:)

"i'll be taking elain to starfall, as my date" azriel proclaimed to the inner circle at dinner, various expressions of surprise crossing rhysand's and cassian's face as they clap their brother on the shoulder. nesta's head whips towards you, eyes watching as your face falls for a split second, before grinning and congratulating the two of them.

"wonderful," you thought to yourself, picking at the food on your plate. you and elain couldn't be more different. she was a gentle and caring being, ever caring about the world around her. you were a rambunctious and outgoing fae, polar opposite of elain. the more you thought about it, the more differences you had with elain.

elain preferred wearing dresses and skirts. you preferred your fighting leathers and simpler outfits.

elain preferred spending her day in the garden, tending to her flowers and plants. you preferred spending the day training with cassian or going out with mor and nesta.

if elain was his type, then how could you ever have a chance with him?

little did you know, rhysand and cassian both gawked at the news azriel revealed. never in a million years did they think that azriel would end up with elain. to be frank, they both thought he would end up with you.

why couldn't he see that he belonged with you?

as the weeks passed, starfall quickly approached. with that, the number of preparations and little tasks around the house grew exponentially. rhysand had assigned you and azriel to hang up decorations around the city, to get the citizens excited for starfall.

"so, are you excited for starfall?" azriel asked with a grin as you walked through the streets of Velaris, looking for places to hand up decorations.

your mind goes blank as you stare at his smile, convinced it could light up the whole town.

"oh, i don't know," you muttered, turning abruptly to walk down a side street to hang up another poster. "i might not go," you admitted, waving your hand out to grab the decorations.

"what? why?" azriel pressed, worried if you were ill or uncomfortable with going. "i'm sure rhysand won't make it too extravagant or anything, (lie)".

"it's not that," you said, sighing as you decide to tell him. "i don't have a date. rhysand has feyre, nesta has cassian, and hell you even have elain. i don't have anyone." you said, taking a breath to continue before he interrupts you.

"so? going to starfall alone is not a crime, nor is it embarassing." he said, staring at you.

"i guess we'll see," you told him as you finish hanging up the decoration. "let's go back to the house?" you ask him, looking up at him.

he raises an eyebrow, not done with the conversation. yet, he dismisses it. "sure, let's fly." he says. he flies you both up to the house before he puts you down. as you turn away, he says "hey," you pause in your tracks, turning around.

"starfall won't be the same without you." he says softly, as you sigh and walk away. you didn't want to go with anyone but him.

a couple of days pass and starfall arrives and so does nesta. she barges into your room to meet your wallowing figure moping in bed.

"get up," she orders, yanking the blankets off your body as you shiver from the sudden cold.

"nestaaaa," you groan, shoving your face in the pillows.

"no more moping around about az. you're gonna get the fuck up, dress up all pretty with me, and we're going to starfall. who knows? maybe he'll recognize that maybe he belongs with you." her voice left no room for argument.

starfall was in full swing by the time you were ready, you and nesta enter through the back door of the house to meet a wonderful set up outside.

"it looks amazing rhys," you say as you approach your high lord, grasping his arm.

"thank you y/n," he says with a look of pure joy as he eyes feyre dancing with mor, "you look lovely," he says.

"you do!" cassian pipes up from behind rhysand, slamming down on his shoulders in surprise. rhysand groans as he startled, smacking cassian upside the head. "just like brothers," you thought.

"az doesn't know what he's missing" rhysand muttered into your mind, your eyes blinking in surprise as you look at him.

"he's an idiot for not seeing the obvious truth in front of him." he says, speaking his thoughts into words.

as you two converse about the subject at hand, azriel eyes you for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. you looked ravishing to him, in your navy blue gown that seemed to compliment your figure perfectly.

"az?" elain asked softly, grabbing at his jaw to turn his head back to her. "you keep looking at rhysand, is everything alright?" she muttered softly, worried.

he blinked rapidly, "oh yeah, everything is fine." he stated as he stood up from his seat. "i'm gonna go get a drink," he told her. elain nodded and turned to another party goer, starting up a conversation with them.

he ventured over to you slyly, "hi y/n." he stated, scaring you.

"az! hi, " you muttered, giggling as his shadows trailed up and down your arms.

"pretty, lovely, gorgeous" they muttered in his ears. he could not help but agree with them.

"care for a dance?" he muttered before he could second guess himself. he watched as disbelief crossed your face before you smiled and nodded, thrusting your drink into cassian's hand. he watched out of the corner of his eye as nesta gave you a thumb's up and a smile, and as rhysand gave you a nod of good luck.

"so, i didn't think you were coming," he started as the music begun, twirling you around effortlessly.

"nesta changed my mind," you admitted with a grin. "i'm glad i came," you said.

"me too," he quickly added. "you look amazing." he said, no trace of joke in his tone.

"oh!" you said, "thank you az, you look lovely as well." he grinned at the compliment, his confidence increasing tenfold as he realized how flustered you were becoming at the whole situation.

suddenly, both of you felt a heavy but comforting presence in your chest. a strong pull of emotions started to bridge the gap between the two of you. you both halted your dance in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily as the mating bond locked into place.

azriel's shadows swirled around the two of you, casting a contrasting haze to the starlight around you.

he opens his mouth to speak, as everything clicks in his brain.

you're the one he's been looking for the whole time. you're the one made for him, literally perfect for him. everything you do compliments his own. no one else shares the same interests as him, no one understands him as well as you do. his humor, his story, his life, it all belonged to you. there was no better match for him, than you.

he kicks himself internally for not figuring it out sooner.

he pulls you into a searing kiss as the stars around you illuminate the sky. cheers from rhysand, cassian, and nesta echo in the background while elain gasps in surprise and shock.

You looked so peaceful, so serene, with no visible injuries on your body, but you looked so utterly and completely dead, and Wilbur couldn’t even bring himself to look at you without tears threatening to spill from his eyes. This time a few days ago- he’d lost track of time- he didn’t think he’d ever be here. He had known you weren’t feeling well, you were practically bedridden with a fever before he had to travel to do a vlog with friends, but you had insisted you’d be fine. You said you’d be fine. The next day, though, Wilbur woke up to see multiple missed calls from the same unknown number, something he’d usually ignore, but there was a bad feeling in his gut and he called back. He couldn’t remember much of the call. Hospital, ambulance, (Y/N), appendix, emergency surgery. His whole trip back home was a blur- he wasn’t even sure if the rest of his friends were still there, or if they had come back too-, he felt numb to the core, and everything was static until the moment he sat down next to your hospital bed with the Visitor sticker on his chest after your surgery. Fuck, it was all his fault. 

He looked away again. God, there was nowhere he could look that wouldn’t hurt. He closed his eyes and simmered in guilt, waiting for you to wake again. 

—

When you finally opened your eyes, the sight of your boyfriend sitting right next to your hospital bed brought an immediate smile to your face, despite how he was sitting, his head ducked and eyes screwed tight, his leg bouncing, his hand trembling in yours. 

“Hey, Wil.” You knew he’d be worried about you, so you expected him to jump at the sight of you finally awake, maybe lean over and hug you, shed a few happy tears, let out a nervous laugh, and scold you for worrying him. But when he looked up to you, all he did was run his thumb across the top of your hand and give the smallest, most half-hearted smile he could offer. 

“Shall I get the nurse?” 

He barely spoke for the next few hours, sitting quietly while the doctors made sure you were safe to leave, listening intently to the advice for healing in the next couple of weeks, and helping sign the discharge papers. Only when he was finally rolling your wheelchair out to the car did you try to make small talk.

“I’m definitely feeling better than a few days ago.” 

Wilbur seemed to let out a tense breath. “You- you’ve had surgery. I’d hope you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Here, lemme help you in.” He came around to help you stand up and got you carefully situated in the car, before disappearing to the other side to slide into the driver’s seat. Still, he was barely speaking. As you began the drive home, he looked so… far away. Like he was somewhere in his head, and you wished you could reach out and pull him back. You held his free hand, and he held back so gently. 

You yawned. “Man, I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days, but I’m still exhausted. Maybe falling into a coma wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Don’t!” His words were sharp and cutting. “Don’t you dare joke like that.” 

You fell quiet. You’d never heard him that upset. Was he upset that you made him come all the way back from his vlog just cause you were a little sick? You could’ve easily done this all yourself, couldn’t you? Signed the papers, called yourself an Uber home… you could’ve done it without him. But instead, you bothered him. There was no noise in the car- the radio was down, the AC was turned off, and neither of you was talking. It was tense. 

“I’m sorry for raising my voice, (Y/N).” His words came in a gentle whisper. “I just want to get home, okay?” He stopped at a red light and looked over at you, giving you the same soft, forced smile as earlier. “We’ve had a rough couple of days, haven’t we? Let’s just get home and get cozy before we talk, alright?” 

“Okay.” 

You sat in silence a few more minutes before he finally parked the car in front of your shared apartment building and came over to help you out. “There’s a lot of steps to get up there, how about I carry you?” 

“It’s not too bad, Wil, I’m sure I can-”

“No, love. Your doctor said to avoid anything that might strain your abdomen. Please, let me carry you, alright?” I wasn’t here when I needed to be, so please let me do at least this for you. He hoisted you gently into his arms and closed the car door, before starting up the floors of stairs to their apartment. Just as Wilbur stepped into the apartment and was about to lay you down on the couch, you couldn’t hold in your thoughts anymore.

“I’m sorry. You’re upset, aren’t you? I’m sorry you had to come get me. You must have been having fun and I-”

“Woah, no, stop, love. Stop right now.” He laid you down gently against the arm of the couch, propping a pillow beneath your head, his hands on your back and sad eyes watching you carefully. “You think I’m upset with you? Of course not! Why would I be upset with you for hurting and needing to go to the hospital? What type of person do you think I am?”

“Well, you were with your friends, I could’ve just dealt with this alone…” 

“Alone?” Wilbur looked as if he were on the edge of tears. He sat down on the couch next to you, his hand rubbing circles on your leg. “Sweetheart, you never have to do anything alone, as long as I’m here, okay? I never want you to hesitate to call me for anything. And I have honestly not thought of my friends since I got those calls.” 

“Okay.” 

“Why would you think I’m mad?” 

“You’re just… withdrawn.”

“Of course I am!” He reached out and took your hand again, his eyes wild and wet. “Darling… you were in surgery. I was hours away and got a call that you were in emergency surgery. Do you know how terrifying that was to hear? Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking ‘oh my God, I left them there to die’. You were dying, love.”

“I’m okay now, though. I’m fine now, you don’t have to worry.” 

“Don’t say that. You came so close to-” His words stopped there, and he ran a hand over his face. His eyes were full of tears again, and you wanted to sit up and hold him, but your abdomen was sore from the stitches that held you together. “I don’t know what they told you before your surgery if they even told you anything. Your appendix burst. You were in such horrible pain, and had such a high fever… you were delirious. You called an ambulance for yourself, they could barely make out what you were saying. They told me-” His voice cracked and shook, and he looked down at his hands. “They told me you were crying out for them to call me. You were in such horrible pain you were barely making sense, but you were crying my name... over and over again...” He trailed off, sniffling quietly and balling his fists in his eyes. “And I was hours away fucking off with my friends. You needed me and I wasn’t there.” Finally, you found the strength to sit up and rub your hand along the expanse of Wilbur’s long back. 

“Wil, it’s not your fault, I-”

“No, I should’ve stayed here with you. I knew you were sick, and if I would’ve stayed, I would’ve taken you to the hospital and we would’ve gotten you there-”

“And they would’ve done exactly the same thing they did when I went myself.” 

Wilbur shook his head, tears streaking down his face. Then, with his voice choked up, he muttered. “Three minutes.” 

“Three minutes..?” 

The… the doctor told me…I-If you had gotten to the hospital even three minutes later, things… I mean… you were already so messed up inside, but…Three minutes, love. I almost lost you. You were almost gone. This might sound selfish but I… I was that close to losing everything I love. I-” He stopped, his tears began coming out stronger than before, but you were too frozen in your seat to do anything comforting. You hadn’t thought about that. You hadn’t stopped for a moment to think about just how close that had been. You had been unconscious for most of the last few days and hadn’t considered how scared Wilbur must have been. "Our future… our love… it was almost all gone. I was three minutes from just.... Losing you. Being without you for the rest of my life. Just like that. I don't... I can't lose you, sweetheart. God, that-" As he broke down in front of you, you reached in to pull him into a hug, letting him lay his head against your neck and shoulder, feeling the hot tears drip off of his face. When you brought a hand up to rub your own face, you noticed the same hot, wet feeling, and you suddenly weren’t sure what were his tears and what was yours. 

“There was- there was nothing I could do.” He whimpered from your shoulder. “When I got there, they were cutting you open, love. You were…. You were open. God, I almost… I was nearly sick, thinking about it. I couldn’t come to see you, I couldn’t ask if you were alright, they wouldn’t tell me anything until you were done. I didn’t know what had happened, I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t know what the outcome would be… I just had to hope… hope that I would be able to… to at least say goodbye…”

It hit you there, that, along with Wilbur’s worry about you and his love for you in general, his health anxiety must have really been at play big-time here. He worried he was going to die, every time he got even slightly ill, so of course, knowing that you were in there, lying on a table with your insides on the outside, he must have assumed the worst. Of course, he thought you would die. Of course, he was withdrawn and anxious. You couldn’t blame him. “Wilbur… Look at me.” You took his face between your hands and lifted him to look him in the eyes. His deep, beautiful eyes, were filled with tears and red and puffy. His hair was a mess, he hadn’t shaved or showered in days, too busy sitting by your bedside and watching your heart monitor beep over and over for hours on end. “Wilbur, I can understand how you’re feeling. I get it. I was scared too. But look. Look at me.” You took one of his hands and lifted it to your heart, pressing it close so he could feel every beat. “I’m alive. You feel that? You’re holding me. I’m in your arms, I’m safe. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m here. And you’re here. And I’m not upset that you weren’t there at first. Because you were the first thing I saw when I woke up. I love you, okay?” 

Wilbur nodded, wiping the tears of his face and finally seeming to calm down. “I love you, (Y/N).” 

“You can cry. You can let it out, but don’t blame yourself, please. None of this was your fault.”

Wilbur looked up at you again, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. “Please just let me take care of you to make up for not being there. Please.”

You stroked his cheeks tenderly, wiping away the wetness, before pressing a kiss to each one. “Well, we have all week, love.” 

He finally cracked a real smile as you planted a kiss square on his lips. ”Do your stitches hurt? Do you need your pain meds? How about something to eat? You must be starving.” 

“Can we just start with a nap?” 

“Of course.” He smiled and pressed another love-filled kiss to your cheek as he pulled you into his lap gingerly, making sure not to irritate your stitches as he laid back against the couch with you on his chest. He closed his eyes, as he pulled a blanket up over the two of you, his hand gentle on you lower back as you snuggled against him, but before either of you could fall asleep, one more soft sentence left his lips.

 “Please, don’t leave my sight ever again.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face into the cotton of his sweater. 

“I don’t plan on it.”

REASONS NOT TO KISS HER

ONE: This sort of love is not allowed. You are both too soft, and the world around you is all knives and sharp teeth.

Sapnap recalls the days when they first founded the SMP — boundless lands, forests that seemed to stretch to places beyond their imagination. Rivers that flowed through the hills, weaving and curling beyond the realms of what they had discovered.

He recalls spending nights and days carrying bricks to finally finish the Community House. He remembers his first few trips to the Nether alongside Dream and George. He remembers catching Mars and Beckerson while gathering materials. And he remembers building his very first home from scratch.

What Sapnap doesn’t remember, however, is when he first started seeing walls rising over the horizon of their lands.

“We have a new visitor.”

He hears Dream’s steps before he hears his voice. There’s a certain familiarity to them— one that makes Sapnap’s shoulders drop instead of having his fingers reach for his sword.

Punz stands besides him, leaning against one of the tables from within the Community House as he picks at his nails in disinterest. Despite the relaxed air of conversation, Sapnap knows where this conversation is headed. He can tell by the way Dream’s jaw ticks, annoyed.

And before he even gets the chance to respond, George’s indifferent voice beats him to it. “Let me guess, friend of L’manberg?”

Dream rolls his shoulder, netherite chestplate making a metallic sound as he does. With a roll of his eyes he says, “Yeah.”

Punz quirks a brow, finally raising his blue gaze. “Do we know who it is?”

Dream’s jaw tightens at that, mask resting over the table as his head tilts to the side, thinking. “No.” He finally responds. Green eyes briefly meet with Sapnap’s amber ones. “We don’t.”

The nether-born quirks a brow at that, recognizing that look from a mile away. The corner of his lips twitch upward. “Sounds like you wanna change that.”

Dream’s solemn look shifts into a grin, lips curled with mischief. And as if posing a challenge, he smirks and says, “Only if you’re up for it.”

Despite the towering walls of obsidian and blackstone, sneaking inside L’manberg is not nearly as hard as Sapnap first thought.

He lands on the ground silently, weaving through the trees like second-nature. It’s an advantage they all have— they’ve spent enough time within these lands to know them like the back of their hands. Every vantage point, every blindspot. And, much to his satisfaction, it seems that Wilbur’s people happen to be strangers to the very soil they’ve named an independent nation.

This should be easy enough.

Sapnap halts on his path as soon as he hears voices up ahead, and like a knee-jerk reaction, he reaches for his sword and ducks behind an oak tree.

He waits a second. Two. Then, he peers over his hiding spot, wishing he could just barge in guns blazing as he usually does. But Dream was very clear with his instructions— he just needed to find information on L’manberg’s new possible ally. Verify how much of a threat they could be, and then report back.

It’s only once he takes a glimpse of the newly taken land that he first sees you.

The sound of your voice gets carried by the wind as you walk out of Wilbur Soot’s tacky van— and despite not being able to understand what you’re saying, Sapnap can’t deny that you’ve definitely caught his interest.

You look out of place— standing out due to your lack of a revolutionary uniform. There’s no coat wrapped around your frame, no hat atop your head, no sword by your belt. And, still, Sapnap can tell you could easily become an inconvenience. Because as soon as you step out, the so-called leader of the revolution follows.

Sapnap’s no stranger to Wilbur Soot— he’s had his fair share of encounters with him, and he’s been a pebble inside the SMP’s shoe ever since he first showed his face around the lands. One thing he’s noted, however, is how old Wilbur has always looked in comparison to his allies— not worn by war, yet still cursed with knowledge. Always looking after everyone like some mother hen, always dictating what should or shouldn’t be done. The way Sapnap sees it, it’s as if Tommy’s brother is constantly carrying a weight over his shoulders, never knowing when he’ll finally be able to set it down.

And yet, while you may not look like much, Sapnap doesn’t miss the way Wilbur seems… different. Lighter, if that makes any sense. Because as he steps off the van with a bright grin, he shakes your hand, before quickly wrapping his arms around you into a warm hug.

Sapnap doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know your name, your skills, or how exactly you found Dream’s kingdom. But while he may not know you, Dream has already made his judgment on Wilbur after their first confrontation. And he looks rather… thankful. Almost at ease upon seeing you— certainly a strange sight when you find yourself in the midst of a war.

And, somehow, as Sapnap makes his way back through the trees, he simply knows he’ll be seeing more of you in the future.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

TWO: No one ever taught you how to love. Your war paint and scarred hands could never hold her like she deserves.

The second time Sapnap sees you is when he’s walking down the prime path.

His netherite armor glistens underneath the sun, the enchanted glow creating a smooth violet reflection. His similar sword still drips with hoglin blood— something he’ll undoubtedly have to clean up later.

His original plan was to go stash his newly found materials back to the Community House— maybe even check Bad’s chests for any possible loot. And yet, as he strides down the worn wooden planks, with ash and a vague scent of smoke clinging to his body, he comes to a sudden halt.

Because, only a few steps ahead and standing in front of Tommy’s old house ( if you could even call it that ), he sees you.

Once again, you look oddly out of place. This time, however, he notes that you’re wearing a brand new L’manberg uniform— and for some strange reason he can’t seem to place, Sapnap’s first thought is, ‘Huh, pity.’

“Trouble in paradise?”

His sudden question nearly makes you jump, head quickly snapping in his direction. Your shoulders grow tense at the sudden interruption, fingers inching closer to your iron sword. And, at last, he finally gets to see you up close.

Pretty, he thinks almost instantly— and thank Prime he didn’t open his mouth to say it out loud. Instead, he simply tilts his head ever so slightly, an amused glint dancing in his amber gaze as he awaits your response.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You say, voice strangely even for someone who stands mere feet away from the very enemy of their self-proclaimed free nation.

And yet your stance doesn’t waver, shoulders dropping from their previous stiff state. It’s an unexpected reaction— definitely not one Sapnap was awaiting. Because the picture the two of you paint should seem threatening— you, with a mere iron sword and boots, while he stands with a full netherite armor suit and a bloody sword. It makes a dangerous curiosity brew within his chest.

You merely quirk a brow, e/c eyes flickering past him and towards the rest of Dream’s Kingdom. And then slowly, softly, as if it may get carried away by the wind, you add, “You’re a long way from home, Sapnap.”

So, you’ve heard of him. It makes a smirk curl onto Sapnap’s lips, interest spreading through his body like wildfire. Despite your first reaction, you don’t seem that intimidated. Strange, considering his track record and previous encounters with the other members of L’manberg.

You make him curious. The sort of curiosity that sets root within your bones and takes a hold of your clear judgment. And so, with the corner of his lips twitching upward, he decides that maybe, just maybe, he’ll play along for the time being.

“What can I say?” He begins slowly, yet it’s nowhere near as soft as your voice. He takes a swift step back, amber eyes doing a quick once-over of you. Then, he shrugs innocently, “A little something caught my eye.”

You furrow your brows briefly, head tilted to the side as you fold your arms over your chest. “Something?”

Sapnap’s features brighten deviously before he corrects, “Someone.”

His comment evidently takes you by surprise, impassive façade faltering as red creeps up your neck and cheeks. It makes Sapnap swell with something reminiscent of pride, smirk widening.

In a way, it humanizes you, if that makes any sense. After all, he’s only ever seen you as Wilbur Soot’s picture-perfect second in command. The one who, according to a trusted source, maintains the peace within the walls of the new country. And for Sapnap, knowing that even L’manberg’s should-be vice president isn’t immune to his advances, that you aren’t as idyllic as you were made out to be… well, let’s just say he relishes at the sight.

Yet instead of calling you out on the pink that dusts your cheeks, he simply opts to ask the question that first echoed within his mind. “You know my name.” And as it leaves his lips, he realizes it’s no longer a question, but a statement.

“That I do.”

Sapnap takes a prompt step forward, amber eyes carefully watching your expression. Much to his surprise, you don’t take a step back, and instead remain rooted to your spot.

Dark brown hair falls over his white bandana when he speaks. “I think it’s only fair that I learn yours too.”

His words spark a scoff from you, a trace of disbelief and annoyance dripping from your tone. “Right. As if you don’t already know it.” You bite, almost as if accusing him of some crime he’s yet to commit. He tilts his head to the other side, questioningly, ready to ask the thoughts lingering around his mind when you beat him to it. “I saw you spying on us the other day.”

Ah. There it is. Not a crime he’s yet to commit, but rather one he’s already pulled off, unaware that he had been caught red handed. Sapnap can’t help but wonder how he didn’t notice he’d been spotted. Did you see him right away, as soon as you stepped off Wilbur’s van, or did you catch a second-worth glimpse of his retrieving frame, blending in with the woods?

You’re smarter than he initially gave you credit for. That’s his mistake— he should’ve known what type of person Wilbur would choose for his second in command.

“You’re not getting any information from me.” You say definitively, making Sapnap furrow his brows, failing to conceal the sudden confusion etched onto his features. “You can tell Dream to try better next time.”

Dream? What does he have to do with anything? Why would he—

Oh.

Once he snaps back to his senses, cogs slowly beginning to turn inside his brain as he puts two and two together, he realizes you’re halfway out. Your back is already turned to him, Tommy’s hobbit hole left behind as you head towards the Prime Path.

And, as if he was running out of time, he quickly remarks, “Dream didn’t send me.”

Surprisingly enough, his words make you stop, at least falter for a split second— and, then again, a split second is all Sapnap needs.

He’s quick to catch up with you, voice teasing and body close as he murmurs near your ear, “But alright, I see how it is.” He hums in contentment when he picks up on the sudden stiffness of your body upon the close proximity. His amber gaze lingers on your side profile a moment too long, unable to meet your e/c, but wanting to see the reaction he caused. He enjoys it— maybe even more than he should. And yet the thought doesn’t stop him from prodding just a little more, the cadence of his voice dropping with a tinge of annoyance.

“Bet he told you I’m just Dream’s mindless soldier, huh?”

You whip your head towards him, the movement clearly without further premeditation. Otherwise, you would’ve thought of the lack of distance that would be left standing between you and the enemy— not that Sapnap can bring himself to care. Not when his fiery amber finally get to meet your e/c.

“He told me about the trees you burnt down.” You bite back, never missing the mirthful lilt to Sapnap’s actions.

To the accusation he shrugs nonchalantly, corner of his lip curving upwards. “Not my finest moment.” He says easily, and as soon as you start walking again, he chuckles. “But c’mon, are you really gonna judge me off someone else’s opinion?”

You don’t take another step, and instead offer a side-look to the stranger-now-made-acquaintance. You think about it for a second. Two. And then, with sincere yet vaguely amused tone, you ask,

“How do you know I’m not making my own judgement?”

Sapnap hums, the edges of his face rising in the slightest as mirth drips from his features. If the thought crossed his mind before, then it’s definitely sticking now— ‘cause somehow, underneath all that revolutionary bullshit, you’ve caught his interest. His nerves buzz alive when he cocks his head, tousled darkened hair falling over his bandana as he responds,

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

THREE: Her heart is carved from gold, while your soul remains scarred and bruised. And why would you risk burning something beautiful when she’s already perfect from afar?

The inside of Dream’s chosen cave is cold. The air is damp, there’s a chill wind coming from somewhere, and Sapnap has to keep looking over his shoulder in case another creeper shows up.

( Not because he’s scared — trust me, he’s longed since outlived those days — but rather due to the big inconvenience they become sooner or later. )

Still, and rather reluctantly, Sapnap understands why Dream chose such a place. Why they showed up an hour before, mapping out the tunnels and memorizing every nook and cranny. For any places other spies could be hiding in, for any previously set equipment to conceal the presence of a third party. Which, if he may add ( and as George pointed out ), is absolutely stupid. After all, they’re the ones that chose the meeting place— not that any of their protests would make Dream change his mind.

Then again, the stakes are high. Which would mean — and not that he’d ever say it out loud— Dream’s paranoia is somewhat well-founded. After all, who’s to say that their spy on the inside won’t just double-cross them?

And so, after waking up at the early dawn, reaching the meeting point and searching every pathway, Sapnap stands besides Dream with a sword by his hand. A preemptive measure, he told George, as if neither of them were aware of the fact that Sapnap simply enjoys the intimidation factor a little too much.

They’ve met up with Eret before— so much so that it slowly became routine. As to how he excuses every scheduled disappearance to the rest of L’manberg, Sapnap can’t really bring himself to care. As long as he doesn’t cause suspicion to rise, then they should be good.

Sapnap’s bored amber drift away from Eret’s frame and towards George and Dream. The goggled boy appears about as bored as he currently is, yet the annoyance doesn’t take away from the daunting aura that seems to surround him. With his netherite armor looking pristine— save for a few scratches here and there— George’s apathetic attitude only seems to add to his little formidable image.

As for Dream, well— things are different, to put it simply. Sapnap often wonders what it’d be like to stand against the masked man— out of mere curiosity, of course. Because as much as Dream may make rising nations crumble at the seams, he still is Sapnap’s best friend. The same guy who he witnessed tripping to get out of a boat, and landing face first on a muddy swamp with kelp stuck to his teeth.

In short, Sapnap finds it hard to be intimidated by Dream.

He does, however, notice the effect he has over other people. Over ones he considers enemies. And Sapnap doesn’t miss the distance Eret puts between herself and the group— he’s certain Dream doesn’t either. It’s understandable, really. But as he glances towards Dream for a quick moment, he briefly realizes just how threatening his best friend appears. Standing in a dimly lit cave, with an axe in his hand and a blank stare hidden behind his mask. And that’s not even mentioning his armor which— unlike George’s— has dents and scratches, blood and ash, is dirty and clawed.

Eret, on the other hand? Well, let’s just say that the iron armor he put together isn’t exactly threatening. Sapnap’s gaze lingers on their aviator sunglasses— definitely an odd choice for a lowly illuminated cave. To each their own, he guesses, ignoring the curiosity that inches inside his chest. After all, he’s heard one or two rumors about the L’manburgian.

“—For the majority, none of them are a threat, really.” Sapnap hears Eret say, making him straighten. He zoned out again, he realizes, jaw tensing.

“L’manberg’s walls aren’t as impenetrable as they say.” He remembers Dream saying offhandedly earlier, as they searched the labyrinth of tunnels and caves. With his mask raised only slightly over his head— enough for Sapnap to notice the slight curve of Dream’s lips, bordering a smirk. “All it takes is the right person, and the right motivation.”

Sapnap narrows his eyes at the deserter. Everyone has a price. How can Dream be so certain that he’s figured out theirs?

The masked man huffs, green hood pulled over his head as he tilts it to the side. “I didn’t ask your opinion, Eret.” He states blankly, voice emotionless and cold. “I’m asking what their weaknesses are. What areas we have to press to get them to budge.”

Sapnap nearly scoffs at that. To get them to kneel. He’s been around Dream long enough to know how he operates— to notice when he’s speaking between lines. And he knows he doesn’t just want L’manberg to agree to their terms.

He wants to make an example out of them.

Eret raises his brow, almost surprised. He inhales sharply, hazel curls falling over his sunglasses before he decides to start over. “…Well, Tubbo and Tommy are kids.” He begins slowly, hand lingering near his diamond sword. It’s not enough to make Sapnap grow tense — he knows Eret’s not enough of a threat, much less against the three of them — but it’s enough to snap him out of his hazy state, carefully keeping an eye on him for any sudden moves. “Fundy’s just Wilbur’s son—”

Dream exhales, annoyance rippling from him in waves. “Weaknesses, Eret.”

Eret’s jaw ticks, and even though Sapnap can’t see, he can imagine them narrowing their eyes.

“Right.” They mutter stiffly. “Well, uh…”

Sapnap feels his back straightening. He recognizes that feeling— he’s seen it before in other people.

Is she having second thoughts?

Maybe Dream was wrong. Maybe, for once, he was wrong— and Eret isn’t as willing as she seems to give up her friends. It wouldn’t surprise him. After all, they’re the people she’s been working alongside with— allies, comrades, friends, family. It would make sense that—

“Wilbur’s a dreamer.”

The words echo and ricochet for a moment among the stone tunnels, bouncing off the walls.

Sapnap’s shoulders drop with something reminiscent of dissatisfaction, a strange taste seeping into his mouth. For some foreign reason, hearing their voice makes him stand ever so close to disappointment.

So, who would’ve thought? Dream was right.

Eret sighs. “He’s got his head looking too high to notice what happens right underneath his nose.” He pushes up his aviator sunglasses when they start to slip down the bridge of his nose. “But he’s smart. He has plans beneath plans, and he’s got a way with words.” Shaking his head, he adds, “Not so much with weapons, though.”

The masked man lets the new information sink in, taking mental notes of it, as he doesn’t doubt his two friends are doing as well. Then, a hum, “What about his second in command?” Dream asks, and Sapnap tries to stifle the way his whole body perks up with newfound interest.

You. He’s talking about you.

“Y/N.”

The three people in the room turn to Sapnap as the word impulsively leave his lips, more out of instinct than rationality. Once he voices your name, it echoes with an oddly proud undertone.

The sudden interruption earns him the most minimal glance from George, who quirks a brow, not out of confusion, but rather curiosity.

Sapnap merely shrugs, and leaning back against the stone cave wall, he attempts to downplay his piqued interest. “What? I’ve been paying attention.”

Dream chuckles at that, offering Sapnap a brief glance. “Okay, Y/N.” He corrects, dragging out your name in a way that makes a strange feeling set within his gut. It’s a foreign one, a new one— definitely not a good one. “What’s her deal?”

Eret straightens, trying to stifle any sign of hesitation. They clear their throat, folding their arms over their chest to stifle any fidgeting. “Old friend of Wilbur’s, apparently.” They say, as if reciting information that had been previously said to them. “She’s been training the ki— um, a few of us. Teaching the basics.”

George — not wanting to be left out of the interaction — finally opts to speak, arms folded over his chest with disinterest. “So, she’s a good fighter?”

“I would think so.” Eret responds, shrugging. “She keeps away from conflict for the most part. I don’t think I’ve seen her hold any weapon other than a wooden sword for training.”

Dream only hums, yet this time, Sapnap manages to miss it. You’re training the others— which should mean you know your way around weapons. Is that why you barely reacted to him back in Tommy’s old home? Why you didn’t tremble when seeing his bloody sword? He always thought himself to be intimidating— he’s bested several fighters in combat to earn that title.

“She keeps away from conflict for the most part.”

Huh. Interesting.

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FOUR: She belongs in a museum, and you are merely here to gaze. Look around you boy, all the signs scream ‘do not touch’.

The next time Sapnap sees you is by mere chance. A twist of fate. A right place at the right time type of deal— or wrong place at the wrong time. Truly, it depends on who you’re asking.

Sapnap deems himself a skilled fighter. He’s been like that long since he was a child— and has bested his friends more than once. And still, knowing he is a warrior at heart, he is well aware of the fact that his ability is nowhere near close to whenever he’s in the Nether. Sure, with the years he’s learnt to make home of the Overworld— used every edge, studied every spot that could be exploited. He learnt to make it work. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’ll occasionally — very, very rarely — feel like he’s out of his depth. Like despite all the time he’s spent living in the land of sea and sky, he’ll never be able to harness it to its full potential.

He inhales deeply, nerves buzzing alight beneath his skin. The warm scent of soot, ash and molten lava greet him home. It makes his lips twitch upward. Finally, he’s in his element.

The Nether greets him back, like a lost son finding his way home once again. He weaves through the different biomes with natural swiftness, most mobs straying out of his way with ease. It brings a grin to Sapnap’s face.

There’s another thing that the Nether has that the Overworld doesn’t. Back in the Dream SMP, mobs are a pest, a nuisance. But here? Not only do they live in peace with one another, but they can sense something around Sapnap— an aura of sorts. One that borders the line between friend and foe, and it’s enough to have them turn away from him. Whether its out of respect or out of fear, he can’t bring himself to care. All he knows is it makes adrenaline buzz beneath his fingertips, and he loves it.

As Sapnap strides through falling flows of lava — the scalding liquid feeling like a warm embrace over his shoulders — he sees it. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type moment. And with lava still dripping down his back, for a fraction of a second, he sees blue. A shade too cold, too unnatural. Blue— weaving through a crimson forest.

He rolls his eyes.

George.

Of course his friend was too stubborn to tell him that he was coming to the Nether.

With a tch sound escaping Sapnap’s lips, he makes a point to make his strides longer, quicker— after all, while he may be in his element, it doesn’t mean George is any less sly and swift. He reaches for his sword, and with a precise move he cuts through a few weeping vines that fell on his way.

“Alright George, what—”

His voice dies in his throat, the scene before him taking him by surprise— which is a lot to say, because Sapnap’s rarely caught off guard. And where he believed George to be, he instead finds you, clad in gold armor with three piglins lingering all too close.

Remember when he said that Nether creatures are more pleasant than Overworld ones? Well, he’d like to make a correction. Piglins — Sapnap finds — are more of a nuisance than they are helpful. One of the few species that can be stubborn enough to stand their ground to fireborns like him. And though he finds the sight to be pretty amusing, ( that with you futilely attempting to swat the creatures away from you ) he’s unable to ignore the strange bitterness yet acidic feeling that curls around his gut. He watches as the piglins’ prying hands try to reach for your armor while you gently try to back away, knowing better than to accidentally anger them. For a moment too long, Sapnap hesitates, remaining close to the edge of the crimson forest. It’s only once one of them tries to get close enough to catch your scent — the golden armor hanging from your body all too alluring for the mindless pigs — that Sapnap instinct kick in. And as if saying ‘Okay, that’s enough’, he swiftly heads towards the group.

Amber eyes briefly meet with your slightly panicked and apprehensive e/c pair. He ducks his head to his right, noting the way the piglins quickly dismiss him — too entranced with the gold reflection of the metal to pay attention to the new threat that has entered the scene. It makes Sapnap huff, feeling as a brash impulse rapidly takes hold of his body. And before he can help it or think this through, his hand is already latching onto a piglin’s shoulder, forcing him away from you and towards him.

The creature lets out an angered grunt, bones tensing until Sapnap wills his own eyes to glaze over. Call onto that sleeping fire that lies deep within his body. And, soon enough, the dim amber in his eyes turns a bright, borderline furious orange. It’s reminiscent of lava— a reminder of what Sapnap actually is beneath the human-looking exterior.

The previously surprised — and nearing angered — piglin halts. And for the first time since he showed up, the Nether-born animal finally realizes who— or rather, what stands in front of him.

Sapnap notes how the other two piglins — both evidently smaller in size, making him believe the one he stands in front of is the leader — seem to freeze, or at least tense noticeably. Sapnap’s now lava-like irises meet with yours as he offers a small nod, one you ( despite your current situation ) quickly reciprocate.

He turns back to the leader of this little troupe, allowing the molten color to fade from his eyes. The three must be scouts from one of the Bastions, or maybe just mere scavengers.

The taller piglin starts ranting in a gravelly, slightly distorted voice. It makes the fireborn straighten. Sapnap’s piglin is a little rusty— and though he picked up on it back when he was a kid, he hasn’t needed to communicate outside the realm of trading in a good long while.

He hears as the leader keeps ranting with a harsh tone — one typical of the piglin language — when he notes one of the other pigs starting to walk closer to you. Sapnap is quick to take a few steps and flick them away. The shorter one snarls, and Sapnap doesn’t miss how it was trying to lay its scent around the gold armor you donned.

He shoots it a glare, willing the glow back to his eyes as it stiffens. Even then, Sapnap can feel them lingering too close for comfort, and decides to put his arms around you for good measure. When he meets their eyes over your head, a scowl sets on his features, making them back away in the slightest. It almost— almost brings a smirk to his lips. And if some distant part of him vaguely feels you stiffening, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his now fading amber eyes remain glued to the leader.

The biggest of the three lets out a grunt and a snort— something he doesn’t doubt sounds like garbled nonsense to anyone from the Overworld. Despite the rustiness he holds over the language, he still manages to catch a few words here and there.

At one phrase in particular, Sapnap straightens painfully, eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. He can feel his jaw tensing, body growing rigid and arms tighter around you, dangerously nearing a protective manner. The impulsive, reckless part of his brain — the one that drives on pure instinct — calls for him to reach for his sword and leave their bodies to rot over the netherrack ground. And yet he keeps the fire at bay, opting to listen to the colder, more calculating side that still whispers to him to stand his ground in a less volatile way.

“No.” He seethes, venom dripping from his voice. It earns him a similar response from the leader, who squares his shoulders with a gravelly snarl. Sapnap glances towards the other two and decides to take a gamble— and if things do go sideways, using his sword is always a respectable plan. For the time being, however, he mimics a sound similar to that of the pink creatures, making the three stand upright.

The leader of the little pack narrows its red eyes, before returning to you— or more specifically, the golden armor you’re wearing. Sapnap’s gaze hardens. You shouldn’t be wearing as much gold, much less brand new armor— it’ll draw these greedy bastards out, you should know that.

The piglin’s eyes linger a moment too long, and before he can help it, Sapnap is reaching inside his bag and tossing him a couple of gold bars.

“There,” he huffs, squaring his shoulders. “now we’re even.”

The sun has long since fallen over the horizon, a dark blue — dangerously nearing black — paints the sky above you. Snow crunches beneath Sapnap’s boots, layers upon layers of hail melting beneath his feet as he heads south. His jaw is clenched tightly, his mind mocking him as he thinks of course it’s fucking snow.

For the first time in a while he thanks the dark cloak his dad gave to him, and although it doesn’t do much, it puts him the slightest bit at ease. Thankfully, he’s still coming off that Nether heat— otherwise he’d be struggling to keep a steady pace, that with the brittle cold nipping at his skin.

He’s gonna need to talk to Bad and fix the whole Nether portal network. He glances back to the tiny shape that was their gate to the Overworld. It was supposed to lead them to one of the many hills surrounding Dream’s Kingdom. Somewhere, he knows the gods are laughing down at him. And instead of finding himself home, ready to fall victim to sleep, he finds himself walking in a desolated land of ice and cold. Well…

The sound of footsteps falling heavy on the snow, shortly trailing after him remind Sapnap that this place isn’t exactly desolated. Slowly, he turns to face you— sneak a quick glance to check on you.

He doesn’t know why he decided to stick with you— or why you decided to stick with him. It was a sort of silent agreement, one neither of you wanted to speak of, apparently. You’ve both refrained from saying anything ever since your little encounter with the three Nether creatures.

You carefully watch your strides, and if Sapnap didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were simply minding your step. No— you’re avoiding his gaze. As to why, he’s not entirely sure.

“What did you tell them?” The sudden sound of your voice surprises him, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between the two of you. You will your strides to be longer, faster, at least enough to catch up to him.“The piglins, I mean. Back in the Nether.”

“Uh…” Sapnap quirks a brow, noting the pink blush that has taken form over your cheeks. It’s due to the harsh and cold wind, yet he can’t help but find it strangely endearing. “I told them to back off. Said I already had a claim on you.”

“A claim?” You ask, confusion etched onto your features as you draw your brows together. “What does that mean, exactly?”

His lips set into a line. “It’s…complicated.” He gestures with his hand, as if trying to find the right word. “It’s like…dating but for mobs— especially piglins.” He shrugs, ignoring the way his shoulders seem to tense. “They usually stick to their communities but they’ll occasionally stumble upon something— someone shiny and pretty enough to catch their eye.”

You flush a darker shade underneath his gaze, temperature rising within your body at his vaguely teasing accusatory edge.

“They were trying to leave their scent on you when I showed up.” Sapnap straightens, scrunching his nose. The lingering scent still wafts around you, making him stifle a huff. He hates that the higher temperatures have heightened his senses, the scent of the piglin pact pungent to him. A part of him — some deep, obscure, long since hidden away instinct — wants to take matters onto his hands. As he glances down at you, he feels the urge to try burying his face against the crook of your neck grow within his gut. To finally let the other scents fade out and allow them to be replaced by his. And he suddenly remembers why he doesn’t visit the Nether as often as he once did— especially around other people. Sapnap rolls his shoulders, shaking the thought away. Instead, his jaw and knuckles tense as he mutters “Fuckin’ magpies, that’s what they are.”

“You don’t seem to like them very much.”

There’s a slightly amused undertone to your voice that wasn’t there before. Sapnap raises a brow. “I’m surprised you do after your little encounter.”

You huff. “They were trading with me just before!” You exclaim defensively, “I even got a few—” And then, suddenly, the easy conversation is cut short. Sapnap watches as your shoulders drop, as if finally realizing who exactly you’re talking to. Now in a lower, softer, less excited tone you mutter, “A few things for L’manberg.”

“Right.” Sapnap nods, disliking the returning stiffness to the air. “Word of advice?” He asks, amber meeting e/c. “Next time, try going to the Nether in a group. Strength in numbers and all that.” Then, softer, he adds, “Going alone was a reckless thing to do.”

You think his words over for a second. Two. You nudge him. “Well, I got you, don’t I?”

You’re closer to him than you were before. Like ever since you started striding next to him, your body unconsciously drifts closer to Sapnap’s. And then, as sudden as a lightning bolt, it hits him— you’re cold. He’s nearly certain that his body is still giving off heat, and though it’ll be ephemeral, you can’t help but seek the warmth.

“Maybe counting on the enemy as back up isn’t the most thought-out plan, sweetheart.”

You look up to him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards as you try to seem nonchalant. “You’re the one who said I should make my own judgement of you.”

“Are you now?” Sapnap muses, feeling as your shoulder starts to brush against his. “How am I doing so far?”

As your e/c meet his amber once again, he finally sees the same devious glint he donned earlier. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we…” Your gaze drops, doing a slow once-over of his frame as a matching grin curls onto your lips. “…sweetheart?”

And, surely, the blush that threatens to burn his face is due to the arctic cold.

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FIVE: She’s is all cherry blossom kisses and clear blue skies, and you cannot bear to watch the life fade out from another person’s eyes.

Hours have turned into days. Days have turned into weeks. And despite himself, Sapnap keeps finding himself having serendipitous encounters with you— some by dumb luck, and others… well, let’s just say he may have taken a liking towards you.

And so what, if he has slowly started to enjoy spending time with you? You’re something new— something he hasn’t seen in these lands before. So what? Blame him for having a dangerous curiosity always toeing around his thoughts— which, oddly enough, now always seem to revolve around you.

His excuses to cover for his continuous absences have started to run out. First it was keeping a closer eye on L’manberg, then it was gathering materials, exploring nearby lands, going fishing— he’s never even gone fishing before! Sapnap is almost fully certain that the others have started to pick up on his strange behavior, though none of them have mentioned it yet. He can only imagine how things are going over on your side.

Sapnap trails shortly after you, steps unnaturally light. His whole body seems as if it’s lighter, like the spring breeze that brushes against his cheeks could carry him away.

For someone who’s been around the lands as long as Sapnap has, he’s surprised when he looks around at the place you brought him to. A surprise, you teased, knowing just how impatient he is. Still, he waited. He waited solely because of the gleeful glint dancing in your eyes. He waited only because of the slight quirk in your lips. He waited because you told him to.

Worth it, he thinks, the corner of his lips pulling upward as he looks around. It’s a narrow piece of land, hidden from prying eyes by a clear river. Rows of trees stand on each side of the river, velvet petals blooming to welcome spring. Cherry blossom trees. So what if Sapnap’s never been an avid observer of nature? It doesn’t mean he can’t start appreciating it now. Still— trees are trees. Flowers are flowers. Moss is moss. And yet — despite having seen lands beyond his days — he can’t help but feel like this place is the most beautiful riverside he’s ever seen. There’s nothing particularly special about it. Just cherry trees, water, and tall grass.

He lowers his gaze from the branches and down to your frame. You walk with a steady pace, never too quick, never too slow. This time — and much to Sapnap’s delight — you’ve opted to ditch the revolutionary uniform, instead opting to choose a longer skirt that would be more pleasant underneath the sun. Your whole being seems to glow, and even when Sapnap’s face accidentally smacks against a stray branch, it’s all worth it to hear your laugh.

Ah, he thinks, revelation sparking inside his brain, it’s not the setting that makes the place so beautiful.

It’s the company.

The blackstone walls still serve as a heavy reminder of where he is. Just in the outskirts of L’manberg, hidden away from plain sight, and yet a world away from the places he should be at. He tugs his cloak closer to him. You asked for him to bring it, just to avoid any attention either of you could get from anyone passing by.

“Penny for your thoughts?” His gaze lingers on your frame a moment too long. Amber eyes meet a curious pair of e/c.

“Nothing important, doll.”

There it is again— a nickname that seems to roll off his tongue perfectly. he doesn’t know why— all he knows is he enjoys the sight of your flushed cheeks whenever he uses it.

“You’re quieter than usual, Sap.” You muse, e/c eyes carefully scanning his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing important on your mind?”

He has to bite his tongue down to prevent him from blurting it out. If he’s being absolutely honest, he does have a few things weighing within his brain, begging to be spoken for a while already. Because the past few weeks have been a bliss. From acquaintances to friends to this— because ever since that encounter in the Nether, he can feel something has shifted. Like the universe — for once — has finally tipped in his favor. He knows this isn’t meant to last. No— this is a transitory thing, but wouldn’t it be great if it wasn’t?

Sapnap’s stare briefly drifts to the towering walls. And, as if allowing himself a moment of weakness, he wonders.

Would you join his side if he asked? No more climbing walls. No more hiding in the woods. No more sneaking around.

His jaw tenses, inhaling sharply. It’s stupid— definitely not a good idea. Because beyond the fact that he does not want to wonder how things would take a turn if you said no— at heart he knows Dream’s Kingdom won’t be the best place for you. After all, he’s already seen it take effect on some of his friends. The way the light in their eyes seem to grow dimmer, harder to see. He doesn’t want to be the reason it happens to you too.

A cold, stinging feeling crosses his chest. Dream has grown distant and aloof. George apathetic. And he has the feeling the only reason Punz has stuck around is because Dream is willing to pay. Something sour, reminiscent of jealousy festers like a weed in his chest. How is it, that despite the feeling of war that hangs from the air, everyone in L’manberg remains bright?

“What’s got you so silent today?” You ask, and this time, he takes note of the slight nervousness that hangs from your voice. Oh— you’re worried he doesn’t like this. As if he could ever dislike the sight of you, with sunlight casting around you like an angelic aura. Pretty, that inner voice repeats. Pretty, pretty, pretty. “You can tell me, you know.”

What’s on your mind?

“It’s…” He purses his lips, and before he can help himself, he finds himself blurting out, “you.”

The expression that takes over your face is one Sapnap hopes to remember for the rest of his days. First, it’s surprise— an unexpected response. Then, it starts to sink in, and heat rises to your cheeks, reaching the tips of your ears. Your lips fall open ever so slightly, e/c eyes staring back into his amber. It makes his heart beat louder, faster.

His lips part to speak, a grin starting to take over his features when—

“Y/N!”

Tubbo’s voice rings out like a bell in an open field, making both of you stiffen. His shoulders tense and your back grows taut. Amber meet e/c for a brief second. “We were looking for you everywhere! Wilbur said—”Sapnap supposes the kid finally steps into your vision, your back growing as stiff as wire. “Oh, uh, who’s your friend?”

Before Sapnap can process what’s going on, make an exit, maybe stage a fight, his line of sight is suddenly cut short. You pull down the hood of Sapnap’s cloak up to his chin, completely covering his face, a nervous laugh leaving you.

“Oh, um, no one!” You exclaim, that flustered edge to your tone almost making him smile. “He’s no one.”

No one.

Maybe it would sting a little more, if it wasn’t for how beautiful your voice sounds.

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SIX: She’s an angel gazing below, and gods— you’d climb walls and burn the lands if it meant getting a mere glance from her. How could your bloodied and soot covered hands ever deserve to hold her?

It’s night time when Sapnap sneaks into L’manberg. The moon is nowhere to be seen, hidden away by stray clouds. In other words, it’s the perfect time to enter without being spotted.

The thought weasels its way to his mind before he can help it. Is this creepy? He winces, leather bag shifting with the movement. This is definitely creepy.

In his defense, he just wants to check on you quickly. In and out. Just a moment. You won’t even notice he was there in the first place.

Punz’ words from earlier echo and rattle within his ears.

“Where have you been?” Sapnap distantly hears George ask, and despite the way his spine stiffens, this time the question isn’t directed at him. Instead, mismatched eyes stare at a certain blond’s back. His mischievous blue meet with Sapnap’s amber, as if saying, I know something you don’t.

“Ah, just around.” Punz drawls, smirk etched onto his lips.

“If you’re gonna say something, just say it.” George bites in annoyance. Well, someone evidently didn’t get enough sleep.

“Saw something you might like to hear,” he continues, disregarding George as his icy blue turn to Dream. His mask lies by one of the tables, faint scars over his face now visible. The green eyed man quirks a curious brow, intrigued.

“Is that so?”

“Let’s just say, L’manberg probably won’t be much of a problem in the next few days.” Punz says, a troublesome lilt to his voice.

“How come?” Sapnap finds himself asking, suddenly intrigued.

“I saw Tubbo and Y/N by a Nether Fortress.” Punz shrugs nonchalantly, as if he’s not the reason Sapnap’s heart has dropped to his gut. “Apparently, she got hit by a wither skeleton. And if L’manberg’s resources are as scarce as Eret claims, well…”

There it is again. That knowing, borderline irritating smirk. He’s toying with Sapnap, he’s sure of it. But he can’t know— he doesn’t know. “Let’s just say, Tommy might just get that second in command title sooner rather than later.”

Wither skeletons. Out of all the Nether creatures humans can come across, they are by far one of the worst. They leave nasty marks— in some cases, not even a health potion can do much. His leather bag seems to grow heavier at the thought. Sapnap conveniently happened to have a few spare golden apples with him. Casualty, of course. He obviously had them lying around— after all, how could he ever go harvesting apples and hunting for gold in mere hours? Psh, definitely could not be him.

It’s only once he draws near to the caravan that he first hears you.

“Why are you being like this?” Your voice, usually sweet and overall nice to listen to sounds… different. And as Sapnap strides become slower, he feels an acidic feeling settling within his body. He doesn’t like this sort of different— he’s never heard you like this before.

“It’s a yes or no question, Y/N.” The voice makes his back grow unbearably stiff, bones turning cold while fire buzzes over his nerves. What are you doing with Wilbur this late? “Have any of them approached you, yes or no?” Wilbur asks, tone as firm as steel. It doesn’t sound like this is the first time he’s asking. “I’m talking Dream, George, Sa—”

Sapnap straightens, shoulders bunching together as he leans against the side of the van. And before a coherent thought even gets the chance to fully form, you respond in a clipped tone, “None of them.” Then, your voice becomes softer— cautious. “You know I’m on your side. What’s this all about?” You wait a moment. “Wilbur.”

The self-proclaimed leader exhales sharply, tensely. “Tommy saw you talking with Sapnap a few weeks ago by his old house.” He says, voice now carrying an edge. “You know, one of Dream’s most trusted associates? His second in command?” With curiosity gnawing at him, Sapnap raises his head ever so slightly, just enough to see but avoid being spotted. Wilbur stands close to you, but there’s a distance— one that definitely wasn’t there a few weeks ago. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Your features twist, and he can tell by the look on your face that it feels like the other shoe has finally dropped. “So, you’re spying on me now?” You ask, and neither of them miss the accusatory edge.

Wilbur pinches his brows together, cheeks growing pink with embarrassment. “What? No!” He shakes his head, disarray brown curls shifting as he does. “No, no, you know I—”

Then, suddenly, Wilbur freezes.

The blush fades away, and a darker look crosses his face. The atmosphere has gotten colder, he can feel it even from the outside. Sapnap noticed— and now he doesn’t doubt Wilbur did too. You’ve yet to give him a straight answer— the only question is why?

Wilbur Soot chuckles humorlessly, a bitter, sharp edge to his tone. “Oh, I see what you’re doing.”

Your click your jaw shut, shaking your head, as if saying, I’m not dealing with this now. A sour presence remains etched onto your expression. “I’m leaving.”

You’re halfway out the van when Wilbur’s voice sparks to life once again, this time less leveled, less calculated.

“You walk out that door and you can forget about coming back.”

His words waver ever so slightly, and Sapnap holds his breath. Your limbs suddenly turn to stone, unable to take another step forward. The ultimatum — the promise — hangs in the air, looming over you like a pile of bricks that threatens to collapse on you.

It’s a bluff, Sapnao thinks. He knows it is. It should be— because, as much as he may dislike him, Wilbur Soot is a smart man. At least, smart enough for when to know he’s made a mistake.

“What?” You ask, and this time your voice is smaller, weaker.

Brown meet e/c. And although there’s an evident hesitation in his gaze, his words are cold. “You know what I said.” His jaw tenses, eyes avidly searching your eyes for the answer he seeks. He doesn’t seem to find it. “And you also know you haven’t answered my question.”

This time, a scoff escapes you, serving as a shield for the moment of weakness. Your body still feels cold, it still feels like it’s been shackled to a ball and chain. “I don’t owe you explanations, Wilbur.” You say, and Sapnap wholeheartedly agrees. His body itches to do something— to head in, maybe even cause a distraction to get you out. His mind shouts at him to just barge in, and still, he remains frozen on his spot. “But since you must know, we were just talking. He was being nice, so I returned the favor. Happy?”

Your words sting. Even when he knows — when he hopes — they are just a front for Wilbur, they still feel like a punch to the gut.

A borderline mocking chuckle leaves Wilbur and echoes within the van. He looks amused, in a strange, bitter sense of the word. “Being nice. Right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wilbur shakes his head, faster, with more determination than before. His jaw is tense, tense enough that it might just splinter. There’s a dancing glint in his eyes— one that looks so familiar, yet he can’t seem to place. And after a moment of scrutiny, it hits him— it’s familiar because he’s seen it before.

He’s seen it before in Dream.

Wilbur takes a step forward, frame looming over yours as he fumes. “It means he’s clearly trying to use you and you’re too blind to see it.” He says, and he doesn’t need to yell his point across. His voice is already cold enough, already spiteful enough.

You, on the other hand? You look like you’ve just taken a punch to the gut. It passes— quickly replaced by new, more dangerous emotions. You look like you want to yell. Like you want to punch him square in the nose. Hell, Sapnap would’ve kicked him to the curb ages ago. Set the rest of his fucking van on fire to make him apologize for treating you like that.

And yet that’s where the difference between the two of you lies. Where the line is drawn between sea and sand.

You surprise him once again by lowering and relaxing your squared shoulders. You take a deep breath. In. Out. You swallow, feeling as your chest slowly unwinds. As the knots become loosened, untangled.

“Look, Wil,” You begin softly, tentatively. He doesn’t deserve it, Sapnap thinks. He doesn’t deserve any of it. Wilbur visibly stiffens, brown searching your gaze for an ulterior motive. “We’re both tired, okay? So, I’m gonna go back to my cabin, we’re gonna get some sleep,” you lick your lips, inhaling a small breath, “and you can talk to me again once you’ve let go of your paranoia.”

The silence stretches a moment too long. You’ve left him speechless. You’ve left them both speechless. And yet there’s a fragility to your movements, to your words. Like if he had pressed just a moment longer, you would’ve finally cracked. Finally snapped.

Now, however, you take a hesitant step forward, briefly closing the distance between you and the brunet. But it’s no longer the same— and it doesn’t even begin to compare to how you both were when you first arrived.

Brown meet e/c. You sigh softly, and gently press your lips against his forehead, feeling as he grows tenser underneath your touch.

“Goodnight.”

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SEVEN: She touches you like you’re fragile, and if you break you won’t be able put yourself together again.

The sound of dripping water was long since faded away from Sapnap’s ears. It’s odd— that feeling of drifting away, of the buzzing world fading to black with him being unaware.

Sapnap has always prided himself in his sharp instincts, and yet you make it easy. You make it so, so easy to simply relax, to drop his shoulders, to lean back and let you guide his movements. It’s almost like falling asleep, like letting your body be guided by the flow of a current.

While he sits with his two legs spread out, you remain sat between them, gently leaning forward as you scan the side of his face. Sapnap carefully follows your focused eyes, then your hands, as they reach to inspect one particular bruise.

Like the flow of a current. And yet, even the calmest waters can have dangerous turns.

He feels his fists tightening over his own lap. He wants to confront you about Wilbur. He wants to ask you, to hear what you have to say. And it’d be so easy— because you deserve more than this. You deserve more than living in a tiny wooden cabin, than remaining trapped between four walls. Better yet, you deserve more than following him, than having to stand every fit, every accusation. And Sapnap knows— he knows you’ve been nothing but kind to Wilbur— and he has yet to have seen him return it.

But things are complicated ( hell, aren’t they always? ) because he wasn’t meant to be there— he wasn’t meant to listen to that conversation. He wasn’t meant to know. But he does— and that’s an issue, isn’t it?

“What is this?” You murmur, making the boy beneath you straighten. His dazed amber blink a few times as you lean back, putting some distance between you. His hand instinctively reaches for the spot you gestured, making him wince. As far as he can tell, it’s a pretty bad bruise— one by the side of his jaw. There’s a cut— one he hadn’t taken note of before he came here.

You shake your head, turning on the faucet by your side and dipping a piece of cloth. You exhale, leaning closer to clean the bothersome injury. “You should be more careful, you know. I can’t keep patching you up like this.”

His amber meet with your e/c as you look back up to see his gaze. You’re close— too close. Sapnap gently shakes his head, the corner of his lip curving upward as he chuckles. “But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully as you slowly set the cloth down. “And yet you still visit.”

“Yeah,” he begins slowly, softly— uncharacteristically soft. You feel his fingers wrapping around your waist— and, strangely enough, you don’t stiffen this time. Because something has shifted— you both know that. It no longer feels like walking around broken glass, but rather a familiar path. Sapnap leans closer, carefully setting his chin over your shoulder. And with his lips ever so close to your ear, he hums, “but this way I get to be closer to you.”

Your cheeks explode with red warmth, heart stuttering within your chest at the words. Gods, he’s so— so—

“Idiot,” You mutter, matching his quiet tone.

You two remain in that position for a few moments, nestled against each other, basking in the seconds of peace— of silence. The ephemeral moments in which the world is asleep, when walls and alliances don’t exist, when it’s only you and him.

Sapnap inhales quietly, body relaxing as he leans against you. Amber eyes slowly flutter open after a few seconds, before they land on his bag. He bites his tongue before reluctantly shifting away from you, now face to face.

“I found a few golden apples in one of my chests.” He says after a beat. “I… thought you could give them a use.” He sees the way your brows furrow together, lips parting, about to protest. After all he’s the one with wounds being treated not you— which you should know is a pretext to see you. Because, yeah, maybe Sapnap is a little banged up, but he’s seen worst days. And, if he’s being honest, he couldn’t have cared less about his own bruises. Hell, add it to the list of untreated injuries he’s had during the past years and move on. And yet…

And yet here he is. Sitting in front of you like some banged up puppy— which should feel embarrassing, but somehow it doesn’t. Because instead of humiliating thoughts, Sapnap finds himself thinking about how warm and comfortable you feel next to him. About your conversation with Wilbur. About what Punz told Dream at the Community House. And, soon enough, he’s realizing every single one of those thoughts revolve around you.

And fuck, he should be kicking himself because shit he’s down bad— six feet under type of bad. And yet he can barely process the thought when a new one sends his mind is reeling back. His fingers tighten around your waist slightly, gaze hardening.

“I heard about the wither incident.”

You straighten underneath his grip, e/c gaze meeting his evenly. Something flickers within your eyes, a glint Sapnap doesn’t manage to place before it’s gone. You shake your head, the corner of your lips twitching upward. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m okay, Sap. You don’t need to worry about me.”

I want to.

Sapnap bites the inside of his cheek, turning to look away. When he leaves — which he’ll have to do before the sun rises, before the people of both L’manberg and the SMP wake up — he’ll leave his bag there. By mistake, he’ll tell himself, knowing those three golden apples will be put to better used by you than him.

But for now, he sits. He lets you clean and cover his bruises, offering a smile to wave off Sapnap’s concerns. And as you tend to his injuries, he notices your gaze is too gentle. That bright look in your eyes is too naïve.

He looks away, feeling as his insides curl with a sour feeling weeding there. Thoughts of tomorrow. Thoughts of the real world— the one that lies outside your cabin, the one that will await you both in mere hours.

Yet here you are.

And, gods, he will not be the one to tell you that not everything can be fixed with a smile.

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EIGHT: If you jump, she might catch you, and then you’d have to watch as she tumbled through the dark.

The sun has long since risen over the walls of L’manberg, and the country is quiet.

It’s eerie, strange, unseen. Because as soon as sunlight touches the land, L’manberg is already coming alive with its people waking up. It’s peaceful on occasion, sure, but its never quiet.

You turn to look around, wondering if you somehow missed something. Everyone— everything— seems to have fallen asleep without previous notice, even when it’s well past noon.

It’s as if the world around you is preparing, bracing for something. But for what, exactly?

“What the hell?”

The voice comes from the forest— the one that grows just by the west wall. It’s Tommy’s voice, that’s a given— yet it sounds different. It’s enough to send alarms through your mind, and with quick instincts you reach for Fundy’s axe and hurry to the trees.

“Don’t fucking move.”

You’re met with Tommy’s back, blond head of hair looking down at something. You can’t manage a good look, that with Tubbo and Eret’s backs facing towards you. You weave through branches, jaw tense. “Tommy, what’s—”

The blue eyed boy turns to face you, shoulders stiff and nostrils flaring. You move your head ever so slightly, gaze flickering back to Eret, who shares a similar stance to Tommy’s. “What’s going on?”

The boy moves to the side, and you swear your heart drops to your gut. Because standing in front of the three boys, with hands cuffed together with a pair of metal bands, is Sapnap. His hair is a mess over his white bandana, eyes dead set forward as he avidly avoids your gaze. His face is bruised with injuries you’re certain weren’t there a few night ago. There’s a cut by his cheek, a bruise by his jaw and an arrow by his shoulder. You take a hesitant step forward, eyes never leaving his frame. They look new— brand new. This isn’t— this wasn’t a fair fight.

Wilbur’s words from your first days echo within your ear drums. Everything’s fair in war, dove.

You should know that.

“We saw him climbing the wall.” Tubbo begins stiffly, sharing a look with Tommy. “He was trying to get into L’manberg.” He reports, voice uncharacteristically monotone.

You inhale sharply, finally taking your eyes off Sapnap and onto the other three. You nod at Eret, jaw tight. “I’ll take it from here.”

Tommy’s shoulder bumps against you as he once again takes a stance in front of you, snarl curling onto his lips.

“No, no, I will.”

Tommy glares down at Sapnap, and although his back is stiff and his shoulders are bunched, you can feel the resentment radiating off him in waves.

“Tommy—” Eret begins.

“No, no, you know what?” Tommy snaps, temper slowly getting a hold of him. And yet, despite the evident anger in his tone, its not directed at Eret— it’s not directed at you, either.

For the first time since you got there, Sapnap looks up. Not by choice, anyway. You don’t realize when Tommy unsheathed his sword. You only feel as needles of anxiousness prick against your skin all at once, watching as the boy uses the sharpened iron to lift Sapnap’s head.

“You’re the reason we had scarce food in the beginning. Why we had less access to resources from the start.” He bites out.“You’ve been a thorn at our side for long enough, bitch.” And despite the words are leaving his mouth, it doesn’t sound like Tommy at all. If anything, he’s starting to sound like Wilbur.

“Wilbur said we’d need something to assert that we’re not messing around. That we’re not pawns in a game Dream is here to play.” Tommy’s jaw clenches and unclenches. “This is war.” He says solemnly, finally. “And wars have casualties.”

The world warps around you, and if you’re being completely honest, you’re not sure what happens. One moment, you’re watching Tommy ( Tommy, the same boy that used to have bright blue eyes— eyes you don’t recognize anymore ) raising his sword. Time slows down. Then, you’ve risen your axe as well. Time speeds up. And then—

“Stop.”

You’ve risen your axe, yes— you’ve risen it against Tommy. You don’t know when— you don’t know how this happens. But it’s too late, and the damage has already been done.

“Tommy, drop the sword.” The boy freezes, as do Tubbo and Eret beside him. They both have swords, you realize, yet none of them dare to move. They can’t move. You inhale deeply, trying to hide the way your wrist trembles. “I’m only gonna say it once, Toms. Drop it.”

Tubbo scrambles to speak, unable to find the right words. He takes half a step forward, blue eyes confused. “Y/N, what are you—”

Tommy turns around, eyes equally puzzled as Tubbo’s— but there’s something different. Something you can’t— you don’t want to place. His chest rises and falls.

And then, he drops his sword.

“Now back away. Slowly.”

Your heart hammers against your chest, your knees want to give out, and your limbs feel as if they’re made of wire. Despite your throat feeling as if there’s stones lodged inside of it, you hold onto your axe like a lifeline. You hold it up to defend the same boy that you should be standing against. You hold it up to defend Sapnap.

And there it is— because he knew. All things burn out eventually and he knew. And like an long awaited omen, here it finally is.

Your own fall from grace.

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NINE: She is too good. She is so good, and you cannot bring yourself to ruin one more good thing.

Huffs and pants. Ducks and parries. Swings and misses.

Dream and Sapnap sparring was routine to them long before the war started— months before L’manberg even existed. Once, it had just been the two of them. Laughing, teasing, mocking, promising to make the other kiss the floor.

By now, they both have each other’s movements memorized. The way Sapnap is more brutish, while Dream is more calculating. How Sapnap will go for the chest, while Dream will aim for the legs. One will jump and the other will duck, one will pull and the other will push.

In a different world, they would’ve been each other’s perfect enemy.

Just as Sapnap is about to land another blow with his sword, amber eyes briefly catch sight of a silhouette outside. It’s a jarring sight, especially considering he’s looking right outside the Community House — ergo, their territory. Because there you are, underneath the glowing sun, sitting by the edge of the bridge with your feet inside the river water.

Dream hits the back of his knee, almost making him lose his balance. Amber eyes narrow at a smug pair of green.

“What’s got you so out of it today?” He asks as he takes another swing at Sapnap, who narrowly ducks before striking back. Metal clashes against metal.

Sweat clings to his forehead, dark brown hair falling messily over his white bandana. “Nothing.”

“Don’t worry,” Dream’s lips quirk upward into a knowing smirk, voice deceptively understanding. “She looks like she’s enjoying the new company.

Sapnap pushes Dream back with his sword, a pit forming within his stomach at his words. And, before he can help himself or even think better of it, his eyes are flicking towards the window. True to his word, you’re standing outside with Punz, who stands too close for comfort. The blond hovers near you, that damning smirk clinging to his lips as he tilts his head slyly. He mouths something that Sapnap isn’t quite able to get. What’s he saying to you? Why’s he—

Dream ducks and sweeps his leg, sending Sapnap straight onto the mat with a loud oomf. A groan escapes him at the sudden hit, though it’s not nearly as painful as his bruised ego.

Green eyes peer down at him with a grin, before offering a hand. Sapnap rolls his shoulders as he takes it, standing back up. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it, before his eyes return to you.

Dream raises a brow— not curious, but intrigued, if that makes any sense. Not unknowing, but rather wanting to pick Sapnap’s brain.

“You’re distracted.” He states bluntly.

Sapnap rolls his eyes, finally moving along and tossing the practice sword onto one of the tables. “Thanks.”

Dream chuckles, a similar sound echoing as he mimics Sapnap’s actions. He tilts his head to the side. “You’ve gotten soft, you know?”

Sapnap turns to face his friend, folding his arms over his chest. “Oh, really?”

Dream only shrugs nonchalantly, golden hair and green eyes the picture of innocence— but he knows better. Because one of the many advantages of having someone like Dream as a friend is that, with time, you learn to read him. Not like an open book — Sapnap’s certain that’s not possible when it comes to Dream — but rather highlighted words in a redacted document. Not clear intentions, but enough to see the puzzle pieces of a blurred picture. Dream shrugs as he heads towards the window. “Gotta say, she’s full of surprises.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sapnap scoffs, and to any stranger, he would have sounded amused— like an inside joke between friends. But Dream hears the faint stiffness to his words, the sourness, the tentativeness.

It’s Dream’s turn to look down at you— in a literal sense, of course. You’re… intriguing. At least, in the same way a riddle is. His green briefly glance at Sapnap, who’s joined him by the glass pane. He’s interested as to the effect you’ve had on his friend— as to what you plan to do next. And Sapnap may have let his guard down already, but Dream? Well—

The freckled man drops his shoulders with a lazy smile. It’s calculated, meticulously designed— and this time, Sapnap misses the intentions behind it.

“Don’t know. I kinda always thought she’d end up with Wilbur.” He nudges his friend’s shoulder. “I mean, all it takes is one glance at them, well…” he notes the way Sapnap stiffens, making Dream quirk a brow. “They certainly look the part.”

Amber meet green. His voice sounds hoarse, unsure. “You think so?”

The green eyed one nods. “Oh, yeah, absolutely.” He gestures with his hand. “I mean, it only takes a look to figure it out, don’t you think? They look like they’re cut from the same cloth. Whereas us…” Dream’s gaze shifts down to the scars in their hands, before flicks his fingers against Sap’s chestplate, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Well, something tells me you’d much rather have a sword than a pen.”

Sapnap tightens his jaw, before pushing himself away from the window and towards the stairs. “Whatever.” He mutters, missing the way Dream’s lip twitches upward.

He hates it, but Dream has gotten into his head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

TEN: You will not watch her crumble under the weight of your sins. She is too light, too breathless to be caught up in the dizziness of your heart.

“Hey, you okay?”

You nudge Sapnap’s shoulder with your own, making him sag a little to the side. Curious eyes peer down at him, brows raised upward. The water of the lake kisses Sapnap’s ankles and legs, colorful fish close enough that if he wanted, he could reach over and touch them.

Sapnap hasn’t always liked water. In fact, when he first stumbled upon the Overworld, he found it repulsive, the mere sight of it making him want to back up. Now, however, he relishes in it. A small, fleeting semblance of peace in a world of chaos.

“Huh?” Sapnap shakes his head, snapping back to his senses. He licks his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, fine.” He exhales softly, a bittersweet expression taking over his features, amber gaze drifting away from the lake and onto you. “I feel like I should be the one asking you that.”

Perhaps you hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath seems to hitch for a moment, a split second of tenseness before reverting back to an easy smile. He does— he always does. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, nodding your head slowly. “I’ll… I’ll be okay.”

It’s a lie. Even if you’re unaware of it, it’s a lie. Because, yes, Sapnap wanted you to come with him. Yes, he wanted you to leave those obsidian walls behind and join him. But he wanted it to happen under your own terms. He wanted it to be your decision, not your only option.

Sapnap’s jaw ticks. You deserve more— so much more. And it’s unfair that this happened to you— that it happened because of him. All because he wanted to take a risk and see you during the day, knowing, fucking knowing that it was a stupid call to make.

You look back at him, amber eyes conflicted. He inhales sharply. He wants to say something else, he does, but before he gets the chance, he hears footsteps behind them. They’re not light at all— if anything, they’re obnoxiously loud. As if they’re trying to make their presence known.

Amber eyes meet with Punz’s icy blue ones. His white hood rests over his head, yet still revealing stray blond tufts of hair. The mercenary tilts his head, axe slung over his shoulder with his other hand stuffed inside his pocket. “Dream wants to see you in the planning room.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes, a light scoff resonating within his chest. “Tell him I’m busy.”

Punz raises a brow, almost amusedly. “I wasn’t talking to you.” His blue drift away from Sapnap’s now straight frame, and center around you. The corner of his lip twitches upward, and Sapnap’s jaw tenses. “He wants to see Y/N.”

“Me?” You frown, puzzlement etched onto your features. As you stare back at Punz, you manage to miss the way Sapnap’s hand inches closer to yours, almost as if wanting to reach for you and pull you away from the mercenary. “Why?”

Punz shrugs, almost too nonchalantly. It makes Sapnap narrows his eyes. “You know the ins and outs of L’manberg, don’t you?” He clicks his tongue, taking his hand out of his pocket and offering it to you. “All information is valuable at times like these… wouldn’t you agree?”

If asked to place the sourness that spreads throughout his chest almost instantly, Sapnap wouldn’t be able to answer. It’s… odd. Unfamiliar. It started spreading as soon as Punz began talking, and for the life of him, Sapnap cannot tell what it is. All he knows is that he hates it.

You hesitantly reach for Punz’ hand, reluctantly standing up from the lakeside, when Sapnap’s hand latches onto your other wrist. You turn down to look at him, only to find his gaze dead-set on the blond.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He says, voice cold. And surely, you agree.

Punz quirks a brow, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah?” He asks condescendingly. “I don’t remember asking.”

Sapnap’s body grows tense, and he’s ready to stand up and knock that cocky smirk off his lips, when you stop him. You simply offer a smile. It’s a genuine one— he’s seen enough of those to know the difference. “It’s— okay.” You lick your lips, biting down your tongue. And Sapnap doesn’t miss the way your body looks straighter, stiffer. “I’ll handle this, yeah?”

He wants to say that no, it’s not okay. Because despite understanding Dream’s want for information, it’s too soon. You’ve barely joined a few days ago. The scars are still too new, too fresh.

And as he watches you walk away, Sapnap can’t help but think how fucking unfair this whole situation is.

And so, hours continue to pass, the sun already nearing the horizon once again, and you’re still nowhere to be seen. Something reminiscent of concern itches at Sapnap’s gut, fingers distractedly picking at blades of grass to try and ease his mind.

He has yet to move from the spot where you left him at. After all, you’re not all that familiar with the place. So, he agrees it’s a good idea to remain at a site he knows you’ll be able to find.

Then, as he lays against the ground, he hears it. Distantly, almost getting carried away by the wind, he finally hears your voice.

Relief and delight crawl onto his chest (and gods, is he really that smitten with you?), and before he can even make sense of his actions, he’s turning around, ready to stand up and greet you—

And then he sees it.

In the distance, maybe all the way across the Community House, he sees Dream walking beside you. It… it almost sounds as if he’s laughing, yet he’s wearing his mask. Which means he’s not letting his guard down— he’s using you. As for what, Sapnap can only imagine.

That sourness from earlier returns, except this time is more acidic, more dangerous. And just when he’s about to stand up and see for himself what Dream is planning this time, a voice snaps him out of his reverie.

“She can handle herself.” Bad murmurs, so softly, yet so unwavering. His dad barely even offers him a glance, eyes boring into a small book by his lap. The man raises his gaze only slightly, but it’s enough for Sapnap’s shoulders to slump at his sides. “There has to be a reason why Wilbur had her as his second in command, right?”

There’s truth to his words— there always seems to be. Much like you, Sapnap’s dad doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the people from the SMP. It’s… odd. Makes you wonder why he ever accepted joining Dream’s Kingdom, when he prefers to keep away from conflict. And there’s something so… calming about his presence. Like he always knows what to say.

Sapnap inhales sharply, and exhales softly. “Yeah.” He mutters, mostly for his dad to hear. He vaguely registers George lingering nearby, knee-deep into the lake, but opts to ignore him for the time being. Bad’s right. There’s a reason why you were Wilbur’s second in command— you’re quick, clever. And yet everyone can commits mistakes. Misteps. And in a new environment, surrounded by the same people you were told to stand against, well— that’s enough to throw anyone off balance, isn’t it?

Bad hums. “Something on your mind?”

Sapnap bites his tongue, turning to look away from him before nodding. “Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Bad nods with a small shrug, watching as his gaze turns back to focus on you. “Okay.” He says quietly, tilting his head curiously. “Well…” Sapnap’s gaze turns to Bad. “If it makes you feel any better, she looks at you the same way you’re looking at her right now.”

A pink heat creeps onto his cheeks. “What?” He asks, more out of surprise than an actual question. Bad simply returns to read the book by his lap, lips curled into a small smile.

Sapnap bites his cheek. Okay, now he sees it. He’s messing with him. Ha ha, funny. “How exactly, huh?”

George — who up until that moment had remained a silent listener — finally parts his lips to speak, before Bad swiftly cuts him off. “Ah, too complicated to explain.” He waves him off. “You’ll figure it out.”

Sapnap furrows his brows, turning to George, who shuts his mouth closed, shakes his head, and rolls his eyes— all as if to say, fine, suit yourself.

Eventually, Bad decides it’s time for him to head back home, and bids them goodbye before heading down the prime path. And yet, despite his absence, his words still create a weird echo in Sapnap’s mind. He tries to shake it off more than once, but it always ends up coming back to him.

“Alright.” George clasps his hands together, before reaching for a bucket with a tropical fish swimming inside it. “I’m going head back for now.” He turns to Sapnap expectantly, who still remains sprawled against the grass.

“What?”

George huffs. “Are you coming?”

Sapnap groans exaggeratedly, making George let out a vague sound of displeasure to hide his amusement. “Ugh, fine.”

The two head down the wooden path towards George’s still unfinished home. As of the moment, it only has one room with all four walls up— and there’s no one to blame except for George’s laziness.

You’ll figure it out. And just like that, that nagging echo is back. You’ll figure it out—that’s what Bad told him earlier, wasn’t it? Figure out what, exactly? Sapnap’s gaze drifts off to George. He looked like he knew what Bad was talking about, right?

Sapnap licks his lips, clearing his throat. “Hey, uh, what was that all about?” George’s apathetic brown meet with Sapnap’s amber. The former raises a questioning brow. “With Bad, earlier?”

Recognition sparks in his eyes. “Oh.” George says simply. “You mean about Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

George stares at him for a moment, ever so unreadable, before a snort escapes him. It makes Sapnap straighten, while the latter looks awfully confident— as if he’s certain he knows a secret Sapnap’s not privy to. “You’re a clueless idiot, you know that, right?”

Sapnap’s lips twist. “What the hell?” He shoves the brunet to the side, making him stumble. “Okay then, fuck you too, George.”

A laugh leaves George, as if the whole situation is so unbelievably entertaining to him. He covers his mouth to stop another fit of laughter. “Oh my gods, do you just genuinely not know?”

Annoyance creeps onto his tone. “Know what?”

George blinks once, twice. Then, he stares as his friend for a moment, looking at him as if Sapnap’s suddenly grown another head. “That girl literally turned her back on her friends, on her country for you.” He begins, shaking his head. “And you’re too much of a coward to accept the fact that you have feelings for her.” Then, he shrugs relaxedly, as if he’s not the reason Sapnap’s ears have turned red with embarrassment and something he’s unable to place. “To be fair, she probably does too.”

George continues to walk, bucket hanging from his hand, barely acknowledging the fact that his Nether-born friend is no longer walking besides him.

Sapnap heart stutters inside his chest, a warm, familiar heat taking over his whole body.

“She what?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time Sapnap comes back to the lake, he’s surprised to see you sitting by his previous spot, warm rays of sunlight against your back as you lean against your palm. He walks towards you rather hesitantly, this time with a flutter in his heart that he hadn’t noticed before. Or perhaps it always was there, and he just couldn’t tell what it meant.

Sapnap takes a seat next to you before he even realizes he’s strayed away from the prime path. He licks his lips before asking, “How did everything go?”

You inhale sharply. “Um, fine.” You bite your tongue, turning to face him— this time without a smile, neither genuine nor fake. You exhale. “I… I think.”

Sapnap licks his lips, watching as your hand falls besides you instead of your lap. It’s close to Sapnap’s hand— maybe too close. But this time, he finds he likes it. Even without touching, feeling that warmth he always finds himself chasing.

“Earlier you said you were okay.” Sapnap sets his lips into a line, shifting on his spot as he turns to get a better look at you. “It’s alright if you’re not… okay.” He’s awful at this. He can feel pink starting to dust his cheeks— because gods this is embarrassing. He clears his throat awkwardly. “What I’m trying to say is things changed. Quickly. But, um,” Sapnap inhales softly. “I just wanted to say, uh, thank you.” He nods slowly, as if in affirmation. “for what you did back in L’manberg.”

You don’t smile, he notices. Instead, you simply nod curtly before averting your gaze towards the lake. “Don’t take it to heart.” He frowns. “Tommy… he’s just a kid. Reckless, but still an impresionable one.” You scoff, shaking your head. “He was just reciting bullshit Wilbur’s said in the past.” You turn to him again. “It was… nothing. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Stop doing that.”

You raise your brows, surprised by Sapnap’s sudden cutting tone. “Doing what?”

“Selling yourself short.” He shakes his head. “Playing it off as if you don’t do great things for others— for me.” He watches as your gaze softens, his voice nearly cracking. It’s a weight, a pile of stones, still on his shoulders, yet about to fall. “You could’ve chosen to stay quiet. To watch the others do whatever they planned on doing.”

He stops for a moment, and you watch as this boy — the same boy with those beautiful amber eyes and pretty brown hair — looks like he may just crack open in front of you.

Sapnap’s voice grows quiet. “And yet you helped me.” He says, slowly, unsurely. “And I don’t really think I deserved it.”

You turn your head, leaning closer to face him. “Sap…”

He shakes his head vehemently. “Just—” he stops, reconsiders, and continues, “I-I don’t know if you made the right choice, okay?” Your hand is close, so close— and this time, he decides to reach for it. It’s tentative, hesitant, and he feels as if his heart might explode when you intertwine your fingers against his. “There’s no turning back from here. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think this place is the best place for you.” He licks his lips. “What I’m trying to say is…” Amber meet e/c. And it’s different this time. Because things have shifted one too many times between the two of you, and yet this is different. A new sort of different.

“I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, the corner of your lips curling into a small smile. “I know.” You murmur, eyes carefully scanning his face. “And you don’t need to worry about me.”

Your words ring a familiar tune. He remembers it clearly— back in your cabin. Back before everything went to shit. He remembers the warmth, the closeness, the you don’t need to worry about me, Sapnap.

This time, Sapnap doesn’t bite his tongue.

“But I want to.”

And there it is. That feeling stirring inside his chest— he doesn’t know what it is. But he’s felt it before. Almost like a swarm of butterflies in his gut, a heat in his chest. He knows it because he felt it when you encountered each other in the Nether. When you trudged back, perhaps too close to call each other the enemy. When you met by the cherry blossom trees, craving each other’s presence too much to be mere acquaintances. When he went by your cabin, wanting to stay close to you, near you— with you.

He’s leaning closer. His eyes shift from your eyes and down to your lips. He can feel your hand closing around his, and he’s certain his heart skips a beat when you do.

Not enemies, not acquaintances, not friends.

He swallows, remembering what George told him only less than an hour ago. There’s a blush on your cheeks— one he only notices because of your closeness — but it’s enough to make him smile. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

What does that make you?

The butterflies are there again. The skipping heart, the blush on his cheeks— he’s down bad. But it doesn’t sound too awful, does it?

Amber eyes meet your own. He’s close to you, so close in fact, that your nose nudges against his. Your e/c flutter closed as he inhales shakily.

He leans in, hoping, praying, that this isn’t him be misreading this whole situation.

Your lips meet his with a smile.

REASONS TO KISS HER

ONE: She loves you, and her eyes are closed, and didn’t your father ever tell you not to leave a good thing waiting?

ADDITIONAL NOTES… thank you for reading!!! this one took over two months to finish writing so i hope you enjoyed! please try to leave a comment and reblog as they’re the main thing that keeps me writing <3 even if it’s just a keyboard smash, i love to read all of them :DD

Sapnap scoffs. “This is inequality. So unfair.”

“All is fair in love and war, Sapnap,” the voice beside you, which you had come to realize belonged to Dream’s, coos. Your heart does weird summersaults at the sound—probably irritation or some shit.

You come to the realization that you are still in the car, protected from the sun’s harsh light by the roof overhead. The car is running smoothly; from outside, trees and buildings and crowds flash past, all vastly different from your home. Florida, your brain supplies, but it isn’t as scary as you thought it was going to be.

“Yeah,” Karl snorts, “which is why you’re giving Y/N the same treatment as us.” You peek an eye open at the sound of your name, yet no one seems to notice.

“What?” Dream sounds embarrassed. “I am giving the same treatment, don’t be stupid.”

“Y/N is literally sleeping on you right now,” George points out.

Oh.

Wait, you are?

Dream holds back a laugh, and the grip on you loosens, but he doesn’t push you away, still. “You think I’m gonna throw you off the window if you sleep on my shoulder?”

Quackity groans, rubbing his eyes furiously. From what you can see, it seems as if he had just woken up—and if it was like your situation, woken up because of the boys’ clamorous bickering. “Can you all shut the fuck up before I throw all of you out the window?” he slurs.

You can’t help but laugh softly, catching Dream’s attention, who was the only one close enough to hear it.

“Oh,” Dream says, “hey. Good morning to you.”

You push yourself off of his surprisingly comfortable shoulder, a yawn escaping your lips as a soft noise. “How long was I out?”

Glancing at the front, you spot a Quackity who’s back to sleeping ( poor guy must’ve been so tired after his outbursts of excitement ), George sitting right beside him gazing out the window, Karl holding a phone while scrolling through Spotify, and Sapnap who waves at you with a free hand. Karl scolds him, so he quickly retreats back to two hands on the steering wheel, sheepish.

“Long enough to say that we’re home!” Sapnap announces cheerfully, followed by Karl’s equally enthusiastic whooping, George’s monotone yay’s, and Dream’s grin.

Quackity isn’t as thrilled about their noises. He tells them to shut up. Tired Quackity is great entertainment.

“You were drooling, you know,” Dream points out, grinning.

Now that you’re awake, you can feel how close he is to you—too close, actually—and swear that the car somehow got warmer at the sight of his smile.

You roll your eyes, unimpressed. “Liar. I never drool.” Well, he doesn’t need to know about that.

“You did,” he continues, feigning seriousness with the sudden solemn look flashing on his face. He’d make a great actor. Very expressive. He should be up on a stage instead of sitting on a car beside you right now. The car feels stuffy. “It’s alright, though, I get it. No one can help it when thinking about me.”

You don’t know if it’s because you’re seeing his face so suddenly, but you feel your heart hammering too loudly in your chest—and you pray to the big guys above that he doesn’t hear it. From the times you’ve hung out with him, you can proudly say that he has an ego, which is something he shouldn’t have in the first place.

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Never say that ever again.”

Dream looks mildly offended.

Not long after, you all arrive in Dream’s home ( judging by how the blond’s face lit up with elation. Not that you’d miss it anyway; Sapnap keeps screaming to wake Quackity up while George is already threatening to carry him up all the way there ).

Well, if you can even call it a home. Your house is an ant compared to Dream’s goddamn mansion, and that would be saying a lot considering it’s average-sized, already too wide for one person.

“You have a swimming pool!?” Quackity screeches, running over to the said pool, face completely scrunched in awe.

Maybe all that sleepiness disappeared the moment he caught sight of the blue water crashing against clean tiles, an invitation for you to just dive in and stay in there for hours.

“Yes, I do,” Dream chuckles, unlocking the front door, before swinging it open to reveal the inside, which somehow looks better than it does outside—and to think it wasn’t possible when you were already starry-eyed at the sight of healthy plants decorating his modern-themed home.

Although it looks just like every house in the neighborhood, the potted plants, flowers, and the overall intricate decorations— not to mention the cat toys here and there like easter eggs— it feels different; it feels like it’s simply built from scratch with their bare hands, which is incredibly cheesy for a Minecraft YouTuber’s house.

“Holy shit,” Quackity says. You’re starting to feel like you aren’t hallucinating and he’s actually shaking.

Dream Team house, as they like to call it, and your heart warms at that.

“Only Sapnap actually uses the pool, though,” Karl comments, helping you stroll your luggage inside. He smiles as you look around with wide eyes, soaking in every detail of the interior design. “You like it?” he asks, coming to a stop beside you. “I helped make it nice and pretty for you guys.”

“It’s fucking awesome!” Quackity squeals, running around and twirling in the open space. He sprints upstairs despite Dream’s half-hearted reminder to not slip on the floor. He slips five seconds later, but loudly assures everyone that he’s okay.

George joins him as they explore the house further, while Sapnap volunteers to set your bags in your respective rooms.

“I call dibs on Sapnap’s bean bag!” Quackity yells from upstairs, muffled by layers of walls—presumably in Sapnap’s room.

Sapnap perks up at that, suddenly alarmed. “What? You can’t sleep there, asshole,” he calls out, nearly dropping Quackity’s luggage.

“Yes, I can, actually,” Quackity replies smartly.

Sapnap blinks, lips pursed. “No, scratch that, I meant you shouldn’t sleep there.”

“I’ll sleep on Sapnap’s bed,” George says, completely irrelevant to the conversation, but Sapnap still reacts accordingly, horrified.

“You have your own bed, George!”

“Okay? I didn’t ask,” George says, sticking his tongue out to mock Sapnap further. “I literally don’t care. Ratio.”

“This isn’t even Twitter,” Sapnap protests weakly. The poor guy.

“Okay,” Dream blinks slowly, “Well, if three of you are sleeping in the same room, then I guess Quackity can take George’s room, and Y/N takes the guest room.”

“Cheers,” you and Quackity exclaim in unison.

Something warm snuggles up against your ankle, catching your attention rather quickly. It’s Patches, meowing for your attention. When you kneel down to her height, she backs away carefully, but doesn’t move too far where you can’t reach her—she’s watching you carefully, green eyes wide.

She reminds you a lot of her owner.

“Hi,” you murmur warmly, offering your hand out for her to sniff, “you’re Patches, aren’t you?”

She meows, nuzzling against your fingers. Then, she looks up, and skitters off.

When you follow her gaze, you realize that Dream’s standing right behind you, staring at you the same way Patches was: alert, curious.

“She’s shy,” Dream says, smiling. “But she’s good, I swear.”

The sunset is pretty from Dream’s terrace window, tracing everything it touches with a soft orange glow, including the floorboards that creak every now and then as Karl, Quackity, and George continue to push each other like six-year-olds.

Patches had strutted in, walking past the three boys who are borderline wrestling by now, and settled in on your lap, her head tilted where you can pet her properly. George mentions how lucky you are to not have Patches run away the moment you raise a hand, and you tell him that you are like a Disney princess or something.

All of you are seated in Dream’s living room, waiting as the blond mentioned something about he had something cool to show everyone.

“I have a gift for you,” Dream sings, using his arm to push the door open with his hands occupied. All of you look up at him from upstairs, watching the way he hops down the flight of stairs with glee.

Sapnap looks up from his phone, eyeing the box carefully with his eyes squinted. “Is it up in your bum?” You laugh quietly, because you ( guiltily ) understood the reference.

“You wish,” Dream retorts. Sapnap’s face can only be described as ‘absolutely grossed out’.

He sets the box down on the floor, right at the center of everyone who huddles forward to get a better look. Dream peels it open, revealing a stack of clothes that look fresh out of a factory, the printed art still glossy and brand new. There’s each one for everyone, all different colors and different designs.

“Why does Y/N get Valentine’s day merch but we all got milestone merch, huh?” Sapnap accuses playfully, eyeing your gift with feigned distaste. He clicks his tongue, shakes his head, then tells him to just give it to you.

“I-It’s just coincidence!” Dream defends. No one bothers to humor him. “You said those were what you guys wanted, right? So I gave it to you!”

“Yeah,” Quackity scoffs, but slips his hoodie on anyway with excitement, “and you didn’t ask Y/N what they wanted so you coincidentally chose the merch that’s literally celebrating people sucking each other’s faces off.”

“Quackity!” both Karl and George gasp, dramatically scandalized by the man’s choice of words.

“That’s so obscene,” Dream wheezes, yet no one can deny the dark flush that startled out of his skin at the accusations. “And that is not what Valentine’s is all about, ‘scuse you.”

You’re only listening half-heartedly, too focused on the beauty curled up in your lap, sleeping peacefully. Patches is purring slightly, lying with her stomach completely exposed and her tail wrapped loosely around your wrist. You can’t stop the smile on your face.

“You wanna see obscene?” Quackity challenges, standing up from his seat. “Come here, Sapnap, let’s show them obscene.”

Sapnap, clueless, forces himself off of the sofa to saunter over to him. Karl joins in without a word, and then they dissipate into gross loud kissing without actually kissing, nuzzling into each other’s faces.

“Stop! No! Not in front of Patches!” George cries out, but he’s clutching his stomach from laughing painfully.

While they continue with whatever they’re doing, Dream strolls his way to you, before sinking into the spot beside yours.

You don’t look up, completely aware of Dream’s presence since the moment he came in the room—he was almost like a pebble in your shoe, persistent; always making his presence known until you physically have to shove him out.

“Patches likes you,” Dream observes, stroking Patches’ head, who relaxes eagerly into Dream’s touch.

You don’t know why he did that, because now his fingers are brushing against your thigh here and there, and you swear your face is getting hotter each second because of the stuffy vicinity.

“Of course she does.” You resist the urge to jolt when Dream’s pinky lingers a little too long under Patches’ head, right where your skin blooms flushes because of his touch. “I’m very lo— I’m very likable. Obviously.”

You mentally curse yourself for stammering.

“Sure,” is all Dream says, cooing at a purring Patches on your lap. When he leans down to kiss her head—which she really adores because her paws reach for him instantly; a heartwarming sight—your heart lodges in your throat.

A part of you wants to look away, to erase any possible memory of this moment, yet you keep staring, as if entranced.

“What are you even doing here?” you force out, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you look so lightheaded. “You think I’ll start throttling Patches if you look away? Hm?”

Dream pulls away, leaning back to reach for something beside him. “Yeah, here. My gift. As a little thank-you for visiting Florida.”

Your heart soars, unfolding the large hoodie underneath your fingers. Printed right where the chest is supposed to be, is a red heart, followed by a static line to indicate a heartbeat.

Clearing your throat, you turn back to Dream, who’s staring at you expectantly, intently. “You paid for it anyway, so.” You shrug, earning a short laugh from him. “Besides, don’t act like I came here for you.”

Dream scoffs. “Well, don’t act like you didn’t.”

Then, he laughs at your stunned silence.

“Hey, you lovebirds!” Quackity calls out, beaming. You haven’t seen him this happy, so maybe this was also for the sake of your best friend having the time of his life. You also choose not to comment on what he called you and Dream, for the sake of your sanity. “We’re going to swim, you down?”

You glance down, before blinking up at Quackity. “I have a cat sleeping on my lap.”

“I’m not blind,” Quackity says dryly, stalking over to you. “And that’s not a good enough excuse to back out. Come on!”

Patches meows in protest.

a/n: hiii if you think this chapter is short its because i split it in half because my tumblr crashes n stuff if i post all of it sjhfhd

anyway yeah please reblog or comment! likes are appreciated but your feedback means more; it's the only thing keeping this series alive

You ignore everything going on around you, as you usually do. No one would want to bother some high schooler with eyes that can kill anyone on the spot. No one would even want to bother you, period.

It seems as though the universe disagrees with this logic today.

Once the yells turn faint, out of earshot, you’re swooped away until you’re turning to a sharp corner. It takes you three seconds to realize there’s an arm around your waist guiding you to who-knows-where.

“What the fu—”

“Shh,” the creepy dude beside you hisses. He has a nice voice, which is the first thing you notice. But it seems as though he’s panicking because it sounds more like a squeak in his throat.

“Don’t ‘shh’ me, asshole, this is illegal!” you retort, but politely keep your voice down anyway, since the way his grip tightened around your waist was a warning.

When you glance up, you manage to make out sharp frantic green eyes scanning the area and dirty blond hair tousled carelessly to the side. He looks like he just got out of a street fight, which in itself is already a big red flag.

That is until you look down and see a familiar green and black tight spandex suit peeking out of his big ass jacket. And without any words, you already know exactly what it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, “you’re that Spider guy.”

His smile is painful and his steps are still hurried. Are you in the middle of a fight right now? “Yes. Spider guy, sure, sure.” He takes another sharp turn.

You’re shocked. “Aren’t we supposed to not know what you look like?”

“You can be an exception for now,” he mutters, still high on alert.

“I don’t feel as honored as I’m supposed to be.”

He gives you a side-eyed glance, finally acknowledging your wariness. “I feel insulted,” he says, sounding amused.

“Yeah,” you grumble, “you should be. This has to be illegal somehow—”

Spiderboy’s arm slings over your shoulder, and before you know it, you’re pinned against the brick wall.

Fortunately, he softens the impact on your head with his hand in between you and the hard surface, but that doesn’t stop the gasp that flies out of your lips—just out of surprise.

If anyone else were to see you two in this position, they would’ve assumed the worst.

The way he’s leaning so close, one hand behind your head to cushion your head, the other on your waist, and his eyes dead-set on you as if he’s trying to burn holes into your face with just a look—

Oh, it might be working, honestly.

Because now all oxygen is swept away from your lungs and you’re dizzy with the proximity and his heavy breathing fanning your face.

Thank the heavens that he’s not the only one blushing at this position.

You try to force out a glare, though it’s frail and barely any use in threatening him. “You know, once they see Spiderdude in this scandalous position, they’re gonna start rumors and shit.”

He smiles, sheepish, darkness flushing his cheeks. He pulls away slightly—thank God—but he’s still close enough to leave everyone wondering if you two had the indecency to make out in some alleyway. Honestly, people have seen worse here.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “But they won’t notice, I promise.” He gestures at his large jacket. “They won’t recognize me, so no one will care.”

“I care,” you tell him, feeling warm again when he presses closer as some people rush by to hide. “I care a lot— Wait, those were the police! Did you steal something?”

He shrugs, finally setting you down and giving you enough space to breathe. Not that it mattered much; the way he looks at you is enough to leave you breathless. “I stole their jobs if that counts,” he says with a lopsided grin.

“Hm, fair,” you say to yourself. He chuckles, which was a pleasant sound that you decide right then and there to never hear again. Spider guy likes getting on your nerves, it seems. “I have to say, you’re not the smartest if you chose me, of all people, to trust with your identity, Spiderboy.”

“It’s— uh, it’s Spiderman,” he corrects you politely.

You make a face, unimpressed. “Tomato, tomato,” you recite smartly, to which Spidermanchild blinks at. “Look, man, I’m already running late to my first class.”

His gaze is questioning.

Weakly, you wriggle your arm, hoping he’d get the hint.

His green eyes widen, immediately releasing you from his grip. With an apologetic smile, he grins nervously, as if still trying to keep up that friendly neighborhood hero facade. “Sorry, sorry. Uh, if you want, I can swing you there?”

“You can’t just do that, dumbass, your face is still naked—”

He yanks something from his jacket’s pocket, waving his mask around with a cocky smile that makes you narrow your eyes. “I come prepared.” He pulls it over his head, now having the suit blink at you. “Don’t underestimate me, of all people.”

“I’ll start estimating the minutes it would take to call the police right here, right now if you don’t take me to— WHOA!”

In the blink of an eye, you’re high up in the air with Spidermanchild’s arm carrying you ( how strong is he!? ) with the other shooting webs from his wrist. You scream right at his ear, but he seems unfazed—in fact, he’s laughing! He’s laughing at your terror.

Quickly, you wrap your arms around his neck before you start falling to your death, but it wasn’t like you were going to, either, because Spiderman seems confident in his ability to carry you all the way to your school.

“Wait, how did you even know which school I go to?” you ask. Or, well, scream, more like.

He coughs, almost stumbling for a split-second. “Lucky guess?”

After a few more minutes of bantering and flying through the air with some white strings ( how the fuck? ), you arrive at the floor where your next class is supposed to be through the hallway’s window.

Although it is pretty suspicious that this city-famous ( probably world-famous ) superhero knows the exact floor of your classroom, you theorize he can also read minds as well, so maybe you’re not that special.

Spiderman’s barely breathing heavily. Then again, he does this every day, so must’ve taken in some pretty good stamina. You, on the other hand, are ready to pass out cold on the floor.

You didn’t even realize how warm it was to have Spiderman beside you until he sets you on the floor and you’re shivering again.

“Wow,” is all you can say, after the rare experience of Spiderman being your ride to school.

Spiderman laughs, and it’s bright—the kind that leaves rainbows in everyone’s eyes. It’s easier to hear how low his voice is when you’re far from the bustling crowd. “Get in before your teacher whoops your ass.”

“Right.” Blinking awkwardly, you tug on the strap of your bag, and then give him a two-finger salute. “Don’t think that I owe you anything by the way!”

But he’s already swinging away.

You whirl around and run into the classroom with a wide smile plastered on your face.

⫘⫘⫘ · 🕸 · ⫘⫘⫘

Class is boring, as always.

You’re only half-listening to the teacher, too occupied in recalling the moments with the hero earlier. You just swung to school. With Spiderman. And no one in your class knows; they’re staring at the whiteboard, without a single thought behind their eyes—without knowing that one of their classmates had the luxury of being in the arms of Spiderman.

( Albeit, you were a bit cranky to the dorky hero. )

Mr. Phil clicks his tongue. “So nice of you to finally join us, Dream.”

Boredly, you look up from your notebook and almost choke on air at the sight of the new guy who just walked in the room, bag tucked in between his right arm instead of over his back, as if he just picked it up in a hurry.

The teacher clears his throat, looking ahead as Dream shyly makes his way over beside him. You’re wide-eyed, following his every move. When he meets your eyes, he flushes and looks away, which only confirms your suspicions.

“This is a transferee. Be nice to him.” Mr. Phil stares. “Yes, that includes you, Sapnap.”

Sapnap, the boy with the fiery grin, splutters. “I didn’t even—” Everyone smothers a laugh from beside him, earning a glare from the former.

“Go sit there. We saved it for you,” he points at the chair in front of you, which is, in fact, empty. Dream smiles awkwardly as he makes his way over to you, while you’re still gaping at him as if he had grown two heads. “Alright, anyway. Back to the lesson—”

You quietly kick on the leg of his chair, but it seems as though he sensed your assault on his seat before you can even hit it, because he already has his head tilted until he can see you. The same green eyes, same freckles, and same smile.

Holy shit. It hits you.

Spiderman is literally your classmate.

Dream flicks a note to you with a web of his attached to it. It lands gracefully on your lap, which you blink at. You unfold the paper.

We’ll talk later - Spiderboy :) ☆

⫘⫘⫘ · 🕸 · ⫘⫘⫘

Lunch rolls around but your friend, Karl, is already dragging you away from your classroom as soon as everyone starts deserting the classroom, which meant that the ‘talk later’ would have to come later-later.

“Dude, no, I swear!” Karl laughs, as sunny as daylight. “George seemed nice.”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “You can’t keep bringing in randos to our table just because they talked to you in class, Karl,” he chides, but his tone is playful and light.

Dream keeps staring at you.

Although you can’t even see his face, the goosebumps that arise on your skin along with warmth on the back of your neck only serve to tell you that Dream is staring at you. When you take a sharp glance at him, his green eyes immediately snap away—but you were right.

“Why not? Isn’t that what I did to you?” Karl teases, nudging the younger multiple times to the ribs. Quackity bursts into laughter as he tries to wiggle away from him. “Now look at us: inseparable!”

Dream is only a few tables away, and yet… Yet it was—

It was distracting.

“Why is Y/N having a staring contest with the new kid?”

At the sound of your name, your head snaps back into place, staring at them like a deer caught in headlights. They share a look. You cough, “Uh, sorry. He keeps staring at me.” You weren’t exactly lying to be fair.

“You want me to tell him to fuck off?” Quackity asks, completely serious.

“What? No, no, no. Don’t do that. That’s rude.”

“Okay,” Karl drawls, mischievous, “but it’d be kinda funny, though.” Quackity nods in agreement and you want to whack their heads off.

“Hey.”

You three flinch. None of you even noticed that he had already made his way to your table, hands shoved in his pocket, and smile unsure. Dream swings on the balls of his feet awkwardly as you all just stare at him—which is, admittedly, unsettling, since no one is saying anything.

Dream clears his throat. “Can I… borrow your friend for a bit?” He gestures at you.

Quackity tugs on your arm, glaring. “Why?” is his instant question, which is fair.

Dream raises his hands in surrender. “Just wanted to have a talk! Nothing that bad, I swear—”

Karl pushes you off the chair; not hard enough to hurt you, but enough to make you stand up and almost stumble into Dream’s body. “Go! It’s okay!” His eyes are wide and his smile is sly, which Quackity says ‘what the fuck?’ at.

⫘⫘⫘ · 🕸 · ⫘⫘⫘

As Dream guides you further away from your friends, he has his hand on the small of your back, asking, “Did you tell them?”

He probably means tell Karl and Quackity.

Although you probably would’ve told them if you even remembered, you were too distracted with the fact that you know Dream is Spiderman and he is the new guy ( not to mention that he keeps on fucking staring at you ); this is valuable information and you don’t know why you’re so flustered thinking about it.

“No,” you reply, “should I?”

Dream panics. “No!” he says sharply, which is louder than both of you expected. He blushes in embarrassment. “No, please. Uh, three people are enough people, I think.”

Three?

You shuffle on your feet, chewing on your lip to seem as if you’re being casual ( you’re not; your heart is racing and you don’t even know why ). “Well? Did you need anything else? ‘Cause I just said that I don’t owe you anything since you used me—”

“Don’t say ‘use’ that sounds weird.”

“—for your little scheme,” you finish, grinning at him triumphantly.

His shoulders sag visibly. “Are you still onto that?”

You nod.

He smiles, small, as if he’s trying to hide it but is failing miserably. “How about I pay you back by taking you home?”

You narrow your eyes at him, noticing how squirmy he gets under your scrutiny—it’s kind of amusing. “How are you so sure that I walk home, hm?”

“I wasn’t, but the fact that you’re saying that probably means that you do,” he shrugs, “or am I wrong?” Dream’s eyes are cunning when staring right into yours.

Damn smart-ass.

Your scoff is enough of an answer for him.

⫘⫘⫘ · 🕸 · ⫘⫘⫘

Your ride home was much more pleasant than the first, at the very least.

In awe of the view from up here, you almost forgot that Spiderman is literally the one carrying you and swinging you around out in the open, for anyone to see. You won’t be surprised if questions start to bombard you the next day, especially when you’re not wearing a mask like him.

“Pretty, right?” Dream asks, and you still get surprised by how he doesn’t sound breathless at all.

“Yeah,” you breathe, biting your lip to keep away the bright smile on your face. “Yeah, it is.”

Dream stays silent for a moment, and you can’t tell where he’s looking.

“No one else can get this experience, you know,” he starts, firing out more web thingies as he makes another sway. You hold onto him, leaning closer, and he clears his throat. “D-Do you feel honored yet?”

“Hah. It’d take a lot more than that,” you muse, hearing how he huffs under his breath, yet sounds amused all the same.

Was this flirting?

Are you seriously flirting with Spiderman, of all people? Is that what’s happening here?

Either way, it’s pretty fun.

It doesn’t take too long until you tell him where your house is. You said that he can just drop you at the front; he hesitates, but does so eventually.

“Thanks for the ride, Spidermanchild!” You grin at him as both of you do the two-finger salute.

You’re confused when you notice a piece of folded paper with neatly-written numbers ( though, the little smudges tell that he’s erased it multiple times ) printed on it.

⫘⫘⫘ · 🕸 · ⫘⫘⫘⫘

it’s around eleven PM when you hear knocking from your bedroom window.

Alarmed, and of course, armed with the knowledge of enough horror movies, you stay in your bed, curled up in your blanket. Moonlight reflects on the floorboard, depicting a shadow of a fit and bald figure, but it’s the voice that makes you sit up.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

“What the—” Scurrying off the bed, you unveil yourself from the blanket and come face-to-face with Dream, still wearing his dumb spandex hero outfit. “What are you doing here, Dream?” you hiss, yet unlock your window anyway.

“Hi,” he sounds breathless this time—no, in fact, he sounds as if he’s wheezing from pain. “Sorry, your house was the closest— I just— I need somewhere to stay.”

“Oh.”

Without another word, you usher him inside, telling him to lie on your bean bag.

When he rips his mask off, he reveals his sweaty and bruised face, eliciting a soft gasp from you that he perks up at.

“No, I’m okay,” he says, laughing slightly at your panicked expression. “Sorry, is it that bad? I can lea—”

“I’m getting you water,” is all you tell him, scurrying outside. “Stay there!”

When you come back, Dream is walking around and gazing upon the litter of polaroid pictures hanging around your room. You should feel embarrassed and tell him to fuck off, but he’s smiling wide as his eyes land on a baby picture of you, so you let him be.

“Drink up,” you say, handing him the glass of cold water. He smiles gratefully and sips every last drop, before pulling it off his lips and sighing heavily. “Jeez, does this happen every night?”

“It’s the life of a hero.”

He looks happy here, even when in an unfamiliar place. Maybe it’s because you didn’t kick him out so he let his guard down—and that thought makes your heart ache somehow. He says that there are three people who know his identity, but the way he’s strolling around like a lost puppy seems like you’re the only one he went to first.

“I don’t mind if you… If you come back,” you tell him, looking away as you flush under his questioning gaze. “Let me take care of you to pay you back, I guess.”

The look on his face can only be described as smug. You throw your pillow on his face as a response.

⫘⫘⫘ · 🕸 · ⫘⫘⫘

The next time he comes, you have the window unlocked for him for when he visits. Which he does often, if often falls under the category of ‘every single day’.

As it turns out, the other “two” were George and Sapnap, who, coincidentally, sat at your table the next day because of Karl inviting them. This meant that Dream has an excuse to stick by your side all the time, no matter where you go.

The others brushed it off as Dream being clingy, but it’s affecting you a lot more than you realize. He must’ve noticed, though, because the way he talks to you is borderline flirtatious. it’s driving you crazy.

Yet nights like this, when he slides your window open and you’re waiting for him, is just as addicting.

“You play Minecraft?”

You look up from your hands, which were unwrapping bandages that you bought just for him. It’s the least you can do for him to accompany you to school. And also because you think he’s cute. Whatever.

His green eyes are glued to your computer screen, which had the familiar game open. He’s still bruised up—worse than last time, actually—but he wasn’t lying when he said that he heals fast, because the open cuts are already stitching themselves back together.

Still, you told him that you need to clean it up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, dragging him down by the shoulder to make him sit down on your chair. “Why?”

“What’s your IGN?” he asks, looking up at you.

“You gotta earn that, buddy,” you joke, reaching out for the disinfectant.

He pouts and instead reaches for your keyboard to type something out in chat, his green eyes lighting up at the sight of your name on display.

<Y/IGN> imastinku poo pooo

“You’re so dumb,” you say as his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “You can’t even spell right.”

“Your keyboard is seriously so small,” he laughs, which falters for a second when you press the cotton right on his wound. He hisses, but the grin is still wide. “Look at that: my hand covers almost the entirety of it.”

Your cheeks heat up under his gaze. “Shut up.”

Finally, you pull away and breathe out in relief to see his face all cleaned up. “Try not to let yourself get thrown off a three-story building, okay?”

He has this dumb dopey smile on his face as he stares up at you. “That’s harder than you know. Every fight must end with someone getting thrown off a three-story building.”

“I’ll throw you off myself.”

Dream laughs harder this time, wheezing slightly as his fingers find place on both sides of your waist. “Just— c’mere and shut up.”

He pulls you to him until you’re straddling his lap, which is fucking awkward and probably worse than when you two first met, but it’s comforting, so you find yourself relaxing without meaning to.

“You got your dumb white strings all over me,” you mumble, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

“You’ll manage.”

“Oh no,” you mock, “unweb me, Dream.”

“WHAT?”

HELLO! PLEASE READ!

thank you so much for checking this fic out :0 it’s truly an honor to have so many people support me. all i ask from you guys is to comment and reblog this fic! it doesn’t have to be much—it can even be one word—but it’s just to support me :)

MASTERLIST | LIBRARY RECS

@smolpotatotea @wrenqueenisboss @tenacioushubb @randokku @captainofthe6 @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy @bergandysam @cloudybillows @junieyes @nonsensicallynarnian @iwantblacktea @wingedghostpepper @god1ngs @97c1a9 @missmickeyexe @echoteaa @marshymallo @alex--awesome--22 @notdaninotfound @gray-moon2 @sereinics @paradigmax @dublafox @aash-nah @madituck @citruswood @unknownwicked @toodeepintofandoms @its-linh @kaynori @dukina @mayempress @ninkieminjaj @2bi2-function

chosen child by Sircantus

Tommy gains the blessings of three gods, who want to watch over him on his journey to change the world. It’s everything Tommy could’ve ever wanted, but it’s not something he ever actually thought was within his reach.

(In which three gods give Tommy a chance.)

He asked me to pray to the God he doesn't believe in by sircantus

He swears with all his heart that if he turns his head and presses his ear to the soft grass, he can truly hear Her voice. A sweet, gentle lullaby. An open hand coaxing him to the other side.

Technoblade feels nothing but fear.

---

(In which Technoblade has never, not once, met Lady Death.

He doesn’t believe in her.)

If anything happens, I love you by Jura_lyn

The happy family is broken, no one left to pick the pieces back up. The only person who could, the sunshine in everyone's day, isn't there anymore to care for them

Or

Tommy died

Boy In The Bubble by eneliii

Techno stares at him impassively, eyes glued to his nose which makes Tommy shift uncomfortably. “Where’d you get that?” He asks, tone casual.

Tommy stiffens minutely before forcing himself to relax. He shrugs, “Ran into a fucking door, it’s so stupid honestly.” He fakes a dumb grin. “Why? Is big man Technoblade worried?” He mocks.

Techno continues to stare at him, eyes narrowing before he rolls his eyes. “Just say you’re lying if you’re going to lie that badly,” He sniffs haughtily, tapping his fingers against the desk.

or in which,

Tommy tries to learn to ask for help, Wilbur and Techno are ready to beat up a certain someone, Phil is just trying to be a good dad for godsake, Tubbo is a blessing and Dream has too many issues

I'm nothing but a problem, leave you crying overnight by orphan_account

He makes it to the end of his street before it fully sinks in that he, Tommyinnit, is officially fucking homeless. He has nowhere to go.

Aka Tommy's parents aren't the best but his friends are there for him

Title from Wilbur Soot's "Your Sister Was Right"

why are you so sad kid (well the fact is) by HaloRocks1214

Tommy always wondered why exile went the way it did. After all, if that kind of stuff was the consequences of his actions in real life, then why would it be different in the game? But then Wilbur and Dream constantly checked up on him to make sure it never got too intense, made sure he took breaks whenever he needed, always told him to ignore Twitter at all times possible, and all in all started to make him think: were his parents actually in the right?

Well, leave it to his other friends to remind him of his place, at least.

Or that fic where not only actions have consequences, but words do as well.

Dear Theseus by rabiddog (or anything by rabiddog really)

Tommy had thought that they'd won - thought that they'd finally beaten Dream, and that everything would be okay. As it turns out, however, apparently Dream had called in that favour from Technoblade after all.

-

“Please,” Tommy whispered after a beat, quivering hands edged upwards to hesitantly press against the tip of the sword striking through his chest. Why, why, why? Why him? Why now?

not so bad by piteouspeculiarity

“Can I sleep at yours tonight?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t sound like the massive favour you were bigging it up to be,” Wilbur seemed hesitant, clearly worried about asking too many questions when Tommy had already warned him away from them.

“Bitch,” Tommy said fondly, relaxing into his chair and ignoring the curious glances he was getting from his teacher and social worker. “I also may need you to drive to my college and talk to some people so that I’m allowed to stay over at yours. You don’t have a criminal record, do you?”

Tommy makes a mistake that ends with his teachers finding out more about his home life than he'd ever wanted them to. Wilbur finding out was just icing on top of the pile of shit he was calling a cake.

You can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest by Jura_lyn

Tommy knows that Wil and dad need to talk about this kind of stuff to him. They can’t talk to each other, because that evolves into even more shouting, so they can only talk to Tommy. Tommy understands this, he doesn’t mind listening to them.

He just wishes they would ask him how he’s doing.

They don’t notice how he’s getting worse. He isn’t eating anymore, he barely sleeps and he feels numb more times than he would like to admit.

—

“Fine. Whatever, Y/N, you can go decorate the tree since Sapnap absolutely needs you to help him,” Dream scoffed, turning on his heel and walking off.

George scurried off after him like some stupid dog, and as soon as both had turned the corner, you mustered your best glare to send Sapnap.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He slammed his hand down on your shoulder, causing you to hiss in pain at the unnecessary force, “Just trust me, my dear little Y/N.”

You spent the next half-hour trying not to strangle Sapnap with a garland while he attempted to place the ornaments on the tree in an aesthetically pleasing way. You had hoped that things would be better with the fairy lights, but judging by Dream’s frustrated shouts and George’s laughter, your hopes were misguided.

A few minutes later and the four of you were regrouping in the living room once more.

George was the first to speak, groaning, “I don’t care anymore, I’m done with this.”

“What-” “Shut up, I’m tired.”

And then there were three.

After some light discussion, you all agreed to put off the rest of the decorating for tomorrow. It wasn’t like anyone would be seeing it anyway.

You didn’t expect to wake up the next morning to a fully decorated home.

“What the hell? Did Santa send his gremlins to throw up all over our house?” Sapnap grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he took his usual seat at breakfast. “No, I did it.”

Dream? You looked up at the blond, standing next to you as he poured everyone glasses of water.

George gulped down an entire glass, wiping off his mouth, “You threw up?” “Knowing us, I decided to just go ahead and do everything in the middle of night. So we could actually get this done,” Dream said, sitting down and slicing into the stack of pancakes on his plate.

He wasn’t wrong. That didn’t mean you didn’t feel bad for not offering any help though.

“But that’s so much work, you could’ve asked for help,” you frowned. He smirked down at you then, mouth full of pancake, “Don’t worry, you’ll have many opportunities to make it up to me today.”

The sheer suggestiveness of that statement made you choke on your food, but the way he continued to stare, as if enjoyed your reaction, made your face flare up with heat. Before you could question it, however, he swiftly moved on to talking about some video of George’s that he hasn’t edited yet.

You finished up breakfast rather wary, still wondering about what Dream had said. You tossed his words around in your mind over and over again, trying to decipher what the hidden meaning in it was, or even uncover a hint as to what he was talking about. Of course, you came up with nothing.

Until you crossed the doorway into the laundry room.

“Woah, close one Y/N, you almost ended up with George,” Sapnap said from behind you, an off-handed observation that made you turn around. George was walking out, his hands full of his laundry as he looked up at the small plant hanging from the top of the door frame, “Oh, there’s mistletoe.”

You breathed a sigh of relief that you had just narrowly missed George, though you were confused as to who was enforcing the stupid mistletoe rules, “Thank God, that was a close one.”

“Don’t sound so happy,” George muttered, shoving your shoulder a little too hard as he walked out.

You noted that these things had sprung up overnight, meaning Dream was the culprit. Suddenly, you were struck with the thought of getting caught under the mistletoe with Dream. Biting on the inside of your cheek, you shook the image out of your head, not wanting to risk betraying your thoughts on your face.

The second time you nearly ended up caught under this problematic plant, was when you were exiting the kitchen. You had made sure to walk in when no one else was around, but walking out was a different story.

As you poured yourself some coffee, Sapnap walked into the kitchen, followed by Dream shortly after. You guessed that they had planned to walk in one after the other to avoid any mishaps. Muttering a hello to them, you walked around them to leave.

Dream, who had busied himself with peering into the fridge, shot up then.

“Damn, there’s really nothing in the fridge, guess I better leave the kitchen to go out and get more food!”

It was almost comical, how the next few seconds panned out.

Noticing Dream walking towards the exit, you froze, wanting to save yourself the embarrassment of having to kiss him if you both landed under the mistletoe. So, you moved out of the way. In his haste to leave, Dream ran into Sapnap, causing him to stumble backwards a few steps.

You shut your eyes, expecting the loud crash of two idiots falling onto the tile floor. Yet, none came. When you opened your eyes once more, you were hit with the urge to laugh. So, so, loud.

Both Dream and Sapnap stood under the mistletoe, staring at each other with a mix of contempt, confusion, and fear.

“Well, well, how the turn tables,” you hummed, grinning widely when Dream looked over at you with pleading eyes.

“I am not going to kiss you.” “Yeah, I’m not kissing you either. No offense, but I’d rather lick the inside of a toilet than touch lips with you,” Sapnap forced a gag, much to Dream’s dismay.

“Okay, hold on, what’s so bad about kissing me? A toilet bowl is better than me? You know people piss in there?” “Yeah, no shit. Still better than kissing you though.”

Not bothered enough to stick around for this stupid argument, you slipped out while they were too busy with their shouting match.

A few hours later, you had busied yourself with Minecraft while Christmas music blasted in your room. It was rather boring actually, you’d been attempting to practice your parkour skills but even parkour got boring after a while. Though you weren’t really paying attention, hence the amount of times you had died. You were thinking of mistletoes, and more specifically, ending up under one with Dream.

You thought about how you had almost had that earlier, in the kitchen. You and your long-time crush, Minecraft streamer Dream, standing beneath the mistletoe. He seemed almost excited then, but you couldn’t be sure. You concluded instead, that it would have been awkward. Neither of you would be able to look at each other again, and you’d forever replaying that kiss over and over again in your mind. It’s not like he was genuinely interested in you, despite what Sapnap and George might suggest to you.

“Jeez, imagine being this bad at parkour.”

His voice jolted you out of your self-pitying trance, and you turned around to glare at him, “Not everyone is a loser who practices Minecraft parkour in their free time.”

He almost looked offended. Almost. But there was this mischievous, knowing glint in his eyes and unsettled you. It also brought butterflies to your stomach, making you squint your eyes at him in suspicion.

Dream breathed out a sigh, looking out into the hallway, then meeting your eyes once more. He cleared his throat and pulled something out from behind him, holding his left arm up in the air. You don’t even have to look up, but you do anyway, gaping at the small plant he held between his fingers.

“You’re joking.” “Look, it’s a mistletoe, you know what that means,” he chuckled awkwardly, and when you didn’t reciprocate his smile, he rushed to look away.

You were struggling to process what had just happened, what Dream was doing. Did he even like you? Or was this just a dare he was completing because backing down was so foreign to him?

Trying to gauge his intentions, you stared at him (well the side of his face since Dream still refused to look at you), “Do you actually want to-”

He turned his head so fast, you expect him to break his neck, “Yes? Was that not painfully obvious from the mistletoe I stuck everywhere? Or from literally everything else?”

Well. Apparently, you were an idiot.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Standing up from where you were seated, you bring Dream’s arm down, leaving your hand to linger against his forearm. He looked down at you expectantly, and you smiled. You felt him relax, his shoulders dropping as he let out a sigh.

Reaching up, you placed your hand against his neck as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Dream quickly wrapped both his arms around your waist, dropping the mistletoe he was holding, tugging you closer and kissing you once more. He tasted like peppermint, you assumed it was because he’d been stuffing his face with the peppermint bark the four of you had bought a week ago.

He tightened his hold on you, bringing his right hand to your face, sliding his thumb over the apple of your cheek and titling your head to the side for a better angle. Your heart fluttered with a sickly sweet feeling, a smile tugging at your lips as you held Dream close to you.

When you pulled away, he was grinning, "You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that."

Laughing, you reached for his hand, but dropped it as soon as George's screeching noises of excitement interrupted you.

"Does this mean that Dream is officially taken?" Sapnap asked, only to get hit in the face with mistletoe.

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