have a carrot, please, calm yourself

You expected this, obviously. Neither of you know what you two are, so it doesn’t feel right to address then confirm suspicions that you two were, in fact, on a date ( but not date in that way, right? ). It was just two ( ex ) faceless content creators separated from their content creator friends, who very much had their faces out in the open already.

Dream confirmed it was him in the picture. He didn’t confirm nor deny if it was you beside him.

You don’t know why you’re disappointed, honestly.

You shouldn’t be. In fact, you should be grateful he’s protecting what’s left of your anonymity. So why does it bother you so much that he didn’t agree to the fact you were with him alone?

It doesn’t matter now, so whatever.

What matters now, is that the group are all streaming Jackbox at the moment, making up for all the missed content. They don’t have their face cams on, because Dream mentioned he’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable leaving his face out like that. And as good friends, they respected his words.

“Stop fucking bringing Y/N up every prompt!” Quackity yells into his mic, as Karl cackles out when the prompt flashes on the screen. “What are you? In love?”

“What— No! Quackity,” Dream sputters while Karl laughs harder. “This— The prompt is just perfect; it has nothing to do with—” He’s not making sense anymore. “You can’t keep saying that. You all have used Y/N in every prompt more than me. This is literally the second time I did it!”

“Third, actually,” George corrects him. 

“Shut up, George,” Dream hisses, his voice trailing off at the end when everyone starts laughing at him. The way he sounds right now reminds you of when he got flustered that time—and, well, you should seriously stop thinking about that.

They’re so obsessed with you. And you aren’t even in the call.

The stream continues for a few more minutes, getting stupider each prompt the more the boys play and get tired. It seems as if they’re getting delusional, more than anything. George is laughing at everything, Sapnap keeps yawning, Karl has been reduced to nonsensical pee jokes, and Quackity is just making fun of Dream.

You wish you could’ve joined the stream, but it’d probably get worse if you did, so you’ll just reek envy from afar.

Until you’re ready, or whatever Dream said.

You didn’t even register the stream ending until you got a knock on your door.

Dream opens the door and stands there, slumped shoulders and defeated smile; and it’s probably because of everyone ganging up on him the entire game, which is well-deserved. You faintly remember Quackity taunting him for losing despite pandering to the audience; you can agree.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him, setting your phone down to hide all evidence of you watching the stream. Because you weren’t. Obviously.

He sighs. “Patches ran to you when I tried cuddling her again.”

Patches has not once entered your room today. “She’s not even here,” you muse.

He flops on your bed, arms spread out like a starfish. “Oops,” he says, giving a non-committal shrug. The bed creaks under his weight. “Why is your bed better than mine. It’s, like— softer.” Dream sits up in realization. “Wait, why actually is your bed softer than mine? I swear we have the same one.”

You give him a shrug back. “Probably because you pissed on your bed too many times.”

Dream seems to be content with that answer, flopping back. “We should switch rooms.”

“And give me your pee-infested bed? No, thank you.”

Dream rolls his eyes playfully. “Oh, come on. This is not even the same house.”

“Oh yeah?” You fail to hide a smile at his enthusiastic nod. “Then why do you wanna sleep on my bed so bad, huh?”

His mouth opens instinctively, but no words come out. He stays silent, and you take it as your victory. He stares with a weird smile, before looking away when you catch him looking at you.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, still not quite meeting your eyes, but the softness in his voice is enough to tell you he’s being genuine.

You end up lying beside him, staring at the blank ceiling. “Yeah.” When you crane your neck to take a peek, he’s already staring at you again; but you don’t call him out for it, afraid that he’ll walk away from your room. “You?”

Dream shrugs. “I don’t really care. I was— Well. We were all worried about you,” he confesses quietly. “I know you don’t, you know. Didn’t want that to happen.”

“What are you acting so sappy for?” you tease, hoping to ease the tension and steer the attention away from you before your cheeks boil, and your soul melts. “I thought we’re supposed to hate each other. Did you forget to commit to your rivalry bit?”

Dream scoffs, nudging you with his elbow. His cheek is in plain view. “Well, rivals don’t kiss each other.”

You gasp in mock offense, cheeks heating up as he starts to giggle. “I thought I told you to not talk about that!” And even more flustered: “Don’t say it like that, Dream! You’re making it sound weird.” If Quackity heard this conversation, you wouldn’t be hearing the end of it even more than Dream is already making it.

Dream raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, if your mind thinks I meant on the lips, then that’s on you. Not me.”

You hate that he has a point. You hate that your heart is racing right now.

You look away from him. “Are you seriously not going to be forgetting about that? Are you sure I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about it?”

Dream sits up, out of nowhere. “Patches is probably hungry.”

You watch him leave with a triumphant and stupid grin.

“Damn, who’s trying to bite his ass?” Quackity mutters, boredly watching Dream fumble with his car keys, his face covered with sunglasses, mask, and beanie. He must be sweating a lot underneath that.

You snicker from beside Quackity.

Dream shoots him a quick glare, his eyes straying away for a moment to you—before he turns away, too quick to be considered casual. “No one is. I just want some fresh air.” He opens the door. “Your stench is suffocating me.”

Quackity gasps. “What the fuck!” You watch as he tries to crane his neck to smell his armpit, while Dream closes the door.

“You do need a shower,” you tell him.

Dream said earlier he’s going out to buy food for Patches, meaning he will be out for quite a while, and Sapnap had wasted no time pulling all of you into the living room to have a group meeting, the room dark except for the lamp that Sapnap probably stole from George’s room.

His face is glowing from the lamp, making this seem more disturbing than it’s supposed to be. “So.”

Everyone shares a look. “So…”

Sapnap grins, shushing George with a finger, who hasn’t even said a word. “Have any of you come up with any plans yet? I was coming up with some during the stream.”

Karl brightens immediately. “Oh! Oh! I wrote one on my notes app two days ago; I bet you’ll love this one.” Without another word, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and tugs Sapnap closer to him so they can read out whatever he wrote down.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you ask George, who’s swiping through his notes app, too.

George glances at you, curious. “We’re planning for Dream’s birthday.”

“Dream’s…” Your eyes widen. “Oh shit!”

You’re not sure why it completely slipped your mind, when literally this is the reason you came to Florida for. Though, with everything that’s happening, no one can blame you. You admit you feel bad for not thinking ahead and buying him a present, though.

“We have plenty of time to plan a surprise party,” George affirms, patting your head. “Besides, Dream isn’t the type to want something massive.” The brunet offers you a half-hearted smile, eyes glinting. “You should’ve been there when Dream complained about how that day got interrupted.”

You’re hit with a pang of guilt. “Oh.”

That day was probably the last day he could go outside without worrying about people swarming him. That’s not the most ideal birthday present you could’ve given him. And you don’t even have anything to give him!

George shakes his head. “He said that was one of the best days of life.”

Oh?

“Him getting… doxxed— that’s one of the best days of his life?” you repeat in genuine confusion. He must have a pretty damn depressing life then.

His face twists into something indecipherable. “What? No, that’s not what— I meant—”

“Okay, okay, enough about that!” Sapnap exclaims, slinging an arm over George’s shoulder to pull him closer. “Do you think Dream will appreciate us trashing his swimming pool? Yes or no, be honest.”

“Absolutely not,” George scoffs.

“Great!” Sapnap claps once. He points at your best friend, who’s decided to snuggle up on the couch while all of you are deep in conversation. “Quackity, how long do you think you can distract Dream?”

Quackity pretends to hum thoughtfully. “Three seconds, tops.”

Karl whistles lowly. “Is it really that bad?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault he’s too much of a pussy to stay in a room with me for even two seconds,” Quackity mutters, unaware—or just completely forgot—of all the times he’s done nothing but taunt Dream, the poor guy. “I say you pick Y/N.”

Everyone turns to you. You frown. “Hey, wait—”

Sapnap nods slowly, staring at you with narrowed eyes, before he lights up and nods faster—as if he’s just understood something you don’t. “You can do thirty minutes, right? Just give us enough time to set everything up, then I’ll pay you.”

“Pay Y/N? As in, money?” Quackity squawks, insulted. “Where was this offer when you chose me—”

“You are not making me lock Dream up in a room,” you grumble, tipping your chin up in defiance. “He will be too suspicious that I’ll willingly stay in less than six feet from him. This is stupid.” Without much thought, you point at Karl. “Why not him?”

Karl counters back. “Why not you? Huh? Are you nervous?” The smile that spreads across his face is teasing.

“You are so—” You cut yourself off with a deep breath when Karl lifts a brow, urging you to continue—choosing to send them a sharp glare instead. “Fine. I’m only agreeing to do this because I forgot to buy him a present. Nothing else, understood?”

Sapnap chuckles. “Understood.” He definitely doesn’t believe you.

a/n: *leans on expensive car* hey bbg ready your horses because there will be another kissing scene that i definitely didnt get too flustered writing

i know i ask this everytime, but i would really appreciate it if you leave a comment or just put your thoughts in the tags when you reblog!

trust me when i say i read every single one (even if its from an old post) because it’s really what keeps this series going! believe it or not, the only reason why i’m continuing this series is because of all your kind comments and support. so thank you.

Quackity is standing a few feet away from the door, foot suspended mid-air, most likely because he was running his way here. George and Karl sit next to each other on the couch, both of them on their phones, checking each other’s screens until they completely stop at the creak of the door. Sapnap just walked in, a plate of sandwiches in hand.

“Alex,” you murmur, reluctantly slipping off of Dream’s grasp to crash onto Quackity’s chest.

“Y/N!” he exclaims back, worry etched on his face as if it’s been stitched there. “Are you okay? God, I was so fucking worried!”

“I’m okay,” you promise, loosening the knots in your shoulders as you say so. “I’m okay, I promise.” When you pull away, Quackity seemed like he didn’t want to let go. “Are you okay?”

Quackity huffs. “I’m not the one who got fucking doxxed in a mall.”

You look at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Karl stands up and offers you a sandwich, and you’re not really in the mood to eat anything at all, but you don’t want to be rude—so you take it with a small, grateful smile. He pats your shoulder with a sad one.

“What now?” George asks from the couch. He’s been twisting the string of his hoodie the entire time. He looks just as nervous as you feel, and you appreciate that they all feel sympathy. You’re not used to it coming from a lot of people.

They all turn to you for a reply.

“Oh!” You blink. “Um, well. I’m not sure.” You’re not sure when the hood of your top went up, but you pulled it down. “I never planned on… you know. Revealing my face. So this was a surprise.”

They all look at each other in understanding. Quackity hugs you a little bit tighter, before pulling away to see your face clearly. “I’m sorry. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

That brings a small laugh out of you, and Quackity’s chest puffs, proud of himself for lightening your mood even just a little bit. “It’s not your fault. I’m feeling better now than earlier, thank you.”

If anything, they should be worried about Dream. He’s the most popular one out of everyone in this room, and his face has just been exposed to the media—and is probably still blowing up as you speak.

“Dream…?”

Dream, who’s been staring at you worriedly the entire exchange, snaps out of his daze. “What? Huh?”

You tilt your head. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “I was already planning to face reveal soon… since, you know, everyone’s here. I’m not that bothered— just not. Expecting it to be today, um.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Dream finally tears his eyes away from you, eyes cast to the floor. “I’ll be right back. Check up on Patches.”

Then he leaves without another word. Sapnap shakes his head at the worry that flashes on your faces, sending all of you a knowing look that says ‘he’s gonna be fine’.

“This is very stressful,” George inputs helpfully.

“No shit,” Karl laughs bitterly.

Quackity glances at your sandwich, smiling sadly, and taking it from you; you offer him a thankful smile. “Let’s put this on a plate so you can eat it later,” he says, leading the both of you to the kitchen counter.

“You know what’s funny? My face was shown, sure, but his face was revealed more than mine—and yet, he worried more about me than himself.” You breathe in deeply, feeling sick at the sight of the food. “So, was I being dramatic, or is it just beca—”

“Dream’s just really nice,” Quackity finishes for you.

“...Yeah.”

Quackity nudges you, and there’s an unreadable glint in his eyes that feel like it’s speaking words you don’t want to name. “You should go thank him.”

You knock twice on his door. It takes three seconds for him to respond.

“Come in,” Dream murmurs, loud enough in the quiet house for you to hear.

You push the door open, seeing Patches curled up on his lap as he smooths the hair over her head. Patches meows at your presence as a greeting, though she doesn’t move from her spot. You smile and greet her back, “Hi, Patches.”

Dream watches you sit down next to him, on the floor right beside his bed. “Did something happen?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you tell him honestly, gently batting his hand away so you can pat Patches’s head instead. “Were you being honest earlier? When I asked you.”

“Of course,” he says, and his tone affirms that there is no trace of lie. “I’m worried about you, though. I know you’re not really… You don’t want to put yourself out there as much as I do. I feel like I messed up.”

Oh.

“Is that what this is about?”

Dream winces. “Sorry.”

It scares you how different Dream can sound—not in any physical way, but in a way where you’re starting to feel like you can’t keep on lying to yourself about him the more he speaks to you this way. Too soft, too knowing.

You feel like it’s not so bad to let yourself be vulnerable; you need it as much as he does.

“Quackity and I have been best friends before he started doing YouTube,” you tell him; he frowns, confused by this slingshot of information, but lets you continue anyway. “And it’s never really been a problem, but when he said he wants me to experience how fun content creation is, that’s when I realized that there is a gap between him and me.”

Dream hums. You feel fingers card through your hair this time, and you do the same motions to Patches.

“He’s never afraid, you know; never has been. That’s what I, and a lot of people, like about him. But the first hate I got affected me a lot, then it kept going and going—and, well, maybe it’s because I was never prepared for it—” your laugh sounds hollow, “—but there was a time when Alex had to fight his own fans for me. And I never wanted that. He looks like he enjoys what he does; I didn’t want to ruin that for him.”

He hums. You want to lay your head on his shoulder, but that’s probably too much. You recoil at the thought.

“Since I was such an easy target, they picked on me. And maybe it’s better that way, because I have an excuse to let Alex do what he’s best at: to shine.”

“Did you like streaming?” Dream asks in a whisper.

“I did,” you rest your forehead against his shoulder, dizzied by the warmth radiating off him, “and I also like the one recently. I didn’t know that I’d enjoy it, even after what happened. But I did. I thought it would go well, if things continue this pace.”

“Dream,” you tremble, “what if they hate me again?”

He shifts, a sharp movement to show a reaction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What if… when I start thinking that maybe I can get back to it, I’ll just be proven wrong? And if they see my face, I—” You shudder, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I can start over again. I can’t run from this—this is what they’ll know me as. I can’t go out because they know me now.”

You find the courage to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know if I can handle what they’ll say about my face. Not when they already say all of that about… just my voice, you know?”

This time Dream speaks. “You know what I think?”

“...What?”

“I think you believe that this is your fault, even when none of this was in our control,” he says. “If anything, you should feel angry, for people to break your boundaries like that.”

You smile slightly. “I don’t really feel angry at them.”

Dream huffs. “Then I’m angry for you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“What!” he exclaims in disbelief; you’re relieved to see his grin again. “I’m trying to protect you here!”

The silence that comes next is comfortable, because none of you really need to say anything else. Quackity’s right, you should probably thank him, but that’d feel like it’s disingenuous if you just blurt it now. Patches meows in complaint when you’ve stopped scratching her head.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll be okay. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready to say anything to them.”

He is so annoying.

You hate him, you’ve decided, as your heart bursts with an unrecognizable feeling. You hate that he’s acting like this, instead of giving you a reason to loathe him with every bone in your body.

You hate him so much… that your lips end up on his cheek.

“I— um.” His face is too red, eyes wide and dazed. “Wait, uh— that’s.”

You probably look as flustered as he is. “Thanks for everything you did for me today… you dumbass.”

a/n: THIS TOOK SO LONG ahah sorry ive been having a hard time writing lately

i know i ask this everytime, but i would really appreciate it if you leave a comment or just put your thoughts in the tags when you reblog!

trust me when i say i read every single one (even if its from an old post) because it’s really what keeps this series going! had it not been for all your kind feedback, this series would’ve ended seven chapters ago.

he doesn’t like that word, mostly because it feels like he’s claiming you and is angered when other people don’t realize this—and he doesn’t like feeling that way. obviously, you’re free to kiss anyone you want to, and he has no right to feel pissed when you actually do.

it just bothers him that he’s been with you since you were babies, and you somehow end up with an asshole who’s only holding your hand to look good in front of the crowd.

dream knows this, because you’ve mentioned multiple times how he never does that when you’re alone. ( and you chose to call it as him being protective. dream wanted to hit his head on the wall. )

“it’s okay, though,” you had said, chuckling softly, effectively shutting up dream’s rants about how he hates everything about this—about why he feels that way. “he’s probably too shy to show intimacy, i get it. who’d want to make all that eye contact alone?”

i would, dream thinks, and feels guilty the second after. he always does.

a loser, this is how dream still feels when you tell him you want to come over.

something about a break-up, and how it was a long time coming. dream was zeroed in on the word ‘break-up’ falling from your lips, as if he has selective hearing or something. in all honesty, this is probably his fault. he doesn’t know why you care about his opinion on your own boyfriend, but you do, and so dream told you that you two aren’t good for each other.

it was surprisingly a peaceful break-up, almost as if this was all planned from the start. even ended with a shake of two hands.

you two are alone in his room.

his face burns at the thought, blinking rapidly as if that will bat away his embarrassment.

you sit on the edge of his bed, smiling. he wants to slam his head again. preferably your mouth with his. he feels like a loser.

“thanks for letting me stay over, i don’t really want to be alone.” it confuses him how unbothered you look compared to what you’re saying, but he supposes your optimism is one of the things he likes about you.

maybe not this much optimism, though.

“you know i’m always here for you, idiot,” he teases, sitting on his bed, too. though purposefully not too close, because he’s not that bold anymore. wouldn’t it be a dick move if he were to just be all touchy-touchy after you just got out of a toxic relationship?

“i know,” your voice sounds so soft. he feels lightheaded, and flops back on his bed to distract himself from his burning face.

“thanks for that, by the way,” you continue, lying beside him. his heart leaps up to his throat, eyes wide. “maybe i just got too excited to have a relationship.”

i’m right here, he wants to scream.

you meet his eyes, and it feels like a mock. like you can hear his thoughts and decided to mess with him until he goes crazy.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, and he’s so flustered that it’s stupid—he’s stupid. he looks away. “never liked him anyway.” and then he realizes how blunt that sounds, and how rude it must be since ‘him’ is quite literally your ex-boyfriend.

you snort, shifting so your body is facing sideways, your head resting on your palm. “yeah, i could tell. why’s that anyway?”

“because he’s an ass.” dream’s probably said that too fast for anyone to consider him normal about your relationship with him.

“he’s never spoken to you at all,” you muse.

“yeah, i hate that.” he’s stumbling over his own words now. “i’m your best friend! he hates me because i’m that? that’s so—”

“and you hate him because he’s my boyfriend,” you point out. you shuffle closer.

he shuts his mouth.

the laugh that leaves your lips makes him want to bury himself in a hole and stay right there forever until his bones decay and his nails are all that’s left of him. “shut up,” he grumbles. “why are we still talking about him anyway?”

“i like it when you’re jealous.”

his breath escapes him all at once, looking back at you, searching for something he can hold onto. “and why is that?” his face is still flushed, but the more he sees you get fidgety under his gaze, the more his confidence blooms.

you’re the one who leans away, unable to meet his gaze.

his heart soars.

“you idiot, you think i’d willingly get together with jake wallace? he already—”

he short circuits. “isn’t that what you just did—”

“—has a crush on that karl guy from art class. we made a deal, so it would be real humiliating if it didn’t work out—”

dream’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. “he what—”

“so tell me, dream,” you say sternly, sitting up until he has to look up at you. “were you jealous or not?”

dream’s brows furrow. “i… i was.” he clears his throat, “i still am.” and then he chuckles, pulling you closer to him until your leg is pressed against his hip—maybe he’s crazy to find humor in his situation. “were you trying to make me jealous?”

“yes.” you waver slightly under his stare, even when you’re the one looking down on him. “are you gonna do something about it?”

“yes,” he murmurs, before his lips meet yours.

A/N: um.

EVENT TAGLIST: @ratpussyelbows @smolpotatotea @wrenqueenisboss @phantombugs

yet lately… he feels distant. it feels like a part of him that grounds you are all so far away now, lost in blue screens and ten-minute videos.

maybe it’s you and he’s not actually drifting away, but that doesn’t help you feel better about it at all. he’s always in his room, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. maybe you’re the one who’s drifting away.

so you told him you’re going to move out for a month. maybe you just need a breather, some time alone to think—to wonder if you and him should still be together. if it’s still right for you to still be with him when his job requires him to keep this part of his life ( you ) shielded away from the world. and he’s always working.

that was a month ago.

you’re going home today.

sapnap’s the one who insisted for it to be a surprise. a birthday surprise, specifically. ( but you already told dream. )

you’re nervous, fidgeting on their doorstep as sapnap fiddles with the keys, muttering stuff about how dream is probably still dead asleep and probably drooling on his pillows right now. you smile fondly at the thought, heart aching slightly at the realization that you’ve missed him so much.

the entire month you were “away”, dream always made sure to check up on you every day, sending everything he can send when you search up ‘love you’ in the gifs section. and you love him, you really do, but the sick part of you thinks that maybe he just feels bad.

you shut your eyes, frustrated by your own thoughts, especially about one as so caring as him. you’re fucked up and you don’t deserve him, your mind tells you. but you’re selfish and you love him too much to let go.

sapnap’s grin is bright as he opens the door, oblivious to your trembling, your regret. “in his room. i’ll put this—” he gestures at your luggage, “—somewhere here.”

“thank you, sapnap,” you whisper, heart hammering loudly as your feet hurry to the familiar path of his room.

it feels like seconds are dragged into hours as you make your way to the front of his doorstep, crumbling with only the thought of his face. the entire month you were away, you just wanted to pack up and run here—even when you were the one who left in the first place; and you’re fucked up. you fucked up.

now you’re missing him even when he’s only a few feet away.

you can’t do this.

you turn away, shame hot on your face as you ball your fist. you can’t handle seeing him when you’re like this. not when you would break at the sight of viridian eyes, and feel so undeserving again.

the door opens as you’re about to take a step, and your back hits a warm chest.

“i missed you,” is mumbled to your neck without hesitation. your heart soars, lightheaded by overwhelming emotions as you hold onto his sleeves. “i missed you so much holy shit.”

“dream,” you breathe out.

he laughs, but it just sounds broken more than anything.

“you did?” you murmur, gingerly pulling away to face him.

dream’s face twists, confused. “of course i did.” and then it dissolves into a heartwarming smile, one that can quite literally kill you on the spot. “you have no idea how sad i was moping around without seeing you somewhere in my room.”

“oh.”

you want to tear up. you want to cry, ask him if he’s just saying this because he’s scared of hurting you. ask him if you’re fucked up and ask him if he’s going to leave you.

the shame wells up in your eyes, and then comes pouring out. “i’m— i’m sorry,” you croak out, avoiding wide eyes that panic at the sight of you crumbling. “i’m sorry, i just thought—”

frantic hands reach out to your shoulders. “y/n—”

“i just thought i didn’t want to be a bother,” you admit. “you just seemed so busy and—” you stop, and sniffle. embarrassed, ashamed. “i love you,” you tell him, “i missed you,” and you’re surprised to realize you mean it so much more than anything.

dream is silent for a second, wiping your tear away with a thumb. he looks like he’s about to cry, too.

maybe this is the part where he realizes how pathetic you are. and honestly, you won’t be surprised. you want it to happen already so you can get over it as soon as possible—even when you know it’ll be impossible to get over dream.

“do you wanna know something?”

confusion waves over your face. “yeah.”

“it was our anniversary three weeks ago.” two days after you left.

“yeah,” you smile slightly, fond, “you told me that over text, too, silly.”

dream blushes. “i had something planned, you know. i was planning it for weeks. i wanted to surprise you with a whole week of just us away from home.”

you’re stunned. “dream—”

he laughs. “george and sapnap took the tickets instead. i couldn’t bear going there without you.”

“dream, i’m so sorr—”

“don’t.” he interrupts you with a quick kiss, smiling easily. “our little break made me think a lot, too. and i realized that i’ve been a really bad boyfriend.”

“no you aren’t.”

“yes, i am,” he says easily. “and i want to be better.” he cups your cheek, eyes sad. “i thought that if i work hard and finish what i need to, i’d be able to spend more time with you after. but it piled on and pushed you away. i hated it. and i hate how i made you think i don’t love you.”

“you love me,” you utter out, and dream smiles and nods like you’ve just made his entire life. you smile. “do you love me?”

“you have no idea,” he confesses, “how much i love you.”

words aren’t enough to fully clear your mind, but the way he’s holding you, looking at you, smiling at you, it helps. you’ve never felt relief as hard as you’re feeling now. “we’re so stupid.”

“the stupidest,” he agrees mindlessly.

“i feel like,” you start, interrupted when he pecks your nose, “we should really talk more.”

A/N: HOPE U LIKE IT guys the next drabble is kinda fluff i promise

EVENT TAGLIST: @ratpussyelbows @smolpotatotea @wrenqueenisboss @phantombugs

your grip on the sheets tightens impossibly, alarmed with the realization that the… man you’ve never seen before is referring to your house. in an instant, you shuffle away from your bed and reach for the dagger kept safe under your bed, rusty with unuse.

“hello? is anyone inside?” the man asks, knocking politely on the door.

“no!” you reply back, not wanting the stranger to come any closer inside your only safe place. you frown. “wait—”

said man swings the door open, as wide-eyed as you, with you backed up against your wall, dagger in hand, and him pushing all his weight on your doorknob, bruised all over and limping.

“stay back!” you snarl, pointing the dagger right at him.

“i’m not going to hurt you!” he says, laughing breathlessly despite the gushing waterfall of blood on his leg. “promise! just let me hide here for a few minutes, and i’ll be out of your hair, alright?”

and as if he’s trying to prove himself, he pulls the door until it’s closed, though not shut, just enough to keep the splatter of water away from your home, then kneels down beside it, hands up in the air. he’s in complete surrender, drenching wet, on your doorstep.

you feel guilty, almost. “are you, um, okay? i don’t think you’re supposed to be outside with a leg… like that.” you gesture at his leg. it looks like it’s a second away from completely dying.

he glances down, gives a non-committal shrug, then looks back up at you with a sunny smile. “why else do you think i’m crashing over here?”

you hesitate, conflicted by his comforting presence, and the blood on your carpet. “if i help you heal, will that make you leave faster?”

“you want to get rid of me so bad?” he snorts, pushing himself up to stalk closer as you gesture for him to head to your counter.

you’re undeniably close to him now, wet cloth cold on his knee as your breath hits his skin. a blush coats his face as he watches you, entranced. “i’m not used to having visitors here, much less bleeding ones.”

“sorry to break it, then,” he muses, and he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “i’ll bring you carrots as payment for the inconvenience, how about that?”

the smirk on your face comes as a surprise to him. “is this an excuse to come back?”

since then, he can’t seem to get enough of you.

sapnap likes taking risks.

that being said, one of these risks, is falling in love with you. him, a loyal warrior to an smp that is thousands of blocks far from your village. long-distance in itself is already a struggle, something sapnap hates with a passion—yet this never stopped him from going out of his way to make excuses every week just so he can see you as much as he can.

and sapnap is back here, at your home, taking risks once again.

“how is your forehead bleeding?”

“i hit the wall,” he says offhandedly, hurling the sack of carrots somewhere before tackling you into a hug until you stumble backward onto your bed. he nuzzles his nose on your neck. “missed you.”

he definitely hit his head on the wall to have an excuse to visit his ‘personal’ doctor.

“you’ve been visiting longer than you should,” you chide, wiping dirt away from his face with a soft smile. “isn’t your buddy going to get suspicious?”

sapnap scoffs. “i don’t care about that. and i don’t want to talk about that.” he pushes himself off of your body, sitting upright as he stares you down—usually a tactic he uses for you to be intimidated. it doesn’t work when he has that puppy-like grin on his face as he looks at you. “i came here to make a deal.”

lips pursed, you humor him. “i’m listening.”

“i don’t want to keep doing this— having to leave you just because we’re miles away.” he points at the two of you. “i want you with me. i want to not worry about being away from you. i want to be able to protect you—if you want someone to protect you.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to speak, stumbling to explain everything. “and, well. i have a farm there—carrot farm, i mean. i can feed you every day. unless you don’t trust me in the kitchen.”

and although your heart soars at the idea of having a life with him, you frown. “do you know what you’re asking? you’re asking for me to live with you.”

“been thinking about it since we got together.”

for about half a year, then.

you smile, leaning up to kiss his nose. “you really want to live with me that bad?”

“more than anything, i swear.” he kisses your nose back, smiling goofily. “why? are you saying no?” at your teasing silence, he huffs. “just say the word. i’ll do whatever you want me to, if it means you can be mine.”

TAGLIST: @smolpotatotea @wrenqueenisboss @tenacioushubb @randokku @mandiilorian @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy @bergandysam @cloudybillows @junieyes @nonsensicallynarnian @iwantblacktea @wingedghostpepper @missmickeyexe @echoteaa @marshymallo @alex--awesome--22 @notdaninotfound @graymoon2 @sereinics @paradigmax @dublafox @dirtblockpdf @madituck @citruswood @unknownwicked @toodeepintofandoms @its-linh @kaynori @dukina @mayempress @ninkieminjaj @ratpussyelbows @phantombugs

SAPNAP TAGLIST: @quivvyintheclouds @bunarise

“What? No, I didn’t mean—”

“Your design is literally just a smiley face,” you continue, hands thrown into the air for the exasperated flair—which may or may not draw even more attention, but it has Dream wheezing slightly, so you can’t find it in yourself to care that much. He’s the one embarrassing himself anyway. “Literally any brand can have a smiley face and call it their own, you idiot.”

Green eyes roll, playful. “Come on, you and I both know what I meant.”

Despite looking stranded from the outside, the mall is pretty crowded on the inside. Plenty of shops inside are open, meaning that plenty of people are roaming around trying to be first in line for whatever they want to buy—which is not the most ideal situation for you and Dream ( faceless content creators in plain sight ). Still, you’ve got no room to complain.

“It would be, like, such a small chance to have that guy actually know you, much less recognize your voice from miles afar,” you say, absentmindedly shaking Dream’s shoulders, who’s still smiling widely. As if nothing can wipe it off.

“Want to test it?”

“What.”

Dream pulls you closer until you’re pressed against his left side, his right arm stretched out to point at the fancy diner the guy happened to be in. “Look, this is how it’ll go, okay?” He starts gesturing with his finger. “They’re blocking the way to the table seat with, like, two people. If I talk, and the dude recognizes me, then you owe me five dollars—”

“—What—!?”

“And if they don’t, then I owe you ten dollars, an extra five to make you forget I ever said this.” He turns his head to look at you fully, his face glowing against fluorescent lights. You want to push him away, you really do, but you’re too busy gaping at the fact that he’s fucking crazy.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you tell him for emphasis. “And also stubbornly competitive.”

Dream grins, still holding your arm as he starts walking across to get to the restaurant. “Thank you, thank you.”

You weakly nudge his arm off. It doesn’t move an inch. “We are not going to eat there because of this. That’s— That has to be impolite or something. Breaking some sort of fancy restaurant etiquette.”

“A customer is a customer, you little munchkin hater.”

A smile flutters on your lips. “Gross. Don’t call me that.”

It’s freezing inside the moment Dream pushes the glass door open; some of the waiters greet the both of you as you flush in embarrassment from the sudden attention, while Dream grins, mumbling to one of them about how he wants to sit at a specific table.

Attached to the walls are vines hanging meticulously to spell out letters that Dream’s fingers trace as you two walk further inside. Your eyes follow his movement, a slight frown twisting your face when you’ve realized you’ve been staring at him too often—and you mentally scold yourself for it, walking faster so you don’t have to see him.

“Over there,” Dream whispers, puffs of air fanning over the back of your neck as you force down a shiver. “Don’t look at him, though.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble, ducking your head away from him to hide your face and get away from his stupid warm breath.

With a hand on the small of your back, Dream starts to push you toward your target.

From what you can see, the guy’s friends seem to run off into the bathroom, leaving him all alone tapping on his phone ( for you and Dream to interrogate ). How convenient.

The guy who is, in fact, wearing Dream merch, tilts his head when Dream halts in his steps right beside his chair. Brown bangs hang over his face, matching the trimmed eyebrows, one of them raised, quizzical.

“Hey, excuse me?” Dream speaks up, smiling politely. “Can we pass through? Thanks.”

“Oh, no problem, dude,” dream-hoodie-wearing guy replies, scooting his chair closer to the table, giving enough space for you and Dream to pass through. Dream shoots a sad look when there’s no physical reaction that he’s been expecting from an alleged fan.

You shrug. Out of instinct, you say, “excuse me, thank you,” as you walk past, only to halt when the guy makes a noise under his breath.

“Hold on!”

Both you and Dream turn around sharply.

Brown eyes widen, as startled as the both of you from his own outburst. “Hold— Are you, uh. Are you Y/N?”

Oh, shit.

Your heartbeat picks up instantly in alarm, staring back at the guy who’s now stood up from his chair to lean closer; you can’t believe him and Dream are mirroring the same expression right now, one in disbelief and the other in horror.

“I— uh.” You feel Dream’s fingers tighten around your wrist slightly; you gaze up at him in confusion, only to be met by his worried stare. You turn back. “Why’d you think so?”

“You sound like Y/N,” dream-hoodie-wearing guy deducts, head tilted as he studies your figure. “Plus, you’re wearing Dream merch. Aren’t you and him, like, dating or whatever?”

The poorly-muffled snort that bubbles out of Dream is enough to have your face warm up all over. “No, no, no. Dream and I are not dating! Why does everyone think we are?”

Brunet laughs. “You just admitted that you’re Y/N.”

“Oh.”

Dream clears his throat. “You’re also wearing Dream merch.”

His eyes cut down instantly. “Oh, this? Yeah, my friend let me borrow it. I don’t really watch the guy; I’m more of a Quackity watcher, I guess.”

It’s your turn to have a poorly-muffled snort. You can feel Dream’s disappointment radiating off of him, rolling off in waves. “That’s sweet,” you praise, nodding to yourself as he beams. “Are you going to tell… anyone that I’m…?”

“That you have, like, a secret boyfriend—?”

You and Dream respond instantly, “We’re not on a date—”

“—No, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” he says, amused. “Say hi to Quackity for me, though!”

His friends emerge from the bathroom, shoving each other with laughs as they giggle about something. They call for him, so the guy smiles and waves, before jogging off to meet back with them.

You look at Dream.

Dream stares back. “Don’t.”

You bend over in laughter, tears pricking from your eyes as you hold your stomach from the growing ache that’s starting to settle in the more you wheeze. “Oh my— Oh my go—” You cut yourself off with a bunch of coughing.

“You’re so annoying,” Dream scoffs, but he’s smiling wide.

Dream offered to pay for everything, but you felt weird about that so you told him that you would literally leave him on the spot if he didn’t let you pay at least half of it. You bickered about it for ten minutes, before he decided you would pay for one-fourth of the bill. Finally, reluctantly, you gave in.

And minutes after embarrassing yourselves in front of the waitress, your food is served.

Smoke fresh off from your order blows onto your face. You huff, fanning it away as Dream giggles from beside you.

“I can’t believe you ordered all that,” you tell Dream. “We’re only two people.”

He shrugs, tugging on the tissue paper wrapped around his fork. “I’ll eat it all, then.” He digs up the steak dripping with sauce, sparing you a glance. “But don’t lie and tell me you aren’t hungry; we haven’t eaten yet.”

Well, he’s right. But he doesn’t have to know that.

With a spoonful, you blow slowly until the soup is warm enough for you to take in. You swallow the explosion of flavors, humming in approval when Dream murmurs a small ‘yeah?’.

“This is good,” you say, and it doesn’t sound like what it’s supposed to, but Dream understands and laughs anyway.

“Yeah.” Dream chews, stealing a fry from your plate. “Sapnap and I ate here last week, and he was, like, moaning while he was eating. I had to switch tables…”

Your gaze trails off to the direction where you feel as if you’re being scrutinized, seeing two girls whisper to themselves as they look at you and Dream. When you lift a brow, they stiffen, and quickly walk away—or, well, skitter away, more like.

That was weird.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” you reply.

Dream blinks. “Well, thank you for the honesty.”

“I’m not interested in hearing about Sapnap making strange noises, Dream,” you snort, stealing two fries from his plate in return. He frowns in defeat, but doesn’t do anything to bring it back—he lets you eat it.

But then your phone vibrates multiple times, almost making you jump out of your skin from surprise. With a frown, you swipe the screen open, confused when you’re greeted with Quackity calling you.

“—ick up, pick up, pick up,” comes from the speakers.

“Hello?” you mutter to the phone, turning away from Dream’s befuddled expression. “Quackity? What’s wrong? Are you guys—”

“Dude, holy fuck!” he exclaims, and there’s no trace of his usual humor. “Are you and Dream okay? You’re safe, right? Hiding, hopefully.”

“Ask them if they’re going back home!” Karl asks, his voice distant, yet rivals Quackity’s worry. “George is there a—”

“No, I can’t find a cab!”

“What…” You take a glance at Dream, pressing the speakers' button as Dream straightens, leaning closer to you to listen in. “What the hell are you guys on about?”

Quackity laughs, but it’s only disbelief—it sounds nervous, more than anything. “Didn’t you check Twitter?”

You snort, incredulous. “What? Why would I even think about that?”

“You don’t understand, Y/N, you need to check what’s going on—”

“Y/N.” Dream almost drops his phone as he fumbles while showing you, wide eyes right beside his screen as he lets you read the words displayed on the very top of the trending page. “Look.”

Y/N AND DREAM

“What the fuck?” you sandwich your phone between your shoulder and your ear, snatching Dream’s phone from his hand as you click on the page and scroll through the tweets. “What the hell did they do now—”

Your mouth drops open.

Dream winces.

user @/user

we were passing by and i swear they sound just like y/n and dream!! there’s no way they aren’t!!

[image attached]

user @/user

HOLY SHIT?? ARE Y/N AND DREAM ON A FUCKING DATE?

[image attached]

user @/user

is no one talking about how y/n is literally in florida. is that why we didn’t have a stream from them and quackity. y/n and dream are literally together rn!

user @/user

yall got y/n and dream trending. isn’t this against y/n’s boundaries lmao. stop invading their privacy this is none of our business.

user @/user

does anyone have a better picture of dream’s face?? i want y/n and dream matching pfps lol.

“Hello? Y/N?” Quackity frets from the other line. “Are you still there? Hello— Fuck, we need to get home now—” And then the line ends, not that you would even notice—no, because near the very top, until to the very bottom, is a post that has spread like wildfire.

And it’s pictures of you and Dream, entering the restaurant, speaking to the guy, and talking to each other, faces not that far from proper view.

“How did—” Dream takes his phone back, equally as horrified as you are. “What—”

“Dream,” you plead, holding on his sleeve, hands trembling, “can we get out of here, please?”

He pauses for a split second, only staring at you as if he’s trying to figure something out, before nodding and quickly standing up. “Yeah. Yes, yes, of course. Come on.” He gently takes hold of your hand, guiding you around the table. “Do you still want to ask for take-ou—?”

“No.” You shake your head, tugging on his sleeve once again, subconsciously pushing yourself closer—and it’s not like you can help it; you feel so lightheaded that you swear you could just drop dead on the ground at any given moment. “No, please. I- I just want to—”

Dream reaches for your hood, pulling it up to cover your head as he slings an arm over your shoulder, successfully shielding you from view, as if he’s not dragged in this mess, too.

He must’ve felt you shaking, because he ducks his head down and whispers, “Hey, it’s okay. No one’s sure about that picture yet. We can still tell them it’s not us.”

You shake your head. “Just get me home, Dream.”

a/n: manhunt duo AND sushisoot is back !

listen, i’ve had a pretty rough time before (and admittedly during) the break. i know i ask this every time, but i would really appreciate it if you leave a comment or just put your thoughts in the tags when you reblog!

trust me when i say i read every single one (even if its from an old post) because it’s really what keeps this series going! had it not been for all your kind feedback, this series would’ve ended six chapters ago. so thank you for your support, and thank you if you continue to support me!

but the moment you push open the glass door, the hot air dissipates, and you’re splashed with air-conditioned breeze that hits your face and takes away the warmth that’s been bothering your scalp.

the cashier smiles and waves at you. he’s a nice guy; never complained about you loitering 7-eleven. you only talk to him when you inform him of your purchases, and he just says that you don’t have to worry about it.

he might just be doing his job in pulling off the customer service attitude and secretly hates you.

with a wave back, you start skipping over to the familiar path you’ve carved in your mind. it’s empty again today, which makes sense because it’s too late out and it’s a weekday; everyone’s probably out there being a productive functioning member of society.

past the candies and the chips, right across plastic water bottles and wine—

you stop in your steps.

there’s a guy by the freezer aisle, and it’s the same spot you usually stand on—the same spot literally everyone knows pretty much belongs to you.

you furrow your brows lightly, displeased with this intruder. he’s blocking the fridge that you’re planning to grab some food in, too, as if he’s torturing you on purpose.

“um, hey, excuse me?”

blond hair bounces slightly as he turns, blinking in shock. “oh—shit. were you gonna—?”

a sharp nod. “yes, thank you.”

he steps aside, smiling sheepishly. though, he doesn’t quite leave, only moving backward near the shelves of bottled wine.

you’re nervous, all of a sudden. acutely aware that this guy is watching you. and he has a nice voice. you’re not even sure what you were planning to buy anymore, so you snatched a popsicle and closed the door immediately.

it would be embarrassing if you asked him to move aside only to do to the exact same thing that he had been doing.

“hey, andrew?” you call out.

andrew the cashier guy replies, “yeah?”

“i’m paying for these later, okay?”

andrew looks between the two of you, “gotcha…”

you smile to yourself, spinning around until you’re face-to-face with the guy again, who had his eyes on you the entire time. “here, catch.”

green eyes widen in surprise as he fumbles to catch the popsicle you throw at him. “oh,” he says as he examines the treat. he looks back up at you, baffled. “thank you, you didn’t have to—“

“eat it or i’ll eat it off your hands.”

he tilts his head to the side. “oh?”

you feel warmth spread on your face at his implications. “okay, not like that. don’t make it weird.”

an amused smile breaks across his face. “i’m dream,” he says, tearing the plastic apart to unveil the icy treat. both of yours are green.

“y/n,” you tell him, smiling awkwardly. “what—um. do you come here often?”

dream shakes his head, “no, not really,” then takes a glance at you, “but i might start to.”

sorryy for the cliffhanger i wrote this so fast. take your attendance down below are you still here in the sushisoot community. this is not proofread by the way.

@smolpotatotea @wrenqueenisboss @tenacioushubb @randokku @mandiilorian @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy @bergandysam @cloudybillows @junieyes @nonsensicallynarnian @iwantblacktea @wingedghostpepper @97c1a9 @missmickeyexe @echoteaa @marshymallo @alex--awesome--22 @notdaninotfound @graymoon2 @sereinics @paradigmax @dublafox @aash-nah @madituck @citruswood @unknownwicked @toodeepintofandoms @its-linh @kaynori @dukina @mayempress @ninkieminjaj @ratpussyelbows @phantombugs

Carefully, you tiptoe your way to the living room, greeted by Patches mincing over to you delicately. Uneven floorboards creak under your weight as you meet her halfway, grinning widely when she rubs her face on your leg, preening at the attention.

She’s so cute.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you whisper, crouching down to rub her head with your finger. She meows back, polite as ever. She always responds to whatever you say to her.

From outside, distant and muffled, you hear rambunctious laughter, followed by shrieks that you can deduct belongs to George’s.

It’s been about ten minutes since they jumped in the pool after stripping off their clothes, left only with swimming trunks as if it’s been there the entire time. Even Quackity is wearing one, earning a pointed finger and an unamused glare from you; he says that It’s Florida, man, it was either I dive into a pool headfirst or George fucking— pushes me into an ocean, or whatever.

“They’re all in the pool, huh?” you murmur, casting a quick glance to the clear sliding door a few feet away from you, showing Dream’s pool even from here. Your attention drops back to Patches, remembering that she is, in fact, a cat. “It’s okay, you don’t need to join those stinky boys anyway. They’re the ones stinky.”

Patches purrs in agreement.

“Y/N!” You hear Quackity call from outside, followed by splashes of clear blue water. “Y/N! Where the fuck are you!?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to Patches, before standing upright to straighten your posture, chest puffed with false confidence as you think about getting into a pool with so many of them. “Unfortunately for you, I also have been invited to swim.” Fingers trail over your thin shirt, nose wrinkling at the mental image of it drenched with water. What if they peed in that pool or something? A waste of a perfectly great shirt.

“So, run along. Before Quackity comes inside and splashes water all over your fur.” You bat your hand for effect, shooing her away.

Patches walks back to Dream’s room, as if she understood every word you said.

Huh, neat.

You slide the door open, greeted by the sight of the swimming pool huddled with boys pushing each other and splashing pee water into one another’s faces. George is hitting Sapnap and Quackity with two pool noodles, the other two laughing as the painless foam collides against their wet hair. Karl is cheering George on from the sides, siding against them as he flicks copious amounts of water onto his face.

“Stop!” Sapnap yelps, a grin bright on his face, quickly drowned out by George passing the pool noodles into Karl’s arms in favor of tackling him underneath the pool. “Geo— Bleurgh!”

“Holy shit!” Quackity gasps in between fits of laughter.

Dream sits near the stairs of the pool, arms stretched to the edges of the pool, watching them fondly. He’s the one to notice your presence first, head tilted to the side as he considers you.

It almost seems like he’s glowing under fluorescent lights. Something about that makes you feel strange.

He grins, at ease. “Were you taking a shit or something?”

Your eyebrows raise to your hairline at his vulgarity. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Dream’s smile falters for a split second, until you’re greeted with a sight of his flustered face. “What?” he utters out, mouth open and closing like a gaping fish. “My brand is piss, not shit. Get it right.”

You kneel down by the edge of the pool, slowly swinging your legs around until you’re seated comfortably—and then you dip your feet inside, subtly jolting at the freezing temperature. Dream laughs to himself, still noticing.

“Wow,” you drag the syllable out, trying ( and failing ) to act unfazed when you realize that Dream has been staring at you the entire time, eyes sharp, “so you’re embracing pissbaby allegations now?”

The pout on his face is enough to make you say that this is definitely a win.

The water feels nice on your skin, swallowing your body with warmth, in contrast to the chilling breeze that swims in the evening sky. The heat next to you feels inviting and you hate it.

“Dude!” Quackity exclaims, ripping your attention away from Dream and into the other boys, who are now full-on squealing at each other. “That’s an awesome fucking idea! We can go do, like, a room tour.”

“Maybe don’t show everything,” George laughs softly. “Have you seen the mess in Sapnap’s room?”

“What are you talking about?” Dream asks, voicing the question floating in your head. “A room tour? You only have two rooms to brag about, and I heard Quackity plotting to sleep in Sapnap’s room.”

You blink at that information. Are all of them going to sleep in one room? All four of them?

“Hell yeah, dude,” Sapnap says, fist-bumping Quackity, even when he was the one to complain about the fact that everyone but him is taking his own bed.

“We’re talking about vlogging,” George replies, as you and Dream look at each other in tandem. “We want to vlog our meet-up. We haven’t even announced it properly yet!”

“What the fuck, let’s do a stream!” Karl suggests brightly, shaking George’s shoulders. “We could do a ‘You laugh, you lose’ but it can’t be scuffed this time!”

“Hey,” George says, defeated. He flicks water to Karl’s face, who scrunches his face with silent laughter.

Dream clears his throat. “Aren’t you guys, like, missing something?” You nod along with him, gesturing at the two of you.

Silence falls upon the pool, thinking deeply.

“Wait, what? Are you two dating now?” Quackity says, to which you gape at.

“No, you idiot,” Dream stammers, uncharacteristically flabbergasted. “I meant like, Y/N and I haven’t even face revealed yet. You can’t, just, have us, you know—”

The boys look at each other in slow realization.

“Boo, you whore,” Sapnap grumbles.

“Rude,” Dream frowns, and you laugh at that.

George sighs deeply, sinking deeper into the water until his nose is barely above the surface. “I mean,” he says, garbled through water, before tilting his head up so that everyone can understand him better, “you two don’t have to show yourselves, if you even want to join.”

“Of course I’d want to join,” you tell him, pleading, almost insulted at the implication that you wouldn’t want to spend time with them—this is one of the reasons you came here, right? To be with your friends.

“Okay, then… do you want to face reveal for this?” Quackity asks, somberly this time.

You pause at the question, as if it hit you like a truck that are you really giving into that decision? It’s years of keeping your face and part of your life private; surrendering it so suddenly for the sake of doing a vlog with them, it feels too impulsive.

Dream nudges you, his expression mirroring yours: uneasy. “Let’s not think about it right now.”

“I really, really want to take Quackity to this restaurant we passed by, though,” Karl says, promptly swimming over by the edge of the pool to reach for his phone seated on one of the plastic chairs. “It sells the burger I was talking to you about, dude.”

Quackity lights up in recognition. “The cheap but good one?”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about!” Sapnap beams, scrambling to swim over near Karl. “Was it the one across KFC? They sell the best shit, dude.”

You have no idea what they’re talking about.

But now that they’ve eased back to another conversation, you find yourself distracted by the sun sinking lower and lower, until you can properly make out stars shimmering like ants in the sky—everything above you, painted warm orange fading to a cold blue. It brings attention to the litter of fairy lights scattered around Dream’s backyard, intertwined into the fences.

When Dream sighs, you can’t help but let your eyes trace the way soft light illuminates sharp features, especially green eyes, that immediately snap over to meet yours once you’ve stared long enough. He runs his fingers through blond locks, all the while maintaining eye contact.

Your chest feels heavier, all of a sudden.

“Are you sad?” he asks. Water ripples as he drops his hand back into the water.

“What?” You’re definitely not distracted by the single drop of water running down his jaw.

He exhales. “You know, not being able to join them.”

Your eyes flick up to stare at him directly in the eyes. You swear it glimmers under the moonlight. “It’s the price to pay when you want to stay faceless, isn’t it?”

“We can still go out,” he says, “if you want.”

“But it’s only the two of us who haven’t revealed faces.”

“I know.”

All of a sudden, as if everything around has gone quiet, you feel your breath rush out of your lungs—is it out of confusion? Nervousness? You don’t know. “What are you trying to say, Dream?”

“I’m asking you out on a date,” Dream replies rather bluntly; and as an afterthought upon the sight of your mortified face, adds, “platonically, of course.”

This is how you end up rummaging through your closet the next day, searching for any good outfit you can wear that won’t bring attention to you, but still be stylish enough to not humiliate your public appearance. Karl and Quackity sit on the edge of the bed, dressed up themselves.

Karl is wearing something bright, vivid cyan with ripped jeans, sleeves long enough to reach past his fingers. However, Quackity is wearing the complete opposite, all black, from head-to-toe; even his beanie is as dark as the leather jacket he threw in. He claims that Karl gave it to him, which he is definitely not giving back now.

You picked Karl to help you. Quackity just tagged along because he got bored waiting for Sapnap and George to get ready.

“I swear I had this sweater that I really wanted to try on,” you mutter, unearthing clothes you don’t even remember packing in. None of them are what you’re looking for. You throw your hands into the air in exasperation.

“You didn’t bring it?” Karl chuckles.

Your shoulders slump. “Yes…”

“This would look really good with something black or white, though,” Quackity says, gesturing at what you and Karl chose for the bottom part. You don’t mention to him that anything would look good with black or white. “Why not wear the one Dream gave you?”

You wrinkle your nose. “The Valentine’s one?”

Karl gasps, hand over his mouth, kicking up the theatrics Quackity so gracefully mimicked. “You’re right! That will look so good.”

“No, it won’t.”

Quackity throws the merch on your face, giggling as it falls off your face and lands on your lap, as if taunting you. “What are you gonna wear then? The shirt from yesterday?”

“I could’ve,” you sneer, “if someone told me that we would end up swimming.”

Quackity lifts his hand in surrender, albeit grinning widely. “I didn’t know!”

“To be fair, you brought swimming trunks,” Karl points out. He tells you to wear some of his rings, to which you gratefully accept. Some of them are too big on your fingers, but you still slip them on proudly.

“It’s Florida, you should’ve seen it coming,” Quackity laughs.

“You keep saying that. What does that even mean?” you whisper to yourself.

You slip the clothing on, posing as Karl and Quackity bombard you with pictures as if they're paparazzi. This descends into a series of photoshoots with all three of you in ridiculous poses while holding all your phones. Don’t delete it, they said. It’s for the memories, they said.

“Quick, carry me, carry me!”

“What? Oh—okay!”

“You’re going to drop him!”

“No, I won’t!”

A knock.

Karl drops Quackity from carrying him bridal style at the sound, one of them surprised, and the other on the ground, writhing in pain.

“Hey,” a low murmur, “are you guys done?”

You, Karl, and Quackity quickly compose yourselves from the photoshoot session, with you clumping over to your doorstep to veer it open—but you overestimate your balance and stumble on your own feet.

Dream blinks at you in surprise, hands shooting out to your torso, helping you steady yourself. Your cheeks flush at the touch, pulling away from him as soon as mentally and spiritually possible.

“Damn,” Quackity says from behind you, eliciting heat to your entire body. “You two are fucking idiots.”

Karl giggles, trudging to stand beside you. “We’re ready. Are George and Sapnap ready?”

But Dream is just staring at you, gaze unwavering, unlike your heartbeat. Stop doing that. “Yeah, no, they’re on the way to the car.”

Quackity pats Dream’s shoulder as he and Karl skitter out of your room, laughs echoing in the hallway.

You look at him. “What’s wrong?”

He’s grinning all over, appraising you. “You’re wearing my merch.”

This brings out an eyeroll, pushing him away as you go to follow the others. “Don’t flatter yourself, Karl and Quackity chose it.”

“But you’re wearing it,” he persists, still smiling like a maniac. “You’re wearing my merch. My merch, the same guy who you claimed you loathe with your entire being—”

“Okay, okay,” warmth spills from your cheeks like a tipped glass, “stop, this is just getting humiliating for the both of us—”

“Can I take a picture?”

Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. “What the fuck, no! You’re asking me if you can get blackmail—what—get that phone away!”

“I’m gonna drop you off here,” Dream announces as the boys start fixing themselves up, styling their hair, smoothing their shirts, “just text me if you guys are done, okay?”

The car is warm with all the boys pressed against each other and you lying on the far backseat comfortably. You’re playing with the hem of your sleeves as you listen to the way the air seems to breathe the moment George swung open the door, followed by the clinking of glass plates and the distant chattering of customers in conversations.

“Yes, Dad,” Sapnap chimes in playfully, “we will come back home before nine PM.”

“Eight,” Dream corrects.

“We will come back home before eight PM,” Sapnap repeats, and then they start clambering out of the car, shoving each other off with loud laughs when they get too close to one another. “Bye, guys! Have fun!”

“Don’t do anything stupid!” you call out to them, and Quackity just

Once the door slams shut again, you hook your leg over the seat and roll out into where the boys had been a few seconds ago. The seats are still warm.

Dream drives off without another word, smiling softly to himself. You are instantly suspicious of his malicious intent.

“You seem very pleased to go on a platonic date with me,” you observe smartly, narrowing your eyes slightly to visualize your suspicion to him.

There’s a moment when you and Dream just stare at each other, silent.

“I mean,” he clears his throat, “if you weren’t here, I would be very alone right now,” Dream chuckles, staring ahead. Sunrise coats his face with a warm glow. “Plus, you’re not that bad,” he glances at you, “If you don’t open your mouth.”

You glare at him evenly. He laughs.

It’s a few minutes after that you arrive at your destination, with Dream picking the far end of the parking lot to leave his car in. It’s still too early out, meaning there are only a few people strolling around the entrance and inside—and, that most stores inside aren’t open.

It’s both the best and the worst time to visit the mall.

“You’ve never been here before, right?” Dream asks once you’ve slammed the door shut. You jump in surprise, not noticing that he’s so close he’s almost pressed against your back. A warning, please?

“What?” You turn to frown at him, catching sight of a smug grin, as if he knows you’re bound to start a heated argument with him again—as if you two can’t go through a five-minute conversation without going at each other’s throats. Well, except for that one time. “You think I haven’t been in a mall?”

“No, no,” he laughs, “I meant, like, you haven’t been in this mall in particular, right?”

“…No.” You start walking forward, not bothering to check if he’s following you. “Trust me, If I had, then I probably would’ve ditched you by now.”

“Okay, I’m ignoring what you just said. I’ll be your tour guide for today!”

a/n: manhuntduo is back baby

AND SNF MEET UP?

thank you SO SO much for the support for this series!! tumblr has been screwing me over lately with most of my chapters not showing at the tags at all, so all your reblogs are so needed and appreciated!!

it would mean more if you can drop a comment in the replies, or in the tags! i read all of them and it truly makes my day to see anyone say anything, really :D

BONUS:

“aw, that was so cute!” you squeal as you tackle him down onto the bed, cupping his blushing cheeks aggressively. “did you practice that? oh my god, how long did you practice that?”

“…a week,” he shamefully admits, looking away. “i had to ask my fans to translate and teach me how to say it— stop laughing at me!”

for my filipino babies <3

this was from this ask but pan anon said they're writing a version of theirs too so i changed it up :D

This is the beginning of the end.

It doesn’t start with a bang, with a scream. No hurried footsteps followed by taunts. No panting ricocheting within the stone walls of the cave. No fighting, no running, no yelling.

The end starts with silence.

The walls of the underground net of caves are dimly lit, the only sign of a human presence being the scarce torches Sam planted earlier. The darkened stone pathways seem to stretch on forever, as if hiding something just beyond your range of sight. Your pickaxe crashes against the stone, smaller nuggets of raw iron swiftly cracking onto the ground. You grin.

“We meet here in ten, alright?” Sam had told you earlier, before handing you a sword. A preemptive measure— a ‘break the glass in case of emergency’ type situation. After all, Dream is sneakier than he’s given credit for. Cunning enough to slip the group’s grasp an embarrassing amount of times. You’ve learned from your mistakes, and you’re ready to face him this time— to bring him to justice.

Unfortunately for Dream, today you have a plan— one that will end up with him going down for good. From the very beginning, you decided to split into groups— optimize time without being easy targets. Both you and Sam headed down to get iron and any other valuable resources while Bad hunted for food by the entrance to the mine— always close enough to give a warning if he saw anything out of place. As for the rest, well— someone has got to go after Dream, right?

George, Ant and Sapnap are quite the trio— one you expect will keep the trickster without any breathing space. And although you may feel a twinge of nervousness swimming in your gut —after all, Dream can be as dangerous as they come— you have faith that they’ll at least tire him out for when Sam and you get back with your findings.

The end starts with silence. It starts the moment your pickaxe snaps in half, earning a soft groan. You check your bag, and you’re surprised with the amount of resources you’ve managed to find. The caves are quiet. There’s no echo beyond the twists and turns of the tunnels, no footsteps in the distance. Its off-putting at first, and the longer the silence stretches, the more eerie it becomes.

You stare down at your bag, heart skipping a beat. There’s no way you’ve collected this much in ten minutes. The thought festers inside your mind like a weed, a vague sense of unease crawling up your chest. You raise your head, only to be met by the same quietness. You feel your bones grow colder.

If it’s been more than ten minutes, then where the hell is Sam?

There’s always a chance that he’s lost track of time, yet the idea sits oddly in your head. It’s unlike him. He’s always been methodical— especially when it comes to hunting down Dream.

You turn your head to look at the dimly lit walls, searching for Sam’s silhouette.

He couldn’t have gone that far, could he?

You inhale sharply. Adjusting the strap of your bag, you narrow your eyes as you try to spot anything that would be an indication of his presence. A beat passes. Two. Finally, you call out,

“Sam?”

The name echoes and ricochets off the deepslate and cobblestone walls, shooting a shiver down your spine. Your fingers slowly curl around the hilt of the iron sword he left you. You swallow, mouth suddenly gone dry.“Sam?” You try again, to no avail. You lick your lips anxiously. “You there?”

You weigh your options for a moment, despite the anxiousness clawing at your chest. You inhale. Exhale. Force your mind to think rationally and drop the idea that something might’ve happened to him. ‘Cause he probably wandered off and didn’t notice, you think all too hopefully, in fact, he’s probably already making his way back.

It’s a naive thought— and you know better than that. You straighten, shaking your head to gather your clouded thoughts.

Alright, you’ve got three options as it is. One, try and follow Sam’s footsteps to check on him. Two, head out and warn Bad that something’s off. Three— well, stay by your meet up point until Sam eventually makes an appearance.

Suddenly, the heavy mantle of silence is finally teared open. You stiffen— hearing footsteps before you’re given a chance to make a decision. They’re not that distant, either. They’re rushed, heavy, as if— as if running away from something. From someone.

You hear panting. Rocks giving away to weight. Boots echoing through stone hallways. Cold nips at your skin as you unsheathe your sword. Running away from someone or towards a new target?

You hold your breath as they grow nearer, debating on whether to take your chances or running away while you still have a head start. If it is you who you dread, it won’t be much help either. He’s said it before —through badlands, tundra, forests and deserts— he’s said it, and all six of you know it.

Dream loves the chase.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when you finally see the shadow of a silhouette draw closer, sword aimed to incapacitate— no, to kill.

Then, right before you swing your sword, you see it. Not a green hood and a white mask, but unruly dark hair and amber eyes.

A sudden wave of relief washes over you, almost toppling you. Gods, you feel like you’re about to throw up.

You nearly drop your iron weapon, its tip clattering against the floor. Your shoulders relax, and you exhale loudly. And if this were any other situation, you would’ve slapped Sapnap for giving you the scare of your life. And yet, instead of reprimanding him, your lips part to ask, “Shouldn’t you be with—”

A wild pair of amber meets with your e/c. Before you get the chance to finish, Sapnap has already lunged at you, eyes slightly panicked as he covers your mouth with his palm. He presses your body against the deepslate wall, and you swear you can hear his heart nearly beat out of his chest. His amber gaze flicks to the side, before promptly dragging you to a little crevice that hides behind the stone and diorite.

You stare back at him wildly, back now pressed against a different wall. Sapnap holds you in position, one hand still covering your mouth while the other lingers by your waist— as if to make sure you don’t make any sudden moves.

You search his eyes for answers, but he only stares out the hole from which you both entered. It’s a small opening between walls, barely enough to fit both of you. The faint torch light illuminates the outer corners of the walls, keeping both of you in a faded darkness.

You bite his hand, and he jerks away with a flinch. He shoots you a look, and you return it evenly.

After a moment of silence, you finally find your voice. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell is—”

His eyes widen almost instantly. His hand faintly shakes as he hastily presses his index finger to his lips. It’s only once he does that you notice the blood dripping down the side of his forehead, making you furrow your brows. What happened? Why’s he here? And where the hell is Sam?

Then, too close for comfort, a taunting voice calls out.

“Oh, Sapnap…”

Your whole body freezes in position. You feel Sapnap’s fingers tighten around your waist, inhaling a sharp breath.

Rubble crunches beneath the weight of combat boots, the sound of an axe dragged against stone being enough for you to understand the gravity of your current situation. A low laugh making your heart skip a beat.

“I know you can hear me, Sapnap.” Dream hums, his voice drawing closer and closer. Upon being met by no response, the green-eyed devil chuckles.

The sound of footsteps stop. Sapnap meets your gaze, his back taut like wire. While one hand lingers by your waist, the other one he uses to support his body. He presses his palm against the deepslate a few inches above your head. He tries to inhale as quietly as he can manage, before his breath hitches.

After a few beats of silence, Dream continues, “I got you pretty good, didn’t I?” he asks, the edge of his words mocking.

You furrow your brows, watching as Sapnap’s jaw tenses. You scour his frame, only for your eyes to widen, unease bubbling inside your gut. His white bandana is stained with red by its side, but its long since dried. You know it wasn’t there earlier, but at least its not that recent. No, it’s once your gaze flicks down to his abdomen that your heart feels like halting. Because even when its obscured by a shirt, you can see the red stain expanding across the cloth. Not old— new. It’s fresh— too fresh.

You are by no means dumb— after all, you’ve outsmarted Dream your fair share of times. And once the fact that Sapnap is here with Dream sinks in, you come to a horrible, horrible realization. Because when you parted ways, he left with decent weaponry and armor. Not only that— but he left with Antfrost and George.

Sapnap is bruised. Bruised enough to show that he gave a hell of a fight— but the lack of armor and weapons strikes a chord. You can only hope— hope that George and Ant simply strayed farther out, despite the overwhelming evidence suggesting otherwise.

Your attention lingers on the cut by his temple, and Sapnap averts his gaze— and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn he looked embarrassed. You, on the other hand, refuse to look away until he meets your eyes. Upon noticing that he won’t ( which shouldn’t surprise you, after all, he’s Sapnap— he’s as stubborn as they come ), you reach for his chin. With your thumb on his chin and your index by the line of his jaw, you make him look down at you.

The action itself makes a dark blush bloom across Sapnap’s face— not that you notice ( thankfully ) due to the darkness. He tenses in the slightest at the sudden contact, before relaxing slightly at your concerned look. He tries to shrug it off— leave it behind along the fact that he’s only now realized just how close he is to you. He tries to ignore your hand —which still lingers by his jaw— and tear his focus away from the fact that he can feel your breath against his cheeks when he looks down at you.

Finally, Sapnap inhales sharply, offering a closed-lipped smile. Then, he soundlessly mouths, ‘I’m fine.’ He can see it doesn’t convince you— he can’t exactly say that he’s surprised. Still, you purse your lips, deciding that —for the moment— it’s enough.

Your own back stiffens against the cave wall once you hear Dream humming, the edge of his axe continuing to scratch against stone. Sapnap blinks back at you wildly. The urge to scream bubbles inside your throat, heart beating like a rattled canary trying to break free.

Dream continues to hum a song you don’t quite manage to recognize, the sound echoing right next to your ear. “How long do you think you’ll last?” The hooded man asks, and it feels as if he’s whispering it from besides you. His question does nothing to ease the anxiousness in your body— and despite him trying to downplay it, you can tell it’s having a similar effect on Sapnap.

“I know you’re bleeding,” Dream begins, tone shifting, darkening. Sapnap stiffens against you, and you have to bite down your lip to prevent you from accidentally making any noises. “I’ve got all day, buddy. I can wait.” A pause, and you cover your own mouth with your palm. Scream, fight, make a break for it— jumbled words rush around your mind as you try to think a way out of it.

“Can you?”

Your eyes remained glued to Sapnap’s. You press yourself closer to the wall as you hear Dream stop his strides. Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, and Sapnap searches your eyes for something you can’t seem to figure out.

If it wasn’t obvious already, you’re not exactly used to being in situations like this. You strategize, you gather resources, you craft plans— you don’t go toe-to-toe with the criminals you’re supposed to hunt down. And on the off chance you do, you have back up— not only other hunters, but decent— useful weaponry. Your eyes instinctively flicker to your sword, hanging by your belt—oh my god. Oh my god.

Where the fuck is your sword?

Seeing the rising panic in your eyes, Sapnap fingers curl tighter around your waist, drawing you closer to him. Gods, he’s not used to being the level headed one— it shows, but he’s trying his best for you. He breathes in slowly, silently, and the hand he was using for support now carefully glides towards your own free hand. Gently, his fingers interlock with your own.

Amber eyes meet e/c. Despite the blood dripping down his side, the bruise forming by the side of his head, the faint dizziness building up inside his body, he wills his focus on you.

‘It’s okay.’ He mouths with a near invisible nod. His thumb moves lightly across the back of your palm. He’ll get you out. He’ll get both of you out.

Once again, end starts with silence. It starts with the humming of a melody you don’t know, before it comes to a faded halt. The end starts with complete and utter soundlessness— so much so that you don’t dare to breathe for a second. Your fingers hold on tighter to Sapnap.

“Now why…” Dream begins in a deceivingly light tone. Something scrapes against the floor, and your grip on him tightens. The sound is a dead giveaway. A sword. Sam’s sword. “would you leave this behind?”

The next few moments feel like hours— and saying that you miss staying back with the occasional company of Sam or Bad would be the understatement of the century. From what you can tell, Dream picks up the sword —for what, you’re not entirely sure— before resuming his path. His steps echo farther and farther away, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you allow yourself to breathe.

Your throat is a knot and you don’t trust your legs to stand properly. Instead, you lean your head against Sapnap’s shoulder, struggling not to drop like deadweight. Despite being injured, his back relaxes in the slightest, and before he can help himself, one of his hands immediately places itself along the back of your lower neck. He inhales, before gently tucking your head underneath his chin.

A voice —one eerily reminiscent to Dream’s— rings within his mind. You should’ve done better, it mocks, what happened to the fearless, temper ridden hunter you used to be? For the time being, Sapnap ignores it. He ignores it despite the urge to prove it wrong.

His gaze flickers down to you. It’s shouldn’t be a surprise to see you shaken up, but hell, it does stir an acrid feeling within his chest. After all, he’s grown so used to seeing you in your element, where he’ll be able to tease and complain as much as he wants. Where you’ll —according to him— favor his ideas over George’s. Where you’ll let him linger close by, under the guise that surely, the brains behind the operations deserves a bodyguard every once in a while.

Sapnap hates seeing you like this. He hates seeing someone normally calm and collected so frazzled. Better yet, he despises the fact that he accidentally lured the threat towards you.

And yet, despite all the clouded thoughts and impulses raining down in his head, Sapnap pulls away and asks,

“You okay?”

It’s soft, barely above a murmur— but its enough for you to hear. You inhale sharply before nodding with a shaken smile.

“I… I’m okay.” You stammer, and even when your voice doesn’t sound at all sure, Sapnap chooses not to press.

Carefully, Sapnap lets go of your waist, nearly forgetting his hand had settled there in the first place. He nods hesitantly, before quickly offering a comforting smile. Ever so softly, he says,

“Let’s go find the others.”

The two of you carefully step out of your hiding spot within the cave walls. Once you’ve both made sure you can stand your own weight, you turn to the barely illuminated path Sam left earlier. You inhale sharply.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” the voice drawls out with a laugh. Your body jumps at the sudden sound and you spin on your heel. “you almost had me fooled, Sapnap.” Green eyes stare down at the boy in front of you with an amused look, before slowly turning to you. “…And Y/N.” he adds, a barely audible surprise hanging from his words. His lips break into a grin— and despite looking harmless, you take a step back. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He muses, taking a step forward. He cocks his head to the side. “And here I was, thinking I’d never see you without your little pack of wolves rallied behind you.”

Sapnap’s jaw clenches and unclenches. He takes a step in front of you, as if to shield you from those knowing green eyes. “Back up, buddy.” He hisses.

Dream’s gaze shifts back to Sapnap with an unimpressed look. “And now all you’ve got is a wounded guard dog.” He shakes his head with a click of his tongue. “Loyal till the bitter end.”

Sapnap doesn’t miss the way Dream’s focus seems to linger on you, nor does he miss how his hand curls around his axe. His nostrils flare, and making sure you’re still behind him, he growls out, “Even consider laying a hand on them and I’ll kill you.”

Green meet amber, and Dream can only grin. “That’s an empty threat and you know it.” He shakes his head disappointedly. “Or maybe you don’t, and you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” Dream straightens, and upon noticing Sapnap’s stance in this situation, he simply raises one of his hands before taking a step back. He tilts his head, thinking. He watches as you accidentally try to shift to the side, but Sapnap’s hand carefully holds you in place behind his back. And it’s an odd sight, truly. Because Sapnap is not exactly the type of person Dream would associate with gentle. If anything, he’s a rabid dog waiting to be unleashed upon hin. So why…?

Dream’s gaze focuses on you, and he can’t help the way the corner of his lips twitch upward. Would you look at that, he muses, not blind loyalty, but something else.

The green hooded man straightens to his full height, and with a want to test out his theory, he shrugs. “But you’re growing on me, Sapnap, so I’ll tell you what.” He raises his axe, its blade dirtied and bloodied. A curious glint dances in his gaze, watching as Sapnap inhales sharply. “Move aside, and I’ll let you walk away.”

Sapnap scoffs loudly, shaking his head with an unwavering determination. “Go to hell.” He spits out.

Dream shakes his head, almost disappointedly. “Guard dog.” He mutters to himself, watching the brunet stand his ground despite his evidently weakened state. Dream can’t decide whether to find that admirable or idiotic— not that it matters, it’ll end the same way. But a part him feels displeased. He’s always found Sapnap to be a cracked reflection of himself— a worthy enemy.

Who knows? Maybe in a another life, they would’ve been allies.

“What did you do to the others?” Your voice sparks Dream out of his accidental reverie. It’s been a long time since he last saw you— since he last heard you. Your voice almost sounds foreign to him, always mixed with that of the group’s. He’s never faced you alone before— and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit curious.

Dream chuckles. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about them.” He says, swinging his axe over his shoulder with a light laugh. “After all… you’re in much more trouble than they are.”

He watches as both you and Sapnap stiffen, before his eyes briefly flick back to the tunnel behind you. Dream exhales loudly, dropping his axe onto the ground. “But I’m a fair man. And despite everything you two have done to me in the past, I’ll be merciful.” His innocent look shifts into a twisted grin. “I’ll give you a head start.”

Both Sapnap and you share a look, questioning, hesitating. Dream, on the other hand, takes a seat by the ground, leaning his head against his knuckles.

After all, he loves the chase.

“One… Two…”

As if the reality of your situation finally sets within your minds, Sapnap’s hand latches onto your wrist, your heart rattled inside your chest. He gives you a quick glance, eyes tracing your features before he turning away.

You both start running before he can get to three.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: whew this turned out way darker than i originally intended but!!! here we are!!!! i hope you guys enjoyed and don’t forget to comment your thoughts :DD

The moment you step outside Quackity’s room, all you hear is silence.

Sweet, blessed silence. As if the apartment was uninhabited, with you being the only soul sleeping there. It’s a surprise —a pleasant one, of course— but a surprise nonetheless. After all, it not only happens to belong to two of loudest people you know, but it also currently has seven people sleeping in it.

You silently close the door behind you, a pleased feeling blooming inside your chest when it doesn’t creak. You gently let go of the doorknob, when you hear a faint hum of acknowledgment.

“Morning.”

The voice that greets you is deeper with slumber, rougher around the edges but recognizable nonetheless. His beaming green turn to meet with your e/c as he holds a steaming mug to his lips.

You smile back at Clay. “Good morning.” You greet, heading towards the kitchen island with light steps. You reach to open one of the cabinets, carefully taking out a christmas themed mug.

Clay leans against his knuckles, gaze quietly following your moves. “You look…” his green are greeted by a quirked brow and a curious look, “great, actually.”

A light scoff mixed with a chuckle escape your throat as you tilt your head. “Is that supposed to be a pick up line?” You ask as you place your palms against the counter, setting for phone down as well.

The corner of his lips twitches upward, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. And meeting your gaze evenly, he simply asks, “Do you want it to be?”

You roll your eyes, swiftly turning to look away and avoid his careful watch. Heat spreads through your face as you try to distract yourself with cutting lemons. You shake your head.

“You’re a flirt, you know that, right?”

A chuckle escapes him, that knowing grin curling onto his lips. “I was just making an observation!” He exclaims defensively, oddly enjoying the light tint of your cheeks.

As you finish cutting slices of lemon and dropping them inside your mug of steaming water, you fold your arms over your chest. “Okay, well,” you stammer, making him quirk an amused brow. “you look like you fell asleep in the park.”

He clicks his tongue with light distaste. He shakes his head as he takes another sip of his steaming coffee. “That’s mean.” He murmurs with a pout.

You give him a look, and the pout breaks into a grin. “Mhm.” You hum, the corner of your lips curved upward. You shake your head, leaning closer to him over the counter, and Clay sticks to his beaming look. Green eyes watch you intently, teasingly— after all, he knows you’ll end up backing down, you—

You run your thumb across his cheek, and Clay feels his whole body grow cold. Soon enough it’s gone, replaced by a heat that starts to spread through his being, freezing him into position. Pink rushes to his cheeks and he inhales sharply. Clay blinks a few times, weirdly stunned by the sudden physical contact. And while his breath hitches, you look completely and utterly unfazed.

You shake your head, taking your hand back and show it to him. “You have actual dirt on your face, Clay.” You chuckle lightly, showing him the faint imprint of dirt on your thumb. “Did you sleep outside, or what?”

You look at him expectantly, head tilted to the side, and Clay feels his whole body falter. He coughs, ducking his head to hide the heat he feels has reached his ears. “Oh, um,” he clears his throat awkwardly, willing this fucking weird reaction to go away. Touch starved, that’s what he is. Clay licks his lips, folding his arms over his chest as he leans against the counter. “I had to run a few errands. After you went to sleep.”

You raise a brow, writing off your friend’s reaction as embarrassment. You bring your mug closer to your lips. “What type of errands couldn’t wait until the morning?”

He runs a hand through dirty blond hair, accidentally making it messier. “Oh, you know,” he stalls, wincing at the lack of an excuse. After all, it’s not like he can say he was out giving protective detail to a senator with Alyssa and Sapnap. “internship… things.”

“Ah.” You murmur, shaking your head comprehensively. “Rich people work around a different schedule, huh?”

Clay swirls his mug around for a moment, shoulders dropping in the slightest. He exhales softly. One day, that excuse won’t be enough to justify absences— he can only hope he becomes a better liar until then.

A relieved pair of green meet e/c. He hums in response, posture relaxing as he takes a sip of his coffee. And with a light chuckle he adds, “Tell me about it.”

Rich people— you’re not that far off, he notes. After all, he’s come to learn that five out of every ten politicians is dirty in some way. Whether its extortion, corruption, bribes, you name it— and it almost always ends with more money in their pocket.

The mission was a last minute change, of course— otherwise, Clay would’ve never agreed to come to George and Quackity’s apartment for a movie night. Not even when both you and Quackity insisted to drag him off his ass if he refused. Granted, the mission itself wasn’t much of a hassle— just look intimidating and never leave the senator’s side. Surprisingly, the senator was a pretty cool person. One of the last good ones, though that’s just his personal opinion.

The issue —and there’s no surprise here— was other politicians and press reporters. God knows that when Clay signed up to be a member of the League, he expected to fight crime, not to be some glorified guard dog that has to listen to stupid questions every other minute. Why does Senator Nivison get a super-powered security detail and not me? Why is the League sending their lower ranks to guard such an esteemed event? Where’s Siren and why isn’t he here? And those are some of the easy ones— nothing compared to the gossip reporters that thrive off uncertainty and chaos. Clay still remembers the time Sapnap melted a reporter’s camera— he’s certain the newscaster also remembers it. But god, what he would’ve given to watch Sapnap burn their intrusive microphones and equipment to hell.

But, sadly, Alyssa would’ve never approved— much less the Captain. So, instead of watching the reporters finally give them some breathing space ( out of wariness for their equipment, of course ), he had to endure long hours without a handing over single response out of fear he might end up folding— or snapping. And while it might’ve felt good to momentarily have some of those greedy politicians and nosy reporters off his back, it would’ve undoubtedly backfired on the League. And the Captain was clear— the League can’t afford bad press at the moment— much less from its newer recruits.

In short, it wouldn’t have been worth it.

The quiet ambient of peace is quickly disrupted by Sapnap’s presence, who walks into the room dragging his feet while staring at his phone. Both you and Clay turn to see him, and with a curious yet knowing look you greet, “Good morning, Sap.”

The dark haired brunet scoffs lowly, one hand reaching to rub his closing eyes. “There’s nothin’ good about mornings.” Sapnap mutters, southern drawl heavier with sleep.

You hear a soft snicker beside you. “Don’t you look well rested?” Clay says, and if you didn’t know better, you could’ve sworn there was a mocking edge to his words. Your gaze briefly switches to the freckled man, curious.

Sapnap huffs, shooting his best friend a glare. His lips part to retort, string of insults ready to—

“Don’t start with him.” George warns in a calm manner, shaking his head. He strides inside the room, looking noticeably better than either of the other boys. The brunet tilts his head, a strange glint dancing in his brown gaze. It’s only then that you realize his statement is directed at you and Clay. “He’s got a bit of a short temper these days.”

Your eyes shift to a giggling Quackity, who stands only a few steps behind George. “He’s right though.” The law student grins, stretching his limbs over his head. His brown eyes meet Sapnap’s gaze, a half-suppressed laugh escaping him at the sight of his friend. “You look like shit, man.” He says bluntly, gaze turning away from Sapnap and towards Clay. “You both do.”

Sapnap runs his fingers through his darkened hair, shaking his head with a scoff. “Right, and no comment about George and Y/N?”

Quackity merely shrugs, that shit-eating grin still ever-so present. “Well, George is my roommate. And I happen to like Y/N, so.” Then, he does a quick once-over of the two of you. He shrugs once again. “Plus, they both look much better than either of you.”

Clay scoffs a chuckle, shaking his head as he raises his cup of coffee to his lips. “Yeah, thanks, Q.” He murmurs.

You hide your growing smile behind your christmas mug, nodding in agreement. “And that’s why he’s my favorite.”

Clay’s head turns in your direction, lips parted with surprise and a hint of betrayal. “I thought I was your favorite.”

You roll your eyes playfully, shaking your head. You carefully place your mug onto the kitchen counter before avoiding Clay’s statement and asking, “What happened with Karl and Tina?”

George shakes his head, reaching for the blankets sprawled over the couch and neatly folding them. “They had to bail, like, an hour ago.”

You furrow your brows. “Why? Something happen, or…?”

George hums, lips pursed as he tucks the blankets inside a drawer near the TV. “Well, Tina said she had an early shift at the flower shop. I guess Karl just decided to tag along.”

“Huh.”

Quackity clasps his hands, skipping the kitchen island and immediately heading towards the door. It’s only once he reaches the door that you realize both him and George are already dressed— and, in all honesty, it doesn’t cease to surprise you. And it’s not because you’re certain they’ve both got shitty sleep schedules ( ‘cause, c’mon, you’re college students— none of you gets the recommended hours of sleep ), but rather because they always seem like they’re in a hurry to leave. Hell, if you lived in an apartment like this, you’d never want to leave. Instead, you’re left in a too small shared dorm. But, well, to each their own, right?

“I gotta run a few things by one of my professors, so I’ll be back around lunch, yeah?” Quackity spins his keys around his index finger before tucking them inside his back jean pocket. “Do you need anything from the store?”

George raises and drops his shoulders, uninterested. “Hot water for our shower would be nice.”

“Not what I asked. You lost your chance.” Quackity deadpans, before closing the door behind him. An amused smile curls onto your lips as you watch George roll his eyes, heading back to his room with two pillows left from the movie night.

Clay fidgets with his mug, quietly staring down at the coffee that remains inside. You look at him for a moment, gaze briefly flickering to Sapnap, who leans against the wall while checking his phone.

“You okay?”

Clay turns to look up from where he’s sat down, only to meet your undecipherable e/c. Your voice is soft, quiet, as if wanting to leave the question only between the two of you. You lick your lips, letting your eyes linger on his features. And, for a moment, Clay feels under scrutiny— except its not the same type of scrutiny he felt with the reporters. Yes, he feels his back stiffen, his brain becoming more mindful of his actions— but he wasn’t exactly getting butterflies last night. “You look, um,”

Clay tilts his head, quirking a brow. “Messy?” He asks, the only telltale sign of his sudden nervousness being the way his hand tenses around the cup.

You shake your head slowly. “Uneasy.” You tap your fingertips against the counter, eyes comprehensive. “You good?”

Green stare into e/c, and while he feels his heart flutter inside his chest ( fear of getting caught, surely ), all he can hear is Alyssa’s voice telling him that he needs to work on his poker face.

He offers a closed-lipped smile. “I’m good.”

You nod, leaning back —leaning away— just in time for you to bump into Sapnap’s side. The brunet shakes his head, and with sleep still clinging to his body, he gently places his hand on your waist. The sudden contact does not go unnoticed by Clay, who feels a sour, foreign feeling coil inside his gut. His hand tenses around his mug, fingers twitching at his side uneasily.

“Sorry,” Sapnap murmurs wearily as he maneuvers his way around you to finally reach the fridge.

A phone buzzes near his hand, and Clay finds himself reaching for it instinctively. The man rolls his shoulders back, and why’s he so tense all of a sudden?

He tries to shrug off the sour feeling festering inside his chest, opting to look away and towards the floor. Clay shuts his eyes closed, rubbing one of his temples as he brings his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

For a moment, he’s met with silence. “…Hi.” The oddly familiar voice greets. Then, rather unsurely, the man behind the call asks, “Who’s this?”

His eyes flutter open, a confused look taking over his features. “…Clay?” He responds, wondering if he accidentally misdialed someone. “Who am I talking to?”

“Clay? As in—” The voice stammers, and there’s a moment of silence at the other side of the call. “I’m sorry— what the hell are you doing with my sister’s phone?”

He furrows his brows. “Your what?” With confusion still etched onto his features, he takes the phone away from his ear to look at the contact name— only to notice that the phone in his hand is not his in the first place. Realization finally sets within his chest. “…is this Wilbur?”

“Wilbur?” You repeat with a frown. You look down at Clay, looking as confused as he was mere seconds ago. “Why’s he calling you?”

“Is that Y/N?”

“Ookay.” Clay slowly hands you back your phone with a wince. After all, it’s not like he could miss Wilbur’s evidently accusatory tone. He meets your gaze apologetically. “I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes switch between him and your phone warily. “What did you do?” You ask, using that same accusatory tone Wilbur did. Without waiting for an answer, you bring your phone closer to your ear. “Hello?”

“You said you had a sleepover!”

Your eyes flutter closed, body stiffening at your brother’s exclamation. Damn it, you should’ve known better than to give him a half-truth. Somehow, your family always ends up finding out the truth.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from trying to save this sinking ship. “I did— I do!” You stammer.

Wilbur scoffs from the other side of the call. “Then why the hell is lover boy answering your phone?”

Heat crawls up your neck and cheeks. You straighten, suddenly feeling both Clay and Sapnap’s eyes on you. You accidentally meet Clay’s gaze, causing him to avert his green, a faint pink tint on his cheeks. Your voice drops a few octaves as you turn to face away, embarrassed. “Don’t call him that.”

You can practically see Wilbur waving his arms around, his lips twisted into a snarl. “I’ll call him whatever I want when he’s fucking waking up next to my sister!”

Red blooms and rushes across your face. “What?” You sound borderline scandalized, eyes wide. “He’s not.” You defend. You shake your head, urging the heat to go away. “You’re not— I wasn’t—” You inhale sharply, struggling to calm your thoughts. “No one’s waking up next to anyone.”

Sapnap snorts ( clearly much more awake ), currently standing near Clay with an amused grin hidden behind his coffee. The latter shoves him to the side, shooting him a look. Sapnap merely shrugs, not missing the faint pink in his cheeks.

You hear rustling from Wilbur’s side. “I’m picking you up, and if he answers the door without a shirt on I swear to god—”

“He’s wearing a shirt!” You yelp, staring anxiously at the floor. This time, Sapnap actually starts laughing ( the bastard! ). Clay quickly shoves him again, this time successfully shutting him up as he accidentally snorts coffee. “You’re being a child.”

“You said you were going staying at Ponk’s!” Wilbur exclaims, although it sounds like a borderline whine. “Are telling me that if I go to their place, you’ll be there?”

“Um, well, about that—”

“You know what, actually?” Wilbur asks, and you hold your breath. Because you know that tone, which never leads to anything good. “I’m bringing Techno.”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide. “What was that? You’re— You’re cutting off.” You fumble to tap the mute icon, frantically looking around for a lifeline. Then, like a goddamn saving grace, George walks out of his room. “George. Georgie.” You hiss, remnants of a flustered look still lingering on your features. “Help me.”

He raises an unamused brow, shaking his head with a slight quirk of his lips. “Just hand me the phone.” You hastily do as he says, still very much hearing Wilbur’s voice. George brings it to his ear, folding one of his arms over his chest. “Hello, Wilbur.” After a few moments, the brunet makes a face, almost disappointedly. Then, he repeats. “Hello, Wilbur.”

You watch George shake his head before heading back to his room, shooting back a reply that doesn’t quite reach your ears. A beat passes. Two. Finally, your focus switches back to the two boys sitting in the kitchen, one of them ducking his head with flushed cheeks, and the other grinning wildly.

Sapnap hums amusedly, setting down his cup as he leans against the palm of his hand. He raises a brow, the corner of his lip twitching upward. Then, he asks innocently, “What was that about wearing a shirt?”

You clear your throat awkwardly. You turn to look away, trying to hide the heat blooming on your cheeks. Somehow, it only earns a poorly stifled laugh from Sapnap.

“Shut up, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Even only after a few months of even knowing him, you can proudly say that you have this unbreakable bond with him—and you know this because Quackity tried breaking it once. And by that, you mean he literally tried to rip Karl off of your body, only to have him latch onto your waist like a koala glued to your skin.

And because of this ‘unbreakable bound’ ( dubbed by Quackity himself, cradling his hand which Karl had hissed at when Quackity used physical force to tear him away from you ), you’re bound to have met up with him in real life.

But spending time with Karl Jacobs had made you realize a few things about him. Three things, to be exact.

One: he’s observant.

“Your room is really nice,” you tell him, bouncing slightly on the edge of his bed as you sat down on the mattress, grinning up at him.

Afternoon sunset crawls through the entire room from the thin, windowpane, dissipating into darkness right by your feet where the light doesn’t reach. He looks breathtaking here, all warm and soft, glowing, almost. The intimacy creeps a strange flutter in your heart.

Karl watches you slowly, as if he’s breathing in every moment, in and out, a second at a time. Then, he smiles, carefully making his way to sit beside you. “You can take it if you want,” he says, and his tone is familiar, teasing. It’s almost jarring to realize he doesn’t act so differently in real life.

With a quirked brow, you watch as he falls back on his bed, still keeping his eyes trained on you as if he plans to never let go. “You’re just letting me claim this room? I didn’t know it was that easy.” You shift, twisting around on the thick blanket to face him properly. “You can sleep on the floor if you get sad.”

He laughs, tugging you by the arm to pull you down beside him. Fluffy hair hits white as the sheets stir. “Sure. I was thinking I sleep beside you, though.”

Now you’re just glad that you aren’t on top of him right now, because you swear your expression could speak a thousand words that he shouldn’t hear.

“Nah…” you say, staring up at his ceiling, rumbling with the ceiling fan as it spins and spins. “I’m gonna sleep on your bed. You sleep in the bathroom; I’m feeling pretty generous.”

Karl smiles, but doesn’t say anything, yet there’s already so much fondness. That’s how Karl is: bringing love in even when no one is looking for it, or even if no one can find it. You fidget, unsure of where to look.

“What?” you mutter defensively, heart pounding at his unashamed gaze.

“Do you want to sleep next to me?” he asks, and he drawls it so innocently that you know he’s far from it. “I mean, you don’t seem against the idea. Look at your face.”

You force an unamused expression, brows furrowed and lips tugged down. It doesn’t work; you fall weak the moment Karl giggles at you, falling apart at the seams. He takes notice of this, of course, and sits up, his back turned on you.

He’s not looking at you when he says, “Let’s go get lunch together.” You’re not sure if he’s doing this because he can feel the spike of tension in the air to make you feel safer, but you appreciate it nonetheless.

He finds a home no matter where you two go. ( Maybe he’s home. )

Two: he’s protective.

Karl is far off with the crew recording a video, while you’re seated on some bench by the local park they’ve decided to make the skit take place in. Everyone huddles up as they plan out what they’re about to do in the next scene, and you sigh as you tuck your phone back into your pocket, choosing to instead watch the scene.

It’s cold out this early morning, whisking sporadically to tickle skin, and you, ever-the-dumbass, forgot to bring your jacket. You hadn’t even realized it until you were about two cities away from Karl’s home.

And Karl, ever-the-sweetheart, lent you his sweater instead, pale purple, soft against your arms littered with goosebumps.

Because of this, he’s left with a dress shirt he had been wearing underneath the large sweater—purple reached past his fingertips, the hem on his thighs; but the shirt is fit, rolled up to his forearms. You kind of wished he would wear those often, because damn did he look good in it.

Karl catches your staring, and waves with a wide grin, promptly scolded by his friends after the camera had caught that shot—because of this, it pans over to you, who’s startled by the sudden exposure. Everyone giggles to themselves as they watch you hide out of frame.

A new bench. Away from the cameraman’s field of view, this time.

Unbeknownst to you, someone had already been seated down, and when they speak, your soul flinches out of your skin.

Some guy rests on the middle of the wooden slats aligned horizontally, brown roots earthed by blond hair. You blink at him. He blinks at you back. Your back is only a breath away from him, you realize, and quickly correct yourself to sit on the far edge.

“Um,” you utter shakily, “fuck, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

He chuckles. “I noticed that.” At your look of alarmed concern, he waves his hands. “No, it’s all good, babe.”

You nod, brows knitted in confusion; choosing to let the silence wash over the both of you.

When he speaks again, you want to bury yourself in the ground, muddled with embarrassment. “Are you… with them?” A quick gesture in the direction where Karl and the others are; you don’t bother to look. “They’re, like, the ones on YouTube or some shit, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” You’re not sure what to say to that. “Yeah, I’m— no, not really. I’m just, you know, there.”

“Shame,” he says, staring at you. It would’ve been flattering, if he wasn’t sliding closer and closer to you in a way where it doesn’t feel flirty but just plain predatory. “You’ve got the looks. To get that kind of fame, I mean. You got Insta?”

Clearing your throat, you shake your head politely. You’d rather not humor him any longer.

But he seems to not get the hint, and continues, “Or do you have Snap?”

You have both, but the more he talks the more he’s making it seem like he doesn’t deserve anything.

“I mean,” your eye twitches in annoyance as more of his voice pours into your ears, then a chest on your arm, “can I get your name, at least? I’m chill, I swear.”

Your eyes snap to the side when a shadow looms over both of you.

Karl stands there, toothy smile nothing but a clipped and guarded expression, boring hostility to the man who’s now uncomfortably pushed against your side. Sunlight gushes from behind him, bringing a terrifying shade to fall over his face.

Relief comes to you all at once.

“Hey, man,” Karl says, slinging an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “Sorry, can I borrow ‘em real quick?”

The guy frowns. “Oh, hey, dude.” He blinks, dumbly. “Uh, we were just talking about—”

Karl waves his hand, smiling, though it’s a far reach from his eyes. “Sure, sure. I just need a quick minute, yeah? Is that cool?” He doesn’t wait for a response, twirling the both of you around until your backs are facing the poor guy. “See you around, man!”

Neither of you are definitely seeing him around.

Karl’s grip loosens, but he still looks alert as ever.

You breathe in sharply, flustered by how fucking close he is. “Thank—”

He halts, pulling you to some alley next to a fast-food restaurant. “Dude, are you okay? That was weird as fuck.” Karl throws a glance in the direction of the ‘weird man’, who’s now awkwardly shuffling away.

He turns back to you, gazing intently.

The heat on his gaze feels as if it’s reaching your cheeks, rushing all over your body like you’ve been flamed alive.

“I’m fine,” you croak out, shy. “Thank you, Karl.”

Karl bumps his hip against yours, his mouth accidentally reaching close to your face. “Anytime.”

And he means it.

Three: he’s loyal.

It’s been five months since you started staying in Karl’s home.

You’re spread over Karl’s couch, thoughts filling you up in a sandstorm. The soft trickling of the shower squeaks shut as you hear Karl step out from the bathroom—and you turn your head, greeted by the sight of him rubbing furiously on his damp hair with a towel.

He peers at you from under the cloth, smiling as he sees you pathetically draped over blanketed leather. “What’chu doing?” he asks, feet padding rhythmically as he skips over to you.

“Was bored,” you say, bouncing slightly when he lands on the couch, making space for himself next to your legs. “You took too long. Now I don’t want to watch the movie, and it’s your fault.”

“Mhm,” he hums, completely unaffected.

You frown, displeased by his lack of reaction. “Get your stinky shampoo away from me. I have a few things to say about your tardiness, mister.”

He does the complete opposite, falling right beside you where half of his body is hanging by the edge. You scoot away to give him space, but he only tugs you closer, nuzzling his nose on your neck to tickle you on purpose.

“Well, I’ve got three things to say to you,” Karl whispers, smiling where he’s pressed against your skin.

“Oh yeah?”

“I,” he emphasizes with a kiss on your jaw, “love,” to the side of your mouth, “you,” then right on your lips. “So, so much.”

You laugh, tugging on curly locks to gently pull him away. “That’s six words, idiot.”

MASTERLIST | LIBRARY RECS

you can send in an ask to join the taglist to never miss a post!

you scoff, lightly slapping his chest as an act of revenge—the lack of power is probably because of your weariness, slowly pulling you in the more george speaks. it wasn’t that he could bore you to sleep, it was more like his voice sounds so nice that you can’t help but feel so safe in his arms. like this.

george continues watching whatever is playing on his phone, the other free hand playing with your hair then stroking the back of your neck, knowing exactly how weak it makes you feel. you love everything like this, just with him, pressed together, cold fingers on your scalp, his lips near your head, kissing it every now and then.

“you know what’s not fair?” you ask him, slightly slurred from the elation driving you to the point of sleep. there’s some spit on his sweater now that you realize you’re just pressed against his chest. still, you don’t move an inch, too comfortable to care.

he seems a bit confused by the question. “what?”

“i think,” you start, craning your neck so you can look at him properly. light emitted from his phone brings out the flush on his cheeks, strawberry against milk, “it’s not fair how cute you are.”

george laughs, seemingly caught off guard and at a loss for words. red dusts his cheeks darker, traveling down to the smooth, pale skin. he looks good like this, melted down to a puddle just with your words. “what?”

“you heard me.”

he huffs, placing his phone down in lieu of flicking your forehead softly, not enough to hurt. “you know what’s also not fair?”

you can barely understand him at this point, drowning with fondness ( and also fatigue catching up to you ). “what…?”

“how much i love you.”

MASTERLIST | LIBRARY RECS

━━━ HOW IT’S GONNA WORK ! :

the purpose of this event is adding to the storyline of how the mighty fall, which is why you’ll only be able to request for characters that are already a part of it and that the main character has met (meaning characters like sam and puffy won’t be able to make an appearance. sorry bones :/).

in addition, you can only request for things that can happen within the already established timeline — meaning request such as “sapnap finding out y/n’s identity” or “dream and y/n confessing their feelings for each other” will be denied.

this event is exclusive for how the mighty fall characters — meaning yes, you can request for htmf!dream, but not for cc!dream or c!dream.

other than that, i’d say it’s pretty straightforward? choose a prompt of the ones listed below or make up your own and send it to me!

don’t be afraid to add some context or additional ideas to your request! the more the better!

━━━ RULES ! :

the maximum characters you can choose per request is three!

i know that it’s already been established before but just in case: the drabbles that will come out of this event are supposed to happen within the established timeline so far! this means that the stories can take place anywhere between before they met up until the latest chapter!

you can do only one prompt per request.

aside from htmf!dream, all requests are to be considered platonic.

all the mini stories are to be considered canon within the how the mighty fall universe!

the characters you can request for (including their alter egos): clay/dream, sapnap/blaze, george/notfound, wilbur/phantom, tommy/theseus, techno/blade, ranboo/nightwalker, karl/traveler, hannah, ponk, tubbo, quackity, tina, etc!

the event will officially close on march 30th, though i may shorten the deadline due to university starting the first week of march!

━━━ PROMPTS ! :

remember you can make your own prompt as long as it doesn’t stray from the current events presented in the story!

1: nearly getting caught by them while using your powers.

2: studying with them in the library.

3: saving their ass as echo in front of the rest of your friends.

4: staying over at their place after a night of studying for finals and giving the wrong impression to the others.

5: letting them braid your hair.

6: spending time with them while working at limonero’s.

7: being saved by them while you’re both on patrol.

8: accidentally falling asleep on them.

9: crying in front of them for the first time.

10: receiving a call from them after they had a rough day of patrol.

11: picking them up from school after they got into a fight.

12: having a movie night with them after a stressful week.

13: going with them to mcdonalds at three am.

14: getting locked in the janitor’s closet with them.

15: being tutored by them after failing a big test.

16: the two of you going as chaperones to tommy’s junior prom.

17: getting your phones mixed up and them accidentally answering for you.

18: drunk dancing with them at a party.

19: finding you after you were stood up for a date.

20: being jumpscared by them and punching them on the nose.

21: sneaking them out of the house and being caught by one of your siblings.

22: them lending you one of their shirts.

23: referring to them as your girlfriend/boyfriend to get out of an uncomfortable situation.

24: going together to a pool party.

25: interfering right before they get into a fight.

The houses, the people, the murderers, your skin, your hope, all swallowed by the roaring flames. It burns—of course, it does. But you push forward anyway, determined to get yourself out of whatever is left of your neighborhood: debris, dust, and flames.

It’s a struggle to find something to care about nowadays, with everyone on the ground writhing, the life leaving their eyes. Everything you once had burnt to ash and depleted to only fleeting memories of what once was or what-ifs.

It’s not safe here out in the open.

It used to be, but pillagers came with the promise of bloodshed and left with it fulfilled, smug grins stretched across their faces as they pin each innocent villager down to taunt them further. Look at your mommy; she’s dead, isn’t she? If you keep on fighting, you’ll look like her soon, so be still, you brat. More cries, screams, then silence.

Not a single person survived in the brutal raid.

Except you.

Hide, your mind hisses as you heave yourself up and scramble off with bruised knees and tear-stained cheeks.

It’s hard to find a place to tuck yourself safely into when ash threatens to plunge deep into your nose, but you settle for any place you can reach—anywhere, as long as you’re away from the pillagers. So in the corner of your home next to your family’s corpses, under the burnt bed you used to find comfort in—you stay there.

It’s quiet.

It’s really, really cold.

You curl in on yourself, listening closely to the pillagers outside. They mutter to themselves; a job well done, they said to each other, off to claim this rotten land as theirs before they go off and find another. Disgusting. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye to your family when you had come home, greeted with them on the ground, blood puddling around their heads like a painting that will haunt you in your sleep.

War, even when it’s as petty as this, is really fucking stupid, you’ve decided.

War is stupid.

A weak sob knocks out of your lips, your eyes suddenly too warm for you to keep your eyelids open. When it flutters shut, the tears fall, and fall, and they keep on falling as quiet whimpers escape from you. There’s pain everywhere, head-to-toe, inside and out.

Trembling, remains of exhaustion threaten your arms to buckle and your head to crash on the ground, thoughts scattered like a whirlwind coming and going—but you force yourself up, awake, alive.

Dead, dead, dead.

You hold your own head, as if that will block out your own voice.

Everyone’s dead, and you’re dying.

From the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing down on you as you flail around to breathe, from the smoke wiggling its way up in your nose and tipping your head forward from its poison, you curl in on yourself and let the quiet room fill up with your erratic breathing.

Maybe this is it. Your death could be worse, honestly. This is much… quicker and more merciful.

But just as you’re about to let your head hit the ground, voices come from your right, startling you.

The tiny blanket with burnt edges does nothing to cover your spot under the bed—you’re exposed with your uncontrollable shaking and heavy breathing, a vulnerable leaf ready for anyone to step on and crumple. Whoever that is will see you before you have the chance to hide somewhere else.

“In here?” one of the voices asks, muffled greatly by the wooden door.

“Yes,” came the gruff reply. “Don’t slam the door open. You’ll scare them.”

The door opens, the knob smacking against the wall with a gentle thud. You flinch, despite you trying hard not to move. A shaky exhale leaves your lips before you cover your own mouth with your palm, alert eyes scanning the area.

From your viewpoint, you see two figures emerge from outside. One taller, one shorter.

“Take care of them, alright, kid?”

A tiny voice comes from in front of you as he treads closer and closer—too close for comfort. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I’ll have to leave,” the deeper voice speaks again with a sad sigh, holding the knob with a vicious grip. “I’m glad you followed me here. I didn’t know there would be a survivor, but your ears are sharper than I realize.”

“I’ll keep them safe.” The voice breathes in sharply, as if he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. The taller hums, ruffling the younger’s hair before he pulls away.

The door slams shut, and you close your eyes.

It can’t be the pillagers, right?

You thought they already left. You swear they already did; they can’t kill what’s already done, they know that.

Knees drop down to the floor ceremonially, palms pressed against the ashy wooden floor—embers scar tanned skin, spreading like wildfire across his freckled cheeks. Green eyes look brighter than they should in this dull, burnt home.

“Hi,” he breathes out, smiling comfortingly. “Do you trust me?”

You stare at him with uncertainty, eyes flicking from the welcoming heat in his eyes to the outstretched palm that waits patiently.

A cry rings from a house afar, making the both of you jump in surprise. It dies as quickly as it came, a telltale sign of death. You must’ve shown fear in your expression because the stranger’s hand reaches out to touch your fingertips, skin brushing skin.

He’s warm. You can’t help but reach out to him, too, ignoring the way your heart skitters when his face brightens with a boyish grin.

“I’ll take you somewhere safer, yeah?” he says, fingers curling around your wrist. His actions are slow, hesitant, careful—it comforts you to know that he actually cares enough not to scare you. He’s different from them, you can feel it.

“I trust—” You blink, surprised by the waver in your voice, cheeks warming in embarrassment. “I trust you.” It comes off as a whisper this time, shy.

“Good.”

He pulls you out of the bed and lifts you up, soothing the ache in your limbs.

It’s quiet.

It’s cold.

He pulls you closer to him before shifting you, so you’re lying down in his arms, hands tucked under your legs. Without thinking, your eyes drift to watch him; your vision is hazy, but you can make out freckles and kindness. His eyes cut down to glance at your stare with a bright smile, and with that, he moves.

“You can rest now,” he whispers. “I won’t leave you.”

It’s dark.

You wake up by the feeling of rocking back and forth, like you’re cradled by the sea, limbs secure around your figure.

With a jolt, you sit up, alarmed. The first thing you see are trees, dirt, a horse, then blond hair.

You’re curled up in his arms, carried away by the horse that’s running at a careful pace, as if afraid of dropping you. Still, you hold onto the arms latched around yours, mostly out of fear.

It’s the boy who saved you earlier, you realize as you blink up. There are no stars tonight, just a sea of an empty blue sky; moonlight is unrelenting on his features, accentuating chubby cheeks and unruly eyes. He looks too young to have such ruthless scars on his skin.

He smiles. You can admit it’s a little bit charming, even with the smeared soot across his red nose. “Good evening.”

He sounds nice, like a mountain river streaming smoothly across rocks and rugged pathways; it dips low as if they’re chiming bells that are made for your ears alone. You decide that you like his voice.

Hooves plod through the mud as you sway along with the horse—left, right, left, right—and suddenly you’re reminded of your mother, gentle smile, and soft eyes as she nurses you until you doze off. Your family is still there dead, and somehow you’re alive, on a horse, with an unknown destination.

The hand on your waist taps a finger, once, then twice, until you tear your gaze away from the dimly lit road to the boy behind you, curious.

“I have this cool treehouse,” he says, which is admittedly out of the blue; you tell him so with your furrowed brows, incredulous. He clarifies himself. “And my bed is really comfortable, you know. You can just take it. We’re almost there.”

You don’t know what he wants from you. Why is he even helping you in the first place? He doesn’t have to, he has no reason to.

He senses this, or maybe he’s just uncomfortable with your silence and the one-sided conversation. “You have a leaf on your cheek, by the way.”

You blink. “Why didn’t you take it off while I was sleeping?” you accuse, huffing as you pat your cheek to brush it off. It falls lightly on the ground like a feather, crumpled by the horse’s hooves with a crinkly sound.

“It looked funny.”

“Your face is funny.”

The boy snorts, brow quirked. “What? Is that your best comeback?”

“I-It wasn’t supposed to be! It was the truth.”

He laughs, breathless as he does so, and you relax despite yourself.

“Why are you helping me?” you murmur, leaning back onto him to avoid his eyes, even though you’re acutely aware that they’re staring at you right now.

“Because you need it,” he replies, simple as that, straight to the point.

You hum, contemplating his words with quiet wonder. “Are there others out there? Like me… in your treehouse?”

“No.” He almost sounds scared saying it, jaw locked with tension. The breeze quiets down to a caress. “Most of them, they still have their family, or at least what’s left of it. Some… they don’t want to come with me.”

So you’re the only one, then.

“I won’t leave you, okay? You’re here with me,” he whispers, interlocking his pinky with yours, a sealing promise.

His name is Dream.

Dream’s uncle is a man who roams around towns, defeating pillagers and saving the villages that he couldn’t; they, too, were a victim of it. Dream’s story is as dark as yours. He lost love as much as he gave. Maybe that’s why he understands you more than anyone else.

Dream also has scars all over him, but he reassures you that he’s okay and that you two are the same.

You tell him his scars are pretty; he tells you that so are you. Though, you’re not quite sure if he means your scars or you.

Dream says he means well, and you believe him, but you don’t trust him fully yet—not now, when the pain in your heart is still ripe with mourning. But Dream’s eyes are kind, and it says everything he doesn’t need to voice out. I understand, I’m sorry, I’m here.

Dream comes home drenched head to toe with blood and you scream.

“Wh— Ah! Why are you screaming!?” he exclaims, just panicked as you are as if he hasn’t seen his state. He rushes over to you, frantic, but you only shriek as more blood stains the wooden planks you had just been cleaning earlier.

The treehouse is pretty, just as Dream promised. It’s small, and you can definitely tell it’s built by him alone, and you love it. You love how the floorboards creak when you climb up the ladders intertwined with vines; you love how waterlogged planks sound when you step on them, and how cooling it is to feel against the back of your neck when gazing at stars with him; you love how his laugh sounds confined in this home, echoing in the small space, but only you get to see the way his eyes crinkle and his mouth open wide to skitter out that laugh.

But as comfortable as you are in this home, with fairy lights littered all around, you definitely don’t want to be in it right now if Dream is only going to stain the planks of oak with fresh blood, seeping into the logs and blooming dark paint over it.

“What happened to you?” you chide, trembling as your hands roam his battered body.

Dream forces out a laugh once he comprehends your dismay, glancing down at himself indifferently. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insists, dragging the last syllable out.

“No, you’re not! You’re bleeding!”

“It’s—It’s not mine.”

You stare at him blankly.

Dream panics in realization. “Wait, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t kill anyone, I swear.” He stressed this by rubbing furiously on his clothes, a futile attempt to brush off blood, though it fails. His clothes look worse now that the blood is rubbed into them. Dream sighs. “I was out hunting food for us, but things got messy. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Unimpressed, you shoulder past him, headed straight to the bed that he shares with you. “You could’ve just warned me that you were going to do that instead of leaving me to fucking worry about you the entire night!”

Dream moves to speak, but you don’t let him.

“Fucking hell, Dream. I was scared shitless when the sun was going down and you were out of sight. I was so anxious that I started cleaning the house!”

Dream looks around, blinking at the sight of newly washed floors and walls sparkling comically, save for his bloody mess, of course. “I can see that,” he observes smartly.

“Yeah, and you fucking ruined it, too. It took a while to clean the floor, I was running out of sponges,” you huff, stubbornly sitting down onto the mossy chair.

The wind howls, blowing straight to Dream’s back and eliciting a full-blown shiver from him. You almost gave in and hugged him right then and there. “I’m sorry,” he says, defeated. “I promise I’ll tell you next time. I hoped you were sleeping so I could surprise you.”

“Color me stoked,” you deadpan.

“I’m sorry,” he whines, stomping closer to you for effect. Dream pouts at you, knowing exactly what his effect is and how that stupid face is affecting you. The fairy lights accentuate his pleading eyes, green and sweet. “I’ll take you with me if you want? Next time, when I go.”

You pause at that. You’re usually not allowed to go out, given the dangerous circumstances, but if Dream is willing to give that rule up just so he doesn’t have to suffer through a night with you upset then…

“I’ll help you clean up,” you tell him, and he whoops with glee.

So you like being around Dream.

Maybe it’s because he’s the only one you have left; maybe it’s because he’s the one to hunt food for you, take care of you, read and sing for you to sleep—but either way, you like him. Everything about him is rough around the edges, a young boy shaped by the horrors of bloodshed and iron swords, but he’s still soft enough to have that child-like innocence leaving you with no choice but to give into him; to surrender the walls you put up.

You tell him you don’t trust him but you know deep down that you would do anything he tells you to do.

Maybe it’s because everything about him feels like home. The way he talks to you—gentle, sweet, mischievous—versus how he talks to others—stern, nonchalant, irked. The way he holds you, the way he lets you see his face even when he hides it when in public, and the way he kisses the back of your palm when he comes home. Everything about him just feels right.

When your sleep is tainted by splatters of blood and children’s cries, Dream’s warmth wakes you up and lulls you into a calmer one, where you two are running through waist-high fields and laughing and caring about nothing else in the world. Where his hand is on yours, pulling you close, showing you shooting stars and half-moons, telling you that all of it reminds him of you.

Where you two are something more than this complicated mess.

You plant your feet onto the freshly watered grass, letting it tickle your feet as you drop down until your knees are tucked against your chest without your hips touching the dewy plant. Clear water splashes against rocks, spraying some on the hem of your shirt and your face. Then, you set yourself on the edge, before drenching your legs with the running water.

The water runs against your skin; cold, but not cold enough to have you pull away.

It’s sunny out today, with a rainbow sprouting like a pretty flower after the rainstorm yesterday. It blooms bright and beautiful; it reminds you of Dream’s smile, sunny and an instant painkiller—save for the butterflies that tickle your stomach coming to life when talking to him, though. That was weird.

Soft footsteps muffled by wet soil emits from behind. It’s heavy with the clank of leather boots, but light enough to belong to someone swift—familiar, and you know each step like it’s imprinted on the back of your hand.

“Hey,” Dream murmurs, nudging your arm gently as he mimics your position and bends down. Dirt is easily washed away. He sighs out as he places his hands behind him, head tilted casually to the side to reveal sharp features.

Dream has grown evidently over the past few years you’ve been staying with him. He no longer had the childish youth that was ever-so-radiant on him, now he possesses cutting eyes and messier hair—you sometimes style it up for him, mostly because he insists you do so. You accuse him that he just wants your hands on his hair, and he coughs at that, but doesn’t deny it.

“Hey,” you reply, turning to smile at him.

He’s sweaty, panting slightly with the way his chest rises and falls in an irregular pattern. He lets you lay on his chest sometimes; lets you listen to his heartbeat until it grows steady as he drifts off to sleep.

There’s also dried blood all over his skin, causing a displeased curl to form on your lips.

He said he wanted to hunt early this time, and hunting he did.

Without another word, you push yourself forward to tip towards the water, almost missing the way Dream’s hand instinctively reaches out for you as if you were planning to jump. You don’t; instead, you cup your hands together to gather enough clean water, dragging his arm along with you.

Silently, you wash the grime off of tan skin, eyeing the way it slips off and reveals a constellation of freckles; light enough to not be that visible when afar, but dark enough to stand out when you’re close like this. You know that Dream is watching you—he always does, when you get near, or when you’re too far away.

But you can never be too far away, not when Dream is right here, always, for you.

“You’re cute,” Dream says, out of nowhere. One thing you learned about him is that he must really like taking you off guard.

“What?”

He shrugs, and doesn’t explain it.

“You’re so weird,” you tell him, which is honestly the best word to describe this man.

He’s weird when he compliments you when you don’t expect it, impish as he smiles. He’s weird when he rests his forehead against yours, eyes screwed shut, holding you too tight that you can’t ever let go. He’s weird and you wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

“You know what’s also weird?” Dream stops you from cleaning his palm, instead grabbing your wrist and holding it close to his face so you have no choice but to look at wide green eyes, excited.

He begins to ramble nonsense that isn’t related to what you said in any way, but still, you listen. You always do. His voice is too nice not to.

“I found this really cool place that no one else has before,” he says, and you hum absentmindedly as he goes on and on. “It’s not as big as this, but I think it’s big enough for two people. There are enough resources, too— The trees! Oh, there is a shitton of trees there. I bet we can take wood enough to build a hotel and it won’t even scratch it. So, my plan is, we build a house there tomorrow as early as possible, and maybe—”

Wait, what?

Is this what it is again?

Dream has been talking nonsense about moving out lately. You don’t like it, not one bit. Not when he’s talking about leaving this home that you’ve grown to familiarize yourself with; that you’ve grown to love enough to call it your only home. He doesn’t think about that, because his head is up too far into the clouds with this fantasy of starting a land of his own.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you snap, a fierce snarl that makes Dream falter. “Build a house? What do you mean?”

Confusion furrows into his brows as he says, “We’re going to build a house…? In this cool place I found for us?” At your stunned silence, he adds an afterthought that really doesn’t help anyone. “Were you not listening, or…”

“Dream,” you begin, pained as your eyes linger on the scars on his jaw ( you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye when confronting him like this lest you give in before it even starts ), “this—” you gesture around, to the empty but wide space, lush with rivers and exotic flowers, near a village that you steal beds from to sleep at night with him when you’re too tired to run back to the treehouse, “—this is our home.”

“You can’t be serious,” he mutters in disbelief, searching for humor in your eyes. He exhales when he doesn’t find it. “This can’t be our home, Y/N.”

“Why can’t it?”

He sighs, tracing shapes on the back of your palm with the pad of this thumb—maybe it’s to comfort you, maybe it’s to comfort himself, you don’t really know. “We can build a better one. Out there, just for us.” He says it like it sounds appealing, but to you, it’s just another excuse to abandon what you two built in this land.

“I don’t… want to, Dream,” you plead softly, recoiling from his grasp.

He breathes in sharply, clearing his throat. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I’m not leaving,” you insist.

“Hey.”

It’s around early midnight when Dream gently shakes you awake, amidst animals humming lowly and the leaves rustling with the cool evening breeze. He stands beside your handmade bed, donning that porcelain mask that looks so unfamiliar on him.

“I’m leaving,” he says, breathing slowly. It’s hard to say what he’s feeling when he’s wearing that mask, but maybe that’s exactly why he wore it; you don’t have to see his face, and he doesn’t have to show what he’s feeling. “I’m leaving to the… You know.”

“Stay safe,” you yawn out quietly, turning back to sleep. You’re not in the mood to argue with him; it’s his choice anyway, why would you care?

Dream taps his fingers against his pants anxiously, unmoving. “Are you… seriously not coming with me?”

“No.”

His silence alone expressed too much, disappointment dripping like liquor in the tense air, curling around your heart and squeezing the life out of you. Still, you don’t move, and neither does he. “I left you food, okay?” he says instead. “I taught you how to hunt sheep, right? There’s enough around here, so— so um.”

You don’t know if you’re imagining things or if his voice cracks pathetically at the end of his sentence, wavering.

“Goodnight,” you mutter.

The bed dips with his weight, one knee propped beside your leg. “Hey, uh,” he whispers, leaning down until your breath hits his mask, curling back onto your skin. You blink at him in surprise.

He lingers here like this for a while, almost bending closer that he’s right there.

When he lifts his mask, he only has it high enough to reveal his lips. One wrong move and you would be kissing. Maybe that’s what he’s going to do, but there’s only the stiff atmosphere, you on the bed, and him caging you, almost.

He kisses your forehead instead. “Goodnight.”

Dream never came back.

You realize that this “home” of yours only felt like it because Dream was here. And now that he’s gone?

Cicadas don’t sing this evening and the moon doesn’t shine as bright as it usually does. You tuck yourself in with a green blanket, but you still feel empty inside. You clean and clean the treehouse until his blood is barely a whisper in the waterlogged planks and viny ladders, but everything about this home screams his shadow.

You suppose you expected this. He wanted a life out there, on his own, free from the shackles put upon him. But you like your life here too much to be with him, so you drifted apart.

Perhaps you can visit… wherever his new paradise is. Maybe you can even live with him, start your own village out of your bare hands. But you’re as stubborn as he is, so neither of you reach out to each other once, with you mostly out of pettiness and him— well, him probably because he’s happier now that he doesn’t have you to burden him.

The only memory you have of your best friend is gushing water and healed scars.

You ended up leaving, too.

YEARS LATER.

Do you ever wish to run away?

It doesn’t have to be a vacation, per se. A different village you can stay in, with new sights and newer people—god, isn’t that just a thought? You’d stay there, sitting on roofs of towers, leather-gloved palms pressed against the surface, legs swaying as birds fly overhead.

But there’d be one rule: don’t get attached.

Attachment is the root of all problems, isn’t it?

If you didn’t love him, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as it does right now—even with just the simple thought of him. If you didn’t love her, then maybe you wouldn’t break down when you’d see her lifeless eyes and pale skin. If you didn’t know about them, then maybe you don’t have to think about the pain in their hearts to lose their family.

After trial and ( millions of ) error, you learned that the world is cruel, but you can fight back if you just show resistance—show that you won’t let your heart intertwine itself with strings that others can tug and pull until it’s bleeding.

You know it’s hard. Attachment can’t be helped; if you’re attached to the right person at the wrong time, then you might as well put a bullet through your head before the universe takes apart what you struggled to put together.

There are always sides to a story, whether it’s good or bad or downright cruel.

If you know the story of a stranger, you can’t help but feel attached. You can’t help but read more and more and more even when the pages start to burn your fingertips because you want to finish it until the very end—until you’ve wasted your entire life worrying about someone else over yourself.

It won’t hurt to try and live a new story this time without the lingering curse of past mistakes. Not a paragraph, not a page, not a chapter, but a completely different book—away from flames and ashes and broken promises from green eyes with golden rings in the middle of the iris.

This man before you, pink hair and golden crown and red eyes ( Technoblade, was it? You forgot because you didn’t bother to remember—rule number one ), offers a new book. A blank one, free from ink, yet to be tainted by someone else. A fresh start to the hell of a life you are currently living.

He came in the bar, and coincidentally, stumbled upon you first before anyone else, while you were busy pickpocketing some customers. He asked you if you knew someone by the name Y/N, and you told him you might know a guy who knows a guy who knows Y/N, and for some reason, he knew immediately that it was you. Not that it was totally creepy or anything.

“You’ll just have to trust me, Y/N,” he says, fighting off a squirm as you stare him down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I told you not to call me by name.” You fix him with a blank stare, unimpressed as you continue to stare at him exactly like that. “You haven’t explained how you even know my name.”

Technoblade sighs. “I told you already; it’s through a friend.”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from him, arms curled protectively around yourself even though Technoblade is at a reasonable distance from you. He raises his hands in surrender for effect, but you’re still not amused. “And I,” you emphasize with gritted teeth, “have asked you already: who is this friend?”

Red eyes flash with hesitation, slumping where he’s seated across you. He doesn’t seem very convincing for a man twice your size—isn’t he meant to be intimidating? He looks like he’s being scolded by his mother. “I don’t want to tell you,” he says, huffing, almost.

“Then I don’t want to trust you,” you reply simply, crossing your leg on top of your other, chin tilted high in defiance. “You come up to me, saying that you know how to help me when you just met me—do you realize how absurd this sounds?” You know nothing about me. “I don’t need your help.”

Ironically enough, you lift the piece of bread Technoblade gave you and almost cry out of joy when your teeth dig in the bland food; idly, you think that you should’ve asked Technoblade for more bread if it wasn’t for your dumb pride. It’s the first thing you’ve eaten in two days, in your defense—you can’t help the desperate hunger. It tastes like heaven when you’re starved, even when rotten and moldy.

As if Technoblade can read your thoughts, he breaks his own bread in half and gives you his other piece, careful to let you take it without touching him. He hasn’t even taken a bite out of his, you notice. “If I tell you, you might run away.”

Your eyes narrow. Does he think you’re a coward?

You’ve gone through hell ( you’d like to say almost literally ) and back. A person can’t shiver your fucking timbers.

“But,” he says before you can interrupt him, “I know more than anyone that you might need to meet, uh,” a wince, “this person to get yourself back up.” Technoblade stares, and it terrifies you how it’s almost like he can see through your soul. “You have a bad reputation here.”

“It’s my only home left,” you murmur, curling in on yourself. That’s a lie. You say that to every town you stay in for at least a month, before running away again—none of them feel the same as a home did once. Tension leaves your shoulders, replaced with a guarded strain that leaves you vulnerable in front of this know-it-all stranger.

Technoblade sighs. “Exactly.”

You groan, slamming your fists on the table in frustration; it rattles loudly, catching everyone’s attention. Technoblade glares for them to look away. “Okay, okay, fine! Take me to your so-called special place because you obviously know me more than I know myself.”

Technoblade’s mouth twists into a line, but he nods anyway. “I promise you won’t regret leaving this place for it.”

You don’t bother to reply, pushing your legs back so the chair scrapes the wooden floor as it scoots away. Techno follows in suit while he leads you outside, face plastered with relief—you think that it’s almost pathetic this stranger is so determined to take you somewhere else, away from this.

This.

Gaze drifting back, your scowl falters into a sad, bitter smile.

Sad, because as much as it was apparent no one here liked you around ( you did steal their apples and wheat every week—but that was only once a week! ), this was the longest village you’ve stayed in. No one cared enough to banish you, so you stayed and hid away from guards and golems while the villagers just turned their eyes away.

Bitter, because Techno’s right. This—with people who don’t even accept you as their own, with a village that reminds you too much of your lost home—shouldn’t be your last hope. A new book—a chance.

It’s been years since you were banished from the only place you remember as home, and then you’re tossed forth without being returned back, as if you’re some kind of trophy nobody wants.

Hesitant. “Should I really do this?” Should I abandon everything I have now to set myself up for eventual disappointment?

He senses it quickly as if he can read minds. ( You wouldn’t be surprised if he can, at this point. ) “You already agreed; you can’t back out now,” Techno says, weary with his drooping shoulders.

“Yes, I can,” you insist, backpedaling while Techno crouches in a stance.

This is probably the cue for you to run, forget about this encounter and continue living your raccoon life to survive longer than sixty. You’ll run back, leave Techno to live his life without worrying about you, and it’ll all be okay, right?

“Y/N,” he says, and you stiffen at the sudden change of tone, “you need to get out of here, alright? I promise you that this will be the place that you won’t regret visiting—and if I do my job right, maybe staying.”

Swaying, gentle like a mother’s cradle, slow like a dance—and really, really fucking stinky like salt and expired fish.

You wake up in a rocking boat, light-headed as the world seems to spin around you; clouds swirl overhead, and the sun waves back, rays unsteady. Your stomach growls, and there’s an ache in your neck, persistent as it bloomed when you paid attention to it. Dizzied, hungry, and also in massive pain because the boat stinks like hell, you heave yourself up, before falling back when your limbs scream with fatigue.

Weak and angry, you try to mutter, “What the fuck—”

Your head pounds again, forcing you to cut yourself off in lieu of clutching your head as it spins and spins.

“Fuck, shit,” you hiss, followed by more strings of curses.

You blink, looking around helplessly as light strikes your vulnerable eyes. Everything seems brighter than it should be, forcing a migraine out of your already-in-pain mind and body.

How long have you even been here?

Faintly, you remember Techno offering a boat for your travels, waving goodbye. You remember weakly paddling through with the map in hand ( which seems to be now out of sight; probably flew off into the wind ). You remember falling asleep, passing out despite the hard oak under your spine.

The world starts to wobble into nothingness again, a blur of golden sand, blue ocean, and pale sand. Pushing down the bile climbing up your throat, the boat swings harder, pulling you down again.

Maybe you can just…

You try to sit up this time, weariness dragging your eyelids down as your body trembles—hunger and exhaustion finally taking place. You cast your eyes up before you force it shut, curling into a ball in the small boat.

You need to shut your eyes just to stop feeling the violent grumbling of your stomach and the pang of headache that comes in now and then like a struck gong.

The boat’s rocking comes to a halt, but you don’t open your eyes, more relaxed now that you’ve calmed yourself down. It’s comfortable here, in the boat, and then you realize that there’s a figure towering over you.

Light blond hair peeks out of a white hood as bored icy eyes stare you down; he’s blocking the sunlight, at the very least, but that doesn’t stop you from blinking rapidly just to see him clearly. His mouth tugs up in amusement, stretching a hand out right in front of your face.

“Y/N, right?” he asks.

You stare at it in confusion, but take his hand anyway. The boat creaks under your shifting weight as you sit up, acting your discomfort out. “What’s up with strangers just casually knowing my name? Am I famous or something?”

The stranger shrugs, swiftly catching the small of your back when you almost stumble back. “You can say that, sure. You might as well be here, at least.”

His words don’t make sense at all. You nod, pretending it does.

“The name’s Punz,” he says, just taking your hand and shaking it himself, while you blink and let him do so.

“Nice to meet you…?”

Punz tips his head to the side, “C’mon, follow me.” Still holding your hand, he whisks you away from the boat despite your unsteady feet. Still dazed and confused, you follow him, even though it’s really just him pulling you while you’re struggling to balance yourself.

“Wait! What the hell,” you curse, “Can you at least tell me where we’re going!?”

Then he spins you around, until your back is on the sea, and you’re facing a whole masterpiece.

In front of you, is what paradise would look like if it wasn’t just a word, with clouds circling over this canyon, surrounded by unfinished ( or probably broken ) houses that are so starkly different from each other, overflowing with clear water that falls into place below into a lake, split in half by a wooden bridge decorated with lamps. Then above, slicing sunlight, is a floating obsidian build, resembling a chessboard if it was hollow—vines trickle down from the grim surface.

It’s everywhere, no matter where you look, bringing out an awed gasp from you. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before.

But there’s also something familiar about it, like you’re staring at a shadow of a memory. Maybe Techno was onto something when he said you should visit this place, because you could get used to this.

“This is beautiful,” you breathe out, wide-eyed.

“This was a nation,” Punz grimly says. “But eh, you’re right. It looks better this way.”

“Oh.” This was a nation? “Does that mean it didn’t look like this before?”

“Of course not,” he chuckles, breathing in the fresh air. And carelessly, without thinking about the repercussions, he adds, “Dream kinda destroyed it or something, I guess.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the name, feeling like it was a stab to the chest.

Dream.

It’s been years since you heard that name, you realize. Maybe it’s because you were running away from it, too furious with yourself to torment yourself like that. Maybe it’s because you thought that the universe was content with your separation, so you tried to not think about him.

Confusion, misplaced anger, then desperation curls in your gut, thrashing around, untamed. It’s what you always feel when you dream about him. When you turn to Punz for answers, he’s not looking at you, but behind you.

“Thanks, Punz.”

You instantly stiffen at the voice, sucking in a cutting breath.

“You owe me one, Dream,” Punz says, glancing back at you apologetically. Was he part of this? Did he know about you and Dream? Did Techno know about it, too? “Sorry, I gotta go. It was nice meeting you, though.”

You watch him run off; Dream doesn’t.

“Hey,” Dream says weakly, hesitantly.

He’s standing there, feet digging on the long grass. It’s been years, you note to yourself, gazing at aged eyes and the slight stubble gracing his jaw. His hair is messier than when you last saw him, too ( you almost crashed yourself onto him just to tangle bury your fingers onto it, feel the familiar softness of blond locks ); his eyes are still sharp with green, staring back at you with overwhelming fondness; then, his smile is big, with crooked teeth and nose—familiar, home, Dream.

“You’re not wearing your mask,” is the first thing you say to him, fluctuating each syllable as you start to feel warmth pool over in your eyes.

“Do I look funny?” he laughs, stepping closer.

“It’s the truth.”

Another step.

“You look different,” Dream says, softer this time. “If I didn’t know any better, I never would’ve recognized you.”

Another step.

He’s right in front of you now, close enough that you can feel how warm his breath is. Everything about him is still the same, no matter how different he looked—no matter how much he changed. He still smells like what you left back at the treehouse, gushing water, and healed scars.

“And you’re destroying nations now?” you retort, one brow quirked.

Dream shrugs. “Long story. But we have plenty of time.” He moves to hug you, but you stop him with a hand, brows furrowed.

“I… I’m still mad at you.” No, you’re really not. Seeing his face, without the mask, is enough of an apology. It’s enough to make you give in, despite years of hating him. Because no matter what, he’s still Dream. And you like Dream. You can never be mad at him, because you know his story, and he knows yours.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, carefully, dipping one word in at a time, “You trust me, right?”

This doesn’t feel right. He does not feel right. Still, out of instinct and forced familiarity, you find yourself mouthing, “I do.”

Dream stretches his hand out, calloused and rough, just as you remember. Looking at it feels like you’re a child all over again, under the bed, with him leaning on the floor looking at you. “I missed you.” Green eyes soften impossibly when you breathe in sharply, hesitant. His voice cracks raw as he mutters, “This—all of this—is for you. Be with me again.”

So you do.

MASTERLIST | LIBRARY RECS

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