🦝
"IF YOU COULD ONLY SEE ME NOW."
childhood ; the state of being a child
you only know that word because other people tell you to enjoy it while it lasts,
even when it's never enjoyable
༶•┈┈⚰️┈♛♛┈🕷️┈┈•༶
a dsmp x child ! reader
entirely platonic!
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
> OKAY? <
- HMM -
- DIE -
. . .
TW: CURSING
" BECAUSE I BLAMED YOU-
I SHOULDN'T BLAME YOU. "
--------------
3RD PERSON POV
{Y/n} stared at Tommy, of whom was asleep by 5 am. They didn't sleep for long on the hill, quietly carrying Tommy back inside. He didn't even stir. They put him down on their bed, putting on their leather gloves and walking up to the main floor of the ravine.
L'mandog rushed up to them, tail swinging madly as the large wolf-dog barked. They smiled at it, petting it a few times before climbing up the stairs to the different rooms.
Over the days and maybe even weeks, they had come to realize that more people were joining than they first realized. They met the baker they knew as Niki and a tall, pitch black man with white eyes they had come to know as Bad, or Halo.
They might have seen Quackity slinking around, too. At least, that's what Techno said.
They were nice, although {Y/n} was worried for Tubbo. They knew he was still stationed in L'manburg, unaware of his current position with Schlatt. Mostly because they zoned out during the last part of the election and left early.
They reached the top of the stairs, walking into Techno's potato farm and grabbing some to make actual food. Like, actual seasoned food. Wilbur refused to cook, and Techno just let people season it how they wanted.
Tommy broke a furnace trying to make a cake the other day when he learned it was their birthday a while back. They had fun learning how to not make a cake.
They pranced down the stairs from the farm and to a kitchen, getting to work. They couldn't hear much from being half asleep while cooking, the hitting of feet against the stone making them jump and turn around. It was Wilbur, not wearing his knee-high boots. Barefoot..? So were they, but they had paws.
His coat was tied around his waist, sweater sleeves scrunched to his elbows. His hands were dirty, the fine red dust of redstone powder sprinkled on his hands. Apparently, he had been hard to work on something.
