Dream SMP Oneshots

love [wilbur+fundy+sally drabble]

tw// very, very vaguely implied rape/non con, like basically none at all

He loved her in the moonlight.

It had become a habit by then for the young musician to sneak out his window every night at 9 pm and ride his old, rickety bike to the docks, guitar strapped to his back and longing in his eyes.

He loved her with songs, poems, stories about lost nations and broken hearts and fallen kings.

He loved her with every breath, every lungfull of salt water, every second of lost sleep he spent at the ocean in her arms.

He loved her from the deepest depths of the sea to the cliffs he had stepped off of that first fateful night, from the regret and panic he felt moments after jumping to the relief and safety he felt in her embrace when she caught him.

He loved her more than the stars, more than every song he wrote and every story he told and every promise she broke.

She loved him in the darkness.

She loved him thousands of feet underwater, far from any glimpse of the stars overhead, where they couldn't even look into each others eyes.

She loved him with every touch her hands left on his skin (that hurt just as much as they felt like salvation), every whispered promise (that she always broke), every night she lured him back into the water (just so she could watch him fall apart)

She loved him with welcoming arms that dragged him down, down, down, deeper than he could see the surface, deeper than he could swim up without drowning, and still he loved her, leaning into those arms and loving every second of it, no matter how much it hurt.

And she loved the songs and the stories and poems, and she loved his guitar and his voice and the scrappy notebook he wrote his thoughts down in.

And she loved how easy it was for him to unwind, to lend her his voice and his guitar and the scrappy notebook and how easy he fell into her arms every single night, and she loved how easy it was to take the guitar and the stories and poems away until there was nothing left, until he was nothing but hers.

And she loved how easy it was to leave him to berak.

She loved watching the emotion on his face twist from confusion to regret as she dragged him down and then let go, pushing him up towards the surface with a few well-placed kicks.

She loved how easy it was to dart away, not even sparing him a backward glance as he sat on the beach.

She loved him, and left him with nothing.

That night when she left, she took a few things with her.

She took his stories, storing them away in her head every time he told them. She took his poems.

And she took his voice.

For months, he couldn't think. He couldn't turn the mess of love and hurt and regret inside of him into something describable. She watched from afar as he biked to the docks every night with his guitar and notebook, and she watched the words die on his lips and his hand hesitate before the pen touched the paper.

And she loved every second of it.

And he was so broken, so completely and utterly destroyed, that just before the summer season came and forced her to migrate away with the tides, she decided to leave him something.

She left him a little bundle, a small, squirming creature wrapped up in soaking seaweed and a thick coat of fur.

And suddenly, he could love again.

He loved him in the daylight.

He rode his old, rickety bike to the dock every morning, Fundy tucked in front of him, and played in the sand.

He loved him with songs, poems, stories about building nations and young love and new beginnings.

He loved him with every breath of air, from his first to his last, even as his son turned his back and sided with the enemy.

He loved him from the sandy beaches they spent their days to the cliffs they drove past on the way home, from the devastation and loss he felt when he first arrived at the dock that fateful night to the pride and joy he felt every time he saw his son.

And he could love so much, still had so much of it to give even after what she had taken from him.

And he could love so much, despite every broken promise and burning touch and lungful of salt water.

And he could love so much, even though she was gone.

And all the broken promises and burning touches and lungfuls of salt water were worth it, because he had found someone new who needed his love.

So he gave it to him.