Brett used to smell like rosin, varnished wood, warm cotton in the morning and bubble tea in the late afternoon. A homely scent; an omega's scent. Now, he just smelled like blood. (In which the author is forced to write a fic but ends up liking it anyway, sucker that she is.)
"You did good." Oh god his accent. "I don't think I've seen you race that well before." Dream looked over to him, raising an eyebrow amidst his prideful grin. "You've come to my races before?" - Dream likes to race for the rush of adrenaline, and George looks so pretty when he waves the starting flags. - Accelerate wa...
Brett discovers dirty love letters under Eddy's bed. In the spirit of friendship-burning jealousy notwithstanding-he vows to help out. [ MATURE CONTENT AHEAD. ]