Dreamnotfound | Oneshots

Trust Me 👑

Trust Me:
-George is a writer for Harvard's newspaper, and is in competition for the best story to be President of the paper. What better way to secure his place for first but to find the Secret Club that everyone knows exists but doesn't have proof of, the Dream Team.

💫People Included💫
-George
-Dream
-Sapnap
-BadBoyHalo
-Technoblade
-Wilbur
-Nihachu
-TheEret
-Karl Jacobs
-Fundy
-ItsAlyssa
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"I'm gonna find it Wilbur, I am determined."

Wilbur laughs arms wrapped around George's shoulders as they walk down the hallway. "Your life revolves around this paper I swear," he says and George giggles holding his books closer to his chest. "The only thing that people have seen is a broken smile mask, which indicates there is something." Wilbur nods and they stop infront of George's class, "tell me more later. For now go into your class and forget about your weird paper issues, love you." George smiles grabbing Wilburs arm gently to lean up and kiss him. "No more paper talk I promise, and I love you too."

Wilbur gives him one more kiss handing George his bag, "meet up after class for a coffee?" George nods adjusting his backpack and Wilbur gives a small wave before walking off. George giggles in happiness going into the room and taking his seat in the front. He sits down taking out his computer, pulling up his article in this class.

The bell rings loudly and George looks towards the front where his teacher was now writing 'Free Day'. George feels giddy taking out his note pad and looking around the room. His other peers were on their computers most likely playing games or chatting with their friends. George was determined to get a lead on the Dream Team, and he thought he had one when he saw the last name Johnson. There was a boy in his class named Clay Johnson, but no one dared to just go up to him.

Where could George start with Clay Johnson. A classic eboy, black ripped skinny jeans, dress shirt underneath a big black sweater that always had some band on it. He was always decked out in jewelry, necklaces, rings, and of course a chain that hung from his belt. Clay never came to school, only when he wanted to which was rare. His family was richer than rich, as his dad was the principal of Yale and owned the New York Times. Despite his reputation he was know to date everyone, no matter what gender it was a new person every week. It made George sick, how easily he got into everyone's pants.

Luckily George found Wilbur, someone who was nothing like Clay. Wilbur was sweet, always smiling and hugging onto George. He loved him with his whole heart and George couldn't ask for a better boyfriend. They had meant in High school, starting off as the new kids from England. The two almost immediately bonded over their British heritage, forming a club called L'manburg with all the other British exchange students. After that they talked more, and soon found themselves going on multiple dates.

George had found in these dates that Wilbur was extremely caring and generous, being rich but putting it towards charities. He was intelligent but always willing to learn, and always listening. George's favorite thing was the way Wilbur pushed up his glasses when they fell, making him so cute.

George blinks back into his current situation heart warm after thinking about Wilbur. Wilbur always carried George's backpack, George sighs head landing on his palm. He looks back down at his paper needing to focus on the mystery. They had been talked about in only 4 other articles and they were all dull and opinionated. None of them had facts, none of them were lively. George wanted to break that, he wanted to find these mystery people and spit straight facts.

He nods getting up and grabbing his note pad, his first lead was Clay. George goes over to Clays desk where he was playing a game on the computer. "Hi Clay my name's George Davidson, I heard that your great grandfather was found wearing a smile mask. Now I assume this would be passed down through your family, and you are in that family." Clay looks up closing his computer, "how very straight forward. George Davidson, where have I heard that name? Oh the virgin prude."