Summary: They/Them. A series of moments. Any publicity is good publicity, right? Well accidentally falling into beef with arguably the most popular Minecraft streamer in recent memory certainly keeps you relevant. But as time goes on, you realise more and more that staying relevant isn't the most important thing in the world.
A/N: 3009 words. i gotta stop adding 'i dont know what this is' to my authors notes but also i don't know what this is. i was listening to Happier Than Ever, but also OverHeated has better vibes for this fic. im actually incredibly happy with this one, like deadass a fan of my own wording lmfao. please let me know what you think. also i wrote this on my phone and welcome to 3.30am ive lost all control of my life.
Warnings: choking imagery but nothing actually serious.
You blew up by accident, but isn't that the way it always seems to go these days?
---
"Wait, who? Dream, no I don't know who that is," you laugh dismissively, "contrary to popular belief, I don't know every online personality in Florida; it's a big place... why would I know a Minecraft youtuber? That's the kind of content that gets millions of subscribers on YouTube now? I thought we moved passed that."
In hindsight, it was kind of a shitty thing to say, and despite the fact that you'd been thinking of what you knew of the gaming community in the past few years, it still came off as arrogant. Usually you weren't one to portray yourself as arrogant online, you'd come to be known as something of a Zeitgeist of online society, your mind had been elsewhere at the time. You didn't know Dream, didn't realise he was much bigger than you'd been assuming, at least not until you'd woken up to his reply on twitter.
It had been deleted before you'd even properly seen it, probably only minutes after he'd posted it, but there were screenshots aplenty.
[incredibly bold words coming from a tiktok influencer 🙄🤡]
Your notifications were a bloodbath.
---
Despite your private apology, acknowledging what you'd said was out of line considering your own line of work, and his apology in response, admitting that he should have known better considering how rabid he knew his fans could get, there appears to be some hostility between the two of you. Publicly, that is.
It was all for show, though that was just between the two of you. The peanut gallery that was your audience paid good money for a fight like this, not that you'd ever voice that thought out loud. Considering how far apart your demographics were, and the size of your respective audiences, the way you two would interact kept you both relevant. Whether they were intrigued about the person antagonising their 'fav', or looking to clown on them, you both got a nice boost in numbers for each scathing interaction you'd shared online.
The people you had aligned yourself with socially ate it up too.
But something about their approval left a sour taste in the back of your mouth.
---
"It feels disingenuous," you huffed over a call with Dream, right after he'd posted a new Manhunt video to his main channel, "its a good video," you grumble.
"So don't send the tweet," he yawned, "or do; don't not tweet it if it's for my sake, I know you actually like my videos thats all that matters."
You press your lips together but hit send on [imagine posting essentially the same video 8 times,,, couldn't be me].
"You know I do actually think you're creative, right?" You tried to assure him.
"I know," and his voice is fond.
---
The city is fucking suffocating you and everyone's watching.
You feel like you'll be publicly hung for being genuine; getting famous on TikTok of all platforms has always felt a bit like that to you, but it didn't start getting constricting until all you want is to love and support creators outside of your bubble, outside of your shared demographic. The heat of early Summer is in your lungs, is choking you from the inside out.
And there have been times where you've considered running, considered never logging in again, driving until you're at a gas station two states over and gasping for air in a town where the people don't recognise you. You could stay there, if you really wanted, you could live in quiet obscurity if your heart really desired it. But it's its own kind of disingenuous.
[what if i drive until my wheels give out and then just stay there forever?]
[do you want company?] His answering text surprises you, and suddenly you can feel your heart beating in your throat. You ask if he's serious. He tells you he needs to get out of the city for a bit, even a few hours.
There's too many eyes in the city. On the road there's just his.
He's in your passenger seat and you're in your head wondering if this a fever dream, a mirage from the steadily growing summer heat. Maybe if you look directly at him, he'll disappear, so you don't, just incase. He opens the window, breeze catching in his fingers.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him looking at you for a moment. Part of you wants to thank him for his company; this is the first time when you've wanted to run, when you've actually had a reason to come back. Don't think too hard about that.
You want to thank him for the company as there comes a lul in the conversation, but the wind rushing past you steals your nerve. You stay quiet, and turn up the radio.
The afternoon is growing late. Soon, you will head back. For him.
---
So you lay on his bed on your back, staring up at the ceiling, dead silent as you hear him talking and laughing with his friends as he streams. If you make a noise, your cover will be blown, you'll ruin this good thing, this ruse. The evening is sticky hot but the faint breeze is sweet. Looking over, you take a moment to admire his profile, aglow in the light of his monitor, beautiful in the warm haze of the night. Something twists in your gut, and you look away quickly, a little overwhelmed with the moment. So you stare at his bedroom ceiling, laying atop his covers, listening to him laugh, and you stay quiet.
---
He likes several tweets about the latest rumour about you; apparently you're an industry plant. No-one is quite sure which industry, but they're sure you're a plant. One of your stan accounts posts a screenshot of the tweets he likes, commenting [those in glass houses 🙄🙄] which you like. It's routine. It's a game. That night, the two of you spend an hour driving around as the sun sets, windows down and music blaring; your grip on the steering wheel is tight and his hand is on your thigh. You don't talk about what happens online. You don't talk about a lot of things. The light from the sunset is flattering for you both; people would say you're pretty together, picture perfect together, but no-one's allowed to know.
---
You attend parties, dressed to the nines, and you send him a photo from your bedroom before the night even begins. His response is sweet, but he doesn't dare interact when you post photos online a little while later.
[wish you were here] you send from the party as the fake laughter and constant camera flashes begin to grate on your nerves, [nothing feels real]. And after waiting a few minutes and getting no response, you put your phone back in your bag, plastering a grin on your face. Smile for the camera, its what you do best, it's how you got here.
When you feel your phone buzz, when you see he's simply offered an alternative, for you to come over and spend the rest of the night with him, you give your first genuine smile in hours. But someone catches it in the back of a photo, or perhaps a video on an Instagram story, maybe both, and everyone wants to know what had you smiling so brightly, why you'd made such a quick escape from the party after.
[only smile I've seen them give without dead shark eyes] Dream himself quote retweets someone's screenshot, and your lip curls in distaste at that. It's business, but it hits too close to home. You want to reassure him that he makes you happy, but it feels too honest, too raw. So you bite your tongue, keep quiet, give a snarky response online with your head in his lap.
---
"No I don't have thoughts about Mask -" your lip curls derisively. You've been listening to it on repeat. "What makes you think I spend my time thinking about Florida Man?" He'd think it was ironic, think it was amusing; you'd hear it before it had been released, sitting on the end of his bed, chin propped up on your hand as you beamed at him. He seemed pretty nonchalant as he'd asked you what you'd thought, but as you'd given a gentle, adoring sigh that spoke volumes on its own, you'd seen the way his posture had relaxed, the proud little smile he'd turned back to his monitor to hide.
"Everyone's a musician these days I guess," faced with the invasive reporter, you rolled your eyes.
---
The people you call friends because you know you should hide the way they look down on gaming, on streaming; it's good for clout, but it's not like it's a real job. Don't they get that none of your jobs are real? Influencers are the lucky, pretty few, famous for existing at right place at the right time. You didn't expect this. You didn't grow up wanting to be on display like you are now.
They think you'll join in on their scorn, and though you've got your public beef, of course, you're heart hasn't been in it for a long time.
"Its clown on clown violence," you'd muttered darkly, glowering into the frypan you'd been put in charge of. Sapnap, cutting vegetables beside you, sorts a laugh, and asks what your friends would say if they could see you now. Quiet now, you focus on the sizzling pan before you.
"They'd think you've been a bad influence on me," you murmur, expression scrunching up. Becoming friends with Sapnap was inevitable, and was amusing to the rest of the world; taking a liking to your perceived arch-enemy's best friend was a delightful twist of fate.
After a long moment of silence, with only the gentle cooking noises to fill the space between you, he tells you he likes you better offline. It might be one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to you.
---
Florida is better than LA, socially, but not by much. There's less influencers per capita. Small miracles.
The nights feel long here, but maybe there's too much on your mind for you to get to sleep. You post on your IG asking if anyone was awake and nearby. Predictably your DMs are flooded, but you're not sure what you're looking for, what you want. A few other sleepless friends respond, asking if you wanna meet up, make some impromptu content. Everything about you had become monetised, even your insomnia; everything tastes sour as you read through their messages.
But Dream texts you asking if you want to go for a drive. You don't even ask where, you just say yes.
You're in your pyjamas when he picks you up, but then again so is he, brightly patterned cotton shorts against the fancy leather seats. There's already music playing when you curl up in the front seat, some songs you recognise, some you don't, but it's enough to keep your thoughts at bay.
Streetlights glowing rose gold along the highway, you don't care where he's going. Even in the dark, when you turn to look at him, you can catch the serious, pensive look on his face.
You want to tell him you love him, but you can't open your mouth.
He drives up the coast in the dark, until the sky and sea begin to turn lilac beyond the windows. On a lookout near a town whose name you don't know, the two of you sit on the hood of his car and watch the sunrise. He's got his arm around you, resting his head against yours, and for a moment, you close your eyes.
"I wish I could tell people how happy you make me," your voice the thought that had been plaguing for months, and Dream holds you a little tighter. He turns, in that moment, and presses a fond smile against your temple, followed by a kiss.
After a moment, you pull out your phone, and quietly ask if you can take a photo of the two of you. He hesitates, but only for the barest moment.
"Who am I gonna send it to; Sapnap?" You asked, though the moment may be more revealing than you'd intended, as the realisation flashes through your mind that the two of them had somehow become your closest friends, and perhaps the only two friends you honest felt like you could trust.
But it's enough to convince Dream, whose smile is half hidden with the way he's resting his head against yours, the two of you warm and full of joy in the light of the sunrise. Something about the photo has your breath catching in your throat.
You make the photo your phone background. He doesn't comment, but when you glance to him, you can see how wide his smile is.
---
The change is gradual. Bit by bit you force yourself back to being the person you started out as, the person you were offline, the version of you that you actually liked. It's the return of authenticity, of doing the things you actually enjoyed instead of whatever was on trend.
You didn't go to parties if you didn't like the people. You stopped making content with the people you knew were just using you for clout. You let yourself find joy in the work you did.
The people who mattered in your life respected it, applauded it, encouraged it. It felt good to laugh on camera and mean it. The uptick in followers may be from how genuine you were now being with the content you made, but with each day, you found yourself caring less and less about the numbers. It was freeing.
---
"I love you."
He says it first, late at night, for no reason that you can see. You'd been in his kitchen, one earbud in and video pause as you were whisper-ranting about how Tommyinnit didn't deserve the shit he got online-
"- he's good kid, and damn funny too! If I hear someone shittalk him in real life, I don't know, I feel like I'd start biting people - or maybe I'm biased, or need sleep; what time is it? -"
"I love you," and he's giving you this adoring look that had the words dying in your throat as you process the moment. He's sitting on his kitchen counter, wearing your merch hoodie, looking like something out of a dream you'd once had. Then, softly, finally, you find your voice and the words you've been longing to say;
"I love you, too."
His smile grows a touch wider, a touch fonder.
And you wonder where it came from, somehow without seeing how long the moment had been coming.
---
You agree to be on podcasts because the concept intrigues you, and happily and candidly admit that your shift in branding, in tone, in vibe if you will, was down to one thing; love.
And yes, finding someone was the catalyst, but it was realising that you didn't even like who you'd become that had been the driving force behind the change. You wanted to be able to love the content you created. You wanted to be able to love the version of yourself you put out into the world.
But the only thing the audience cares about, of course, is the revelation that you're in love.
---
[has enough time passed? am i allowed to admit publicly that i simp for @dream]
"Babe!" Comes shouted from the next room over less than thirty seconds after you post your tweet. The comes your boyfriend, practically tackling you, grinning from ear to ear as he bemoans how there's no way he can respond to that without giving anything away. You're cackling with delight at his dilemma, before pointing out that unless it was spelled out, no-one would be able to guess at the truth.
In the end, he quote tweets your post with [on your enemies-to-lovers arc i see].
---
There's an afternoon where you fall asleep on his sofa wearing one of his merch hoodies, one of his personal ones, oversized even on him, that had been tossed to the side but still clean enough for your liking. He'd been trying to get a cute and not-blurry photo of Patches in some of the new pet-merch, but she wasn't interested, clearly, preferring to trot out to you, curling up, radiating purrs by your stomach as you napped.
The photo he takes doesn't have your face in frame, but if anyone looked hard enough they could probably make an educated guess as to who was in the photo. There's something so soft about it, about how Patches was blinking happily at the camera as her little paws came to rest on your arm, warm and comfortable in the afternoon light.
"Patches, my beloved," you mumble groggily as you crack an eye open. It takes you half a moment to take in the scene, but you seem content to brush off her apparent favouritism by telling him that the hoodie smells like him. Your half asleep mind meant it to be an explanation for the cat's behaviour, but as you close your eyes again, you miss the way he goes vaguely pink and endeared, as you bury yourself further into the hoodie as best you can.
When you wake properly, you give your blessing for him to post it to Instagram. But the thing that catches you off guard is that he's made it his lock screen.
---
"Accidentally shittalking you might be the best thing I ever did," you murmur, tracing his features, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. He laughs, and your fingers follow the curve of his cheek. Like this, he is beautiful, and he is yours.
I have no idea how to express my absolute LOVE for your writing I just. it's so hard to explain but you make everything poetic but in a simplistic way instead of being over-the-top with description ??? like simple in a VERY good way ?? like it makes me set my phone down so I can cry into both of my hands. I literally don't know how to explain it but basically you are just MWAH MWAH your writing is THE beloved
I agree it is awesome! I have only read some of it but I can't wait to finish it! Ok I finished it and I'm like... maybe I should start shittalking more people online...
Ok wait guys! What if Dream has offered both Dan and Stampy to join the dreamsmp but they both declined because they knew that the children that one day looked up to them would have to move onto a more advanced version of minecraft that has wars and lore instead of random mods and having a dude with a weird name "attack" every month or so.
"The moon has awoken with the sleep of the sun, the light has been broken; the spell has begun."
When that time of the year arrives when the nights are getting darker and all sorts of creatures prowl the shadows, the atmosphere at Manburg High changes. Scary stories are told in the hallways, pumpkins are carved, and plenty of plans are made for trick-or-treating - and even the creepy basement that clearly says "No Students Allowed" suddenly becomes a whole lot more interesting.
➛ the dsmp characters included: Foolish, Eret, Will, Niki, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, Jschlatt, Philza, Technoblade, Dream, George, Sapnap, Quackity, Karl
➛ includes: short stories/headcannons with dsmp members
➛ the writing for the reader will be gender-neutral
➛ warnings: none, special warnings on the individual stories
➛ upload schedule: every day from the 25th to the 31st!
Summary: [Restaurant!AU] You came to The Prime Palace for an anniversary date with your boyfriend, but he’s been nothing but awful. Luckily, your waiter is every bit the charmer that he isn’t.
Word Count: 5.4k
Warnings: depictions of bad relationships + crappy significant others, mentions of alcohol
A/N: inspired by an argument i overheard at a restaurant once. find someone who treats you well!! and i hope you guys enjoy <3
•Ok but imagine he can actually do a really good British accent!
•He learned it because when he was in high school he wanted a role for a play so badly and the character was British so then for hours he practiced in front of the mirror on his British accent
•He would also record himself
•Kinda like a person with singing it was a British accent for Qauckity
•he didn't get the part
•But because his accent was so good he got the understudy and a different British role
•And then he met George
•And Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur and Phil
•But he mostly likes to annoy George of him being British
•So then one day he copied George being British
•Sapnap questioned him on why he was so good at being British
•he then spent hours lying in bed trying to forget how to do a good British accent
•It worked
•But he can now do a terrible British accent or a really good one
•But only Sapnap, George, the rest of the crew boys (Because they were all in the call together) and the people at the play and auditions know that Quackity can do am amazing British accent
•He promised himself if he ever goes to Brighton to see everyone up there he is going to make them all walk in and all of the Brits have to do an Amirican accent while he does a British accent.
•He will make them!
Summary: All if the things that you love about Gogy soggy doggy woggy
You love your boyfriend. You really do.
You love how he can read you like a book.
You love how he gives some of the best hugs.
You love how on rainy days he will try and help you make chocolate chip cookies even if he's not very good you try and help him. You love how after he streams he wants to cuddle with you.
You love how he loves seeing you in his hoodies and tries to make you guys go out for a walk or something that day as if you show you off to the world and say; "HEY this person here? MINE! Nobody can touch them!" You love how when he's nervous he will play with your hands.
You love how he is even more scared of horror movies than you are and with hide his face in your shoulder.
You love how his smile lights up a room.
You love how his laugh is contagious.
But one of the main things you love about him is how needy he is. Not really annoyingly needy but if you guys were to be cuddling and then you try and get up to use the washroom he will wrap his arms around your waist and protest.
And that's probably why he gives really long and comforting hugs. Like a mother.
It could be a welcoming hug or a sad hug or even just a I know I saw you all day today but I haven't hugged you enough! Hug. You don't care you love all of them.
Summary: You go on walks with Techno a lot and he really likes nature and stuff djgbsmakf sorry if I'm bad at summaries the actual headcanon is better hopefully
You love going for walks.
They're even better when they are with Techno, Your boyfriend, you really like going on hikes with him.
He actually really has an eye for nature. Like he likes flowers and enjoys the smell of a slightly damp forest as much as you do. He always knows what bird is chirping and can tell which tree is which just from its bark.
But probably your favourite thing about going for walks with him wether it's just to get to a store or for a hike or just around the block with the dog he will make sure that you walk really close behind him so if you slip and fall he has a chance to catch you or if a stranger comes over to you he can make sure they won't do anything.
Not that they would. He is just kinda paranoid. He also really loves holding your hand while you walk together. He just does. I think it makes a small part of him feel even more safe.
Theme ××> Highschool setting, Ambiguous relationship
Your friendship with Ranboo had always revolved around the sacred ritual of holding hands. And honestly? You're not at all complaining.
The handholding that occurs when you're being guided through a busy hallway.
The first instance of the hand holding experience ironically (or should it be un-?) coexisted with many other firsts. The first time you met Ranboo happened at the first day of school before first period, which all-in-all equaled to four firsts in the equation. Fantastic.
There was no telling at all why your English professor thought it was idea to require so many books to use especially on the first day of classes, but here you are in front of your locker, trying to bundle all the requested materials for first period. You didn't bring a big enough bag for all of these - well of course you wouldn't, because it's the first freaking day!
"You sure you got this?" Your friend said as she stepped back from her own locker, cautiously eyeing the amount of books in your arms that's obviously more than the ones she's carrying. Lucky her, Miss Johnson isn't so reliant on book references and focused in making the class more fun to not sleep to.
"Not like I can do anything," you both shared a shrug before saying your goodbyes and promise to eat together in break time. And you dread this part of your high school days the most when you turned towards the hall to your first class; there stood between you and your books is a sea of students rushing to reach their classes with a good minute or two left before the bell.
The clock turned 7:58 om the screen of your phone of which laid on top of the books you're carrying. In your desperate attempt, you tried to squeeze against the current of students going the opposite direction, mumbling your sorries as you popped out of the other side.
Almost bumping against another student who instinctively stepped back upon your appearance. Why is this school overpopulated? You can barely see the end of the hallway from all the heads blocking your view. But you pulled up your books closer to your chest once again, determined not to be late for your first day -
"You have Mrs. Cindy for first period too?" Startled from your game planning, you turned back to the student you almost encountered - only to crane your head back upon realizing the torso that blocked your view - and saw a bashful giant looking between you and your arms.
There were no three thick books in his arms, but you can clearly see an oversized bag slung over his back. You really should have been more prepared.
"Yeah, I assume you're a classmate?" A curt nod. You both turned towards the crowded hallways. "We might be running late at this rate."
There was an audible hum his way before your classmate offered a hand towards your bundle, nodding towards the hallway to the stairs when you gave him a confused glance. "Let me get that for you, it would be harder to navigate with that on the way," you would have protested more if not for the obvious soreness of carrying said books in the short time you've carried them - and yet he carried it with ease with just one arm.
The other signed for you to walk behind him, as you followed his shadow while the sea of students seem to part from his imposing figure. It reminded you of cars following close behind an ambulance. But this isn't as easy as cruising a straight road, something you've realized as more students started pushing against your sides, almost tripping you in the process.
That little nuance in your steps was enough to force a distance between your classmate with how easily long his strides are, your path once again blocked by fellow students. Cursing yourself from the mishap, you desperately tried to push past people as you watched the brown hair (your only indicator) go farther from view.
"Wait!" You don't even know his name to call out, the panic starts to sink in and your desperation comes in the form of ducking and forcefully slipping past any break in the formation of students. This gained you lots of angry glares and reactive shouts, but you could care less.
Seeing a break towards the stairs, you squeezed through the row and almost made out with the steps if not for a hand pulling you to stability.
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you weren't behind me from the pace I was going," but you only shook your head in response as the bell finally signalled the inevitable. The brunette cursed in front of you before adjusting his hold to your hand, looking you in the eye for acceptance. A nod was enough to convince him it was fine. "Just to make sure you don't get lost again. Now come on, Mrs. Cindy's very strict over attendance."
It was then that you've found out about your 'savior's' name and when you properly introduced yourself to each other outside of class, he asked you to call him by the nickname Ranboo instead. You couldn't even judge or question him about it, knowing full well you owed him for all the trouble he had to go through.
What was perceived as trouble then turned into unspoken routine of Ranboo just showing up and helping you navigate through first period rush each time, not missing a day unless he wasn't at school. That small window time of hand holding solidified the foundation of your friendship and you wouldn't have anyone else pull you through a hallway by the hand besides him.
The hand holding that occurs on special occasions where dances are commonplace.
Your opinion on school dances is iffy, more so when it comes to the topic of senior prom. What's stopping you from enjoying your night just chilling in your comfy clothes while tuning in to a stream by your favorite gamers? Apparently that came in the form of parents that want you to end your highschool experience with an unforgettable night out.
You don't even have a date. It was obvious at the troubled (sour) look on your face as you arrived at the venue, such were the observation of your dear friend Ranboo who was pleasantly surprised that you pushed through with attending senior prom. He had the same hesitation to skip senior prom, landing him in the same situation as you.
Shaking his head from the stunned daze he had upon inspecting how good you cleaned up, dare he say the most stunning he'd seen you, Ranboo watched as you pushed through the double doors into the events area.
Senior prom should be memorable in the best way possible, Ranboo tightened his tie with newfound purpose and determination.
"As we approach the end of our night, students, you may now enjoy the rest of prom dancing to your heart's content!" The ambient music ended as the DJ switched to slow dance songs, the lights around the place dimming as it is centered towards the dance floor, "Faculty members will be on the lookout for prom king and queen, so be on your best behavior!"
Placing down the wine glass filled with pink lemonade, you looked over your shoulder to where the emcee was standing earlier. You haven't been to other proms before but you were sure that mechanic isn't the usual, just basing it on the fact that the girls by the dance floor had the same confusion before reverting to showing off their dance skills somehow.
The sound of the chair parallel to yours pushing back forced your attention back to Ranboo, who's now adjusting his gloves and suit. "Oh!" It took you a second to realize what his next course of action was, hands curling to a grip under the table, "Good luck out there, I hope they accept your dance."
To your surprise, instead of leaving the table Ranboo proceeded to chuckle at your words as he goes to step next to where you're sat, right arm stretched out to offer his elbow, "It's you, silly. Dance with me, I don't want you falling asleep on the table from boredom."
You didn't expect that Ranboo had been thinking about taking you to the dance floor, but you've imagined him not to go with the cliché by how nonchalant his invitation was compared to the usual 'may I have this dance?' speech. So it only took you a second before you had your hand on his elbow as he guides you through the sea of dancing students, just like the first time you've met him.
But as you passed by the center of the dance floor, your grip on the suit's sleeve instinctively tightened as you two stopped by the outer ring in clear view of the long table where the teachers are currently seated.
You turned towards Ranboo when he took a step back, "Ranboo, why are we-?" but you stopped your question when he bowed his head, hand on his chest before standing perfectly straight to offer his hand this time.
"Do you trust me?" Of course you do, and you made it clear as you placed your hand on his palm. His worries once clear in his eyes disappeared in an instant, head turning to where the DJ is as they exchanged wordless nods. "Then enjoy the night, I'll take care of you, I promise."
The rhythm of the slow song faded away as the DJ suddenly switched the song to one you're familiar it, as the start of Mr. Loverman fell into step of Ranboo's, hand holding yours stretched outward as his left held you by the hip. Following his guiding steps, you both easily fell into a rhythm; wide boxed steps, and occasionally spinning you with ease at how tall he was.
He practiced his steps, it was easy to tell.
"I can't believe you had all this planned," your elated response came after coming back from a slow spin, unoccupied hand settling on to his shoulder once again.
"Just for you," looking up to meet his gaze, you felt his smile from his lips and the twinkle in his blue eyes, "I'd lose my title as a hopeless romantic if I wasn't this extra."
Your laugh eased a hidden tension in his shoulders as the night rolled away quicker than you expected, the world falling away around you as your focus stayed on your partner. Steps felt more natural, anxiety falling away, and the snippets of conversation between you became your ecstasy. Everything is just right.
Just how he wanted it to be.
Just how you imagined it to be.
Oh yeah, because of Ranboo's mischievous mastermind of a plan (and maybe that one perfectly time dip he did) you may or may not have won as "Highschool Sweethearts of the Night" which was probably some bullshit title they've come up with just to charge extra for the prom fees. The absurdity and irony of it all made you laugh with Ranboo, tiara and scepter almost falling at the intensity of your laughing fit before you took pictures with your gifted props.
The rest of the night slipped away in the company of one another, and the pink and blue lemonade dispensers.
To this day you're still thankful for your parents pushing you to get that 'unforgettable night out' of your highschool life. Something you're reminded everytime your lock screen lights up.
The handholding that's meant to pull you when you're too distracted to walk.
Things with the world had changed drastically after graduating from high school. But you and Ranboo stayed strong together despite the distance enforced between you, as with everything else around you, honestly.
Conversations at the back row of class turned into Discord calls, spontaneous house visits devolved into online co-op games, and hang outs became moments where you tune in to his streams. Ranboo My Beloved, you scoffed when reminded of his infamous channel meme, and how his small bit of audience turned into record-breaking fame.
You're the most proud out of everyone when you congratulated him for his milestones, all of which he celebrated with or announced first to you, whether you're awake or asleep for it you must be the one to know first.
"Isn't you merch launching in-" you looked at the top of your phone's screen, "in less than a minute?!"
"Yeah, what about it?" Came the muffled voice of your company, to which you looked up in disbelief at his honest confusion, expressions and emotions you've mastered to read despite his mask and glasses covering his face. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Why are you out here when you're about to drop merch?!" Halting your walk together, your phone booted up his merch site, now occupied with scrolling through the page to inspect his new merch. In your divided attention, you didn't hear his response, at how ridiculous it would be to postpone your first hangout together when he's already announced the time of the merch release.
But no, instead you decided to pause in the middle of the sidewalk to browse through the items. Inspecting the items closely, especially the ones he so stubbornly held from showing you as a 'surprise'.
"(Y/N), please, we're blocking the road," Ranboo whispered in a rush when he caught sight of the approaching people behind where you two idled, but to no luck you just brushed off his response as you started adding items to your cart. "Ugh, fine, have it your way."
And like the many times you've done this before, Ranboo's gloved hand easily found your unoccupied one, gently pulling you to walk which your legs instinctively followed. Although you faced your device still, he felt your fingers intertwine with his and squeezed.
Just how it should be.
"You do remember I gave a box full of my merch already, right?"
Theme ××> Highschool setting, Ambiguous relationship
Your friendship with Ranboo had always revolved around the sacred ritual of holding hands. And honestly? You're not at all complaining.
The handholding that occurs when you're being guided through a busy hallway.
The first instance of the hand holding experience ironically (or should it be un-?) coexisted with many other firsts. The first time you met Ranboo happened at the first day of school before first period, which all-in-all equaled to four firsts in the equation. Fantastic.
There was no telling at all why your English professor thought it was idea to require so many books to use especially on the first day of classes, but here you are in front of your locker, trying to bundle all the requested materials for first period. You didn't bring a big enough bag for all of these - well of course you wouldn't, because it's the first freaking day!
"You sure you got this?" Your friend said as she stepped back from her own locker, cautiously eyeing the amount of books in your arms that's obviously more than the ones she's carrying. Lucky her, Miss Johnson isn't so reliant on book references and focused in making the class more fun to not sleep to.
"Not like I can do anything," you both shared a shrug before saying your goodbyes and promise to eat together in break time. And you dread this part of your high school days the most when you turned towards the hall to your first class; there stood between you and your books is a sea of students rushing to reach their classes with a good minute or two left before the bell.
The clock turned 7:58 om the screen of your phone of which laid on top of the books you're carrying. In your desperate attempt, you tried to squeeze against the current of students going the opposite direction, mumbling your sorries as you popped out of the other side.
Almost bumping against another student who instinctively stepped back upon your appearance. Why is this school overpopulated? You can barely see the end of the hallway from all the heads blocking your view. But you pulled up your books closer to your chest once again, determined not to be late for your first day -
"You have Mrs. Cindy for first period too?" Startled from your game planning, you turned back to the student you almost encountered - only to crane your head back upon realizing the torso that blocked your view - and saw a bashful giant looking between you and your arms.
There were no three thick books in his arms, but you can clearly see an oversized bag slung over his back. You really should have been more prepared.
"Yeah, I assume you're a classmate?" A curt nod. You both turned towards the crowded hallways. "We might be running late at this rate."
There was an audible hum his way before your classmate offered a hand towards your bundle, nodding towards the hallway to the stairs when you gave him a confused glance. "Let me get that for you, it would be harder to navigate with that on the way," you would have protested more if not for the obvious soreness of carrying said books in the short time you've carried them - and yet he carried it with ease with just one arm.
The other signed for you to walk behind him, as you followed his shadow while the sea of students seem to part from his imposing figure. It reminded you of cars following close behind an ambulance. But this isn't as easy as cruising a straight road, something you've realized as more students started pushing against your sides, almost tripping you in the process.
That little nuance in your steps was enough to force a distance between your classmate with how easily long his strides are, your path once again blocked by fellow students. Cursing yourself from the mishap, you desperately tried to push past people as you watched the brown hair (your only indicator) go farther from view.
"Wait!" You don't even know his name to call out, the panic starts to sink in and your desperation comes in the form of ducking and forcefully slipping past any break in the formation of students. This gained you lots of angry glares and reactive shouts, but you could care less.
Seeing a break towards the stairs, you squeezed through the row and almost made out with the steps if not for a hand pulling you to stability.
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you weren't behind me from the pace I was going," but you only shook your head in response as the bell finally signalled the inevitable. The brunette cursed in front of you before adjusting his hold to your hand, looking you in the eye for acceptance. A nod was enough to convince him it was fine. "Just to make sure you don't get lost again. Now come on, Mrs. Cindy's very strict over attendance."
It was then that you've found out about your 'savior's' name and when you properly introduced yourself to each other outside of class, he asked you to call him by the nickname Ranboo instead. You couldn't even judge or question him about it, knowing full well you owed him for all the trouble he had to go through.
What was perceived as trouble then turned into unspoken routine of Ranboo just showing up and helping you navigate through first period rush each time, not missing a day unless he wasn't at school. That small window time of hand holding solidified the foundation of your friendship and you wouldn't have anyone else pull you through a hallway by the hand besides him.
The hand holding that occurs on special occasions where dances are commonplace.
Your opinion on school dances is iffy, more so when it comes to the topic of senior prom. What's stopping you from enjoying your night just chilling in your comfy clothes while tuning in to a stream by your favorite gamers? Apparently that came in the form of parents that want you to end your highschool experience with an unforgettable night out.
You don't even have a date. It was obvious at the troubled (sour) look on your face as you arrived at the venue, such were the observation of your dear friend Ranboo who was pleasantly surprised that you pushed through with attending senior prom. He had the same hesitation to skip senior prom, landing him in the same situation as you.
Shaking his head from the stunned daze he had upon inspecting how good you cleaned up, dare he say the most stunning he'd seen you, Ranboo watched as you pushed through the double doors into the events area.
Senior prom should be memorable in the best way possible, Ranboo tightened his tie with newfound purpose and determination.
"As we approach the end of our night, students, you may now enjoy the rest of prom dancing to your heart's content!" The ambient music ended as the DJ switched to slow dance songs, the lights around the place dimming as it is centered towards the dance floor, "Faculty members will be on the lookout for prom king and queen, so be on your best behavior!"
Placing down the wine glass filled with pink lemonade, you looked over your shoulder to where the emcee was standing earlier. You haven't been to other proms before but you were sure that mechanic isn't the usual, just basing it on the fact that the girls by the dance floor had the same confusion before reverting to showing off their dance skills somehow.
The sound of the chair parallel to yours pushing back forced your attention back to Ranboo, who's now adjusting his gloves and suit. "Oh!" It took you a second to realize what his next course of action was, hands curling to a grip under the table, "Good luck out there, I hope they accept your dance."
To your surprise, instead of leaving the table Ranboo proceeded to chuckle at your words as he goes to step next to where you're sat, right arm stretched out to offer his elbow, "It's you, silly. Dance with me, I don't want you falling asleep on the table from boredom."
You didn't expect that Ranboo had been thinking about taking you to the dance floor, but you've imagined him not to go with the cliché by how nonchalant his invitation was compared to the usual 'may I have this dance?' speech. So it only took you a second before you had your hand on his elbow as he guides you through the sea of dancing students, just like the first time you've met him.
But as you passed by the center of the dance floor, your grip on the suit's sleeve instinctively tightened as you two stopped by the outer ring in clear view of the long table where the teachers are currently seated.
You turned towards Ranboo when he took a step back, "Ranboo, why are we-?" but you stopped your question when he bowed his head, hand on his chest before standing perfectly straight to offer his hand this time.
"Do you trust me?" Of course you do, and you made it clear as you placed your hand on his palm. His worries once clear in his eyes disappeared in an instant, head turning to where the DJ is as they exchanged wordless nods. "Then enjoy the night, I'll take care of you, I promise."
The rhythm of the slow song faded away as the DJ suddenly switched the song to one you're familiar it, as the start of Mr. Loverman fell into step of Ranboo's, hand holding yours stretched outward as his left held you by the hip. Following his guiding steps, you both easily fell into a rhythm; wide boxed steps, and occasionally spinning you with ease at how tall he was.
He practiced his steps, it was easy to tell.
"I can't believe you had all this planned," your elated response came after coming back from a slow spin, unoccupied hand settling on to his shoulder once again.
"Just for you," looking up to meet his gaze, you felt his smile from his lips and the twinkle in his blue eyes, "I'd lose my title as a hopeless romantic if I wasn't this extra."
Your laugh eased a hidden tension in his shoulders as the night rolled away quicker than you expected, the world falling away around you as your focus stayed on your partner. Steps felt more natural, anxiety falling away, and the snippets of conversation between you became your ecstasy. Everything is just right.
Just how he wanted it to be.
Just how you imagined it to be.
Oh yeah, because of Ranboo's mischievous mastermind of a plan (and maybe that one perfectly time dip he did) you may or may not have won as "Highschool Sweethearts of the Night" which was probably some bullshit title they've come up with just to charge extra for the prom fees. The absurdity and irony of it all made you laugh with Ranboo, tiara and scepter almost falling at the intensity of your laughing fit before you took pictures with your gifted props.
The rest of the night slipped away in the company of one another, and the pink and blue lemonade dispensers.
To this day you're still thankful for your parents pushing you to get that 'unforgettable night out' of your highschool life. Something you're reminded everytime your lock screen lights up.
The handholding that's meant to pull you when you're too distracted to walk.
Things with the world had changed drastically after graduating from high school. But you and Ranboo stayed strong together despite the distance enforced between you, as with everything else around you, honestly.
Conversations at the back row of class turned into Discord calls, spontaneous house visits devolved into online co-op games, and hang outs became moments where you tune in to his streams. Ranboo My Beloved, you scoffed when reminded of his infamous channel meme, and how his small bit of audience turned into record-breaking fame.
You're the most proud out of everyone when you congratulated him for his milestones, all of which he celebrated with or announced first to you, whether you're awake or asleep for it you must be the one to know first.
"Isn't you merch launching in-" you looked at the top of your phone's screen, "in less than a minute?!"
"Yeah, what about it?" Came the muffled voice of your company, to which you looked up in disbelief at his honest confusion, expressions and emotions you've mastered to read despite his mask and glasses covering his face. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Why are you out here when you're about to drop merch?!" Halting your walk together, your phone booted up his merch site, now occupied with scrolling through the page to inspect his new merch. In your divided attention, you didn't hear his response, at how ridiculous it would be to postpone your first hangout together when he's already announced the time of the merch release.
But no, instead you decided to pause in the middle of the sidewalk to browse through the items. Inspecting the items closely, especially the ones he so stubbornly held from showing you as a 'surprise'.
"(Y/N), please, we're blocking the road," Ranboo whispered in a rush when he caught sight of the approaching people behind where you two idled, but to no luck you just brushed off his response as you started adding items to your cart. "Ugh, fine, have it your way."
And like the many times you've done this before, Ranboo's gloved hand easily found your unoccupied one, gently pulling you to walk which your legs instinctively followed. Although you faced your device still, he felt your fingers intertwine with his and squeezed.
Just how it should be.
"You do remember I gave a box full of my merch already, right?"
description: you get detention. unfortunately, the only other person who does, is alex. nothing is worse than being stuck in a room for more than hour with the class clown who just won’t ever stop talking
note: quackity is supposed to be like the class clown/funny guy + this was written THREE months ago, so i couldn’t be bothered to change the fact i use both ‘quackity’ and ‘alex’. i just wanted to get it out of the drafts.
you glanced down again at your wrist, reading the time your digital clock displayed. luckily, you had 5 minutes to get to room 50 before your detention started. you weren’t in the mood to get yelled at by the teacher for the second time that day.
you entered the classroom, only to be met with an empty room with nobody other than the asshole of a teacher who gave you the detention himself. you offered him a fake smile, before taking a seat at the back of the classroom, placing your backpack on the floor.
“please sit where i can see you,” you heard his voice speak, he didn’t even look up from the papers he was marking at his desk
fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him, you stood up obediently and continued to take a seat at the desk in front of his.
you turned your head to the back of the room where the clock was hung on the wall. it was another two minutes before you had to sit in complete silence for the next hour. you sighed to yourself.
“am i the only one in detention today, sir?” you asked politely.
he picked up the glasses that were sitting on the side, putting them on and bringing a white sheet to his face. “there’s one other person,” he said. “although i don’t really expect him to show up-“
he was interrupted by the door opening, the handle hardly hitting the back of the wall.
“sorry i’m late, sir,” quackity bursted into the room, his beanie was worn unevenly on his head. “i was held back by the principal, she wanted to speak to me,” he huffed
“just sit down, alex. you have one minute. and keep the door open, you know the handle doesn’t work on either side. we still need the janitor to take care of that,”
as if your day couldn’t get any worse. now you had to spend detention stuck in the room with the most talkative, obnoxious and irritating boy there was. you didn’t speak to him much, but he was in almost every single class that you were, and he always had something to say.
you silently cursed to yourself as he took a seat behind you, but first, giving you an awkward smile and adjusting his beanie.
It is 1:39 in the morning for me now and I am sleep deprived. The reason of which I am not sleeping nor trying to is because I am watching Georges stream with3% volume. I will regret this later today I am sure. My eyes are very dry but I must watch George, Quackity and Bad in a discord call together. I need proper help. And soon probably.
Ok but... imagine Ranboo writing you and everything you do together down in his memory book so he will forever remember the awesome times you guys had together
