#please just the tip quackity
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kayschariot · 7 months ago
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Sitting on Alex’s lap while he’s doing a stream and making out with him (with the camera off of course 🌚)
YESSSSS..!!
(also i’m running out of names so my master list finna look odd, just trust🙏🤞)
-
He’d be streaming and you’d walk in, “Alex..” You’d whisper and he would look up at you. “Yeah sweetheart..?” He’d ask and you’d signal him to turn off the camera and mic, and he would.
You slide yourself on his lap straddling him and he’d be so dumbfounded as you buried your face in his neck. “What’s up hun?” He’d ask in a sweet tone and you’d hum into his neck clinging onto him.
“Not right now i’m streaming” He’d say as his friends asked were he was, he’d unmute for a second. “Yeah hold on..Y/Ns being Y/N.” He’d say muting again and holding your waist.
You’d lean up and peck his lips, a few times..till it turned to a longer kiss..and you slid your tongue in his mouth. His little groans as you to made out satisfied you. He’d break it for a moment, “Baby I really can’t right now.” He’d speak but you’d shut him up with another kiss and he’d completely lose it.
You’d be sat on top of him making out with him for a good 10 minutes as his friends pleaded to know where he was. He’d break it and lean towards you neck as he started to leave little red trails all across it as you moan. “Alex were the hell are you?” his friend would ask and he’d stop.
“Y/N got a fucking splinter i need to get it out and the lighting in this room is ass.” He’d lie, because the lighting was fine..especially on you.
you two would continue to make out for a moment. “I really need to get back to stre-“
“Okay..with me on you” You’d cut him off and he’d sigh unmuting his mic and starting back up without his camera on.
you’d occasionally start kissing him or his neck and he’d just got quiet and his friends definitely knew you were still there but chat didn’t have to know that.
(after you to definitely cuddled and made out more.)
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kayschariot · 7 months ago
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KICKING MY FEET AND TWIRLING MY HAIR BRO- IM SCREAMING-
imagine teasing quackity in front of his friends and giving him an obvious boner and his friends definitely noticed.
he was obviously embarrassed but when you two were alone he definitely fucked you senseless.
Yes 🙏🏼
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He’d squirm with each pass of your hand against his inner thigh. There was a slight red tint to his face as you two sat together at a restaurant table.
He’d strain against his pants arms constantly resting on his lap to cover his boner. It was obvious to his friends what you two were doing yet no one mentioned. Alex knew because of the judging eyes that passed.
The drive home would be quiet yet full of tension as his eyes were on the road.
As soon as you two got home you found yourself on the bed legs spread wide and your cunt leaking onto the bedsheets below. Alex had been teasing you with your vibrator for almost twenty minutes now and you had been begging for an orgasm.
Eventually he pulled his pre stained pants down along with his boxers crawling onto top of you. His tip would push inside you teasingly feeling your cunt selfishly tighten with each pass.
“Please Alex fuck me.”
You’d whine out into the air pawing as his broad chest. Hed bottom out completely in your tiny pussy and you’d moan shamelessly.
“Now you see how it feels huh? Making me all pent up.”
He’d mutter before sticking his slick tongue into your mouth. His hips roughly thrusting into yours. Alex would rub up against everything inside you perfectly making you chase for your breath and grip the bedsheets.
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imhidingonceagain · 2 years ago
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QSMP English speaking fans:
I wanted to clarify some things because it seems like some of you are confused about the nationalities/ ethnic groups of the content creators on the server. So... If you want to educate yourself keep reading.
Spanish creators: A Spanish person is a person born in Spain. You may only call Spanish to the creators that were born in Spain.
Hispanic creators: A Hispanic person is a person whose mother language is Spanish but that person might not necessarily be from Spain (you may call them Spanish speaking creators as well but please don't call someone from Mexico, Argentina, Colombia, etc. just "Spanish". If you're gonna use it make sure to put the "speaking" in front of it).
For example: Vegetta and Quackity are both Hispanic because both of them come from countries that speak Spanish (Spain and Mexico). Quackity, however is not Spanish while Vegetta is.
Latin American creators: A Latin American (most of the time people just use the word Latin) person is someone who was born in the Latin American region (a series of countries with historical, political and social similarities). Most countries in Latin American speak Spanish. However, not every country in Latín America speak Spanish.
Brazil, for example, speaks Portuguese.
Therefore: A Brazilian content creator is Latin American but not Hispanic (because they don't speak Spanish).
EDIT: (This is very important).
Please refrain from calling people from Brazil "Portuguese" they speak Portuguese because they were colonized by Portugal but Brazil is an independent country)
Another tip: Latin American people are vastly diverse.
So, Latinos can be Indigenous, black, white, mixed. Asian, etc.
EXAMPLES:
Roier (from Mexico) and Spreen (from Argentina) are both Hispanic and Latino.
Roier and Spreen, on the other hand, are not Spanish content creators because they do not come from Spain.
Rubius and Vegetta (from Spain): Can be called both Spanish (born in Spain) and Hispanic (born in a country that speaks Spanish).
Rubius and Vegetta however, cannot be called Latin American (Because they were born in a European country)
Cellbit and Forever (from Brazil) are Latin American.
Cellbit and Forever, however, are not Spanish (they weren't born in Spain) or Hispanic (they don't belong to a Spanish speaking country)
Spanish creators:
Vegetta
Rubius
Maximus
Luzu
Hispanic creators:
Vegetta
Rubius
Maximus
Luzu
Quackity
Mariana
Roier
Missa
Spreen
Latin American creators:
Quackity
Mariana
Roier
Missa
Spreen
Cellbit
Forever
Pac
Mike
Felps
Lastly. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm over explaining.
I've seen some confusion and I wanted to clarify.
If you have any questions on any creator let me know.
(I'll leave a map I stole from the internet lol)
Again, I don't want to offend anyone, just educate
EDIT 2: There are countries missing on the map. I'm sorry, it is a very simple map I tried my best. If any of you find a better one let me know.
Or do your own post :)
There are more terms missing but if I add them this post will be too long. I apologize for that as well.
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lowkeyrobin · 4 months ago
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Hello! I would like to please request a MCYT preference (Quackity, Tommy, Ranboo, Karl, Tubbo, Badlinu) dating a SO who is a model. Their partner always look amazing in photos whether its blurry or not. They can even make a simple outfit look amazing.
You know those viewers pick my outfits videos (example: Dan and Phil)? You bet your ass that they will do it with their partners.
oooo yeah sure!!! ; also sorry if this is like wrong in any way, idk much about modeling lmaooo ; thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!
MCYT ; model babe
includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, quackity
warnings ; language
masterlist
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TOMMYINNIT
the most supportive person everrrrr
you model mostly for alt brands so when a new thing pops up he's ON IT
he's a little dumb when it comes to remembering when you do certain shoots and he's like "when was this???"
always bragging how he pulled a 10
"remembering I have a model for an s/o 😍😍😍"
tubbo replies with "stfu"
you reply to him with "hater era is the worst tubbo era"
"u aren't even that big of a model u model for like hot topic bitch"
"learn to use commas"
he's so jealous of you but he keeps it lowkey
"I wish I had hair like yours" "I wish my smile was as pretty/handsome as yours"
you have to constantly remind him he's a 10 too 😔
RANBOO
plugging your shoots and socials all the time
you do some streams with them teaching them and Charlie how to model/what you do for shoots
you three did a "pick my outfit" video and posted the pics to insta before posting the video 💀
"guys... what happened?"
"I think they got drunk because what is this 💀💀"
"new y/n shoot dropped : we got drunk edition"
"HELP THESE ARE THE BEST"
became the face of tumblr memes for like 2 years after that
you also model for their merch/have given them tips on modeling the merch as well
model duo 😍
FREDDIE BADLINU
sooooo infatuated with you
saves literally every professional photo taken of you
"me and my s/o 😊❤️" and it's the cutest couples video ever of the bf swooning over his gf
always sending you poses to try out and stuff for your own personal pics
he always makes you the center in all his pretty photos and getting you to model / show him how to pose
he's literally so obsessed and thinks you're so fucking cool cause you model
even if it's just content creator merch or small shops, he's just like 🤯
"i went to a shoot with y/n... video drops tomorrow 3pm est"
"you ate that dress up freddie, trust"
yall r THE two pretty best friends
ALEX QUACKITY
BAD BITCH! WITH HER BADDIE FRIEND! TWO BAD BITCHES TWO BAD BITCHES!!!
anyways
sooooo infatuated
brings u on stream when he's lonely just to stare at you for a minute
"this is my baddie model s/o guys, say hi! 🤗🤗"
replies "BARK BARK BARK" under your posts like some crazy stan
the only stan u appreciate
he has a secret fan page for you
he edits too
they're pretty good for a beginner trying transition edits
made you a model playlist so you can get hyped for shoots as well and feel like a bad bitch
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error-dream-was-found · 6 days ago
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I just saw your idea about Quackity sucking at torture and I am SO intrigued 👀 Please do tell
(Also I absolutely love love love your writing <3)
Hiii, thank you for asking :)
And I'm happy to hear that you enjoy my writing <3
It's been a while since I came up with that idea and I can't seem to find my notes on it (I found like 15 other half forgotten AUs instead oops) but I'm pretty sure it came from some discussion with Flora.
The basic idea is that everything happens just as it does in canon and Quackity goes to torture Dream. This is where things get sketchy because as I said, this is a 100 % crack idea so ... what if Quackity just somehow managed to fuck up every single torture attempt?
I really wish I could find my notes on this because I know I had some specific ideas written down but let's go with what I remember. During the first visit I think he might've just underestimated Dream who in spite of being in the prison for a while now was still able to dodge Quackity and maybe even disarm him or something just it ends up with Sam having to interfere.
But it's okay! Quackity's got it! It was just a ... a minor inconvenience, nothing more. But ... things are just not working out during his second visit either, nor during the third one or the fourth one.
Dream is totally not giving fuck about what Quackity wants and for the sake of crack Quackity just miserably fails in all his attempts to torture Dream in the most ridiculous ways possible.
Like, he will get his axe stuck in the obsidian and can't pull it out, he drops a harming potion and hits himself instead of Dream, he sets himself on fire on accident (that lava wall had no business being over there!), he fails to realize that Dream is actually good in strategic games and his plan to hurt Dream for losing a game fails when the game drags on for way too long (bonus points if he loses somehow). Just some very weird (and hopefully somewhat funny) stuff happens.
Some time he doesn't even get to try his hand at torture because he gets carried away with wedding preparation and all (just imagine him forcing Dream help with choosing the decorations or something lol)
After his fight with Karl Dream is forced to be the therapist (he has no escape while Quackity cries about the state of his relationship), least to say Dream is very confused why Quackity thought he is the right person to ask about the relationship problems (srsly Q have you seen the state of his relationships???)
At this point Dream himself might try to give him tips, look he is not a fan of getting tortured but this is just sad, okay?
Perhaps he will manage to actually hurt Dream at some point but by then I think he would be too used to failing that it actually freaks him out more than it freaks out Dream himself. Least to say the rest of the "session" was spend fretting over Dream because god man you're bleeding! Dream is just there like ... isn't this what you wanted? And well yeah but also no! (Q has some very mixed feelings)
Overall though I think Q would maim himself in that cell more than he ever did to Dream. On accident of course. I never figured out the logistics of this one but it'd be hella funny if Q somehow managed to idk cut of his own finger or something of the sort which would just end up with him freaking out and Dream having to try to calm him down while also calling for Sam to bring a healing potion
I know that it's supper cannon inaccurate but it's really just a crack idea without any real plot behind it 😅
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lilywastaken · 2 years ago
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⇝ SICK DAY SCENARIOS !
CC!DreamWasTaken, CC!Sapnap, CC!GeorgeNotFound, CC!Quackity, CC!Karl Jacobs x GN!Reader.
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SUMMARY: taking care of CCs when they're sick :( <3.
WARNINGS: SFW, a few spicy moments here and there, illness, a tiny drop of angst in Karl's part!
A/N: I'm alive!! The brainrot is real for these guys so I just had to write something, even if it's a bit crap LMAO. It's my first time writing for Karl/Quack, so they might be a bit weird/stiff, apologies! Once again, requests are open!! Please don't forget to reblog/comment if you enjoy the post, it helps a lot!! Thank you for reading! <333 If you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know, please!!! I wrote this quite late so there might be a few!
MASTERLIST.
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DREAM:
"Feeling a bit better?"
You whisper softly as you open the door to your boyfriend's bedroom, noticing that he had made his way off his bed and onto his chair, legs up and pressed to his chest with his knees tucked under his chin, the bright screens of his monitors reflecting onto his sad face.
"Mm…"
His broken whimper makes you sigh, walking over to him carefully and placing the bowl of chicken soup next to his keyboard, leaning down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.
"You should be resting."
You're about to lean back until Dream grabs your arm, his pointer finger coming up to tap his lips, hopeful eyes staring up at you.
"Clay. You're ill."
"Which means you're refusing to kiss your poor, suffering boyfriend?" He sighs dramatically, his voice deep yet nasally due to his stuffy nose, leaning into your touch as your hand comes up to cup his cheek.
"Are you ready to take care of me when I inevitably get sick, sweetheart?" You coo back, watching his expression morph from one of self-pity to one of dread.
"O-of course." He mumbles, hoping you don't remember how stressed he was when George had gotten sick a few weeks ago, running around the house looking for medicine in hopes that his friend wouldn't die. "Still… What if the cure to my sickness is a kiss from my beautiful partner?"
"Oh?" You play along with a smile, your hand coming up to play with his hair and run your fingers through his dirty blond curls, watching him flutter his eyes closed to enjoy your touch with a smile, half expecting him to start purring. "Well…" You sigh dramatically in defeat, leaning down so that the tips of both your noses are bumping. "I guess if it helps."
Dream makes a soft noise of excitement before you press your lips to his, his soft hand holding your head to his to slot your lips together easily.
"Now get to bed." You snap as soon as you pull back, causing him to huff and pause whatever video he had been watching.
"Fine." He grumbles like a child, lifting himself up and taking a few moments to make sure he isn't about to collapse before turning to you, letting you lead him to his mattress, onto which he immediately collapses on with a loud groan.
He situates himself under the covers and outstretches his arms to you expectantly, yet instead of your warm body he finds himself holding the bowl of soup you had brought.
You press a kiss to his forehead as he begrudgingly starts to sip on the soup, his gaze softening as he realises you're not about to leave his side.
Needless to say, the next day you were as ill as he was.
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SAPNAP:
A loud groan resounds across the house.
You try your best to ignore it, going back to scrolling through your phone and scratching behind Patches' ears.
Another groan, louder this time, finally brings your attention away from social media and back to reality, frowning at the unending dramatic groans that come from your boyfriend.
You sigh, carefully pushing Patches off and starting your trek upstairs, listening to the borderline fake sounds coming from inside the room.
"You sound like you're dying."
You comment as soon as you push open the door to his bedroom, rolling your eyes with a smile as you meet your boyfriend's gaze, his lower lip curled into a pout as he makes grabby hands at you, his bed covered in what you assume to be snotty tissues.
"I am dying, darlin'. Feels like I'm being ripped apart."
You laugh, making your way towards him and sitting on the edge of the bed, and placing your hand onto his forehead, frowning instantly at how hot he feels.
"Wait, are you actually sick?"
"Yes!" Sapnap whines, throwing his head back and slamming it accidentally onto the wooden headboard, whining at the additional pain. "You thought I was fakin'!?"
"I wouldn't put it past you." You grumbled, wiping some of the sweat on his face with your sleeve, watching him try to adjust in his bed just to be closer with you. "What hurts?"
"Everything." He sighs out, closing his eyes in pain as his head throbs.
"Everything?" You repeat, unamused, already getting up to retrieve an ice pack from downstairs, hoping to cool down the fever he seems to have caught.
"Yes, every-" his eyes snap open as soon as he feels the bed shift, whining. "No, don't leave!"
"Nick, I need to get you something for your fever!"
You struggle against Sapnap's grip as he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped around your waist and stubble scratching against your cheek.
"No… all I need is you, darl'." He grumbles against your skin, peppering sloppy kisses onto your neck.
"You're delirious." You sigh, melting into his warmth as he pulls you under the covers, sniffling and whining with every move he makes. "You'll take some medicine later, right?"
"Mhm … yeah." He says drowsily as he starts to fall asleep right there, listening to your breathing as a means to calm himself down. "Anything for you, sweetheart."
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GEORGE:
How can George still be asleep?
You think to yourself as you stare mindlessly into the TV, the plate of food you had been eating abandoned on the coffee table as you take note of how long it had been since you had seen your boyfriend after last night.
You know he's prone to sleeping in for long, but not this long. Especially now in Florida, where the sun rises earlier and helps him wake up at the same time as you and your roommates.
Once you give your half eaten plate to Dream, you carefully push open the door to your boyfriend's room, stopping for a few moments so your eyes get used to the darkness his room was covered in.
"George? Are you awake?"
Treading carefully so you don't trip on any loose cables or stuff that he might have tossed onto the ground, you finally reach his bed, kneeling next to him and placing your hands on the body beneath the covers and shaking softly.
"Georgie?"
"Hmng."
You feel him turn around, meeting his gaze despite the darkness around you, watching as his pained expression turns into one of relief.
"Hi…" He mumbles, voice coarse as if he had just finished screaming for over an hour, reminding you of that one time he had lost his voice after a particularly long stream. "Time…?"
"Almost 4." Your hand comes up to push back his bangs, a shiver racking through his body as your cool touch makes contact with his atypically hot skin. "What th- do you have a fever?"
"I think." You feel his arms creep around your waist, pulling you closer with abnormal strength and placing his head onto your lap, snuggling himself into your thighs, letting out a shaky sigh at the warmth. "Tried getting up this morning and I think I passed out."
That would explain the crash Sapnap had claimed to have heard early in the morning.
"You passed out? Why didn't you call me?" You whisper back, running your fingers through his hair and massaging the back of his neck, a spot you know always gets him weak. "We could've brought you downstairs so you weren't cooped up like this."
George laughed as the image of Dream and Sapnap dragging him downstairs came to mind, but the sudden stabbing pain that attacked his lungs caused him to start coughing with a whine.
"I'd rather just stay up here with you." He started to manhandle you to lie under the covers, his hands warm on your hips as he quite basically shoved his face into your chest, trying to calm his raging headache. "We can order something later… I just want to be with you for now."
You chewed on your lower lip before your hands came up subconsciously to bury themselves in his soft locks, a whine leaving his lips as your nails started scratching at his scalp. "Fine. Just for a bit, okay? You still have to eat, we got to get you medicine, and you probably stin-"
You squeaked as he nipped on your skin in an attempt to get you to shut up, rolling your eyes at the smirk on his pretty lips before he fluttered his eyes back closed, a silent way of telling you that he was going back to sleep.
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QUACKITY:
"You're an idiot."
Your boyfriend sputters out a confused sound as he walks into the kitchen, not having expected to be instantly insulted first thing in the morning.
"Huh?"
"Why are you half-naked!? You're sick!" You point at his feet and then his shorts with your spoon, making him groan and roll his eyes.
"It's hot!" He throws his arms up in the air as he sits down at the kitchen island, ignoring the way you frown at him. "And I'm not sick. I'm fine. It's just a cold."
"That still counts as being sick." You mumble under your breath, pushing a plate of food in his direction before pulling off your hoodie (which casually happened to be his) and handing it to him. "Put it on. I don't want you getting worse."
"...fine." He mumbles, starting to eat once it's on. "Thank you, mi vida."
Your face heats up at the casual nickname, nodding as you start on your own breakfast, too busy scrolling on your phone to notice the way your boyfriend starts squirming in his seat, sweat dripping down his forehead as he tries to focus on his food.
"You alright?" You finally realise how sick he looks despite having looked fine mere moments before, face flushed and skin sickly pale as he wipes the sweat away with his hoodies sleeves.
"Mhm. Okay." Your hand reaches over to cup his cheek, almost flinching back at how hot his skin feels. "Jesus! You're so fucking hot!"
You instantly regret what comes out of your mouth at his cocky expression, watching him m lean into your hand and sigh dreamily, eyelashes fluttering open and closed as he speaks.
"You think I'm that hot, babe?" He purrs out, despite the absolute pain that's racking through his body at the minute. "Damn, didn't expect you to be bold."
"Shut up." You pinch his cheek, forcing a high pitched cry to leave his mouth as you turn around to look through the medicine cabinet. "I meant you're literally hot, Alex."
"So you think I'm not figuratively hot?" You refrain from the urge to groan at his teasing, pulling off the cap to some medicine and dropping a pill into a glass of water.
"If you keep acting like this, you'll be less than hot to me." You snap, handing him the drink and waiting for him to down it like he usually does when it comes to ill-tasting medicine. "Go lie down, I'll make you some soup."
Before you can leave, he grabs your arm, pulling you into the space between his open legs and wrapping his arms around your waist.
"With me?" He mumbles into your hair, causing you to roll your eyes at how clingy he's become. "Come on, cielo. We can just order soup."
"But will it be as good as my soup?" You brush some of his longer strands of hair away from his eyes and trace the invisible lines between the beauty marks on his face.
"No… but I'd take cold soup any day of the week if it means having you in my arms."
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KARL:
"Your nose is running."
You comment as you watch your boyfriend sluggishly make his way towards the fridge, eyes barely open and sweatpants almost falling down his waist.
"Mhm."
He doesn't even acknowledge your words, digging through the countless cans in the fridge to pull out some orange juice, instantly downing it without a second thought.
"Sorry. You want some?" He slurs, extending his arm and offering you the carton.
"Just finish it, Karl. I'd rather not get sick."
You notice that instead of his normal sleeping shirt he has a button up on, the buttons all messed up from probably trying to do it on his own in the bathroom mirror.
"You going somewhere, baby?" You comment on his appearance, frowning as he instantly nods, throwing the carton into the bin before looking for some snacks.
"Filming with Jimmy." He casually says, as if he hadn't been battling with a fever for almost a week. "I volunteered yesterd-"
You slap your hand over his mouth, stopping him from talking and meeting his shocked gaze, feeling his hands immediately find place on your waist out of instinct at how close you are.
"You're not going anywhere, Karl. I don't want you to get worse." You comment with a frown, having half expected him to lick at your hand when you had covered his mouth, but the sad look in his eyes feels worse than how that would've. "Please. You've been in pain for almost a week, I just want you to get better."
You let go of his face, moving your hand to cup his cheek and watch him press into your touch, nodding solemnly.
"Just don't like being useless. I wanna do stuff, I want to help!" He whines, closing his eyes as if afraid of your reaction to his complaint.
"You're not useless, though. You're sick. I'm taking care of you because I love you and I want you to get better. Jimmy's your friend, he'll probably won't want you working while you're sick, either." You lean up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a comforting hug, his cool hands roaming your skin under your shirt. "So get back into your pyjamas and get to bed and I'll bring you some food, okay? Then we can watch a movie, whichever one you want."
He nods enthusiastically, taking his turn to cup your cheeks in his hands and pepper kisses all over, brushing your lips with his before pulling away, aware of how sick you'd get if he gave you what he had. "I love you!" He says before rushing back upstairs giddily, not even waiting for you to say it back, aware that even without saying it, you do.
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iloverainnnx · 4 months ago
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one where you find quackity masturbating and he gets very nervous when you find out? please.
Short but there u go if u want the after lmk ill leave a pole for it 💗💗
Bottom Quackity x top female reader
MINORS DNI 18++!!
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You were at work all day and Alex was missing you alot missing you so much that he'd found himself with his pants down in his chair pumping himself up and down looking at pictures of your face .  He didn't know how he ended up in this situation he went along with it tho since you weren't home the only noise filling his room were his quiet whimpers while he did so . You came home earlier today wanting to surprise Alex and have a nice evening with him you peaked through his door since the noises he made were kinda hearable . He was literally sat in his chair precut oozing from his tip
He was pumping himself faster wich caused him to be louder and kinda moan some weird words you couldn't understand since he was really not focused right now , he was still thinking about you just sucking him off or pounding into you. He'd never say that tho . You watched for some time you've never saw him like that when the door creaked suddenly quackitys attention turned to it seeing you hiding behind it. He froze instantly putting his hand over his leaking cock . You walked in looking down. "I- i-..uh sorry you should've knocked " he said through stutters and embarrassment a picture of your face was still on his phone . "You seem to have fun tho masturbaiting you me" he was just full embarrassed and nervous "no..it's not w-what it looks like ..promise.." you knew this wasn't true like obviously  , but he just acted cute wich made you wanna help him even more ...
(Do yall want the after?)
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quackitysgirl · 8 months ago
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Phone Calls
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trigger warning ; smut , mentions of quackity’s real name , sexual talk , kinky shit , female reader
it was 1 am, and here you were, calling with your long distance boyfriend, alex. you were just talking with your boyfriend when you here ruffling from alex’s end.
after 15 minutes of you talking about your day he turns his camera off.
“babe.. are you listening..?”
more ruffling came from the other side of the call. he lets out a shaky sigh.
“y-yeah.. sweetheart.. just.. k-keep talking.. alright..”
he says, his voice shaky. you can hear ruffling on the other end. after a few minutes of you talking he lets out a soft moan.
“..fuck..”
you hear from his end. it gets you slightly horny. he lets out a little soft whine. he bites his lip softly rubbing faster.
he lets out another moan, this time louder as you keep talking.
“i just wanna.. fuck.. you.. so hard..” he lets out a soft whimper, rubbing his tip faster.
you get a little horny, softly rubbing your clit through your underwear. whining as he continues ruffling. you turn your camera off and he lets out a whine.
“mmhm.. what else..” you moan softly.
“just wanna.. watch those pretty tits of yours.. see them.. with my cum all over..”
you let out a soft moan, as you rub more.
“s-stop rubbing sweetheart.. stick a finger in..”
you nod and even though he cant see and sticking two fingers in and out of your pussy. moaning loudly. you can hear him rub faster on his other end.
“fuck fuck fuck! just like that baby!”
he praises from his own end, you can hear he’s close to cumming.
“..mmm.. feels so good.. wanna cum..”
you moan out, going faster as he listens and moans along.
“you wanna cum..? beg for it..”
he said softly as he moans more, feeling closer and closer to his cumming.
“please.. let me cum.. alex.. please..”
you plead softly, moaning more as he lets out a little “fuck.”
“y-yes you can sweetheart.. cum with me.”
he said before you cum, hearing him cum along with you. after that he pants on the other end of the phone.
“are we.. going to talk about that..”
“no..”
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straighttohellbuddy · 2 years ago
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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.”
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d0g-water · 3 days ago
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helping (male!reader x quackity)
he can't get enough of you. your kisses drive him crazy. he was sitting on your lap, savoring your lips desperately. he was starving for your taste. he couldn't wait any longer when he finally got his hands on you.
he has no shame, when that tent forms in his shorts. he knows that he did this to himself. he knows that he can't help himself when it comes to you.
you're the prettiest guy he's ever laid his eyes on.
"touch me while i get myself off, please.." he asks quietly, his hands running down and feeling his own body.. as if he was giving you a small show, to prove that he's enough.
this question hits you hard. he's never asked that before, and to think you're going to watch him cum to you...
it's a bit sinister.
your eyes scan up and down his body, just taking a moment to think about where you should touch this pretty boy on your lap...
his tits? his ass? his luscious thighs? his arms? his tummy?
there's so much of him, and it's all for you.
but your boyfriend grows impatient, you notice that his body is hungry for an orgasm underneath those large clothes of his. his back arches to press his clothed cock against you, and you watch as alex's hands move to take off his beanie, fluffing up his hair after tossing it onto the floor like it was meaningless to him... looks like he wasn't in the mood for teasing.
"fuck, go ahead, alex." you breathe, "let's see how you do."
remembering this is a first makes your heart race- you two have never masturbated together or anything like that. just sex and getting each other off, but this feels more personal for some reason...
masturbating in front of somebody... watching somebody masturbate to you... what can you think?
alex spits on his hand to begin rubbing himself underneath his shorts, his brows furrowing as his eyes lock right at you. you feel helpless under his gaze, you're worried that a single wrong move can make him soft and humiliate you into not wanting to do this again.
his moans are girlish and he forces you closer, digging his nose into your scent. you can feel him pace up, and you wonder how his mind is going. can he think? is his brain just your name?
the room gets hotter, and poor poor alexis is turning his vocal moans into breathy ones.
he might be suffocating in the combination of your scent and the temperature of the room.
your palm presses against his chest, lightly pushing him off from you. he wants to look at you in confusion, but you don't let him--
the hem of his shirt is rolled above his chest by your hand, as the other grabs the underneath of his thigh, squeezing it lightly.
you hear his breath hitch, but he doesn't know you weren't stopping there. he most likely assumed you half-stripped his shirt to cool him down, but it was really to give those large and pretty tits of his some attention.
your tongue flickers against his nipple, taking it in your mouth with your lips squeezing around it and sucking.
alex curses under his breath sharply, and he feels the other side of his shirt drop back down-- he uses his teeth to hold it up, as his hand grips onto your shoulder tightly, jerking himself off quicker.
he moans your name, feeling overwhelmed with these amazing sensations. the grip on his plush thighs, your amazing mouth on his tit, and his slicked hand clutching his cock... feeling an abnormal amount of precum leak from his tip, he feels himself get closer.
"shit, i'm gonna cum--" alex's muffled voice mewls out, his head facing down, breathing faster.
your tongue licks his bud right after a sloppy suck, the saliva string breaking when you feel him shiver and let the loudest noise of the night escape his throat.
he came in his pants, haziness taking him out of his mind.
you let go of him completely. allowing him to take a few minutes to try and piece himself back together. but you kind of just want to admire how torn apart he looks.
he looks so pretty. when he's panting for his life, his skin looking all burnished from the sweat, the mess of saliva you made on his cute tits, his hand still in his pants (you avoid thinking about how sticky and soiled it might be with his cum because it's too dangerous), and his fluffy hair looks like beautiful paint strokes on face.
his mouth is agape, looking glossy and kissable. god, you want to bite the skin off and leave his plump lips raw.
but you'll save that for another day...
"you felt good huh?" you poke at him with a smile, a bit of guilt grasping around your neck when he can't even answer you. he came so good he went dumb..
cute boy.
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kayschariot · 7 months ago
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✨innocence✨
2019 quackity X reader
-
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“Can we try something?”
smut warning
Alex had invited you over to his house for the first time as you two had just started dating. He was giddy as he waited for you. His mom told him you where at the door and a wave of nervousness hit him. he let you in and introduced you to a few people in the household.
After that you to went upstairs. “Sorry if the beds uncomfortable or anything.” He somewhat mumbled under his breath, “It’s okay, I don’t care.” You smiled kissing his cheek. He felt like he absolutely lost it when you did that. He was a blushing mess as he sat on the bed with you turning on some TV.
you two slowly but surely started getting more comfortable and started cuddling, at this point anything playing on the TV was ignored.
As you draped a leg over Alex and he held your waist you couldn’t help yourself from feeling more aroused and he did to. He looked at you leaning in.
“Can i kiss you?” He asked and you nodded somewhat eagerly as you pressed your lips on his cupping his face as he placed a hand on your thigh.
“Your lips are soft.” He whispered through the kiss, you giggled softly to yourself. “You taste nice” You’d admit, and he’d kiss you more.
it quickly led to a make out session. Heavy breathing, hand placement and small grinding motions on each other. “C-Can we try something?” He asked panting. You’d nod and he’d unbuckle your belt and slide it off along with your jeans. He would slide your panties off slowly and look at your went pussy.
“Jesus christ..” He mumbled before rubbing your clit making you whimper in pleasure. “C-Can I…let me just..” He spoke sticking a finger inside of you making you moan softly.
“Don’t get to loud my parents are down stairs and this bed is..creaking,” he spoke softly and turned up the TV. He stuck two fingers inside of you and moved vastly.
you held back moans, “Is this right? do you like it?” He asked, his erection forming in his pants. “Yes! Yes your doing so good..!” you whimpered arching your back and grinding on his fingers.
You had to put a pillow over your mouth to cover the moaning noises. He leaned down and slowly starting eating you out along with fingering you.
with each stroke of his tongue you felt like you were going absolutely dumb. “A-Alex!” I moaned leaning my head back and placing a hand on his head gripping his hair.
you felt yourself getting closer to a climax, your legs shaking and gripping onto his head and the pillow as a attempt to be quiet but the bed was shaking like crazy.
As you finished it felt like heaven, “Mmm..Alexxx~~!! Jesus- your so good with your tongue..~” I spoke and he giggled softly before continuing to eat me out.
he took his fingers out of my as my body relaxed, “Could you maybe help me out?” He mumbled pointing to his boner, You’d nod.
“One more thing,” He spoke “Do it with your shirt off please..it’s so much hotter,” He’d admit as your took your bra and shirt off.
“Jesus fuck..” he’d stare “Can I?”
you nod and he’d cup on and squeeze your nipple making a soft moan leave your mouth. Your moans and whimpers were like heaven to him, they were like addiction.
He’d take his shirt off and slip his boxers and jeans down. “I’ve never really done this before..” you’d admit watching pre come leak from his hard cock as he used it as a type of lube.
“Yeah that was my first time doing anything with a women..uh..just..here.” He’d grab your hand and position you as he let out a sigh of relief. “Up and down.” He’d say as you started stroking him.
“Like this?” You’d as curiously, he’d lean his head back on the wall and moan, “Yes..ohmygod..faster..”
“Your doing so good..” he’d say, “God damn, faster..” He’d whimper.
you would go faster and watch as he bucked his hips into your hand, “Rub your thumb over my tip.” He’d moan as you follow his order “Good girl just like that.”
“Am I doing good?” You’d ask. “So good..god it feels better when you do it” He spoke. He’d cover his mouth and lean his head back as he finished. His come covering your hand. he was panting and catching his breath, “I need you to suck my dick..i need you to,” He whispered and you’d nod getting on your knees. You’d put his tip in your mouth, you’ve never done this before.
soft moans left his mouth, you’d lick on his tip somewhat scared you had to shove all that down your throat. “sorry.” He’d say and you where confused until he grabbed you by the hair and pushed you head down, a loud moan escaped his lips and he’d roll his eyes back. He’d grip your hair helping you.
tears dripped down your face as you’d whimper on his cock. “God damn you look so hot crying over my cock.” He’d say face fucking you.
You’ve never seen this side of Alex before and you weren’t gunna lie it was making you turned on all over again. He once again finished and you hummed on his cock to help, “Swallow it, all of it..” He demanded and you did.
-
he’d help you clean up and clean himself up as well, you too would cuddle all night until you fell asleep on him.
in the morning his mom probably made fun of him cause she definitely heard you two.
-
REQUESTS OPEN
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stonermujer · 11 months ago
Note
quackity calling u mommy
Yes ofc 😋
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~~~~
Subby Alex
Contains: mommy kink (duh), use of quackitys real name, sub Alex, slight cervix fucking, cockwarming, dub con, barely proof read lol.
Paring: Alex/quackity x fem!reader
A/n: no one ever writes him as a sub and istg he most definitely can be
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Alex would never tell you but he most definitely has a subby bone in his body. A desire to be absolutely whiny moaning your name and gripping at the bedsheets as you make him feel good.
He’d trail into your bedroom grinding his hard-on into your thigh.
“Please? I want you to make me feel good.”
He’d pout and you'd have no other choice but to give in. It was cute seeing him desperate like that. he'd tug your clothes off eagerly, kissing your sternum and down your stomach.
"So pretty,"
he'd murmur before sliding his own clothes off, achy cock springing out with pre-cum dripping. you'd jerk him off for a moment and he'd buck into your hands. he'd mutter curses under his breath and guide his hips to your dripping cunt. his eyes were visibly glossed over from how wet you were.
"you like it when I'm needy like this huh?"
Alex would whisper under his breath and you'd feel his leaking tip prod your entrance making you gasp. he'd bottom out in you and sigh at the feeling of your slippery warm insides sucking him in.
"feels good mommy."
he'd groan and you'd clench around him, turned on and taken aback by the nick name. he'd gently start moving his hips making sure to kiss your cervix each time. he just wanted to be deep inside you and he'd whine from how blissful it felt. All he could do was mutter about how tight you were and how much he loved you while he dragged his thick cock against your warm walls.
You could feel him twitch with each pass and you could tell he was getting close from how loud his moaning became.
"Gonna cum I love you so much mommy."
he'd whisper in your ear before his tip rested flush against your cervix spilling his warm load till you felt uncomfortably full of him. He'd collapse onto your body wrapping his arms around you as he softened inside you. he'd kiss every inch of your skin and fall asleep nestled inside you.
~~~~
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justpuppylove · 1 year ago
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domestic sex with quackity? <3
despite his bubbly appearance, he likes to take things as they come. definitely enjoyer of positions where either he holds you/you hold each other, or have to be face to face and close. for sure he likes to crack a joke here and there, but still while holding hands and looking out for all reactions.
also him exploring your whole body, making mental notes on what zones are most sensitive? he'd spend hours on this :3c
somehow he gives off a big oral giver vibe, probably has a thing for biting too. on the receiving end? absolutely smitten by praise and slow skillful handjob.
Master
Dom!Quackity x afab reader smut
Kinks/warnings: master kink, daddy kink, pet names [specifically puppy], and choking
Also, literally everything you said is so fucking correct omg
“Goodnight chat!” Quackity says as he ends his twitch stream and lets out a sigh of relief. You’re laying on his bed, scrolling on your phone. You were relieved he was finally done streaming because as much as you hate to admit it, you feel jealous over how much time he dedicates to streaming. You’d never admit this to him since you know how much streaming means to him, and it offers more than enough to pay the bills. You snap out of your thoughts as quackity lays beside you in bed.
He grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer to him, he was so warm. “Are you okay my love? You seem tense.” He says into your ear. “I’m okay, just glad the stream is done.” You respond with a slight sigh, melting into his body heat and accidentally grinding on him in the process. He lets out a groan which sends shivers down your body. He slides his hand down your body and presses your lower half up against his, now hard, dick. “It’s okay baby, I’ll take care of you~” he whispers while pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. You feel goosebumps shoot across your body as he begins rubbing your pussy through your clothes. He pulls his pants off and presses his dick up against your ass. You spread your legs for him as he starts dry humping you. His hand remains on your pussy as the other one reaches for your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples in his fingers. “Fuck~ please fuck me” you beg as your hand grabs his wrist, trying to shove it into your underwear. “Whats my name sweetheart?” He asks you in a teasing tone while stopping his hand from entering your waist band. “Mm- daddy, please fuck me daddy” you respond whining, pressing up against his dick for friction. “Good job puppy, such a good little puppy~” Quackity says while playing with the elastic of your underwear, making you let out a whimper. He shoves his hand into your underwear as he begins playing with your clit. He bites the back of your neck as he pulls off your clothes, his dick immediately rubbing against your pussy. He moans as he slaps his dick onto your folds, “you’re so wet for me puppy, so wet for your master hm?” He says and all you could do was nod and whine as he pushed his tip into you. He slowly fucks his tip in and out of you while kissing the back of your neck. He pushes his length into you as you both let out a loud moan, he gives you time to adjust before he starts moving. He brings one of his hands up to your throat as he fucks into you, this makes you let out even sluttier moans for him. “You like when I choke you baby?” He asks, it was more of a rhetorical question but you nod frantically as his grip tightens a bit. He continues slamming into you as he brings his other hand down to your clit. He moves his finger in circular motions around your bud and you can feel yourself getting closer. “So close daddy” you say as you try to fuck yourself harder onto his cock. He fucks you faster and harder, as you feel him hit your G-spot you moan out his name. “Right there? Does my baby like it right there?” He asks fucking that spot harder, all you could give out was a few ‘yes’s as you come on his dick. He slams into you a few more times before he cums inside of you with a loud moan.
“I love you so much darling” quackity says leaving kisses on your neck from where he was biting you. “I love you too” you say as you sink into his arms, “goodnight puppy” he says holding onto you tighter. “Goodnight”
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blankweiss-sb · 1 year ago
Text
Gift "Drabble"
For @hiding-in-the-vault
TW: Prison Arc + Post Prison, references to torture and eye removal
Summary: Eventually, Dream found a cave and hunkered down. He didn’t dare making a fire pit, didn’t know whether he could, but it would surely reveal his position. Instead he curled up in the warmest, most wind-safe spot he could find – and slept.
Or
Dream doesn't escape unscathed – mentally or physically.
The red stone pistons fired, the deep grumble distinctive from the ever present hissing of the lava. Dream didn’t dare lift his head or move his cheeks from the grimy, sticky floor of his cell.
Rule number whatever: Either be on your knees head bowed, or you better not have moved from the position Sir left you in.
Was Dream slightly bitter that even thinking Sir immediately called up an image of Quackity and tides of fear and anger? Yes. Would he show that bitterness? No. (Maybe Quackity would think he’d finally broken Dream but he hadn’t. Dream wasn’t quite broken yet, just brittle and fractured. If – when he got out, he’d just pour gold into all those cracks.)
Faintly, Dream heard it – the rustle of small feathers that could be crushed so very easily, the tapping of fingers against the wooden handle of a tool or weapon and a slight hum, the hum of a song Sap had loved. The lava curtains gurgled – please, red stone, fail, a moment of weakness gave itself a voice – before it fizzled out.
Sir bounced into the cell.
“Hullo, Dreamie, how are you? Comfy?”
Dream knew better than to answer. Quackity didn’t care, he just loved the sound of his voice too much. If Dream was lucky, Quackity would gloat, maybe kick Dream a couple of times and leave. That, Dream could endure, he could endure anything, anything but –
Fingertips stroked along the curve of Dream’s face, the one not pressed against crying obsidian and sticky maroon, and it was only the terrors of existence that prevented Dream from flinching. But nothing could have prevented Dream’s throat from releasing a whine when Quackity gently carded through Dream’s hair, almost petting him like a beloved dog.
“Awww, you’re doing good but being greedy, I see.”
Fuck you. Fuck you, Quackity, Dream thought as his head leaned into the comforting touch Sir was offering. It was his body seeking comfort, not Dream. It was his body being pathetic, wanting his torturer to be gentle. It was his body. Not Dream.
“You can be cute. But that’s not why I’m here, not today, puppy!” Don’t call me that. “I’m giving you a gift, look –“
Quackity burst out in little giggles, giggles Sapnap used to gush about. Sapnap had called them more adorable than a baby piglin. Dream had teased him about that, by that time already missing George pressed against his side and joining in on the fun. Teasing his brother had always been one of Dream’s favorite things and George loved to needle Sapnap, too.
A sharp of burst ripped through Dream’s skull as Quackity’s hand grabbed his hair tightly and pulled Dream up until Dream’s scalp was burning. “Listen to me.”
“Yes, Sir.” Two, three seconds more and Quackity let Dream’s head fall, huffing.
“And here I was about to clean you up, wash you, but no. You had to be bad. A bad puppy.” Dream flinched and Quackity’s laugh was more than delighted, echoing between obsidian walls. “Anyway, here you go, you’re going to need this.”
Something cold settled on Dream’s face and – comfort washed over Dream as he realized it was the cold porcelain of a mask, a mask Dream knew quite well. Greedily he sucked in some air and through the stale scent of copper coils and bracken water and burnt out embers, he caught a whiff of earthy flowers.
(“Earthy flowers? Are you serious?” Dream had laughed, pressing his shoulders against Sapnap’s. George had already been snoring, his legs hanging over Sapnap’s lap and his head nuzzling Dream’s stomach.
“Man, you asked me how you were smelling. Earthy flowers. Deal with it, it’s sort of disgusting.” But the tips of Sapnap’s ears had been a brilliant red.
“Someone’s lying~ But that’s ok. I like your hearth embers and George’s bark and petrichor, too.”
“Pe – tri – chor,” Sapnap had mocked. Yet he had relaxed into Dream and – they had slept, together and bonds untorn.)
It was Dream’s mask, not a replica, but his own.
Despite this meaning nothing good, Dream sank into old comfort. The safe feeling was soured by Quackity once again running his hands through Dream’s hair. “Things are going to get exciting,” he crowed, no, that’d be an insult to the death goddess and her harbringers, Quackity quacked. “Better to keep a few things mysterious, right? I’ll be generous and let you rest up.”
Dream didn’t know what Quackity meant until the next day when the pistons fired up and someone swaggered over the bridge. The bars slammed down, Techno grunted as he sprung the trap and it clicked in Dream’s mind.
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Time passed.
Sir didn’t enter the prison.
How Techno didn’t realize one tiny but largely important fact was beyond Dream but he couldn’t help being grateful.
How Dream managed to escape with Technoblade was also beyond him.
(Sir had managed to shatter Dream – after Technoblade vanished. Sir had not only dug into all the cracks he’d made but also ensured that not even respawning would ever give back Dream’s sight. There had been a slight, incredibly miniscule chance that Dream could have regained his eye sight but… hard to do that without the vital part of eye sight.
Sir had left Dream cold and raw and – there had been moments.
Dream had even hallucinated at one point, must have imagined trembling hands cleaning him up, a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was ten being sobbed against his ears and a determined vow being seared against his temple. The voice had sounded like Bad, but Bad hated him, guarded him even, offered suggestions like Dream’s loathing of being alone in the dark to Sir. )
“I refuse. You have done more than enough, he can look after himself now.” The coldness in Philza’s screech was more than biting, was cutting when Technoblade didn’t refute his statement.
Once again Dream’s weakness took over and he wasted a minute on hope, begged Technoblade without the right words or gestures but surely, surely Technoblade picked up on it – “See ya later, nerd, stay safe.”
I’m not seeing anything, settled heavy on Dream’s tongue but – Philza was there, feathers scraping against wooden planks. He must be flaring his wings before refolding them. Rinse and repeat.
It wasn’t pride stopping Dream from saying those words. It was Caution. Philza already was irritated with Dream – Dream, objectively, had harmed the man’s family greatly and in various ways. And in an altercation, there was no world in which Technoblade wouldn’t side with Philza.
So Dream bowed, once, the proper Admin way, and darted off into the forest, barely hearing a sudden intake of breath behind him, probably Philza’s. Technoblade wasn’t an Admin, he wouldn’t have known what Dream’s bow had meant.
They didn’t chase after him, anyways.
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That first night Dream almost died five times.
The server refused to reconnect to him – a weak Admin was something no World wanted, vulnerability was undesired – and so Dream had to trust his ears and nose, rather than an innate sense of the World.
Twice the rattling of Skeleton bones was barely enough to get ready for the screeching of arrows flying through the air and aiming directly at Dream’s heart. Muscle memory was, thankfully, enough for Dream to land crits against the Skeletons, even though his own frame didn’t differ much from the Skeletons.
Once a zombie almost ripped into Dream’s leg and would have infected him. Dream was already on the ground, having tripped over a root and landing on a patch of ice that sent him careening through the snow. He’d been contemplating just curling up and sleeping when the zombie fell over him. A kick and crit had taken care of the zombie.
Twice, the environment itself, the World – hadn’t that smarted – had turned against him, giving him no warnings as ravines opened up in front of him. Only hearing the echo of stones crumbling and falling, falling, falling before the unbreakable hit the bottom and shattered into a thousand pieces not even gold could glue back together had warned him.
Eventually, Dream found a cave and hunkered down. He didn’t dare making a fire pit, didn’t know whether he could, but it would surely reveal his position. Instead he curled up in the warmest, most wind-safe spot he could find – and slept.
That first night ended and his first day in freedom dawned – judging from the birdsong sneaking through the tree leaves and into Dream’s cave.
Dream didn’t have the energy to stand up.
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More hallucinations haunted his sleep – if it was sleep. His body felt too heavy, his thoughts too hazy for him to be sleeping but – at one point, the hallucination of Bad took root in his mind. Dream heard Bad coo, felt Bad heave him into a bed that Dream certainly hadn’t made, cried while Bad tucked him and drew covers tight around him.
“Sleep tight, good dreams will arrive, cupcake,” the hallucination’s voice quivered as rough, scarred fingers slipped underneath Dream’s mask and tugged it off. The hallucination wanted to card through Dream’s hair and it did, detangling the knots, casting Dream’s drifty mind back to the days of happiness and – “Shh, Clay. I’ll protect you, don’t worry.”
Dream wailed, his throat giving out on him. All the while, the hallucination kept touching him, gently, like Bad loved him, like Bad was here, like Bad cared.
(Love and care were two different shoes. Surely, Sapnap and George still loved Dream but they had shown that they didn’t care for him.)
(Dream was forgetting something. Or someone. Heat was lancing through his brain, pain a deliberating force on everything that was him. How his mind still had enough force to call upon a hallucination with the ability to mimic the sensation of touch he didn’t know. But there was someone else, an agenda, Dream was forgetting.)
(Clay hated getting sick, not only because he couldn’t play with Pandas but because he couldn’t help demanding attention. To be fair, Bad would always give it to him.
“I’m dying,” Clay sobbed, writhing against the covers Bad had forced him under. “It’s too hot, it hurts, I am dying!”
“Shh, you silly, silly cupcake.” Bad chuckled, gently stroking over Clay’s head. Those fingers were so good, they spanned half his head and… Bad was starting to mindlessly but gently tug at all of Clay’s knots, tutting whenever another appeared in the long locks of Clay’s hair. “You’ll be ok, I’m here.”
Whenever Bad acted like this, Clay could pretend that Bad wasn’t only Pandas’ Dad but also his own, and fierce, fierce love wrecked Clay’s body together with the many illnesses he suffered.
One day, one day Clay would create a server for them, for Bad and Pandas and himself and anyone else he loved. He knew he was strong enough, as were his convictions and dreams.)
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Energy trickled back into Dream, day by day. The hallucination stayed, far longer than Dream expected it to, offering comfort and safety and the weakness was too strong. Dream, shamefully, gave in.
Until one day the rustle of wings, the wind whistling through feathers just outside his and his hallucination’s cave broke the spell.
“Mate?”
Not Sir, not Sir at all but –
“Get out.” His hallucination growled and the air pulsed with heat and old power – and there was no way that Dream’s stitched together mind could have replicate Bad’s aura when he was pissed and protecting someone. (Someone, not something, an important distinction.)
“Bad Boy Halo, I –“
“Leave before I make you leave. You offered no help, worse, you rejected sanctuary.”
“I didn’t know.”
Bad snorted and responded. Philza said words as well but – Dream had already lost the thread, his mind fuzzy with realizations and too full, too broken to comprehend anything. Until –
“Had I known he was blind and a baby Admin, he wouldn’t have left my house!” Feathers hit the stone walls. Or did feathers scrape along obsidian, crying in sync with the dripping walls? Sir was back, wasn’t he –
Scarred hands cradled Dream’s cheeks and a pair of leathery wings sneaked around and under Dream’s frame. The hands didn’t move. They just held his face and provided an anchor for his mind.
“Bad…” How to say the things he had to say, how to ask questions, how –
Dream’s head is pressed to a dark throat and his breath hitched. Too often Dream had been in this position whenever the world got too big, or he got too big for the world and it bared its fangs at him. Being settled against the thrum of Bad’s heart hadn’t rightened all the wrongs in the world but it had always – always – made them manageable.
“I’m here, Dream. Don’t you worry.”
Dream believed him and let himself fall into trust.
One more time.
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atthebell · 10 months ago
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Why do you think Roier and Missa are easiest to understand? I found the same thing as someone who's just learning Spanish, and I wasnt sure if it was because I've watched so much Roier content that it influenced my ability to understand him, or if there's a deeper reason due to some regional accent differences being easier for non-native speakers to understand. I'm curious about your thoughts since you have really good insights into linguistics, but ignore this if it's too much for tumblr lol!
neither of them talk super fast, and imo their accents are fairly easy to understand-- for me, missa is easy to understand bc he's from the north and that region has accents i'm more familiar with, and roier's accent is somewhat neutral although obviously still clearly mexican and he uses a lot of slang. i think that also helps-- roier uses a lot of the same vocab, so if you're still learning spanish, you can pick up that slang and then understand quite a bit of what he's saying because he swears literally five times in a single sentence. they both speak pretty clearly and, additionally, i think most non-native spanish speakers, especially U.S. americans, are most familiar with mexican spanish rather than other dialects. so that's why someone like rubius or spreen is harder for nonnative speakers to understand, unless they're more familiar with spanish or argentine dialects specifically.
for me it's hard to parse bc i understand most of what they all say regardless since i've spoken spanish for so long, but i think rivers is just difficult because she speaks very fast. mariana is pretty easily to understand as well, there's just less for me to say about him tbh idr where he's from and i don't really have a hard time understanding him, i just watch him less than anyone else really.
for quackity, his accent is more noticeable, and his spanish is a little weirder, in that he is so bilingual and if you're not familiar with that way of speaking it can be hard to pick up what he's saying sometimes. this is partially why i wish there were a few more latino americans on the server so people get more familiar with that type of bilinguality-- i think quackity is in a unique position that he doesn't full share with other server members (aside from mouse, in that she is also a latino who lives in the states, although from a content perspective she doesn't do the same kind of bilingual split that q does nor does she stream in spanish), and i would be interested to see more of that kind of diasporic latino experience on the server. that's me rambling and doesn't have to do with accents i've just been thinking about it for a while and i think it would be cool. but yeah q phrases things funny sometimes because he's thinking of the english way of saying something or vice versa, and he is by far one of the most fluently bilingual members of the server, so it's an interesting dynamic for people watching him who aren't super familiar with spanish nor the kinds of calques and things that end up happening with bilingual speakers.
anyway back to your actual questions i do also think exposure does tip the scales lol most of us watch more roier than anyone else and esp for people just learning spanish, you're gonna understand him better than anyone else because of that. which is nice in some ways bc you learn a lot of slang but also if you're going to speak spanish in any kind of non-casual setting please do not talk like roier he is a fucking crazy person who swears so much it's actually unreal
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beeindaclouds · 2 years ago
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Hello can I get the MCYT characters reacting to their S/O riding a skateboard please?
Hallo, thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy <3
DSMP w/ a skater!Reader
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Includes: Dream, Georgenotfound, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Quackity, Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot, Nihachu, Eret, Punz, FoolishGamers, Awesamdude
Click here before requesting, please ^^
Reader: GN - They/Them
A.N: I took of C!Phil and C!Techno for this, cause I didn't know how to integrate this in the whole DSMP storyline without it making no sense or sounding insignificant to the plot
You've always had a passion for skateboarding
From a young age skateboarding was always something you found absolutely amazing so, when you got a board on your 5th birthday, you couldn't be more happy and ready to feed into this new hobby
The adrenaline running through your veins and the wind that blew into your ears made you fall in love just more and more
Needless to say this "hobby" of yours never went away, actually you just continued to get better and better at it
And, now that you've become a streamer, you love to stream outside and show off your skills to your fans
Your friends are always so surprised whenever you show them some of the tricks you've learned over the years and also the many bruises and scars that came with it
Dream, Punz and Foolish would honestly try skating boarding, just because you make it look so fun and easy. So you've spent some time with them, teaching them the basics and all that, and they've been getting pretty good thanks to you;
Sapnap and Karl can't help but be super attached to you, always asking for tips and tricks that you could teach them, and most of your hangouts have something to do with skateboarding;
Bad, Wilbur, Eret and Sam would never skate, just cause they wouldn't know where to start, but they really admire just how talented and passionate you are at it;
George, Skeppy, Quackity and Niki seem like the type to like to steal your board and sit on it, so they can use it as a car or a "flying carpet" kind of way. But most of the time they slip down and hurt themselves, so you always carry bandages just in case
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