out of view.

Right after High King Phantom popped out of view inside the building a bright halo of light opened a portal right in front of the waiting alien troops out in open space. The eerie Lazarus green glow that surrounds Phantom making him look like an ominous star against the pitch-black void that is space, he is full royal attire again, the white, flowing white cape the reminds of petals covering him from head to toe and beyond, and the wicked black crown floating on top of his head, his eyes once again looking like toxic Lazarus green fires burning in the void that is now his face.

He rises one of his white gloved hands, opens up his palm and…

BEGONE

He says in something ancient yet strangely familiar, a language that reverberates inside every single of the individuals that heard it. A primal fear settling in the gut of every being inside the watchtower, making goosebumps bloom on their skins, even Superman and Wonder Woman feel the cold of fear and death flood their souls at the command of the High King of the Infinite Realms.

A void of toxic Lazarus green then pulls in the enemies’ troops, like a vacuum, making them disappear inside of the open palm of the young-looking eldritch king. In less than five seconds the whole army was gone, even the mother ship is gone, the only remaining thing is a neon purple glowing, ominous looking book that Phantom takes and puts inside his chest. Not inside a pocket on his chest, not inside his ethereal fancy cloak, no, he puts the ominous book right inside his chest.   

“Did you know he could do that?” Superman asks Batman as he rubs on top of his own chest.

“The vacuum thing? No. That he puts things inside his body? Yes.” Batman answers while outside the watchtower Phantom pops out of view…

Only to re-appear inside the room not even a blink later. “There, all done!” The ghost says with a satisfied smile on his pale lips. The cloak and crown once again out of view. “Anything else you need from me, Mr. B?”

“A whole report on all of your powers and abilities on my desk by tomorrow morning.” Batman immediately responds.

“But that will take me the whole night!” Phantom complains.

“Then I suggest you to begin right away.” Batman says.

“We thank you, King Phantom.” Wonder Woman says as she appears by Batman’s left side.

“Are you sure you only want the book?” Superman adds as he appears by Batman’s right side.

“Yes, the book will be enough sir, oh, and don’t worry, I solemnly swear I won’t use it for evil.” Phantom answers as he crosses a finger over where a human heart is supposed to be.

“How can we trust you?” Zatanna inquires, arms crossed over her chest.

“I advocate for him.” Batman says.

Everyone in the room turns to look at Batman like he has suddenly grown another head.

“Alright, that’s it!” John exclaims. “What is your relationship?! How the fuck do you two know each other?! And don’t you dare tell me the he is just investigating Gotham’s curse thing!”

“But I do am investigating Gotham’s curse.” Phantom mumbles.

“You will have to excuse me, King Phantom, but The Batman advocating for you speaks of something deeper in your relationship.” Timothy says as he joins the conversation.

“Oh, well…” Phantom does not finish his sentence, instead his worriedly side glances to Batman, clearly asking for either permission or further instructions on what to do. Batman notices Phantom looking at him and then just nods, finally giving permission for the young man-ghost to speak his truth, Phantom visibly relaxes. “Thank ancients.” He sighs. “Ahem, besides investigating the curse over the city I also aid Red Hood with stuff related to his haunt.”

“Haunt?” Wonder Woman questions.

“Like his territory? You mean Park Row?” Superman adds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s called Crime Alley but yeah, exactly!” Phantom finger-guns them with a big smile on his face. “Also, since Gotham is one the cities with most murders and assassinations in the U.S.A. there are a lot of lost ghosts that need some guidance to cross to the other side, that’s when I come in. I mean, as King of ghost I have to take care of them.”

“And you do this in the whole world?” Superman asks, feeling a sense of kindredness with the being.

“Yeah… I mean, not always; Lady Death and her reapers do most of the heavy lifting but sometimes I move around.” Phantom says while shrugging his shoulders.

“It doesn’t change the fact that you are doing something very noble, King Phantom.” Wonder Woman says.

“T-Thank you, ma’am.” The ghost blushes bright green. “Oh, that reminds me, you!” Phantom then points accusingly towards Constantine. “Are you John Constantine?”

“Why do you care?” John defiantly, a brand-new cig between his lips. He is too nervous to not have a cig between his lips, dammit!

“Dude! I’ve looking for you for years!” The ghost exclaims. “Excuse me, Mr. B, is there an empty office or something where I can speak to him in private?”

“Sorry, your majesty, but if you want to speak to John it will have to be here.” Zatanna quickly interjects, her tone making clear that it was not negotiable.

“What she said.” Constantine obviously followed Zatanna’s lead. Like hell he was gonna be alone in a room with what is basically The God of all Eldritchs and Supernaturals.

Phantom looks at Zatanna with his big, toxic Lazarus green eyes, then he looks at John, finally he shrugs his shoulders again, like saying Alright pal, if you want an actual adult with you in the room, I get it. “In that case…” Phantom starts and then he opens a miny portal in mid-air, he just did a motion up with his pointing finger, a slight finger gun and bah-bam! He opens an interdimensional portal as easily as blinking. From said mini portal Phantom pulls out a small ball, as big as the fist of a child, it is bright and glowing in rainbow. It’s beautiful.

“I-Is that…” Timothy babbles at the sight of what the other in the room assumed was a sort of energy ball.

“You have sharp eyes.” Phantom says to Timothy.

“What is that?” Zatanna asks in wonder.

“A soul.” Phantom answers with tenderness. Everyone in the room gasps in surprise… except Constantine. “Well, more like seventy percent of a soul… John Constantine’s soul.”

Everyone in the room turns to the blonde, their gazes demanding answers. “H-How…?” Constantine manages to mumble as he takes a step back, his cigarette falling from his lips.

“When I started my king training thingy, the first thing I did was to clear de desk from all the paperwork the previous king ignored. One third of said paperwork was about a sorcerer that was selling pieces of his soul left and right like it was effing candy! I was not gonna deal with that so I asked how I could clear it out and the answer was actually quite simple: To neutralize the contracts all I had to do was to get back the pieces of the soul and give it back to its still living mortal recipient. So, I asked for the soul pieces as welcome to being a King gifts and ta-dah!” Phantom explains and does jazz hands at the soul floating in the middle of the group. “So, here, take what is yours, oh, and next time you don’t want to end up with cancer what about, uhm, I don’t know, STOP SMOKING MAN!” The green-eyed entity exclaims as he pushes the ball inside of Constantine’s body. “Oh, and since you still need your powers I offer myself as your new patron.”

The small ball of light goes right into John without any type of resistance yet John walks back like trying to avoid it but the ball still got into him. Constantine palms at his chest and stomach area, his clear blue eyes so wide they look about to pop out from his face, his breathing heavy, elaborated. He might be having a slight panic attack.

“Why?” John manages say, his tone small, full of doubt and fear.

“Firstly, to make a third of my paperwork disappear.” Phantom answers. “Like for real, it literally vanished. And second, because a soul is something precious, you shouldn’t be using it like pocket money, dude.” The ghost chastises. “I mean, to me it feels like the right thing to do.”

John looks at Phantom like he is the most bizarre thing he has ever encountered in his life; the blonde cannot just comprehend… why? Why? wHy? Just because it was easier that way? Because it was the right thing to do? WhAt?! Constantine is flaggerblasted, he cannot compute, he… he needs to get out of there.

The blonde sorcerer stumbles back, as far away from Phamton as possible and while still looking at the ghost with wide, confused eyes he snaps his fingers, teleporting away once again, running away into the safe shadows.

“Did I do something wrong?” Phantom asks Zatanna.

“No, he is just… he just doesn’t understand why someone would help him without expecting anything in return.” Zatanna explains as she looks mournfully in the direction where Constantine vanished.

“Oh… right, the equivalent exchange thing sorcerers do.” Phamton realizes.

“Yes, that too.” Zatanna sighs, then she squares her shoulders as she takes a deep breath. “Thank you, your majesty, for what you did for John. I’ll try to keep him in the right track.”

“You do you, lady.” Phamton responds. “Once he calms tell him to contact me, I meant the part about being his new patron.”

“Understood. If that is everything, I’ll take my leave.” Zatanna says as she looks at Batman, Wonder Woman and Superman. “My report will also be tomorrow morning on your desk, Batman.” She jokes. “Let’s go Timmy.”

“It was a pleasure your majesty, everyone.” The young sorcerer says as good bye before he and Zatanna vanish away in the shadows just like Constantine had done a moment ago.

“Can I leave too? Apparently, I have a report to redact for tomorrow.” Phantom deadpans in Batman’s direction.

Wonder Woman and Superman laugh at that. “We are no one to retain you, King Phantom. You have already fulfilled our request and also gotten your payment, there is no reason for you to remain with us.” Wonder Woman says.

“Cool. Oh, and don’t worry guys, if you ever have any other ghostly problem just ask Mr. B for my number.” Phantom reveals even more delicate information about him and Batman. “Buh-bye~.”

And just like that the endearing Eldritch God like entity vanishes within himself.

“Now, for real, what’s your relationship with the very obviously middle-west young man?” Clark asks Bruce as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Bruce turns to his friends and decides to have some fun. “He is Jason’s boyfriend.” He drops the bomb, making both Diana and Clark open their mouths and eyes wide open in surprise. “He arrived at Gotham about four years ago to study Aerospace Engineering at G.U. Jason met him during patrol, as Red Hood, apparently the instinctual and proper way for ghosts to greet each other is by fighting so Jason basically jumped on him like a rabid dog, Phantom’s words, and that’s that.”

“Jason’s a ghost?” Clarks asks with worry; he knows how much that thing with Jason affects Bruce.

“A type of Half-a-ghost… apparently whatever revived him it did not do a good job at it. Phantom has helped him, us, to adjust.” Bruce reveals. To heal. It was left unsaid but Clark and Diana heard it loud and clear.

“Oh, Bruce.” Diana mumbles with a relieved smile as she hugs her friend.

“And then along the way they fell in love?” Clark guesses as Diana stops hugging Bruce.

“It was a really entertaining soap opera.” Bruce admits.

“Like father, like son.” Diana adds, a shark like smile on her face.

Bruce just grumbles at the joke.

“And when it’s the wedding?” Clark questions, his tone clearly a joking one, forgetting that The Batman never jokes when it comes to his children.

“This December, on the twentieth-first.” Bruce says as he hands both Clark and Diana wedding invitations. “Phantom has a lot of Christmas related trauma so we try to celebrate Yule for him.”

“Oh.” Clark mumbles as he looks at the wedding invitation in his hands.

“Any more questions?” Bruce inquires.

“You have shut us up with this one Bruce, you may go on your way.” Diana says as she waves her invitation.

Batman nods once and then proceeds to leave in silence, when he completely exits the room Diana and Clark look at each other.

“What a day.” Clark says.

“You said it.” Diana agrees.

______________________________________________________________

Some other time:

“What does de S stand for?” Phamton asks Superman like he wasn’t fanboying about being in the Watchtower mere seconds ago.

“It’s kryptonian, it means Hope.” Superman gently answers the wonder struck looking entity.

“Oh.” It’s the young supernatural king’s smart answer.

“What does the D stand for?” Superman asks back, genuine interest in his voice.

A bright green blush blooms on the pale gray face of king Phantom, he proceeds to rub the back of his head in embarrassment and his Lazarus green eyes look away from Superman’s face. “Uh… it was a gift from a friend… just to look cool… I-I was fourteen, ok?”

Superman laughs. It’s soft and tender and for some reason it reminds Danny of a farm he visited in Kansas when he was a kid.

#dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batman #danny pahntom #fanfic #dead on main #batman crossover #danny phantom crossover

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #forbidden love #starcrossed lovers

[youphoriaot7]

BBH: "Just don't lose yourself, okay?" Cellbit: "I can't. I've tried to."

Because he thinks this is it. This is him, this? Because...the person he's tried to hide? The feelings he's tried time and again to shove down—this anger, this violence, this...empty, numb feeling? They just keep coming back. It's there, it's always right there. It's never left him alone, not even for a second. So of course this is who he is, in Cellbit's mind. This is him.

Because he has tried for so long. Six months, that we've seen—and implied years of therapy between jail and his coming to the island. He has fought tooth and nail for every inch of "normalcy" that he has ever had. Because he's never been "normal," he doesn't know what "normal" is! He grew up on the battlefield, stained with blood that he was never quite sure wasn't his own, knife gripped white-knuckled in a shaking fist, fending off opponents left, right, and center. He grew up in a prison, where you were either on top or dead. He grew up in kill or be killed. He grew up in every man, woman, and child for themselves.

Cellbit has never known "normal." He has only ever known "survive."

And then he finds out that he, in fact, did know normal. He used to have parents, a sister, a family that he can't remember. But that's exactly it; because he can't remember them. Whoever that little boy that had a red bedroom full of mystery novels was, whoever Bagi's twin brother that hugged her and apologized after hitting her with a wooden sword, whoever that kid that ran around the island investigating mysteries was...to Cellbit, that boy never existed.

That's not him.

This is.

And he's been pretending—holding back—for six months, minimum. He's been trying to be a completely different person: a friend, a husband, a father, an uncle, a leader, a detective...but now? At the end of all of this? Where has he ended up?

Right back where he started. Waking up in pools of blood, unsure what's his and what isn't.

The road map of his life is a fucking circle, and he's hated every second of it. He knows he's a monster—he'll tell you that himself if you give him the chance. He's well aware that by attacking the Federation, he's inviting pure hell to rain down on him. He doesn't care. As long as it gives the others the opening they need, as long as the people he loves stand with him—though preferably behind him—and safe...he is absolutely fine with not making it out of this alive.

Maybe then he can finally put this identity crisis to rest.

[EDIT: And of course, remember: qCellbit is a mess. This is how he sees himself. Nothing more, nothing less.]

#this is my roman empire people. #this may be completely incoherent; i lost my train of thought halfway through #i'm just mentally ill about qcellbit #qsmp #qsmp cellbit #character study

[whoblewboobear]

They’re not children, they’re Teenagers that live in a world and go to a school where violence and death are highly normalized.

However, underaged doesn’t excuse you from killing your fellow party member to sabotage other students. Being a “kid” doesn’t excuse you from pulling up to your teacher’s grave with a bulldozer to A. Force her hand to find you or B. Cease to exist if she doesn’t reward you for trying to disturb your final resting place. (IMO this is the most chilling and cruel thing KipCop has done that we know of. I paused the episode to breathe and calm down from this bc holy shit?) Kipperlily is old enough to understand right and wrong. She saw the rogue teacher loop hole as a badge of honor to be proud of. She is a teenager, she is not a baby or an infant or a child. She knew exactly what she was doing.

If we’re applying real logic to these fictional teenagers, real teenagers that commit horrific acts of violence or crimes get tried as adults because they were (usually) old enough and coherent enough to understand what they were doing. They were not babies that didn’t realize what they were doing.

If you are a minor and you do something violent and awful to another person or group of people, you don’t just automatically get to go “oh boy- b-but I’m just a child!” You have to face the consequences of your actions, it’s a massive part of growing up. That’s not something that just doesn’t kick in until you’re 18.

The bad kids are pretty much the same age as the rat grinders. They probably went to the same middle and elementary schools, were taught the same things when they /were/ children. In game, they were thrown in jail for their crimes in season 1. Aelwyn was taken to high elven prison. If Penelope or Dane weren’t killed, they sure as fuck would’ve been tried or worse too.

Like- I cannot tell, nor do I care enough to start checking accounts to see if adults or teenagers are making the “they’re just kids!!!!!!!!” Posts but I feel like I know where it skews. Either way, doesn’t matter. Do better. There’s a reason why children and teenagers are not lumped under the same age and developmental umbrella. There are differences.

Pretending that they’re innocent little babies so you can continue to love your villains guilt free or dumbing them down so it’s easier to defend them is a skill issue. Love your villains and all their nasty evil behavior with your whole chest.

#we have been told MULTIPLE TIMES that Kipperlily made a calculated move or intentionally chose her wording a specific way #children don’t do that shit they will say whatever comes to mind #they’re not babies #they’re not children #they are minors yes #but they also know wtf they did/are doing #someone said the thing about not infantilizing sch**l sh***ers and yeah #like to me this is the same as babygirl-ifying serial k*llers #that rogue teacher stuff firmly put 4dogs in the rotten category like that’s so fcked #d20 fhjy #dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #fhjy

[naavispider]

I've always thought about this scenario: Quaritch surrenders to the Sullys when Neytiri threatens Spider without Quaritch having Kiri. Jake brings him to the Metkayina village to keep an eye on him, but having both the Sully family and Quaritch in such close proximity causes Spider's already conflicted feelings about both to skyrocket. Not to mention he can't be too close to one without feeling like he's betraying the other...

Love your work! 💙

Ahhh!! 😍😍 This is such a cool concept. Sorry, once again this starts as a hypothetical WOULD, and turns at some point into a one-shot narrative! Anyway I think Jake/Neytiri/Tonowari/Ronal would all be baying for Quaritch's blood and wouldn't let the man leave the ship alive, but say that they did:

Quaritch would immediately throw his knife down when he saw Spider under Neytiri's grasp. When Neytiri releases Spider he'd snarl and spit every threat under the sun at Jake, all the while determinedly avoiding eye contact with Spider, who of course watches on from the sides, stunned and clutching Kiri for support.

Quaritch would be dragged away by the Metkayina warriors, perhaps to be held in Awa'atlu until Eywa has passed her judgement on him. Jake would come over to check on Spider, but the boy would be shellshocked, not sure who is family was anymore.

Neytiri had just tried to kill him. Quaritch had just saved him.

And he was supposed to be with the Sullys? It didn't sit right - it rocked him to his core. He was non-verbal the whole way back to the village, trying to figure out how to possibly move forwards with the situation.

He would stay away from where Quaritch was being kept. At first because he was too scared to face the man, and then because the Metkayina wouldn't allow him in. The strain and the anxiety got too much until one night, when the Sullys were all asleep, and only two guards remained on the door to the hut where Quaritch was being kept prisoner, Spider snuck in to visit him.

The man wasn't asleep, as Spider had expected. He was sat against the wooden wall, his face half cast in shadow and half illuminated by the watery moonlight. Spider paused, unsure if he wanted to continue. He steeled himself. He had to ask why Quaritch did it.

As he approached, Quaritch looked up, stilled, then smiled low and ominously. It made the hairs on the back of Spider's neck stand up. Like this, the man looked evil. "Couldn't stay away huh kid?"

Spider swallowed. He got as close to the bars as he dared. "I had to see you," he whispered.

Quaritch turned to face him full on, revealing the deep, bloody scratches he had on the side of his face. They were reminiscent of the human Quaritch's scars. "Why?" the man asked, low and simple and clean.

Spider frowned, searching for the words. "I... had to talk to you... to ask... why you saved me."

Quaritch huffed a small laugh. "So it really wasn't a bluff huh? That's crazy..."

Spider watched him continue, not daring to speak again.

"That woman supposed to be your family? Jesus kid, you're more fucked up than I thought." He didn't say it unkindly, but Spider bristled at the insinuation.

"What the hell would you know about family?" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low so as not to alert the guards.

"Enough to know that blood is thicker than water. Which is clearly true here..."

Spider gasped as though stung, but he understood Quaritch's words. It was only painful because hearing them spoken out loud for the first time confirmed all his darkest, most resentful thoughts.

Quaritch shifted, bringing himself closer to the bars and raising a hand to grip one at eye level. "Spider. I will always protect you. Hell," he chuckled, looking around at the cell. "Even from a shithole like this, if there is any way I can protect you, I will." His eyes bore into Spider's, and suddenly Spider couldn't breathe. The world was silent - nothing existed but the two of them. Even the walls seemed to be listening.

"Dad-" Spider choked out, grabbing the bars separating them in both hands. Quaritch's hand came through and cupped Spider's face, pulling him closer until they were touching foreheads against Spider's mask.

"It's okay," Quaritch spoke quietly. "I'll get out of this, don't you worry about me. And when I do, I'm not leaving without you."

His words sounded too much like Spider was a prisoner of the Metkayina, or perhaps the Sullys, but he didn't have the energy to correct the man. "Okay," he mumbled back through the bars, because it was the only thing he was capable of saying. Quaritch's hand came down from his head and he backed away.

"You should go, Spider." Quaritch nodded at entrance to the room, where the guards were waiting. "If they catch you I imagine you'll be in a whole world of trouble."

"Okay," Spider repeated, shaking himself back to the moment. "I'll come back..."

He backed towards the depression under the wooden wall that he'd crawled through to get inside. As he looked back over his shoulder, he saw Quaritch smirking, retreating back into the shadows. "Don't kid, I'll find you."

How the turn tables! I love the imagery of Quaritch behind bars and now Spider is the one on the captor's side. I don't know if Spider would actually go with Quaritch, and it is beSide the poinT for this little drabble 😭

#phewww #that got real intense suddenly #gahhhh #i love these two #spider socorro #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #awow #miles spider socorro

[anendoandfriendo]

CN // very vent-y, extremely flashback-y, started in response to something but it kind of dovetailed into its own thing and we're Kind Of In Pain and trying to avoid The Bloodlust(TM) right now and tbqh with you all -- we are Failing

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We're so, so glad things are changing socially for the better but like...there are still places out there that are fucking horrible.

Where we used to live, we just assumed nobody knew what Villain!Deku was when MHA was a big thing because somehow our brain equated bigotry = isolated in general? And we kinda embarassed ourselves a little because of that lol? (We say as we also scream "it's THEIR fucking fault for living in [REDACTED], they should not have lived there if they wanted us to assume the did know!")

Which is our bad for sure. But this was not even a small town/city, it was/is just socially regressive town/city (that we are trying not to have flashbacks about now).

And the reason we somehow jumped to this is because of the number of people who like. Asked "what is the boys toy? Oh no, my kid is a BOY so no pink for him," and uhhh, needless to say, the best way we could play this game at the time was to (because we worked as a cashier at McDonalds back then) put in an order for the opposite toy because Everyone There Was A Shithead, and that was the only power we could exert. Was to piss them off even a little and let them fester for the rest of their life knowing they will NEVER be able to get their hands on us for that. :D

Or that time where we were the only non-manager in the restaurant, and everyone liked us, and we did good at our job, so as soon as one of our abusers even implied Autistic people are broken for being Autistic we had five to seven people who are managers immediately at the next window kicking them out for making us cry....but that has the prerequisite of eugenicists existing and literal years of pain from seclusion room and psychiatry survivorship and never being believed until the very moment we were back from university for breaks. x-x;;

And what prompted us to move out from [REDACTED] is that our headmate Silva has...stated some things that we do not want to describe here. We will leave it at "very clearly stating that if he wanted power for any reason it would be to punish everyone who lived there," and what happened then is time stood VERY still for a moment as he realized what he said. And then he decided to move out rather than be a potential danger to literally everyone there.

And like! We do not want "help" here, because "help" to us would literally be allowing us to like. Murder our stepmother. Bash the person's head in who implied autism is broken. Knife the person who was our ABA therapist. That's not good! And with the away the current prison therapy industry is now we would absolutely be locked up for expressing this to someone who is "professional" even if we go through a painstaking rigorous set of selves-checks to make sure we do not physically harm people. We think we might literally be causing physical harm to ourselves, actually, because we cannot and will never trust a "therapist" (fuck you, there is no such thing actually) until applied behavior analysis is abolished and we can get reparations for what we have survived HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GOOD FUCKING LUCK TO US ON THAT ONE LMAOOOOOO

So like. Things are so much better out there but we cant help being kind of "doom and gloom" when we think about all of the bullshit we have gone through and seen others deal with (and none of that being the worst of it even) and we will probably never actually see a world in which our pain is widely acknowledged in the way we want it acknowledged, nor see our existence be acknowledged in the way we want it acknowledged.

Like. We can see why there are some people who just. WDK. Want to burn everything down into ashes and never look back we guess, even if we know that isn't quite an option at this point. If that makes sense.

God, we're sorry y'all we're just frustrated because we will see someone be Happy about something or there will be Joy that The World Is Changing and something in our brain just fundamentally rejects that because when we're like this, it all feels likea fucking farce unless someone is on their knees apologizing to us for ??????? fucking existing????? and not knowing about the wrongs in the world they had nothing to do with????

[todayisafridaynight]

RIGHT YEAH I was also thinking about the scenario of Jo accompanying Masato in relation to this, in the vein of… that'd solidify that the whole lie was always about His Family and not The Family right… because what can Jo even DO for the family while he's away? He's more than a glorified accountant.

Though thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have been away too long, at least compared to a prison sentence for murder. Because Masato only faked his death in 2004 (at the very latest, I guess; it's when the news went public) and Bleach Japan was founded "almost 20 years" prior to 2019, at which point Aoki and Ogasawara had already graduated and returned to Japan.

That and Aoki wasn't in a wheelchair anymore when he met Ogasawara at Harvard, so perhaps Jo would only really /need/ to stay for the procedure and Aoki's physical therapy and all, though of course I can see him staying longer. Still, not too long, all things considered.

So this scenario's kind of the worst of both worlds, because perhaps those first couple of years it's Arakawa's own stubbornness, and then the rest of his family has to go away anyway. And he's so sure in that time what he needs is to be with his family again and he'll at least feel less alone, miss Ichi less.

But then Masato's Aoki now and only really staying in touch to use him and the Arakawa Family's resources for his own gain, and Jo--as you perfectly put it--doesn't know how to emotionally take care of him. So things he should be ecstatic about--seeing his son walk on his own two legs for the first time and having his right hand man back in action--end up bittersweet at best. Aiiieeeeee……

OH YEAH SHINJI I half-remembered there was a visit in 1 but not who actually went to visit Kiryu sorry for doing you like that my boy </3 still counts as part of a pattern to me though… subordinate visiting his aniki…

SPEAKING OF KIRYU. Yeah. Typical Kiryu L. Kazuma Kiryu you have blood on your hands and NOT in the funney Reddit meme way… ABSOLUTELY DERANGED to blame Ichi for anything in the ending whatsoever though like WHAT. He got him immediate medical attention and WE AS THE AUDIENCE don't even have time to react, let alone anyone living the fucking moment good god my blood pressure is spiking

ALSO THE JO POST… YEAH… yeah yeah yeah that's the shit I'm talking about… and like. This is where localization frustrates me so Bear With My Complaints a moment but his very last line is mistranslated in both versions, the sub in terms of what he was actually saying and the dub in terms of giving him this bitchy, flippant tone that doesn't convey his intent. So I'll cut them down the middle and say it's "[The] legit [way]? The word has never crossed my mind, not once."

There's just something to it as a clear thesis for his whole life and his eventual fate. Like of course Adachi means in terms of going through the proper legal processes, but words like proper, legit, decent, these also have clear connotations of adequacy. So for him to literally say NOTHING he's done has been adequate in his eyes perfectly illustrates what you were saying. Like he's always taken it as a matter of fact that nothing he could do would be enough, like that's a truth woven into his existence so tightly he never even thought about it. And now there really is nothing he can do.

i have my own theoretical timeline on masato's stay in america, but even with what we have there's a lot of variables involved with for exactly when certain events happened

under the assumption masato was to enroll at harvard in the fall of 2001 (assuming he was somehow able to be approved for a lung transplant as soon as that year), then jo would- at max- might only have to be abroad for (assuming they leave in january) nine months (to account for the time it took for masato to get approved for surgery and then the surgery itself plus the potential 3-6 month recovery period afterwards)

alternatively, if masato had to wait a year- two max if we're being optimistic so he could graduate on time under an accelerated 2-year academic schedule to get surgery- then jo, similarly, would have to be abroad for a similar amount of time.

the time gone doesn't matter too much i guess: arakawa will still be left alone for a long time, and that really couldnt have been easy either way. the time his family's gone only makes their comeback all the more bittersweet, as you put it (´▽｀;;)

OH BUT YEAH NO THE Y7 BIT THAT SHIT PISSED ME OFF SO MUCH WHEN I READ IT like mates were trying to be smart about it like 'wow ichi way to go showing how much you love aoki and how you'd do anything for him 🙄' like God Forbid a human character acts human and imperfect what the fuck you want him to do he aint got no goddamn spidey sense how the shit was he supposed to know (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

but yeah.. speaking of Doing The Right Thing jo's never ending feelings of inadequacy are my favorite </3 cause its like.. it's a reason why i love jo so much if i can be weird to say: what he did wasnt something that you can confidently forgive or try to say 'he's done the most to rectify this' or anything like that because putting a baby in a coin locker's like.. a lot of steps are involved to do that.. not really a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing that would have grounds to forgive yourself for.. so the fact jo knows this and just has that intense guilt- it's my bread and butter to say the least 😔

#long post #snap chats #i didnt mean to ramble about my masato timeline OOPS. i havent mentioned it in months tho.... i do like thinkin a it.... #thats not even to consider the idea of jo staying abroad all four years to make sure masato was getting along fine #and to make sure he made it back to japan alright- but for the sake of giving masato some independence for a bit #we can also say jo went back when he was 'no longer needed' and just let masato live how he wanted to #but again i guess the exact amount of months and years dont matter too much #as for Jo's Suffering though i can't explain why i love it so much #i think its just cause like. its nice that a character acknowledges they did something unforgivable #like even if aoki did get the lung transplant and he's fine- or WAS fine rip- that doesnt negate the 24 some years he had to be miserable #i cant explain it im very bad at explaining things can we tell #its just such a weird situation. because again what jo did isnt something you can excuse or forgive yk #like masato's critical years and his early adulthood were severely impacted by his disability #to say half his life was altered by jo's actions is an understatement- and jo knows that right #even if he made sure everything that could be done for him to make his life better was done #there was probably always that thought of 'this extra work wouldnt be necessary if i didnt do that' yk what i mean #so i guess im just glad he's dedicated to acknowledging that and trying to take responsibility for it now #idk idk i cant explain it but i hope we know what i mean. dear god i hope we do words arent my strong suit #but yeah again.... now he cant do anything to continue righting that wrong in his eyes #now its just guilt with no means of alleviating it and THAT. hurts the soul in a good way. me thinks anyhow

[enjoyyourdunghillbaal]

Derogatory, disrespectful behavior or conduct towards me begets derogatory, disrespectful names or assigned adjectives to the subject.

Example. you're a fag because the way you disrespect me is derogatory.

Fuck your beef industry. Fuck your dead lifeless cows. Fuck your pork. Fuck your fish. I'm keeping my hair.

You can have your clogged arteries and strokes and double chins and pig-eating, chinless assholes. I will not stand up for you.

Do you need feedback on your bugfucking and wirelick8ng without dye process too? Mr "secret seeker"? To go back and spellcheck? For what? So i "don't forget to include everyone" that i choose to walk away from? For the sake of My career as an unpaid slave writer so a piss-addict faggot can get rich off my downfall, misfortune, or poverty?

So you can know if your overhead drum microphone is on at soundcheck? What, faggot?

You ask for this from me, faggot, you seek me out and don't stop bothering people with your piss-addict, negative attention-seeking behavior. until you get what you want.

To empower yourself over me and undermine what belongs to me from birth. everything good or bad that exists without you in my life. Faggot.

It's not your responsibility to concern yourself with my conduct in my own home. This isn't colonial America in the revolutionary War, fucking lime-eating redcoat.

I'll take my chances regarding consequences with the law. You making things into a domestic violence issue because your a possessive micromanaging control freak without authority won't be tolerated. I'm not a fucking two year old, and you aren't my mom or my dad, and I don't live under your roof.

Stop seeking evil with me faggot. Noone is hiding anything from you or for you to expose for the sake of your piece of shit Australian international news gossip shitrags trashing the USA to the other world viewers, from a country that started out as prison exiles from england.

What ranged device would they find pointed at my home if they decided to seek out your source origin fsggot? The room starts creaking and reacts through the plastics, glass, televisions, mirror frames, wood or cloth or metal has no kinetic response. Everytime the thermostat kicks in and the electric fan starts.

Everything I fucking hate about you, so would any woman if she was subjected to your bullshit egotrip everyday.

jealous Little bitch.

Because of won't ball up in a fetal position every time you try to stick you fist in my face faggot? Because I won't flinch from you when you try to clech your shit up and make a fist faggot?

What about spellcheck? Who did you need me to look back for, more of the same Sodomy and gemmorah shit from you, Mr buttfuck?

Maybe I'm not your right hand. Or your jerkoff hand.

Take away your steroids and go jerk off to something other than asking me to provide for your beta boy cuck verbal abuse fetish. iron theif. stupid life-draining faggot.

Who else was in my room last night while I was downstairs outside at 4am? I clearly remember NOT using the last of the toilet paper.

Do you pull this shit with the president too during his press briefings or public speaking for our United States Citizens, faggot? You know, when your journalist troll friends start asking about personal shit in their private homes like camp david, trying to put the President on the spot?you know, making dickheaded off topic questions about his sock drawer? Was that meant for him, or me on the other side of TV land, faggot?

Do i look like a training dummy to you faggot? You sure look like one to me right now faggot. Where'd you get the key, faggot? Is that why I was barking at you faggot? Were the birds watching out for me and trying to get my attention faggot? You snooping through my car too faggot?

What about my stolen license plate? I already filed a report, you gonna try to claim a repo job faggot? It's in clear view of cameras too faggot. Because you had my place staked out to snoop around while I was outside? Huh faggot? What else did you do? Do I have to throw all my food out because your faggot ass tried to poison my food, faggot? No, that's not an inconvenience. What was this pill on my floor faggot? Cyanide? What if i took it to a lab. What would i find? Piss addict faggot.

What other cameras can see you in the hall, faggot?

Close curtains while I'm here, open them when I leave so you can violate peeping Tom conduct, faggot.

All just US secret service training at my life's expense to play bodyguard for some corrupt politician vs. some criminally insane asshole, huh faggot?

#piss-addict。

[storiumemporium]

In the Haze of a Crimson Lust II

Viktor/Vampire!Reader/Jayce

| Word Count - 4.2k | ANGST ANGST ANGST |

&lt; Previous | Next >

(HERE'S PART TWO! I don't know that this would count as plot heavy, mostly it's just worldbuilding at this stage- partially fueled by my terrible decision to read Flowers for Algernon while writing this- but she sure does fucking HURT. Enjoy!!!)

TAG LIST:

@hikariflower4 @hr-nm-grnd-zr @queerkittycat @dreamtogether2000

(P.S. I don't know if you're still inchrested but here's part 2 of that Vamp Fic @arcanescribbles 🥺👉👈)

Viktor and Jayce attempt to stop your condition from progressing, things take a rapid turn for the worst.

Jayce has never seen Viktor look so small before.

Viktor, a pillar of pride and genius, a man who has never let the world drag him under, wilted away before him. He doesn't need Viktor to say it, he just stares with big, hopeless, frightened eyes and Jayce's stomach falls away into the void.

"Jay—" his voice breaks, Jayce sees bright, panicked tears bubbling up in Viktor's eyes as he forces himself deeper into the lab, looking for a seat. Jayce abandons his work, as if it hadn't existed.

He slams into Viktor maybe a little harder than he intends to, arms coming to squeeze the man tightly enough around the waist and back that he lifts clear off the ground, and rather than his usual grumbling, Jayce can hear his crutch clatter to the ground, left in favor of wrapping his arms around Jayce's neck. He hiccups, and Jayce's heart fractures.

"Hey, hey... We'll fix it, okay? We solved Hextech, right? We can do this too. She'll be okay."

"We- we don't have enough time, enough resources- this isn't our expertise-"

"Vik, we aren't mages either, but we did it. Have faith in me- in us."

Jayce wouldn't admit it then, not for many years- but he manages to keep a false calm entirely off the desire to protect Viktor, trying his best to be for his partner what Viktor had been for him so many years ago. The realization that you... that you were dying, it's like being forced under water- it's like he's a little boy again, caught in a blizzard.

He helps Viktor toward a chair- the one Jayce had been in himself when Viktor burst through the door, and fetches his cane as Viktor attempts to collect himself, tears spilling over silently as he wipes them with frustration.

"Where is she now? Is she...conscious..?" Jayce can hear his own fear creaking through when he asks.

"I-" Viktor runs a trembling hand through his hair. "I panicked."

"Vik..?"

"She- she was- she spoke of going to the Enforcers...of telling them about her condition."

"They would've taken her to Stillwater..."

"They would have killed her, Jayce." All Viktor could think of, in that moment, is you being snatched away from him- of you, alone in a cold, dark, prison-made-hospice, withering away, rotting while impersonal and frightened nurses and doctors poked and prodded at you, making at best half-hearted attempts to save you.

If you- if you were going to go, he wanted it to be in your bed, with him, under warm heavy blankets and in your comfortable clothes. Surrounded by things you loved, just the way he wanted.

The calm he so carefully had been trying to build up cracks again, the fragile twine of his psyche is unspooling, tears rising, and Viktor startles at the feeling of big, heavily calloused hands on his face.

Jayce is rubbing the delicate skin just beneath his eyes, a soothing little back and forth for Viktor to focus on, he can see the twinge of pink in Jayce's own eyes as he squeezes Viktor's face gently.

"I locked her in our bedroom." He finally admits, hoarse. "She was asleep when I left so I swapped the lock around. She can't get out."

"Alright...alright." He's nodding to himself now, and Viktor can see the fire start in his eyes. "C'mon, Vik. We've got a plan to hatch."

—

Viktor... you stupid, sweet man.

You're laying against the door now- crawled off your bed to it after struggling too hard to stand- having woken up to find that he's imprisoned you. You take a guess that he didn't like your suggestion to go to the authorities.

Your mind rolls back to the realization of what was happening to you, just hours before. The way he'd gone shock still and stared and stared at you like he couldn't fathom it- like every fiber of his being was rejecting the very notion, the thought that something so terrible had befallen you. The way he'd crumbled after the words left your mouth.

You understood- of course you did... But this wasn't just about you. People could die.

People have died.

You feel in some way better but also worse than you did early that night, if only because you have context for the illness rampaging through your system now, heedless of the way you're toppling down around it's wrath. Or perhaps reveling in it.

With the sun finally truly rising up in the sky, light has become fucking unbearable in a way words could not describe, the blinds and curtains zero solace- serving instead to mock the way your eyes scream and your head throbs against the assault. You'd stumbled over there awhile ago, hand clamped tightly over your eyes as you used all your feeble, feverish strength to push a heavy old bookshelf in front of the offending window. It hadn't cured the problem, but you felt like you could breathe again.

But the illness is still taking it's toll, you're hyperaware of the sun blazing in underneath the door, so harshly it feels as if you should find a floodlight on the other side instead of the lazy morning light you were used to. The kind of haze you used to wake up inside of with crusted eyes, ready to complain until you'd feel a sweet pair of lips against the corner of your mouth. It fills you with an odd anxiety, not being able to stand day like this. You don't know why you're even concerned, seeing as you're dying, but it's still there, suffocating you.

The hunger has reclaimed your stomach as well, you've noticed. Settling in against the pits like a lead weight that makes your muscles tense. Before the last twenty-four hours, you'd never felt any kind of hunger like this before, a starvation that makes you cagey and unpredictable, even for yourself.

It startled you to nausea, laying in that bathtub staring at the man you loved so, so much, to realize that the frantic pounding you'd heard had not been your own heart racing, but that of Viktor's, fluttering in his pretty chest. Your ears so keen, so sensitive now that if you face your ear to him, you could hear the blood moving through his veins. Like the disease was warping your body, adapting you to listen for the gentle sounds of life, fresh meat for the feast.

Warm blood, if the story Viktor told you is true to life.

You know, already, that this isn't going to go well, it's something you resigned yourself to the very moment you'd realized it. You had to because you knew Viktor wouldn't, and it would get out of control if one of you weren't...realistic. You're just- you're going to keep getting hungrier, and eventually the thin tresses of control you've managed to maintain so far are going to snap. Maybe, if you're lucky, raw meats will sustain you for a brief time- but not forever. It will progress.

You just hope Viktor comes to his senses by then.

The war drum is starting again, getting closer, the beat of life that makes your senses prickle, every inch of your body tightening- and then feel a bone deep fear at that subconscious reaction. Already losing your grip.

It's two sets of heartbeats, two sets of feet- and a third for a cane. Jayce and Viktor are here.

Even from the opposite end of the apartment you can hear Jayce swear- no doubt taking in the sight of the kitchen after your three A.M. fridge raid in the desperate pursuit of satisfaction.

"Vik? Jayce?" You croak out, that fever has you freezing cold and fatigued, cutting you down so that even the effort of speaking has become herculean. They're getting closer, so you slide yourself across the room, away from the door rather pathetically, propping up against the footboard of your bed as the rhythmic tick of the door unlocking meets your sensitive ears.

It's Jayce first, surprisingly, who steps into the room, he looks a bit like he's been shot when his eyes scan the intimate little haven of your home and finds you on the floor, instead of curled up among the blankets and pillows in your bed.

You look haunting, to him.

It's not your clothes and hair, that cling to you through the drench of sweat, it's not the way your pupils are dilated massively- and the way he can see them reflect like a feline, casting the light back at him, or even the fact that your skin was turning gray. No, none of that mattered, not to him.

It's how you try so hard to smile at the two men, and he can see the strain. Something that was so easy, so natural for you, and now forcing even the expression seems to exhaust. You've done nothing but sleep- far as Viktor tells him- and yet, you look so tired.

Like you're already ready to lose the fight.

Jayce approaches you slowly, not entirely sure what to expect from your behavior, only for his shoulders to slouch when he hears you giggle at him. "Not that far gone, just yet." Your voice is rough, the last time he'd heard you like that you'd wandered out in negative zero weather trying to get him his favorite drink, knowing full well how much he dreaded the snow. He'd lectured you for a good fifteen minutes, bundled up in front of the furnace of his forge, about the dangers of weather like that while you just smiled cheerily at him through the chattering of your teeth.

Your eyes, unsettling as they are, become so big and round and soft when you see him bend down, confused by what he's doing until he scoops you up into his arms. You're so small, not like Viktor who is- willowy and sharp angles, all those beautiful edges, no, you're just- tiny, and soft, and sweet, and drenched in sweat and sagging so heavily against him, face slotting against his neck.

Viktor comes up to sandwich you there against him, Jayce watches long fingers wipe away the sweat on your brow, tuck strands of hair behind your ear, check your pulse- and then Viktor's kissing your temple sweetly, and Jayce can see the way his eyes screw shut, brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry for caging you, Mouse. I just... I couldn't let you-"

"I know, Vik... It's okay." You say it softly, and your head tips away from Jayce's neck to look at Viktor through slits. "I'd be the same way, if our roles were switched."

"We need to get you to the labs," he doesn't mean for it to come out in a whisper, but it does- and you sigh, full body and heavy against him, face tucking back in against his neck. It should make him more nervous, he thinks. "It's not gonna be easy, not every day we're just carrying people into the Academy, but we should be able to manage it if we avoid the Enforcers' rotations."

Thoughts swirl around in your head unbidden, like fat, sharp claws raking against your brain.

Just how quickly did this ailment move? How much time did you have left? Is this how it will be, now? Viktor and Jayce sneaking around like criminals for you? How long until they get caught, how severe will the punishment be?

Are you worth all this?

But you aren't given an option, because to them? Yes, you were worth this, more than this, they'd burn Piltover to the ground if it could save you.

—

You're sitting in a ball on Viktor's desk in the lab. You note absently that it's even colder here than it was at the apartment, it's less an observation of feeling, and more simply a fact- like the way you know something is going to burn even without feeling the heat. You're aware of the way your body shakes, but it's not- it doesn't feel as if you are shaking, it's all sort of...out of body. Too captivated are you by the strangeness of your senses, the way the world is the same but not, bent just a little.

Your vision moves in patches of dark and bright, it reminds you of sunrays through water, moving in a hypnotic dance, like a living thing. It makes focusing hard, you find yourself wandering- drifting as you're caught up in the pretty ways the light dances, and each time your gaze snaps to some random corner of the lab Viktor and Jayce make odd expressions- but- you can't seem to hold focus long enough to piece together what it is. Your hearing is stronger than you realized, footsteps and drum-drum-drum of heartbeats, whistling and talking, sweet laughter that makes you smile, life is moving around you and you are privy of it in a way you never have been before, you decide you like it.

Even your touch has altered.

It's subtle, at least for now. The world seems to move around you wrong, liquid-y. Things push against you like waves, and you think you could follow the trails long after the thing that created them has left. It's like- you, and a pond, the pond is very very still- so still that when a droplet hits the water it ripples perfectly. You cannot tell if you're the droplet or the body of water.

You're staring at Viktor's bookshelf now, it's something you'd helped him stock for late nights in- you worried that maybe he'd get too restless trying to puzzle out some equation and not have a healthy distraction, a means to breathe.

Now it looks so different. The lights are dancing around it, catching off the books and making little lightshows that are impossibly fascinating in the moment.

You feel the ripple, and your head snaps to Viktor- who tried valiantly to not jump, but you still saw it, all the way down into his fingers, the way the muscles contract and tighten with shock. That hand is outstretched, he was going to touch you.

"Mouse..." he swallows thickly, and tries again. "Where did you go, sweet? You keep disappearing on me."

You lower your legs, slowly, and push yourself forward until your feet rest on either side of his thighs. He's smiling at you sweetly, but you can see the relentless concern there.

"Sorry, Vik. I know I'm supposed to be helping- I just-" how do you even begin to explain..? "I-I cant really uh- put it to words. Things are sort of- different."

"I'd imagine so, with the reports we've gotten." Jayce says softly, and he has it within him to even sound a little amused, something that makes you smile.

Viktor's hands wrap around your ankles, and he's rubbing softly with his thumbs. "Stay with me, mm? How do you feel?"

You nod at him, and twiddle with the laces of your stained pajama pants. The stain has taken on a...bizarre coloration.

It's not just pink anymore, but rather feathered with lilac striations that remind you of ice on a window. You watch it for awhile longer, and note with some awe that the lilac seems to be spreading before your very eyes- as if you're watching the stain age very rapidly.

"Mouse?"

Your eyes snap back up, Viktor's hands have stilled, Jayce has stilled, they're both just staring at you, and they look concerned. "Hm? Sorry?"

Viktor sounds a bit grave when he whispers your name. "Please... what's happening..?"

Your mouth goes dry with understanding, they're not concerned- just, concerned. They're scared.

"D-do you see-?" You gesture a little helplessly at the stain, and Viktor leans forward to inspect.

"Yes... I- I suspect that's from the steaks, no?"

"Not that-" you shake yourself off, your own fear making agitation rise. "Do you see the...the colors?"

"What?"

"It's- it's turning- purple, in like... these patterns." Your hands flail a bit for effect, and you're aware that every word that leaves your mouth is making it worse, not better.

"Viktor... Viktor she's- she's progressing very-"

"I know." Viktor's voice is cold. "I know."

"Is it because of where I was..?"

They both look to you, as if suddenly reminded that you are in fact there to hear this.

"I-I mean, I was next to the blast, yeah? It's why I ended up buried in the rubble. They had to pull all kinds of shrapnel and things out of me..." You touch wounds that aren't even fully healed yet. "Is it progressing faster because I got more of it than the others?"

Viktor and Jayce sink together into their mechanical minds- retreating to the safety of logic in the face of you unspooling before them.

"Yes, it's likely. More contaminants in your body, it's spreading faster."

"But would that mean we could hypothetically catch it in the process of infecting her?"

"Perhaps, yes. We could draw a sample, observe it's behaviors. Perhaps... create something to counteract it."

And that's how you see your new blood for the first time.

As expected- it comes out thicker than it should, and it's already turned several shades darker than blood should be, but by the samples littered about in this room, it was nowhere near its darkest.

Viktor and Jayce share a look, and then they're examining it under a microscope.

"Is it... Crystallizing?"

"That can't be, she would be hemorrhaging blood right now."

"Then what is that—"

You feel ill.

All the prettiness is starting to close in on you, aggressive and distressingly sudden. The ripples feel like torrents and the lights have gotten all too bright again, less like melodious ripples and more like searing tracks that should be burning the stone.

Noises, noises, noises, all around. You feel yourself panicking, it's too much- it feels like you're in danger.

And then it stirs.

The hunger.

But it doesn't make its bed within your stomach, no, it calls your chest home, and it's squeezing around your heart in a way that hurts. All those heartbeats- they call out to you, too close and too far away. You want to reach out, to grab them- sink your teeth in.

You're off the table and halfway to the labs doors when they notice.

Jayce, thankfully, is faster than he looks.

You're not moving right, he notices, it doesn't seem impeded or in any way like you're ill- it's just, odd and rhythmic, like you're dancing along to something- or maybe trying to move out of the way of things he doesn't see. Nevertheless he gets close and you notice, taking off as fast as you can for the door and he knows in that moment-

Oh.

No.

He barely gets you by the back of your shirt and you snarl, it's not an impersonation done by a human, either, it's this deep throaty thing that rumbles and gurgles and no one could make a sound like that.

Then you're lunging at him and he has to take you by your throat. You're clean off the ground and seem completely unfazed by it, scratching aggressively at his arms. Even through all the padding, it stings a little.

Viktor shouts at the sight, and throws himself into the fray.

He knows better than to try and talk you down, you're utterly vacant in the eyes- so he does something that makes him want to cry for the third or fourth time that day.

He sedates you, heavily.

You make an odd, awful noise, and then go slack within Jayce's hands. He falls with you.

You're bundled up into his arms, and he furrows his brows hard, willing the panic attack he feels coming on to go away, not now not now not-

Viktor throws something.

Several things, in fact.

All of it's heavy and metal, nothing that would break, but it clatters like gunshots all around the room and it's paired with the awful, awful cries of Viktor's rage, vicious and breaking on the edges, almost shrill. He's slamming his hands down on the table hard enough he knows Viktor's hands will hurt later, and he's swearing more colorfully than he's ever heard from the man before.

And then he slumps, and slides to the floor.

He curls partially into a ball, a hand tugging painfully at his hair, and he stares at you- at Jayce, from the corner of his eye.

The two of you could make a painting.

Something domestic, and lovely, Viktor thinks. You're still in your nightclothes and you look peaceful and gentle wrapped up in Jayce's big, strong arms. He's rocking you tenderly, and if Viktor ignores the way Jayce is twitching and the way a nervous sweat is breaking out on his skin, he could picture that Jayce is just sharing an intimate, private moment with you.

Idly, Viktor wonders if maybe you wouldn't be dying in front of him right now, if you'd picked Jayce instead of him.

"She's progressing too fast." Viktor says it with unnatural flatness. "She's not going to make it."

"Don't- don't say that." Jayce is still looking down at you, in his arms. He sees veins in your face that weren't there before, the way almost all color has left you.

"She's going to die." He croaks, and falls the rest of the way to the floor, curling up into a ball.

All it had taken was one day, just one day for everything to come crashing down.

—

When you come to you know you don't have long left.

You can feel it coursing through you, everything is getting so hard to move, heavy and unresponsive.

You're back in the apartment, and terrified.

Why would they bring you here of all places?

Why didn't they just kill you, now that they've seen you're already out of control?

Especially with what they knew you'd become, here before long.

Someone is laying next to you.

You turn your head, and in a mirror of that fateful night a mere few weeks ago, Viktor is there. But there's no Jayce to be found.

Viktor is asleep, for a moment you pretend that nothing is wrong, that this is just another one of those rare, sweet times you wake up before your Tinker does, and get to watch the way his lashes flutter, eyes roving behind lids. He was always so restless, even when he slept, it's that big, ambitious brain of his.

You stifle a gasp when you feel your heart jolt, painfully. Everything feels off and not in the way it had been before. This is more desperate, more human.

You- you'd thought- you knew you didn't have long but-

Already..?

You stroke Viktor's face, gentle, tracing the hollow of his cheek. It didn't used to be so severe, so gaunt. Not until he'd collapsed.

It was something you'd forced yourself to make peace with, months ago. Receiving the prognosis. The condolences.

Your Viktor was dying, is dying. You'd watched it, too, watched the transition as his body needed more and more support, the coughing fits and the nights where he'd wheeze so loud you couldn't sleep, so you'd stare up at the ceiling and weep.

But you knew it was okay, that you'd be okay, for him. So that he could go easily, so he wouldn't spend his last moment worrying.

You feel the tears welling up now. You let them spill over easily.

You barely speak it to the air, quiet so you don't wake him from his sleep.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I'm so so sorry Viktor..." Your body shakes with the effort to keep from fully sobbing.

It's the kind of guilt that makes you breathless. The cruel realization that, you'd spent all that time coming to terms with the loss of Viktor, and now you were going to die first.

You were going to leave him, to suffer alone until his illness takes him.

It wasn't supposed to go this way. Even as a selfish part of you revels in the fact that you won't have to lose him, the rest aches. You were going to be there for him, be his rock, hold him and kiss him and tell him you love him, pet his hair that way he likes, you were going to spend his last days in lazy peace, relaxed and happy and laughing over fond memories.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

He would be alone now. Terribly alone. Growing sicker, alone. Dealing with the fear, alone. Suffering. Alone.

You hoped that maybe, just maybe, Jayce would fill in the role you'd so cruelly dumped on him, now.

The tears keep coming for awhile, staining the pillows heavy as you beg him to forgive you for this, like a religious woman might her God. There was nothing greater than Viktor, in your life.

You force yourself onto your side, heavy like lead, and kiss his forehead, his cheek, his beauty marks, and his lips. Featherlight, stopping only when he starts to briefly stir.

Then, you force yourself up to your desk, and write Viktor a letter.

When he wakes, you're gone.

#viktor #viktor x reader #arcane #viktor arcane #arcane x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #viktor x reader x jayce #my fic #Viktor Fic #Viktor Angst #Angst Fic #Crimson Lust

[theneondemonx]

HOUDINI | JJK

One Shot

▽ summary: jungkook was your first and only. When he got arrested, you felt like an idiot for always believing his every word and after a few years you decided to date again. But the word somehow got to his ears in jail and he couldn’t let you be anyone else’s but his.

▽ genre: porn with some plot, criminal au, established relationship

▽ pairings: escaped convict!jk x fem!reader

▽ words: 3464

▽ warnings: mention of abusive relationship, mention of alcohol abuse, mention of underage sex, criminal activities, implied murder, possessive behavior, mention of female masturbation, spanking, fingering, female ejaculation, overstimulation, oral sex (m receiving, deep throating), unprotected sex, lots of cum, dirty talk

( ➜ Drabble 1: first meeting ) [⏵playlist]

He hit me and it felt like a kiss He hit me and I knew he loved me If he didn't care for me I could have never made him mad But he hit me and I was glad

You were still very young when you learned that love was nothing like the cheesy romances you’d see on the big screen. Well, you didn’t actually have the money to go to the movies, but sometimes you found the way to sneak in and watch whatever was there to watch. You had a fascination for those stories, for those dancing images on the screen. They were made of pure light. Literally. While everyone was caught in the enchantment of the movie, you were the one to look behind your back and follow the light beam up until its source, looking straight at the small window from which the projector created the whole illusion of life before your eyes.

Most people want to escape from reality. They want to feel like their life has meaning, like it is just one plot twist away from being interesting. I didn’t. Maybe I should have, since mine was pretty shit. But I guess this was the whole reason why I was looking for the disenchantment. It’s like watching a magician. I’ve always been the type to be more observant, to look for the trick. Cause if there wasn’t any, then it would have meant that mine was the only pointless existence.

No one in your block had a penny to their names. Everyone dreamed of going away, of starting a new life and do something meaningful. But you knew that most of them would never make it. They were trapped.

We think of the key, each in his prison. Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

Those weren’t your words. They were Jungkook’s. Well, not his own words, actually. He had read them somewhere. He was the type to read, although he didn’t look like it at all. And you know how people who read are: they are good with words. They can shape reality with just a flick of their tongue. And damn if he got a way with words! That’s why you fell for him.

It wasn’t just the fact that he got the looks of an angel. He also talked like one. He could talk his way in and out of everything and you were pretty sure he could lie his way into heaven if he wanted to. He was an exceptional liar, a pathological one too. But you loved him anyway.

You believed him when he told you that he was going to turn your life upside down. Why wouldn’t you? He had already done it more times than you could count. He had done it since the day you first met in that dark movie theatre. You had always believed him and everything he said. He was the only man you ever loved, the first and the last you had sex with, and eventually the one you married.

He reminded you of your father. They had the same dangerous charm. Their eyes gleamed with the same light: that of a man who was willing to con the whole world and make it his own. Your father didn’t make it, though. He became a drunk mess and ended up in prison for attempted murder.

Only a pathetic fuck goes to jail for attempted murder. Either you go down for murder, or you don’t go down at all. That’s how much of a failure he was.

But you didn’t care about him. He used to beat your mother whenever he felt like it. Jungkook, on the other hand, never did that.

So, when he told you those words – “the less you know, the better” – you didn’t question him. You just believed him. And when he came home with a bag full of money and his hands covered in blood, you still didn’t question him. You just did as he asked and bent over the kitchen table to let him fuck you senseless.

You really didn’t care about what he did. Everyone in your block was somehow entangled with criminal activities. That’s just how it is when you can’t afford an honest life. What if he robbed a bank? What if he killed someone to get that money? So what? You’d love him anyway. You’d love him no matter what.

You still loved him when you heard the sirens wailing through the block and stop outside your shared house. You didn’t care about the fact that he just ripped your marriage into pieces. You always knew he was an Icarus.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be home for dinner.” He told you with a cocky smirk, while being pushed inside the police car.

And again, you believed him.

He was the only magician who ever managed to deceive you into thinking that his was actual magic and not just a trick. But when the jury found him guilty of aggravated robbery and murder, you felt like the lights had gone off and the curtain closed on his magic show. It was over. And now you were left standing in a sad empty circus, with just the distant music of the carousel to remind you of the fact that it was all a rouse. A convincing one for sure, but still a rouse.

When you saw him being taken away from the trial, you thought about those words he told you years before.

We think of the key, each in his prison. Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

And you smiled to yourself. Somehow, even though your whole life had just gone to pieces, you found them ironic. Who would have thought, back then, that he would end up in an actual prison? Not you for sure.

The years had passed and although you never really moved on from Jungkook, you decided it was time for you to build a life for yourself. You were still young and pretty, so it wasn’t hard for you to fool some stupid rich boy from the city. Kim Seokjin was no Jeon Jungkook, but he had money and a steady job – one that could actually pay for rent, food and vices without raising any question from the authorities.

He didn’t know you were broke as fuck, and you did your best to hide it with the means you had and the cunning that your lowlife background had teach you. You would buy fancy dresses and hide the tag when you wore them, so that you could return them the day after. You would also tell Seokjin to come pick you up at work in Gangnam. You never worked there, of course, but he was dumb enough to believe you. It didn’t really matter: you planned on sleeping with him soon enough and let him knock you up. Men always get way too excited when you tell them that they can fuck you without putting on a condom.

What you didn’t plan, however, was to find yourself with a tattooed hand covering your mouth when one night you came back home from a date with Seokjin. At first you tried to scream and free yourself from the strong grip of the mysterious man that somehow got into your house, but you froze as soon as he spoke.

“Shh be quiet, baby. You want to be the one to rat me out?”

You’d recognize that voice among millions. It was Jungkook.

How did he get out? His sentence is not over yet. He still has to serve twenty more years.

You thought that by being quiet and staying still, he would loosen the grip on you, but he didn’t.

“Fancy dress you got here, honey.” He hissed, pressing his lips against your ear and making you shiver from his touch. His hand trailed along the side of your body, caressing the expensive fabric of the white dress.

“Was your new boyfriend, the one who bought it for you?”

Your eyes widened at that question and you again tried to free yourself without success.

“Yeah.. I know. I was surprised too when Yoongi came to visit me and told me you were seeing some fancy city boy with his head up his tuxedo-covered ass.”

You knew that no matter how soft his voice could sound, he was mad. He was always calm when he was really mad.. until he wasn’t calm anymore.

“I told him: no, Yoongi, there’s no way that’s true. My sweet Y/N would never do something like that. She is a faithful wife, not some dirty whore who’s ready to sell her cunt to the first Richie Rich who comes around.”

He chuckled darkly.

“But he brought me the photos. So I guess I was wrong.”

He abruptly turned you around, pushing your back against the wall. It was then, that you saw him. His hair got longer and he somehow got some tattoos on his right arm. His dark eyes were gleaming in the dark with a mischievous light that you had never seen on him – not when he was looking at you, at least.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing you to look at him straight in the eyes.

“Did you let him touch you?”

“N-no.” You muttered, with your heartbeat racing fast and your eyes wide open like those of an innocent doe who was just caught by a cold-blooded hunter.

He pressed his body on yours, breathing heavily against your lips without breaking eye contact.

“If you are lying to me.. I’ll know, Y/N.” He hissed. And you knew that those words were a clear warning.

“I expect your cunt to be tighter than it was when I left. If it isn’t..” he chuckled, slightly tilting his head to the side and licking his lips while caressing gently your reddened cheek. “..well, I guess I’ll stretch your holes so wide that there won’t be any doubt about whose little whore you are.”

He didn’t give you any time to breathe, let alone answer. He pressed his lips on yours with such passion that he sucked the air out of your lungs. And you melted.

You still loved him, after all. You still craved for his touch, which you missed every single night that you’ve spent in your empty bed. Every time you touched yourself, you always closed your eyes and think of him: his hands, his lips, his toned body, his cock, his breath, his smell.. everything. No man could turn you on like he did.

You could tell he had changed. He got more violent, more possessive. But for some reason, that didn’t bother you. Somehow, in a fucked up way, you enjoyed it. It was like you just had the proof that he truly loved you. That you were sill his.

You run your fingers through his hair, tightening your grip while kissing him deeply. A muffled sigh escaped from your lips when his tongue entered your mouth, exploring every corner of it like that was the last kiss he was ever gonna give you.

“Touch me.” You murmured, like it was a prayer sent straight to God.

The first one that was actually answered, since Jungkook’s hands quickly slipped under your dress while you kicked off your shoes. He turned you around again, face against the wall, and removed your underwear.

You gasped at his touch on your wet entrance, arching your back so that he could see your pussy in its full glory.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.” He murmured, starting to run his palm on your pussy.

You moaned, grinding against his hand in search of his touch while he steadied your hips with the strong grip of his free hand.

“Already purring like a kitten, baby?”

Another moan escaped from your lips, this time loudly, when he inserted his middle finger in your throbbing core, feeling it clench around his touch.

“Such a good girl. You didn’t lie to me.” He commented in a hiss, inserting another finger to test your tightness and starting to pump his digits on your most sensitive spot.

“So tight. Will you be able to take my cock, baby?”

“Y-yes. Yes I will.” You answered in between your heavy breaths and moans, chasing the pleasure that his movements gave you.

You suddenly let out a sharp cry when you felt his hand slapping your ass cheek without notice. But the lingering pain had the only effect of heightening the pleasure and getting you even more wet.

Hu chuckled, spanking you one more time.

“Fuck! Jungkook!”

He had always loved it when you said his name during sex, and he still did apparently, since he started pumping his digits harder inside you. The lewd sounds of your pussy soon filled the silence of the night.

When his other hand reached your clit and started drawing quick circles around it, your legs started shivering and your eyes rolled back from the pleasure. If it wasn’t for the wall, you’d probably fall on your knees when the orgasm hit you. You moaned so loud that you almost sounded like a dying animal.

“That’s it baby. Cum for me.”

His words only made it worse and you couldn’t help but feel like a fire ball hit you right in the belly. Your walls clenched around his pumping digits and soon your climax reached an unprecedented high, making you ejaculate on his hand while waves of pleasure went through your body like an electric shock.

“Oh my God!” Was is reaction to the mess you just made.

He let out a satisfied laugh, retracting his fingers from your overstimulated core just to smear your arousal on your own lips.

“Open your mouth, baby. I want you to taste yourself – the way I make you feel.”

You obeyed, and even if you were still panting and barely able to function, you took his fingers in you mouth, rotating your tongue around them and sucking every drop of your own arousal before letting them out with a pop.

“Good girl.” He praised you softly, caressing your hair. “Now get on your knees for me.”

Again, you obeyed without hesitation while he unzipped his pants and pumped himself a few times in front of your face.

You looked up at him, licking your lips. You could still taste your slick on them, but you wanted something different. You wanted his taste. And you were so eager to get it, that you didn’t waste any time.

You soon wrapped your mouth around his hard cock, sucking it like it was your last meal. But letting you have it your way was not Jungkook’s plan. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, tying them up in a ponytail that was only held by his own hand, and started thrusting inside your mouth until tears were gathering at the corner of your eyes.

A deep growl escaped from his lips at the sight of your mouth stuffed with his cock and your messed up make up smeared all over your face.

“My little whore. Always so good for me.” He said through his panting, face fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

And probably there wasn’t gonna be one. For all you knew, the police could come at any moment and take him back to his cell – this time, forever. But, if anything, the thrill just added something extra to the whole situation, making it even more exciting.

The rhythm of his deep thrusts against your throat soon made you gag. And that was it. That was what he wanted, what he was looking for.

“Oh shit! Fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

His cum shot straight down your throat, filling you with his warm liquid. You loved his taste. You always had since the first time he sucked his cock. You were only fifteen back then, and you had no idea how to do it. But he was older than you and he guided your every movement, teaching you what he liked and what he wanted. You thought you’d spit him out, but you always swallowed. You liked it. You liked the taste of his orgasm and you liked to know that you were the one to make him cum like that.

“Take off your dress and bra.”

Your jaw was still feeling numb and your legs weak when he ordered you to undress, but you still obeyed, in a daze.

“Now bend over the couch.”

Again, you didn’t raise any question. You just crawled towards the couch and rested your chest on the pillows, closing your eyes while you tried to catch your breath. You could feel your heart beating strong, muffled by the padded fabric of the couch. The only other sound was that of his steps, getting closer and closer to you until he dropped heavily on his knees, resting his large hands on your ass cheeks and parting them.

He let out a pleased moan and you could feel his gaze devouring the most intimate part of your body. You didn’t even need to look or feel him to know that he was getting hard again. And you felt proud. You arched your back and spread your legs a big wider, offering him the whole show. You loved to know that he wanted you so bad. Just the thought of his desire aroused you more than anything else.

He chuckled, spanking you again and making you gasp at the sharp feel of his palm against your sensitive skin.

“God, you’ve always loved being a slut for me. Am I right?”

You thought the question was rhetoric, so you didn’t respond. But when he gave you another spank and bent over you, pulling your hair to get your ear closer to his lips, you knew he wanted to hear your voice.

“Answer me. Whose little slut are you?”

“Y-yours, Jungkook. I’m your little slut.”

He chuckled darkly, letting go of your hair while caressing your reddened ass cheek and pressing his lips on your ear.

“Good girl.” He praised you, slowly starting to align the tip of his cock with your wet entrance.

You whimpered at the feel, arching your back even more to look for more friction. Seeing you like that, so eager to have him inside of you, was all it took for him to sink deep inside your core, filling you with all his length and stretching your walls.

“Fuck! You got so tight, baby.”

You did. While he was away, you didn’t have sex with anybody and you only started thinking about that when you met Seokjin. Not because you really wanted to, but because you felt like it was a necessary step to get what you wanted. Sure, Jin was handsome, but he was no Jungkook. Your husband, your first love, your first everything – he was the only one who could make you wet just by staring at you. He had that power – the power to make your head spin like you had too many drinks.

Jungkook hold your hips in place and started pounding you hard, making you moan at every thrust until you were just a hot wet mess at his mercy.

“Jungkook..” That was all you could say, breathless, while feeling your walls clench around his cock like they were holding to dear life.

He went balls deep inside of you, fucking you for all the times he didn’t in the past three years. It was intoxicating, and you knew you could never get enough of that feeling – of him.

“Jungkook.. cum inside me, please.” You whimpered, pleading him with a mere whisper when you felt his thrusts getting sloppier and more imprecise. Your orgasm was close too, but you wanted to make sure he didn’t pull out. You wanted to feel every drop of him.

“Y/N.. fuck!” Was all he said while he sank deep inside your core, filling you up with his cum and pumping it in to get you closer to your climax.

You came with his name on your lips and the lewd sounds of your sex filling your ears like the sweetest music you’d ever heard. Your hands grabbed the fabric of the couch and you could feel your saliva dripping down the side of your lips, parted by the intense sensation of your orgasm.

He dropped with his chest pressing on your back. You could feel his heavy breath against your skin and his heartbeat trying to get a calmer pace while the high of the climax was slowly fading away.

“We are leaving tonight, baby.” He whispered in your ear after a few moments of silence. “I’m not going back to jail. I’m not gonna let them tear us apart again.”

And again, even after everything that had happened, you believed him.

I guess this is my prison. You are. But I don’t want to escape.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

“I love you too, baby.”

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jk #jjk #jeon jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook criminal au #smut #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts criminal au #fanfic #oneshot #bts oneshot #bts x reader #criminal au

[magniloquent-raven]

(pt1 here)

billy grew up afraid of finding his soulmate.

when he was eight his father caught him trying to wash nail polish off with soap and a hand towel.

he’d heard girls at school saying it was what you did when your soulmate was a boy. you were supposed to paint yourself up all pretty and find the person who matched. and it was easy enough to sneak into the vanity and steal a bottle of his mother’s nail polish. but once the paint dried he realized it would be impossible to hide from his father, and he panicked.

his mother showed him the bottle of nail polish remover after neil left. dabbed some on a cotton ball to rub at the thick layer of paint. she was silent, kneeling on the floor in front of him cradling his sprained wrist while he sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

they both had questions, but neither of them got answers.

it took billy months to work up the courage to try again.

he wasn’t sure why he was bothering, at first. he knew he couldn’t look for his soulmate the traditional way. and he was constantly terrified that his father would find the supplies he’d started hoarding. it seemed like more risk than reward, and yet. he couldn’t stop himself.

every time he was allowed to wander off in a store alone he’d slip something into his pocket. a tube of lip gloss. a compact full of shiny powders. he wasn’t even sure what some of it was, he just liked the colours. liked the pictures they hung alongside the displays. he wanted to look like that. beautiful.

and in his heart of hearts, he wanted the boy who was out there waiting for him to know he existed. whether they’d be able to find each other or not.

he’s more careful with this than he was with the nail polish. his father works saturday nights, and his mother always visits their neighbour while he’s at work. despite having the house to himself he locks his bedroom door.

the first thing he tries is the watermelon lip gloss. it’s sticky, and the wand doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably, but once he’s smeared it on he feels...good. he likes the way it catches the light. likes the way it smells. he looks at himself in the mirror and likes seeing something different.

the high doesn’t last long, it inevitably gives way to paranoia, anxiety that has him glancing at the locked door every thirty seconds, heart pounding, wondering if just maybe his father will get home from work early, and he jumps at every sound, hearing boots thudding on the porch and car doors slamming and anything that could be neil coming through the door.

cleaning himself up is hard. panic makes his hands shake, his eyes well up. he drops everything on the floor when he tries to tuck the bag away. and he has to spend twenty minutes with his back to his bedroom door getting his breathing under control when he’s finished.

but he does it again the following saturday. and the one after that.

for five months he does this. locks himself away with his stolen treasures and lets himself live a little. it gets easier as time goes on. and his mind wanders sometimes. to a future where he gets to share this with someone. the boy out there who’s supposed to love him one day.

it’s a small bubble of a dream. one he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on. not when there’s neil’s voice in his head, telling him that no one could love a fucking freak, ‘cause fags don’t get real soulmates anyways.

he wants and he wishes, but the more he thinks about it the more he doubts. he’s never gotten a mark from his soulmate, and even if he did some day, what if his father’s right, and his “soulmate” doesn’t want him or makes him miserable or...worse.

so he does his makeup for himself.

until, like all good things in his life, his father ruins it.

he never found out what set neil off initially, something going wrong at work maybe, or the martial strife of the week getting to him. whatever it was that started it, neil eventually decided billy should bear the brunt of the fallout.

so he went through his things. said billy’d been acting cagey lately, and he was going to find out why.

and then found the makeup bag stuffed into an old sweater in his closet.

it was ugly. the things neil said that day would play on repeat in billy’s head for years afterwards. the scars his belt left on billy’s back were nothing in comparison.

the next saturday came and went. billy spent the evening curled up under a blanket not bothering to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.

by morning he’s resolved to forget the whole thing. to put it behind him. because it was stupid, and risky and childish and maybe his father was right. he’s almost convinced himself. and then he notices ink on his arm, as he reaches up to rub his eyes. messy scrawl, i bet you looked pretty crookedly written up his forearm.

he didn’t think he was able to cry any more, but he manages it.

for the first time his soulmate isn’t just a concept, or a what-if, he’s...a person. he’s a real person out there somewhere. someone who doesn’t even know billy and still wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. it’s more than he’s gotten from anyone else. even his mother. who he knows loves him, and she does her best to protect him, but when she found out about his makeup stash she just looked sad, and she’s said nothing to him about it.

but his soulmate…

can never, ever meet neil.

the thought hits him right in the chest.

whoever he is, he cares, he’s good. and neil breaks good things.

billy falls asleep that night tracing the empty space where his soulmate’s message used to be, wrapped up in worries and dreams, and terrified for someone he’s never met.

the doodles that come and go over the years are terrifying and exhilarating and billy manages to hide every single one from his father. they only ever show up during the day, and they don’t linger. something billy is both grateful for and resentful of.

sometimes he’ll watch other boys’ hands in class. check them for drawings. he thinks he’s being careful, but a girl in his chem class, becca, catches him. she says it’s only because she knew what to look for. they share a cigarette under the bleachers and she tells him about a girl who likes green eyeshadow and writes homework reminders on her wrists using stars instead of bullet points.

it takes billy six months and a couple shots of tequila to tell her about watermelon lip gloss and bet you’re pretty and they both cry when he starts to wonder if his soulmate will be disappointed that he isn’t a girl.

on a rainy april afternoon she asks him to go to a gay bar with her. he tells his father he’s going on a date. she tells her’s that she had to reschedule a tutoring session and it’ll run pretty late.

they wait til it’s dark and get ready in a dingy gas station bathroom. when she’s smearing on her eyeliner she catches sight of his face in the cloudy mirror. he wasn’t going to ask her for anything. he wouldn’t have brought it up. the twinge in his heart and a hollow feeling of longing aren’t anything new, he can deal.

he feels and empty kind of rage every time old, well-meaning relatives give max girly lip gloss kits and eyeshadow pallets and shit normal preteen girls who care about finding their soulmates actually appreciate. she always rolls her eyes and throws them away. susan will fish them out of the trash sometimes, and leave them under the bathroom sink, like if max just sees them there she’ll suddenly give a shit and start using them. like them being there does anything but taunt billy with what he can’t have.

neil watches him like a fucking hawk every time that shit comes into the house. and max doesn’t fucking care. doesn’t notice.

but becca offers.

and.

he’s not about to say no.

he should’ve said no.

it feels good at first, like it used to, it feels like freedom and he likes what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and he kisses a boy for the first time and it isn’t fireworks but it’s something, and he thinks maybe it’s going to be a good night, but then…

neil is waiting on the curb outside becca’s house. they were heading there first, because her parents wouldn’t notice, she said it would be fine, she has makeup remover he can use, he can clean up and head home and everything was supposed to be okay, except. it wasn’t.

it’s the last time he sees becca. neil tells her parents what was actually going on, and she isn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital.

and then six months of rehab, one rushed wedding and a big ugly sold sign later, neil carts them off to hawkins, indi-fucking-ana. as a “family.”

billy was certain this town would be nothing but a prison. it’d be somewhere he’d never find a place to be himself, neil would make sure of that. there wasn’t a single thing to like about this place and its bullshit small town sensibilities. for all the open space it might as well have been stone walls and steel bars.

except.

except...here was a boy with soft eyes and nimble fingers, who gets a little wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates, and is always moving, fidgeting, fiddling with zippers and touching his elbows and looking at him makes billy itch. to touch, to soothe, to take, and…

things get complicated when aimless blue waves scrawl up billy’s arm. when steve follows him out into the parking lot. calls him pretty to his face. and suddenly billy’s eight years old and realizing this shit is real. terrified of what that could mean. spinning fragile dreams like spider’s silk, hard to shake but easy to destroy.

even entertaining the idea of putting on makeup while he’s still in hawkins is stupid and dangerous, but goddamn if he hasn’t risked more for less.

he’s sure he’ll regret it. like he’s regretted every other desperate bid for freedom. but when faced with steve harrington’s smile, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

(edit: pt3 here)

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #soulmate au #a raven's writing desk #another part is coming #cuuuz #this was getting way too long kdfljgk #i had to split it up cuz the other stuff i wanted to write is. definitely just gonna be a whole nother post to itself lol

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Angel has Kai’s baby in their 3rd (last) year of highschool and Kai has no idea since she hid her pregnancy so 2 years later Kai breaks up with angel to focus on his “experiments” when Kai is sent to Tartarus the guards tell him that he has a visitor and there’s angel and his child and Kai starts to tear up

"Eh...?" you could only mutter in disbelief as Kai read some papers with an unbothered expression.

"I know you for about five years (Y/n). I know you dont have any issues with your hearing." He muttered coldly before sighing and placing the papers on the desk.

"You... want to break up...? Why? What did I do?" You asked with trembling lips as he stared at your eyes.

"Is more about on what you can't and won't do." He pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose before waving it in the air "You know I am the future leader of the hassaikai. And having you near would be only a distraction to my experiments to give this place more credit. You would be like a rock on my path to gain some knowledge."

"You're kidding right?" You almost sobbed "You always told me I was like a safe place for you to go. What the hell happened to that? Or the promises you made for me for us to get married?" He blinked before answering.

"I was foolish. We have a life ahead of us and well, having you being clingy on my back would be a nuisance while working."

The ground could swallow you for all you cared... what the supposed love of your life just said was enough to leave you with eyes red and legs felling like they were trembling.

"Please dont cry. You're dropping them on the ground. And I dont even know if you're clean." You gritted your teeth before breathing in and looking at Kai Chisaki for what you swore for one last time.

"Very well. You want to break up because I'm only a bother to your path to greatness oh punny God? So be it." You walked until you felt him grabbing your wrist until you snatched it away from him.

"When the time is right, we can get back together." He spoke like he was in a fucking meeting in a company.

"No." You hissed "Chisaki I loved you, and I gave you everything of me even supporting your ideas. But then you want to break up with out of no where saying I would ruin your plans by simply existing neat you and to top it off you call me clingy and a nuisance?"

You could see a tad bit of remorse on his eyes as he pondered for a second his own words maybe, but before he could speak you sobbed and opened the door.

"Don't ever look for me Chisaki. And for your information..." you hesitated and gulped down the urge to just yell what you had discovered just earlier while clenching your purse where the pregnancy test lied on.

"What?" He asked, now no longer seeing to be bothered by your sadness and outburst.

"... good luck on your life. I hope you're happy with this obstacle getting away from you." You muttered before closing the door and walking out until you cursed and screamed while you ran as the rain started to make an appearance.

Not noticing the germophobic himself running out of the house with an umbrella to give it to you and soaked as well as he watched with a dread expression your figurine run away...

.

.

Ten years later...

.

.

"I swear Kaiyo... you gonna drive me crazy one of these days." You spoke heartedly as the boy with brow hair laughed in embarrassment while scrubbing the back of his head as you caught all the pieces of the broken chair on the ground.

"Sorry ma! I got carried away." You scoffed but soon smiled at his tiny hands and focused face morph the pieces and piece them back together and with a proud face show you the new constructed chair with a 'tad a!'

"Wow. Impressive sweety!" You patted his hair as he "complained", golden eyes shinning brightly at looking at you with a huge smile on.

Life sometimes was cruel to give the child you loved the exact same face as their father which teared your heart at pieces. But your love for your son was stronger than this stupid thing.

Kaiyo was your son. Not his.

"Ne ne ma? Father's day is coming up!" Kaiyo said and you froze for a moment before sighing while washing the dishes.

Here we go...

"Yes it is coming." You muttered as the boy sneak around and looked up at you.

"You know I dont really care about what the other kids say about me having only a mom but..." he rested his face on his crossed arms on the sink while shyly looking up at you "I was just curious... if I am going to meet mine..."

You sighed while placing the now dry plates on their place before giving your son the best smile you could get.

"Kaiyo, your father is just a very busy name. When we were together he had.. uh.. family business to take care of, so that's why we cant see him much." Kaiyo seemed a bit dissapointmented and it tore you apart.

You could have your own issues with Kai but that didn't mean you would make his son hate him...

"Well... Sato's also got a busy dad but.." he shook his head, messy brow bangs shaking along with his head, until he gave you a bright smile "That's okay! I just hope I get to meet him one day! And that he gets back to you and apologize foe being a dork! So us three can live together!"

A child can dream, right?

But you knew that Kai needed to know the existence of Kaiyo... you werent ignorant...

"Yeah kiddo. Let's hope for the best." You carresed his cheek before kissing it "Okay. Enough talk. Time for bed young man."

"Awww already?" He pouted as you giggled.

"How about that? You go get ready and I tell you stories about me and daddy while we were together?"

"Can I get my plushie of mr Nighteye?" You giggled. Something Kaiyo definitely wasn't equal to his father was his fascination with heroes.

"Sure honey. Now shoo! Go go go!" You squished his cheeks as he laughed and ran towards his room on the apartment.

You snorted at sign before preparing yourself for digging the past once again for the sake of your son.

.

.

.

"MOM!" You almost chopped your finger along with the carrot at the shout of Kaiyo before looking at him in worry to se ehkm pointing at the T.V with horror "The heroes-! The green hero with the girl-!"

You immediately went to his side only to widened your eyes at the image in front of you.

Chisaki..?

"Ma! He is a villain! A BIG ONE!"your son whimpered while going for you for a hug while stared in shock... "Ma? Why are you trembling?"

"H-Huh?" You let out until you gasped at seeing this teenager punching Chisaki square in the face...

"Ma?! You're okay?!"

You didn't know what to feel, but surely you weren't expecting tears to fall when this girl hand cuffed your ex boyfriend and the cops and heroes to put him into a van to surely got to the prison. Tartarus you bet.

You felt a hand rubbing your cheek and soon looked at your son wide teary eyes.

"M-Mommy...?" You hugged him close to your chest and holding his head close as your heart almost slammed out of your chest. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"I-i... I'm okay honey." You inhaled before looking into Kaiyo's golden eyes to see worry on them. "Hey, mommy's okay."

"Ma...?"

"Hm?"

"That man looked like me..."

.

How long was he here? Months?

Didn't matter. Nothing mattered more... everything was taken from him. Including his own arms. Now he was just as useless as a cockroach.

Worst of all? His own father figurine on a damn hospital because of him...

Pathetic.

'Is funny how things change' is what you used to say... he found himself scoffing while pressing the back of his head on the wall.

He hadn't stop thinking about you ever since the day he made the decision of breaking up with you. He did tried inumerous times to contact you when he took leadership of the Hassaikai... but he just gave up.

"Probably married with kids already... why are you even thinking about her on the first place..?" he murmured to himself as he felt his chest tighten in sadness.

Everything was just... what he deserved.

He sighed. Closing his eyes for just a split second until he heard banging on the door of his cell until a guard opened the window on it to glare daggers at him.

"Get up. You have visitors."

"Leave me in here. I thought your job was to take seriously enough to not make jokes." He spoke on a hoarse voice until the cell opened with two guards already on it.

"I cant understand why you have visitors as well but get your ass up already."

He just blinked until he got up, two guards in front of him and one behind as he walked.

He just hoped it was fast.

He entered the room, mirrors which surely was where cops were hidden as he sitted down on a chair and waited until the door of iron opened by another guard.

"Right here ma'am. And remember the rules please."

"Of course." His eyes widened and he snapped his head up to see if he hadn't got crazy.

But no. You were there.

Gosh.. you didn't change at all... was even more beautiful than what his mind could have remember.

He stood there in shock as you got in but along with you... holding your hand, was a boy. Dressed with clothes but he surely didn't looked content about being in here.

His face dropped at seing the kid... you had moved on.

"One hour." The guard said locking the door as you stood there awkwardly, while the kid holding onto to you was glaring at the ground.

He wanted to say something but nothing came out as he was still in shock at seeing out of all people you decided to visit him.

The heels you wore clicked on the ground as you walked towards the table and sit down and the boy right by your side on the other chair... not even once you made eye contact with him.

"... (y/n)..." he whispered, still looking at you as if you were some angelical creature.

"Hey... long time that we dont see each other right? Chisaki." You spoke... not with a smile but not with hatred.

It was a start.

"You... hadn't changed a... a bit." He spoke, voice scratching at his throat as your eyes finally met his, his heart was beating loudly on his chest.

It felt like he was in high school again...

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"I.. I didn't meant to offend you. Apologies." He bowed his head a bit as you sighed, looking at him with wide eyes out of the sudden.

"Oh God what happened to your arms?!" You almost screamed as the kid also seemed to notice.

"Long story... just.. a business that went wrong." He explained with dread as you seemed to relax a but while nodding.

It remained quiet for a bit only for the sound of the clock on the wall until he decided to break the silence.

".. so.. er.." gosh he was horrible with this "how is your life? Any.. uh.. you got the degree you wanted? I remember how you talked about it..."

You sighed with dissapointment as you looked at everywhere but him.

"No. I haven't... but I see you got what you wanted before being arrested though." You muttered and he let out a bitter chuckle.

"Almost.. yeah." He tapped his foot twice until he spotted the kid glaring at him with similiar gold eyes... "Married?"

"No. I thought it would be a distraction while taking care of my son." You spoke abruptly... as you looked at the boy beside you... "Anyway... I need to give you this."

You showed to him a paper before putting on the desk.

"What.. what is this?"

"Is a DNA test." You spoke coldly "To prove that you do have a son."

His eyes widened at that as he looked at the paper... and then to the boy whose was glaring at him not moments ago...

"Wha... but... "

"Remember the day when we split off? Yeah... was the day I discovered."

"W... why didn't you said something?" He asked in oure horror as you giggled in sarcasm.

"For what? This would only trouble you right?" You said with such venom on your voice that he felt a sting to his chest before you breathed in slowly before exhaling "I'm here because I thought you had the right to know... even after ten years.."

He looked at the kid and soon could tell the similarly between him and the boy... you had to raise a child with his face on it alone and he had broken things because of his own selfishness...

"What... what is his name?"

You pondered for a second before sighing, caressing the boy's hair.

"Come on honey... introduce yourself to your dad..." the boy huffed before opening his eyes and looking at him.

"I'm (L/n) Kaiyo. I cant say is very nice to meet you but my mom told me to say it for respect." He almost cringed at the introduction as he saw you looking at him with anger.

"Kaiyo." You warned as the boy scoffed.

"Dont need to scold him. He is not exactly wrong..." he ended up saying while you looked at him.

"I raised Kaiyo to have respect though."

"Why should I have respect towards him in the first place?" He looked at the dark brow haired kid "Not only he abandoned you ma but he is a villain! A very bad one! That girl on the Tv should be the same age if not younger than me!" The boy gritted with a few tears escaping his face.

"Kaiyo please... "

"Incredible..." you and Kaiyo suddenly looked at him "Despite having my features you are just like your mother... I would be proud of it..."

"... I'm not proud of being a villain's son." He muttered while sniffing "You abandoned us. I know ma hadn't said a thing to you but now I do."

You bited on your lips as he looked at loss of words at what he just heard from a child...

"... I know it doesn't change a thing but... I never stopped thinking about... your mother. About you (Y/n)."

"DONT REFER TO MY MOM AS HER FIRST NAME!" Kaiyo banged his fists on the table before you took him in your arms as the boy sobbed "You never cared! You-You-! Grandpa said you called my ma a bother! You are a MURDER!" The kid cried.

"I'm sorry about that..." you mumbled as you cradled the crying boy in your arms "He didn't take well Mr. Nighteye death..."

"M-Ma-! I wanna go home!"

"But Kaiyo, your da-"

"He IS NOT MY DAD!" he cried in you as you sighed as Chisaki seemed to be dying little by little at each second this visit had.

"I'm... going to go. Another day we will visit. Take care, Chisaki." You spoke before he could hear it and he stood up abruptly from his chair.

"No! Wait-!"

The door closed...

.

Months later

.

"Ma look. Hawk's wings are healing." The kid pointed at the news and you smiled.

"That's amazing! We could use some good news!" You chirped as Kaiyo smiled until both of you heard the door bell of your apartment ring.

"Huh. Weird usually grandpa or grandma visits us on-" you opened the door and you almost screamed at the sign of that same green haired kid on your door but now he seemed so... broken...

"Ma'am.. I'm sorry to bother you, but he said he can crash a bit in here... later cops will come to get him. I'm sorry but I need to go." Your son walked and squealed at sign.

"A hero!" Your son smiled brightly at him and for once, Deku had showed a smile for real... until you saw Chisaki leaning bruised to the core resting on the wall next to your door...

"Chisaki..." you breathed out as your son looked at him in shock.

"I'm sorry. Both of you..." he muttered while looking at the storm outside.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai #kai chisaki #overhaul #kai chisaki x reader #bnha villains x reader #bnha villains #x (y/n) #female reader #zuffer writings #holy moly this one was long

[dr3amofagame]

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

[jaehyunzzmilk]

dinasty (part 2)

pairing: prince jaehyun x concubine reader

word count: 3.4 k

genre: Historical Mafia AU, smut, light angst

summary: after the perfect escape, you have to find a way to fit in your new life, leaving the past behind may seem easy when you're working for 4 princes and one of them is interested in you, right?

notes: hello again, part 2 is up and we have a new love triangle, thank you for liking the first part so much, and prepare for even more surprises

this doesn't have any relation to real facts and history, it's just pure fiction for entertainment purposes

warnings: violence, blood, cheating, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving)

main characters: jaehyun (prince), yuta (samurai, villain), ten (thai mafia, villain), kun (China's emperor warrior)

Reality - Part 2

Part 1 here

"- Nice tattoo!" the man says.

It was dark and his face was only visible through the moonlight.

You freeze, the man stays still looking at you like you were his prey.

You try to cover your body but your only reaction is to grab your stuff and run, praying he wasn't gonna come after you.

Arriving at your room, breathing heavily you try to think about what just happened. A guy like that had to be a prince or someone really important. Ms. Lee told you to be lowkey and on the first day you let a man see you naked in the bath area. "Whatever" You were just too tired to think, you didn't do anything wrong anyway, so you were gonna pretend that it didn't happen. The Korean Palace was gonna punish you for going to the wrong bath?

Suddenly you realize Kun's necklace isn't with you. "Fuck, I must have dropped there" but now it's too risky to come back and look for it so you decide to do that tomorrow. You lay down on your mattress and try to fall asleep.

-

Next morning Ms. Lee showed you the rest of the Palace, the kitchen and assigned your tasks. It was a lot of work and details, each of their meals had to be perfectly planned. They had someone even to taste the food before them so they know it's not poisoned.

"- I'm gonna be responsible for the King's meal and you're gonna be responsible for the four prince's meals."

-Four?

"- Yes, Taeil, Doyoung, Johnny and Jaehyun. Now you should prepare their tea, they always drink green tea in the morning."

While preparing the tea you wonder which one you saw at the bathing area and if you should tell Ms. Lee what happened yesterday.

You're walking with the trays to the dining place when you try to talk to her.

-Ms. Lee!

-"Yes"

-So yesterday...

You realize you still don't know much about Ms. Lee and even if Kun trusts her, you don't. Also you can't help but think that serving tea was much better than your life at the concubine's house, so you try quickly to think of something else to say.

-Well, yesterday… Before I met you… this man helped me at the harbor, he was wearing black clothes and had a samurai sword.

-"Stay away from him!" She turns at you. "They are dangerous, they will kill everything and everyone on their way, people you don't want to mess up with."

By Yuta's facial expression when you mentioned Ms. Lee's name you weren't surprised she said those words, you wonder why but she wasn't gonna be the one to give you the answers. Otherwise, you still weren't afraid of him, he was gonna be the last of your problems here.

-"Now let's get in there, first you bow and then you serve them the way I showed you, don't look at them in the eye and don't say anything." She says.

In silence, you enter the dining room along with the other servants behind you bringing the food plates and you stop in front of the tables on the floor where all the princes are. There are two on each side, the two oldest and the youngest, all of them are sitting on cushions, they all have long hair and are wearing beautiful hanboks.

-"Your highness, may I introduce you to your new servant 'y/n', she is my niece and she is gonna work with me in the kitchen from now on." Ms. Lee said while you bowed, you were still too nervous to look up and look at them. "Now, may we start with the tea." Ms. Lee turns to you and signs that you can go and serve them.

Holding the teapot you go to the first prince, the oldest, Taeil, he is very handsome, with his light brown hair, face delicate and mature at the same time. Slowly you pour the tea into the cup by his left, he doesn't do anything, just stays still looking down and you wonder if you did something wrong. On his right it's Doyoung, after you pour the tea he gives you a small nod which makes you feel calmer. He is also very handsome, shiny black long hair, perfect posture, he sure looks like a prince. On the other side, Johnny, you can feel he is looking at you, the first to say "thank you" after you pour the tea. His face is gorgeous, even if he is sitting down you can feel how tall and strong he is. And then, Jaehyun, the man from the bath. You freeze when he looks directly at your eyes, you try to stay calm and pour the tea but can't help but shake a little bit. He is the definition of perfection, he had perfect skin, perfect face, everything about him.

Jaehyun keeps staring at you even when you stand up and comes back to Ms. Lee side.

-"Seems like someone likes our new servant!" Johnny says laughing. The other boys look at him but Jaehyun remains silent and serious, still looking at you.

They give the first sip to their tea. Taeil stops and smells the cup.

-"Did someone… put ginger on the tea?" He asks.

Ms. Lee turns at you with her eyes wide open.

-"Did you put ginger when you were making the tea?" She says in a low voice. - Yes, that's how we usually drink it in China, I'm so sorry.

-"Don't..." Taeil says taking another sip "- From now on keep in that way". You see Jaehyun smirking with the corner of your eyes.

Your whole body relaxed, you felt like you were going to faint. Ms. Lee bows and tells them to excuse both of you. As soon as you enter the kitchen's door she grabs your arm.

-"You have no idea how lucky you were this time young lady, Taeil is the most picky to all the food we make, when he started speaking I thought I was gonna have a heart attack"

-Me too! But I'm so sorry, I swear I'm not doing anything again without asking you first.

-"Good! Now get back to work"

-

Later after you finish your schedule you come back to the bath area to look for Kun's necklace. You look everywhere but it's nowhere to be found.

-"Looking for this?" Jaehyun stops behind you holding your necklace.

You turn around and he comes closer to you.

-"I asked if you're looking for this?" Now he is inches from you.

-Ye- yes!

Jaehyun walks behind you and gently moves your hair to the side, putting the necklace on you.

-"Does that belong to your boyfriend?" He is so close it's almost he's whispering in your ears. You get goosebumps.

-Excuse me?

He smirks and comes back to look you in the eyes.

-"I fought in the war 2 years ago, I remember those from the chinese soldiers." He tilts his head to the side and looks at you from head to toe. "Or you did?"

-A prince fighting at the war?

-"And a very bloody one but yes... it would be a shame being a prince and let your people alone bring victory to your country"

-It does… belong to my boyfriend.

You hold your necklace in your chest.

-"And where is your precious boyfriend when a pretty face like you is talking to the enemy in another country?"

-It's complicated!

-"I have time!"

-Why? Do you want the full story to snitch on me?

-"Sweetie if I wanted to snitch you out I would have already!"

He was right.

-You wouldn't believe if I told you anyway!

-"Try me, I've seen it all"

You both sit on a stone beside the water.

-Well, when I was 9 my family was struggling, we didn't have food, money, anything… so my father sold me and my sister to a concubine's house. She went to a different house than mine so I never saw her again actually. But anyway after years of being a slave in all forms to that house I fell in love, to someone from the thai mafia, of course things got out of control, I was so dumb. When I tried to run away he found out and did this tattoo on me, I was in so much pain because I fell off the roof trying to run away that I didn't even felt the pain of the needle, I just stayed there, still. Then I met Kun, I fell in love again, he helped me to escape, and it worked.

-"And I assume that story of being Ms. Lee's niece is all lies."

-Yes! She helped to raise Kun and met his mother so it's the only reason she's doing this until he arrives.

-"Oh so he's coming."

-He works for the Emperor and he said they would kill both of us if he ran away, so he is gonna wait a little bit and ask to retire, he wants to do it the right way, then he'll join me.

-"If you allow me to say this but… I would never have let you to come alone, sometimes you don't have to do it the right way" He gets up and walks to the exit of the bath. "But I'm glad he did and we could meet"

You give a small smile with the corner of your lips.

-"Oh and by the way..." He turns at you. "The staff's bath area is on that way." He points to his left.

-I know now. Thanks.

He smiles and leaves.

-

Weeks passed and you were getting used to your new life. You were doing your job right, even making some different dishes from your hometown to the princes. Meanwhile you unexpectedly started spending time with Jaehyun. Since your conversation at the bath, you both got closer in a natural way. On every free time you had you spent time together, you mostly liked to walk on the garden because it was more private, he told you about his childhood, how he had to give up on so many things to be who the kings expected him to be, how he felt like he was on a prison his whole life and how he found joy on learning how to fight because it was the only way he had to express himself and not follow the rules. You were surprised at how wholesome he was, he made questions about your life in a way that you know he wasn't being just pity, he was interested in how other realities exist outside the Palace.

One afternoon Ms. Lee asked you to go to the flea market to buy fruit for the dinner's banquet. You went alone since now you were familiar with that.

Because of the summer there were a lot of different kinds of fruits on sale. You bought peaches because you knew Jaehyun likes it. After buying everything you needed you see some crowd gathering between the market, you approached them and notice some weird men you've never seen before. They were thieves. They were on their horses, destroying the sellers' stands, pushing everyone in their way, they even tried to put a food stand on fire. You saw a little kid who got lost from their parents and was crying right in the middle of the path where the thieves were. You run in his direction and catch him, putting him safely to the side of the road, when one of the men slaps your face "Get out of the way slut!"

The slap was hard so you fell on the ground when suddenly you see another group of men coming that way, they all had black clothes and katanas. The samurais. They were so fast, they fought the thieves in a blink of an eye. There are people running and dust everywhere, you feel a hand on you. "Let's get you out of here" you recognize the voice, Yuta holds you and takes you to a safe place.

-"Why every time I see you, you're in trouble? Didn't I tell you to not walk around alone?"

-I was just buying stuff at the market when they came out of nowhere.

-"You're bleeding, let me see your lips" Yuta takes the fabric that was covering his mouth and carefully wipes the blood on your lips.

-"You're gonna need ice if you don't want to get bruises..."

-Don't worry, I've had worse wounds! - You laugh.

-"You didn't tell me where you came from"

-You didn't either, and why are you doing this? Helping me when you told me to stay away?

-"Well you should!"

-I'm not afraid of you.

Yuta looks at you, his mysterious gaze turns into vulnerability.

-So, I will tell you my story if you tell me yours! - You say.

-"Years ago the king had a deal with Osaka’s emperor, since he traveled there and they proposed to do an alliance and protect each nation together, but when the war happened and the emperor asked for the samurais to fight on their side here in Korea. We came and it was all a trap, a lot of us died, the emperor stole our ships and made all his people be afraid of us spreading lies, that we were dangerous. Since we couldn’t come back home we settled ourselves here, but the funny thing is every time the small villages are in danger, like what you saw today, it’s us who come first to help them. You asked me why I saved you, where I came from, we take care of everyone, no matter what."

-I'm sorry!

-"Now your turn, what’s your dark pass?"

-Apparently like you I was also a victim of the war in my country, but other than having a sword and fighting I was just a concubine trapped in a house for so many years, let’s say I just involved myself with the wrong people and ran away.

-"It’s called a katana… the sword. And maybe I can teach you how to fight." He smiles.

-Me?

He gives you the sword.

-It's much lighter than I thought.

-"Careful, it's lighter but the blade is gonna be the sharpest of all swords. Here... You must hold like this!" He took your hands and taught you how to hold the sword, carefully he showed you some self defense moves.

-"Now if someone ever tries to slap your face again, you do this..." Yuta grabs your wrists and pins you agains't a tree, you can't move obviously, he is so close to you and you feel the sexual tension building.

-"Get away from her!" You hear a familiar voice screaming. It's Jaehyun.

Jaehyun gets off his horse, he was mad, you never saw him like that. You jump in front of Yuta.

-No wait! He saved my life! - You scream.

-"What? Y/n do you know who he is? He is a murderer." Jaehyun looks at you.

-"If you arrived 10 minutes earlier you could have joined us but the little prince was busy at his Palace right?" Yuta provokes him.

-"That's enough!" Jaehyun comes closer but Yuta doesn't even flinch.

-Please Jaehyun, let's go!

You grab his arm and take him away from Yuta.

- "This doesn't end here bastard!" - Jaehyun spits at Yuta's direction.

-

You come back to the Palace with Jaehyun and he takes you to the bath area.

He is sweating, you could see his veins popping because of how mad he was.

- Jaehyun please, everything is alright, you need to calm down!

- "No it's not, look at you, you're hurt" he grabs your face and touches your lip with his thumb.

- It's ok now, I was at the market when some thieves arrived, I was protecting a little kid who was gonna get hit by their horses, they got mad because I was in the way but I swear it was nothing and Yuta helped me and everyone in there!

- "What? How do you know his name?"

- When I arrived from China he saw me at the harbor, I was so weak from the trip he helped me and even took me to Ms. Lee! I don't care about your old family issues, he helped me and that's all.

- "I'm sorry I'm just… the Palace guards heard the thieves were at the market and when I knew you were there I got my horse and went after you, I just couldn't let anything bad happen to you y/n!"

He grabs your face with both of his hands and kisses you. You try to push him but still can't open your eyes and break the kiss completely "Jaehyun we shouldn't..."

- "If you don't want it then tell me to stop" your heart is beating so fast, you swallow hard and look up at Jaehyun, "I know I'm not the only one feeling this" He says kissing you hard again.

He is right. "Touch me" you say, grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts. When he is caressing his hands on your breast he removes your necklace, dropping it on the ground. He unties your dress and slides the fabric until your lower body, he is on his knees in front of you and he passes his hands on the back of your thighs until your butt and kisses your thighs slowly. He keeps eye contact with you and licks your clit, you moan and grabs his hair in response to his tongue going faster.

In your head it felt so wrong because you were in love with Kun, but Jaehyun made you feel so needy, mind and body.

Jaehyun gives a hard lick on your clit and makes his way up to your stomach leaving a tray of kisses until your breasts, he sucks one nipple while his other hand and flicks the other one. He gets up and kisses you, the kiss was so wet, for a moment you forget that anything else exists while he kisses you hard, licking and sucking your bottom lip. He takes off his clothes, his hard dick slaps on his toned abs, pre cum leaking over his tip. Jaehyun lifts you up "Let's go inside" taking you to one of the hot tubs.

When you felt the heat of the water on your body, the feeling of pleasure and lust took over you, Jaehyun pulled you down onto his lap and gave you another kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck when you feel his tip on your core. "Oh my god" you scream while his hands holding your waist puts you down until his whole length was inside of you. The feeling was so different, you got a harder friction because of the water and you start moving up and down to get used to his size. Jaehyun's shoulders and biceps tense while his cock is stretching you out. You bounce on him screaming in pleasure, body trembling as he helps you to move faster.

He was pushing all the way into you, hitting your g-spot. You arch your back and moan his name, clenching every time he enters you. You're almost out of breath when he sucks your neck and presses his thumb against your clit. "Jae, I'm gonna..." you can see he is close as well as he sucks your neck even harder and moves his finger faster. You scream when you feel your orgasm, your arching pussy made his cock tighter while he couldn't hold it anymore and released into you as well.

You both stay in the water for a bit recovering from the climax, he pulls you to his chest and you close your eyes.

-Am I dreaming?

-"I think the reality right now is better than your dreams."

"Reality" you thought, back at your own senses you couldn't help but be disappointed at yourself. Because of you Kun was risking his own life to help you to run away and now you're with the prince of the place he arranged you to work for. Maybe you were just a filthy concubine, maybe you deserved everything they did to you, even your tattoo. You roll your body and rest your head at the border of the hot tub, a tear coming out of your eye.

-

Part 3 coming soon

#jeong jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader #yuta x reader #nct smut #nct royal au #concubine au #historical au #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nctzen

[theregoesmylurkerstatus]

Listen. Listen. The more I think about Essek’s reality the more amused I get. It’s like the Mighty Nein EXISTED to fuck his life over in the kindest way possible. 

One of their first functional (and one of their most defining) actions as a group was when they stole a Beacon -- one of HIS Beacons. A Beacon he took from the Dynasty and gave to the Assembly in an INCREDIBLY risky gamble, so risky it ultimately plunged the continent into war, because that’s how badly he wanted learn something about it.

And the Mighty Nein, on a fucking whim, vanished it from under their noses. NOT ONLY was Essek deprived of further research, but he couldn’t even smooth over the tensions on either side. Essek was probably the only person alive, besides the Mighty Nein, who could know for a fact that neither the Empire nor the Dynasty had what the war functionally started over. By stealing the Beacon, the Mighty Nein made sure neither side could be happy, and Essek was the one stuck in between.

But then, they returned it to the Bright Queen! Surely that’s good for Essek, right? Except, one, now he gets no more of the research he enabled a war for, and two, it wasn’t even traded as a price to stop the bloodshed, which seems to be something he genuinely wants. So, cool! Beacon #1 is certainly out of his hands, out of the hands of the people who might have told him SOMETHING about it, and it wasn’t even for the sake of the war ending. ...Great! Fun. Okay.

But what did the Mighty Nein trade it for? Why, the freedom of Essek’s prisoner, of course! Because surprise! That’s one of their number’s husband. And it’s a complete coincidence.  Were you using one of the poor saps conducting the research as a way to finally learn about said research, Essek? No longer. Yeza’s gone now. Suck it.

So, the Mighty Nein took a Beacon completely out of his hands, made it useless to him in every way possible, and removed his access to his one (1) avenue of information on the Beacon. That’s surely already Fuck These Guys territory for Essek, right?

Well, guess what Essek! YOU have been chosen to be the lucky drow who gets to babysit them! For the entire time! They’re here!

But hey, they’re only visitors, just keep them at arm’s length for a few days and then you’ll never have to see them aga- Oh look, your Den and by extension YOUR MOTHER gave them a house. They live here now.

And Essek just has to sit there like “... :).”

AND ON TOP OF ALL OF THAT, EVERY WEEK OR SO, THEY COME BACK AND SAY:

“Hey Essek! We just thought you should know, we think there’s a traitor in the Dynasty, crazy right?”

“Hey Essek, we think this possible traitor actually GAVE the Empire the Beacons, isn’t that WILD?”

“Hey Essek, did we mention that we have connections not only to the Empire but to the Assembly specifically, AND we have easy access to the Empire in general, so we can totally dig around there AND here as much as we like? Wow, not many people could do that, huh?”

“Hey Essek, did you know our monk is trained to ruthlessly ferret out the truth no matter what, and also she’s super invested in the well being of all these civillians? Boy, she sure seems to want to get to the bottom of things!”

“Hey Essek, did you know that our wizard who knows a lot about the arcane and is super interested in dunamancy and also has a perfect memory was a Scourger in training and speaks Zemnian? He can interrogate another one of your captives for you, wonder if they know anything about traitors or what the Assembly might be up to!”

“Hey Essek, we have a cunning plan to interrogate ANOTHER prisoner of yours! You know, that one who totally sold the Beacons! Aren’t we smart, don’t you like it?”

“Hey Essek! This prisoner seems to be innocent? Like, his memories were planted and he’s almost been... framed, or something? Wild! Let’s go tell the Bright Queen together!!!!”

“HEY ESSEK! Crazy news, we almost single handedly coordinated a peace talks, and we’ll be overseeing all the big interactions on both sides! Wonder what we could learn from those interactions? Anyway, bye!”

IT NEVER ENDS. IT NEVER, EVER ENDS FOR ESSEK. HE LIVES NEXT DOOR. JESTER MESSAGES HIM CONSTANTLY. HIS MUM OWNS THEIR HOUSE. HE’S BORDERLINE AT THEIR BECK AND CALL. 

AND IT’S ALMOST LIKE THEY WERE SPECIFICALLY DESIGNED TO COUNTERACT HIS EVERY MOVE.

WHICH HE HAS TO HEAR ABOUT. CONSTANTLY.

Not only should the Nein by all rights have disliked him, he by all rights should FUCKING HATE the Mighty Nein.

The Mighty Nein were the bane of his existence. He must have laid awake some nights, wondering if they were taunting him. How could they know so much, and yet not realise he’s the last person they should be confiding in? How could he have run into a group with an ex-student of one of the men he’s illegally working with, by accident? HOW could he have kidnapped, out of all the researchers involved with the Beacons, the one married to a Mighty Nein member? Why does the truth-sniffing monk know Undercommon now. WHY is the firblog so fucking perceptive. And please, please, why won’t the tiefling stop messaging him?

Surely, they’re taunting him. They’re his own personal hell.

And they keep inviting him to dinner.

...I think I’ve made the joke several times now that somewhere out there, the big players in the war must fucking hate the Nein, accomplishing so much by accident.

Well I’ve found out who that big player is and his name is Essek. It’s him. Everything the Nein have done of any significance has made specifically his life harder, and on top of all that? 

They don’t even let him hate them properly, like Actual Nemeses™. Instead they gave him a morality crises. 

Because that’s the final, most poetic indignity of them all. 

After all that, he likes them.

#critical role #cr spoilers #c2e97 #ramblings #essik #the mighty nein #speculation #like he was literally assigned steward to them on sight #did he want that? who knows #but i love that he was probably forced to stick to these people who were the very antithesis to all his machinations #and then they kept thwarting basically all his attempts to cover his own tracks and pursue his own goals #/and/ they kept /telling him about it/