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straighttohellbuddy · 1 year

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what you love you devour {c!Wilbur Soot}

Summary: As someone who is chronically honest and the self-appointed court jester of this world, your place in any conflict or situation had always been whichever place to be amused you the most; being on the side of the grown-ass man who put time and effort into waging war against smartass kids over discs? Of course. Immediately switching sides to join the child as he and someone you've never met before start a drug empire? Of course. Except said newcomer seems to know exactly how to keep you entertained; your place becomes by his side, and you quickly come to realise that no-one else will ever compare.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: She/They Reader. Villain!Reader. Past, toxic c!Quackity/Reader, established platonic c!Dream & Reader. Set during the DSMP timeline.

A/N: 25,323 words. this has been about 2 years in the making, which is why i haven't tagged the few people on the taglist but anyways, i finally came back and reread what i had and was like.... this actually holds up pretty well as is. so yeah, i've added and subtracted a few things here and there in the last few hours to make it all make sense overall, but holy shit im so happy to have it out there. is it possibly the wankiest/dramatic thing ive posted in a while? yes. but its also 25k so eat up. and if you wanna talk to me about it! PLEASE DO!!

Warnings: VILLAIN!READER, discussions/implied suicidal ideation, violence & blood, implied and joked about smut, heavy psychological/emotional manipulation, romantic obsession, betrayal, murder, implied torture. it gets pretty dark at times, just take care.

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

{ full playlist }

"You've created capitalism, good job," sarcasm dripped from your words as you leaned against the side of the Camarvan while Sapnap attempted to arrest Tommy and the most recent newcomer, a brunette with a way with words that you found yourself admiring.

"I didn't create capitalism," Wilbur automatically defends himself, turning on you like he had the words on the tip of his tongue, simply waiting for someone to bring it up. Though he was playing at being innocent, you could see he was holding back a smile.

"What do you mean?" Tommy, behind him, frowned, before spluttering, "you know what, who cares- Wilbur, buddy don't listen to her, she'll say anything to get a rise out of people," he grumbled, but you just talked over him, addressing the newcomer.

"I'm not implying that you, new boy -"

"Wilbur," he corrected you automatically.

"- you, Wilbur, were the theological creator of capitalism," you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help your own smile at the situation, "I'm saying that you're trying to have a monopoly on potions and the ability to brew them, so you can inflate the price to whatever you want with no competition that people would be able to buy from, all that artificial supply and demand bullshit."

"Don't know what you're on about," but Wilbur's back was to the others as he said it, lips twisting into a grin, "this is but a humble hotdog van."

"A humble hotdog van!" Tommy added resolutely for emphasis, which you yourself repeated, much quieter, turning the words over in your mind as you narrowed your eyes and looked over all of them, "oh get lost, go run back to Dream," Tommy huffed, before turning on Wilbur, "why are you even giving her the time of day? She's in his guard, she's probably here helping Sapnap."

And that's when your gaze finally flicked to the man himself in full diamond armour, who was glowering at you, bow half raised. He stays quiet.

"He doesn't seem too keen on her," Wilbur points out, looking over his shoulder, giving the faintest smile to the kitted-out guard.

"It could be a ruse!" Tommy insisted.

"I'm simply a court jester -" you tried, hands raised defensively, but Tommy cuts you off.

"You shot me!"

"What's a humble court jester doing at our humble hotdog van?" Wilbur asks, turning back to you. At this prompt, however, your whole face lit up and you stood up straight, frantically digging around your pockets, searching, until you offer a small stack of blaze rods, like it's an offering.

"Playing along," you tell him, eyes alight with mirth and mischief.

"Why?" But he takes the blaze rods and you give a shrug, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"It's the funniest option."

---

"It's not capitalism, it's a drug empire," Tommy grumbled under his breath the moment they bring you into the Camarvan and shut the door behind you, before he added, "and I still don't like that you're here."

"It's not my fault that the concept of a grown-ass man going to war with literal children over two discs is deeply funny," you raised your hands in mock surrender as you sat on the counter in the hotdog van.

"Then why were you on his side?" He demanded, and you schooled your grin into something seriously.

"Thomas, Thomas listen to me -"

"Do not call me Thomas," Tommy told you flatly, and for a moment you couldn't help your sharp smile.

"Listen, Tommy, my boy, I was on the side of the grown-ass man who was waging war over discs; you're a kid, dude, being on your side would make too much sense and would be far less funny."

"One, you're a terrible person," Tommy says flatly, and you can't help but laugh not exactly inclined to disagree with him, "two, I'm not your boy, and three, if it suddenly becomes fucking funny for you to turn on us, I will kill you a lot, okay?"

"Okay," you nod, conceding, and though he's still frowning at you, mistrustful, you can't help but follow it with, "but I think you underestimate how much I appreciate our new friend, whose first thought, after finding his way to us, was 'I'm going to build a drug empire and recruit Tommy-goddamn-Innit as my first ally'; very few things can top that, honestly."

Wilbur, who was kneeling by a chest a few feet away and had been quiet this whole time, snorts a laugh. Good.

"Does Dream trust you?" However, when he spoke, your bright mood evaporated. Then he stands, turns, and leans his hip against the chest he was just rifling through, cocking his head to one side as he regards you, "it's not bait, I'm not asking you if you're a double agent, I trust you -" though there was something behind his eyes that contradicted his words, "- just, does Dream trust you?"

"Dream and I have... an understanding," you said carefully, "I understand that he is incredibly powerful -" Tommy made a derisive noise in the back of his throat at that, "- and he understands that I am simply a court jester."

"I don't remember many jesters with enchanted netherite axes," Tommy mutters under his breath. For the barest moment, when he looks at you he sees you looking right back, something dangerous, something like a warning in your eyes that vanishes so fast he’s half concerned he imagined it. No-one else seemed to have seen it, judging by how Wilbur’s continuing on. You’ve already looked away.

"So he may expect you to turn on him?"

"Eventually," you agree, "but he also knows I'd turn back to his side with the right incentive," you knew no good could come of trying to hide your nature, especially since it could lead to others actively attempting to win your loyalty, which you couldn't deny was pretty nice. Tommy was actively glaring at you after this particular admission, however Wilbur hums thoughtfully, regarding you with an expression you can't quite read, one that makes you feel like he's evaluating you; you sit a little straighter.

"Would you steal his potion supplies for us if he had any?" And suddenly, Wilbur's tone was light, as if he were asking for you to run an errand rather than commit treason. While Tommy was flabbergasted at his bluntness, you nodded emphatically.

"Oh, absolutely."

----

"Could you be more subtle while robbing me?" Dream frowned the moment he saw you up to your elbows in a chest in what he considered to be his base of operations.

"Not my fault you're bad at hiding your stuff and good at finding me," you huffed in return, not even bothering to look up, even as Dream peered over your shoulder to see what he'd left behind that you were currently looting. Tortoise shells and empty bottles, not much, but it's something.

"I don't appreciate you stealing my shit for Tommy," Dream pointed out, and you snorted a laugh, beginning to pocket your findings. He sat beside the chest, watching you, "I'm going to stop him."

"You're going to try."

"I thought you were on my side," but even as he said it, he wore a grin that was all teeth; you both knew he was joking, "you'd tell me where the discs were if you knew, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," you agree without hesitation, sitting back on your heels and finally looking at your sort-of ally, "but we both know Tommy doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me."

"He's a smart kid," Dream's smile gets tight at the edges for just a moment, and when you look to him, he’s looking back at you with a shallow gaze - you ever take something from me like that again and I’ll fucking kill you; you hear your own voice in your head, and wonder if Dream’s thinking of that same moment, of your violent, possessiveness rearing it’s head, your axe pressed to his chest in the dead of night. Back in the present, his gaze clears and he looks at the chest you’re currently elbow deep in, pointedly, "you are robbing me." The memory passes from your mind.

"You weren't here and I'm not using actual force; this is looting at best," at your indignance, he rolls his eyes, looking away, and you open the chest again, taking the remaining items, despite their meagre value. "I'm not doing this for Tommy; Wilbur's the one who suggested it."

"The new guy?"

"The new guy," you confirmed with a nod, "the first thing he does after getting here is commit crimes; I think I'm in love," you tell Dream flatly, mostly joking.

"Sounds like a man after your own heart," Dream points out, not even trying to hide the teasing edge to his words; how deeply bizarre this interaction would be if anyone else were to walk in.

With all of the chest's contents safely in your pockets and satchel, you sit back, eyes narrowing as you give Dream and his mischievous smile a look as you finally try and figure out what this whole interaction means. However the teasing does well to hide the faint notes of apprehension in his voice.

"'s the reason I sided with you in the first place;" you said slowly, "you know how chaos gets me going," your tone was flat, clearly conveying that you hadn't deciphered the nature of this interaction, but your actual words were enough to have Dream himself laughing despite this, the air clearing. "You here to stop me?"

"Does anyone else know where my base is, and are you going to steal anything else from me?"

"No and yes," you answer bluntly; if you were anyone else that answer would be two death sentences, one right after the other, "blaze rods," you quickly elaborate, wilfully digging yourself deeper as Dream opens his mouth.

"You can't have my blaze rods," he says, though he's smiling faintly at your well-worn antics.

"Agree to disagree," you stood swiftly, trying to step over his legs to get to the next chest. Dream grabs your shin with one hand, stopping you in your track as he's sighing deeply.

"Go away, Y/N," he says firmly, letting go of you to get to his feet, beginning to push you to the entrance of the bunker, even as you whined; the fact that he let you take as much as you already had was not lost on you however, and you let yourself be nudged to the door, only putting on a show of protesting.

The timer that had started ticking the moment he'd found you in his bunker had finally run out.

"Get better security," you told him, and he gave you a wide, toothy smile.

"Love you too," he responded, "and keep me updated if you ever find those discs." At that, you give him a quick salute and head back in the general direction of the Camarvan.

----

"L'Manberg?" You said, not even trying to hide your scepticism.

"L'Manberg," both Tommy and Wilbur reiterated, sounding completely sincere in their dedication to the ridiculous name.

"L'-Man-Berg?" You said, slower, squinting at them, waiting for their sincerity to crack.

"But don't worry, Tommy himself said that 'even women can work here'," Wilbur said, corners of his mouth twitching at Tommy's various irritated exclamations, "like... in the hotdog van... with us; we're not implying that women have to work to be here, this isn't- this isn't communism -"

"You've made that abundantly clear," your scepticism broke in the face of his floundering, "I remember you brought capitalism to the Greater Dream SMP, Mr Soot," you were desperately trying not to laugh, though Tommy was fairing much worse than you at that.

"I mean- I mean- I mean-" Tommy spluttered through his laughter as it died down, trying to get himself back to being something resembling serious, "you also- you can't be on Dream's side if you're with us."

"I'm not," you answer honestly and easily.

"So you're on our side?" He clarified, though you had to hum at that.

"No..." you said carefully, before finally looking him in his eyes, "I'm on my side, I just happen to like," without breaking eye contact with Tommy or your serious facade, you pointed directly at Wilbur, to his left, "him." Tommy's outrage at your answer was predictably hilarious, hence the main reason as to why you gave it, and Wilbur's delighted 'that's good enough for me' and accompanying smile was enough to solidify your loyalty with them, at least for the time being.

----

"I knew it would be you," they've taken no chances with you when they started taking people prisoner; Tommy was the first to go, and you happened to show up right as Fundy was being lead away. Wilbur and Tommy had both sent you messages, letting you know people were being arrested, and while they probably meant for you to stay away, you had other ideas.

So now, here you were, with Sapnap's crossbow bolt between your shoulder blades as you were being unceremoniously shoved to the courthouse.

"Stop talking," he muttered, poking you probably harder than necessary, but it did little to dim your smile.

"I've barely said anything," you shrugged, the nonchalant movement only serving to remind you, as if you could forget, about the weapon at your back, "but I'm flattered, really; I knew it would be you."

"Stop. Talking."

"They've got several people escorting Tommy, and even Fundy has Eret and Tubbo," you kept chattering away, despite your guard's grumbling, "but we've fought together, you know what I'm like, and so does he," you gave a faint laugh, "they knew I'd listen to you; you're the only one besides Dream himself who could get me to go peacefully."

"Why then? If you're going to keep talking, can you explain why? Why are you going peacefully, why with me? Are you actually saying you would have put up a fight if I were anyone else?"

"Would you trust anyone else to bring me to jail on their own?" You asked simply.

"I think you overestimate how challenging you are -"

"So that's a yes, you'd trust... Tubbo to lead me to the courthouse alone?" Your tone was sly and heavy with implications, "or Ponk? Or what about Eret? I don't know him but he seems nice. I'd like to get to know him, if you're saying you'd like to swap -"

"I don't trust you," he cuts you off, words forced out through gritted teeth.

"But you trust you," you hum thoughtfully, "because you know you're the only one up for it. They're sweet kids, but they're still kids, aren't they? If the right person talked for long enough they'd believe anything. This is why I knew it'd be you taking me to court; you're better than that," you're better than them hangs in the air, unspoken but still so loud, and you're glad he can't see the way you're grinning.

Then, you give a self deprecating chuckle, shrugging again.

"Honestly I'm probably giving myself too much credit here, I'm unarmed and unarmoured, you're easily overkill as my escort, but again, I'm flattered," the pressure between your shoulder blades lessens until the sharp bolt is gone, and you hear Sapnap's footsteps fall silent. Intrigued, you turn, and you see him scowling.

"Don't do that, don't be cute, don't be coy;" he frowned at you, at how your expression had been schooled into something tamer than the delight you were feeling, "you won't trick me; I remember Dream in that warroom, you remember, we were all planning and he assured us that you were your most dangerous unarmed and unarmoured -"

"I can't believe you remember that," you huff a disbelieving laugh, hoping the delight in your eyes didn't give you away.

"Yeah, well I do; don't coy, don't be shitty, okay? I was sent here for you for a reason, me, alright Y/N? I'm the one with the crossbow," already your words were working their way into his psyche, the bestowing of compliments, building him up, only to undermine it all. Whether he realised it or not, the praise you hid amongst your teasing and self-aggrandizing felt good to hear; you're just glad he believed it.

And so you walked with a crossbow bolt nestled between your shoulders, in silence for the rest of the way, being shoved into a cell beside Tommy, who'd been sitting on the bed provided, chattering away loudly to the other guards.

"What took you so long?"

----

The jacket you're given doesn't fit quite right; it's close, but maybe the arms are a little too long, and it sits strangely when you button the front with more than one button, but you wear it with pride, grip tight on the lapels as you spin on your heel, waiting for an approval from the others.

"Looks good on you," Wilbur's voice is carefully neutral, though he nods, his slight smile betraying him.

"Now will you finally admit you're on our side?" Tommy asked, brow pinched as he looked you over.

"What do you mean? She's with us, of course she is," Tubbo voices his confusion, and you finally, finally relinquish.

"Yes, Tommy, I'm fighting for L'manburg," you inclined your head towards him, smiling faintly.

"Say it, say you're on my side," Tommy demanded, "because I wanna remember this moment when you inevitably double cross us."

"Tommy," you said carefully, trying not to show how amused you actually were.

"Don't patronise me," he warned.

"Tommy," you shifted your tone to something a touch more respectful, but the boy's mouth remained set in a firm line, "I'm on your side as long as you're on Wilbur's side."

"Of course," Tubbo pipes up brightly, "we're all on the same side, for L'manburg," and he so cheerfully misses the subtle nuance in your words that it seems to convince Tommy. Wilbur's smiling to himself, genuine, whole face scrunched up and pleased.

"Seems like an overreaction," Eret, who you were yet to get a proper read on, looked over the four of you with interest; he hadn't been here long either, "they robbed Dream for us, they got arrested too -"

"Y/N is a trickster spirit at the best of times," Tommy tells him, "you can never be too careful, trust me."

"I'm just a jester," you raised your hands in a placating gesture, gaze dipping if only to hide the spark of mischief that found its way to your eye every time you found yourself underplaying your abilities.

"A revolutionary jester," Wilbur corrects, and your gaze snaps to him, your smile growing a touch wider, a shade sharper.

"A revolutionary jester," you agreed.

----

"You should have a home here," you hear Wilbur musing as he's chopping wood with a distracted energy, "do you have a home?" He quickly follows it with, and you snort loudly.

"Christ dude, of course I have a house," though you take a moment to reconsider, "well I have a bed in the savannah," you paused, "near... near Dream's Mountain." You admitted. There's a hum, and when you look to Wilbur he's regarding you curiously.

"Still?"

"Dream doesn't operate out of there anymore," you told him candidly, "but I like it; lots of sand," you added, and Wilbur actually paused.

"Can I ask you something very frank?" He asked, leaning against the handle of his axe where it was pressing into the dirt. You nodded, "what incentive would it take for you to turn on us, and on L'manburg? If Dream offered any number of weapons or diamonds or armour, would you take it?"

"I have everything I need," you told him honestly, "and I don't think Dream could offer me enough incentive to turn against L'manburg the way it stands right now," you shrugged, but he tipped his head to the side, frowning.

"So what would it take you to turn on us individually?"

Your mouth fell open, unused to being properly listened to, properly understood.

"You listen too much," you muttered, unused to being caught out in the way you would twist words. Wilbur, seemingly surprised at your reaction, grins from ear to ear.

"You know, while you were all being arrested, I heard something; I heard someone say that you're at your most dangerous when you're unarmed and unassuming, and I think I'm starting to get it-"

"If I find Tommy's discs, I have an obligation to give them to Dream," you let the words fall from your lips in an effort to derail that train of thought, gaze on your hands as you pluck blades of grass from the ground, twisting them in your fingers. Wilbur carefully lowers himself to the ground, to your level.

"From what I understand, that seems perfectly reasonable, in your mind at least," he says with a half smile, looking to you, expression somewhat unreadable, his pause harbouring something quietly hungry; "and what about me?"

Mouth opening and closing at a sudden loss for words, you find yourself unable to look him in the eyes.

"I have no pre-existing reason to turn against you," your voice is quiet, is flat, but your forgetting fingers betray how antsy this particular shred of honesty made you.

"So, Tommy's the only one you'd throw under the bus?"

"Its up to you," you shrugged, "and I'd only steal Tommy's disc and hand them over, I wouldn't hurt him."

"Are you lying?"

"I don't lie;" your tone was harsh, looking to him with a fire in your eyes, "I will not betray them, or Tommy in any other way, so long as they are all... aligning... with... you." There's no pretty way to twist your words around it, and you can't help your faint, flustered embarrasent, "my word is my bond." Then, softer, heart in your throat, "stop looking at me, Wilbur."

"That's a lot of power you've given me there," he said with a faint laugh, "so if it's no longer in my best interest to align with them-"

"It depends on if you mean that they're no longer allies, or if they're actively hostile," you point out, "because the ways in which I would betray them if they are not my allies are... varied. If they're my active enemy, then that's more of a straightforward fight, you know?"

"And if I decided it's no longer beneficial to be allies with you?"

"You'd be smart," you tell him, knee-jerk reaction, which startles a laugh from him; you give a faint, self-conscious apology, "honestly I'd respect it, it'd be an incredibly funny move after the things I've said, you know?"

"But, no, if I betrayed you, what would you do?"

"Are you planning on betraying me?"

"Not currently," he shrugged easily, and you blinked slowly at him.

"I don't know what I'd do, not yet, but I can get planning," you said with an almost teasing air, while he splutters in protest, "yeah I know you just said you weren't planning on it, but I'm pretty sure you've lied to every single question I've asked since getting here," you paused, smile growing wider, and strangely fond, "actually I think you've lied more than you've told the truth in general since you arrived."

A second passes, then another, then finally he breaks out into laughter.

"And you accuse me of listening too much!" His expression was frankly delighted.

----

You follow them into the dark, down the stairs, listening to the way they were joking about Eret managing to come up with a nuke. The night is unassuming. Spirits are high.

But they bring you all to a small room full of chests. Something is wrong. You stay with Eret by the door, and he's got a hand on your shoulder - you can't run.

"The chests are empty-" you hear Wilbur's confusion, right before Tommy asks what the button in the middle of the room does, and before he can even press it, his fingertips barely contacting the wood, you step forward -

"Easy now," Eret's voice is a gentle murmur, only for you, grip tight on your pauldron. When you look at her, a moment of silence amongst the others' confusion, his expression is… unreadable. Ice cold now, there's a sword through your chest, you can feel it where you shouldn't, followed by the searing heat of blood filling your lungs and windpipe -

"Y/N?!" Wilbur's eyes land on you as Tommy presses the button, you fall to your knees, choking on a mouthful of blood, and when your gaze locks with his, the reality of the betrayal sets in. There's horror in his eyes, and you see Tommy and Tubbo turning before you're suddenly gasping awake in your bed in L'manburg, shaking, eyes wide and goosebumps rising along your skin as you hear your comrades screaming and shouting for help, horrified at Eret's betrayal, all coming in tinny through the communicator still on your hip. You don't properly know what happened after the button was pushed, and you think that was a conscious decision.

Your first life is taken quietly, not with a bang but with a whimper.

There's something inevitable about it for you, at least in your mind, but the others didn't deserve this, didn't deserve that betrayal. You can still feel the sticky heat of the blood in your lungs, your throat, ice cold sword where it had pierced through your back, slipped between your ribs, and come out the other side.

"It was never meant to be," Eret sounds like they’re smiling as they say it, as the others are yelling, and you realise that they're probably reviving in their own homes. You want to ask, want to demand answers, but your hands shake, and when you find your voice, all that comes out is a furious growl, low and full of venomous malice the likes of which the others had never heard from you, judging by how your voice cut through the chaotic mess of shouting.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Eret leaves the communication channel. The silence rings in your ears.

"He betrayed us," Wilbur said, tone flat, thinly veiling his own fury at the situation, "she had us killed by Dream and his men," and then, "he killed you." Like it means something, like he's worried your apathy, or even your connection to Dream, could sway you from your anger. Like he knows betrayal of your nation means little; like he knows you well. Something about this catches in your mind; you knew it was only a matter of time before you were betrayed, but the rest of them cared - Wilbur cared enough about you to know you, and Eret had him killed too.

Your communicator vibrates for a moment, and you look down to see a message from Wilbur himself; Where are you?

Your life was of little consequence, the same could not be said for your comrades.

"They killed me," you said softly, before you swallowed hard; home. Dig the ground by the corner of the walls near the river, you send back. "You died too; you all died. Who was there?"

"Who do you think?" Tommy cut in, loud and brimming with rage.

"It was all so fast, but I saw George, and Sap, and Dream," Tubbo cut in, voice a little shaky, bring Tommy's fury down somewhat.

"Punz was there too," Wilbur said carefully, "they have our things." And you stay quiet as they rage, as you sit in your bed, unable to get up, mind moving a thousand miles a minute as you try and figure out how to process all of this, what it all means. It doesn't take too long before there's sunlight streaming into your little, cosy hovel, followed by Wilbur climbing down the ladder provided, packing dirt into the hole he'd made to keep your location secret.

When he gets to the bottom of the ladder, he takes a deep breath - Tommy and Tubbo are chattering away, audible over both your communicators. Making eye contact, finally, he doesn't quiet seem to know what to do, or where to go. You turn off your communicator. Everything tastes like iron. You don't move. He leans against the wall by the ladder, closing his eyes tightly for few moments, and slowly sliding down, sinking to the ground.

"Wilb- mate are you alright? Where are you?" Tommy's voice rings out from the communicator still on Wilbur's hip, and he sighs deeply.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, just need a few moments, I'll be with you soon," and he turns off the communicator before getting a response.

Silence. Deafening silence.

"I'm sorry," your voice is a whisper, but it's clearly audible in this little room.

"What?" Tone immediately defensive and sharp, Wilbur's eyes snap open and he looks to you with a glare.

"No, I- I've had betrayal coming for a long time, but you- you all didn't deserve that," you clarified, hand on your chest, feeling the raised, tender scar tissue where the sword had come out - it had slid through your sternum like fucking butter, it had been so cold, even as the points where it had touched your clothes caught fire, even as it melted through the metal of your armour - your hand starts to shake. Everything tastes like iron.

"What happened?"

"What did Eret say to you?" His question surprised you, and when you look to him, his gaze is hard and cold.

"Easy now," you remember, "held me back when I went to step forwards, and ran their sword through me before the button had even properly been pressed -"

"I saw," Wilbur's voice was softer.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you -" your lip was trembling, shake in your words as you drew your knees up to your chest.

"You didn't know, you couldn't have-"

"I could have done more, I could have done something -" the tears start to fall.

"Dream's guard were laying in wait, and the button was their cue to ambush us," Wilbur explained carefully, "but you…" he swallowed hard, "I watched you die." He sounded furious and disgusted, looking at his own hands, twisted into claw-like shapes, ruminating on his own helplessness at the situation.

"You're the only one who noticed," you said, barely audible, "I don't think you were meant to notice."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"I wasn't meant to see what happened, and it was meant to be assumed that I died in the skirmish," you said, tone flat and bitter, before your tone grows malicious, "because Dream is a coward."

"I wasn't meant to notice?" He asks, voice weak.

"No-one was; dying in the skirmish is less targeted, but if I had glimpsed any of their team killing -" You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze, "any," you push the word to hide that it's not exactly the truth, "of you… Dream knows I am more than capable of exacting revenge." There was a dark truth to your words that Wilbur couldn’t even begin to fathom, a history he was unaware of.

"I do notice you," Wilbur says, and you're brought from your bitterness momentarily, surprised by the earnestness of his words. He stands, "and I've never heard you speak like this before."

"There are rules," you tell him, watching him cross the room to your bed, to sit by your side, "and I don't expect the same level of honesty that I give, but I expect- I expect- I-" but you can't find the words for what you're trying to say, sitting forward scowling at your hands.

"You would have let him betray us all still if you'd know, wouldn't you? You would have even let her kill you," Wilbur's tone is alight with realisation, and your mouth drops open with surprise; yes, yes of course you would, how did he put it into words like that? He doesn't even sound particularly hurt by that realisation, more fascinated.

"I absolutely would have," you answer.

"But you had no idea," its not accusatory in the slightest, his tone matching yours, alright with bright interest, "which is why- why- why you're so- why you're reacting like this," its like he's trying to piece together how he sees you out loud, "you need to know where all the chess pieces are, what moves are being made, you're not playing as much as you are a spectator delighting in the chaos of it all, with a front row seat." But he's grinning from ear to ear. Your whole body is alight with the instinct to reach out and touch him, to prove he's real and not something you're imagining, because no one else has even cared to figure you out like this, and no one would even come close to reacting so brightly about it.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," you say with a momentary huff of disbelieving laughter, but he reaches out and puts a hand on your knee. The contact burns. You look down at his hand like you can't quite believe it, head swimming, trying to process this all.

"Don't be; knowledge is power and you never lie," he pointed out, "you're a good ally to have." Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. Wilbur Soot I'd die for you; the words press against your teeth until it's almost painful, and his hand is still on your knee. You grab it - he's real, he's here, the things he's said are real too!

"I won't betray you," is what you say instead, and Wilbur's expression turns to surprise in the face of your earnestness, your seriousness. You never lie; the thing he's said is playing on both of your minds at this moment, of this you're sure.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he says very carefully.

"Then you understand the full extent of what I'm saying, don't you?" You take his hand now in a handshake, palm to palm, "Wilbur Soot, I will never betray you."

"You have never lied to me," he said, voice low and serious, demanding an answer. You meet his gaze.

"I have never lied to you," you affirm, before adding, "you know me." And you're fairly certain he doesn't quite understand the importance of that, that his understanding of you is the reason for your loyalty. "You don't have to extend the same sentiment, don't worry, like I said I don't expect the same lev of honesty -"

"I will not willingly betray you, Y/N," Wilbur says, matching your earnest seriousness, "and I will attempt to only be honest with you."

----

“What is it about you?” There was a strange quality to Dream’s voice as he voices a question that had seemingly been weighing on him for a long while. Wilbur, where he was trying to fit all of his friends’ equipment on his person to carry back to them, snaps his attention to Dream, brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Loyalty is the one thing Y/N covets above all else, and yet for some reason they’ve given it freely to you -” Dream’s voice was smooth and thoughtful, like he’s not quite aware he’s speaking out loud.

“Maybe it’s because I respect them -”

“I respected them, but still...” he trailed off; again the idea of a darker shared history between you and Dream makes itself known. Wilbur's scowl deepened, "I don’t think they genuinely respected me... or anyone, before you. They get possessive, like dangerously possessive, but you’re different."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know the thing they do, the way they can talk around people and topics without even lying, and make it look, you know, like it’s easy?” And the minute the words leave Dream's mouth, Wilbur's gaze drops; of course he'd noticed.

"They’ve got a way with words," Wilbur's agrees, slowly, eyes narrowed. At the defensive notes in Wilbur’s voice, the smile dropped from Dream’s face. He’s seen this loyalty before, but never before in someone you yourself were loyal to in turn. This is uncharted territory. This suddenly feels like a dangerous conversation to be having.

“Everything they’ve done is to amuse themselves, so you make no sense to me; what about you is so compelling that they find entertainment in playing revolution?”

“Maybe,” Wilbur says, tone light but clearly well thought out, “someone who is used to listening to everyone else finds a certain novel charm in being heard.” His gaze is icy, but he’s not looking at Dream; he’s standing at the end of the room, gaze hard as he looks at the door, as if focusing intently on something in his mind as he spoke; “I think you assume everyone believes in the ideals that their side stands for, and I also think,” he narrows his eyes, still staring into space. Despite not being the target of his glare, Dream, for the first time in the conversation, feels a strangely familiar powerlessness, “that you underestimate an individual’s loyalty to another individual, rather than to a cause,” he paused, “or a nation.”

“I’ll fight for you, of course, but I can’t kill any of those kids -” in Dream’s mind, he’s taken back to the moment he’d recruited you to his side after he’d stolen Tommy’s discs. You’re looking up at him from where you’re leaning over a grindstone, sharpening your axe. When he’d asked why, you blinked slowly at him, “I’ve barely spoken to them; I can’t discern if they deserve it.” There’s something cold in your eyes as you look at him, and he hears it clear as day without you needing to say it out loud; I don’t kill people I don’t know.

Something about Wilbur in this moment reminds Dream of you. He feels the faded scar on his collar bone ache faintly; the part of him that had wanted to somehow warn Wilbur of your true nature was quickly growing quiet in the back of his mind.

Then, Wilbur looks at his own hands for a moment, before digging through his bag, through the various belongings he was now carrying. He pulls out your axe, and looks back up at the space by the door. Then, to the button, before finally looking at Dream, your axe still in hand, but it rested by his side, nonthreatening. Dream can’t look away from the weapon.

“You were laying in wait for us in the name of your nation,” Wilbur says, tone strangely neutral; he looks back at the door; “you complain about a lack of respect but won’t warn them when they’re about to die.” This is where he’d watched you die; that, atop the various other insights Wilbur has shared here have Dream��s blood running cold. Dream wants to argue that you would have tipped them off, but his words die on his tongue; he at least knew you better than to interfere in a good plan, an entertaining plan, where you would be able to watch the effects of a major plot twist play out in real time, even if it meant you too had to be sacrified... And Wilbur knew this about you too.

“I see,” Dream muses, trying to hide how shaken he was by the moment that had just passed, “you’re starting to make more sense now.”

“And you know what,” Wilbur said, unsettling tension breaking as he grinned, “I think you’re making more sense too; Y/N’s willingness to still bring up their loyalty to you does at least.”

“Their loyalty to me?”

“They still look out for Tommy’s discs on your behalf,” he said candidly, “we all know, but they’re yet to find them so Tommy’s yet to have a proper go at them.”

“It’s always sunny in L’Manberg then,” Dream says, dryly.

“It’s... amusing, to try and see the world the way you see it,” Wilbur’s chipper, but there’s something almost malicious in his bright tone, and Dream’s hair stands on end. His own words haunt him, your loyalty called into question; did you simply help him because you found him trivial and amusing? While it doesn’t exactly surprise him, it stings in a way he didn’t expect. Looking back at Wilbur, it’s clear that at least some of Dream’s feelings about this particular revelation showed on his face, despite his best efforts. Wilbur’s grin was cheshire-esque. Even his smugness somehow had an echo of yours.

He leaves. Dream feels sick, alone in the final control room.

----

"Can I ask you something?" Wilbur asks tentatively, and you look away from the furnace you'd patiently been waiting to smelt your iron ore.

"Of course."

Another long pause; you approached him where he was sitting at the table, watching you with reservation.

"What happened between you and Dream?"

Surprisingly, your expression dropped to something blank in an instant, gaze going glassy.

“He’s my friend,” you say flatly, turning back to the furnace, but not before Wilbur caught a glimpse of your grimace.

“I think he was trying to warn me against you,” Wilbur huffs a faint laugh, but it’s more to test your reaction; when you turn back, your expression is wide and innocent, almost pleading.

“What did he say?”

“That I’m the first person you’ve shown actual respect to,” Wilbur says, tone light but words blunt; it surprises you, which he can read on your face, and you hesitate for a moment, not wanting to confirm or deny as much. His smile grows wider, grows endeared, “and he did say you tend to get possessive.” Your gentle, flustered nature turns into something colder at that, and you look to your hands.

“He says a lot of things,” you mutter, with an air of bitterness. It’s interesting interacting with you; half the time you still seem to try and put on an act around him, though the other half you seem to let yourself be as honest as you’re able, “he says a lot of things to the people I like, then they like me less.” Then, suddenly, you look to him, defiance in your eyes, “I don’t care what he said, I’m not using you, Wilb-”

“Hold on, he never said anything like that,” he holds up his hands, defensive, placating. Your eyes go wide and your mouth snaps shut; you can’t look at him, sitting down, hunching in on yourself.

“Sorry,” you mutter, sighing deeply enough that your shoulders sag, “Dream is my friend, I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I thought... he’s taken things from me like this before, things I, well...” you can’t quite put it into words, but Wilbur sits back, watching you, when something in his mind clicks.

“Covet.” His voice was soft with understanding, gentle as he asks “who was it?”

You blink slowly; there was something visceral and feral burning through your veins. You’d spent so long intricately designing the way the world would see you, this single moment feels like you’re on the knife’s edge trying to figure out if having him understanding you is endearing and heartwarming, or cloying and dangerous. He promised he wouldn’t betray you, but he’s not as honest as you’ve trained yourself to be.

But you promised not to betray him, and you’ve become someone defined by your word. All you can do is leave, if that’s what you want. You can’t lash out, you must let him live with the way he knows you, with no promise to keep it to himself. Self preservation is the way your fingers flex, aching for your axe.

“I’ve given you too much power over me,” you swallow hard, hands in fists.

“You won’t hurt me, though.”

“We both know I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“And you do want to,” he says it like it’s a fact, all light and neutral. You keep your mouth shut; you can’t lie if you don’t speak, no matter how sweet you know it would taste to lie. “I have never felt fear or anger like I felt when I watched you die,” he breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter through clenched teeth, staring intently at the floor.

“You’re not to blame,” he says easily, “none of us deserved that; you didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t deserve to see that,” you corrected automatically.

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.”

“Well I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says, tone still light. You glance a look at him, only to see him resting his chin in his hand, regarding you with a gentle smile. The distinction stings in your mind, the way he clearly understands your internal conflict, it sets your teeth on edge, “you knew what you were getting into when you offered your loyalty; Dream was confused, you know, about why you’d given it so freely when you covet it -” that word again, your expression twists into something frustrated as you drop your gaze back to your hands, “- but he doesn’t really get you, does he?”

“He likes to think he’s like me,” you mutter, “but then he acts like he’s better, like he’s building a family from this war, but he’s going to be left with people filled with resentments. I was aquiring resources, but he didn’t like my methods...”

“Who?” Softer this time, Wilbur asks.

After a very, very long time, you look to him, gaze shallow.

“I thought Quackity was like you, I thought he’d understand.”

“Understand you?”

“Understand the world, the truth,” you wet your lips for a moment, “but he clung to pretty words without question; I could see he had potential, so I kept him around, and it was easy - it was so fuckin’ easy -” You recount how you’d set your sights on loud-mouthed, brash, desperate for recognition Quackity, and how you’d made him your whole world, bombing him with affection and attention, making him feel understood, like the place he belonged was by your side. Quackity had always looked for somewhere to belong, that hadn’t changed, though you muse that you may have made it harder for him to trust it when he finally found a place where he felt like he belonged.

“Everything I fed him was a lie I’d laced with something that sounded close enough to love and sincerity that he’d believed it,” you looked down at where you were tracing shapes on the back of Wilbur’s hand as he listened intently, “I gave him nothing, but made him believe he had everything, until... until I wanted to see how far I could go. I wanted to see if he’d die for me... and he would have, until Dream decided to grow some morals.” You stood, sudden fury burning through your veins at the memory, “he had to sew the fuckin’ seeds of doubt in Q’s mind, had to pick holes in my lies -”

“You lied that much?” This seemed to genuinely shock Wilbur, and you stopped your pacing to look to him.

“It’s why I don’t lie; it’s harder to pick holes in the truth, harder to undermine me,” your lip curled, “Q lost faith in me, stopped trusting me, and there was fucking nothing I could do about it; it was my fault, honestly, so I don’t lie anymore. I’m upfront about who I am. I only keep people around if they’re useful, or they’re entertaining, because that’s the other fucking thing I learned; nothing fucking matters more than keeping me happy, because everyone gets too serious for their own good in the end. Dream was fun before he- he- he-”

“So am I useful or entertaining?” Wilbur asks, and you freeze. Then, slowly, you take a deep breath.

“It was novel to feel understood.”

“And now it’s bloody terrifying you,” he says gently, “because as much as you want to, you can’t trust anyone as much as you trust yourself.”

“I understand people, Wilbur, and no-one I’ve ever met has understood the inherent benefit to honesty the way I have.”

“But you still promised me your loyalty.” He says. You swallowed hard, nodding once. You meet his gaze, refusing to break it, refusing to back down, waiting for him to elaborate. “And I promised you mine, as best I could,” he pauses gives you an evaluative look over, “I can’t trust people, obviously, but I know I can trust you.”

“People don’t like me when they realise I can pick them apart, that I can rewire and reprogram them like I’m an engineer,” and Wilbur regards you curiously as you say this, like he’s going to try and counter it, but you square your shoulders, “even you, Wilbur; do you think, when we met, you’d still trust me if I was upfront about this?” And he closes his mouth, thoughtful, “I wanted so desperately to keep around the first person to halfway understand me, you’re impressed rather than fucking terrified like you should be. Because you know it’s true.”

“Are you trying to push me away?”

“We both know you won’t go,” you say with the faintest, self-deprecating smile, “a stalemate of respect, of our own design.” Then, your expression turned serious, “I have never felt fear or anger like I did when I realised you watched me die.”

Then, very slowly, his gaze meets yours, hard-edged and dark.

“Do you trust me as much as I trust you?” It’s a loaded question; he’s never been given any reason to doubt you, mostly thanks to your honesty and loyalty, but you’d never been afforded that same assurance. But in this instance, it didn’t matter, you knew your answer without a shred of doubt.

“Yes, absolutely.”

----

Its said a shark can smell blood in the water from a mile away, and you, you know there's a traitor living a peaceful life up in the castle. It irritates you, sets your teeth on edge; it's not that they killed you that bothers you, it's that they were careless about it, they let the one person you never wanted to hurt watch you die. The event had shaken Wilbur; the taking of your life was not the matter you cared about.

"You okay?" Others had noticed how distracted you were; in your mind, all you could see was the shocked horror in Wilbur's eyes, and the feeling of the blade in your back. Blinking quickly, back to the present, you smiled brightly at Tubbo, or as brightly as you could manage.

"Of course."

You watch the others sparring and training together and your hands ball into fists, as if aching for a fight. But you've got an image to keep up; you're not the brawn here, you're a jester, you're meant to keep those who you care about smiling.

"You ever wanna hold a sword to my neck like that..." you tone is suggestive as you trail off, grinning at Wilbur, who's got his sword poised beneath a training dummy's chin, glaring at it with ferocity. The moment you call out, however, his focus break, and you see him fighting back a smile as a flush works its way up his cheeks.

"Come test your luck then," he calls back, and you blinked quickly.

"I don't want to fight you, Wilbur," you tell him, quieter, hoping it comes off as soft, as something endeared.

"You should know how to fight," he points out, lowering his sword, digging the tip into the dirt as he leans on the pommel a little.

"I know how to fight," you counter, and a long moment of silence follows as he considers that.

"How have I never seen you with a weapon then?"

"You have, you just haven’t seen me use it as a weapon." You tell him rather pointedly, voice low, and though you’re still smiling, there’s something sharp at the edge of your voice that’s unfamiliar to him. It takes him aback, and for a long moment he’s silent as he regards you with a newfound seriousness, “I’m just a jester; what’s a jester want with a sword anyways?” You half laugh, a little louder now, gaze flicking to the others milling around nearby. Nobody outwardly acknowledges you, nobody apart from Wilbur, who just frowns. His gaze is trained on a spot just past your head, where you know the hilt of your axe sits.

You know you need to act soon, the idea of Eret living in the lap of luxury after everything that happened has your blood boiling. It's getting out of hand. It's getting distracting.

"You're very observant," you note, tone fond as you come back to the moment. Wilbur surfaces from his memories too, his own smile turning all kinds of fond.

"Out of necessity," he points out, making his way over to you. There's something about his tone that is fond, is knowing, and it melts your heart a little, those hints of understanding that no-one else had bothered to afford you. The person who'd betrayed the only person to understand you had been crowned king; soon, your retribution would come soon.

"What's bothering you?" Quiet enough that no-one else could hear, Wilbur reaches out, fingertips gentle on your cheek as he tips your face, has you look him in the eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks in them, because for a brief second, for a flash, again you see the memory of silent horror as he'd watched you lose your first life. You swallow hard, and close your eyes, leaning into his touch for the briefest moment.

"I keep thinking about what Eret did," your voice is barely more than a whisper, giving only the truth, no attempt made to obfuscate it, like you usually would. Wilbur was quiet. You didn't want to open your eyes, didn't want to witness his reaction, but he's quiet.

You don’t tell him what you’re going to do, what you’re planning; there’s no need for him to worry unnecessarily. If you survive, you survive, and if you don’t, well you have another life to fall back on. If you wake up in bed with a new scar and one less life, that was your decision to make. No-one should worry on your behalf, but Eret needed to know that their actions would have consequences.

So you choose a night where the moon is overshadowed by clouds, and take your axe with you.

You’ve always been one to make an entrance, and even now you don’t disappoint, laying in wait for as long as it takes, hours spent dead silent and idle, simply waiting.

"You should be very careful if things don't go exactly to plan," finally your voice rings out through the throne room, and Eret, all dark hair and pale eyes, stops dead where they'd been passing through. Slowly, so slow its almost painful, they turn to look at you. You, draped in the throne like you own the place, axe leaning carefully against the arm of the seat. Your name escapes her mouth like a curse.

"It did go to plan," she hisses, tone guarded.

"If it had gone to plan, I wouldn't be here," you say, shifting a little, sitting a little lower, "if your timing had been better," you paused with a shark-like smile, "I may have been the only person in L'manburg to have no issue with your betrayal," and finally you look at him, watching his face as he tries to piece together what you mean, why you're here, "on paper I admire you." You tell them callously. Their lip curls in derision.

"Dream said you'd see my side," they say carefully.

"Dream says a lot of things to a lot of people," for a moment, your expression darkens, "I'm sure he told you to kill me first."

"To avoid…" she trails off, frown deepening. Your smile returns, wide and dangerous.

"You broke something of mine, Eret," you tell him seriously, a mad glint in your eyes, "and part of your plan worked like a charm; I won't go after anyone else because I've got plausible deniability, I didn't see who killed who in that skirmish."

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"Because you killed me, and Wilbur watched; it's all he could do. It was a cruel thing that you did, making someone feel helpless like that."

"You're not here because I killed you?"

"Why would I be? I'm a court jester," you huffed a little laugh, smile turning cruel, "but you used me to make Wilbur sad, and someone's got to take the blame for upsetting the thing I like."

"If that's true, why spend all this time talking? Why not just kill me?"

"Because I like to make sure you get my message; Dream's heard my message, he tried to tell you," this is where you stand, finally, rising, gaze shallow, picking up your axe as you go. Slowly, you descend the steps of the throne, and Eret draws his sword. There's uncertainty in his eyes; he's close to where you want him.

"You're stalling."

"The more I talk, the more you try and remember what people have said about me, don't you? But they don't talk about how I fight, it's never been the most impressive thing about me," you give a low, guttural laugh, axe low in your tight grip, "I'm most dangerous when I'm unarmed and unarmoured, right? That's what they say, right? What do you think that means, really think about it?"

Eret swallows hard.

"It means that you're all talk," he's trying to put up a confident front, but you watch him tighten his grip on his sword. You raise your axe.

"Not quite."

There's nothing elegant about the way you attack, movement uncharacteristically blunt with speed that surprised the King before you. Teeth bared, you slash and duck and weave, playing dirty, tripping them up. You take hits and lash out, snarling and spitting with anger until there's no mirth, only malice, and you bring your boot down on their hand, knee pressed to their throat. There's fear behind their glasses. There's a cut above your brow, blood trickling down your face, slashes along your arms, certainly a few on your chest, but Eret's on her back on the cold floor of the throne room.

"You have no fucking idea of what I'm fully capable of," you snarl, leaning in close to their face, applying pressure until they drop their sword, hissing in pain, "this is your only warning; if you hurt- if you fucking touch my things again, I'll make it stick-" and leaning back, you use your axe to separate their head from their shoulders, taking their first life.

And you're alone, breath coming out shakily, gasping as the adrenaline courses through you. Somewhere in the castle, Eret is waking up with your words echoing in their head. You should leave. Standing slowly, you cast a derisive look to the blood stain on the floor, the only proof of the altercation. Someone else's problem.

You leave through the front doors, still carrying your bloodstained axe. Really, he should have better security.

At the doors to the castle, you pause, casting a derisive look over your shoulder; this all could have been avoided. You pull out your communicator, flicking through your contacts.

[keep your things on a shorter leash] you send to Dream. He should have chosen more carefully, or been more insistent. But that was his problem; if he kept up like this, you may have to start questioning your friendship with him.

But there's something cathartic that comes as the adrenaline is depleting. It's said that revenge doesn't provide the cathartic relief that one hopes for, but you weren't looking for revenge as much as you were looking to send a message. And you're fairly certain that message was thoroughly received. Eret had been afraid, deeply and truly afraid; you'd seen it in her eyes. It made up for the fear you had seen in Wilbur's.

You breathe a deep sigh, letting your shoulders relax for a moment; you head home.

There's static in your ears as you travel back to L'manburg, and you don't quite register that you're back on your nation's soil until you hear shouts. Tommy, Tubbo; the children, they spot you covered in blood that's both yours and not, and they're full of concern. You smile. The wound on your head starts to ache a little, the adrenaline wearing off fully.

"Don't worry about me -" you try, unable to keep the fondness from your voice.

"Wilbur!" Tommy hollers, because he knows. Everyone knows. You've staked your claim enough that even your allies know where to turn when you're acting out of character. It has you laughing, quietly at first - Dream had tried to warn Eret, how stupid must they be to ignore that, to not follow his instructions to the letter? - but your laughter only gets louder as Tubbo takes off, also calling for Wilbur ad Tommy, genuinely concerned, asks what the fuck happened to you.

"I'm a jester," you laugh, eyes a little wild as you look to the child, "I'm just a fucking jester! A messenger! Can't kill the messenger," there's something wild, something feral about you, covered in blood with a grin that's all teeth, bloody and bruised and covering a bloodstained axe. Tommy takes a step back, wary and quiet. His eyes are wide as he looks to your axe.

"I thought you used a bow," he says quietly. Your smile grows wider.

"I'm a bad shot with a bow," you tell him seriously. He blinks slowly, processes your words.

"You shot me," there's apprehension in his voice. He's getting it. Perhaps you should take more caution here; you don't want to break the illusion of you he sees.

"I didn't know you then," is what you say, and see the confusion and vague horror as he tries to figure out what you mean by that. But he's interrupted.

"What did you do?" Wilbur doesn't see the humour in your appearance, he seems like he's barely containing rage. When all you do is grin, giving a slight shrug, he turns to Tommy, tells him he'll take care of you, that the boy should join Tubbo. Tommy looks between the two of you; he tells Wilbur to be careful. You laugh again, bright and loud, and Tommy and Wilbur both frown at you, but at least Tommy follows Wilbur's directions.

With the kid gone, Wilbur turns on his heel, making a beeline for where he knows you've hidden your living area, and you follow him without question.

In your house, his voice turns softly malevolent;

"Who did this to you?" Oh. Your heart catches in your throat, and the surprise must read on your face; despite his furious expression he's gentle when he takes hold of your wrist, leading you to your basin.

"You don't need to worry about me," you tell him softly, though you obligingly sit on the edge of the basin. You lean your axe up behind you.

"You're covered in blood," he points out, gaze flicking for a moment to meet yours as the water runs, filling the basin up.

"Only some of its mine," you try, endeared by the care he was showing, "I just had to deliver a message, that's all."

"You look like you had to go through hell for it," he muses.

"You don't need to worry about me, Wilbur," and you reach out to take his hand where he's dousing a washcloth in the water. He goes still.

"What message?" He asks, finally conceding, tone finally soft. He flips your hand, carefully wiping the blood from it.

"People need to be more careful who they use me against," you say idly, and Wilbur is quiet as he works diligently away, cleaning the blood from your hands, from your arms when you offer them.

"I kept seeing the moment you saw me die," you tell him softly, voice barely more than a whisper as he's rinsing the blood from the cloth. He gives pause; you continue, "I expect betrayal, but I can't imagine how it must feel to have to watch that and be unable to do anything; I suppose that's why Dream told them to kill me first. If their timing wasn't perfect, I'd see one of you slaughtered - I could have seen you slaughtered," you muse, looking down at your hands, at the blood beneath your nails. Carefully, Wilbur finally lifts your chin so he can gently dab at the wound on your forehead, looking as though he was holding back a fond smile. "But I think what happened was worse; I never want to be the source of your unhappiness, on purpose or not," then finally, you look to his eyes, to how he's focusing, and your heart beats hard against your ribs, "I don't want you to worry about me." It's barely more than a whisper, far more honest than the candid way you'd said as much earlier.

"What did you do?" It's fond now, much lighter than the situation at hand called for, and for a moment he meets your gaze, smiling ever so slightly, your face still in his hands.

His eyes are so dark, you never want him to stop looking at you like this; these feelings are already becoming dangerous, on the verge of swallowing you whole. You need him closer. It had been a blood sacrifice to atone for that look in his eyes.

You will never have the words to tell him all you’re willing to do for him.

"The king is dead," you tell him, "long live the king."

----

"Surprised you weren't optioned as their VP," Quackity's smile was all teeth as he slid into the booth, across from you.

"Surprised you were," you fired back, glad for his company; the two of you don't talk like you once did, but you'd always held a fondness for him.

"POG2020 here to drown their sorrows at losing?" He asked, tone edging on something almost mean, but stopping just short.

"Those of them that can drink," you'd grinned, gaze turning to the bar where Wilbur was glaring into a half drunk pint, "he promised me a drink half an hour ago," but you're tone was fond. Quackity makes a noise of sudden understanding.

"That's why you weren't his VP," he says, sitting a little lower in his seat, expression smug, but eyes alight like a tiger with his interest piqued. You make a noise like you have no idea what he's talking about, "poor form, really, looks bad if he's sleeping with his VP."

"You dirty fuckin pervert," but your grin gets wider as your tone gets flustered, "we're not fucking!"

"But you want to," his grin gets wider, "late nights at the office, just the two of you, all alone, its stressful, it's a tough job you know-" his tone is low, teasing in a way that means you can't meet his eyes, but his tone shifts as he seems to hear what he's saying, "hey do you wanna come work with me?" It's mostly a joke, smile turning to something genuine with the way it crinkles by his eyes, and the tension from mere moments ago disappears, and you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand with a sly smile.

"Depends on the benefits," you match his earlier tone, teasing and low, and he mirrors your positioning, face now close to yours, close to the middle of the table.

"I'm sure I could talk Schlatt into something reasonable for the other benefits," he's still smiling, still mostly joking, as were you, though you couldn't deny the thought of being Quackity's assistant and part of the Jschlatt Administration was deeply amusing given your recent history.

"You really in the market for an assistant?" Your tone was brighter, far less joking, and for an instant, Quackity flushed an amusing shade of pink.

"I could be- this was meant to be a bit-"

"You here to rub my nose in it, Quackity?" Wilbur's voice, when it joined the pair of you, was accusatory, and though you don't move from your surprisingly intimate moment, Quackity's eyes slide to the side, to watch Wilbur side effortlessly into the seat beside you.

"Former President Soot," Quackity grinned, but instead of watching Wilbur's reaction, he looked back at you, raising a single, almost challenging eyebrow. Wilbur, at the very least, ignores the comment.

"You conspiring against me?" He asks, mostly directed at you, and while Quackity tries to snort and play it off, you can feel Wilbur's hand slide down the length of your back coming to rest at your hip, arm now around you, and you lean out of your moment with Quackity and into his touch.

Something in Quackity’s gaze turns cold, like he’s awash with memories long past, like he’s quietly mad at himself for losing himself in the moment with you, for forgetting any part of what you’d put him through.

"Not in a technical sense, but I also hadn't agreed to anything," you tell him, finally looking at him. As you settle into the space beside him, his arm moves to wrap around your shoulders, fingers resting gently on your upper arm; it's a clearly possessive gesture. Something in your heart bursts with warmth.

Looking to him, you see he's looking back at you, expression burning, question in his eyes; was I interrupting? Your grin turns sharper. If he had been interrupting, you're more than capable of telling him to fuck off, but just having him around reminds you that this is better than any alternative.

"Oh," Quackity's voice was alight with realisation, breaking the moment, and you turn to him as Wilbur leans into you a little more, "you would have made the worst VP," he practically crows, tone more mocking than it was light, "you wouldn't have made it a week."

"Don't be a prick," Wilbur scowled, "if they'd wanted the job they of course would have been more than welcome to it -"

"Good old fashioned nepotism," Quackity, sounding especially smug, did little to brighten Wilbur's mood, who was set to mumble something else snide before Quackity's eyes fixed on you, "wait, you didn't want to be VP? I was actually right, wasn't I? You knew exactly what would happen, yet somehow he doesn't?! Have you even seen yourselves? How does he not - Ow!" You kick him in the shins under the table. Hard.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Wilbur asks, as Quackity brings his leg up to rub at his sore shin. He's still fucking grinning. Asshole.

"Keep your dirty little mouth closed, Q," you warned.

"Don't worry, I know its not my dirty little mouth you're interested in- fucking ow, Y/N!"

"Good," Wilbur's voice in your ear is warm and pleased and he's leaning on you now, solid and tipsy with his forehead against the side of your head, "he's being a dick, you have terrible friends you know."

"You'd be the worst," you murmur back, voice syrupy and full of affection as Wilbur actually giggles, not even bothering to try and contradict you. Quackity, across from you and still rubbing his shins, mimes gagging.

"Go be Vice President, Quackity," Wilbur sneers.

"Don't be a salty bitch, Mister Former President," Quackity's lip curls.

"Kick him in the shins again, my love," the nickname alone, Wilbur in your ear, it has your heart in a vice-like grip, and Quackity must see it in your eyes how eager you are to follow through because he draws his knees up to his chest with gusto, flipping you both off. You laugh.

"Love you, Q," you tell him with sincerity, out of habit. When he tells you to shut up, there’s nothing joking in his tone in that moment, gaze avoiding yours as he’s shimmying from the booth.

"You're so generous with your words," Wilbur's voice is a gentle sigh, something wanting, something almost forlorn. For a moment your breath catches in your throat, but before you can respond, before you can even think of a response, he's already talking again, "what was he on about anyways? Talking shit about you like he has any right to, you would have made a great VP, I asked, you know I asked -" he sits up, as if worried that you think he thinks less of you, but his arm is still around you.

"Will your the only one who wanted me to be VP," which isn't a lie, but in your trademark fashion, it also wasn't the whole truth.

"They don't trust you with a nation," he sounded so bitter, and for a moment your heart stutters in your chest.

"They shouldn't," you tell him softly.

"Do you like Quackity more than me?"

"I think I probably like him more than you like him, yes."

"That wasn't what I was asking and you knew that," then his voice drops, something in his eyes as serious as you've ever seen, "do you like Dream more than me?"

"Wilbur…"

"I know- I know you're close, I know, I just… I need to know, you know?"

"Will…" and as you say his name, voice a hesitant murmur, he cups your face.

"You don't have to- to be worried if you do, I just need to know, for me, it's selfish but I need to know for me; I'd understand, of course of course I'd understand, you two have history-" and his gaze is boring into you, eyes wide and dark and you can't find the words for how much you want him to hold you close, hold you tight and never let go.

You hesitate. You drop his gaze.

"You do," he sounds heartbroken, his grip on you grows slack.

"I have never lied to you, Wilbur," your tone is nervous and hesitant, "but I'm afraid of answering, I'm afraid of what it means."

"You'd… you'd betray me for him?" Drunk and emotional, he sits back, but your hands are shaking.

"Wilbur, I'm afraid of answering because… you're wrong. It's you. Over Big Q, over Dream, over everyone… Wilbur I-" your voice caught in your throat, words too honest by half, so you swallow them, choose safer ones, "will choose you," you let out a shaky sigh, "you have my loyalty."

His eyes were wide as saucers, shiny and overwhelmed and emotional and then he's holding you so tight it's like a vice, face pressed into the crook of your neck.

"You've always had my vote," you tell him faintly, and he holds you tighter still.

"You," he whispers incredulously, not even your name, just, "its you." And your mind hears them said like a mirror, like he himself can't quite believe your honestly.

----

“They’re exiling you,” you hear Quackity before you see him; they’ve got you locked away, and probably for good reason, but also probably at his insistence.

“It’s better than the death penalty,” you say, huffing a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” his tone is gentle but reserved, and when you finally look up from your hands, elbows braced on your knees, you see him leaning on the bars of your cage. It’s too dark to read his expression, but you can tell from his voice, “just play nice with Schlatt and you can stay a citizen.”

“Play nice?” You asked with the faintest of smirks, “what does that entail exactly?”

This is where he grows quiet, crouching down and looking at the floor, mouth in a thin line.

“You’re good at playing nice, it shouldn’t be hard,” you can’t mistake the bitterness in his voice, and you give pause, “just say it was an act, your loyalty to that dictator, Wilbur.”

“Lie, so I can swap out one perceived dictator for another?” You asked softly.

“Helping run a campaign for the former president only to admit that you don’t actually give a shit, and stay loyal to the man who won by forming a coalition with the two losing parties, that sounds exactly like something you’d do,” he pointed out, and there’s something in his voice you can’t identify, something akin to faint desperation, though you can’t quite understand why. But still, something catches in your throat.

“Isn’t it funnier to stay loyal to the former president who lost after the two losing parties formed a secret coalition? To the point of exile?”

“Can’t you just play nice? Can’t you just lie?”

“You wanna keep me around that bad?” You asked, faintly teasing edge to your words, but as soon as he stands, as soon as he speaks, you can hear him growing defensive.

“I’m the Vice President trying to offer an olive branch to a potentially skilled ally,” he sniped, “don’t get it twisted.”

“I’m not going to lie to try and play nice with the dictator who stole the nation from the person I’m loyal to,” you tell him, blunt. Quackity is quiet for a very long moment.

“Dream ‘ll be heartbroken,” his voice is suddenly strangely rough, “someone’s knocked him out as top fuckin’ dog in your little, black heart -”

“Q,” it’s finally clicked, and you don’t know what else to say.

----

“I want you to know what I’m capable of,” you say softly, looking up at the stars. Then, slowly, you look at Wilbur, who’s regarding you with interest, “everyone ends up afraid of me,” you tell him, “and it might be self sabotage, but I want you to fear me too. I’m not used to love, I’m not used to understanding.”

“More honest than usual tonight,” he muses with a gentle smile.

“If I’m not feared I feel like I’m being underestimated.”

“It sounds like self sabotage.”

“I feel violent today,” then, looking up at the stars you take a deep breath, “I love you. I don’t think I’ve said that before; I love you, Wilbur.”

“You love me and you want me to fear you,” he says slowly. His gaze follows the tense set of your shoulders, “not used to loving someone?” You shake your head.

“I want to cut off your head, just so you know I could,” you tell him, hands behind your back, gaze skyward, “I think I want to fuck you, but I’m not sure, I’m really not used to loving someone, not genuinely. I don’t think I know how to love you in a way that makes sense.”

Finally, you turn to him, expression neutral, while inside you were alight with nerves. He’s watching you, dark eyes thoughtful. You swallow hard.

“I’m trying to push you away,” you tell him without hesitation, “because I’ve given you too much power over me, and I-” you voice catches, your façade cracking, and finally you drop your gaze, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

Even your honesty was it’s own kind of dishonest mask, and there was nothing more fear inducing than genuinely letting it slip. Your image is a house of cards and you keep handing Wilbur fucking fans.

“You know at some point I am just going to leave; I don’t want to, but if you keep pushing -” he pauses, as if expecting a rebuttal, but your mouth remains firmly closed, which causes him to frown, “- I’m going to end up leaving. Do you want me to go? I’m just going to ask, because you keep pushing, you keep doing this, I’d rather you were just honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t want you to stay around me out of some sort of moral obligation,” you tell him.

“That’s not an answer.”

“And I can’t answer because you can’t guarantee you won’t end up fucking fearing me like everyone else! I can’t answer because I am not going to be responsible for someone else’s feelings; if you stop caring about me I don’t want you to feel like you should still be around me, and just go on to resent me!”

Squeezing your eyes closed, face scrunched up, you force the words through your lips, “I would give you the fucking world, Wilbur, but I don’t expect- I don’t want to expect anything in return,” your jaw clenches for a moment, but you relax your face, eyes still closed, “obsession,” you sigh gently, “is safer if I am sure it is not reciprocated. Especially obsession like this...”

“Like this?”

“The things I obsess over... they’re just that; things. And I want to keep them safe, but I don’t... I don’t actually love them like I love you,” your lip curls, and you look at the ground, slowly sinking into a squat as you contemplate, “it’s fucking obscene,” you spit, as if disgusted at yourself. “Love makes me feel fucking filthy; it’s always funnier when I’m the object of desire.”

“You’re still trying to push me away!”

“And yet you’re still here, so who’s the real idiot!?” You snapped, lip curled in a sneer as you shot him a venomous look; the shock of it all was plain as day on his face, but you don’t let the faint guilt you feel show on your face as you look at your hands.

“I love you,” he says faintly, still sounding surprised, like he can’t quite realise what he’s saying, “and I’m just tired to trying to fight you on that, I don’t know how to prove that what I say to you is the truth; you don’t have a patent on honesty, and I just don’t know what to do to get you to believe me.” And then, coming back to himself, anger returning, “it’s not filthy to be in love!”

“It is when it’s obsession,” your answer comes out more like a growl.

“Y/N, my drug empire turned into a nation, I think more people should be obsessed with me,” he says with surprising levity. Something protective, something jealous flares up at that suggestion, but you keep your reaction to yourself, looking up at him as something close to hope flares bright in your chest. “You act like you’re the only one here, like you’re the only one allowed to worry about me, like you’re the only one willing to- to die. You killed the King for me, you have Dream’s respect, if I was going to be afraid of you it would have settled in by now,” then, “the only reason I haven’t killed Eret for what he did to you is because you got there first yourself. Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?”

The question hangs in the air between you both; you think you can almost see it there, catching starlight. You look at your hands instead.

“I believe there’s something wrong with the type of people who fall in love with me,” you admit, barely louder than a whisper, “and part of me believes you’re better than that.”

“Listen to yourself,” he gives an exasperated chuckle, “there’s something wrong with you.”

“I know that,” you say almost immediately. Silence lapses out between you, and finally Wilbur sighs, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around you.

“I think it might be why I love you.”

There’s never been a more dangerous feeling in your chest than in this moment, in his arms. You want to tell him you’d kill for him, you’d die for him, but it’s more than that, more than you could explain or do justice with words alone, so you hug him back, and never want this moment to end.

“There’s something wrong with you, too.”

----

He is silent; cold and unmoving and your hands start to shake.

"You did what you had to," your tone is flat, no distress, nothing, just flat. Phil is quiet. Neither of you move. You can hear your heart beat in your ears. "We should move his body."

"Yeah…" and then, softer, "actually, no, it won't be around for long… but we can set up a gravestone."

"What do you mean?"

"Bodies here don't stay, they move on-" and as Phil speaks, as you step towards the body on the ground, hand outstretched, it begins to fade to ash, to dust. Only his things were left behind. Your fingers curl into a fist and you lower your hand, "are you okay?" His voice has the barest shake, like he still can't believe what just happened.

"It was never meant to be," you tell him instead of answering truthfully, forcing yourself to smile as you finally look up to the father of your best friend, your- "are you okay, Phil? I'm sorry you had to do that, I'm sorry-"

"You're okay." He sounded deeply concerned by what he'd perceived to be your response. Looking out from the room to the crater, you see Withers flying overhead, and hear shouting and confusion.

"I should go," you say softly, "I'm the only one left who could take the fall for that," you muse, jaw tightening for a moment, though noone can see your expression. When you move past Phil, you pause, and tell him quietly, reassuringly, that he did what had to be done, and that you were sorry.

"Was he just a means to an end for you, just another joke? You'd gotten better, you'd gotten kinder-" his voice finally betrayed his distress; his son was dead by his own hand and you'd just watched, "what happened?"

It takes you a long time to formulate your response, terrified of letting yourself be vulnerable; you'd been the villain too many times to not expect an opportunist to use your vulnerability against you. Phil may not be that opportunist, but you know better than anyone what dangers may lurk behind a kind face and sincere veneer.

"Whatever I may have felt is no longer relevant, to you, me, or anyone; he's gone, as is L'manburg."

"Did you even care about him?" Phil asks gently, "don't talk your way around me, please, Y/N." Your breath catches for a moment; he's giving you an imploring look, holding your wrist carefully; outside, someone, possibly Tommy, is hollering both yours and Wilbur's names with fury.

"Care is a very weak word for how I may have felt," you tell him softly, holding his gaze. Your tone is flat, but you see it in his eyes when he catches your meaning, how you can't bring yourself to admit out loud that you loved Wilbur, "not that it matters now… not that anyone would believe you if you told them." You said, tone dismissive. Phil lets you go.

----

"Oh hello, Quackity!" You hear Ghostbur cheerfully greeting someone as he peers out the window, leaning far enough out on the sill, pushed up on his toes, that you're half worried he'll fall. You hear violently loud shushing outside your house and your blood runs cold. Why was he trying to sneak up on your house?

You’re intrigued by it all, and don’t try and put up a fight.

"I suppose the kangaroo court is now in session," you mused, peering up at the precarious contraption above you, "can you at least tell me why you're dropping an anvil on my head?"

"Because you're a threat to society," Quackity grumbles, though he can't bring himself to look at you.

"Because you drove my father to madness, helped him blow up half the land, then you killed him once he'd outlived his purpose," Fundy was unflinching as he levelled a glare at you.

“They didn’t kill me,” it’s Ghostbur’s voice that joins the foray, amid the shouting, while you’re hopping from one foot to the other, looking up at the anvil, the gentle reverb that accompanies his soft speech cuts through the din.

And suddenly the madness stops; all eyes on the Ghost.

“Don’t kill her over me, if that’s your reasoning;” he paused, nervous, “or just don’t kill them…” he trailed off.

“Don’t you get that they’ve already made up their mind?” Quackity’s rolling his eyes, standing by the lever that decides your fate, “if they wanted someone to release them, they could have convinced one of us by now-” and he looks to you, eyes dark and cold, and the moment you’d shared back at Wilbur’s grave surfaces in your mind ‘you’re getting better at hearing the truth’.

"Quackity-" you breathed, alight with intrigue at this development, unable to help yourself. There's an old, familiar flicker of misguided desire, for lack of a better word.

"Keep my fucking name out of your mouth," he muttered, only loud enough for you to hear, "and quit it with that tone." He can't look at you; you delicately wrap press your hands to the glass of your cage.

"Q, what tone, I don't-" but even you could hear the giddy notes that bleed through in your words.

"You're about to die; I'm about to kill you, but you're hear acting- talking like you did when you pretended to care about me-"

"I have cared about you from the moment I met you," you fired back defensively, "I have always cared about you, Quackity."

“God I really fuckin’ preferred it when you lied, then I didn’t have to try and figure out what the fuck you mean when you talk like that,” he snapped, before making his way from the podium, “I’m sick of them, someone else pull the lever.” He called out; he’s taking a stand, trying to block you out, keep your words out of his head. This was the Quackity you’d been so captivated by when you’d met him, the man who intrigued you, who you thought could challenge you, whose very nature excited you. Heart beating in your ears, you press your hands to the glass of the cage, looking out past him, to the others.

“I was not responsible for what happened to Wilbur,” you called, looking to Fundy, who you’re pleased to see looked conflicted, “what happened to L’Manberg wasn’t my fault- I fought with you. I fought with you all,” there’s the faintest notes of desperation in your voice. You had already made peace with your fate, now you were simply intrigued as to whose hands your blood would be on.

“Fine, Fundy if you’re conflicted because they didn’t kill your dad, you can stay out of it,” Quackity’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, but you can see the hard, tense line of his shoulders.

“It feels like our actual execution reasons... aren’t there anymore,” Tubbo points out, “and as a leader, I feel bad killing someone for being a nuisance, and not even a nuisance to me or anyone else.”

“This feels kinda personal,” Ranboo adds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “which is fine, but they don’t seem like a threat to the country.”

“Did you fucking forget she became Wilbur Soot’s right hand?!” Quackity demanded from them, stepping forward again, “ she may not have been responsible for pressing the button, but she had ample opportunity to stop him; hell, she had ample opportunity to not be a dick. How can we even believe what she says?!”

“People do some fucked up things for love,” Ranboo gives a simple shrug.

“And Y/N doesn’t lie,” Tubbo pointed out, looking to you. In this moment, time freezes; his words buzz in the back of your mind as you look to Quackity, trying to decipher how he’s reacting when you can’t see his face. Because he can’t give it away, can’t bring himself to admit the power you once had over him, the sliver of power you still have, can’t make himself look weak, and it’s killing him.

They’ve only known you to be honest, and for that you’re glad... but Quackity knew you before.

Perhaps your begging, your desperation, had worked too well.

----

“You gonna give the people a show?” Your heart is beating in your throat as you find yourself waiting in your cell, hands restrained behind your back as Dream himself paces in irate silence outside your cell.

“I gave you the option to come back, to join me to not go down this road,” he’s seething, hands balling into white-knuckled fists and unballing again and again, “I don’t understand you, I don’t fucking understand you, Y/N,” and he stops, pulls off his mask to run his hand through his hair in irritation. Then he looks to you, and you’re looking back, expression thoughtful, or at least, you hopes it comes across as thoughtful, rather than betraying the way you’re heart is hammering against your ribs.

“It’s not your fault it’s more amusing to be on the side of revolution,” you told him, lips quirking into the faintest smile, “they called it L’manberg,” your smile widens, unable to help your own laugh, and his distress becomes more evident. Then, smile slowly fading, you meet Dream’s gaze, giving a slight frown.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you tell him seriously, “you could have picked anyone else to do this, you didn’t have to volunteer.”

“If I had picked anyone else,” he swallows hard, looking at the ground and taking a deep breath, “you would have talked your way out, and it would have made them look weak, but there would be a target still on your head and you’d be hunted.”

“And you?”

“You’ve never done that thing you do with me, talk circles, trying to get me on your side -”

“You’re already on my side,” you say gently, but his expression turns pained.

“They know - everyone knows I’m the only person on the side of Pogtopia you haven’t attempted to talk your way around, but I’m also the only person who could convince you to go into exile, to not fucking let yourself be killed, and have the others not hunt you furiously when they find out.”

“Dream the Great and Powerful,” you smile, tone fond and frankly adoring, he winces again.

“You’re a pain,” he mutters, mostly to himself, before he lowers himself into a squat, as if to centre himself, gaze lifting to you finally, “you can go; join Tommy in exile, you don’t have to… to… you don’t have to die, dude.”

“If I die, in their eyes I’ve atoned for my crimes,” you try to sit back, settling in a little against the wall, “you and Tommy will never see eye to eye, but like you said, that thing I do, the way I talk my way around people, that has affected more than just you,” you took a deep breath, “the only person I really respected apart from you died, Dream, the only person who truly vouched for me apart from you is dead, Dream.” Your smile grows tight, and suddenly you can’t look him in the eyes; respect, it was so much more than that. Your heart grows warm at his memory, the mere thought of his smile, before growing cold and sad as he demanded that Phil kill him. It must show on your face.

“Wilbur protected you,” Dream said, tone knowing, but you couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that.

“Wilbur was my limiter,” you corrected, and Dream’s eyebrows rose, momentarily broken from his distress, “I respected him, I… anyways, so if he asked me not to fuck with one of our allies, I wouldn’t - except to give you Tommy’s discs,” you clarified, and for the barest moment, Dream’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smile.

“You’re kind of awful,” he says gently, “you’d fuck with your allies? Just change sides, don’t mess with the people who trust you and expect them to keep trusting you as such.”

“My ally was Wilbur, the rest of them were on his side,” you explained, “I’m on my own side before anyone else's,” you reminded, and he nodded seriously, looking to the floor, bouncing on his toes.

----

"I- I mean I'm not sorry," Quackity muses. You don't look up, but you hear him sit on the other side of Wilbur's Tombstone.

"I don't know why you would be; you're not responsible for what happened to me."

“Oh,” Quackity frowns, giving pause, “no, I meant about him,” and he slaps the side of the tombstone with one hand.

“Not your fault either,” you shrugged.

"He did it to himself," which is right, but not in the way Quackity means it. He thinks Wilbur blew up. He doesn't know what was asked of Phil. You're quiet, and finally Quackity speaks; "did you actually love him or was it another one of your stunts?"

"Love is a strong word," you respond, tone devoid of inflection. He can't hear how badly you want to confirm, you want to holler how fucking wide the sky has gotten in Wilbur's absence.

"Can you just teach me how to not fucking care? Because how is it so easy for you? How do you wake up and decide you're going to ruin lives and stand by while the world goes up in flames?"

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s just a side effect of who you are as a person,” he says derisively.

"You find what you love and let it kill you," you tell him, voice quiet.

"You find who you love and let them kill you," he says, knowingly, "you followed Eret into the control room because of Wilbur," he said knowingly, "and we all saw who gave you that mark on your neck," he laughs humourlessly. "But you can't even entertain the idea that I could hurt you, can you?" He asks.

"Find who you love and let them kill you."

"What then?"

"Hope your love for them dies too; severing attachments takes great personal sacrifice."

"You sound like Dream."

"I've known him the longest, you know?"

"He's your best friend, I remember," he tells you derisively, "so did your love die?"

"My attachment to him is situational at best."

“But does it die?” He asked quietly, “you severed the attachment, but does the love die?” His tone is hollow, and you swallowed hard.

“You’re getting better at hearing the truth.” You give a humourless laugh, and he responds with a non-committal hum

“I liked you better when you lied," he says quietly.

"I almost got you killed," you tell him flatly, and he huffs a faint laugh.

"Correction, I almost died for you."

"What's the difference?"

"Intention," you can hear his faint smile, "find what you love and let it kill you, after all." Then, quieter, "you should finish the job."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Give me that kind of power over you," you tell him flatly.

"You should finish what you started," he scoffs, the mood shifting more and more with each word, "you're the one who wanted me to die for you; if you're learning to be all honourable and noble and shit, you should learn to take accountability -" he huffed in frustration, "can I be perfectly fucking honest with you for a moment?"

"I'd appreciate it," you tell him. There's a few moments of silence that follow, and finally you shift, peering at him over your shoulder to where he's leaning against the headstone, legs kicked out in front of him. He looks at you, eyes dark and tired.

"I'm so tired of giving a shit about you."

You know there's something selfish in how you miss seeing his smile in this moment. But then again, did you miss his smile, or did you miss what it represented; his love and loyalty.

----

"You're getting rained on," Ghostbur said quietly, looking at you with his wide, cloudy eyes as you held an umbrella open and aloft above him.

"I'll live," you said pointedly, and at Ghostbur's smile became faintly strained, but he accept the umbrella. You, however, didn't move, sitting beside him on the log that you'd found him on.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, shuffling a little closer, if only to try and shield you too with the little umbrella. Instead of looking to him, you look at the grey, drizzling clouds looming overhead.

"I saw it was clouding over," you told him, "and no-one I spoke to had seen you for a while..." you trailed off, shrugging, as if that was enough.

"You've always been a lovely friend, I remember that, I remember..." but his own voice trails off, dies in his throat; you look at him with interest, and after a beat he looks back at you, "I remember the good times, the happy times, and you, in the beginning you were a wonderful friend, but I don't... they say I blew up a nation, you know, and I don't remember that, but I don't remember a lot leading up to that either. It -" he hesitates before backtracking, choosing his words carefully, "did something bad happen between us?"

Your understanding of the word, of the time you spent with Wilbur, it was all shattering in your mind at once. His eyes were wide and full of concern when you look back at him, and he reaches out gently, wiping away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen; you hear the hiss of the water against his thumb and move out of his touch.

"Sorry," he says softly, genuine apology in his voice, "was it because of what I did to L'Manberg?" He asks gently. Around you, the rain was getting heavier.

"I thought we were happy," it came out barely louder than a whisper, and you quickly wiped your eyes, despite the rain now coming down hard enough to hide your tears, "I should have... I know I should have said something, but I thought we both just knew, you know? I should have..." and you turn, bottom lip trembling, "I'm sorry, Ghostbur, I know you're not him, you keep saying that, but I never got to tell Alive-You that I... you know," you swallowed hard, "that I love him. You? Him? I never actually got to tell him properly, in a way that makes sense. But I did. I do. And I thought... Fuck," the word comes out in a harsh breath, and you find yourself scowling and looking away, "probably for the best that I didn't say anything if he - you, I guess - weren't - wasn't? - happy."

"I know he cared about you, as much as I can remember, he never stopped caring," Ghostbur's voice is quiet, and finally, you look at him. His face is scrunched up with concentration, but there's small trails of steam -

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," you're genuinely apologetic, and he looks shocked when you look up, as if he hadn't even noticed.

"Just because I don't remember doesn't mean... well a lot of things were not good memories towards the end, but that's because of everything going on up here," he was wiping at his eyes quickly to dispel the tears before he taps his temple with two fingers, "and if what you're saying is true, he wasn't unhappy because of you, he was just unhappy, and it... there are months missing for me, and that's no-one's fault."

Oh... well you supposed you could understand that, still, it was difficult to process this whole conversation and all it's implications.

"How is this the most amusing option, if you don't mind me asking?" He suddenly speaks up, and you look up with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You're upset, I don't think I've ever seen you upset -"

"Well it probably wouldn't be a good memory if you had," you reminded, to which he conceded.

"But I remember clear as day when we met, and you told me and Tommy that you simply did whatever amused you the most, this... this doesn't seem particularly amusing."

"I don't operate like that anymore," you told him frankly, staring at your hands.

"Oh," he muttered softly, before asking, voice tentatively, "why did you think to come find me?"

You take a moment to deliberate, to consider your own reasoning and motivations, still looking at your hands, fingers twisting and curling and locking into inconsistent shapes.

"You used to do this near the end," you said softly, "used to run off and sit near the button and think and think and think but never do anything," you paused, "and I never cared about the land like I cared about you, so I was all for blowing it all up, but it... I could see it was doing something to you. The election, everything that was happening, it did something to you; you were spiralling, and I knew if I didn't know where you were, you were by the button. Awful and fucking beautiful, and dude, I'm- I'm so sorry I didn't tell you but, Christ, I was so in love with you, Wilb-" looking sharply at him, your voice died in your throat, and you corrected yourself, "him. Not... you're different. Right. Ghostbur." He blinked at you, a little taken aback by the sudden passion of your outburst, of your explanation. You cleared your throat. "No-one else had the balls to acknowledge that the land no longer functioned by the ideals it was built for, and I loved your passion; I could listen to you talk down there for hours. Sometimes I did. It was like a prison and a safe space all at once, and I don't know if it made things better or worse, but when he couldn't stand to see what the world had become, we'd sit in that room with the button and talk."

Finally, you looked at him, seeing him and not the man he used to be.

"And today I couldn't find you, and I knew it was going to rain, and... I know rain hurts you. There's no button, but you don't spend time in town anymore, so I looked for Friend." You looked at the little, blue sheep who'd been happily munching on some grass during your conversation. Then a faint, cold pressure in your hands, and you look down to see Ghostbur pressing a vial of a thick, blue liquid into your hands.

"Have some blue," he said softly, "it'll make you feel better." And then, much softer, he thanks you for finding him, he takes your free hand and laces your fingers with his, "thank you for talking to me."

"Thank you for talking to me." You mumble, giving his hand a squeeze, feeling a touch guilty for unloading all of this on him. No-one else would listen, or if they would, they didn't care; people had gone from not trusting you because you refused to be completely loyal to any thing but yourself, now they hated you for staying loyal to what they deemed to be the wrong thing. Allies were few and far between, and Ghostbur may see himself as separate to Wilbur, but you weren't going to stop yourself from caring about him too.

----

"You're in here," Tommy's voice is quiet where he's thumbing through a notebook you half recognise. Making a noise of interest, you look a little closer at the notebook - What I Remember. Ghostbur's notes, you feel yourself growing tongue tied.

"I don't- you shouldn't be reading that."

"You suddenly decided to grow a conscience?"

"Shut up," your lip curled, "and I'm not in it."

"Who else would be the Favourite Jester?" He asked, turning the book around, but you covered your eyes.

"Don't be a sook," he sneered.

"Does Ghostbur know you have it?" You asked, and he grew a little antsy at that, to which you simply growled at him to give it back. But still, you catch a glimpse of it;

“Its you.” - in the notebook, in Ghostbur's neat scrawl - you chose me when no-one else did.

----

"I think Tommy trusts me," you told Dream, frowning at your brewing stand. Dream, for his part, finds the humour in your statement where he's sitting at your table, leaning back, his feet on the table.

"Tommy, I've changed!" Your tone shifts to a mocking imitation of your earlier conversation with the boy, "death has changed me!" And you dropped the act with a snort, "getting a scar doesn't make me a different person," you rolled your eyes. Dream clears his throat.

"Sorry about that, again," he muttered.

"No hard feelings, dude, obviously," you grinned over your shoulder.

"So you- you're okay with my plan; the two of you fought side by side for your nation -"

"I'll be by your side until -"

"Until something better comes along," Dream nods in resignation.

----

“I’m sorr- Ghostbur I’m so sorry,” you sniffled, angrily rubbing at your eyes, frustrated that he had even seen you get so emotional, “I’m not- you shouldn’t have seen that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, crying’s normal,” he said, voice a gentle echo of the one you loved, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Not with you, Ghostbur,” though you’re shooting for light, it doesn’t land, and instead, he looks to the floor, apologising. You wipe the tears that refuse to stop spilling from your eyes.

“You still miss him so much it moves you to tears?”

“You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of those,” he says with a faint laugh, and you look at him, see his quietly fond smile, and for a moment you see the memory of Wilbur himself, and your expression crumples. Immediately as you bury your face in your hands, you feel him by your side, apologising, trying to lay a comforting hand on your arm. The touch is cold but familiar, and you reach out instinctively and grab his hand.

“Ghostbur, my life is a fucking joke and I’m not laughing anym-” he kisses you quick when he gets the chance, his mouth on yours so close to being familiar, but not quite. It knocks the wind from you, and for a moment you let yourself fall into it, grabbing his sweater and pulling him closer.

“Does that help?” He asks a little breathless when you part, and you can’t look him in the eyes, only at your shaking hands balled up in his perfect, yellow sweater.

“You’re not him,” your voice is a shaky whisper.

“I...” his words get caught in his throat, “I think right now I’m close enough. Does this,” and he holds your face with one hand like it’s porcelain, like he’s afraid you’re about to shatter, “does this help?”

“Why?” You can feel how weak you are in this moment, unable to let him go, knowing the truth of the whole situation.

“I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“It’s not your job to make me happy, give me time and I’ll be alright,” but you don’t let him go, then, “tell me you don’t love me, please.”

“It seems dangerous to even entertain the idea; I’m not Wilbur,” he says gently, and finally you look at him, meeting his gaze, leaning into his touch.

“Do you even want any of this?” Your voice is barely a whisper, “me, or anything like this moment?” Ghostbur visibly hesitated.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” he said with a surprising firmness, “I want to do whatever makes you happy,” then, his voice goes quiet, “even now, I forget sad things, people tell me sad things and the conversation ends, and I just... lose whatever they said,” he gives a faint smile, “but even in time that aren’t... aren’t the happiest, I haven’t forgotten you; something about being around you makes me happy, happy enough to remember you. All I want is for you to be happy too.”

“Did you lie to me?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, and you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch his lips twist into something thin and unhappy, before stumbling over his words, trying to deny, “did you lie about not remembering me? About not remembering... not remembering how close we were?”

“I thought...” his expression reads apology, his hands coming to cover yours where you can’t bring yourself to let him go, still holding him close by his sweater, “it would be easier for you to let go, to move on, if you didn’t know.”

“But you don’t care about me like he did.”

“I care about you,” his eyes go wide and concerned, “but I’m not him. You understood him better than anyone and- and- and- he needed you- uh, your company,” he correct, faint blush rising on his cheeks at his own implicit wording, “more than anything else. You’re the one who stayed.”

You swallowed hard, huffing a humourless laugh.

“And he’s the one who got away.”

“Y/N...”

“This feels...” you look to your hands still holding him close, then to his mouth, then his eyes, taking a shakey breath, “self destructive, for us both,” and his expression reads shock, reads apology, but in that instance you cave to your need for contact, leaning into him, to find what comfort you could in him. A shiver runs down your spine as you make a snap decision, “I know you’re not him, but I still love you,” you lie; he’s not the one you promised to always be honest with, but for now he’s as close as you’ve got, and you can’t let him go, “please don’t go.”

----

It’s been a long time, relatively since you’d seen Q when you run into him. You’re not looking for him, you’re merely roaming on an overcast day, but he looks like he’s on a mission. He seems surprised to see you, right before his expression turns dark.

“Figures I’d run into you out here sooner or later,” his words genuinely confuse you, which he seems to pick up on, because at least for a moment, he seems confused himself, before clarifying, “Dream’s in prison.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me.” His audible irritation makes your own smile grow just a touch wider, “you know you should be there too.”

“Cruel, Q, they’ve already killed me for my crimes once,” you practically sing, amused smile stretched from ear to ear, “haven’t I suffered enough?” His smile was thin and mean.

“Not even close.”

“You make me miss being a bad person,” you say with a hint of self deprecation.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Quackity snorted, “you’re still terrible.”

“I like you standing up for yourself; self confidence is a good look on you.”

“You like anyone who actually challenges you,” he rolled his eyes, “which makes me feel fucking stupid for ever caring about you like I did. You don’t give a shit about simps, I get it now.”

“You’re better than that,” you tell him, which is a metaphorical slippery-slope, a half truth, since you only half-believe it, but your tone is low, is sincere, and he blinks quickly, surprised.

“I- yeah, I know,” he scowls, but turns away.

“Good, it’s good you know your worth,” you tell him seriously, “you have...” and you huff a faint laugh, tone awed and gentle, “so much potential, Q.” And for the barest moment, his expression softens. Carefully, he steps up to you.

“This is how it started last time,” his tone is low as you feel the feather-light way his fingertips ghost up your arm. He’s in your space, gaze locked with yours, searching for something in you that you can’t begin to guess at, right before he grabs your chin hard enough that it hurts, “you try and build me up so you can tear me down - I’m not doing this again.”

God damn it, you can feel your heart beat against your ribs at the sight of the fury in his eyes.

“Q-” you try, soft and a little helpless. For a moment, both his grip and his gaze softens, and you know that look, that faint gentleness, from a time long passed, “I never spoke poorly of you, you just lost faith in me.”

The look in his eyes before he storms off gives him away; he hates that in a twisted way, it’s still the truth.

----

“I’ve always appreciated your honesty,” Ghostbur muses; night is falling over the snowy biome you’d decided to call home, the house Dream had built for himself that sat abandoned since he was taken prisoner. Ghostbur is sitting on a bench, looking around, ankles crossed wearing a sunny smile.

“It’s the only thing I’m consistent about,” gave a wry smile, not looking up from where you were crouched in front of you brewing stand; everything started because of these brewing stands, just look how far you’ve come. You try not to dwell on that.

“Consistently inconsistent,” his tone was bright and fond, but then he hums, “you’re consistent in a lot of ways; you’re loyal -” he points out, but you’re so quick to respond it doesn’t even register at first.

“Only because I love you,” then, silence, and you scrunch up your whole face with regret, “him, Wilbur,” you sigh deeply, “don’t get me wrong, Ghostbur, I care about you, probably too much by my standards, but...” and you trail off, a touch apologetic.

“Everyone keeps telling me that I did, or well, he did, all these terrible things; I just... I just want to know why.”

“Why what? Why he did what he did?”

“Why you still loved him when he did all those things,” Ghostbur clarified. You freeze.

“You want me to be honest?” Your voice is soft, and when you look over, you see he’s drawn his legs up to sit cross-legged on the counter, tearing apart a loaf of bread for something to do with his hands.

“You’re always honest,” his tone is earnest, but he can’t look at you, before you can speak, however, he goes on, tone softer, “I remember bits and pieces, more and more as time goes on. More of you is always coming back; more of us, and I thought not remembering would be the most painful part about being around you, making you sad because I can’t remember what happened to make you feel so close to me before... before I died, but I think remembering’s worse,” he looked up, “because I’m not him. Like I’m borrowing someone else’s memories even though they’re mine, because I don’t think like he did; I don’t think I understood you the way he does. I don’t...”

“Everyone’s so quick to tell me what terrible things I’ve done - my son, Fundy, I spoke to him, he’s- he’s- he’s not happy with me, you know? Nor is Tommy, I mean most people just need me to know how awful I was, but you... you speak his name with love and honey on your lips and I don’t know how or why, you make all the terrible things sound like miracles and I don’t know why.”

Slowly, you get to your feet, stretching a little, as your words begin to fall from you and you make your way over to Ghostbur, his pale form golden in the candlelight.

“I don’t know how to put it, but I don’t... I never feel quite real, not - for lack of a better word, given the nature of everyone here - human enough, and I look around and I see Tommy and Tubbo and George and Puffy and -” you rest your hands on his knees, gently, as you watch his hands tearing apart the loaf of bread, “and they’re all effortlessly people, they’re good, they’ve got dirt beneath their nails and a sparkle in their eyes, and I tried being good and noble and honest, and the only part I liked was being honest but being too honest somehow made me the villain; no-one understood. Dream came the closest, he felt like another amalgamation of interactions pretending to be human, but he knew his power and his place and his role, and he didn’t understand that I had no interest in playing the same part over and over again; consistently inconsistent, apart from my honesty and my loyalty. He liked my honesty and loyalty, so he did his best to accept the rest of me that came with it.”

Looking him in the eyes, finally, you could see it dawning on Ghostbur. Your fingers tapped a gentle, inconsistent rhythm on his knees.

“But Wilbur... you - he - he... he...”

“He loved you,” Ghostbur’s voice was gentle, but after all this time, the confirmation from his returning memories, it was enough for your voice to catch in your throat. Then, he nodded again like it was a confirmation, “he loved you.”

“He loved me,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper, “not despite who I was, but because of it, loved all of me, at least, that’s what it felt like... I’d never felt that before, and I... I never wanted to let it go,” he’s putting the bread to the side, slowly sliding off of the counter and into your space, “he was staying true to himself, and they hated him for it, but I never could, and I never will.” You murmur, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly in the dimly lit room.

“It’s you,” you whispered against the fabric of his sweater, echoing your words from what feels like a lifetime ago, “above everyone else, I choose you. You have my loyalty.”

A moment of silence; he swallows hard, presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“It’s you,” he whispers back, just as Wilbur had those months ago; at the time you though they were an incredulous echo of your own thoughts, but now you know it’s an admission, a return of affection, a declaration; you have my loyalty, he’d been trying to tell you.

You can’t tell Ghostbur you love him, you can’t tell him you love him, you cannot tell him you love him, no matter how much you want to. He’s not Wilbur. He’s not the Wilbur you fell in love with.

You tell him anyways. Whisper it like it’s a secret.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

His answer comes whispered with a kiss at your temple, a small token of comfort.

“I know.”

----

The world had fallen still in a way you had only felt before natural disasters. There was quiet. There was peace. Something was wrong. Your conversation with Dream played on repeat in your mind, over and over and over.

"You will owe me a life." You can't forget the gravitas with which he'd said it, eyes dark and eerie as he sat cross-legged on the floor of his prison; you will owe me a life.

The phrasing had caught you off guard, because what in the hell did that even mean? It could mean anything, hell he could claim your first child if he wanted to, but you'd been desperate enough to not question, to just accept.

"You really do love him, don't you?" He'd said softly as you'd sat opposite him, when he'd jokingly asked if you'd take his place in the prison in exchange for Wilbur back.

"Of course," had been your serious answer to both questions. Dream had laughed, equal parts fond and weary, his gaze drifting up to the impossibly high ceiling.

"Its a nice thought, though I doubt Sam would simply let you switch with me," he mused, adding, "you know Ghostbur won't be around anymore."

"But Wilbur will be alive," you insisted, and finally he looks at you.

"You trust me," its not a question.

"I've always trusted you," its not a lie. Dream blinks at you, surprised by your honesty. He should be, somehow everyone overlooks your defining trait being brutal honestly. Moments like this remind you why you need Wilbur back so desperately; he understood you in a way no-one else did, not even Dream.

"I killed you," he says, almost to himself, like he's just remembered that fact.

"I know," you nodded, "and I trusted you then, and I trust you now. Everything happens-"

"Don't say for a reason," Dream gritted his teeth with irritation at the phrase, but you gave a faint smile.

"No, I was just going to say that everything happens. We live, we die," you shrugged.

"Then why are you asking me to bring him back?"

"I didn't realise your book of necromancy was purely for decoration," there's a slight edge to your words, lip curling in knee-jerk defensiveness. Dream looked back at you suddenly, eyebrows rising at your tone.

"Is that why you trust me?" There's something betrayed in his voice, and he sits back, away from you, something dangerous in his eyes.

"That's..." you tried to find a way to talk your way out of the situation, but your inability to lie was more of a hindrance now than anything else, "so reductive," you settle on. But you're fidgeting.

"Then complicate it for me," he's practically ordering, and if he weren't the only way to bring back Wilbur, you wouldn't be complying so easily. Then, like a bolt of lighting it hits you; you look up, gaze unwaivering as you meet his.

"Kill me."

"What?"

"Kill me. Don't bring me back," you yourself are almost ordering, tone leaving little room for argument.

"What the fuck; why?" He hissed in confusion, and you knew, in that instance, that your point would be clear.

"Why not?" Something amused and sinister curled at the edge of your lips as you regained the upper hand in the conversation, "if you'd prefer, I could kill myself; walk straight into the lava until my lives run out," and with that, you carefully get to your feet as he frowns at you. Sauntering over to the flowing, molten walls, you stick your hands in your pockets, looking pensively at the liquid rock.

"Wouldn't it kill two birds with one stone? If I'm dead, maybe I'll find my way back to Will, and you won't have to revive him. That's what the kids call a win-win, right? I won't ask you for anything, but, you know, I won't owe you anything either."

When you look to him, you get to watch in real time as it dawns on him. The way his face contorts with bitter anger makes your own, imposing, gloating stance soften, even as he looks away, refusing to look at you.

"I don't..." you sighed deeply, "I don't trust you because I know you can revive me, I trust you because you're a pragmatist, Dream, and as long as I'm useful to you, well..." you trail off, coming back to him.

"I don't understand you," he said, finally, voice terse, "you've fucking commodified your existence and sold your allegiance to the highest bidder; how do you stand it? I get it, you think I'm controlling, fucking news flash, so was Wilbur, so was fucking Techno, so is everyone. We're a bunch of cruel, self-canalising, power-hungry assholes masquerading as heroes and villains trying to make ourselves feel better for the atrocities we commit."

"And what currency am I selling myself for?" You snort, despite his serious tone; when he looks at you, as if he can't believe you're laughing at his rant, you tip your head and regard him thoughtfully, "while I appreciate that that seemed to have been weighing on you for a while, I'd advise you to not project your shit onto me; have I ever cared about having power for myself?"

That's actually a good point, he seems to realise, and finally, his expression softens, and he gets to his feet.

"Do you care about anyone other than yourself?" Surprisingly, it's not judgemental, it's intrigued, like he has a sudden understand of you that makes everything else make sense. Your smile is so soft and unguarded as you gently cup his cheek with one hand, fondly rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

"You know, you might be my best friend," you told him instead of answering, "and I trust you." He takes a deep breath, expression going serious as you can almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

"Despite... fucking everything, and who you are as a person," he said with the faintest smile, "I actually trust you too," but he hesitates, the slightest crease forming above his brow, "but I don't think I can still say that if Wilbur comes back -"

"Dude -" you're surprised by Dream's honesty in turn, but you do respect it as he clarifies himself.

"He's the one you care about, the only one besides yourself, I know, I've seen it," he gives a faint smirk, "we're still friends, of course, there's no doubt about that, but if I asked you to kill someone that Wilbur would rather have alive, or if I asked you to, say, join me on an adventure with a low survival rate, if Wilbur asked, you'd choose him, wouldn't you? You'd do whatever it takes to make him happy."

"Dream... I -"

"Your loyalty is absolute, but selective; you put yourself first, then Wilbur, and maybe I'm overestimating my place in your life, but I think I may be below him, but above most others..."

"What are you saying? What do you want?" You asked carefully.

"I'll bring back Wilbur, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I'll bring him back, but you'll owe me a life," and you can't even begin to properly process what he's saying, "not his," Dream clarifies, "I wouldn't do that to you, but in one way or another, you will owe me a life, and when I ask for it, however that may be, you need to uphold your end of the bargain, or I'll send him right back to where he is now."

I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. That's the four words he'd said that you're fixating on, that're playing through your mind on repeat, and you practically crush Dream in a hug as you agree, breathlessly thanking him. He hugs you back, and you can feel his smile against your shoulder, laughing somewhat fondly at the notes of relief in your voice as you mutter that he's your favourite.

"For now," he snorts when you step back, and you give a sheepish smile, ducking your gaze.

"For now," you agree.

----

"Who let you- does Sam know you're in here?" Quackity's voice is dangerously quiet, a strange smile on his face, like having you here is a boon rather than a terrible mistake.

"Q, what the fuck?" You rubbed at your eyes, forcing the sleep from them. Dream is already scrambling as far as he can from the newcomer, anger and fear in his eyes. He tells Quackity to fuck off.

"What are you doing here? You planning an escape for my favourite little war criminal?" He paused, "have you moved on now that your favourite little war criminal is dead?" Everything about him seems sharp, seems cruel and threatening; something about it is thrilling, like a challenge, and you find yourself standing to your full height, refusing to drop his gaze.

“Big Q,” you take some small pride in the fact that your voice doesn’t shake, “you’re looking markedly more malicious today.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been coming here for a while, looking for one simple thing, and your buddy there really hasn’t exactly been helpful,” there’s a faintly manic gleam in his eye, but your blood is hissing and spitting in your veins, conflicted and delighted in equal measure -

“He was your friend you fucking asshole!” The words burst from you, disgusted as you wear a manic grin.

“I was your friend, you fucking piece of shit!” He hollers back, “I was more than your fr-” but his mouth snaps shut, expression one of seething rage, “don’t fucking talk like you still trust him, like you care about him;” the curl of Quackity’s lip is cruel, the look in his eyes cold as he shifts his grip on his sword; a humourless laugh escapes him, “except, of course it’s you who still cares; first Dream, then Wilbur, the only people you actually care about are just like you,” and there’s so much derision in his voice that it almost stings, almost, if he wasn’t right. How can he not see the way his cruel tone delight you? How can he not see the irony in his words in this very moment; “now fuck off, you’re in my way.” He sneers.

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” you refused to move, and his eyes widened, disbelieving laugh escaping him.

“Look at that! Did the wizard finally give you a fucking heart?”

“Look at that!” You mirror his tone, though your own is acidic, pushing, you’re pushing him now, the way you know best, “did you finally get over your pathetic feelings? You finally getting smart enough to see me as a real threat?” And you’re in his space, in his face, refusing to back down, waiting for the moment he snaps.

“I never cared about you, I cared about the fact that you paid me attention; note the difference,” he snarled; it’s a lie, you know it’s a lie, can remember the way he’d looked at you, how he’d almost died for you, and it’s fucking intoxicating.

“You’re so good at hearing the truth, but you’re fucking shit at obfuscating it,” you tell him with a cool confidence, “I hung the stars in your sky, Quackity,” his jaw clenched tightly at your change in tone, the look in your eye, “but tell me again about how it was all an act for you, say it in a way I’ll believe this time.” It’s designed to cut him, and you can see it in his eyes when it does. Fight back, damn it!

“Maybe I’ll give Dream the day off, kill you instead,” he tries, but you can tell his heart’s not in it.

“This isn’t fun for him like it is for you,” Dream pipes up, and Quackity shoots him a surprisingly confused look, while your look over your shoulder, faint disappointment in your eyes. Dream, however, exhausted and paranoid with Quackity in his cell, still has enough wherewithal to understand you better than almost anyone else.

“I wish you would,” you don’t look away from Quackity. Your voice is cold in the wake of Dream’s revelation, and when he looks back at you, Quackity looks... uncertain. A dangerous state to be in considering his opposition.

“You’re down to your last life, don’t fucking test me,” Quackity warned, but his heart’s not in it like before. As you approach him, he raises his weapon, but your confidence strides never falter, “Sam wouldn’t give a shit if I killed you, no-one would.”

“You would,” you tell him snidely, finding yourself growing sick of the sound of his half-baked cruelty.

“Are you just here to let what you love kill you?” He gives a mean, humourless smile.

“Bold to assume I love you, Q.”

“Well, seeing as the only bastard you ever knew how to love was so eager to off himself, I figured I might be all you have left to get back to him,” there’s faint triumph in his eyes when he can see his malicious words touched a nerve, but he wasn’t playing your game right, and you were tired of not having fun.

“It’s not my fucking fault you look for a home in everyone who’s halfway nice to you,” something in you snaps, and your tone is cold and unwaivering, “don’t blame me for your fragile sense of self; you were so ready to believe anything I told you, but when I did what people fucking do - when I let you down - you had to go and let it shatter you,” you sneered.

“You being a shitty person is my fault?” He scoffed, and you stepped up to him, emboldened. You barely even feel his sword at your throat.

“Before breaking your cheap, little heart, I hadn’t been honest a day in my life; everyone had told you as much, you chose to ignore them; did you think you could fix me?” You gave a harsh laugh, stepping forward, crowding him into taking a step back, expression irate, trying to keep up his strong front, “Actually, I guess, wow, you did; since you, I haven’t told a lie,” and you gave him a derisive look, “because fucking you up wasn’t a challenge, making you fall in love with me wasn’t a challenge, getting you to the point where you’d die for me? Not a fucking challenge, Quackity. You offered me your life and it fucking bored me.

Talking to me makes you want to be a worse person? Good luck with that; you will always be better than you fear, better than you fucking hope or wish you were, because you couldn’t fucking stomach killing me once, you couldn’t fucking stomach being a truly terrible person.

You want my blood on your hands? Your hands were mine, and I couldn’t have given less of a shit, so no, if I have any say, you’re not gonna hurt Dream, because you’re hurting him to get the thing that’s going to bring back the person I actually fucking fell in love with. I can’t believe I ever wasted my time on you when he was out there.

I’m tired of trying to be amicable with you when you’re still - fucking still - picking up the pieces and trying to figure out who the fuck you are; God, I fucking hope you kill me, I hope it brings you peace, I hope it brings you clarity, but you better make sure it counts, you better make sure it fucking sticks!”

----

"You do things that hurt you because you don't know what else to do, even if you don't enjoy them," Ranboo's voice is flat, and your expression twists to something derisive, though you attempt to regain your composure.

"Incredibly presumptuous of you," you respond, still alive, if burned.

----

"How many more?" Ghostbur's touch was light on your forearm, tracing the shiny, healed scar of where you'd thrown your hands up to protect your face as Quackity had shoved you into the lava waterfall that surrounded Dream's cell. It hadn’t killed you; he hadn’t been able to go through with it, and the lava curtain parted as the bridge approached the cell at Sam’s command. But it had still left it’s mark.

"What?" You surfaced from your thoughts as his cool hand stilled against the memory of the burn.

"How many more until you see him again?" He asks, and he doesn't look sad often, but he can't look you in the eyes. Then, gently, his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb brushing against the scar that stands out on your neck, a perfect circle, a perfect reminder of what you’d lost the second time you’d died.

And you meet his gaze, can see the nerves hidden just behind his eyes - is this why you do this? Am I… not enough? What a dangerous thought, dangerous territories; how cruel you were to let him fall for you, even a little, even when both of you knew it was a terrible idea.

Dream's voice was in your head - Ghostbur won't be around anymore - and you'd answered without flinching - but Wilbur will be alive.

"One," your voice came out hoarse, "one life and I'll see him again." You can't look him in the eyes, even as he holds your face; he has no idea what to say to that. It's the truth, but not the one he realises.

"You don't love me, right?" You asked, clearing your throat, moving carefully out of his reach.

"You shouldn't kill yourself for him," Ghostbur tells you with uncompromising sincerity instead of answering, "you're worth more than that."

"I need you to tell me that you don't have feelings for me, Ghostbur -"

"Seems like a very worrying thing to be asking given the circumstances," again he tries to deflect, but there's something close to guilt eating you up inside, and you stand, moving out of his space, Dream's voice in your head.

"Do you love me or not, Ghost of Wilbur Soot?" You demanded, and his expression turned hard, so unlike his usual self.

"I'm not him," he said carefully, but his gaze dropped; he couldn't look you in the eyes, "and I don't think it should matter either way, because you've made it abundantly clear that he's the one you want; I'm not going to say I don't and let you kill yourself."

"I promise I'm not going to fucking kill myself!"

Ghostbur went very quiet.

“Any answer is dangerous, really, so it doesn’t matter either way,” he’s pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands, to fiddle with, trying to distract himself, “I love Friend,” his tone was aiming for something light-hearted, an attempt to change the topic, and it did it’s job well enough; your lips twisted into a grin.

“First a Salmon, then a Sheep, your tastes are -” but he looks at you, giving a strangely amused little smile.

“Questionable?” He finishes your sentence, and you find yourself less amused with the situation; he brings up a good point, including you all the same, though you’d been meaning to say bestial, but fuck, what does that make you? For a moment, you find yourself in crisis, wondering if you were technically in a polyamorous relationship with a ghost and an actual sheep. But you push it to the side -

“It’s selfish,” you hear his voice in your head, see him looking at you with wide, shiny eyes in the dim light of a pub, but you can’t help but repeat the words that had been said to you, “but I need to know for me -”

Ghostbur could say anything, and you see the realisation dawning on his face; he knows what you’re asking. He could be silent, he could brush you off, he could say anything else -

“It’s you,” just the way you’d said it to Wilbur, confirming what you feared; Ghostbur drops his gaze when he says those words to you, when he means to say I love you, how can you not see that?

Those two words hang in the air between you, like they always have. You should leave. You should go before you develop a conscience. But you can’t... there’s something familiar, something intoxicating about this moment, his loyalty; you’ve seen this before, you’ve craved this before.

You step up to him, and as if on instinct, he rests his hands on your hips, leaning into your touch when you hold his cheek gently.

“I love you,” your murmur, and his eyes fall closed, breathing deeply, “I love you.” It’s easy, it’s too easy, to fall back into this, to let him rest his forehead against yours, your arms around his neck, knowing in your heart that his loyalty, his love, was a means to an end; “I love you.”

He trusts your words, even now.

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, pulling you close now, moving to press his lips to the crook of your neck. So you stay. Your time with him is limited, though only you know that, so you will enjoy it while you can.

----

"This was your plan," Tommy muttered, horrified, as the realisation dawned on him, "you're the one who pointed out that killing Dream in the prison didn't break any of the prison's rules," he whispered, before turning on you, eyes wide, Friend's leash still looped around his wrist, "you're the one who suggested using Ghostbur as a decoy, because no-one would suspect him."

"You set him up," Ranboo was horrified. One by one they were turning on you.

"You knew Ghostbur didn't- he didn't want to be revived!" Tubbo exclaimed, hurt and betrayed, "I thought - Y/N I thought you loved him, how could you -?!"

"Wilbur and Ghostbur are not the same person! How do you all keep forgetting that?!" You snarled in response, expression contorting to one of rage; that was enough to shock them into silence, taking a step back as they regarded you with a new kind of fear.

"We were happier with Wilbur gone, we liked Ghostbur and he liked us!" Tommy exclaimed, before his voice dropped to something soft and betrayed, hurt in his eyes, "Ghostbur didn't fucking deserve that; you're a terrible person," and your expression dropped to a smirk that didn't reach your eyes.

"I'm sorry about Ghostbur, I am, but the ends justifies the means; do you remember what I told you when L'Manburg was first forming? I told you I'm not on Dream's side, but I'm also not on yours," and you paused for a moment, before looking to the heavy remains of the button room, through which you knew Wilbur himself would finally be returning any moments now, "I'm on Wilbur's."

----

Then you see him, and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck this is real and you owe Dream a life and Wilbur is alive. You're frozen in place. He's talking to Tommy, who sounds frankly horrified that Wilbur is back, but you're frozen. Heart beating in your throat, the sunrise that’s coming brings with it a warmth, though to you it feels closer to vindication.

And there’s yelling and horror from the others who’ve accompanied you, but you can’t hear them, approaching slowly, with measured, even steps.

Then, his eyes meet yours and something in his expression softens. When he smiles at you, every terrible thing you did was worth it for this moment. Having the others there is too much. You don't want an audience, you don't want anyone there to judge you and your choices, the things you've done to get to this moment.

"This," Tommy turns on you, "this is what you bloody well wanted; now you're acting all shy? " His lip curled, and your expression turned flat and unamused.

“Don’t mistake respect for shyness,” you tell him bluntly, with a cool confidence that was unrecognisable to the blonde, who hadn’t known you well enough before he’d begun starting conflict to know the depths to which you could sink. But he was beginning to learn.

“She’s part of the reason I’m here at all,” Wilbur reprehends him, while Tommy physically recoils at his tone, "Dream himself said as much." And then he's offering you his hand; nothing else matters.

"I can't be here," there's disgust in Tommy's voice, but its enough that the others leave, giving you and Wilbur peace. Finally.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," you tell him, taking his hand with a sharp smile, which he mirrors.

"Thirteen years I was stuck in that train station, and you're just as stunning as when I last saw you," he muses, and you reaches out to run your fingers gently through the unfamiliar white strands of his hair. His eyes study your face, your expression, drinking you in; you'd missed how dark his eyes could be, and when you look back at him, meet his gaze, you see a hunger there.

"Don't leave me," escapes you, but it comes out as a demand, insistent, “don’t ever fucking leave me again,” and you see him swallow hard, then slowly, he smiles.

"Never again," and he's kissing you desperately, mouth on yours with an intensity you relish. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you - you can taste it on his tongue, sticky sweet and somehow sharp and you dig your nails into him, maybe trying to keep him here, keep you both in this moment. When the kiss breaks and you're breathing hard, you don't let him go, though he doesn't either.

"You lied for me," he muttered, something akin to delight on his face, which shocked you enough that you stepped back, or at least tried to, though he held you tight, "no, not-" he tried to clarify, "I won't leave, I don't plan on it, but- I love you." Your heart is beating in your throat, still not quite sure what he means, "I've loved you for a long time," he added, and reaching out, he cupped your face in his hand, "I remember this," he murmured, "Ghostbur - you're scared I didn't love you because he couldn't remember, but I loved you so much, for so long, I just knew... knew what I was going to do. I knew I was going to leave you, I loved you but I was so doomed, so he couldn't remember."

When had your vision gone cloudy, when had tears started to sting your eyes.

"Don't cry, my love," Wilbur murmured, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as your breath stuttered from your chest as he soothed the biggest fear that had been plaguing you for months.

"Were you worried that I didn't love you because of him?" He asked, like he enjoyed hearing you bare your soul. Of course he did. You remember kissing Ghostbur, his cold lips and soft apologies when you'd pulled away, and you wonder if Wilbur had those memories too.

"He's not you, no point trying to fret about your feelings based on his actions," you huff a watery laugh, finally letting go of him with one hand to wipe at your tears, “he didn’t understand me like you did, but he...” you swallowed hard, “I’m glad to have had him around in the interim.” Wilbur’s lips twist into an amused smile, and his gaze clouds over for the barest moment; you wonder if he can see your resolve cracking in Ghostbur’s memories, taking comfort in his when he’s the closest thing to Wilbur himself that you can find, the lies you’d told to keep him by your side in your moments of selfish desperation.

“I think he loved you, in his own way,” Wilbur said gently. However, as you made a vaguely guilty noise in the back of your throat, he continues thoughtfully, "though, you know, when Dream came to pick me up on that train, when Ghostbur took my place, Dream made sure we both knew, you know; she's the reason you're here, Ghostbur, he'd said, and said that makes you part of the reason that I'm coming back at all," he muses, strange quality to his voice that you couldn't quite place, though when your eyes were dry, you looked at him definitely, challengingly.

"He's not you," you reiterated, firmer this time, "I cared for him for what he was, but he's not the one I want; I love you." You said without hesitation, before you realise what you've said, and you go still, before taking his face in your hands, making sure he's looking you in the eyes, "I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, Wilbur; I love you, I fucking love you -" and he's endeared by your declaration as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face against the crook of his neck, whispering the words like you're hoping they'll find a place on his skin forever.

"I didn't tell you before and I'm never making that mistake again,” you admitted faintly; “it’s you.”

“Above all others, I choose you,” his smile is warm, and something bright lights up in your chest. Grinning, elated in this moment that you’d worked so hard to finally get to.

“You have my loyalty, my love.”

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur imagine #c!wilbur soot imagine #c!wilbur imagine #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp x reader #quackity x reader #c!quackity x reader #c!quackity imagine #quackity imagine #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #cyltlanp #Spotify

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maeizy · 1 year

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C!ranboo little sister x reader!

I HATE MYSELF RN, I LOST THE DANG REQEST THERE WAS TWO AND I REMEMBERED THE FIRST ONE- sjdjdnsidndoanfiehidn anyways the request was by @fantasyfiction-net ! and no I dont have a discord server yet! Ill try and make one though, ty for the advice! And yes I'd love to be freinds!!:D annnyways- ONWARD!!

INFO FOR REQESTS MY FANDOMS, AS WELL AS BLOG

GENRE: PURE FLUFF!<3

SYPNOSIS:x-reader where very young sibling,age 4-5. of C!ranboos, gets close with the sbi, Tubbo, philza, tommy ecr. To where he thinks they like the sbi more than him but they dont.

PRONOUNS: gn

TRIGGERS: getting hurt; (by water[since readers also half enderman]), no others!

Notes <3- totally didnt forget about this- I kinda hate it but its whatever I guess. Sorry for being so inactive as of kate, I'm making a lot of more fics, not in this fandom but in others like Lockwood and co ect. Please please please make sure to check out my blog info and my other stuff I have it linked in ever post :D sorry of this is trash but I hope y'all enjoy anyways.

you and ranboo where getting ready to go to philzas house it had just started to snow. you had always been fascinated by the white floating specs that reminded you of your very own purple ones that floated around you from time to time connecting to you to your ender man heritage.

"Y\N!" your older brother Ranboo yelled out as your tiny bare feet thudded out of the shack door breaking free from your bigger brothers arms to excitedly run out to the snow and attempt to flop down on it, but as soon as your bare skin touched the cold frozen flakes of water it burned, the excitement was then sucked away, as a searing pain tore through the pads of your exposed feet.

an enderlike screech of pain burst from your shocked mouth and purple particles was all your vision picked up on as you subconsciously teleported back, with a soft woosh, you popped back into the small space of the entrance of the Shack, that you and ranboo called home.

upright and confused, you where frantically holding your foot with a Audible "ow,ow,ow,ow,ow-" trying to balance on one leg and hopping backwards. already loosing your balance due to your freakishly long limbs for your age. (Thank your enderside) with a hiss you where sent wheeling back. being uncorranated as is, and then adding the fact you where standing how you where at the moment, you knock things down with you as you fall and land on your back with another shriek and a loud thump.

You let out another small, half hurt half annoyed huff, as tears formed at the ends of your green and red eyes. ranboo panicked running over in a semi-shocked state to grab onto you checking the red scorch marks on your left foot as you pushed yourself up on your elbows to let out another soft "ow" as he bent down to pick up your small 5 year old form.

being carefull not to bump into anything as he stumbled to set you on the staircase as he went to go grab some bandages rambling on with a " oh no!- I said to get your enchanted shoes on! Water hurts us-aww no please don't cry- healing poti-TUBBO"

The shorter boys head popped around the thrown open door as cold wind pushing its way in in a blizzard you hadn't noticed brewing till now, too focused on the throb in your foot.

The boys chipper voice was followed by ranboo half falling down the stairs to greet him and help you "Hi ran boo and- RANBOO WHY ARE THEY CRYING?!" ranboo fumbled with The wrappings as he wrapped it around the fresh wound " they went outside! in the snow! without enchanted boots and got hurt when it melted on them!" The little kid rushed over to tubbo hugging him tightly completely oblivious to ranboo who was trying to help; and ran into the shorter hybrids arms tubbo stooped to pick the younger child up as he set them down again on the staircase.

She wasn't full blown crying now, just sniffling as she tried to wipe of runaway tears as tubbo patted her head warmly with a small comforting grin to calm her nerves. she let the goat boy wrap the rest of the bandages around her foot then gave him an exited hug and a small. "thank you tubtub!" And got to her feet ignoring the ache and running to the front door to pick up her shoes, while ran boo wined a little at The younger boo and crossed his long arms in silent protest, giving a little huff of annoyance.

Tubbo chuckled "apparently she just likes me more" he said in a joking tone. But ranboo frowned "pftt-no.she-" tubbo laughed again as ranboos face turned a shade out of embarrassment. "whatever" he grumbled as he walked over to little y\n as she finished yanking the big enchanted boots onto her much smaller feet. she hummed with a happy little smile as he watched her with furrowed eyebrows standing their a little she got up humming a song tommy taught her and unconsciously grabbed his bigger hand bouncing as she pulled him outside "Phil's!phils!phils!" She chanted as her hand slipped from his when they got to the front porch of their small home in the snowy biome. Phil and technos conjoined house in the distance, lit with a warm light as the girl twirled through the snow twords it.

Ranboo teleported to the front step of philzas house with ease and tubbos head peeked out of the door of ranboos house, confused and annoyed, his shouts unheard as he ran across the landscape to join ranboo, and his sibling, who was huffing up the steps. "Cheater" you glared with a tired face. Your brother grinned as tubbo caught up. they didn't bother to knock as tubbo opened the door lazily and thunked his snow boots on the side of the doorframe. piles of snow landing on the hardwood deck from his boot.

The younger boo copied his actions holding onto the door frame for balance. And with a less powerful kick, her boot collided with the door, sending a little amount of Triump into the girl as she soon forgot about it and rushed into the house.

when she spotted philza and Wilbur having a chat in the kitchen she ran straight to them ranboo trailed aimlessly after her finding a spot next to tubbo as he chatted with tommy. Tomny and tubbo where fighting over who got the last peice of cake to which ranboo intervened and took it holding it above their heads while he took little pieces to eat himself while tommy and tubbo complained.

The little girl rushed over to hug phil who managed a "hey mate!" and patted her head and before he could say anymore she found techno who was talking to Wilbur.

"no -you have to kill them, then you can drag them into the-" he spotted the younger girls salt and pepper hair as she was silently staring curiously at him. He switched up his words as she walked up to him with a small cautious and confused face "kill someone?!" You questioned "uh-but of course we would skip the uh first step. and We would -drag them... to a nice place to have a talk-" she laughed hugging the pig-man who akwardly patted her back with a grimance. A glare shot from wilbur burned into technos skull.

You then hugged Wilbur who already had his arms stretched out. and with a warm smile she ran straight into him as she gripped his jumper with all her force. She leaned her small form back to Look up at his muddy eyes. With a mischievous grin then snatched his glasses off his scarred nose putting them on there face quickly, and dodging his long arms they Ignored the shouts of the older man. running off to find philzas arms to hide in. You darted into the living room, stopping shortly to take in there surroundings. the chatter from the boys, the sun streaming through the window, and the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen of whatever Phil was mixing up. it was comforting, but the loud footsteps behind them where not.

You couldn't make it to philza in time so you went to the person you would normally go for comfort, ranboo. Your brothers long limbs where crisscrossed on the floor and he silently nodded along as tubbo and tommy conversed. His green and red eyes found yours and his mouth turned into a grin and you sprinted twords him. Tommy spotted you coming there way and intervened "HEY y\n!" His bandaged arms opened wide, with a boyish toothy grin. Before you could decide who to go to, Wilbur rounded the corner. a glare set on his face as he squinted at her. "AHAHHHH" you ran straight into tommy.

the betrayal on ranboos face was prominent, his arms dropped slowly to his sides as his smile faded. though he didn't show it his heart panged a little As Tommy's arms locked in around you. He was supposed to be the one you ran too. He was your brother!

Wilbur barreled into the living room trying to take you from him. Tommy attempted to throw you on the couch and quickly cover you up with a pillow but it didn't work. The fight was over, Wilbur grabbed his glasses back off your defeaded half dead looking form and grabbed the pillow and proceeded to beat tommy with it.

You lifted yourself up, your hair now disheveled from the two brothers. You looked over to ranboo, your own brother, who looked a bit downtrodden. A wary smile was shot tword you, you huffed, feeling a bit tired you walked over to him, laying your head on his shoulder and gripping his arm "you ok big man?" He said as he patted your head lovingly "yes-can we go home now?" you yawned "we can- but I thought you wanted to hang out with techno, and tommy and-" " ranboo! I wanna spend time with you!" you smiled up at him, your eyes squinted. ranboo, forgetting you where a very unfiltered five year old died at your next words "Tommy's a little loud anyways-" he Busted open with laughter as wilbur did too, pausing over Tommy's defeated form on the spot on the floor where he had been being hit multiple times with the soft round throw pillow clutched in wills grip, tommy yelled in protest "HEY! I PROTECT YOU AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME??" You look at him blankly " ummmmm- yes." Ranboo shoots grin his way, and scoops you up and grabs your shoes. As you slowly drifted off to sleep, you could hear techno voice echo " the kid was right, you are really obnoxious tommy" and another yelp from the blonde boy as a pillow thrown from techno this time, hit him square in the face. another loud scream was heard this time from tubbo "GET WRECKED" and a bust of laughter was heard.

This was your family.

And as you grew up, it always stayed that way, no matter what you went through, this, what some would call a ragtag group. was stuck with you, as family and you were ok with that, as long as your big brother stuck by your side, you felt impossible.

#dsmp x reader #dream smp headcanons #bench trio headcanons #sbi fanfic #sbi x reader #dream smp imagine #ranboo x reader #tubbo x reader #wilbur soot x reader

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yettobedetermined7 · 1 year

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Imagine gift exchanging with the Dreamteam

These streams were so funny I loved the parts when Sapnap kept pulling his gun out lmao

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dreamcatcherrs · 1 year

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all too well; c!technoblade x reader

!PLEASE READ!

this is an incomplete story I started on last year, and I never managed to finish it and probably won’t as I find it hard to write for techno anymore. but I figured I wouldn’t let the stuff I wrote go completely to waste, so here you go :)

+ based on taylor swift’s “all too well” ten minute ver. but techno actually has a reason to be an asshole unlike jake :)

++ if you know the song, you already know it’s gonna be an angsty and fluffy mess

stepping through the door to his cabin you let out a sigh at the feeling of the sweet warmth of his home surrounding you, quickly closing the door behind you to prevent the cold air from crawling up your neck. the cold from the snowy biome he chose to live in was no joke.

a pair of arms snaked around you from behind, cold lips placing a chaste kiss to your cheek. you giggled.

"mmm, I’m thinking rabbit stew for dinner tonight, whaddya say?" you turned around to face him, swinging your arms over his shoulders with a smile on your face.

"that sounds wonderful." your lips met his, cold and a bit chapped, but soft nonetheless, pulling away shortly after. he pressed his lips into a thin line, blood flowing to his cheeks as the voices went crazy for you in his head. luckily, for him, you couldn’t hear them, or else he’d probably die. he shedded himself from his cape, your eyes lingering on him as he did so, admiring his effortless charm, wondering how you could ever be this lucky.

once shaking yourself out of your daze you reached for the red scarf around your neck, unwrapping it and letting it hang from the railing attached to the stairs along with your thick and wooly coat that protected your body from the icy air outside.

walking into the kitchen, techno was already chopping up the potatoes, white sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hair tied into a bun. the sight alone was breathtaking to you, and he didn’t even know it. you walked over to stand by his side, grabbing the carrots on the counter to start chopping them up. techno glanced at you without moving his head so you wouldn't notice, and you didn’t.

you didn’t notice.

you grunted as you failed at your second attempt of mounting the horse, your leg just not long enough to swing over the saddle. about to try for a third time, a pair of hands landed on your waist, making you halt your movements.

“here, let me help you.” the warmth of techno’s fingers melted through the material of your clothes. you felt your blood rush to your cheeks. you uttered out a small “thanks,” letting him lift you onto the horse with little power needed from you.

you grabbed a hold of the rope attached to the horse to lead and stop him, waiting for techno to get on his horse again, watching as he does so with ease.

“alright, let’s go.”

you wanted to go for a ride together in the forest a few miles away from the snowy cabin you were held up at most of the time, for a change of scenery, or just to spend some peace and quiet time together if you will.

techno turned his head to look at you, seeing if you’d found your way around on the horse, meaning for it to just be a quick glance. but when he saw how you smiled sweetly at the horse as you ran a gentle hand over his fur, he couldnt help but to admire you. your were so… kind-natured. innocent, sweet. completely different from him, yet here you were - his. his heart tugged in his chest as the voices in his head kept repeating compliments aimed towards you.

“techno!”

with a last minute jerk to the rope, techno just about managed to miss falling down the deep ravine one block away from him. he swallowed, looking over at you again as you giggled at him. he recollected himself, moving on ahead of you casually to look calm and collected.

you reached the woods, the snowy path you’d been following slowly disappearing and being replaced by the beautiful array of colours from the autumn leaves. your eyes widened at your colourful surroundings, not having been used to this type of biome since you got into a relationship with techno and stayed with him. and as much as you loved staying with techno in the snowy biome, you still missed what you were used to.

distracted by the scenery, you didn’t notice the creeper sneaking up on you from between the trees.

but your horse did.

kicking his front legs in the air, you screeched, holding on tight to the rope as your horse started running with full speed down the path and away from the creeper. away from techno. now was the time you really wished you knew more about riding a horse. you probably should've listened more when techno helped you learn.

your hair blew back from the powerful wind, eyes squinted as you tried your best to make your horse stop, but despite your effort, nothing seemed to work.

suddenly, a hard tug to the rope you were holding, and everything stood still again, no more cold wind. techno appeared on his horse beside you, pink braid messy from the wind blowing into his face and brows furrowed. he quickly got off his horse, keeping a hold on the rope as he approached you.

“come on, boy, it’s okay. that nerd is far gone.” you laughed a little at his choice of words, noticing a little gunpowder on his hand as he reached out to you. “you okay?” his eyes drooped, a sincere look crossing his face as you placed your hand in his. warm, as always.

“yeah, I’m good. y’know, just glad I didn’t die from that,” you smiled, letting him help you down. he rolled his eyes.

“maybe you're being a bit overdramatic. I don't think you could die from that.”

your brows furrowed, arms crossed over your chest. overdramatic?

he swallowed.

“I mean, y’know, you’re the lover of the blood god, I think you're too strong for such a weak death.”

you squinted your eyes at him and shot him a small glare. he shot you a lopsided smile, letting out a breath once you turned around to get on the horse again.

victory.

he watched you struggle mounting the horse again. “d’you need help with that?”

“no!”

“ah! this is you?”

you picked up the photo from the counter, just in time before he could snatch it away from you. you quickly held it to you, sending him a mischievous smirk as you looked at it. he sighed.

it was a picture from when he was little, barely taller than wilbur who stood beside him in the photo with his arm slung over his shoulders, little tommy peeking at the camera between the two brothers. you felt a pang in your chest as your eyes softened looking at the photo. techno had his long hair in a braid, hanging from his shoulder and down his chest, tusks peeking out from under his upper lip, glaring at will as he pulled him close, a bright smile on the brunettes face. techno’s glasses were the same, but the scar that usually ran down the middle of his eye was yet to be seen.

it was… so precious.

“aww, look at you tech! even back then you hair was in a — braid…”

you turned, looking at techno with a faltering smile, watching as his cheeks and ears glowed a bright red. he itched his neck, keeping his eyes glued to the ground.

“tech? you okay?” you reached out, gentle fingers pushing a strand of hair out of his face, same hand cupping his face to make him look at you. he did, eyes gloomy and brows upturned.

“they hate me.”

your face fell, breath hitching at his words. how could he say that?

“what? honey, they don’t hate you. you’re their brother-“

“brother? what kind of a brother am I, y/n? a good one? a brother who leaves his family behind? I would understand if they aren’t very fond of me.”

your lips parted, eyes open wide as you listened intently, observing his icy orbs.

techno didn’t mean to suddenly unload his emotional baggage on you, but you seeing that photo - it reminded him of why the ones he loved were not in his life anymore, and it reminded him that you might become an addition to that list. as a man known for control and power, he has little of that in his head. he has no idea if the voices are gonna betray him again like they’d once done before and leave you, abandon you. lose you. his fears were coming out, crawling out of his mouth in no words and-

he sobbed.

head landing on your shoulder, he hunched over and clung to your body, releasing the tears he hadn’t cried for so long, years, into your shoulder. you found it hard to take in his sudden outburst, not having ever seen this side of the piglin before.

you quickly shook off your own feelings, knowing that now was a time where you had to think of him and only him. you placed your hands on the back of his head, over his hair as you held him close to you, kissing his temple. looking down at the photo still in your hand, you wondered what kind of past he must’ve had to feel this way, to feel so… alone. even when he still had so many people who loved him.

“techno.” you managed to pull him slightly away from you, teary eyes staring into yours as you wiped his tears on his cheeks away. “tell me what happened.”

he sniffed, unbuttoning the top button to his shirt for air. “which part?”

“all of it.”

they deserve nothing. they’re merely just another peasant who’s gonna end up stabbing us in the back.

techno stared at you as you slept peacefully beside him, hand still resting on his bare chest. he swallowed, eyes clouded with darkness. he squeezed them shut to get the voices to stop.

do it now. while they’re weak, disadvantaged. one stab through the neck and we’re safe, free. alone.

techno shot up from the bed, panting and clutching a hand over his heart. he groaned, wiping the sweat off of his forehead, but to no avail - his whole body was completely covered.

he hadn’t even heard you stir awake, the only thing he’d been able to hear being the voices, murderous, merciless voices roaming his mind.

“techno, what’s wrong?” you asked, but received no response other than the loud breathing he was letting out as he heaved. “hey.” you placed a hand on his shoulder, to which he immediately flinched away from your touch, as if you’d burned him with your fingertips. he stared back at you with wide eyes, backing away from you on the bed. your slight feeling of worry turned into a feeling much worse.

“get away from me,” he panted, moving further away from you once he noticed you trying to get closer.

“techno what’s wrong? talk to me, please! I’m only trying to he-“

“please just get away from me, y/n…”

you gaped at him as he stood up from the bed, claws scraping his scalp as he held his head, facing the ground. he heaved, shoulders moving up and down to his breathing as it grew louder along with the voices. he grunted, placing a hand on the wall as if he couldn’t stand up straight.

ignoring his words, you stood from the bed too, finding his health and happiness much more important than whatever reason he had for asking you to stay away from him. your heart started beating faster, anxious about him. what was happening? why was he acting like this? you’d never seen this happen to him before, and you were too desperate to know what was going on in his head to listen to his desperate words.

you grabbed his forearm, trying to get him to turn to you, but as soon as you did, the air from your lungs left your body as he pushed you harshly against the wall. a cold feeling on your neck, and without being able to move you could feel the blade pressing into your skin, a drop of warm blood running down your neck from where the blade had broken skin. you stopped breathing, looking into his eyes as tears fell from yours. he was still heaving, eyes black and hot breath fanning your face as he showed off his tusks from his open mouth.

“I said get the fuck away from me,” he growled, eyes unrecognizable as they stared into yours. you whimpered, clenching your hand around the wrist holding the blade to your neck. your nails dug into his skin, not wanting to hurt him, but fearing that not doing so would end up getting you even more hurt. though nothing felt as painful as what you were feeling right now. this man- beast, before you was not techno. it couldn’t be…

you cried out his name, closing your eyes in fear of what would happen. and then, the pressure was removed from your neck, a shaky pair of arms embracing you as the clang of the blade hitting the floor surrounded the room.

“y/n I- the voices I can’t-“

you gasped for air, pushing him off of you with all of your power and sobbing as you looked at your lover, disbelief coursing through you. your bottom lip shook as you cried, shaky hands clinging to your own body in a way to try and cope with what just happened. blood was smeared on your neck from the cut he made with the blade, his soaked eyes widening at the sight. he huffed, heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach. what had he done? the one thing he’d ever wanted to do was protect you, and now he was the one hurting you. “y/n please, I’m so sorry. something took over me I- you know that I’d never try to hurt you, right?”

he inched slightly closer to you, tears that were forming in his eyes finally falling when you backed away from him in fear. you just cried harder at his words, smearing blood on your face when you placed your hands over your eyes, sobbing into your hands. words couldn’t explain how you felt - betrayal? shock? anger? sadness? none of them felt like the right word. all you knew was that you didn’t feel good.

and neither did techno.

he backed away from you, realizing that the only way for him to make you feel at least a little bit better, safer, was if you were far away from him. far, far away.

he was out of the bedroom before you had the chance to stop him, looking up from your wet hands to see him gone along with his red cape and sword. wide-eyed, you looked around the room, contemplating wether you should go after him or not. the man you loved, your soulmate. the man who just attacked you.

techno left hooveprints in the snow as he ran, away away away. as far as his legs would let him. he didn’t know what his mind could do now without his control. he didn’t know if he was capable of keeping you safe from himself. all he knew was that he could never hurt you again. not like this.

he reached the woods, huffing out a breath as he stopped by a tree to catch his breath. the need for oxygen in his lungs blocked out the sound of loud gallops coming his way.

you spotted his blood red cape, royal colour standing out from the dull trees. “come on, Carl. we’ve gotta get him,” you mumbled to yourself and the horse you were sat on, speeding up as you entered the forest. “tech!”

turning around with wide eyes, techno’s heart sped up as he saw you there, getting off the horse with ease. he took a step back. “y/n, please, I don’t wanna hurt you again,” he pleaded, holding his hand out to prevent you from coming closer to him.

you signed sadly, heart glowing with love so powerful that you swear he could see it through your skin. unfortunately, he couldn’t. so you needed to tell him, or else you were scared you’d never see him again.

“honey, please. let’s talk about this,” you stepped closer to him, attempting to get close to him without scaring him off. he didn’t step back this time. instead, he faced the ground, ears downturned in shame. he watched a tear fall from his eye and melt into the snow below him. “I know you’d never try to hurt me, tech.”

your hand was on his cold cheek now, lifting his head up to look at you. he did, tearful and pouty. it almost made you cry. you know he didn’t mean to hurt you, you could see it. but that just left you confused with what had happened. and something told you he was just as confused.

“please,” you begged, running your fingers through his hair. “I love you.” techno closed his eyes shut at your words, giving into your touch as he melted in your arms, crying softly into your shoulder. you let your tears fall silently as well, watching as the sun started rising in the horizon as you stood embracing your broken lover in the middle of the snowy woods.

he hadn’t answered you back then. he wished he’d been different.

your eyes lit up in excitement as you spotted a green and red figure from the window despite the blaring sun shining onto the snow, blinding you. you bursted out of the door, running towards the two men wearing barely any clothes. but you didn’t care. because he was back. techno was back, after a whole month since that night.

you threw your arms around him, crashing into his body. his usual warmth surrounded you. oh, how you’d missed that warmth. you shut your eyes, trying your hardest not to cry as the piglin embraced you back, bearing the same expression on his face as you did.

phil continued walking to the cabin, muttering a small “hey y/n” and then leaving you to it.

“you’re back earlier than expected,” you said, running a finger over his spine as you took him in.

“yeah… puffy said it seemed like I was getting better faster than we’d thought. so she sent me back,” he explained, monotone yet heart pounding incredibly hard for you.

you pulled away from him, cupping his face to get a look at him. he looked… calm. better. sending him to puffy’s therapy must’ve done something by the looks of it. but of course you couldn’t know since you hadn’t talked about it yet. but all you could think of right now was how much you’d missed him.

you placed your lips on his, kissing him gently to get used to his lips again. you’d missed his kisses, his presence, him him him. he kissed back, pulling your chest against his as he soothed his thumb over your chin. he tilted his head for a deeper angle, letting his tongue run across your bottom lip. you let him in, electricity shooting through your body, leaving you with a fuzzy feeling.

he pulled away and wrapped his red cape around you, resting his chin on your head. “I missed you so much, kid.”

and the words he spoke were true. he’d missed you so much that when he left you it felt like his lungs would collapse and his blood would run dry and like his whole body was shutting down. he loved you more than he’d ever thought he’d be capable of loving anyone or anything. like you were the sole purpose of his life, the end goal. you were everything to him.

and yet he had this feeling that he shouldn’t be with you. that he should stay far away from you, like you weren’t meant to be. it was draining and it was there with him whenever he thought of you or was in your presence - this breathtaking and anxious feeling ripping the love right out of his heart.

he squeezed you to him, kissing the top of your head. you smiled into his cape. “I missed you too. so much.”

#technoblade x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #technoblade fanfic #c!technoblade x reader #c!technoblade #technoblade fluff #technoblade angst #technoblade imagine #dream smp imagine #dream smp fluff #dream smp technoblade #dream smp angst #dream smp fanfic #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fluff #mcyt angst #mcyt imagine

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sexsellz · 2 years

Note

Halo! Can you do a Tommy x reader (gn or fem) were they've meet through discord? Platonic or romantic, i don't have a prob

— 🍰 strawberry shortcake anon

★̲ ⤻ 𝐝𝒊𝐬𝐜𝒐𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝒂𝐭𝒆𝐬, tommyinnit 。 ᥫ᭡ ‧₊˚

🫶🏼 - 𓄹 S͢UMMARY: 𝒙𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Love prevails .. even over discord.

🪐- 𓄹 W͢ORDCOUNT:

602

🧸 - 𓄹 P͢AIRING(S):

tommy x reader

🍰- 𓄹 A͢/N:

ty for the request :)!

After applying to Tommy’s LOH a few weeks prior and hearing nearly nothing back from Austin or Tommy, your hopes had been diminished significantly for any chances of getting to know the internet sensation that is TommyInnit. And although you hadn’t been chosen by Austin to attend the show, your discord was chosen to accompany Tommy on a ‘Discord Date’.

Not that you complained though, Tommy had specifically chosen you to go on a date while the LOH contestants had to compete for one. A win-win situation, to say the least. And after you’d went on your phenomenal date with Tommy, the flirty, humor filled interactions hadn’t halted with him in the slightest. He was in your discord DMs all day long, inviting you along on his many adventures. Although your lack of living in Brighton had made going along with him difficult he still put in maximal effort to make your relationship bloom.

As well as pestering you on Twitter.

Your friendship had quickly turned more into playful flirting, which of course coaxed him into developing a major crush on you.

Of course, you were more than obliged. Even if he’s kept you up till 6 am the night prior making you watch him play Stardew Valley, his company was one of your favorites. So, you eagerly made your way to your computer with a blanket wrapped around your body and sat down in your chair to accept his discord call. The little ‘ba-dunk’ noise echoed in your headphones when you joined, as well as Tommy’s charming voice. “Y/nnn helllooo my little pog champ!”

You cringed playfully at his nickname for you, replying with; “Tommy, you’re sweet but I hate that name more than anything in the entire world.” His screen was shared, displaying the ‘Stray’ home screen across your monitor. He giggled, sending butterflies fluttering through your belly. “Well, what else do you want me to call you? Darling? Makes me wanna puke just saying that.”

Your face lit up, even if the pet name was sarcastic. “Ha! C'mon now, anything’s better than calling me your little pog champ.” You turned on your camera and showed the fit you’d worm, as well as the blanket that shielded your head and torso. Tommy’s mouse hovered over the start game button before he stated. “You look quite adorable.”

The game continued and your banter subsided for a while. Tommy knew that you were already tired, so he stuck to laying low and letting the chill vibes mellow out. With the occasional comment from you, as well as Tommy comparing your cuteness to the array of different four-legged felines, you found it difficult to keep your eyes open for more than a few seconds.

Now and then he’d regain your consciousness by uttering things like. “HOLY SHIT IS THAT A LION?” (It was not, but how else would he get your attention?) or “Y/n our cat child is missing your presence. I will not be a single dad again!” The last silly statement made you perk up.

“Again?” You could hear the devilish smile through his dialogue. “Gotcha! Now look we gotta-“ You cut him off with a yawn.

He sighed, accepting your sleepy defeat. Even if he could’ve continued playing the game on his own, he didn’t want you to miss any cute moments shared between the two of you. “Alright alright, you wuss. I give in. Go back to sleep.” So, with a final good night from the two of you, you crawled back into bed for a nap. And Tommy was sure to leave something sweet for when you returned.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

if you enjoyed, consider reblogging! :)

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strawberry-fields-things · 1 year

Note

I want to know whoe reader and sap became roomies?? there is always a story when it comes to roomies

o(*￣▽￣*)ブ

▸ FIRST IMPRESSIONS

pairing: college!sapnap x gn!roommate!reader

SUMMARY: in which you meet your new roommate… one george doesn’t exactly approve of.

A/N: this drabble takes place before this imagine but they can both be read as stand-alones!! if you’re interested in related stories check out my roommate!sapnap tag <3

WARNINGS: swearing, george being a brat basically, i can’t really think of any other warnings but if i missed something lmk!!

“I don’t trust him.”

You turn your head to George, nearly dropping the cardboard box onto the floor as you do so. You quickly readjust your grip on your belongings, exhaling loudly.

“I’d appreciate if you got off your ass and helped me move things in, you know,” you retort, looking pointedly at George. He rolls his eyes as you add, “besides, you haven’t even met him yet.”

George scoffs, pocketing his phone and turning to you with an unimpressed look. “Neither have you.”

You set down the box over the kitchen counter, carefully retrieving the plates and glasses your mom gave you. You click your tongue. “But Dream has. You trust Dream, don’t you?”

You have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from snapping at the brunet. You’re supposed to be in a good mood for when your new roommate shows up— and you can’t exactly risk George of all people being the reason why you two get off on the wrong foot.

You don’t understand why he seems so set on making your new roommate look bad. After all, the only reason as to why you’re sharing a flat with one of Dream’s buddies is because George bailed on you— something about finding a better arrangement with one of his friends from the UK.

“I don’t know,” He shakes his head, slumped against the couch as he stares at the ceiling. It paints quite the picture, that with the couch being the only unpacked item other than your beds. “This Sapnap person is weird. Who even agrees to become roommates with someone you haven’t even met?”

You stare back at George, unamused. “Gee, I wonder,” you quip, resisting the urge to throw one of the empty boxes at him. “And it’s not like he’s a total stranger— we’ve messaged each other a few times.”

“His name is Sapnap,” he deadpans.

“So?”

“And he’s from Texas.” George groans out, as if that was the worst possible place he could imagine. You can’t help but wonder if he does truly dislike Sapnap, or if he’s merely doing this because he’s bored. Knowing George, it’s probably the latter.

George straightens off the couch, hair fluffed as drawls out, “Come on, you can still back out if you want. He’s not even here yet, you could just tell him you changed your—” A knock on the door. “—mind.”

You feel your back growing stiff, anxiousness suddenly building up inside your chest. “Coming!” You call out, hastily heading towards the door. Your hand curls around the handle and you pause.

Okay. Breathe in, breathe out. First introductions are important. Relax.

Before opening, however, you turn to British friend. “George,” you start sweetly, though there’s an edge to your voice. He simply quirks a brow. “If you say anything weird to him, I will shove your ass down the trash chute.” You say with a sickeningly honeyed smile, only to receive a dismissive wave from him. You hope he knows you’re not bluffing.

Finally, you open the door. “Hi! You must be—” Your eyes center on a boy with a light beard, disheveled brown hair and a nervous smile. You inhale sharply, sticking to a softer smile. “Uh, Sapnap, yeah?”

Sapnap blinks once. Twice. He suddenly shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of a trance. “Yeah! Yeah, um, hi.” He waves sheepishly while holding a few boxes between his arms.

You move aside as to let him come inside. He makes his way into the apartment, dropping the boxes near the counter. “You’re Y/N, right? Dream’s friend?”

You shrug your shoulders with a small smile. “That’s me.”

As Sapnap fumbles around with his boxes and making sure none of them fall, you silently regret not having asked Dream for pictures of Sapnap. Perhaps then you would’ve been able to mentally prepare for the fact that your new roommate is actually pretty. As in ‘I would definitely hit on you if we met at a party’ type of pretty. Or, more accurately, the type of pretty boy you see at an airport at three am.

“Hey,” George suddenly calls out from the couch, raising his head ever so slightly.

George’s sudden intrusion is enough to help you pull yourself together. He’s your roommate, god, you think, get a fucking grip.

“Fuck!” Sapnap jumps, heart hammering against his ears. His rattled hazel eyes meet with George’s judgemental brown. “Who are you?”

His lips part to respond, before you quickly step in. “Oh! That’s George.” You wave at him dismissively. “Ignore him— we all do.”

George huffs. “Uncalled for.”

Sapnap blinks. “You’re George?” He tilts his head slightly. “I think we’ve actually met a few times. Y’know— ‘cause of Dream.”

Your friend quirks a brow, allowing his gaze to linger for more than just a moment on Sapnap. He thinks about it for a second, before asking, “Were you the guy that broke his mom’s vase and blamed it on the cat?”

Sapnap sputters, ears growing a pink color. “…No.”

“Huh.” George hums, amused. You shoot him a glare, to which he raises his hands innocently.

You fold your arms over your chest. “Are you gonna help unpack or are you just gonna be a brat?”

“No, I’m leaving,” He responds, standing up from the couch and swinging his bag over his shoulder.

You furrow your brows, looking back at him in disbelief. “If you weren’t gonna help why even come here in the first place?”

George clicks his tongue as he reaches the door. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a creep.” He narrows his eyes at Sapnap, who almost seems to straighten under his gaze. Then, he drawls, “I gave them a switchblade for Christmas, so watch it.”

“George!”

The door slams closed before you can say anything to hin, leaving you and Sapnap alone in your new apartment.

The silence lasts a beat. Two.

Sapnap drums his fingers against the counter, a faint pink still painting his cheeks. “Is he, uh, your boyfriend?”

“What?” You sound borderline horrified as you snap your head in his direction. “Oh— fuck, no. No, no, George’s just a friend. A really annoying one, but a friend nonetheless.”

“Huh.” Sapnap murmurs, lost in thought. He snaps back to his senses quite easily, hands reaching for one of his boxes.

You exhale loudly, turning to Sapnap with a brighter look. “You hungry?”

The corner of his lips twitch upward, spreading into a grin. “Starving.”

“How do you feel about pizza?”

#brainrot hours #ramblings: sapnap #roommate!sapnap #dream smp imagine #mcyt x reader #dani writes dream smp #dani writes mcyt #dream smp x reader #dani writes sapnap #sapnap x y/n #sapnap x you #sapnap imagine #sapnap x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt x you

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ventihonklightice · 1 year

Text

circa a few days ago

#sapnap #dream #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap imagine #sapnap x reader #dream smp imagine #dream mcyt #mcyt #sapnap fanfic #dreamwastaken imagine #gnf x reader #georgenotfound imagine

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itsonlydana · 2 years

Note

ok , now mcyts drunk confessing to you, dsmp characters edition

DSMP CHARACTERS CONFESSING DRUNK

pairing: c!Foolish x gn!reader / c!Wilbur x gn!reader /c!Eret x gn!reader / c!Schlatt x gn!reader

words: 6k

warnings: alcohol & being drunk, hurt/comfort, fluff

an: this took a while for me to write, whenever i started it i got distracted. You guys don't know how often i was this close to confessing everything to some of my crushes lmao. Don't do that, just because it's maybe romantic here :,)

important links: rules + masterlist

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

FOOLISH:

Foolish and you had met through Quackity in Las Nevadas, an initially awkward first encounter in which you were both late for different reasons and ran into each other entering the hotel

as you quickly found out you both had an affinity for building, a love for architectural masterpieces and a tendency to make every building project a friendly (completely serious, depending on the result and victory your whole personality for the following week) but definitely only friendly competition

besides the competitions, raving about building styles and materials you often entertained yourselves by swimming in the sea, because you both wanted to avoid contact with hotel visitors during a trip to the pool and thus often found yourselves on the beach after a long day/night at work

Foolish's way of showing his affection were not only expensive gifts in the form of a new, faster pickaxe or a chest filled with marble blocks and other materials, all a pain in the butt to get, but also touches

when you first met he was reluctant to do this, unsure of how to place you as a new person in the social construct of Las Nevadas, but as you spent more time together these touches became more frequent

him putting his arm around your shoulders as you sat on the beach watching the sunrise/sunset after swimming, resting his head on yours when you were bent over blueprints, holding your hand as you climbed the scaffolding. Often you feel his hand light as a feather in your back when he's guiding you somewhere or you're walking through a door together (he always lets you lead the way) and it becomes especially frequent when he's completely overtired and overworked

most of the time he drops down on top of you, of course not wanting to bury you completely under his muscles, but then as soon as he is lying on top of you, one arm wrapped around you and his nose buried in the crook of your neck, he falls right asleep.

Sometimes he reaches for your hands for no real reason and he never explains himself either. He intertwines your hands and gets on with whatever he's working on at the time

The ice clinked against the rim of your glass as you twirled the crystal straw around in the cocktail. It wasn't on the menu yet, "a secret just for you," as Foolish had explained to you with a wink after you'd dropped tiredly onto one of the now-empty barstools in Las Nevada's club with a desire for something strong. Foolish, whose wink had glistened just like the deep red drink in front of you, stood behind the bar, a glass of his own in his hand, leaning wearily against the countertop. He had his eyes closed, exhaustion after a long night of filling the thirsty mouths of countless tourists and probably turning down hundreds of chat up lines on his face.

He looked good enough to eat, though, you thought to yourself, and let your eyes slide over his relaxed figure, shamelessly and bold now that he rested his. The tight black pants flattered his well-toned legs, especially thighs very much and also the vest, which he had taken off after the last customer and thrown over the bar, had stretched over his chest. The self-confident Foolish, easily showing off his good looks and fishing for tips, was through the door, in front of you was a picture that only you got to see.

His white shirt which he wore under his vest had slipped at the hem in some places out of its tidily smooth form tucked into his trousers and hung over the shiny gold belt loop, he had rolled up his sleeves carelessly, well as far as the fabric would allow with his strong upper arms, and two of the many small buttons were unbuttoned so that you could see the calming rise and fall of his chest. His long hair, otherwise tied in a braid, was now messily twisted behind his head, presenting his tense jaw and sharp cheekbones in the dim light of the bar.

You tilted your head, propped on your left hand, and took another sip of the cocktail. You knew the warm feeling in your stomach wasn't just from the alcohol, you felt it too often for that when you were sober.

The jukebox in the corner crackled softly as the record was changed and a new one was automatically put on, this time a much slower one. The first notes echoed through the empty bar, filling the comfortable silence between you and Foolish with a tune familiar to both of you, at which Foolish opened his eyes.

Your gaze was still on him when his met his, and for a moment you just looked at each other before Foolish's voice quietly drowned out the melody and the loud thumping in your chest:

"Would you like to dance?"

Normally you would have teased him for such a question or made a joke about your lack of dancing skills, but something was different today. You couldn't put your finger on what it was. Maybe it was the warmth in the rosy red sunrise that bathed Las Nevadas pink and fell through the glass doors into the bar. Maybe it was that something in Foolish's gaze as he walked around the bar and you accepted his outstretched hand with a smile. Or maybe it was the weariness of a long night, doused with many drinks, the taste of which made your lips taste sweet and your stomach do cartwheels.

Foolish led you to the center of the room, into the warm cone of one of the last remaining switched-on spotlights that bathed you both in its golden light. Any eye ogling was forgotten as soon as Foolish put his hands at your sides. Never looking away from his loving gaze you raised your hands and placed them in his neck, at the touch of your hands cooled by the glass and ice you felt the goosebumps on his skin under your fingertips, but your tongue was numb and another teasing comment remained unspoken.

It wasn't really dancing, just a slow swaying back and forth so lost in each other's gaze that you didn't even hear the record stop and none follow.

As your fingers unconsciously began to trace indefinable patterns, circles and gentle movements on the back of Foolish's neck he exhaled a quivering breath that shook his chest. You felt from his tight grip, not tight enough to hurt you, how hard he was straining to stand up straight, his head probably heavy with fatigue, alcohol, and the many thoughts that had just made themselves known at the bar in a furrowed brow and contracted eyebrows.

You repeated the movement in his neck, wandering your fingers higher to the base of his hair where it was slightly twisted for his braid. Without giving it much further thought, you released the clasp that had pinned the black hair far too tightly. As you began to carefully comb through the thick and velvety hair, his arms pulled you closer to him until no sheet of paper would have fit between you.

Foolish's head tipped forward slightly as he let himself fall completely against you. With a tired sigh and a yawn, he leaned his head against yours before sinking forward even further and resting his forehead on your shoulder. His breath hit the free skin on your neck hotly. You felt the words even before they reached your ears, the movement of his lips against your neck almost more distinct than the actual words.

"I love you."

A tremor ran through your body as his arms slipped from your sides and wrapped completely around you, pressing your clearly smaller body against his broad chest as he clarified the meaning of that great confession with every touch.

And you loved him too with all your heart and every thought, but you would tell him that tomorrow. Now you were showing him by holding him.

ERET:

even before Eret was officially crowned king of the SMP by Dream, you had made it your mission to always be at his side

not only because of his good looks, but also because you had often enough talked about a shared vision of freedom, your hearts far away in the distance while lying in front of black and yellow walls and imagining what it would be like to be somewhere else

one night he had taken your hand, pulled you with him on the caravan and pointed to a spot in the darkness, between tall fir trees swaying in the night wind and promised you to run there as soon as the walls were gone

that night you probably felt it for the first time, the leap in your heart and the tingling in your stomach, but these feelings had no place in the revolution and you repressed them - later

life went on, time took what it wanted and fate played with events as if they were a part of a play and not reality, where every action had serious consequences. Eret won something, Eret lost something and you stayed by his side no matter what happened and the tug in your heart became sometimes stronger, sometimes less - later

he declared you his most loyal knight on a lukewarm summer night, a grin on your faces as he struck Ted's wrath on your shoulders and gave you a sword in netherite, which you never took off since then

you were inseparable, finding comfort in each other's presence even when his touches set your skin on fire and the reality of your platonic relationship dipped your head in icy water

sometimes the lines between friendship and work blurred, ending up in unattractive expressions shouted in the heat of the argument, which you regretted afterwards in the lonely silence

to always remind you of your position, not as desired as a lover, but as the most faithful friend and protector, you always carry a photograph, clamped in the breastplate of your armor, on which you kneel before Eret, one hand placed on your heart, the other on his black shoe tips, and on which he, in his voluminous red coat and golden crown, places Ted wrath on your right shoulder

To say you were running through the castle would be an understatement, you were sprinting, your feet barely seemed to touch the ground and only one question was burning in your mind:

"What if I'm not fast enough?"

When one of the maids had stormily knocked, no hammered, on your bedroom door in the early morning, you had immediately been on your feet, the book in which you had lost yourself had been left open on your bed, neatly made for the sleep you didnt get in the night.

That's all she had to say, that's all you needed to hear. You flew like a whirlwind around the last corner where several servants stood with nervous looks in front of the high, closed doors to the throne room and you snapped at them with a slightly sharper, "Don't you have work to do?" that quietly dispersed the crowd chattering. Now alone in front of the door, you raised a hand to the doorknob and slowly pushed it down.

"The king," she had stammered when you had invited her in.

"What about Eret?" you had asked, your heart loud and hammering in your chest

"He is drunk and has thrown everyone out of the throne room. We fear a little for him, he had seemed upset after the ball"

"I have told you to leave," Eret's deep, slightly slurred voice rang out as soon as you opened the door. He didn't sound as angry and threatening as he might have hoped, though; the words trembled, pronounced much more through grief than anger.

You pushed through a narrow crack in the door and shut it quickly behind you, not wanting any of the servants to catch even the slightest glimpse of the almost pathetic sight of their king, for that would make for rumors spreading like wildfire beyond your control to suppress.

Immediately, your concern reached its peak, and you rushed across the room to drop onto the steps in front of him. His red dress flowed like water down his slender form, the same color as that in his cheeks stained by tears and most likely alcohol. On the floor lay an empty bottle of wine, also red.

But it was truly pathetic.

The walls were still adorned with the decorations of the previous night's ball, scarlet curtains and banners, red rose vines scrambling up the walls, milky cloths through which you had danced only a few hours ago hung ghostly in the room, which looked like an abandoned painting without the mask-clad people and the violin music, and in the middle of it all Eret. He was stretched out on the steps in front of his throne, his crown and his blood-red mask lying on the seat, to which he had turned his back. He had his eyes squeezed shut, and though he rested his head on one arm and hid his face slightly in the crook, you saw the telltale wet glisten on his cheeks.

"What's wrong, Eret?" you tried to bring him out of the thoughts he had probably plunged into, as he so often did. He disappeared into this world where he was getting caught up in things and worrying about events that were completely different. It was a place you couldn't follow him to, no matter your promise to be with him always and everywhere. To you, it felt like a breaking of that very promise, a betrayal and simultaneous heartbreak that you couldn't be where he probably needed you most, that you could never be there.

Eret's response to your question was absent except for an aborted sob. You slid closer on the step, placing an arm gently on his shoulder. "Eret? Come on, it's me, you can talk to me, can't you?"

"That's the problem" Ouch... "You're part of my problem" Double ouch "I don't think this problem would exist without you" You were sure your heart couldn't break into smaller splinters and yet Eret proved you wrong in this hope. He opened his eyes, stared at you through his pearly white pupils and stood up with a jerk. The dress rustled with the frantic movement, falling down on him no longer smooth and noble, but crumpled and moistened with alcohol and tears as he staggered trying to find his footing. You had jumped up with him, puzzled and hurt at the sudden cold shoulder, when just hours ago you had been dancing together.

"Eret-," you took a step toward him, he stumbled back two. "Eret cut the bullshit and tell me what's going on now!" you commanded in a shaky voice, you didn't know how to deal with all the emotions that were bubbling up inside you and threatening to sweep you off your feet just thinking about how he had flinched away from you and the warmth in his gaze had been replaced by a cold, impenetrable wall, but something was very wrong with Eret. It had been your promise, your oath to be faithful, where you had given yourself to him completely, with all your heart, and you couldn't ignore that because of your own weakness for him. He needed you, even if his words went through your feelings like sharp knives.

Eret fell backward against his throne and raised a hand waveringly, pointing at the doors with a stone-hard facade. "Go, leave me alone, that's what you're going to do anyway".

"I beg your pardon, what?" You thought you were the one who had been drinking, because what he said definitely made no sense. Confused, you looked at him. "Where did you come up with such nonsense? Why and where would I go, please?"

He laughed out, but not in the deep and full laugh full of joy, he was exasperated. "I know you danced with Sapnap, i saw you two dancing more than you danced with me! You danced with Sapnap and couldn't stop listening to all the great things he said about Kinoko. At least admit you'd rather live there and don't lie to me." Eret took a shaky breath.

You exhaled shakily. Tears threatened to burst from your eyes as you saw the fear in Eret. "I won't leave you," you whispered, because if you spoke louder, you wouldn't be able to hold back the tears and you would both cry, and then you wouldn't be able to help him. Again you took a step toward him, up the steps, until all you had to do was reach out your hand to bridge the remaining distance between you.

Eret looked up, his cheeks wet with fresh tears, and he sobbed out. "I love you, please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone"

The pile of broken pieces reassembled into your heart at the confession you had dreamed of for so long, only to be destroyed again when Eret helplessly reached for your hand, as if you would want to flee from him now that he had laid his feelings openly down to you. But you wouldn't, there was no reality in which you would ever leave Eret, could leave him.

"I love you too," you answered him honestly "I love you and I'm not going anywhere, do you understand that? Nowhere where you are not too. You'll never get rid of me Eret, never again".

It wouldn't be easy to convince him of this confession later, you would have to sit down quietly and talk about all the changes ahead of you, but when Eret pulled you into a desperate kiss that tasted like fruity wine and salty tears, everything was okay, at least for the moment.

WILBUR:

Wilbur was a man of many things, he mastered the power to give uncertain and lost people the feeling of togetherness and family, he could draw the best out of the most hopeless situations and awaken in everyone the desire to want to fight for something

Wilbur was also a man for whom and his words you fell without wanting to ever to be caught, completely and with all your heart

he had picked you up, like everyone else in L'Manburg he had taken you in and given you a purpose

you had supported Wilbur in the election, were hard at work writing notes at every debate, and spent long nights with Will thinking about next steps

after Schlatt banished Wilbur and Tommy from Manburg, you followed them to Pogtopia, packed all your things in a bag and stepped out of your house without once looking back

Wilbur was your constant, your rock without whom you would sink hopelessly in the merciless world, and you became his muse, the cause for which he wanted to fight. Not that you told the other, you showed it in the things you did for each other

there were days when he showered you with affection, told you at every opportunity how proud he was of you and how glad he was to have met you. On those days he reached for your hands, hugged you or blew a kiss on your cheek, after which you always touched the place where just a moment ago his lips had been feather-light, in disbelief.

you never defined what exactly you were, lovers, friends, soul mates, two hearts found in the darkness, giving each other comfort and light for an uncertain period of time, a temporary relationship.

there were nights when Will needed your company, holding you close, and when you were his anchor, his salvation from drowning in fears of the future and the great something that was approaching and lurking in every shadow of the cave that had become your home.

there were moments when you were the only one who could pull Will away from the abyss, moments when he wanted to give up everything or, on the complete contrary, was about to rush out and take the problem out of the world

your "relationship" was a flame, a flaming heat that engulfed everything and to which you surrendered as an escape from reality and a dream of a future for which you both fought

Every evening there is this one moment between sunset and night. A brief moment when the sun has already disappeared behind the horizon, the last pink and purple clouds drift across the sky, and the all-consuming darkness approaches.

A moment when there is no time, just Wilbur and you.

It was quiet in Pogtopia, Techno and Tommy had retired to their beds, with the flicker of a lantern still lighting the cave walls from the corner of Techno's small area, casting your and Will's shadows against the gray stones.

The shadows fascinated Will, and for several minutes he had been raising your interlocked hands and twisting them in all directions, spreading his fingers and laughing in excitement when he recognized an animal in the shadows. He was drunk, the empty bottle of wiskey lying beside him on the crossbar, and his breath with each laugh smelled of firewood, pines, and cigarettes. He was drunk, again, and had been pacing back and forth madly in an office knocked into one of the walls, tussling his hair over mysterious plans. Plans he didn't even share with you. He was drunk, and yet you had followed him up your beam, a sturdy piece of wood that reached across the ravine. It was placed directly under the only gap to the outside, you couldn't see much as bushes and foliage obstructed your view of the sky, but the last golden rays of the setting sun still made their way through the dark greenery and gently brushed your face.

You turned your head to look at Will. His eyes were still focused on the shadows, pupils large and lips slightly parted he looked at the wall until he felt your gaze and turned as well. His brown stubborn hair hung in his face and as you reached out a hand to brush it away, you felt the dust and grit in what used to be hazel brown hair. They had turned gray, lacking the shine and shimmer, just as the spark in Will's eyes was missing.

No, it wasn't missing, it was different.

Once it had been revolution, a stirring power had been in his eyes, sweeping you off your feet like a tidal wave and at the same time holding you carefully when you lost your footing. Today you saw little of that, of the slightly youthful recklessness, the fun, the will to make something happen even when it seems almost impossible. Now there was rage in his gaze, rage that would strike mercilessly over you and everyone in its path, drowning you beneath its waves if you couldn't swim.

"You look sad," Will said after a while.

You shrugged your shoulders. "Do I?"

He nodded, his dark eyes roaming over your face and lingering on your pressed-together lips. "You often look sad," his gaze continued to linger on your lips and he ran his tongue over his own "Is there anything I can do to make you happier?" he asked. He was already turning his upper body closer to you, the beam creaking under the slight movement.

Again you shrugged your shoulders. You ran your fingers over the back of his hand, over his bandaged knuckles and rough skin. "You could tell me what you and Tubbo are plotting for the festival".

The words echoed off the walls of Pogtopia, smothering any sound, and though they were inescapable between you, Will didn't answer, but put his lips to yours. You kissed him back, with the desperation of someone drowning, clinging to anything remaining familiar, because in all the chaos of Pogtopia, the change in the man who leaned over you and put his hand behind your head, the feel of Will's lips was still the same. He kissed you so he wouldn't have to answer, and yet every movement of his lips spoke for what was unsaid.

"I love you," Will murmured into the kisses, the words as raw as his lips and tasting more bitter than the alcohol on his tongue.

"I love you," he repeated those three words and you sensed he meant them, sensed the emotion in his drunken kisses. It's the truth.

"I love you," he said louder as he pressed his forehead against yours and your interlocked hands lay between your bodies.

For a moment, time stands still. The last rays of the sun move across the gap in the cave, illuminating your sanctuary in pink and gold, and you see a spark in Will's gaze, befuddled by whiskey and a dream of a future close enough to touch.

"I love you," Will whispers, and you see tears glisten in his eyes. It sounds like a promise.

The moment passes, darkness takes over the sky and the flicker of Techno's lamp goes out, taking the shadows with it and the last bit of light. Night falls, crushing and harsh and lonely.

The moment becomes the past, and though the sun will rise again tomorrow and set again tomorrow, you know it will never be the same.

"I love you," Will speaks into the silence. An apology for what will come with the sunrise.

You swallow hard, trying to remember the feel of his lips on yours, chasing their trail, and it grows heavier, receding further and further into the distance, like a dream that had slipped from your fingers. "I love you too"

SCHLATT:

the first time you met Schlatt, he had watched one of Will's speeches from a distance, a power in a black suit and a stern expression on his face that had twisted into a grin at your dry "What a load of bullshit"

you didn't make it easy for him, you stayed out of his way when he clearly tried to approach you during walks through Manburg and Schlatt loved a challenge

he invested a lot of time getting to know you, inviting you on dates that sometimes you didn't show up for because you didn't feel like it and other times you knocked on his office door at night, deprived of sleep and bored. You knew he was staying longer in the White House than anyone else, so you enjoyed the time alone, playing a game of chess or poker

you finally let him into your heart, accompanied him to political events, dragged him to museums or on long walks through nature, on which you - far away from the eyes of the world and hungry paparazzi - let yourselves fall into the high grass and just watch the rustling of the leaves above you, your hands intertwined

it was on one of these walks that Schlatt kissed you for the first time. You were lying side by side in the grass, Schlatt propped up on his arm and stroking your cheek with one hand before he leaned down and breathed a soft kiss on your lips. You had put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down to you, deepening the kiss

After the kiss everything was different, changed for the better. Schlatt took your hand in public whenever he felt like it, ran away with you from journalists and you spent many nights in his office cuddled up on the couch

he gave you many expensive gifts, jewelry, clothes, armor, swords, everything you looked at or thought about was at your home a few days later, wrapped in white paper with a red bow around it

despite this intimate relationship, you did not know exactly what your status was, or what Schlatt hoped to gain from it. He was an important man who gave daily speeches to the press or the citizens, spoke of Manburg's plans for the future and made promises, but he had never once said a single word about his feelings, about your plans for the future

it was what you had been afraid of when you fell in love with him and let him get close, you hoped it would not be your downfall

Laughing, you slapped Schlatt against his chest with your free hand as he once again took your words and twisted them. "Of course not," you replied, and Schlatt's feigned horror turned into a self-satisfied grin, "I doubted your execution skills," you added cheekily, which resulted in a pecking index finger to your side, which made you squeak away and press closer to Schlatt. The man pressed a kiss into your hair before his previously attacking hand intertwined with yours again. "No, it's really quite fabulous," you handed him an olive branch of peace to avoid being pulled into yet another tickle attack and let your gaze wander over the colorful Manburg Festival.

"I must say, you've outdone yourself"

"Oh, so you doubted me and my fantastic planning skills?"

The meadow in front of the big podium had been transformed into every fair lover's dream overnight. Colorful booths had sprung up like flowers, offering everything from sweets to savory treats, souvenirs and games, decorated with colorful flags fluttering in the light breeze and self-painted signs. You recognized many of the games, duck fishing, can throwing, dunk the man and even some unfamiliar ones were there that almost piqued your interest even more.

Schlatt watched your wide eyes shining with anticipation for a while, giving you time to take it all in while his gaze was on you, warm and full of emotions that would answer some questions if you would just turn your head slightly and look at him.

But that's exactly what you didn't do, you consistently looked at everything but him for the simple reason that you were afraid to tell him the truth about your feelings to his face. Instead, you pulled him in the direction of a booth, Schlatt smiling behind you.

As it turned out, Schlatt wasn't the best at sack races, not even close. While he tried to somehow hold on to the edge of the sack he was up to his hips in, one kid after another jumped past him across the fenced-in meadow. Again and again he looked desperately at you, but you continued to motivate him with loud clapping, which many of the other bystanders joined in when they realized that it was the president who was stumbling across the meadow. Your heart leapt more than Schlatt, the sight of him in the midst of this happy scene spurred fantasies in your head to a future filled with such events and family-friendly games.

The rest of the day was similar... warm, just with a few more drinks and shots that Schlatt wanted to drink everything nicer with, because "if I hear one more kid screaming I'm going to blow this all off," but despite his slightly grumpy demeanor when there were a bunch of toddlers screaming on the mini Ferris wheel behind you, you saw his smile at other moments. It was once again his "I think it's stupid that I enjoy this" reaction to experiences in which he would rather slip into his Mr. Politician role because it was easier, instead of opening up to something new. At the very beginning of what was between you, whatever it was, you had often noticed it, the mask behind which Schlatt hid his insecurity, but slowly it disappeared and you kept getting to know new sides of him. For example, the lack of talent for sack race

You moved from one stand to the next, hand in hand, arm in arm. Time flew by and as you headed for one of the last remaining tents, the sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon and only a few pink clouds drifted across the darkened night sky. Your cheeks were warm from all the laughing and shots you'd had with Schlatt throughout the day, and you felt like you were floating up there with the clouds. Your lips were sticky from the cotton candy the two of you had just shared behind one of the tents, you snuggled into his side while he complained about how sweet the cotton candy tasted and could hardly get enough of your sweet lips afterwards.

At your laughter, he turned, his cheeks pink and golden and his gaze admonishing and playful and full of warmth. He reached for the next ball, which just barely brushed the top can of the largest pyramid, and it fell backwards onto the floor of the tent with a lonely "klank." At Schlatt's exasperated expression, you suppressed another laugh, but ended up snorting, deceived as a cough, which earned you another "Hey!" from Schlatt.

You leaned your hip against the booth's wooden counter, your gaze much more focused on Schlatt than on the pyramids of cans and bottles set up as targets in the tent. As much as you wanted to focus on how he was living up to his promise of knocking over all the cans in one throw -well, doing his best- your heart was running in completely different directions.

The many strings of lights dangling and spun across the square bathed Schlatt in a warm, golden light, and he never looked better. His curls were tousled, a crown of daisies lay between his horns and in the brown hair, and Schlatt had never once made an effort to remove them, not even when you had encountered Quackity. He leaned slightly over the counter, one ball in his hand and the other he used to imagine a wobbly throwing line, which in planning might have worked somehow, in implementation, however, the ball landed neither in the cans, nor in the bottles but fell from his hand backwards into the grass.

"Feel free to buy more throws if you want to win one of the bigger stuffed animals," the young man behind the counter interjected, a money-making charming grin on his lips.

Schlatt grumbled as he took the last of his three balls from the basket and examined it.

You took a step closer to him, gently placing a hand on his upper arm. "You don't have anything to prove, you know that, right?" you spoke softly that the vendor couldn't hear any of it over the din of the still-full festival. "The evening was great enough, I don't expect a cuddly toy, really".

"Bullshit," Schlatt clicked his tongue and stood up straight. You could see the alcohol on him, but also the pure determination now more than ever to win you something. He turned slightly so he could better aim his throwing arm at the cans, then turned to you with a big grin. "I love you, and I'm going to get you that stuffed animal, cost it all the world! Hell, I'll buy out the booth otherwise!"

The muffled tinkling and clattering of falling cans following these world stopping words only reached you dully, in your ears echoed "I love you! he loves me. i love you! he loves me. i love you! he loves me." In one beat with the beating of your heart. You didn't know how you could take the next breath when Schlatt had just completely turned the world upside down. Nothing you could say or do seemed even remotely important enough to equal what Schlatt had just thrown at you.

It wasn't until Schlatt spoke your name several times, each time with a little more concern in his voice, that your eyes found his. Everything was still stopped around you, you heard nothing but your own blood in your ears.

"You love me?" you asked quietly in disbelief, unsure if it had really happened or was a game of your drunken brain.

Schlatt paused in his movement, looking at you with wide eyes and his arms wrapped around a big teddy bear.

"Haven't I told you yet? Don't tell me I've never told you I love you".

Silently you shook your head, but slowly the words got through to you and a smile played around your lips. "I love you," you grinned now, wide and with butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, "I love you too."

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hatchetislostpog · 6 months

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Y/n: What makes you think I give a single shit about you?

Revivebur: You hallucinating my ghost for the past half a year is a pretty big clue. C'mon, what's the harm in admitting you love me? It's not like I can die again.

#dream smp imagine #dream smp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp x y/n #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #dsmp x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x y/n #ghostbur #revivebur x reader #revivebur #ghostbur x reader

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lilywastaken · 2 years

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⇝ SLEEPING + CUDDLING HCs !

CC!Dream, CC!Sapnap, CC!GeorgeNotFound, CC!TommyInnit x GN!Reader.

SUMMARY: how cuddling with some of my fav CCs would be like!

WARNINGS: SFW!

A/N: my first headcanons! I'll probably do a part two soon with some of the other CCs (quackity, karl, jack, etc), but I'll see! Please please please don't forget to reblog or comment if you enjoy the post, it helps a lot!! Thank you so so much for reading!! <3

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

DREAM:

I feel like Dream's love language is mostly physical touch, so he'd be the most willing to cuddle.

And although he probably has a very fucked up sleep schedule and only gets to cuddle you for a few hours before you wake up, his soft touch and warm body is so worth it.

If you're asleep by the time he gets to bed, he quietly sneaks underneath the covers and instantly searches for you with his arms, wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his hold.

He mostly likes being the big spoon, pressing your back to his chest so he's able to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck and press soft kisses along your skin, smiling if you giggle or try and playfully wriggle away from his affections.

But just because he's normally the big spoon, doesn't mean he dislikes being held.

There are a few days where he just wants to collapse into your arms and let you hug him, run your fingers through his soft hair while he snuggles his face into your chest.

Much like everyone, he likes being held and comforted at times, it just reminds him that he isn't alone, and that whenever he has a bad day, he can come to you so you can make it better.

This man will drop whatever he's doing if you ask for a quick cuddle session. Training for mcc? He can train later. Cooking dinner? Food can wait. In the middle of a stream? The mute button exists for a reason.

Speaking of streaming, if he's live without his face cam on and craves affection, he will most definitely text you non-stop to come and sit on his lap so he can hold you while he plays.

Doesn't matter if it's Minecraft or some first person shooter, he'll manage. You're more important, after all.

SAPNAP:

Much like his best friend, Sapnap's very touchy when it comes to his s/o.

His hand is always either intertwined with yours or slipped into your back pocket when you're outside, the need to be close to you too much for him, and it doesn't really change in private.

Whenever you're lying down, be it on the sofa or in bed, he will always find a way to be draped on top of you or holding you to his chest, depending on his mood.

Sometimes he wants nothing more than to be held and kissed, and sometimes he just wants to hold you flush to his chest and nestle his face into your hair.

How he wants to cuddle fully relies on his mood.

If he's sad or angry or annoyed, he just wants to be held and coddled, with his head either resting on your lap or on your chest, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he waits for you to run your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp, an action that turns him into putty almost immediately. Sometimes when he's too pissed off or upset, he keeps quiet, letting you do your thing while he clings to you; but if he's feeling up for it and you let him, he'll rant about whatever got him in a mood, appreciating your patience when it comes to him.

But, if he's in an actual good mood, happy or cocky or confident, he feels the need to show off, in a way. And so, he hugs you tightly to his chest, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands run over the soft skin of your stomach, head snuggled right next to yours as he whispers sweet nothings and presses sweet kisses up and down your jaw and finally your lips.

GEORGE:

George is a heavy sleeper.

And because he's a heavy sleeper, he doesn't realise what he does at night, and it makes it quite hard for him to be woken up during his sleep.

He makes sure that he's always pressed up against you, be it with his chest against your back or with your legs wrapped around his waist, his head resting on your chest as he snores softly.

If he can't fall asleep (which is unlikely), he stares up at the ceiling while he plays with your hair, braiding it or running his fingers through it or simply pressing his face into it, enjoying the softness of the whole situation.

And although it makes up for really great and warm cuddles, it's a bit uncomfortable when you have to get up to go to the toilet or to start the day, his arm heavy over your stomach as he sleeps, peacefully unaware of your struggle as you try and get him off you.

Normally, you just cave into his warmth and snuggle into his side, brushing through his fringe with your fingers and running them over his sleeping features, pressing kisses over his jaw in an attempt to wake him.

Spoiler alert, it doesn't.

After a few hours of just lying there either scrolling on your phone or admiring his beauty, he finally starts to stirr, letting out soft groans and moans as he moves to hold you properly. He smiles at you and wishes you good morning, and when you try to move, he pulls you back, asking for "a few more minutes" to which you audibly groan, but succumb to his ministrations.

He isn't really a touchy person out in public, but he always makes sure that he's holding your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. But when you're alone, he lets himself indulge in your touches and hugs, running his warm hands over your skin under your shirt as you lay next to him, eyes drooping closed, threatening to once again fall asleep.

TOMMY:

Taking the sleepover vlog with Ranboo as reference, Tommy seems to sleep in a fetal position like most people, which makes me instantly think of curling up with him like that.

Assuming that he's way taller than you, you can easily snuggle your back up to his chest and let him hold you, your legs resting on his as he lazily holds an arm over your waist, drawing weird patterns onto your tummy or waist until he falls asleep.

If by chance you're taller than him, I'd like to think that he probably wouldn't think of changing the way he sleeps just to cuddle, so you sleep back to back, with him curled up with his own pillow until you feel him turn over and drape himself over you like a blanket, head lying on your shoulder as he softly snores.

That reminds me, snoring. Although it doesn't really relate to cuddles, I see Tommy as a big snorer. Like even asleep he has to make as much sound as possible. He always denies it as well, even if you've had his head right next to yours the whole night or even if you've recorded him, he refuses any claims that he snores.

Moving on, cuddles during daytime with Tommy are… an experience.

If you're sitting down on a chair or even on the floor, expect to be tackled from behind and picked up. You'll end up flailing your arms in surprise as he attempts to move you into a better position to cuddle, which normally ends with both of you on the floor.

Apart from the mini heart attacks you get from his sudden explosions of affection, cuddling with Tommy isn't that bad. He secretly likes being held sometimes, even if he screams at you whenever you bring it up amongst your friends, resting his head on your tummy or chest and falling asleep happily while you talk about whatever.

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moonwritewastaken · 2 years

Text

The Perfect Payment - cc!Dream x gn!reader

Genre - friends to lovers (I’m sorry, it’s my favourite to write lmao), Halloween!

Warnings - language

Word count - 833

I know it’s almost been a month (time flew by wtf) and I already mentioned it but Dream face revealed!! So proud of him and so happy he gets to enjoy time with the all of the Dream Team together 😭 he’s so beautiful I love him. Halloween and George’s birthday is about to be the best ever and my birthday’s coming up too so best present ever 🥹

- 🌙

You love Halloween and you love the cringy scary movies that come along with it (although you still found them scary sometimes). Unbeknownst to you, someone loved you just as much as you loved Halloween.

Dream had been your friend ever since he and Sapnap moved in next door. Throughout your friendship you hung out together often, and you always had the best time. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long until feelings began to blossom for Dream.

Dream, Sapnap and the house’s newest occupant, George had just returned from Sam Diego for Twitchcon. During their time away, you had been given a key and were tasked with ensuring Patches was fed and well looked after while they were gone.

In return, Dream had to watch at least one scary movie with you before Halloween. He didn’t want to, but that’s what you wanted for payment and he couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes.

Today was the day Dream was coming over and you were still expecting some resistance. You open the door to greet Dream soon after he first knocked. The two of you walk to the lounge, with him trailing slightly behind you.

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to just pay you?” He drags out the sure hoping you’ll change your mind. You turn to face him and grin shaking your head to which he sighs and drops his head briefly.

“You agreed Dream, don’t go back on your word now. You’re not scared are you?” The teasing tone in your voice tells him he isn’t getting away with it. Not wanting to look scared in front of you, he nods and takes a seat on the couch.

You join him, leaving space between you to not only ensure his comfort, but also so he wouldn’t be able to hear how fast your heart was beating. He looks at you confusedly before patting the space next to him, urging you to move closer.

“What? Do I smell or something?” His lighthearted jab causes you to smile before teasing him again.

“How’d you know that was why?” He scoffs before moving closer to you, causing your face to heat up.

You quickly change the topic and ask him which film you’d hound watch.

“I don’t care, I won’t like it anyway” you laugh at the pout he’s sporting before scrolling to pick the best one. You put one of your favourites on and take a sip of your water bottle.

“Do you at least have snacks?” You nod and make your way to the kitchen while the opening scene plays. You grab some chips and popcorn before heading back to the lounge and placing it on the table in front of the coach. Dream nods contentedly before grabbing a handful of popcorn.

It was only half an hour in and Dream had already jumped several times. You’d jumped a couple causing Dream to laugh at you to which you rolled your eyes.

In true horror movie fashion, the characters split up and made stupid decision after stupid decision. Dream groaned at the cliché but still got a fright regardless. You shook your head and laughed before speaking for the first time in a while.

“I can’t believe I like you when you’re this much of a scaredy cat” you say playfully.

As soon as the sentence comes out of your mouth, you realise your mistake. Your eyes widen briefly before you realise the ambiguity of your statement. That could mean as a friend, a crush, it could literally mean anything. Unfortunately for you, Dream was observant (and knew you well). He tilts his head questioningly as soon as your eyes widen.

“What is that supposed to mean?“ you’re screwed, you know you are. But you’ve gotta try anyway.

“You’re a scaredy cat and I can’t believe I’m friends with you?” You say as if it was obvious, hoping he’d drop it.

“No no no, that’s not what you said. What the fuck do you mean y/n?” He’s backed you into a corner, there’s no way you’re getting out of this. You sigh before responding.

“I like you, Dream and I know you don’t feel the same way so you can leave. It’s okay” you smile sadly at him and expect him to walk out and never speak to you again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course I like you! There is no way I would’ve watched a horror movie otherwise, not even for George” his joke eases the tension a little.

“Really? Even though I made you watch a horror movie?” You can’t believe what is happening right now. He likes you back!

“You’re such an idiot. Cute, but an idiot” he rolls his eyes with a smile on his face. He speaks again after a few minutes silence.

“Can we hold hands now?” You laugh before holding your hand out to him.

Every time he got scared from then on, you were right there holding his hand.

#dream #dream imagine #dream fluff #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken imagine #dream smp #dream smp imagine #dream smp fluff #x reader #halloween imagine

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ohlovejoy · 2 years

Note

omg please do tommy x reader reacting to his beard (if want to write of course)

a surprise | gn!reader reacting to tommy's beard

summary: after a long time of not seeing each other or each other's content, tommy surprises you... horrifying or pleasant? you decide.

a/n: i think this was a perfect thing to write about coming back. he's shaved his beard now though! let's give it a moment of silence. or a moment of celebration, that's up to you!

no warnings platonic usage of Y/N, no pronouns used! → check out my masterlist here ♡ → read my previous imagine “the jitters” here!

As much as you'd hate to admit it, you and Tommy haven't been hanging out as much lately. You'd see him occasionally on SMPs you were both in, tweeting everything that comes to mind on Twitter, but nothing that required you two to actually see each other.

Today, he's invited you to hang out with him, Tubbo and Wilbur for a possible vlog including weird food combinations. You were really excited to hang out with all of them again but as you're getting ready, a Discord notification pops up on your phone.

WilburSoot Tom's got a surprise for you

You nervously laugh at the text and reply.

Y/N sorry, what??? WilburSoot Just get here You may or may not hate it. Y/N jesus you guys are already there? vlogging doesn't start until 10 minutes from now WilburSoot Sorry we aren't slowpokes Y/N Y/N fine!! im hurrying up, see you guys there

You finish getting ready and put on your shoes. After a short train ride and a short walk, you finally arrive to the diner they planned to go at. "Hey! You finally showed up!" Tubbo said. "Okay, I wasn't even late. You guys were just exceptionally early!" You joke. Wilbur and Tommy are snickering at each other but their backs are facing you.

Wilbur walks over to you and laughs, "Remember the surprise I was telling you about?". You look at him bewildered. "Yes, yes I do now what is it-". You're cut off as Tommy turns back at you. You see a bushy golden beard and your jaw drops.

"What. the. hell. Is that real?" You start poking his jaw as if it wasn't horrifyingly real enough to you already. Tubbo is laughing his guts off in the corner and Wilbur is just smirking. "I think I look even more manly now! Toby and Will don't like it, but you do right Y/N?" Tommy says nudging your elbow. "Uhh, that's up for debate." You tell him jokingly. "For the next vlog, can we wax it off?" He puts his hand to his chest as if he was offended, "You know what, let's get on with the vlog."

You all snicker and get on with the vlog. Tommy whispers to you, "But you do like it right?". You turn to him with a cheeky grin, "It's okay, I'll come around to it like I did with you."

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit imagines #tommyinnit fanfic #tommyinnit fanfiction #dream smp imagines #dream smp imagine #dream smp #tommyinnit mcyt #tommyinnit fluff #tommyinnit centric

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god1ngs · 2 years

Text

it's four am and i miss your smile and i miss you

it's four am and you can't sleep. you decide to call your ex‐boyfriend, sapnap. (cc!sapnap x reader)

warnings: none

word count: 1k

bones' note: its 5 am and i had a talk with my ex and it made me upset. so enjoy this

You couldn’t sleep.

Whether it be the fact that your room is too hot, or the streetlamp shining through your window, you simply couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned and tired so hard to lay there and keep your eyes closed, but you couldn’t.

You couldn’t because every time you closed your eyes, you saw your ex-boyfriend: Sapnap.

You missed him. It was four in the morning, and you couldn’t sleep, and you missed him more than ever. You missed everything about him. You still love him, more even now that you’ve lost him. But Sapnap had a busy schedule, so he broke up with you.

You didn’t understand it. You never minded that he had a busy schedule— Not when he was one of the most successful streamers on Twitch. You understood that he was busy and wouldn’t always have time for you, and you were fine with that. You were fine with that because it was him. It was Sapnap.

And now you miss him. You want him back.

Your phone screen is a stark contrast between your dark room, and you squint as it shines in your eyes. You open up Sapnap’s contact, already feeling emotional at his profile picture. It was a picture you took on your first date, at Starbucks. There was whip cream on his chin and he had the biggest smile and God you miss his smile so much.

You sniffle. Your finger hovers over the call icon, and you debate whether you should call him or not. You haven’t talked to him since he broke up with you a few weeks ago. Even so, you love him, and you miss him. You tap on it. It rings once. Twice. Thrice.

“Hello?” Oh God his voice. You can feel yourself tearing up already.

“Hey,” You say back, fighting everything within you to keep your voice from cracking even though you’re sure you’re seconds away from crying. The mere sound of his voice has you tearing up, and you’re clutching your phone, as if dropping it might make him leave again. You don’t even have him back, but you never want him to leave.

“Hey,” He says, and his voice is so comforting, you want to listen to it over and over. Silence washes over the two of you, and if it wasn’t Sapnap you were on the phone with, it would’ve been awkward. But no silence is awkward with him. It’s comforting, peaceful; you could drown in it and die happily. “Is there a reason you called?”

You suck in a breath. It was late. Maybe you were bothering him. Maybe it was stupid to call him in the first place. Maybe you should hang up, and your finger hovers over that red button, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You suck in another breath¾ The truth never hurt anyone too badly, right?

“I miss you,” You blurt out, before you can give yourself time to overthink, “I can’t sleep and I was thinking about you, and I miss you. A lot. I miss your smile and your laugh, and your voice and I know I’m rambling, but I just need to get this off my chest. I miss you and I want you back. Please take me back, Sapnap. Please.”

There’s a pause, and you fear you may have done something wrong, that you never should’ve called in the first place, before there’s a sigh on the other end. “[Name]… I’m busy. I can’t… You need someone who can give you all the attention you deserve. I’m sorry. I just can’t do that for you right now.”

“I don’t care about that, Sap. I don’t care about how much attention you can give me or if someone else can give me more¾ I care about you. I want you.” You sat up, clutching the sweatshirt— Sapnap’s sweatshirt— you were wearing. You heard rustling from the other end of the line.

“You don’t… care about that?” He says, as if in shock, and your eyebrows furrow. “Of course, I don’t, Sap. I know you’re busy. I knew that before I got with you. I don’t care that you’re busy, as long as I still get some attention. Can’t let chat have it all, or else I’ll get jealous.” You hear Sapnap laugh, just a quiet chuckle, and you feel a grin as bright as the sun spread across your face.

“I thought you were mad at me ‘cause I wasn’t giving you enough attention. I thought you deserved some better guy that wasn’t as busy, but I think I’d get jealous at that as much as you would at chat.” He says sheepishly. You smile at his thoughtfulness, but also his stupidity.

“You’re such an idiot, Sapnap.”

“What!? I am not!”

“You thought I was upset at you because you weren’t giving me attention?”

You could practically see him rubbing at his neck. “Well, yeah…”

“Sapnap, I was never mad at you. I just thought you needed space to do your own thing. I didn’t want to be a bother and take away from your streaming time.”

“Darlin’,” You melt at the pet name, feeling giddy at it just as much as you did the first time he ever called you it, “You could never be a bother. Promise. I have more than enough time for whenever I want to stream, okay? Besides, I always have enough time for you.”

Your heart flutters at the statement, and you can’t help how you begin twirling your hair.

“So… Does this mean we can get back together?” You ask, hopeful.

Sapnap chuckles. “Of course, it does, babe.”

You swear you hear Sapnap laugh as you cheer. Another pause follows after that, with you basking in the situation. You were back with Sapnap. No more missing him late at night, or desperately wanting to get over him. He was yours again.

“Wait. What are you doing awake?”

“Wha— Why are you asking me that!? You’re the one that called me!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to pick up!” You retorted.

“Well, aren’t you glad I did?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah. I am.”

#bones writes #dream smp x reader #dream smp x y/n #dream smp x you #dream smp x gn reader #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #sapnap x y/n #sapnap x you #sapnap x reader #sapnap imagine #dream smp imagine #sapnap fanfiction #sapnap fanfic

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emmy-lou-badoo · 2 years

Text

At Last

This is a Tangled inspired Foolish Imagine, it has some other fairytale tropes from other movies, but it is mostly Tangled.

This is also the first thing I have ever written that is DSMP related, I just got really into lore and the idea came to me, so hopefully others enjoy, cause I had fun writing it and I tried to incorporate as many people as I could besides Foolish.

Enjoy :)

“YOU’RE BACK!”

“AHHhHhhH!” XD jumped, He keeled over holding his chest - collecting himself.

“I told you not to do that Y/N” He scolded.

“I’m sorry Father, I’m just excited” Y/N smiled and twirled around, following XD as he walked.

“What could possibly have you so excited?” He asks, still walking forward.

“Well” Y/N drawls, “It’s my birthday tomorrow!” they cheer jumping to stand next to XD.

“Oh” XD quirks, his pace stopping for a moment, “that’s tomorrow? I swear you just had one” he walks on.

“Well, that’s the thing about birthdays, they are a recurring thing” Y/N mumbles.

They pause looking over their Father’s form. They inhale deeply and slowly exhale, before marching forward to him.

“I know what I want as my present” They smile wide and bat their eyes.

“Oh, and what is that?” XD speaks with his back turned to them.

“I want to go see the lights” Y/N speaks with conviction.

“What lights?” XD questions.

Y/N fumbles, “the-the lights around your statue, you know the one being built for you”

“Oooohhhhh” XD says, “Foolish’s statue”

“No” he affirms, not even looking at them as he continues to walk away.

“What?” Y/N gasps, then runs to catch up with him, “Why?” they question.

“It is not safe down there for you, you are not ready to join the server” He informs them.

“It would only be for a night! I think I can handle that - please!” Y/N begs.

“Y/N, please” XD turns to them, walking steadily toward them, “you’re as fragile as a flower”

He taps their nose, “listen to your Father, you are not ready”

Y/N looks down at their feet.

XD lifts their chin with his pointer finger, “But, I mean I’m just your father, what do I know - go ahead, leave me - it’s not like I made the server, not like I know how dangerous it really is…”

XD throws his hands up and turns away in a sob, fingers finding the bridge of his nose.

Y/N steps forward and places a hand on his arm, “I’m sorry father”

“No” he turns and embraces them, “I’m sorry, I just love you, I couldn’t bare it if something happened to you”

Y/N hugs him tighter.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, father?”

“Don’t ever ask to leave again”

“Yes father”

***

Y/N laid on their bed that night, sobbing, unable to stop thinking about all the things they wanted to see on the server - the glowing lights around the statue being foremost in their mind.

A soft hand falls on their shoulder, not a word spoken.

Y/N tries to bite back the hiccups and wipe away the tears, before turning to see Slime, as they called him.

“It’s ok, I’m fine” Their lip quivered.

Slime tilted his head, “No you’re not Y/N”

They broke down and flung their arms around Slime, “Why can’t I go for one night”

Slime patted their head, “Y/N you are too old to cry - that’s what you said last year when your father didn’t agree to your present idea”

“You’re right - I am old, I’m immortal for goodness sake!” Y/N let go of Slime and stepped back in their fit of rage.

“I mean, I may not be as powerful as him, but I made you!” Y/N gestured to Slime, “and, and” the words got lost on the way to their mouth from their head.

Slime stepped forward, placing a hand on their shoulder and offering a kind smile that slowly spread mischievously, “and we could go see the lights, you and me - all man, no slime, me”

Y/N watched him in wonder, then shook their head furiously, “no we shouldn’t”.

Y/N began to pace, “well”

“No, Slime, father would be so hurt” Y/N continued pacing and speaking to themself as the green man of slime watched them.

“I could be back before he knew” Y/N pondered.

They suddenly stopped, they abruptly turned to face Slime, “It’s now or never, we’re going - I’ve made up my mind”

Slime holds out his fist, “dab me up”

Y/N bumps their fist to his with a smile and light laugh.

***

“Perhaps this was a bad idea” Y/N bits their lips as they stand in a swamp.

Slime takes their hand and smiles.

“You are right, I’ve come this far” Y/N nods.

The pair begin their journey toward the desert, toward the famed statue and lights.

“Slime?” Y/N is stopped, before they have even exited the swamp, when Slime lets go of their hand.

Slime is looking down into a cave where there is slime, like him, just more ball shaped then man. Y/N really did try to make all slime like him, but it was an early creation of theirs.

He looked at her expectantly.

“You want to go see them?” Y/N asked.

He nodded excitedly, “Oh yes please, Y/N”

“Oh…” Y/N thought, they looked up at the sky then back at their companion, “I don’t think we have time to go down there and still make it to the lights and back”

Slime looked disappointed.

“But-” Y/N hastened a solution to make them both happy, “you could go see them and explore and I can go to the lights and…and then we can meet back here at this tree” Y/N gestured to an oversized tree behind them.

Slime nodded vigorously, he even ran forward to hug them before they parted.

“Remember to look around and observe, so you don’t get lost - and maybe try not to tell them you are technically Slime, they’ve never met anyone like you” Y/N warned Slime.

“Of course Y/N, and If I have time, I’ll come find you at the lights!” Slime smiled.

Y/N smiled at him and they parted ways.

It was a small change to the plan, but Y/N moved on from it. It was for the best, they thought as they traveled. Although their missing of where they needed to go to be at the statue did make them think maybe their father was right. They couldn’t even blip down to this world without missing the mark of their intended location…what else could go wrong.

***

They made it just after sundown, they walked through the sand they grew to hate more and more with each step.

“Urgh” Y/N growled at the feeling of the sand sticking to their feet and making home between their toes.

“Not a fan of sand?” a voice chuckled at them.

Y/N screamed and spun, punching before thinking. The tales of horror told to them by their father and the darkness around them setting them on the fight part of ‘fight or flight’.

“Ow” the man groaned, holding his nose.

“Oh” Y/N softened, “I’m so sorry, you just startled me - I’m so sorry - here” They shoved bread into his hands.

He looked at them with a quirked brow and an amused smile set on his jawline.

“That will help you heal” Y/N paused then their face fell, “right?”

He chuckled, “Yes it will, thank you…”

“Oh, I’m Y/N” they smiled and bowed to him.

“I’m Foolish” He copied their little bow, still amused by them.

“Your Foolish” Y/N marveled, eyes brightening.

“You’ve heard of me?” He asked, taking a bite out of the bread.

“Oh” Y/N jumped, “Yes, um- ya…”

“Who told you about me?” He asked

“Oh um” Y/N waved their hand, trying to brush it off, “just a person”

“Well, I’d hope you’d hear it from a person” Foolish laughed from his gut.

Y/N found themselves drawn into laughter from it.

“I just saw what you are building and all the lights, and was told it was you” Y/N told him, “That’s why I’m out here, I wanted to come see”

“Well, I’d take you to see, but-” Foolish trailed off.

“But?” Y/N bit their lip, nerves setting in.

“But, there is still a ways to go through the sand, I don’t know if you can handle it” His lips curled at them, waiting to see how they'd react.

“Oh, I’ll be fine” Y/N waves him off, walking ahead.

***

“Are you admiring my work or has the sand finally got to you?” Foolish chuckled.

Foolish found himself growing anxious waiting for their answer, he couldn’t really pin down why.

Their sudden spin to face him made the demi-god jump, laughing it off as Y/N giggled and smiled at him.

“It’s all beautiful, you are a wonderful builder” Y/N gushed.

Foolish thanked them.

Y/N lowered their voice and Foolish noted the way they bit their lip while asking, “May I go take a closer look at everything?”

“Of course” Foolish beams with them.

He holds out his arm, and Y/N just tilts their head at the gesture.

“You don’t have to take it” Foolish speaks softly

“Oh no” Y/N quickly links an arm with him, “I will, sorry”

“You don’t have to be sorry” Foolish laughs at them lightheartedly, “to be honest you are one of the nicest people I think I’ve met on the server”

“Oh” Y/N blushes, “thank you”

Eventually, Y/N finds themself standing on the hand of their father’s likeness with Foolish. They look in awe over the horizon and the build Foolish has put so much effort into.

The two spoke of many things, Y/N found themselves enjoying the server far more than they thought. They wanted to see more, wanted to see the build when it was done, wanted to help Foolish.

It did not dawn on Y/N how long it had been until Foolish asked if they knew anyone else on the server, if they had any friends…

“Oh No!” Y/N jumped up and quickly scaled down the scaffolding, Foolish following.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I have to go - I lost track of time” Y/N gave a sincere look to Foolish as they retreated back toward the swamp.

“Will you come back?” Foolish asked, “Will I see you again?”

Y/N continued walking, the words he spoke made them want to stop, but they pushed on, pretending they didn’t hear what he said.

They had to get back to Slime.

***

Slime had explored all he wanted, he visited the other slime…he didn’t like them as much as he thought…couldn't hold a conversation very well.

He wandered here and there, always staying close to the tree Y/N said to meet at.

He was never good at time and how it worked, but it seemed like the time he and Y/N should be heading back. He thought maybe he was wrong, or maybe Y/N got distracted by everything, that was very like them.

Slime decided to head toward the sand, that’s where he knew the lights to be.

After much walking Slime saw many lights in the distance, the kind that would definitely leave Y/N with a smile on their face.

‘This must be the place’ Slime thought to himself and marched on.

He walked around, past a fountain and some tall buildings, until he heard someone. It startled him, Y/N said to try and steer clear of people. Slime hurried inside a building and listened to what the person was saying - perhaps this was a friend, someone he could trust like Y/N.

***

“SLIME!” Y/N yelled into the night once again with no avail.

“Slime” they whimpered, dropping to their knees, “father was right…”

Y/N thought of Slime, of their father.

“I can’t go back” they shook off their tears and got to their feet, they couldn’t leave Slime…couldn’t go back to father and tell him everything that happened.

Y/N looked to the tree she told Slime to meet her at, they’ll just stay here. If Slime came back, they’d be here.

Y/N quickly used the limited creative abilities they had to turn the tree into a home.

They sit inside alone watching as the morning sun is dimmed by the vicious thunder storm that rages throughout the day.

***

“Who are you?!”

“I am Slime, and you are Quackity from Las Nevadas” he spoke with a smile, “Y/N doesn’t like you Quackity from Las Nevadas”

“Who’s Y/N?”

“Oh no one - they are human like us, yes, just like us and they are no one” Slime speaks, still gleeful.

“Why don’t they like me?” Quackity asks.

“They don’t like fighting or lying or gambling or-”

“I get it” Quackity cuts the strange being off.

“Did they send you to spy on me?” He asks.

“No” Slime’s face falls downturned for the first time, “I lost them, I don’t know where they are”

Quackity thinks over his options, “You can stay with me, if you’d like…Slime”

***

Y/N waits faithfully at the tree for days before venturing outside again.

They found themselves going to Foolish’s build again, not for the statue of their father or the lights, but for him. They needed a friend and Foolish felt like just that.

When Y/N reached the edge of the wood, where the dreaded sand began, she found a small path of grass leading straight through the sand. Their head tilted and their feet moved to follow it.

“You came back!” A voice cheered, when Y/N found that the path led to Foolish’s build.

Foolish bounced over to them, a smile on his face, “I made the grass path hoping it would make you more inclined to come back to visit”

“It worked” Y/N giggled along with him.

“Are you building?” Y/N asked, looking at the block in his hand.

“Oh yes, that’s ok though” Foolish tried to brush off.

“Do you want help?” Y/N asked.

“Really?” Foolish beams

“Ya, of course, just tell me what to do” Y/N smiled and listened intently to what Foolish said.

Y/N spent the whole day helping Foolish, and everyday following. Everyday Y/N would travel to Foolish and help him build, or collect material or just hang out.

***

“You are running out of time Foolish, Sapnap knows about the book, and now so do you”

Y/N jumped at the voice and darted back around the corner, their heart pumping in their chest.

They collected themselves before coming around the corner to talk to Foolish.

“Who was that?” Y/N asked innocently.

“Oh, you heard?” Foolish looked nervous.

“No, I didn’t hear anything specifically, but that voice is hard to miss” Y/N giggled.

They watched Foolish relax, “Ya he can be hard to understand, that was DreamXD, he is the God we are building the statue for - can’t believe I never mentioned it before”

“It's ok, I was just happy to help” Y/N pauses, “what did he want?”

“Oh, umm” Foolish stuttered, he looked Y/N over before telling them everything, “He told me about this death book, I owe him a debt is all - nothing you have to worry about. He just told me how the book could help and that someone else on the server knows about it”

“Oh, I see” Y/N chest falls, heart feeling heavy.

“It’s ok though, it’s nothing” Foolish tried to calm them.

Y/N smiled and brushed it off, “Ok, If you say so, I trust you”

“I trust you too,” Foolish spoke softly.

***

That night Y/N went off into the woods, deep and far from anyone. It needed to be hard to find. They thought about giving it to him, but they knew nothing good came from the book.

They hid it in a chest and left it there, in the middle of nowhere, praying no one would find it and no one would know that they knew where it was…knew it was given to them to watch over.

As Y/N left their perfectly found hiding spot, someone else laid in the dark, outside their view. That someone crept up after Y/N and took the book.

***

“Foolish…” an ominous voice calls out.

“Oh, hey XD” Foolish abandons his building to speak with the God.

“I have some news for you Foolish…I don’t think you’ll like it”

“What is it?” Foolish shoulders drop.

“Sapnap has the book, he found it”

“Oh..I see,” Foolish says.

“Ya, so…miiight wanna keep an eye on him, who knows what he’ll do with a powerful book like that” XD speaks with little care for the worried demi-god before him.

“You think Sapnap would use the book on me?” Foolish questions.

XD shrugs, “who knows really, but it’s not…unlikely”

Foolish stands there, thinking of what he might do now.

“Well, that’s it - oh wait, no, there is one more thing, your..friend…Y/N” XD pauses as Foolish turns to look at him, “they knew about the book”

With that XD is gone.

***

Foolish watches Y/N work, watches wondering and trying to build the courage to ask them about the book.

“What's Up?” Y/N startles him.

“Oh! Um” Foolish nubs the back of his neck, “I have a question for you”.

“Okay” Y/N smiles.

“XD came back again” Foolish says

“Oh..” Y/N trails, “what did he have to say?”

“He told me Sapnap has the death book…and that you knew about it” Foolish tells them.

Y/N stands there, mouth agape.

“Foolish-I…I’m sorry..I did - I don’t think the book is any good…nothing good comes from the book”

Foolish watches them quietly before speaking, “I’m not mad at you, I just wanted to know more”

Y/N meets Foolish’s eyes and they both break into wide smiles.

“I trust you,” Foolish adds.

Y/N launches forward and hugs Foolish, who willingly wraps his arms around them.

“I trust you too” Y/N mumbles into his chest.

***

That night, Y/N went into Kinoko Kingdom and stole the book back.

Much to their efforts, Sapnap knew when he woke up to the book gone that it must have been Y/N - that there was more to them then being Foolish’s new little friend and he was going to find out what it was.

Sapnap wasn’t going to do it without help, he needed someone he trusts and someone who would be interested in using the book with him.

Sapnap stood at the glowing gates of Las Nevadas, thinking over his plan…he needed him - Quackity would help him.

***

“Foolish”

“Your back again, this is the most you’ve ever come to talk to me XD” Foolish noted.

“Well, there is a lot going on, and I really only came here to say that, you don’t have to worry about Sapnap anymore”

“Oh?” Foolish’s brow quirked.

“Yes, Sapnap stole the book and, well, someone stole it back - someone you do not have to worry about” XD circled him, “they would never use it on you, much too close to you…”

“Who?” Foolish asks.

XD hums, “let’s just say you… trust them”

XD left, leaving Foolish alone with his thoughts.

Surely Y/N had a good reason, Foolish thought.

They hated the book, if they didn’t want him using it, then they wouldn’t like anyone using it..

Foolish looked over his shoulder at the gardens he was building. He wasn’t changing his plans, no matter what XD was up to. He trusted Y/N, he lo-...he cared for them too much to not trust they had good reason to be so protective over the book.

***

“Y/N!” Foolish beamed at them.

“Foolish” Y/N smiled back.

“I have a surprise for you, meet me by the garden entrance tonight” Foolish tells them.

“I finally get to see the gardens?” Y/N glows with excitement.

Foolish smiles down at them softly, “ya, and more”

Y/N’s nose scrunches, “now you’re teasing me, what is there you’ve been building besides the gardens?”

“You’ll have to wait and see” Foolish chuckles.

***

That night Y/N went to the garden entrance and waited, like Foolish had asked.

“Well, well, I finally find you alone here” the ominous voice of their father makes them jump.

They fumble for words.

“You can’t think of anything - speechless because I was right” DreamXD circles around their child.

“What?” y/n’s brow furrows.

“Foolish is after the book…and he knows you have it. Oh, you didn’t know he knew, how naive - you think he’s been nice to you for the fun of it?” DreamXD stands at the base of the statue Foolish built for him and yet somehow casts a bigger shadow still.

“I-I think he likes me” y/n stutters.

“Likes you!?” DreamXD quips, “ha! Please y/n thats demented” the God steps closer, “this is why should have never left - this romance you invented just proves you are too naive to have joined the server”

DreamXD takes a step back, “just look at you, you think he’s impressed?”

Y/N turns away from their father, eyes watering, arms crossing in self comfort.

“Don’t be a dummy, come home” he holds out a hand, “...you’ve already lost Slime, do you really want to see what else could go wrong?”

Their form shakes, finding anger in their pain, “NO!” Y/N turns and shouts in their father’s face.

DreamXD’s face falls, hand twitches at the outburst, “no?”

DreamXD’s jaw locks, hand drops “Ooh, I see how it is”

Suddenly the world falls away, sky clouding, an infinite darkness of the End sky surrounding them, father nowhere in sight.

“Y/N knows best” their father pops out from the dark, no matter where they turn no matter where they look, he’s there. It makes them dizzy.

“Y/N is so mature now, such a clever grown up know it all”

Y/N spins trying to find their father, where he will be next.

“Fine if you’re so sure now, go ahead and give him this' ' in an instant the book is in DreamXD’s hand.

“This is why he’s here! Don’t let him deceive you. Give it to him, watch, you’ll see!” Their father’s form looms over them, they have never felt this small, not since their creation.

“Trust me y/n” there is a lightning strike next to them, “thats how fast he’ll leave you”

“It’s because of you! It’s your fault he’s after the book” y/n screams up at their father

DreamXD comes down to their size, “if he’s such a dreamboat, go ahead and put him to the test, prove me wrong”

Y/N grabs the book from their father’s grasp, but DreamXD doesn’t let go, only pulls them in closer, “if he’s lying, don’t come crying back to me”

With that, y/n is back standing alone at the base of their father’s statue, book in hand, thunder and lightning raging up above them.

“Ah, Y/N”

Y/N jumps spinning to face the voice, they sigh in relief when they see who it is, “Sam Nook, you scared me”

“Terribly sorry Y/N, Foolish was worried, his apologies he is running late, but if you’d follow me he has something to show you”

“Oh..ok” Y/N hesitates, but follows Sam Nook to the gardens.

“Wait here, Foolish will be here any moment, goodbye Y/N” Sam Nook says his polite goodbye, before wandering off.

The wait is sickening, being alone is the last thing Y/N wants, they do not want to see their father again by any chance or happenstance.

“Y/N!” Foolish’s gleeful voice cuts through Y/N worried thoughts.

They smile, his attitude brightening theirs, “Foolish”.

“Common, I have something to show you” he takes y/n’s hand and begins to lead them through a garden, “It took a little longer than expected” he laughed nervously.

He stops, standing in front of y/n, and looks at them expectantly before sidestepping to direct their attention to what was behind him.

Y/N’s face lights up, eyes wide, mouth open but speechless for a moment.

“You rebuilt my tree” y/n takes a light step forward toward the familiar building, looking over their shoulder at Foolish.

“Ya, well - uh” Foolish rubs the back of his neck, “you said you were kinda lonely out there in the marsh and well you are here almost everyday, so I figured - why not!”

Foolish takes large steps forward to stand with them, “and look no sand in sight”.

y/n giggles, “I have noticed, it’s all so perfect”.

y/n gets lost looking around, at the flowers, the lanterns added all around their tree. As they wander, their eyes begin to water, the book sitting in their inventory feeling heavy.

Foolish watches y/n in awe, watching them admire his work - they were as bright as the lanterns that surrounded them, to him.

Foolish silently walked forward, taking deep breaths, building up courage.

“y/n, I-” Foolish is cut off by y/n spinning around and thrusting the death book into his hands.

“Take it” their eyes are watery and Foolish’s heart breaks, “you need it”

He places the book down, “no, no I don’t want - this is not what all this is about” he gently takes their shoulders and makes them look at him.

He holds their gaze, trying to make them see he meant it, with all his being.

“Let’s look around more, there is so much to show you” Foolish wipes the tears from their cheeks before taking their hand to lead them inside.

Just as Foolish is showing y/n the books collected for them, he heard something, something he did not want to hear right now.

“Foolish…”

“XD?” Foolish’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Foolish, you are running out of time..come see me Foolish…”

“Is everything ok?” y/n soft voice snaps Foolish out of his head, and he realizes they can’t hear XD.

Foolish stammers, eyes locking on the half open door y/n stood by, his eyes flickering over the two beds inside, he shakes himself out of it, “yes, Yes! I um just think I hear Sam, he is building something for me and I think - I think I should go check on him”

Foolish walks forward and closes the door, “don’t do too much snooping without me” he smiles.

y/n laughs, “I’ll do my best”

Foolish goes to the front door, he hesitates and looks back at y/n

“FOOLISH!”

Foolish goes outside and finds XD, who waits for him just outside the garden gates.

“Leave me alone, can’t we do this later” Foolish stomps over to the God, “I’ll pay back the lives I owe you”

“You could just do it right now” XD holds up the death book.

“How did - I don’t need your stupid book, I can repay you without it and without involving y/n” Foolish huffs.

“Ooohhhh, they are already far more involved than you think…Foooolissshhh”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can ask them yourself, once you write some names - even one - in this book” XD thrusts the book into Foolish’s hands.

Foolish looks down at the open book, then back up at the God in anger.

“Just write some names common, just write some - it’ll all be over then, come on do it…do it..do it…do it”

“Foolish?” y/n quivered voice makes Foolish’s angered face fall limp.

He turns to them, XD gone into thin air, “y/n”

“You did just want the book” y/n face contorts in pain.

“No” Foolish realizes the book is still in his hands, he drops it like it is plagued.

“y/n, no - I didn’t” Foolish tries to go up to them, but they push past him.

“You don’t care about me at all” y/n cries, running away from him.

“No, Y/n! No! Please!” Foolish tries to catch them, but they are faster.

He stops in fatigue and watches them go until he cannot see them any longer, and even then he watches the distance.

***

Y/N falls to their knees in the wet mud by their home, they ran for as long as they could.

“There you are, we were wondering if you’d ever come home” A voice taunts from the darkness.

Two men step out, looming over Y/N.

Y/N stands slowly, the cold steel in their hands glimmering in the moonlight, “what do you want?”

“Do you know who I am? Who we are?” one asks.

“You..” Y/N stops themself.

“Go ahead, you know don’t you”

“You are Sapnap of Kinoko Kingdom and you are Quackity of Las Nevadas” Y/N sighs, hands shaking.

“Right, and you stole the book back - why is it so important to you?” Sapnap asks, both stepping closer to Y/N.

“It’s not” Y/N shakes their head.

“Oh, good - then you can give it to us,” Sapnap says.

“I don’t have it” Y/N’s voice shakes, as their swords now point at them.

“I think you do” Sapnap snaps back at them.

“I don’t” Y/N pleads.

“Well there is only one way to find out for sure, since we can’t trust you” Sapnap's voice is dark.

The two men launch at Y/N who breaks into a run, praying the direction they chose leads to help. They prayed they were running back to Foolish, now wishing they never left.

Y/N prayers were answered, as they pushed through the sand and came upon the lights they loved so much.

“FOOLISH!” Y/N screamed, as they pushed on.

Foolish exited the gardens, just in time to see Sapnap let an arrow loose at Y/N, hitting them in the shoulder.

“Y/N!” Foolish ran, he ran and attacked Sapnap back.

Y/N crawled away, tried desperately to get away from the violence.

Quackity stalked over to them, he put his blade by their face.

“Slime wouldn’t want this” Y/N pleads crying to him.

“What did you say?” Quackity fumes.

“Slime loved you, you were his best friend” Y/N sobs, “I’m so sorry he was killed, but he wouldn’t want this for you…for us..please”

“How do you…” Quackity’s voice shakes

Quackity is interrupted by Foolish driving his sword through him.

Y/N whimpers as Quackity drops dead.

“Are you ok?” Foolish leans down in front of Y/N, cupping their face to make them look at him.

“I-” Y/N is stopped by lightning striking and thunder rumbling.

“Well isn’t this a mess” XD speaks slowly walking over to them.

“XD-” Foolish is cut off.

“Your debt is paid” XD motions to Sapnap and Quackity.

“You are a stubborn child” XD says ignoring the confused Foolish.

“I get it from you” Y/N replies weakly with a smile.

“Hmm” XD huffs.

Then, as always, he is gone.

“Foolish” Y/N turns his attention to them.

“How, what?” Foolish stutters, seeing Y/N healed.

“XD is my father” Y/N tells him.

Foolish nods silently, “right, ok - ya…that explains so much”

Y/N chuckles and Foolish joins in with them.

“You never got to see the rest of the garden” Foolish speaks, still holding Y/N in his arms.

“Show me now” Y/N smiles.

“Of course” Foolish helps them stand and guides them, hand in hand, to the garden and the tree and everything life had to hold for them now that they had nothing to hide from or keep in secret.

#dream smp #dream smp imagine #c!foolish #foolish gamers #foolish x reader #foolish imagine #quackity #sapnap #dreamwastaken #charlie slimecicle #tangled #gender neutral y/n

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