Dream SMP Oneshots

He Can Make Me Dangerous😉 -DNF Part 1-

An: So this is a little out of character for them and a bit of an AU? Idk this went completely off track of my initial idea, and much longer too, so enjoy! Longest oneshot so far! Remember to take care of yourself today <3
TW: Violent thoughts

Dream POV

Power feels incredible. Intoxicating. It gave Dream a feeling of complete bliss. Sure, it made him do some questionable and bad things, but every single time this incredible rush would coarse through his veins. And when he got back to George, sweet and oblivious at the time, he knew nothing could come between them. Nobody would dare come between them. Well, until Dream slipped up of course and he found out. He bashed his head against the wall for days after that.

Protect him, you idiot, how did you screw up your one job!

The pain felt incredible! In the prison he dreamed of fixing things, of explaining things so that he could understand why he did it. Maybe even agree with him. They could have run this place together! They will, one day. Because Dream loves the feeling of power, but dear hell it felt even better when he had George by his side. Then it would wrap around him, control him in a sickeningly sweet way. He loved it.

One time Sapnap asked him what it felt like to have done such horrible things. In complete honesty, I couldn't bring myself to give him the answer I knew he wanted. In reality, it gave him a pleasurable feeling- deep in his abdomen. It would curl and swim, giving him a sense of joy to feel those shiver in his memory, cower in his presence. He was impulsive, yes, but he always managed to twist it to work out for him. No matter how dark and crooked the tale became at the end, as long as it worked out for him.

Everyone knew to be aware of what he could do; nobody knew what he could really do, though. That was his own little secret! And it was locked in a safe where only one little boy had the key. One utterly perfect, sunshine of a boy. Who happened to have an affiliation with mushrooms ,to which Dream supplied.

You know, everything has an ending, George would say. Everything has somehow a crooked ending. The same way that when you make a wish with a genie that it comes back and somehow, no matter what you wished for, has a consequence. Even something as innocent as asking for an ice cream cone. You'll probably get it with an eye on top of it, that will blink at you and whisper tales in your ear. Who knows. Dream sure doesn't. He knew that he has caused destruction and pain in the past, like a lot. That he's messed up. Like murdering a child messed up. Like starting a whole war and being a war criminal messed up. So yeah, he messed up badly- well at least that's what people say, in his opinion they should know better. The only reason he believed he messed up himself is the fact that he hurt his favourite being. He made his ray of sunshine wilt in the rain. All because of those who made him out to be a monster. Do they really think locking him up will do them any good? Once he gets out, he'll just be twice as pissed. Twice as pissed equals twice as strong! Twice as strong means twice as powerful~. They all treated him like scum. They made him out to be someone who would only hurt people. And that's not true, he just hurts those who make him feel the need. Calling him a psychopath is quite a stretch in his opinion, and offensive. The prison cells were what they deemed to be the solution. In reality it was only temporary, and everyone knew that. But once again, they didn't know half of what Dream was planning. Every crooked maze in his head leading to an idea, every slowly contaminated part of his body in hot rage. They were right, the prison was punishment, keeping him locked away from the one he loved was anguishing- convincing him to stay away. But see, all he needed was the reminder of what they were holding from him, and that black feeling would coil around his limbs and leak into his mind. It fueled him. But he still had ways to wait until his day of revenge would come, as he sat on the obsidian floor- tailbone in pain. Dream groaned, the lava illuminating the walls in a way that it made every dent or texture noticeable from shadows. He swore he could see plastered, dried blood. This room was quite bland. He had already counted every speck in the stone on the floor.