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thebiggestporridgefan · 2 years

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Child death headcanons

Tw- death, angst, murder, blood, fire, blades (if I missed anything please tell me)

Tommy

He’s in hysterics

He can’t focus on anything but the fact his baby’s dead

You were his world and he lost you so easily to the man he swore he’d never let near his family again

This wasn’t like a nightmare or a hypothetical

Because every time he thought about it he saved you

But he didn’t

Everyone watches in shock as Dream’s sword pierces your chest. You drop to the floor, blood pooling around you. "Y/n/n!" Tommy falls to his knees, holding your lifeless body close to him. "You sick fuck! She didn’t deserve that!" His voice cracks as he screams out his frustrations, his pain to Dream. "Why her?! She’s a little girl! She’s done nothing to you!" Dream doesn’t speak, he only stares on at the bloody scene before him. Techno has to hold Wilbur and Phil back from charging at him and slashing their own blades into him. Tubbo sits on the floor next to Tommy in tears, rubbing his back as he cries. "My baby"

Wilbur

Your death pushed him over the edge

The only thing stopping him from going insane was you

He lost fundy, his little champion but he still had you, his little star. The light of his life

So when you died he fell and fell hard

Bloodcurdling screams rang in his ears as he saw the burnt remnants of your house. Your beautiful flower garden, set ablaze. Your once red roses blackened with smoke, your one pink tulips crisped by the astonishing heat radiating from your house. You died in a fire, a fire Sapnap set. He cradles your charred body, he can feel the touch of people trying to take you from his arms but he doesn’t let them, not his baby. He doesn’t care that the fire was an accident. His little girl’s gone because of him. He’ll join her soon though, he always has.

Phil

He already lost a child and he had to murder him

Then Tommy lost a life too and again, he wasn’t there to help

So when he found he couldn’t protect another one of his kids he was distraught

He always thought a father should protect their kids so when he couldn’t he just couldn’t deal with it

Puffy and Techno have your body wrapped in a blanket and taken to Phil’s. Phil opens the door, seeing them from the window. "Dad…she" his eyes well up with tears and he takes you from his arms. "Y/n/n" the blanket your swaddled in is soaked in blood, your blood. So full of it that it’s nearly dripping onto the floor. His baby. "The banquet" puffy chokes out between tears "Bad…he got to her before we could" "I’m so sorry Phil" he shakes his head, it’s too late for her but not for them "It’s not your fault, you tried to get there. Now we need to get them" he sighs and wipes his own tears away "Anyone in the mood for an omelette?"

Techno

The only time people have seen this man cry

(Except Phil)

He just didn’t want to lose you like he lost everything else he had and apparently that was just too much to ask

After the tears dried though, he saw red

He was absolutely furious and the voices completely took over

A pick axe stands in your chest as blood leaks from the wound. Techno takes out the pick axe and walks towards Quackity. The bastard only stands and smirks, now weapon-less and helpless against the blood god himself. He stands no chance against him, especially mow. It would be so easy to just watch the blood leak from him. ‘Kill him’ ‘Blood for the blood god’ ‘Fucking murder him’ ‘Watch the life drain from his face’ ‘give him what he gave her’ ‘no mercy’ ‘Drive that pickaxe into his heart!’ ‘Blood for the blood god!’ The pickaxe so nearly cuts into his chest but Phil grabs his arm. "She wouldn’t want it Techno! For her! For y/n/n!" He hears your name and snaps out of it. Phil restrains Quackity so he can’t run from the scene as Techno kneels down to cradle your body. Tears make small puddles on your face as he holds you close "My little piglin"

Tubbo/Ranboo

They are in tears

Inconsolable is the only word

Not only did they lose their daughter but they have to tell Michael that you’re gone too

His big sister, his hero was gone

He wouldn’t understand, he’s too little

All he knew was that he has to play knights by himself now

"No. No they’re not gone. She’s only sleeping right boo?" Ranboo holds his husband’s hand as they kneel to hold their child. "Tubbo…" "She can’t be gone yet, it’s too soon for her to go. We still have so much to do and see together" Ranboo holds Tubbo to his chest. "She wanted to see the world" "I’m so sorry guys" Ranboo shakes his head "It’s not your fault Tommy, you…you did the best you could" it’s true, he tried to pull you from the explosion, he really did but Wilbur was too quick to push the button.

He looks at the picture frame and picks it up. He clambers onto Ranboo’s lap and points at her picture. "Y/n/n" he has a curious look on his face as Ranboo’s eyes well up with tears, small droplets burning his skin. "Umm, well y/n/n’s not coming home for a little while" Michael frowns "No y/n/n?" Ranboo nods "No y/n/n" Michael’s eyes well up and he pushes his face into Ranboo’s chest "Why no y/n/n?" His voice comes out muffled from his chest "She’s…she’s gone on a big girl adventure, we can see her again one day" he sniffs and nods. "Love y/n/n" Ranboo nods "I love her too Michael, and I love you" Ranboo wipes away Michael’s tears with the end of his shirt "Love you daddy"

Schlatt

Schlatt already lost Tubbo due to sheer neglect but for you he’d change…right?

He knew his wrongdoings and so he’d turn himself around

Maybe that’s what made your death so truly tragic

He knew he had to stop drinking so why didn’t he?

I suppose he just wasn’t strong enough

"Ugh god what a hangover, y/n! Get me some water!" No response, he groans and stands up and nearly trips on something, a hand, her hand? He rolls his eyes "What are you doin’ on the floor kid?" He peers over his desk only to find the bloody remnants of the night before, cluttered with the shattered whisky bottles and the ash of forgotten cigarettes. "No, y/n/n" no, not even Schlatt would do something like this…right? Not even he’s this reckless to kill his own child…right? He picks her up and she’s long since cold, eyes dead staring up at him almost screaming ‘you did this to me’ he lost his little girl and it’s all his fault.

"You pushed him away from us! It’s your fault I don’t have a brother anymore! He hates me and I hate you!" He smashes a bottle onto the desk, glass flying throughout the room. "Don’t you DARE say anything like that about me ever again! Got it?!" His eyes flare in anger but so do hers. "You can’t deny facts, you’re the reason he’s not here!" "Shut up!" "And I fucking hate you for it!" "Shut up bitch!" "I hate you Jschlatt!" He smashes the bottle onto her head, she collapses to the ground and he collapses into his chair, one will wake up tomorrow and the other will never wake up again.

Quackity

Everything has been taken from him

He wouldn’t let you get taken from him, he couldn’t

But revenge is such a powerful thing and one Dream just couldn’t resist

After all that torture the only logical way to go was either through you, sapnap, George or Karl

And of course he wouldn’t hurt them

So that left you

"Dream please!" She screams as he unsheathes his sword. "Nothing personal y/n, you’re a lovely girl. Your dad on the other hand has a lesson to learn about messing with me. Don’t worry, you’ll be coming back and the pain will only be…agonising"

"Dream!" Quackity let’s out an agonising scream as he sees your body in the middle of las Nevadas. Right there, he was so close to you and he didn’t even know it. You died alone, he promised you’d never be alone but that was the last thing you ever got.

Dream

Dream knows he’s made enemies and had done a good job keeping you out of it

You weren’t involved in any conflict anyway and the server loved you

So no one had a reason to hurt you just because Dream’s your dad

Until doomsday of course

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all

Techno pushes away the rubble of the fallen country to reveal there, his daughter, his baby. "No" he kneels down and strokes her face, tears filling the porcelain mask. "Y/n, I thought she left…I told you to get her out of here!" He turns to Phil in a blinding rage "We thought she was gone mate" he sighs staring at his girl, she didn’t deserve this, to be caught up in his messes and this time it went too far. Way too far. "I’ll bring her back, no matter what"

Ghostbur

Ghostbur’s confused

All he knows is that his blue’s gone and he misses you so, so much

Phil and Techno just had to tell him that you’re on a big adventure and might not be coming home for a while

He writes you letters and asks Phil to deliver them for you

Phil has to stop himself from crying in front of him when he does that

It was an accident, Fundy didn’t mean to shoot you with that arrow, why would he?

But you can’t change the past

"Ghostbur, can we talk to you?" He nods quickly "Of course Phil, what is it?" Techno scratches his neck "Well, Ghostbur it’s about y/n" his eyes light up "Little star, how is she?" "She..she’s gone on an adventure" he smiles "Oh she loves adventures, did she go to the forest? She loves all the little woodland creatures" they both nod "Yeah and she might not be home for a while" he frowns "She didn’t come to say goodbye to me, she usually does before adventures" "Oh she was really busy, she was very excited for this one, she wants to get a gift for friend" Ghostbur grins "Oh she’ll love it, whatever it is if it’s from y/n/n. I hope she has fun" "I’m sure she will, ghostbur"

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aressss1 · 3 years

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Home

(Technoblade x Reader)

Read me on AO3!

You are on a journey. But what if your journey goes differently from what you planned? You wanted loot but you found yourself a mate for life... Oops.

~~~~~~

Sweat dripped down your face, as you trudged through the nether. How any living being could live here was beyond you. Your boots tore through the netherack, as you traveled. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the water in your canteen dried up as soon as you entered this place. As much as you hated the nether… It was a necessity to travel through, to get to the ever-elusive woodland mansion.

You had only ever heard of the mansion, through random whispers, so you decided to buy a map from one of the villagers. Though… Traveling through the nether was difficult for you, and you were starting to run out of obsidian. Making portals to the overworld, only to find that you weren’t even close to your destination.

Sighing, you place down your nether portal, lighting it. You took a peek at the hellish scenery behind you, and you step through, vowing that the first water source you saw would be dry after you got a hold on it. When you opened your eyes, you felt relief at the cool breeze on your skin. You stepped out of the portal, your eyes landing on a lake just a few feet ahead of you. Needless to say, you drank as much water as you could without getting sick, before you went on your merry way through the birch forest you found yourself in. You walked hours, not really wanting to go back into the nether but at this point… The map in your hand still didn’t make sense to you. You followed that magic icon on your map, but it never seemed to budge.

Sighing, you take out your obsidian once more, recreating the portal and lighting it. When you stepped into the portal you walked into the blue forest on the other side. You cursed at your surroundings, while the forests were very pretty… They just slowed you down with how dense some of them were. Enemies could use it to their advantage too. You tightened your bag around your shoulder and walked forward, boots digging into the warped nylium.

You were cautious, hand twitching for your bow and arrow, at any and all sounds around you. Cutting the warped wart in your path you found yourself in a small clearing. It made you hesitate, but you didn’t see anything to be worried about, so your shrugged and kept moving. Making your way to the other side of the clearing you pulled your sword out to cut at the wart in your path. Well… You didn’t get far. The sound of a crossbow string being pulled back, hit your ears and you whirled around.

Another… Human…? No… Not a human. But something in between that of a piglin and a human. Tangled long pink hair spilled down his shoulders, a golden crown adorned the top of his head. A tattered red piece of fabric pooled to the ground. He wore the garb of a piglin brute, and you could see the golden axe hang at his back. His golden eyes pierced through you, daring you to make any type of movement. You didn’t hesitate, you pulled your bow forth notching your arrow, and pulling back the string.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. The two of you stared each other down, through your weapons. Hearts pounding, you felt your shoulders rise and fall, your hand shook where he was calm. He finally spoke, and you didn’t understand him.

Unbeknownst to you, the thing that caught his eye… Was the golden ring on your index finger, glinting at him. ‘Friend?’ He thought lowering his crossbow, you didn’t do the same. He could see you were scared, and he approached you slowly. Even if you yelled things at him that he couldn’t understand. He didn’t care, a measly arrow wouldn’t hurt him, not after all the fights with the other brutes he’d had to become their ruler. Hell, he didn’t even think you could hit him with how bad you were shaking.

He reached out, pushing your bow down, as a way to show he was peaceful. You backed up into one of the trees, as your bow and arrow slipped from your hands. He knew you weren’t of his kind. But to submit so freely? He felt pity for you. You tried pushing away from him when he got too close, but he caught your hand with the ring on it. He fiddled with the tiny ring, almost enthralled with it. You felt his calloused hand cover yours and you could feel the heat rise up to your cheeks.

“D-do you want it?” You said it to get him away from you, to appease him. “You can have i-it.” You grabbed the ring off your finger and held it out for him. “Here…” He looked back and forth between you and the ring, before he spoke again… He sounded as if he said, ‘For me?’, which caused you to nod your head at him…

“Mate…” It was really unfortunate that you couldn’t understand netherspeak… Because as soon as he fit the tiny ring on his pinky finger… It was sealed. The two of you were bound together forever… at least in the piglin world, and piglin’s never left their other half. After he was done studying the ring on his pinky, he got down on one knee, grabbing your hand pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You let out a squeak turning a shade darker before you bowed your head saying your goodbyes to him.

What you didn’t think would happen was… that he would start following you… Wherever you went… You let out a sigh for the umpteenth time. He followed you like a puppy, but you couldn’t keep him. You had no idea what he said to you, he kept calling you something, it was a word you couldn’t pronounce yourself. To him you were his mate, and he would follow you anywhere.

You found yourself panting before too long, the heat was starting to get to you again. You had to sit for a minute, and he sat with you, watching you pant, and rub the sweat from your face. You tried to fan yourself as your eyes finally settled on him. He seemed concerned for you, speaking his own language. Calling you his wife once more.

“Why do you keep calling me that? What does it mean?” You said it more to yourself than to him, you sighed, “You can call me by my name…” You went through the motions with him teaching your name. He seemed to catch on quickly. He tried doing the same with you.

“Technoblade?” You knew you were butchering it, but that’s what his name sounded like in Netherspeak to you. You just couldn’t get his name right. You opted to just keep calling him Techno. He seemed to have an easier time understanding you, learning from you. You pulled out a book from your bag, teaching him how to read your language, it was an old mythology book you had looted from a mineshaft a while back. It was a good thing to have if you were bored. You watched in awe as he seemed to grasp everything you were teaching him. He turned to a random page in the book.

“”Persephone has eaten the fruit of the Underworld,” Hades said coolly, “she must return and rule it with me.”” You marveled at him, while he made some mistakes, that you helped him with, in reading, he really was a natural. When he didn’t know a word he asked you, to help, and he would relish in how close you got to him when you needed to lean over and read the word in the book.

“Here Techno, you can keep this.” You said it slowly, “You can remember me every time you read from it.” He held the book close to his heart.

“…” He watched you get up and dust yourself off. You waved your hand at him, and that caused him to get up himself, and follow you. You put your hand on his chest.

“You have to stay Techno…” You tried reassuring him, he grabbed your hand at his chest his grip tightening on you. “I have to keep going.”

“Stay.” His deep voice rumbled out, and his eyes pleaded with you. You weren’t sure you liked hearing him reply back in your own language… It made things harder now.

“I can’t…” You whispered pulling your hand from his. You couldn’t bear this anymore. You made another portal on the spot; your lack of obsidian be damned, and you lit the portal. Techno growled throwing himself in between you and the portal, his golden axe at the ready. Was he… Protecting you from the portal? A few awkward seconds passed, and nothing happened, and you walked around him putting a hand on the portal. “Techno… This is my way home.”

“Home?” You nodded explaining it to him. It took a few tries until he got it. “Home.” His hand landed on your shoulder. You shook your head, still not getting the fact that he had claimed you as his mate.

“Your home is here Techno. I am not your home.” You stepped into the portal, and you gave him a pitiful look as he reached toward you. Hoping he wouldn’t follow, you disappeared through the portal in front of him. He panicked looking everywhere for you. His mate had suddenly vanished, and he hesitantly touched the purple substance in the portal, his hand going through. He stepped forward as you had. It was a rush, emotions hitting him all at once he fell into the overworld, his arms hitting the ground. Nausea hit him all at once, and he looked around at the foreign world before him, the world spun around him.

“Oh gods… Techno.” He felt relief at your voice. You worried for him, usually when piglins left the nether, they zombified… You put your hand on his back, as you kneeled next to him. You didn’t want him to turn in to a zombie…

Techno was fighting to keep consciousness; bile rose to the back of his throat and his mind started filling with voices. They were so loud… Why were they so loud? They spoke to him in netherspeak. Were these the voices of piglins who had already met their fate? Did you hear these voices too? His body burned in the sunlight, not to an extreme extent but it felt hotter than all those years in the nether. He could pick your voice out through the voices filling up his mind. His head hurt and he finally collapsed on the ground. You really didn’t know what to do. He reached for you.

“Mate…” He weakly sputtered out reaching for your hand. You stood from him, as he passed out, disbelief lining your features. What did he say to you? You stepped away from him, turning from him. You didn’t make it five steps before you stopped to look back at him… You couldn’t just leave him there… You didn’t have the heart to.

So… You pulled him to a shady area, and you watched over him. Relief flooded over you as you felt his pulse. He was well past the time of becoming zombified, at least for a normal piglin, could hybrids zombify? You had no idea. You just sat with him for hours, until he woke up.

When his eyes cracked open you gave out a sigh of relief. He pulled you to him wrapping you in his arms as he warily looked around the two of you. It had gotten dark, so you set up camp for the night, building a fire for the both of you. You were in the middle of cooking baked potatoes for the two of you.

“Home?” He asked, his chin resting on your head. You hesitated… Remembering how he had called you home earlier. Now you knew what he meant.

“Not exactly.” You pushed yourself off of him, your eyes looking anywhere but him. “I’m far away from my home.” He seemed to process your words… He could understand you better, but only because a voice in the back of his mind translated your words to him…

He just sat and watched you for a while, as you poked at the potatoes on the fire. He was curious, the food smelled delicious to him. It was then when you held out a potato for him to take, did he get to taste the cooked vegetable, let’s just say… He loved it. The expression on his face made you chuckle, and you offered yours up to him, after you put more potatoes on the fire. He wasn’t done with his own potato.

“Take mine.” You offered to him. “I’ve got more coming.”

“Eat.” His voice got serious. “Mate, eats first.”

“Techno…” You sigh, “Why are you calling me your mate?” You looked in his golden eyes that softened every time they looked at you.

“Gold,” He held his pinky finger up in the air showing the ring you had given to him. “Rit-ual,” He looked as if he was listening to someone, and they were telling him what to say. You were stunned at his words… Because you gave him gold… You were now his mate… The thought made your head spin.

“Okay…” You didn’t know what to do at this point. Maybe you should have just left him? Maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament. “If I hadn’t given you that ring, would you have killed me?” He looked away in thought.

“Yes.” The thought of it made your heart sink. “I will pr-otect you always.” You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest… He had already gone this far for you… Leaving the nether was a huge risk and he was lucky he was hybrid, or he would have been a zombie.

“What happens when a piglin loses their mate?” You asked. “Like if they die?” It took Techno a second to respond.

“We join them.” He said it so casually, you bit your lip. “Nothing will happen.” His words brought a smile to your face.

“Technoblade never dies eh?” You joked with him, and he nods.

“Technoblade never dies.” He loved your name for him, and he would cherish it forever.

Technoblade didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He wanted so badly to give you the affection you deserved, but you shut him down almost immediately. He gave you the things you wanted, pretty ‘flowers’ as you called them. He made sure you were taken care of. He studied your reactions, and while you were resistant to his affections… He knew that he had an affect on you. He could read it on your face, or even smell when he aroused you. But you were still resisting him. He hated it.

He continued trying to please you, and you were too wrapped up in the mansion to notice. It wasn’t like you ignored him, quite the opposite really… You just didn’t want to reciprocate feelings, at least not yet. But you loved teaching him what things were, teaching him how to speak properly. He listened to every word you taught him. You loved brushing through his pink tresses as well.

The voices were immensely helpful at times, even if they were annoying. Telling him what to say and reminding him what things were when he couldn’t remember. But… They started calling for blood. They were aggressive… And he took his aggressions out when he hunted for meat, which helped, but his bloodlust always came back. He feared they would turn on you next.

He followed you blindly, days turned into weeks and the end of your journey came. The two of you stood in front of the mansion. After all that time… You were now standing in front of the mansion. You were going to burn it to the ground after you were done. The two of you went through that mansion, killing enemies left and right. Well… Mostly Technoblade. You sat there on the top floor of the mansion as you watched him go ham.

He was the most graceful fighter you had ever seen. He had grown on you, and you found yourself thinking about him more and more. You wanted to be with him, and in that moment, everything clicked for you. Taking down that mansion went quickly. You had gotten a few totems and you realized that… You didn’t even want the loot anymore. You wanted Techno. When the two of you searched the place through and through you lit it all on fire. The two of you stayed to watch it burn.

“What do we do next?” Techno asked his golden eyes flicking to you.

“We go home.”

“Home?”

“Yup.” You turned toward him, a blush spreading on your cheeks. “You’re my home now Techno.” You hoped to get loot from this trip, but as it turns out, that wasn’t the important part of this whole journey. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, stepping on your tip toes to boost yourself up. You pressed your lips to his, eyes fluttering closed as you felt his arms wrap around your waist to pull you flush up against him.

This world was foreign to Techno, but kissing you felt like the most natural thing to him. You were his, and he was yours. No matter where you went, he would follow. He loved you, loved how you taught him things, loved how you brushed through his hair every morning. You set him free. Free from the fiery gates of hell as you put it.

He wanted to explore this world with you. Even as you pulled back from him, he savored in the fact that you never pulled away from him. Not even as the two of you found yourself wrapped in each other’s arms for the night. It felt right. This world was where he was supposed to be because you were here. He was home.

#mcyt x reader #technoblade x reader #c!techno x reader #technoblade/reader #home #fluff and light angst #accidental bonding

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justdissimp · 3 years

Text

Only for him

Character(s): Dream (Clay)

Warnings: f!reader, explicit sexual themes, unprotected sex, virgin kink, corruption kink?

(I´m sorry please tell me if i forgot something! I´m very bad at giving CW)

Word count: 1.1 k

A/N: this has the potential to be extended in the future! might do that tbh idk tho. no promises

I just know Dream would get so turned on by the thought of you being a virgin. Being all pure and innocent, all for him to ruin. Only for him. He´d go gentle at first kissing you softly and carefully running his hands up and down your sides, occasionally going down to rub your thighs. Drinking in your flushed expression, cheeks red with embarrassment from lying bare under him.

He´d start kissing your neck and gently nipping at your sensitive skin, soft gasps and pants leaving your swollen lips. But when he finally started caressing your inner thighs, only moving towards your burning core at an agonizing pace, you start squirming under him. The anticipation of finally feeling his hands on you getting too much, a soft whine slipping past your lips.

Embarressed you brought your hand up to your mouth to stop another sound from escaping. He´d just smiled at you, retreating one hand from your thigh to pull yours away from your mouth. You shaked your head at him.

"´S embarrassing", you tried to reason.

He only shook his head in response, telling you what you already knew - he wanted to hear you. Putting his hand back on your thigh the torture started again, his hands never lingering in one spot, only grazing over your skin, making goosebumps run up and down your spine. It seemed like he was scared to touch you. As if you were made of porcelain, at risk to break if he touched you any more than this.

Truth be told: he couldn´t wait to ruin you. Make you sob and scream his name at the top of your lungs. All he wanted was to grab your hips and rut into you, leaving your legs shaking, unable to walk tomorrow. The fact that nobody had ever touched you before, nobody had ever seen you like this, him being your first almost made him throw all common sense he had out the window and fuck you into oblivion.

Almost.

He´d never want to hurt you, which was the reason he hadn´t actually touched you for 20 minutes already. He feared that as soon as he heard your first moan he´d snap and take you as you were.

"Please- ", he heard you whine his name, "I can take it, I promise! I can´t- You.. Please touch me Clay."

Groaning at your pleading, how your voice so angelic even when you were all needy and whiney. His resolve melting upon hearing your soft please for him. Finally comlplying he sunk a finger into you, groaning again as he felt your walls clench around him. Quickly inserting another digit, your heat enveloping him, he drew in a shaky breath and had to close his eyes to focus on not losing it right then and there.

You drew in a sharp breath when you felt his fingers reach a spot that felt different from the rest. Clay noticed and thrusted his fingers into it again. A cry escaping you as he entered a third finger, and directed them towards that spot again.

Whimperes now continuisely leaving your parted lips, you instictively raised your hand to stop the noises again. But before your hand could even reach your face Clay had gripped your wrist and pinned it next to your face. "Don´t. Hold. Them. In." He growled befor kissing you again, his fingers never stopping in their thrusts, the palm now grinding into your clit.

You moaned into the kiss and Clay bit your lip in response to it. Sliding his tongue in your mouth he instantly overpowered you, not that you minded. Pulling apart gasping for air you looked at him, pupils blown wide, puffy and bruised lips slightly parted as an almost pornographic moan left them. Your back lifted off the bed as you pushed your hips further into his hand.

"Clay, I- ", interruping yourself with a whine when he suddenly pulled his hand away from you, you stared up at him, brows furrowed. "What? Why- ", shooshing you he leaned into your neck, raspy voice next to your ear mumbeling, "If you´re gonna cum tonight it´s not gonna be on my fingers. At least not the first one." You shuddered, his quiet voice sending another wave of heat straight in between your legs.

After hearing his belt clink as it fell to the floor you felt the bed dipp again when he once more kneeled above you. His hands rubbed up and down your thighs, this time applying more pressure to the soft flesh he leaned down towards your neck again. Kissing your collarbone and neck he pumped himself a few times, smearing the precum before lining up with you. Lifting his face from your neck to lock eyes with you as he asked for permission again. You nodded but he insisted “No, I need to hear you say it.”

You shakily replied “Please, Clay please fuck me. I´m all yours. I´ll take it.” He groaned at your choice of words finally sliding into you. You hissed at the light sting, despite the preparation. Your hands clenching around the sheets as you pulled your lower teeth between your teeth.

He stayed still, giving you a chance to adjust only starting with small thrusts after you gave him a nod. Hunching over he buried his face in your neck once more, leaving several marks as he went. But when you lifted your hands to his shoulders digging your nails into his shoulders and telling him to “go faster”, “more” his brain instantly fogged up and his thrusts started to become deeper and erradic.

Soon you felt the knot in your stomach tightening again, leaving red marks down Clay´s back as you cried out his name. His hips stuttered as he came inside you, he brought a hand between the two of you to press harsh circles into your clit. Your legs trembeling as your high finally approached, your walls clenching around Clay´s already softening cock. Pulling out of you he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before getting up to run a bath.

When he picked you up from the bed you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his sweaty scent. “What was that about ´at least not the first time´”, you asked with a grin spreading on your face. A small rumble emerged from his chest. “Next time princess. We wouln´t want to actually break during your first time, would we?”

You weren´t sure if that was supposed to be a promise or a threat.

A/N: this is my first time actually writing something and i- ouuuf it was so hard to write over 1k words so ill probably stick to shorter braindumps like technos for now (300-500 words)

Big shoutout to my bestie @008luna008 for proofreading!!! I wouldn´t say she stayed up til 1.40 for me but she kinda did? (It´s not like you would´ve actually gotten to bed earlier tho)

#mcyt #mcyt smut #mcytblr #dream #dream smut #dream smp #dream/reader #dream/reader smut #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #smut #mels red-hours

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Note

Heya. I know that requests are closed and I totally respect if you ignore this because of that. Two hours ago my dog had a seizure and my mom and I are currently in the parking lot of the emergency vet waiting for an update. I’m normally “the rock” for my family (if that makes sense) when shit hits the fan, so I feel like I need to hide my panic so my mom doesn’t worry more. I claimed to need to use the restroom (there’s those portable bathrooms outside) but I’m actually just having a panic attack on a stairway nearby. Most of my friends are asleep or offline right now so I don’t have anyone to help ground me. I know my mom would, but she’s already dealing with enough. Your writing has never failed to calm me down or cheer me up, so I was wondering if you could maybe make headcannons or something about how texts or a quick phone call with the SBI would go and how they would help a teen friend who’s going through this situation.

I don’t want you to feel pressured to do this because of guilt or anything of the sort. I understand that requests are closed, but I thought it was worth shooting my shot. So it’s completely okay if you ignore this.

(A/N): I wrote this as fast as I could, so there might be a few mistakes here and there. I really hope your dog gets better soon and nothing major is wrong with them, I’ll keep you guys in my thoughts. If you wanna talk about it, my DMs are always open love <3

Warnings: mentions of dog seizures, vets, panic attacks

Your pleasant day had gone so wrong so fast

You had a blast hanging out with your neighbor and childhood friend Techno and his brothers

You spent most of the day at the park hanging out and generally goofing around

That was until you received a phone call from your mother

She was in a panic telling you to come home, telling you that there was something wrong with your dog

You quickly excused yourself by telling them that your mom wanted you home as soon as possible suddenly and ran home in tears when you were out of their line of sight

When you were running you could feel yourself being filled with dread

Your chest felt tight as you fought off a panic attack, you needed to be strong for your mom

You were her rock

It was only natural to comfort her, she helped you so much with your anxiety and panic attacks even when facing her own troubles and stress

So you did your best to stifle your panic

When you got home, you could hear the loud sobbing of your mother, the faint sound of heavy breathing, and rustling

The sight in the living room broke your heart

Your beloved pet was on the floor having a violent seizure while your mother was looking on in horror

You quickly took action, moving the stuff around the dog away from it

The only thing you could do was wait it out, so you made quick work of comforting your mother

After the seizure, your dog was looking around confusedly and whining slightly

He seemed very tired

Doing some research, you found out that it was best to let the dog rest after such a seizure because it takes a lot of energy out of it

The nearest emergency vet was about ten minutes away so you picked up your dog and escorted your mom to the car

You drove to the vet, your mom was too distraught to drive

The vet immediately took him in and got to work, leaving you and your mom in the car waiting for an update on the pooch

She had calmed down for the most part, but you could still feel the panic brewing in your chest threatening you with a full blown panic attack

You held it off so you could be strong for your mother, but you were spiraling and fast

When it got to the point where you couldn’t hold it back anymore, you quickly excused yourself to the portable bathrooms

You ducked into an abandoned staircase and the panic attack quickly reared its ugly head

Your breaths came out in short hyperventilations, your chest feeling like an elephant was sat on it

You couldn’t breathe

When it got to the point where you were dry heaving, you knew that this one wasn’t one that you could calm yourself down from

You had to call someone

Your mom was immediately out of question, even if she would gladly help you

In your point of view, she had enough to worry about

Your best bet would be to call Techno

You had extreme difficulty finding his contact because your vision was tunneled and blurred and your hands were shaking, but you eventually found it

He and his brothers should still be at the park

You felt guilty for calling, but you knew you needed help and Techno and his brothers were your best bet

“Hey (y/n), uh is everything alright with your mom? You left in a hurry.” Techno saw his twin and Tommy look at him in question. He wove them off.

He was only met with heavy breathing and sobbing from your end, which worried him to no end. He knew damn well about your anxiety and panic attacks, in fact he was the one that encouraged you to open up to your mom about it and ask her for therapy sessions. He’s calmed you down from enough panic attacks to know exactly what to do to help you.

“Hey you’re alright,” he cooed to you in a soft voice, “take deep breaths. Where are you?” His brothers looked at him in alarm. They also knew about your panic attacks as you were basically like another sibling to them. Wilbur grabbed the car keys and the three made a dash towards the family car.

“Techno…” Your breathless and strained whimper on the other end made his heart break for you. “Where are you?”

When you told him that you were at the nearby emergency vet, he could feel his heart sink. Your dog was growing older and older and his health was declining. That dog was with you two through thick and thin when your family got him in middle school. You were seniors in high school now, so that dog was old for his breed.

“We’re on our way, just hang on tight buddy. What’re five things you can see?”

After you got through the 5-4-3-2-1 technique, you still were in the midst of an intense panic attack and it worried Techno to no end. Usually you would be calmed down by now. Luckily, they arrived at the vet and quickly found a parking space.

You could hear running coming towards you and looked up to see the brothers running towards you. Techno kneeled next to you and attempted to give you a smile, “we’re here. Is it okay for me to touch you?” At your nod, he grabbed your hand and put it on his chest. “Breathe with me, okay? Do you think you can do that for me?” You didn’t respond to him. Your hazy eyes darted to his face when he gently called your name and asked you again. You nodded making him smile at you, “good, we’re gonna do the 4-7-8 breathing technique,” he told you softly, “do you remember that? You breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold it for seven, and exhale slowly through your mouth for eight. I’ll do it with you,” he took in a deep breath through his nose and you tried to follow suit but failed. Your breathing was just too erratic.

“Tech, I-I can’t. I…”

“Hey you can do this, I know you can. Let’s try again, it takes time to even out breathing.” He said something to his brothers you couldn’t hear and they ran off. “Deep breath in,” he breathed in and you tried to follow him, “hold,” you held in the breath for about two seconds, “and out,” the breath ripped itself from your lungs. “You’re doing so good, I’m proud of you (y/n).”

The breathing continued for a bit with you getting nowhere before you heard the boys return. They had a couple of ice cold water bottles in their hands. Techno let go of your hand and grabbed one of them. He turned to you with an encouraging smile, “okay, we’re gonna try something new. I’m gonna have you touch this, is that alright?”

You reached out with a shaky hand to touch the plastic and jolted slightly at the temperature, a gasp ripping itself from your lungs and your eyes focusing slightly better than before. “I’m gonna run this up and down your arms, focus on the feeling of the temperature and the feeling.” As he ran the bottle down your arms, you could feel your heart rate drop at the temperature and your heated skin cooling down. Your breathing eventually evens itself out leaving you panting and shakily reaching up to wipe at your tears.

“Are you good now?” You nodded and leaned against the brick wall tiredly. An open water bottle was put into your hands. You drank it and relished in the feeling of the ice cold drink slithering down your throat. It even heightened your senses.

Wilbur sat on your other side and slung an arm over your shoulders, giving you a side hug. Tommy sat across from you while Techno sat on your other side holding your hand, lazily rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Do you wanna talk about what caused this?” You nodded and told the three everything that happened today and why you were at an emergency vet.

After you finished telling them, Wilbur turned to give you a full hug. Your face was against his chest, faintly you noted that he smelled like grass with hints of earth. “He’s gonna be alright. He’s a fighter, do you remember when he ate that bee?” You nodded, remembering that even if he was swollen, his tail was still wagging and he was as happy as he could be. He recovered quickly from that, never once losing his excited and loving personality. You thought about how even in the car he was licking away your mother’s tears and nuzzling into your hand even though he was exhausted.

“That dog has lived through so much health shit,” Tommy chimed in, “a seizure isn’t gonna take him out anytime soon.”

They stayed there for a while with you giving you reassurances and reminiscing on stories of him until you felt better

Eventually you had to go back to the car to wait with your mother, so they left to go to their house

Your dog was returned to you and your mom with the instruction to give him some medicine and come back for further examination

They didn’t find the cause for the seizure, which bothered you but relieved you that he was alright

When you got home, it was late at night and you honestly felt so drained

The next day, your dog was still slightly tired but he was slowly returning to his playful nature as the day progressed

When you were laying in the grass in the backyard with him reading a book, you saw Techno poke his head over the fence and smile at you. “Hey, how’s (dog name)?”

You ran your fingers through his fur as he slept peacefully, “he’s doing better. The vet still doesn’t know what’s going on with him, but he’s still himself.”

“We’re having some cookies and lemonade over here, do you wanna come over? (Dog name) can come too.”

“You’re more than welcome, (y/n)!” You could hear Philza’s voice chime out from their backyard. You got up and (dog name) followed you into their backyard slowly. They were sitting at the picnic table that was there since you and Techno were kids. The paint had long since chipped and faded with each year that passed. Tommy loudly cheered while Wilbur and Philza gave you gentle smiles as you walked next to Technoblade.

You sat next to Techno and a glass of lemonade was placed in front of you. (Dog name) laid at your feet and resumed his nap. You grabbed a cookie and took a bite, humming at the taste of your favorite flavor dancing across your tongue.

Being with the family was something that always made your worries fade away into nothingness and get replaced by lighthearted and refreshing happiness. You spent most of the day laughing with the family and petting your sleeping dog. Everything was going to be okay with them.

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #requests #hellion's requests #tw: swearing #tw: panic attack #tw: animal injury #tw: anxiety #tw: seizure

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peachy-rambles · 3 years

Note

Peachy xir,,, can we please get some fluff?? As a treat?? We need the serotonin. the happy brain juice if u will.

Fluff as per requested! I hope you like Michael because I was in the mood to write him UwU

---

Michael loved his grandparents!

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should call them his Elders, to show them respect. But he liked grandparents better!)

Grandpa Phil and Grandpa Techno were the best!

They visited him a lot when his dads were busy, so Michael wasn't always alone. Usually when they visited, they brought him lots of gifts and Michael's dads even let him go outside with his grandparents sometimes! He always had lots of fun with them and he loved them so much.

Michael was still learning Common and mostly knew Piglin, so sometimes it was hard to talk to other people, including his dads. But Grandpa Phil and Techno both knew Piglin! Phil couldn't speak it ("He has the wrong vocal chords," Grandpa Techno had told Michael), but he understood it and would listen to Michael babble in Piglin. He'd nod along and talk with him in Common. But Grandpa Techno knew Piglin AND could speak it! It was so easy to talk to Grandpa Techno and Michael loved hearing Techno tell him stories in Piglin.

Both his grandparents had lots of great stories! Sometimes they told him about an ancient Empire they once ruled together, sometimes they told him about adventures they had before their Empire or sometimes adventures they had by themselves. (He didn't like those stories as much. He liked it better when they told him stories when they were with each other.)

Michael learned that Grandpa Phil was really good at making clothes. He usually had some new clothes for Michael when he visited and had even made a little red cloak for him that looked just like Grandpa Techno's! The gold eyepatch Michael wore outside sometimes to cover his missing eye had been made by Phil too. Michael loved all the clothes Grandpa Phil made him, they were always so warm and comfy, and perfect.

Grandpa Techno always had lots of gold for Michael. The first piece of gold he'd ever given Michael was one of many gold rings Techno used to wear on his fingers. It had been the first time Michael had met him (it hadn't been the first time they met, it was just the first time Michael remembered) and Michael had been sitting in Techno's lap, fascinated by the gold rings Techno wore.

Before Grandpa Techno had left, he'd taken off one of the rings (the one with a small white diamond inlaid in it) and slipped it onto Michael's small wrist.

Michael had been so overjoyed because somehow he knew exactly what Techno's gift meant - that Techno had accepted Michael as his family, that Michael was a part of his Sounder and that Techno was a part of Michael's.

Techno brought Michael lots more gold after that, but the ring was still Michael's favorite and he treasured it.

One time when his grandparents came over, Grandpa Techno was holding a small blanket in his arms and Michael could smell an unfamiliar scent coming off of it.

Techno had kneeled down to show Michael the blanket and in it, a small white face had peered back at Michael.

It was a baby polar bear.

Michael had never seen an animal like it before and was fascinated by the small cub. He spent the day being supervised by his dads and grandparents, playing with the cub and by the end of the day, he'd fallen asleep with it curled up by his side.

He got to keep the polar bear and named it "Mimi".

While Michael loved when his grandparents visited him, and all the gifts they gave him, his favorite thing to do with them was go outside.

His dads didn't trust the outside world, had warned them that it was dangerous and there were scary people who wanted to hurt him. But they knew they couldn't keep Michael inside forever and would sometimes take him out for walks. But they were usually busy most of the time, so sometimes when his grandparents visited, they'd buddle him up in his warm winter clothes and take him outside into Snowchester.

Mimi would always come with them, attached on a lead that Techno or Michael would hold onto. They'd play in the snow, running around and making snowmen. Grandpa Phil even started a snowball fight once when he threw a snowball at Grandpa Techno. Michael had lots of fun that day and laughed as they all threw snowballs at each other.

A few times his grandparents brought him outside of Snowchester, to see the rest of the land.

Michael will never forget the first time they all stepped through a Nether portal and into the Nether.

It was so pretty and amazing, and the place felt strangely familiar to Michael! But they didn't stay there long, walking to another portal to bring them to his grandparents home.

He liked his grandparents home. There were a lot more animals there that Michael got to see and he got to play with all of their dogs. He even got to see some puppies that had just been born and hold one!

His grandparents had lots of cool stuff and so many books inside their house. Michael still couldn't read Common yet, but Grandpa Phil gifted him a few of their books and promised to read them with him back at Michael's house.

(Grandpa Techno had slipped in a book he said was called the Princess Bride and that it was his favorite, but that Michaeal could not tell anyone. Michaeal nodded vigorously and promised, just as long as Techno promised to read it to him.)

His grandparents also showed Michael their weapons and equipment while Michael was at their home. Grandpa Techno even showed Michael all the different types of swords he'd made himself.

"Will you make me a sword when I get older?" Michael asked him.

"No," Grandpa Techno had said and laughed when Michael pouted, "I'll teach you how to make your own sword. Every Piglin gets taught at some point in their lives how to make their own weapons."

Michael did in fact, already have his own gold sword back home, but it was very old and not usable. His dads told him that he had it when they found him, but Michael doesn't remember how he got it or why.

Michael doesn't remember anything before his dads, actually.

His dads told him that he was really sick dead, he'd been a lifeless zombie and just an empty husk when they found him, and was for a long time. But Grandpa Techno gave his dads a special golden apple that made Michael all better. Michael still only had one eye and one ear, but the rest of him was fine. He wasn't sick at all anymore and was really healthy.

He couldn't remember anything from when he was sick or anything before then, but that was ok, it didn't bother him. His dads and grandparents assured him it was fine and he believed them.

He was happy - he had his dads, his chicken and Mimi, he had his Uncle Tommy and Aunt Niki, and he had his grandparents! He was happy with his family - his Sounder - and that's all he cared about.

But he did miss his grandparents because they hadn't visited him in a while. He started to get worried and even Mimi sensed it, getting anxious and pacing around the house most days. His dads didn't tell him anything, not even when he asked where his grandparents were.

But then, one day they showed back up!

They looked...a little different. They were wearing their armor and had their weapons on them, they even had a few bags with them. They took their armor off and put their weapons away when they came inside, and Michael saw that Grandpa Techno had a new scar on his face, with bandages on his arms. When Michael asked if he was ok, Grandpa Techno just shrugged and said he got into a bad fight with a mean "authoritative" Creeper.

Michael spent the day inside with his grandparents. He would've preferred to go outside, but he hadnt seen them in so long that he was happy just to be with them.

Grandpa Phil cooked them dinner while Grandpa Techno let Michael tell him about all the things he'd missed while he was gone. He kept talking even during dinner and didn't touch his food much, too excited to eat. His grandparents didn't seemed to mind and listened to him with a smile on their faces.

After dinner, they all huddled up in Michael's bed, Phil holding Michael and Techno holding both of them as Techno read the Princess Bride to them. They all ended up falling asleep like that and that's how Ranboo and Tubbo found them when they got back home.

"Michael's going to be really happy when he finds out they're going to be living here," Ranboo said, smiling at them.

"I know. That's why I agreed to let them stay here until things die down," Tubbo commented with his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't exactly happy with the situation, but he knew it was the best considering the circumstances. Afterall, why would Sam or Quackity look for their escaped prisoner in Snowchester of all places? Especially since it was known that Techno and Tubbo were enemies.

They weren't, but no one outside of their family needed to know that.

Because they were all a family now - a Sounder, in Piglin terms - and looked out for each other, would protect each other where their past families hadn't. They wouldn't fail like before and would stick together.

(Michael was, in fact, overjoyed when he found out the next morning that his grandparents would be living with him from now on. The adults all smiled at him as he ran around the room in excitement, completely unaware as to the true reasons to this change. He was simply content that he wouldn't be alone in the house anymore and would spend lots more time with some of his favorite people.)

#techza #technophil #peachy wrote a thing #peachy fic prompts #this is kinda a mess and rambly #but i wanted to just get my idead down #also it's from michael's pov he's like 3 lmao #the mind if a child is simple and sometimes a mess #(that's the excuse i'm using anyway)

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

---------------------

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

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downywrites · 3 years

Text

Purpled is interrogated about his linkage to the alien things that have been randomly appearing everywhere. Unfortunately for him, he genuinely has no clue. Aka, just an excuse for lee Purpled. Literally.

Ayo, mates! My requests are still open, if anyone wants anything written!

The whole alien theme was getting out of hand, in Philza’s opinion. The bird man couldn’t find a single place that hadn’t been affected by either the egg or the suspicious alien structures that kept popping up everywhere. They were pretty, but they were a nuisance otherwise. Tommy had been recently complaining of them appearing in front of his house, blocking his way out directly. Tubbo and Ranboo had complaints of the same caliber, having to blow the structure up with a few well-placed pieces of dynamite in order for them to get to their respective places of work on time. Techno had also spoken of random failed ship specimens slamming into him before, although the veracity of that claim is still hotly debated at the dinner table. Nonetheless, it was a problem. A very large, relatively irritating problem. And he knew one of the most likely causes was walking around the area at this very moment.

He scanned the area, sharp eyes undulled by the years scouring the grasslands. A small speck of purple made him grin. There he was.. Purpled. The alien hybrid was known to be a wanderer of his species, getting stranded on the SMP after his UFO failed to take flight again. Then, almost mysteriously, it disappeared. (As in, it blew up, and everyone tried to ignore the shrapnel that landed surreptitiously on their houses.) He had taken to wandering around, fiddling with the extra structures lying about with a look of indifference and a slight flicker of confusion, which added onto the SBI’s belief that he knew what they were, at the very least. Thankfully for the eagle hybrid, the alien usually didn’t pay attention to his surroundings when not in the field of battle. The key word there was usually, though. If he didn’t time his ‘attack’ correctly, he might get a wingtip chopped off by his quick-access dagger. Kneeling low to the ground, he slowly moved closer to the younger of the two. The other didn’t seem to notice, lounging about underneath the shade of a specifically tall tree. A bee landed on his face as he did, but he seemed to not notice, too absorbed in his thoughts. Perfect. The grass gently whacked his face as he slunk closer. Closer….a little more….

Purpled shrieked at the sudden sensation of being tackled to the floor, hand automatically reaching for his knife holster. His eyes shot open to stare straight into bolt blue. “What the fuck?!?” “Sorry mate, I thought you’d run away from me if I walked up to you normally.” He spluttered, mind quickly processing the absurdity of that statement. “So you tackled me instead?” Philza grinned from above him. “I mean, sounds about right.” Purpled narrowed his eyes at him. Wariness was a part of his genes, and he sure as hell didn’t think now would be a good time to let down his guard. “We’ve been wondering what the alien sculptures were. Y’know, the ones that keep miraculously appearing in the mornings. Half-startled the shit out of some of my pals.”

“Uh huh.” The alien deadpanned at the other, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “And this is the reasoning behind tackling me because…?” “I thought you’d know. It does look like you’re familiar with the markings and stuff on the sides of it. Is this true?”: The avian tightened his grip ever so slightly, in the hopes that he would take the hint and answer the question in a straightforward manner. “...Well, I don’t believe I can help you with that. I am not of that species of alien.”

It was Philza’s turn to deadpan at him. He cocked a corn-silk colored eyebrow at him, all playfulness forgotten in the staredown that he and Purpled were currently engaging in. “No, really. What’s going on, mate?”

“First of all, I’m not your mate, and second of all, I still don’t know. What, do you think I can magically glean things from markings?” Philza scoffed slightly. “Doesn’t your species do that? You know, your clothing and your fancy underskin lights?”

“Well,” Purpled answered, matter of fact tone slowly driving the hardcore warrior up the wall, “Our underskin lights and clothes don’t always match up, either. Do humans not have accents or...what was it?...dialects. Yes, that’s the word.”

Philza retorted, “I thought you were a child of your species. How the hell did you even get here, anyways? Do you think your family’s out looking for you? Is that why you don’t know anything outside of your species?” His words struck home.

A small spark of anger lit up in the backs of the alien hybrid’s eyes, pushing at Philza with a strength the other didn’t know he possessed. When he spoke again, his voice was brittle like ice frosting over wood. “My family didn’t want a mutant like me.” The avian felt a pang of empathy for him, loosening his hold a little. His eyes softened, a look of pity slowly growing on his face. The alien didn’t seem to like that very much. In a blur of purple and moss green cloak, Phil found himself smothered by his own garments, his prey’s footsteps leaving him behind. He shoved it off himself, trotting in the same direction to catch up. “Hey! Get back here!” The sound of his footsteps on the pavement echoed slightly, catching his attention. With a powerful beat of his wings, he boosted himself onto the street, sandals making a screeching noise as they made contact with the cobble. A small shape in his line of sight made him ready himself for another boost, wing muscles rippling and wind blowing his family braid around.

Purpled thought he was safe. He had done everything to plan. It was all within his calculations. That was, until the sound of wing beats caught his attention. ‘Can he fly still? I thought his wing was damaged? Oh shit!’ He pushed himself a little more, panting from exertion. He was tempted to use his own to get away, but he shoved the idea back down to the pit of hell it came from. ‘Oh, fuck no. Not dealing with that trauma chapter today.’ He swiveled his antennae around, straining to hear wingbeats… or any noise, for that matter. Confused, he slowed down to a jog, scanning the area for his pursuer. “Where..?” Suddenly, the world careened sideways. He found himself in a very familiar situation. “Uhhh...hi?” “Hello, mate. And sorry, mate.” The hardcore warrior unbottled a potion quickly, the grey potion swishing around as he did so. WIth a flick of his wrist, he poured it over the boy below him. The cold tingle of the potion made him yelp and buck under him. “No! What are you doing?!?”

As the potion’s effects began to make itself known, Purpled’s mind began to fog up, drowsiness slowly suffusing through his body. “If you won’t tell me straight up, I’ll have to enlist some help in finding out.” The alien wanted to retort, but the words stuck in his throat. Against his volition, his eyes began to flutter shut, his focus shifting from trying to push him off to just keeping himself awake. Philza decided to be a little daring. Before he lost his nerve, he pushed his hands through the boy’s platinum-blonde hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

If he had any last fight in him, it dissipated. With a small whine, the boy’s eyes shut fully and did not open again, his chest rising and falling with his slow breathing. “There we go. And now, I just need to recruit my boys to help me get to the bottom of this mystery. No more of those stupid scupltures, not if I can help it.”

“Seriously, are we just going to wait until he wakes up?”

“How else would we get him to wake up? Prime, Techno. Who do you think we are, brutes?”

Through the thinnest slit of sight he could, Purpled glanced at the menagerie of people nervously, hoping fervently that his antennae haven’t given away his consciousness. With the slightest movements of his limbs,he tested the bonds tying him down to the table. He was slightly grateful for the position, seeing that it had kept him from being in the direct line of sight of the duo next to him. The partially spread-eagle position still kept him in a state of unease, instincts screaming into his ears to struggle, to escape. The two people arguing sounded familiar. ‘Wilbur and Techno, maybe?’ It sounded similar, although he was pretty sure he was used to hearing the softer tones of the former’s voice from Ghostbur.

The only sight he had was the inside of the kitchen, the whole place brimming with chaos and entropy and… life. The fruit and food in the pantry was messy, certainly the product of the other people in the house. A twinge of longing snagged in his throat, stopping his smooth breathing pattern for a split second. He prayed that none of them noticed. It didn’t seem as if they did, continuing their banter and arguing over how they were to wake him. A heavy body got up from a chair, the furniture making an ugly shriek as it rubbed over the wood. Equally heavy footsteps moved into the kitchen, appearing in the boy’s view. The visage of the piglin made him sigh inwardly.

‘Yep, I think that’s Techno. And if Philza, Techno, and Wilbur are around together, that means the whole Sleepy Bois Inc. is here.’ An afterthought gave him pause. ‘And Tommy. I really hope Tommy’s not here right now. That would be embarrassing.’ Another pair of footsteps made him force his antennae from moving towards the sound mentally. ‘Shit, this is going to be a challenge. Curse my stupid biology! Why couldn’t I have had a better pair of sensory equipment?’

Philza came into his view, sending a slight chill down his spine. Was it fear? Was it adrenaline? He didn’t know. Whatever it was, it made his heart beat louder and louder, blocking out any ambient sound in the room. “Is he awake yet, lads?” A small frustrated huff escaped the only other person in his view. “Not that I know of. He’s out cold. How much of the sleep potion did you give him?” The avian had the audacity to scratch his head and look away sheepishly. “..the whole pot.”

At the startle and the turn of the head that the winged warrior got, it was evident that it wasn’t supposed to be used like that. “Heh? A whole potion?!?” Techno morphed into a significantly sleeker body, arms stretching out to grab at both of his shoulders. He shook the other slightly, eyes still wide with astonishment. “Why did you use a full potion on a child? Phil?!?” Wilbur piped up from behind him. “Shh, Techno. If you wake him up now, I don’t think we can discuss the plan of interrogation.” ‘Interrogation? Are they going to hurt me?!?’ A slight burst of panic flooded through his veins, forcing him to focus on tamping down his reactions in favor of listening to the others around him without clueing them into his awakeness. ‘Uh huh. The plan. As if we didn’t already discuss this twice before.” Techno made gestures he couldn’t quite understand. “We make sure we don’t hurt him, we get the info, so on and so forth.” Even his gestures were sarcastic. Purpled liked him already.

“Let’s just get on with it. Just wake him up already.” A smile played on Phil’s face. “Mate, I don’t think we need to wake him up…” He trailed off, tone smug and knowing. His antennae, the fucking traitors, curled up a little subconsciously as the man made side eye contact with him. The avian all but crowed. “I knew it. How long have you been awake, Purp?” The jig was up. He opened his eyes completely, wincing a little at the sudden burst of light coming from the skylight above him.

A gasp escaped Wilbur- at least, he thinks it was from Wilbur. It’s kind of hard to see who is who when you’re focused on one person and one person alone. “Don’t call me that.” His voice sounded unused, as if he had forgotten to drink water before he went to bed. Phil didn’t say anything in reply to that, simply grinning wider. “So, the three of us decided that we wanted to get info from you in a way that didn’t hurt you. It’s not something I’d like to have on my consciousness, the harming of an innocent person on the sidelines of something. Besides, it’s not that important.” Purpled’s muscles relaxed a little, reminding him of how tense he was at the moment. “But. I still need info, and it seems that ribbing you again and again won’t be effective for your caliber of stubbornness.” He had to bite back a retort to that, trying not to ignite the ire of the most merciful person in the room.

“I decided on something that I can guarantee has never been used on you as a convincing technique.” The avian moved closer to him, purple eyes following his every movement. WIth a slow, deliberate movement that he must have learn from ages of working with his hand-eye coordination, he placed his hands on his stomach, resting his arms there. Purpled tilted his head, puzzled. “How is this going to make me tell you anyth-”

He choked on his words at the sudden sensation of Phil’s talons scraping on his stomach. He froze in place, willing himself to not flinch or show any sign of weakness in front of the older. Wilbur and Techno stayed back, watching Philza’s movements with a focus that was almost unnerving to the teen. “What does this feel like? You stopped talking, are you okay?”

The avian definitely knew what he was doing, testing out different spots on his stomach with the accuracy of a well-learned tickler. Purpled trembled lightly in his bonds, still trying his best to not show his reactions. It was a challenge, especially so because of the bondage tugging at his limbs with every slight shift in his positioning. The feeling of being helpless was equally as maddening as the careful touch on his tummy. Even through the fabric, he knew that he wouldn’t last long with the way he was tickling him.

Just when the boy thought that he had gotten used to the sensations, the warrior shifted to his sides, nails barely scratching through his hoodies. “Snrk!” ‘Shit.’ “Oh? That was something! Purpled, you can make this stop if you tell us about those structures landing everywhere. Come on, little guy!” His antennae twitched slightly at his words. He shook his head, eyes determined and sharp. “N-no.” A sarcastic voice sounded out behind Philza. “Ooh, baby’s first words.” Purple bristled at the comment. “Why, you-”

With his mouth open, it was impossible to hide the squeak that escaped him as the light scratching turned into kneading. “H-hey!” Techno snorted. “Hook, line, and sinker. He is ticklish, Phil. Just need to find the ‘on’ switch.” Purpled really, really didn’t want him to find any of his sweet spots. He squirmed away from the winged man, trying to evade his clutches now that he was aware of the effectiveness of his interrogation methods.

“Stohop!”

“Oh, no you don’t. No escaping, Purp!”

He squeezed both of the alien hybrid’s sides, kneading a little more into the softer spots. The younger couldn’t hold his laughter back anymore. “Nohoho! Thihihis ihihihis uhuhunfahahair!” His legs and arms strained against the bonds, body bucking and thrashing in a vain attempt to escape the sensation arcing through his body.

“What’s unfair? All you need to do is to give us the info!” Phil’s eyes trailed up to his antennae. “Aww, your little feelers are getting all trembly! That’s so cute!” At the mention of his appendages, he turned his head to the side bashfully, a small bit of flush coming to color his face. “Shuhuhut uhuhuhup!”

“Is that flustering for you?” The eagle cooed a little, before an idea came to mind. “Hey, just a question for you...are your feelers sensitive?” Purpled’s eyes widened. “Noho!” The response was way too quick for his answer to be true. A cheshire grin slowly grew on his face, coinciding with the sinking/fluttering feeling pooling in his stomach. “Oho, is it your sweet spot?” His hands trailed teasingly from his sides up to his antennae, fingers barely grazing the bases of them. Just the lightest touch on them made him squirm and giggle. “Nohohonohoho! Nohohot thehere, p-plehease!”

“Oh? And why not, then?” Wilbur chipped in, chair making a squeaking noise as he stood up. “I think I’ll give you a helping hand, Phil.” A small, quiet “about time” escaped the avian’s mouth. Purpled wanted to speak on that, but the sensation of the light touch moving at such a sensitive spot made him bite his lip in a final resistance to the tingling sensation lingering there. He silenced himself, trying to stifle his giggles as well as he could. “What if I do this, Purp?”

The fingers scratched at either side of one of his antennae’s bases. He squealed, hiccupy laughter escaping him against his will. “EEE! Ihihihi! Nohohoho! Plehehease!” The alien hybrid shook his head, laughter squeaking a little when the movement accidentally scraped Phil’s nails against his skin. The fingers followed his movements, not giving him a moment to rest. Thankfully for him, the man ‘interrogating’ him seemed to understand how ticklish his feelers were, not doing much to speed up the tickling and absolutely destroy him. He was grateful for the moment of relatively gentle tickling, struggling slowly getting less and less and protests beginning to die more and more often before they escaped his mouth.

Subconsciously, his antennae curled closer to the avian’s fingers, as if they were trying to mutually stroke him back. The warrior glanced at Techno, then back at the feelers. ‘Is that some sort of sign that he likes it or something? Damn it, I should have tried to read up more about extraterrestrial body language.’ A sudden buck stopped him from wallowing in his thoughts. “AHA?!?”

“I knew your hips are a good spot!” He turned to look at his son, eyes snapping back to full focus. A beat of laughter from the younger below them passed. “Wilbur. Why did it take so long for you to get from the chair to here?” The musician shrugged. “Took my time, I guess.” Wilbur continued to rub slow circles into the squirming boy’s hipbones, a small smile playing on his face at the reactions he was getting from him. “Stohohop! Ihihihi-Ihihi cahahan’t!”

Purpled’s flustered facial expression and wide smile showed just how effective WIlbur and Phil’s tickling techniques were. The latter chuckled. “Guess the big strong bedwars player can’t handle a little tickling~” He spidered his fingers over his scalp teasingly, just barely grazing the feelers he was scratching earlier. The appendages twitched at the sensation, a small squeal escaping the owner through his already high-pitched laughter. “NohohoHO tehehehe-AH!” His words were swallowed up by his own giggles.

Wilbur grinned triumphantly, kneading his hand into one hip while gently fluttering his fingers over the other. Purpled’s sweatpants blocked some of the sensations, but it wasn’t enough to keep the sparking feeling from coursing throughout his body like an adrenaline shot. He threw back his head, this time avoiding contact with the bird man’s hand. “You ready to tell us, mate?” The duo slowed down a little, giving him a chance to speak. Purpled gasped for air, a smile still plastered on his face. He panted, eyes glazed over a little from the exertion. “You...you guys suhuhuhuck…” His hands balled into fists, resolve (and lee mood) taking over for him. “Ihihihi’m nohohot gohohonna.” Wilbur scowled at him a little.

“Seriously? You have some stamina for a gangly kiddo.” “I’m not gangly!” “Says you. You’re so short.” He growled at the musician a little. Suddenly, a hand laced itself into his hair, making him flinch in surprise. “W-wha-?” “Shhh, Purp. Let me pet you for a bit. How does this feel?”

The fingers slowly raked down his scalp, careful not to nick the then skin. The feeling was heavenly. There was no denying it. Eyes fluttering shut, he pushed his head into his hand. His feelers twitched happily after each round of stroking, making Wilbur stifle a coo at the adorable sight. Techno put down his book, sighing. “Do you really need me to help-” A finger at his mouth stopped him from speaking.

“Shh, let Phil work his magic. Maybe he’ll be willing to give us the info then.” Wilbur whispered, his glasses slipping down on his nose and giving him a disheveled look. A single hoof-hand pushed it up for him. Soft silence surrounded the group for a bit, all for the low, rumbling purr that was emanating from Phil. Wait, from Phil? The two of them snapped to look at their father, a flash of surprise overtaking them both for a moment. Purpled was….purring? Almost reluctantly, the hardcore warrior untangled his hand from his hair, a whine and a stuttering purr following him a little with his head. “Hmm…”

“More headpats after you tell us.”

“Mmmmnooo….”

Purpled opened his eyes slowly, almost boneless in his relaxed state. Philza gently spidered his fingers over the alien hybrid’s neck, smiling slightly at the sleepy giggles it produced. “Aww, come on. You sure you don’t want to tell us, little guy?” Through his giggles, the alien shook his head no, a louder bout of laughter escaping him when the warrior’s hands trailed down to his collarbones.

“Ehehehehe!”

“Kitchy kitchy coo~”

He squealed quietly at the tease, his face blossoming with color again. Wilbur decided to join in again. He carefully traced shapes on the boy’s thighs, enjoying the hybrid’s laughter. “Man, your laugh is so cute! So, Purplee, you going to tell us yet? Or are you having too much fun?” Purpled squirmed in his bonds, sleepily nodding along to what he was saying. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You are?” A mumble underneath his breath. “Phil , what did he say?” The winged man chuckled. “He just said he didn’t know, he just wanted to fuck with us.” Techno snort-huffed. “Of course he did. We are so getting him back for that.” “Why not now?” Blood red eyes shifted to the floor, then back to the bound alien hybrid.

“Because. Look at him. Do you really want to snap him out of this?” Coffee-colored eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Is the great Technoblade being soft for a lil guy?” Techno cleared his throat, shaking his head and making his ears flop. “No. Wilbur, no.” The musician walked closer to him, looking up to stare directly into his eyes. “Is the great Blood God getting whipped over a bedwars player?” A low growl cut through the air. “Wilbur, if you don’t stop now-”

Another round of purring stopped him mid-sentence. “That’s it, Purp. You did great.” Phil glanced at the duo who had done virtually nothing to help him, a small glare hinted in the back of his eyes. ‘You will pay for this.’ Wilbur took a step back. Techno did the same, tail whipping at the floor in anticipation. The hardcore player treaded his hands deep into his silky hair, coaxing him back into a resting state. “Did you like this? I hope you did.” Sleepy eyes opened just barely, eyes twinkling with adoration. “....yea...will y’ do ‘t again?”

A breath that he didn’t know he was holding escaped with a happy trill and lilt. “Of course, mate. Sleep well.” For the second time that day, Philza gently coaxed the boy into slumber. A sleepy smile plastered on his face, Purpled’s chest rose and fell rhythmically once more, calm and deep like the lapping of a purple-platinum ocean. “Now, as for the fact that you two didn’t help me at all with that…” He stepped closer to his sons, wings spreading outwards like a rippling wave of pitch. Nervous giggles escaped Wilbur and Techno.

“Nonono! Phil, pleasE-”

Purpled didn’t wake until the morning rays shone down on his face, the scent of pancakes and the smell of home wafting into his nose. And, no, he didn’t inquire at all about why Techno and Wilbur refused to look the eldest in the house in the eyes.

It felt good to be with them.

He hoped it would always last.

#my writing #downywrites #downy writes #tickle fic #sfw tickle #my fic #mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #lee!purpled #ler!wilbur #ler!philza

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clovernsfwwriter · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Sub/Brat with fem!dom headcanons

A small lil fun fact, I had sent these to @boobberries as an anon. She'll know who I am lol and prolly be mad cuz I added some things and a few people here. I'm evil, fight me.

Techno

Techno as a sub is an interesting sight. The towering 7 foot male, tied down and crying out as you edge him is definitely a sexy sight. With Techno, all you have to do is give him a look, and he'll go down on his knees waiting for your command. You wanna edge him, the man is all yours. He's a whiny thing, but the second your hands are on his cock, he's begging and pleading.

"P-please! S-shit! Ahhh. Come on, let me cum." "Manners, boy." "Please-FUCK! Let me cum please!" "Hm, I'll think about it."

No you won't.

He's a brat, we all know this, but if you bring out a whip or a crop, he's the most obedient pet to exist. If you're using a crop, you'll place it under his chin and make him look up at you from his kneeling place on the floor. Using a whip? Trace his shoulders with it and watch him squirm.

"Such a good boy for me. Come here." "Yes ma'am."

Schlatt

He's the brattest person ever. He doesn't listen at all. That is until you pull out handcuffs or rope. The second he sees those, he knows that he's in trouble. Schlatt won't admit it, but he loves it when you tell him how handsome he is when he's all fucked out or cumming. He lives for your praise.

"Ngh! F-fuck!" "Look at you, my pretty boy. Cumming for me again already like a good boy."

If he's been brattier than usual, you'll tie him up, attach a vibrator to his cock and just leave him there for a good few hours. The sight of him when you come home is a lovely one. Schlatt's definitely going to be better behaved after that punishment.

"Are you gonna be a good boy now?" "Y-Yes ma'am." "Good."

Sapnap

Ah, the second most bratty sub ever. He tries all the time to take over, just one quick pin of his wrists and he knows he fucked up. You'll fuck him until he's dry, crying out for you to give him a break.

"Baby, please!" "Sh, come on baby. Give me one more."

That one more will turn into ten more, not that he minds. He tries to cover his face, due to you teasing how red he turns. Put him on a leash. He'll be a little shit about it, but he loves it when you give it a yank when he's not listening. He wears his collar almost all the time under his hoodies.

And pet play, he's hella into it.

"Pet, come here." "Yes ma'am!"

Dream

Dream is a little shit. He's always giving you a hard time, not that you mind. Brat taming him is always a task. There has been a good few nights were to tied his hands behind his back and edged the hell out of him. It pisses him off every time.

"Can you- ah shit! Just fuck me already!" "And this is why you're not getting to cum." "Damn it!"

Once you break the brat out of him, he'll be good. He lives for you giving him head as a reward. But watching you bounce on his cock will always be his favorite thing.

"Mm, ah! Gonna cum!" "Go ahead, cum for me."

Georgenotfound

George is a soft sub, always letting you take the lead. He's not too much into kinks, preferring vanilla sex over kinky sex.

"F-fuck oh fuck!" "You like that Georgie?" "Yes! Oh god yes!"

Pin him down. The few times you did get to tie him up, he cries out for you hard, begging for you to let him touch you.

"Angel! Please! Let me touch you!" "Hm, no."

Karl Jacobs

Another sweet sub, Karl does everything you ask him to. He adores being your good baby boy. If you ever want him to dress up for you, you bet your ass, he's wearing whatever the fuck you want. Maid dress? Done. Cat boy? He's on it. The bunny outfit? He's got it and ready for your command.

"Pumpkin! I want you!" "Coming hunny!" "Aw look at my lil bunny."

Pet names, he adores them almost as much as he lives for your praise. Praise him all the time, he melts everytime. He's a sucker for it.

"Baby boy~ can you wear this for me?" "Of course hon."

That's kind of how he got roped into the dress up play, not that he minds.

Awesamdude

He is not a sub at all. When you ask him to be a sub, he'll be a brat the whole damn time.

"Sam, stop it! Let me do this!" "Make me!"

Those are fighting words, good sir. And boy did he regret them. You tied him up and edged him the entire time. When he came, he was punished even more. Best to say, he learned to not challenge you when you dom him.

"F-fuck! I'm sorry! Baby! Please!" "Are you gonna be a good boy now?" "Yes!" "Yes what?" "Yes ma'am!"

He will not admit it at all, but that was the best damn sex he's had in a while. Nor will he admit that he loves likes you being the dom.

Fundy

Fundy. Oh lord where the hell do I start with this lil shit?

He's a complete and total brat, if you didn't know any better, you'd think that he was worse than Schlatt.

"Sit still." "No." "Can you behave for one damn minute?" "Fuck that." "Boy, if you don't stop being a brat-" "What are you gonna do? Spank me?"

Not a bad idea, actually. But you don't do that, instead you use the good old punishment on him.

"No sex until I say so and no touching yourself either." He looks so offended. "But-" "Nope, you didn't wanna listen to me, so now you're being punished." "But baby!"

He didn't even last a week before coming to you on his knees, begging to be touched. He let you do whatever you wanted, including leaving him tied up with a vibrator on his twitching cock. He was a mess, that you enjoyed overstimulating when you cleaned him up.

"Ngh- have mercy! Please!" "Gonna be a good little boy for me now?" "Yes!"

Eret

Eret, she let's you do whatever you want, but they love roleplay. Especially corruption roleplay.

"Oh little princess, come here and let me fuck your brains out." "Coming hon."

Will definitely dress up to impress you. He has dressed up several times, sat on your bed, and waited to surprise you.

"Well, isn't this a lovely sight." "Hi honey." "I like that outfit baby." "Really?!" "Yep, but I think it should be on the floor right about now." "Honey!"

She'll definitely be your good baby. Never causing you problems. Definitely into pet play.

Foolish

It's surprising to you when he asks if you could dom him. Now despite his innocent appearance, he's quite a brat and into being tied up.

"How is it?" "Not too tight, could be better." "Don't test me." "Hm, how about I do?"

He loves testing your patience with him. Watching that thread of self control snap is honestly quite fun for him. But if you're really pissed with him, you'll leave him tied up and just ignore him for a bit. Usually about 10 minutes before starts begging for you and listens to you.

"Baby! I'll listen! Please!" "Didn't even last five minutes this time, how cute."

Tease the man. Just do it. His moans are adorable.

#clover's smut list #s: schltt #s: flsh #s:tchn #s: krljcbs #s: rt #s: wsmdd #s: spnp #s: grgntfnd #s: drm

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tearh0seok · 3 years

Text

For all you c!Wilbur and c!Quackity enthusiasts/ people who just like some good old fashioned c!karlnapity angst, this ones for you. Enjoy!!

—————

My Tears Ricochet

And I still talk to you

(when I'm screaming at the sky)

And when you can't sleep at night

(you hear my stolen lullabies)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The bag hits his back with a solid thump, causing him to stumble forward and grunt from the weight of it. He instinctively reaches out for the nearest wall and steadies himself. He holds his breath for a second, prepared to hear the rustling of bed sheets as someone wakes up due to the noise, before he releases it in a quiet, cynical laugh. He is, as he had been for a while now, alone. No one around for him to hold, to talk to, to wake up, to care about. As he makes his way out into the streets of Las Nevada’s, he scans the area for any sign of life. Slime and Fundy must have turned in early enough, and Foolish had long stopped working on his latest big project. He strolls through the streets quietly, humming to himself as he takes in the nation, his nation. At night, the buildings and area look like a mirror image of the man who owned them: empty, cold and alone. He shakes his head trying not to think about it too much. Now was not a time for self-pity or grief. No, now was the time for revenge. The kind of revenge that he just couldn’t drag the others into, they’d never understand. In fact, they’d all think he was insane. They’d leave him behind, all alone, just like before, with-

“Quackity?”

The voice causes Quackity to drop his bag, the thud echoing against the pristine buildings of his city. He looks up at the road ahead of him, and finds Wilbur Soot leaning against the Las Nevada’s sign, a shadow under the bright lights, with his face illuminated only by the red hot glow of his cigarette. Quackity sees his lips twitch up into a tired smirk, and it immediately makes him want to punch the other man in the face. “You’re on my land, Wilbur,” he growls, picking the bag back up, and throwing it back over his shoulder. His grip on the straps tighten as he hears Wilbur laugh quietly. “I thought we put that in the past, Big Q. You know, healthy competition and all that jazz?” Wilbur says tauntingly. Quackity barely spares him a glance as he trudges past the sign, staring straight over Wilbur’s shoulder to where he can see the glow of the burger van in the distance.

“Yeah well, we’re both closed for the day so I didn’t see a need for any of the formalities,” Quackity mutters, praying that the conversation ends there. But of course, to no avail, as soon Quackity hears footsteps behind him and has to resist the oh so demanding urge to punch this guy in the nose. “Then, off the record and completely out of curiosity, as an old friend, may I ask where we’re going?” Wilbur says, as he falls into step beside the smaller man. Quackity digs his heels into the tarmac and stops, turning to the man beside him. “ We are not going anywhere, I have some business to attend to, and you are going back to wherever you came from and forgetting you saw me,” he grunts, poking Wilbur in the middle of his chest to emphasize his point.

He continues walking, and due to the lack of footsteps he assumes the other man has taken the hint and is heading home. However, he hears the sound of shoes approaching, and suddenly Wilbur is at his side once more. “Oh but now you see, my friend,” Wilbur sighs, voice laced with amusement, “now I’m intrigued. What is this so-called business, why is it so secret, and why-“ Quackity feels a slight pull on his back as Wilbur tries to peek into the bag. He quickly whips around, face to face with Wilbur, hoping the other hadn’t seen the contents of the bag. Unfortunately, the fire dancing in Wilbur’s eyes and the wild grin that covers his face suggests otherwise.

“- Why do you have so much TNT and a flint and steel, Quackity?”

It’s said quietly, but the tone of his voice is so menacing that it causes Quackity to shudder. This is really not how tonight was supposed to go, and the more time Quackity spends here talking to Wilbur, the more time he has to contemplate and regret the decision he’s about to make. So he lets his guard down, briefly, and murmurs, “It’s personal, Will, and I’m already starting to regret it, so the last thing I need is to feel guilty about dragging someone else into this too.” And with that, he slowly turns away, head hanging, and begins mentally bracing for what he’s about to do. He just needs to clear his head, and remind himself that this isn’t his fault, it’s everyone else’s for pushing him away, pushing him to this point, and for leaving him alone, AGAIN-

“Do you need some company?”

The voice is quiet and wavering, and if they hadn’t known each other for so long, Quackity wouldn’t have recognized the unsure tone of Wilbur’s voice. He looks over his shoulder at the other man, whose face, illuminated by the moon, is covered with hesitation.

“Wilbur, I just told you, I don’t want to drag anyone else-“

“I didn’t ask if you wanted company, I asked if you needed it, Quackity.”

The words stop him in his tracks. He feels all the air rush out of his lungs and finds himself struggling to breathe. He looks down at the freshly paved road below him, willing away the hot sting of tears. No one, not even Slime, has asked him that in a very long time. The last person to ever say that to him was probably-

“Listen, I know what it’s like, carrying all of this awful stuff on your shoulders. And I have no doubt that what you’re about to do is going to be something you add to the list of things you regret, but you had to do in the moment. I’m not offering to help, as I can tell this is something you need to do for yourself.” He feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to see Wilbur with a grim, but soft smile. “What I’m offering is my presence, just so you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Quackity pauses for a moment, taking in the weight of Wilbur’s words, but soon realizes that if he thinks about them too much, he might break down in tears. So he takes the bag off his back and dumps it into Wilbur’s arms. The other catches it with a quiet “oof”, as Quackity grunts, “Let’s go then, we need to get this done by sunrise.”

And just like that, they head off into the night.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur soon realizes that, in hindsight, he should have known where Quackity was headed all along. Quackity didn’t have any major enemies that Wilbur knew of besides Dream and Techno, but Dream is in prison and Techno is god knows where. Quackity also doesn’t seem like the type to commit an act of violence without some sort of motivation, and Wilbur’s 90% sure he wouldn’t do it to threaten someone. Really, using that reasoning, Wilbur should have known their destination. Even as they trekked across the hills and plains, Wilbur should have noticed the direction they were going in. However, it wasn’t until they came to a clearing that opened up onto a shoreline, that he saw their target. While he knows there’s no other option it could be, he still asks the question.

“Why are we at Kinoko Kingdom?”

There it stood, across the water in all its shining glory. Though it was silent in the dead of night, the nation still looked warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to Las Nevada’s at this hour. Wilbur looked at the man at his side, hoping to gauge a reaction, but Quackity’s face was hard as he stared across at the nation like it was the bane of his existence. “I thought you were here to keep me company, not question me,” Quackity grinds out, looking like he’s holding himself back from screaming, or crying, or both. And so Wilbur just shrugs, and places the bag down. Immediately, Quackity throws it open and so the work begins.

Wilbur watches silently as Quackity takes out as much as he can carry and starts making his way around the edge of the shore to the first building he can find. He looks back briefly at Wilbur, indicating for the other man to follow. And while his face remains stony, just as he turns away Wilbur catches a glimpse of the other man’s face crumpling. He watches Quackity let out an unsteady breath, before readjusting the materials in his arms and marching into Kinoko Kingdom.

Quackity, Wilbur is learning, is quite the expert when it comes to TNT. The man is methodical, precise in his placement, ensuring that each piece is in the perfect location to do maximum damage. Although Wilbur said he wouldn’t help, he eventually can’t take the boredom of just standing around, and starts to help. He hears no objection from Quackity, and so he assumes that he is alright to continue. They work in near silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional animal or monster in the distance. Suddenly, a thought comes to Wilbur’s head, and so he stands up and walks over to where Quackity is kneeling, fixing a stick of TNT into place. “Quackity, what about Sapnap and Karl?” He asks, and immediately realizes his mistake. He watches Quackity’s entire body tense up, and the man turns to him, face thunderous.

“What about them?” He asks coldly, and for the first time in a very long time, Wilbur is fearful of the man in front of him.

“Are you just going to leave them here? To…. you know….?”

Wilbur doesn’t finish his sentence, knowing that one wrong word could lead to him having a similar fate to Kinoko Kingdom. However, Quackity relaxes, ever so slightly, and turns back to his work. “They’re not here. They went hunting this morning and I heard from Foolish that they would be gone until tomorrow,” he states, voice wavering slightly, but otherwise filled with certainty. Satisfied with Quackity’s answer, Wilbur picks up some more TNT and begins positioning it near a massive pond in the heart of the kingdom. As he’s working, he hears a small voice cut through the silence.“I couldn’t do it with them here. It’s hard enough without them around, but if they were here - it would be impossible.” Quackity has never sounded more vulnerable, his voice soft yet even, but Wilbur can tell there’s a whole world of pain built within those words. So he leaves any questions he had to the side and continues to work through the silence, with only the moon, stars and the loneliest man in the world for company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When everything’s done, despite the circumstances, Quackity is weirdly proud of himself. He doesn’t take too long to admire his handy work though, as it may cause him to just take it all back and go home. He begins connecting everything together with one long line of red stone. This surprisingly doesn’t take him too long, and soon he and Wilbur are making their way out of Kinoko Kingdom and back to their perch on the other side of the shore, trailing red stone behind them. Once he’s far enough away, Quackity dares to look back, and regrets it instantly. He sees Kinoko Kingdom for all it is- a clear representation of who Sapnap and Karl are, to others, to each other ,and it’s almost as if you can see the love that lives there. And then, on top of it all, protruding and ugly, is the TNT- Quackity’s doing. Quackity’s mark on the place. That is all he represents; destruction and ruin. Quackity knew there must have been a reason they left him behind, and now he sees it; pure, unadulterated evil . He is the cause of his own pain, his own problems. He gets left behind because when people get to know him- when Sapnap and Karl, his boys, got to know him, all they could do is run in fear. From now on, he is the one calling the shots, because Quackity refuses to ever be left behind again. And if that means being alone, forever, then so be it.

He sniffs and wipes his eyes as he walks, feeling like all of the armour he had put on his heart has fallen away, his wounds have reopened and he’s bleeding out. Over the dull white nose in his ears, he hears Wilbur’s voice in the distance, asking if he’s ok. However he doesn’t pay it any attention, simply connecting the chain of red stone to a button placed on the floor in front of him. He looks up one last time, at the place the loves of his life call home. And then, he presses the button.

If you’d asked him how he wanted this to go, Quackity would’ve described it exactly like this; quick, so quick that you’d miss it if you blink, and then so, so, slowly, like you were watching the life drain from the place. That was exactly what they got. The TNT detonated almost all at once, sending earth and debris flying everywhere. It was almost mesmerizing to watch as in the blink of an eye, something so beautiful was completely maimed. Then came the fire, spreading ever so slowly through what remained of the godforsaken place. As Quackity watched the flames grow, he felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. He let out a light chuckle, until soon he was gasping for breath as he cackled, all the while tears rolled down his face. Soon his laughter mixed with heavy sobs, and he felt Wilbur grip his shoulder, pulling him to face the other man. Wilbur’s face was glowing orange, almost as if it was ablaze along with the city they had just destroyed.

“QUACKITY! Pull yourself together!” He shouted sternly, shaking Quackity by the shoulders harshly. Quackity shoved him off, pushing him away with such force that Wilbur fell back into the sand.

“NO! You know what, fuck you Wilbur!” He spits, pointing down at the man beneath him, “ you don’t get to fucking tell me what to do, when you did the exact same fucking thing not too long ago. Remember that? You did it too, so fuck you. Fuck you for being here, for helping, for listening to me, and fuck you for all the shit you did in the past.” With that, Quackity whips himself around to face the destroyed kingdom in front of him.

“And fuck you!” He screams, not caring who hears or how much his voice wants to give out, “Fuck you and your perfect little kingdom, and your perfect little life. Fuck you guys for telling me you loved me.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence and slowly his screams turn into heart-wrenching sobs. “Fuck you for pretending you cared. Fuck you for promising me that you’d stay .”

He rips both rings off of his left ring finger and throws them into the water, with such a force that he stumbles forward. He collapses to the ground, the weight of his own heartbreak too much to bear. He feels Wilbur drag him up into his lap, cradling him like a child. When he looks up at Wilbur, the other man gently brings a hand to his face, and wipes the tears from his cheeks. It’s been so long since Quackity has been held like this, that it just makes him cry even harder. He buries his head into Wilbur’s shoulder, crying hysterically into the rough fabric of his coat. His last sentence comes out as nothing more than a whisper, broken and defeated by the pain in his heart.

“F-fuck you guys for promising you would never leave me, a-and then doing it anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~

Wilbur sits in silence as Quackity continues to sob into his chest. He watches the last of what was once Kinoko Kingdom burn and crumble, until there is nothing left but smoldering rubble. The sight was almost soothing, like the quiet that comes after a hurricane. He watches as the sun rises, the night turning into a pale, eerie dawn, sky almost grey, and the tide lapping gently against the shore. The only sound for a long time is Quackity’s uneven breathing, along with the occasional hiccup, until he hears voices in the distance. “Quackity, be quiet,” Wilbur hushes him. Quackity looks up, about to say something when the voices get louder in the distance. They both pause and look over at the remains of Kinoko Kingdom, just as Sapnap and Karl emerge from the tree line. Wilbur hears Quackity suck in a breath as they watch the couple’s faces fall in horror. Karl immediately runs forward, and even from this distance, Wilbur hears him gasp and say, “Oh my god, what happened?”. Meanwhile, Sapnap remains silent, shock plastered across his face as he takes in the rubble. Karl turns back to his fiancé, and Wilbur sees the moment Karl’s shoulders sag and his head drops. “It’s all gone, Sapnap,” he hears him say, and then Sapnap is running forward to catch Karl as he collapses into his arms, crying quietly. Sapnap just bundles his lover up into his arms, tears streaming silently down his own face. After a moment, Sapnap begins to lead them back into the forest, presumably headed for a place to stay near everyone else.

Only when the pair have gone, does Wilbur notice the whimpering. He looks down and finds that Quackity is crying again, quietly this time, and is already staring up at Wilbur. He clutches Wilbur’s jacket and stares at him, eyes pleading for an answer.

“W-why don’t I feel better, Wilbur? Why did that make me feel so much worse?”

And because he doesn’t have an answer, Wilbur just embraces him once more, holding the man close to his chest as he cries.

~~~~~~~~~

“Hello Quackity of Las Nevadas, where have you been?”

If Slime notices Quackity’s puffy eyes, he doesn’t say anything. Wilbur had left him in the same place they began their journey, by the sign at the entrance to the nation. Quackity had been hoping to sneak back in undetected, but of course the innocent creature had been waiting for him at the base of the tower. At least it wasn’t someone like Foolish or Fundy, who would’ve been able to see right through him in his current state. Quackity runs a hand through his hair, and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry Slime, I went out for a walk early this morning.”

Slime simply tilts his head, curiosity written all over his face.

“Where did you go?”

Quackity sighs, racking his brain for an excuse. It’s too early, and he’s too tired to be doing this. He gives up on trying to lie.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He starts making his way back to his tower, ready to fall into bed, when Slimes pipes up once more.

“It doesn’t matter? Why? Is it because you’re home now?”

Quackity stops.

He takes a breath, willing the tears down.

He turns around, eyes shining and gives his friend, his true friend, a small, sad smile.

“Yeah Slime. I’m home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sapnap kicks a stone out of his way absentmindedly, strolling through what’s left of his kingdom. He came back to see what he could salvage from the wreckage, after dropping Karl off at Bad’s house to rest. As he strolls by the beach, he stops to pick up a piece of wood lying in the sand. As he does so, he spots something shiny lying just on the edge of the water. He crouches down, and picks it up, only to find 2 engagement rings, each with an initial engraved on them.

He clenches his fist around the rings, heart breaking all over again. He’d recognize those rings anywhere, and he knows what it means, finding them here. He brings his fist up to his lips, pressing a kiss against it, hoping, in vain, that his other love will feel it. He looks out at the water, tears flowing, and prays that someday, they can be what they once were. For now, he places the rings in his pocket carefully, thumbing them over slowly. Before he leaves, he turns back to look at his kingdom once more, and whispers,

“I’m sorry.”

And with that, he heads back to Karl, his fiancé, his home .

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

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pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

continued from X

Phil’s embarrassed to be dragged down here. Even more embarrassing is how Bad and Ant had gotten the jump on him and Techno. With a lead binding their wrists together and Ant holding the other end, Phil doesn’t have anything to say that isn’t ‘this is pointless, the egg is disgusting’. That phrase only seems to piss Bad off, he he just keeps his head ducked and marches forward.

When they reach the room, Phil recoils whenever a vine brushes across his shoulder. It’s almost slimy, it’s disgusting, and the very atmosphere makes his skin want to crawl. If only he and Techno had their tridents, they could just make their escape the second the other two left. Unfortunately, all their belongings had been taken from them and stored elsewhere. Phil can’t even reach Ranboo for help.

A sideways glance in Techno’s direction tells him that Techno’s thoughts are probably in line with his own; and no doubt the piglin is feeling just as helpless. Techno’s staring forward, fury etched into the lines in his face.

“Kneel.”

Bad isn’t giving them more of a direction than that. Phil considers just kicking Bad’s legs out from underneath him, but a jab to his back from Ant’s trident has him stumbling forward anyway. He falls down with a pained grunt, nothing louder than that. Breath hitching, he glances around the scenery and is decidedly not amused with the fact that he’s mere inches away from a lava pool.

“You’re probably both wondering why you’re here,” Bad says, turning his back to them. He tugs harshly on Techno’s lead, forcing the piglin to nearly pitch forward into one of the fiery hot bricks. Luckily, Techno maintains his balance and remains upright, though that’s definitely a piggish snort coming from him. Phil recognizes that as Techno ready to slip into his blood rage, so he leans closer and rubs his shoulder against his friend’s, hoping to calm him.

“Not now,” Phil whispers silently. “Just hang on, they’ll leave eventually.”

There’s a faint nod from Techno as the piglin sucks in a breath, holding it in place.

“I don’t want either of you to feel betrayed or scared,” Bad continues. He hadn’t heard Phil say anything. “I just want to tell you my plan and why it’s more important than ever that you’re on my side.”

“Bad, the egg has literally no effect on us,” Phil points out. “It’s just there. You can do your thing and we can do ours. Why the need for all this show? We weren’t in your way.”

“Taking you wasn’t my idea,” Bad says. He turns to face the pair before him, grinning with something twisted in his eyes. More twisted than before, really. “Believe me, I wanted to align with you in the first place. I kept trying to reach out to Techno, but it was your ‘busy’-” He uses air quotes with that word, “-that I had to resort to another way to get you both here and with me. Well, not me, exactly.”

“What even is the point of the egg?” Techno asks. “If it’s not meant to be a giant omelet, why is it here, and why’s everyone going crazy over it? Not going to lie, it’s kind of creepy.”

“So little known fact.” Bad tilts his head forward. “The egg can give you anything you want. Let’s say you want to take down the server. The egg can help with that! Or if you want to start your own empire, for example-” He cuts himself off with a grin.

“...we’d have that kind of power?” Phil asks. The idea isn’t tempting in the least, but he’s not going to let Bad know. If they play along with his crazy, the sooner they can get out of here. Phil really just wants to go back home and spend another while away from this circus.

“Absolutely,” Bad says with a beam. The smile fades a second later. “But I’m not here to tempt you with that. Because I know you have other plans, and while the egg can help with those, that has to come with time.”

“Wait.” Phil scrunches up his face. “Did you say ambushing us wasn’t your idea?” He wonders if Dream is using Bad to call in Techno’s favor. Or...he wonders who else could possibly want the anarchist duo. Did word about the syndicate get out?

“No.” Techno’s voice is low. Whipping his head toward the piglin, Phil wonders what the shocked expression on his face means, or why Techno looks terrified. “Bad, you didn’t!”

“I did,” Bad says. “He really misses both of you, you know. The egg promised.”

Is he talking about Ranboo? Phil has a sinking suspicion that this doesn’t involve Ranboo at all.

Techno lurches forward then, trying to get back up to his feet, so ready to attack Bad. Bad yanks on the lead again, causing Techno to fall forward.

“Keep them under control!” Another voice speaks up. Phil’s head snaps up as he stares straight ahead at this egg. Phil knows that voice, he knows that voice far too well.

“HE’S A CHILD!” Techno yells.

Techno never yells. Techno never shows emotion, he never lets his guard down. The only time he’s ever really shows it was with Tommy.

And it’s Tommy appearing in front of them. Tommy, with blood red eyes replacing his sparkling blue ones. Tommy, with a sinister, broken expression on his face. No smile, no glee, no smugness. Just an angry, broken down child who’d been corrupted and twisted further away from innocence, torn from a childhood he should have experienced.

Phil wants to cry.

“Techno, get up.” Tommy’s voice is short, to the point. There’s no emotion behind his words this time. “I want you to look at me for once.”

“Tommy, Tommy, it’s not too late. You can run for it, I’ll cover you!” Techno’s pleading the same words he’d told Phil he said once before. His pleas are falling on deaf ears; Tommy is too far gone. “Tommy, please. I can help you!”

“You can. You and Phil both can stay here.” Tommy crouches down before the pair, a small grin finally appearing on his face. “You know what I was promised? I was promised a family again. I was told I could have family. That we’d be happy together, and I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. Techno, I’m tired of hurting. I want peace. I just wanted to build my hotel, I just wanted to be a kid.”

Phil remains utterly silent.

“You’re still a kid, Tommy. Please don’t listen to anyone telling you otherwise. Think of Wilbur!”

“Wilbur’s DEAD!” Tommy snarls. “It doesn’t matter what he’d want or say, he’s dead, gone! He’s a stupid ghost running around with fuckin’ sheep, he doesn’t remember us. He doesn’t care! I could go trap myself in the prison and he’d just throw some dye at me and crack some stupid joke. No, Techno, Phil? You’re my family. I want to be a family, so you’re both going to sit down here until you’re ready to tell me I’m not fucked up in every way, and we can hug and be a family again.”

Tommy backs up and sits down near a vine. His glare says everything, and Phil turns his head away. He knows now that between Bad, Ant and Tommy, the two of them aren’t getting out for awhile yet.

He’s not prepared to see Techno completely break down though, not that he blames him. This isn’t the Tommy they knew and loved before. This is a different Tommy, who’d been eaten alive by his own demons.

Now possessed by one.

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thisisthehardestthing · 4 years

Text

Purple Pill - Shinso x fem!reader

18+, WAREHOUSE UNDERGOUND RAVE AU, DRUG USE

[edit:i am actually crying. thank you, Zo, @joyousandverywarlike, for making me this amazing banner. it’s so beautiful and it’s exactly what I imagined his eyes to be like]

I should make a banner for this but I’m lazy and honestly, 420 subscribers snuck up faster than I expected (cough thanks @lady-bakuhoe and @animewh0re)

WARNINGS: Hard drug use, unprotected sex, orgasm denial

Authors note: idk how many of you are in the underground techno scene like I am, but please, be safe. It’s easy to get sucked into this lifestyle. If you know anyone that has lost their way, or you feel like you are yourself, reach out to someone. As always, inspired by Myst Paris . They’ve always made me feel safe during these experiences. Here’s a spotify playlist if you want to listen while reading.

PURPLE PILL

You don’t like the colour purple. In fact, you absolutely despise it. You actively avoid it, yet you’re always surrounded by it. You like red. You enjoy blue. But not together. You can’t escape it, especially tonight, with him around. So you try to forget, push everything out of your mind and focus on the present, it’s why you’re here, after all. You want to be numb, feel nothing and everything at once, so devoid of thought that your body can’t help but be overstimulated.

There’s no denying it, the way you feel the bass thumping through you, controlling the speed at which your heart beats. It’s fast, throttling your muscles as your feet step, hips sway. Your hands move up your thighs, pinching the hem of your skirt, always a skirt, pulling it up until it slips from your grasp. You trail your hands along your waist, tugging at your skin before you cross them, finding a place on either end of your clavicles, chest expanding and contracting as you writhe for the beat conductor. Your head swings side to side, predatory, searching, snakelike, before your fingers crawl up your neck and past your ears, in the air, flying. It’s so fucking good, and with your chin up, eyes closed, there’s no purple.

There’s a siren in the music, trickling in, winding up a build as you stare at the ceiling. It’s brutalistic, chipping cement, a few skylights missing glass, hinting at the late night and early morning. It’s a waning moon, no longer full but emptying out into something new, transformative. You moan, pure ecstasy drifting with the music to join the cacophony of smouldering bodies surrounding you. It’s sweaty and delicious. You feel an empty cup crush beneath your boot, and you realize you’re still on the ground, not weightless. So you pretend, hands reaching sideways and down, brushing against moist shoulders briefly. They swipe yours in return, acknowledgement of souls trying to soar, before you’re alone, hugging yourself with only the sound as a blanket. The beat drops and you’re back to stomping, feral movements.

You’re so lost that you don’t see it. Lavender flames part the sea of bodies stomping to the beat, as though burning them, changing to mist. A wildfire is heading straight for you. Damn purple.

“Funny seeing you here,” his voice is deeper than the bass of the music, vibrating through your skin and into your bones, boiling your marrow. It peels your eyes open, dragging you back to earth. The lights strobe, flashing into your dilated pupils. You’re electric, buzzed. He’s blocking the view of the DJ, of the crowd, your lifeline. Everything is in focus and moving.

“Your hair is alive, Shinso,” you mumble, staring at the mess of purple on his head. “It’s making me sick.” He chuckles as you grab a fistful, dragging him to slouch. It’s soft, how disgusting, so you’re rough.

“Oh, kitten, what low-grade shit have you already taken?” he asks, eyes lilac, pupils narrow, sober. Unfortunate but expected; he doesn’t use when he deals.

You shrug. It was half a pill hours ago, remnants from last week's reverie found in your earplug holder. It’s four in the morning, but the night has just started. The bass flips, a new beat lifting the melody and you bounce, still fisting his hair. He grimaces, prying your grip from his locks to hold your palm, unburnt even though you’d just touched fire. His fingers massage and knead the flesh as you sway. The lights flash. Red, blue, red, blue, fucking purple, so your eyes shut, pulling his lithe body against yours, fingers dancing under his shirt and up his spine. He chuckles.

He smells like lavender and spice, and you wince, face contorting in pain at how it stabs your lungs, cutting through the fog of your fading high, unwanted purple. Still, you press him closer, needing touch, forehead rolling between the dip of his pectorals, before your lips rest on his shoulders, almost biting, looking past and pining for the DJ. He’s a deity controlling the bodies of everyone in the warehouse, yet you feel cut off, held captive by the man wrapped around you, a prisoner, safeguarded. You feel Shinso sigh, his breath cool against your sweating neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper into his field of flowers, you inhale poison.

“Want something a bit stronger, kitty?” he’s husky, like leaves rustling in autumn, auburn against a periwinkle sky. He knows you’re not where you want to be. He’ll help you get there.

“Mmmm,” you hum in response, the hands on his back pawing and pressing the fabric of his shirt. It’s a soft cotton, or perhaps hemp. It’s nice, white, a canvas to paint on. Your fingers trace over the hills and valleys of his muscles, hips grinding against his, digging your nails into his skin. You don’t see it, but you feel the blood, red, wondering if you can create some blue, digging harder. Then the beat drops and you begin to stomp, feeling a fresh sense of clarity, focus, drive with the music. Shinso hisses.

“Careful with the claws,” he muses, the hands on your hips releasing to unzip the body-bag sandwiched between your bodies. You press your palms flat, feeling his heart beat in his back, syncing with yours but not with the bass.

He moves stealthily, slowly, hand snaking against your bare chest and over your bralet, a tease. His knuckles brush your nipples as he pulls the zip down. You pull your head off his shoulder to stare into those dark eyes, they’re bored and calculating. You’d shiver if it wasn’t for how warm it is, heat trapped under his gaze, sweat glistening on your skin, dripping down his neck.

His sweat. It’s reflecting the lights, cyan and scarlet swirling together so quickly they morph into violet. You press the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, running it up and down, you’re antsy, coming down. His body is ice cold beneath your touch, burning holes into your fingertips. He smiles lazily, his hand withdrawing completely and suddenly, there’s too much space between your bodies.

“You got water?” He asks, serious, no hint of a smirk. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, lifting a hand to your lips, a bottle already open and waiting and you open your mouth for him to pour it in. “Don’t swallow.” He says it almost too late so you push the liquid into your cheeks, right leg bouncing in an effort to stay still, the music calling you. You need to dance. There’s distortion and a steady beat as you stare at a rolling back to your left, mesmerised and longing to feel the silky skin, brown, not mauve.

Your gaze rips to the man in front of you when he crouches, ducking below eye level of the singular, mandatory bouncer, not that they would stop him. He’s got a syringe and small glass vial in his hands, and without looking at you, he pulls out a carefully measured amount, just a few milliliters, if that. He knows your tolerance so well. You remember the last time he gave you GHB, the euphoric mania that blossomed, and you grin with sealed lips. At least it’s not a purple pill. He crooks a finger and you bend forward, a moth to his lilac flames, letting all the water pool forward to avoid burning your mouth.

“Careful, kitten, remember what I told you?” he asks, steady hands waiting for your nod before he expels the acrid drug between your lips and you swallow quickly, making sure it’s the water that carries it, diluting it. In seconds, he’s packed it all away and passes you the water bottle. You chug it, extremely thirsty, suddenly on edge at expecting something to hit you at any moment.

There’s a howl to your right, a whine to your left, and you let out a moan as the music suddenly picks up double time. Your hands fly to the back of your neck, forearms pressed snugly to your ears, falling into the beat until sensations pull you back out. Shinso won’t let you go that easily, and you don’t want to leave him. He’s still kneeling, as though in prayer to your body and motion. It’s empowering to see him beneath you, amongst the dirt. He’s untouchable and yet here he is. His palms drag up the length of your calves as he places kisses along your thighs, fingers inching higher until they’re under your skirt, kneading the flesh of your ass, a thick index trailing along the crease of your underwear. You roll your hips, feeling his finger slide between your folds. Your teeth chatter, remnants of the previous pill, and you shudder against his hands. One of your hands finds refuge in his hair once more.

“Shinso, not now,” you whine, tugging him up. He stands, large palms splaying against your lower back again, arching it as you step together, rhythm flowing through your bodies. This time, he smells like smoke and geranium, a burning flower. His hips are pressed against yours, cock obviously hard, waiting, expectant. His lips come to your ear and he gives you a kiss before tasting the sweat near your hairline. It’s a threat, you’re inside him now, swallowed by purple.

“Hmm, did you just tell me to wait? After I gave you what you needed.” He’s tutting, his tone condescending, sending shockwaves through your ear canal, flipping a switch in your brain. You need to be alert, you’ve made the mistake before, tread carefully. You inhale, breathing in his fire, almost choking on ash.

“Dance with me,” you say, stretching more of your neck for him to reach, his lips soft and soothing. He’s sucking down on the skin, pulling red marks to the surface that will turn to blue then eggplant.

No, you pull away, head jerking out of his reach but he quickly resumes, fingers tangling behind your head to bring your face close to his. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet. He merely surveys your emotions with half-lidded eyes, calculating how long it’ll be before you’re floating away. You can’t stop bouncing, heightening the friction between your bodies. He’s starting to sweat now, you can see it beading in his hairline. You realise he must’ve been behind the DJ booth, where there’s restricted access, privacy. Something taps your lips and you open your mouth, compliant, thankful for something to suck on apart from your tongue.

“Kitten, you don’t tell me what to do,” his whisper makes you shudder. He’s planning something, lilac eyes becoming amethyst, bewitching. His fingers are bitter, sharp, like the green stalk of a flower, and you’re addicted. You curl your tongue up, swirling it around, feeling the bumps of your muscle curl against the miniscule grooves of his fingerprints. He pushes them in deeper, roughly, and if you were tighter, wound up, sober, you might’ve gagged. Instead, you feel the saliva begin to pool around your teeth, coating his knuckles and dribbling down your chin as he fucks your mouth with his hand. There’s no telling how long you’re sucking on them, time nonexistent, but the music slows, crashing periodically, like helicopter blades coming to a halt.

Then there’s quiet.

You hear the squelch in your mouth, the popping of spit. The pressure spreads from your throat down, and ice begins to frost in your gut, travelling up. Something is creeping. The contorting bodies begin to holler, whoop, moans of pain mixing with cries of pleasure as the next deity set’s up. You let your head fall back, his fingers slipping down your chin to grasp your throat, spit cold against moist flesh. He’s growling, you realise, the rumbles from his chest trembling in his fingertips. Has he been waiting for you all night?

It feels like an explosion behind your eyes, going off in your mind, sparking everywhere, and suddenly, you’re weightless once more. If it wasn’t for Shinso’s hand wrapped around you, who knows where you’d have floated to? The lights strobe again, faster, more urgent, the bass kicks off in a hurry, there’s a scream underneath the music, chilling your bones. Hardcore. You find yourself massaging his forearms, biceps, shoulders, fingers toying underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re too clothed,” the statement leaves your lips, finding yourself dizzy with energy, talkative. He’s in hyperfocus, the flames of his hair sparking off purple, rising to join the stars above. You can see the glint in his normally dull eyes now, brought about by the onslaught of your new high. He grins, lips pulling like a cheshire cat, twisting his face, and you drag his neck down to meet your lips. There’s another shriek in the beat and you pull back, breathless. “I don’t like it, not this, let’s go get some air?” Words tumble around you as they pour from your mind incoherently, against his smiling lips. His nods, forehead rubbing yours.

“Of course, kitten. Follow me,” and your hand is wrapped with his as he tugs you sideways, the bodies weaving around his straight path to the side of the warehouse. He tugs you to the front when you turn to the back, thinking of catching your breath in the outdoor area reserved for those that might be getting overwhelmed, tripping badly or need a release. That’s not his plan. Another scream and you grip his wrist with a vice, feeling the bass throttle your bones as you walk closer to the music, violent, bruising. He pushes past the metal railing, and you cross the barrier from purgatory into hell, so close to the speakers you can feel yourself become the music, imagine the screams, until you can’t.

The door is shut, cutting off the cries and beat, only the thrum can be heard in the room, a never ending thump rattling your bones. You can’t stop moving, the music calling you to return now that you can no longer hear it. You’re bouncing as you walk, almost skipping when Shinso sits and pulls you on top of him in a straddle. His hands find the plush of your ass, kneading it between those sinful fingers. The room is dark, the shapes blending into each other, the lightbulb colouring the room as a monotone; violet, UV. You prefer red. You moan as his lips find yours once more, with no worry of interruption, and you grind your hips down on his cock beneath the rough fabric of his pants. He unclips his bag from his chest, not breaking the kiss, before unclasping the back of your bra, tugging the flimsy material down your arms and to the floor. You’re hungry for him, starving, and for the first time that night, you want to devour plum.

“Take this off,” fingers tug at his shirt, mumbling against his lips as you stare into his eyes, falling into the deep well, almost past the point of no return, your high slamming the back of your mind, desperate. Let it in, a voice whispers and you shiver when Shinso raises his eyebrows, following your command.

“Hm, I thought you told me to wait, kitten,” he muses, dropping his shirt on top of your discarded bra, his fingers going back to your ass before running over the bend of your hips, digging them into the fold. Your hips are making the smallest circles, rolling against his erection, feeling how he twitches beneath your folds and his zipper.

“Nuh-uh, fuck me.”

His chest is pressed against yours, nipples rubbing together, teasing, the friction almost too much to bear. Fuck, you need more. You pull him in close, fingers tangling in his hair, burning your palm but you don’t care, crashing your mouth against his to feel whole. It’s not enough.

Let me in.

The metal button is undone and you lift slightly to unzip, tugging at the fabric as he accommodates your movements, helping just enough so that his cock springs free. Your heart is in your throat, choking you with want, desire. He pulls the bottom of your thong to the side, grazing against your slick, groaning at how wet you are. You mewl, his nickname for you taking shape. Your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying your vibrating bones, the pounding in your mind almost peaking. Shinso places a steady hand on your hip, under your skirt, the other finger teasing your folds open, keeping your underwear to the side.

“Say please,” his voice is cool, detached, regarding your flushed face and wild eyes with a boredom in his own. It makes you breathless.

“Please, Shinso.”

He brings his face close to yours, lips spread ear to ear like the ones between your legs as you feel the silk of his cock tap your entrance. The blacklight distorts his features, turning them rabid, unholy, dangerous, magenta. You begin to lower, but he keeps pressure in his hands, slowing your descent painfully, torturously. You can feel your chest heave, toe curling in your boots, pussy throbbing at the stretch. You mumble a mmmmpf, from behind closed lips, pushing yourself down.

“Patience, kitten, you’ve been teasing me for a while now,” Shinso smirks, lopsided and disgustingly seductive, twitching his cock as he lets you fall another inch. You’re stir-crazy. Your fingers tap against the ultraviolet skin of his shoulders, toes furl and unfurling, lip caught between nibbling teeth and eyes rolling up, all in an attempt to stay still.

Let me in.

He let’s go and you drop. You land with a thud, feeling stretched out beyond belief, the high no longer slamming against the door but rather kicking it down. Each bang makes you tilt forward, rising your hips up slightly before forcing his tip to hit your cervix once more as you lower. You’re slow, riding him timidly, as you revel in feeling so full, heart leaping out of your throat and floating above your head. Then faster, as you feel the bass of the music vibrate through his skin, the wall behind his head shaking, and your very cells begin to rattle along with it.

“Fuck, yes, Shinso,” you’re moaning, feeling talkative as the GHB creeps into your veins, mumbling words of praise at the man beneath you. He regards you coolly, biding his time, waiting until the high takes over completely.

“Please, fuck me, Shinso, please, god, please move.” You’re begging him now. Why won’t he thrust up? You focus on his eyes, the way they drink in your bounce on his cock. Shinso ‘tsk’s’, and his hands still your movements, keeping you seated, grounded, whining. Your mouth doesn’t stop trembling, lower lip swollen from all the biting. Your ankles shake from the need to walk out, back to the souls ascending to heaven, leaving their bodies behind, leaving you at his mercy.

“Mm, kitten, you’re awfully chatty for someone that just wants to be fucked,” Shinso purrs at you, keeping one hand firmly on your hips, bruising you, marking you, hurting you blissfully. You gyrate, feeling how he swirls within you, poking the sides of your walls, so damn full. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re silenced, gagged and restrained. His fingers invade, and you suck, replacing the gnawing of your cheeks to focus on the intruder between your lips.

“There you go, that should shut you up, pretend it’s my cock,” his fingers are impossibly long, moving slower than before, when they were plunging. It’s a relief, having something to suck on, relieving pressure in your neck and ears and jaw and hair and oh, you moan. The hand on your hip slide to your ass.

Smack!

Let me in.

It’s him. Amythest and Byzantium, lavender and lilac, fucking purple. He wants to be inside you, controlling you. You’re so empty, chest hollow with cheeks and cunt stuffed, so you suck, gyrate, pulse, all together, all at once. Impatient as ever, you feel the tip of his cock graze your most tender spot. With the hand that is not dominating your mouth, he holds your hips down with a vice. You crave him enough to defy him, ecstasy rolling through your core with his roll of your pelvis. You can’t see him, eyes staring into your mind in euphoria, at a galaxy, but he’s there, standing behind the entrance and exit, waiting.

“Do you want me that badly?" he asks. Shit, he's cornered you. He won't give you what you want unless you answer him, but the moment you do, you will be under his control. He'll only make you wait longer for the release you so desperately need. The alarm bells are ringing, don’t fall for the trap. His questions are dangerous.

You nod your head, shocked at how you can contain your words when you're so vocal, high off your mind, incoherent thoughts refraining from babbling out. Shinso smirks, releasing your hips, letting you fuck yourself on his cock, whining and moaning and writhing, hands gripping his hair, the cushions of the couch behind him, running through your own locks before looking at the ceiling and humming, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes. You gag on his fingers as they slip in deeper. It's too much, feeling so full, so empty, needing more, so much more.

Shinso's hand releases you, tongue lolling out of your now empty mouth, searching for warmth. There’s bruises on your hip bones, the pressure like a ghost over your skin, still apparent. You whine, biting your tongue before sucking it to stay quiet, swallowing your words as you press up against his chest. You're sweating, and thirsty, for water, his sweat, his mouth, fingers, cum, anything. The sheen of your bodies reflect violet in the blacklight, and he’s glowing. You’re a moth to his purple flame.

"If you want me to touch you, all you've got to do is ask." He whispers against your ear, breath teasing your skin, teeth blinding, eyes dark.

Let him in.

“Yes,” your consent is apparent, simple, all consuming, and Shinso grins, stands, flips you like a rag doll. Your body is his to use how he wishes. You’re floating, completely euphoric, manic, body tensing and relaxing. You need more. You’re watching your body get fucked from above, soul vibrating on a higher plane of existence. He feels good, so, so good.

Drool drips down your chin, smearing against the backrest of the couch. The weave of the fabric leaves more marks against your cheek, red indents turning to magenta, sangria, wine, perfect companions to the bruises on your hips. Your body is filled with mist, clouds, swirling around as Shinso thrusts into you from behind. They leave your mouth in gusts as you moan, loudly, taking over the muffled thrum from the bass. His large palm splays against your lower back, pressing down as he angles his hips up, wrecking you.

“That’s right, kitten,” his voice is thunder, rumbling in the room, against your skin, pricking up goosebumps. “I’m the only one that can make you feel this good.”

His fingers are lightning, burning like ice as they reach around for your clit, slick with sweat, adding a delicious friction as he circles the nerves. More fog slips from between your lips as you whine, moan, mewl, plead. The fabric of the sofa cushions bite into your knees, you feel how the static creeps down your calf and into your toes, each ricochet of Shinso’s hips sending an oscillating wave of pins and needles down your leg. Your fingers grip what they can, coming to rest beneath you to try and peel your face from the backrest like velcro.

You can see yourself convulsing around his cock, walls clenching rhythmically, winding you tighter and tighter. He’s thrusting deeper, harder. You’re going to cum, the release lying in his next thrust, and then it’s gone. Shinso pulls out, fingers flying from your clit to pinch the skin of your ass as his length comes to rest in the middle, his balls bobbing against the folds of your sex. You’re crashing, a wave collapsing in on itself as your orgasm is ruined by his touch, or lack of. Tears stream out of your eyes, shoulders shaking as you sob at his denial.

“Shinso, please, don’t stop, why’d you stop?” His cock slides against the crease of your ass, you can feel the warmth fading, cooling against your skin. You roll your hips to try and trap his length between your folds again, but he turns, slapping your throbbing pussy with four fingers, making you cry out.

“I need to hear you say it,” he commands, making you turn your head, peering over your shoulder at his sadistic smirk, fisting his cock just out of reach of your sopping cunt. You whine at the image; he’s bathed in glorious, royal purple. You’re frozen, unable to move and grab him. Your soul sucks back into your body, trapped under his gaze, nails digging into the sponge beneath. He spanks you, muscle trembling, the shock pushing you forward as you collapse with your face pressed into fabric. You can’t breathe.

“Say what?” you ask, voice muffled as you roll your forehead side to side, your need for touch insatiable, “I’ll say anything if you’ll just fuck me.” Your inner thighs tense up, trying to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

“Hmm, kitten, so desperate, aren’t you?” his cockhead is at the entrance of your slit, teasing up along it, daring you to lean back and swallow it. You moan, and then a sting blooms as his palm comes down on your tender skin. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I’m desperate, please,” you’ve let him in, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to clutch on to your high with twisted fingers, they’d have to pry it from you. Lavender invades every inhale, burning your lungs, acid taking over your senses. He bends over you, across your back, and whispers into your ear, cool breath fanning the heated flesh.

“Would you like to cum?” he asks, the tip of his cock slipping between your folds. You can feel the edge of his head, the curve, as your lips wrap around it greedily, throbbing, sucking him in as he keeps it at bay. You nod your head furiously, dragging it against the sofa, tears darkening the fabric, tasting the sweet salt on your lips.

“Well, too bad, kitten,” he says, your pussy cold as he withdraws, falling down next to you. His large palms wrap around your cheeks, thumbs wiping at the streaks beneath your eyes, like miniscule cuts beneath your skin. Your heart drops to your stomach, lips back between your teeth as you chew, metal flooding your tastebuds. “Come sit on my lap instead.”

So, you clamber onto him, eagerly lining up your entrance once more to sink down and feel full, satisfied. You’ve always hated the colour purple, but you’re addicted.

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I wanted to put this at the top, but it was getting long, but I appreciate you guys so much.

Thank you @joyousandverywarlike for being my light in the darkness and @hisoknen for making sure I’m properly tagged. @whats-her-quirk for always hyping me up, i love you soul mate. @league-of-thots ;)

This was lowkey inspired by a thirst Zo and I did in the Harem discord after reading Snack Run by @lookslikeleese so go check that out!

#purple #purple pill #shinso x reader #shinso #shinsou #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso #bnha #bnha fanfics #mine #my writing #follower celebration #fan ficiton #shinso hitoshi #boku no hero #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anime #claudia writes

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aressss1 · 3 years

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Sweet Nothings

(God!Technoblade x Male!Reader)

Read Me on AO3!

~~~~~~

You were very content with your life in this tiny village. Business was at its peak, and you were well known amongst the people. You had your regulars that came in daily, and you even had found an apprentice to help you out around the shop. Niki, was a great apprentice, learning how to bake and tend to the bakery on her own. The eagerness in her actions made you confident that she would be just fine taking care of the place in your stead, when you needed a break once in a while.

One early morning, when the world was still dark, you walked the cobblestone streets to your bakery. The warm glow of the over hanging lanterns washed over your form. There was a cold nip to the air as you walked. Letting your eyes wander, your eyes spot the decorations overhead. Festival decorations, for a festival made in celebration of the era of peace among your lands, and for the blood god.

Today was Niki’s first day alone in the bakery. Your job today was to set up a booth and run it for the festival. You had the perfect spot to entice travelers from across the world to eat your delicious baked goods. Town square was the perfect place, but you… had scored the place closest to the entrance of the town square to set up your booth. The area that had gotten the most foot traffic in festivals. You were excited for what could come of this. Your bakery could very well thrive off this one day alone!

The bakery before you was already lit up. You smirked knowing that your apprentice had beaten you to the punch. You twisted the doorknob and walked in whistling a familiar tune, signifying to Niki that you weren’t some stranger just walking in.

“Morning boss!” Niki leaned out from behind the doorway of the kitchen as she said it. “You’re looking really handsome today!” Her eyes sparkled and you smirked. The garb you had chosen for the festival cost you a pretty penny, but it was worth it.

“Well, a man has gotta look his best for his business don’t you think?” You ran your fingers through your hair, before putting your chef’s hat on. “How many goods have you made so far this morning my dear?”

The beginning of the morning went by smoothly. You had set up your booth while Niki had made quadruple the amount of baked goods that you normally made on a regular day. Festivals were good for business and you didn’t want to keep the people waiting. Now… You wished the middle of the day went just as smooth.

More foot traffic meant more problems… Thieves taking from your stock, people touching everything they didn’t intend to buy, people who weren’t satisfied being rude, and so much more. You had your hands full with everything. By the end of the festival when lanterns were sent into the sky to celebrate the blood god keeping peace across the land, you were out of breath. Your booth had seen it’s last customer of the day, and your head was still reeling. But that didn’t stop you from lighting your own lantern. You let it go as you still stood next to your booth, unaware of the fact that eyes lingered over you, as you closed your eyes uttering your thanks to the very blood god who watched you with curious eyes.

His eyes spotted your lantern ascending into the sky, he didn’t make himself known to you, He scanned over you once more before he followed the lantern’s light, awaiting the moment that it would come down. When it did, he looked at your handiwork adorning the material. Drawings and script told a story of your gratitude, that, without the peace that he had given, you would be a broken man with no passion in life. This peace gave you enough to stand on so you could pave your way into a successful business.

A slight smile pulled at his lips, a mortal had piqued his interest, there was definitely more he wanted to know about you. He would rest now and make himself known to you later. He held onto your lantern, keeping it for himself.

Days passed, and you struggled with the volume of customers who had come in. So each day you adjusted your inventory, to keep up with your customers. There were times when you could breath in between bursts of people. You could cry at the success from the booth just days before.

On one of your breaks, you sat down on a stool to help ease the discomfort in your back. You had been on your feet the entire day and you needed this break. You reveled in the silence and peace, you closed your eyes, letting out a little sigh. When the door opened, and you heard the bell sound off, signifying a customer, you gave off a small, tired grunt.

“Welcome to my bakery, how may I help you-” When you opened your eyes all the air left your lungs, and you couldn’t say any more. In front of you, stood a very tall man, with long pink hair, a golden crown that reminded you more of a circlet gilded his head. His ears were pointed and downturned, making it obvious he wasn’t human. His eyes rivalled the gold that sat atop his head. Deep purple to black armor hugged his body and a royal red cloak spilled from around his shoulders.

His eyes studied your face, and you felt a blush redden your cheeks. He moved around your bakery in the most graceful way you had ever seen anyone move and you fought to regain your composure.

“Make yourself at home, take a look around and if you need anything you can just ask.” You bowed your head to offer your respect to him. When his eyes searched over you once more you cleared your throat. Was this guy a soldier? A commander? His aura was one that suggested he was a man of power. Even so, this guy didn’t know what to get… His eyes wandered around looking at all the pastries and other baked goods, it was obvious he was having trouble deciding on what to get.

“Would you like a sample?” You offered, you almost shrunk at the man’s gaze, but you didn’t let yourself falter you held out a cupcake for him to take, and when he took it, you felt your heartbeat in your ears. When he hesitantly took a bite, you visibly relaxed when he gave you a smile, crumbs falling from his lip.

“I’ll take some more of these.” His deep voice shook you to your very core. Strangely, as much as this guy was intimidating… He was alluring, and you packaged up more cupcakes for him, giving him an extra one, because he was a first-time customer. Or… At least you told yourself that.

“Thank you very much! Here is your order and should you come back you will be welcomed with open arms!” You told him your name as he held his hand out with his payment. When he dropped it into your hand your eyes widened and in the palm of your hand were three gold pieces. Your heart dropped and when you looked back up, he was gone. You charged mere copper for your goods, not gold??? You were dumbfounded.

Months had passed, and the mysterious stranger came in each and every day. Ordering and trying new things from you. He had become a constant in your life, and you found yourself growing closer to him. You found out his name was Techno, and he was a war hero. You could tell he was leaving bits and pieces from you, but you figured if he wanted you to know he would tell you.

One night you locked up your bakery, and you were just about to head home. Your steps echoing off the cobblestone path once more. You looked up to see Techno, knelt down in front of someone, holding out a loaf of bread out to a straggler down on his luck. You had sold Techno that bread earlier. You couldn’t help but feel the smile tug on your lips. Techno stood tall after the straggler thanked him profusely, his eyes finding yours. You felt your heartbeat faster, as he towered over you.

“You have brought beauty into this world and it’s a crime not to share it.” Techno cocked his head at you, his hand resting on your cheek. “I would like to see more of the beauty you create.” He drops his hand from your face, holding it out for you to take.

You sigh happily, intertwining your fingers with his, happy to follow him wherever he would lead you. He led you to a place where you could see every star, away from the village. Foliage surrounded you and it was a nice change of pace rather than the buildings around you.

Techno looked at you, as you marveled at the scenery before you. He basked in your presence; you were such a breath of fresh air opposed to every other mortal around. He watched you make your way to a nearby stream, kneeling letting the cool water flow through your fingers. Techno summoned forth your lantern. When you stood and faced him again, you were shocked at the lantern in his hands.

“How did you get that?” You felt heat rise up to your cheeks.

“It tells a beautiful story.” He ignored your question, “Of a man, who was cast out based on his preferences… Going on a hard-earned journey to make a bakery. Determined to be successful, while hiding who you truly are, is… Tragic.” Techno cupped your cheek, his eyes boring into yours. “I do not wish to take credit for your hard work because I slaughter those who wish to upset the peace.”

Your eyes widened; the blood god was real… And he was standing before you, gazing at you with a fond expression. This beautiful man before you stroked your cheek with his thumb, and you felt your tears coming forth. You were scared, scared to tell Niki of your preferences, in fear she would abandon you. If any of your patrons knew, your business would be ruined…

“This world is filled with cruelty.” His words caused shivers to go up your spine. “I… want to shield you from that cruelty.” He leaned closer and closer to you, his lips just barely grazing yours. “If you’ll have me.” He barely whispered, but you heard him loud and clear. You threw your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tip toes to push your lips against his. That was when your tears spilled forth.

The two of you, melted into each other, the moon above shone down on you. Before too long this towering blood god cradled you in his arms, your head resting on his chest plate. You thought you were content with your life before… What you had before couldn’t compare to what you had now. Technoblade the Blood God had fallen for a mortal, and no one could take you away from him.

#technoblade x reader #technoblade/reader #c!techno x reader #techno fanfic #c!techno #god!techno #male!reader #fluff #mcyt x reader

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averytiredfanfictionwriter · 3 years

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The Immortals- Chapter One

This is a Dream SMP Au in which the protagonist, Dream, and Phil are part of a race of immortals that walk the earth among the hybrids and humans. I hope you guys enjoy. I’ll also be including the Ao3 link if you want to read it on there instead. Enjoy. (And please ignore the fact that character here is also a dragon hybrid. They are not the same character from my last story on here) Trigger Warning/Content Warning: Blood, violence

Chapter Two

Ash opens the door to the bedroom slowly, so as not to wake the young man currently sleeping in the bed next to the window.

His wings lay over him, shielding his body should anything decide to attack in the middle of the night while he’s asleep and she approaches warily.

“Dad!” A young child runs by her, startling her out of her stalking and waking the man up.

“Good morning,” he yawns.

“Good morning Phil. I tried not to wake Tommy up, but turns out he’d crawled into bed with me last night and refused to let me get up without him as well.” She says, grabbing Tommy from the bed where he’d started to jump up and down at the end of it.

“Ah, well, probably for the best.” Phil says as he watches Ash set Tommy down onto the ground where he promptly runs off to do god knows what.

“Techno and Wilbur are outside fighting each other again. God knows what it is they’re fighting over this time. I was going to get them myself, but was worried I'd get trapped in the middle of them.” Ash frowns and Phil shakes his head.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got them if you can handle Tommy for a few minutes.” Phil steps out of bed, his dark wings stretching out slightly.

From the moment Phil and Ash first met, she’s been hesitant to join in on any kind of fighting. She’s never explained why and Phil’s never asked, assuming it has something to do with whatever happened before they met, seeing as she’s more than 500 years older than him.

“He’s four years old. I think I’ve got this.” Ash laughs, leaving the room in search of the child.

Phil groans as he wonders about whatever the two older children are fighting about this time. Ever since they got older, the inseparable duo have become engaged in constant verbal and physical battles. Honestly, Phil is getting tired of it but he has no idea how to stop it.

He changes into a long robe for the day, leaving the bedroom and seeing Ash chasing Tommy around the living room, eventually catching him by wrapping her wing around him as he tries to get around her. He smiles softly at the sight, hearing the giggles from Tommy and seeing the joy in Ash’s eyes. He would rather have no here by his side, especially after losing Kristen.

Steeling himself for the inevitable scuffle that’s going to happen when he tries to break up the boys, he opens the front door and his mouth immediately drops to the ground. Techno stands with his back to the house, towering over an unmoving figure on the ground, his long sword dripping blood into the grass. Scratches cover his body and a slowly spreading patch of red stains his shirt.

Phil screams, an unintelligible sound, startling the dragon hybrid into almost dropping Tommy on the ground in shock, just barely managing to land him on the couch where he sits giggling.

She runs out the door and her heart immediately drops at the sight in front of her. Phil kneels next to Wilbur’s body, hands pressed to his abdomen in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood.

Ash runs to them, falling to her knees as she presses her hands to Wilburs body, the healing magic flowing through her fingers and repairing the damage done by Techno, who now sits against a tree a little ways away from everyone.

The jagged wound in the boy's chest slowly closes up, leaving only a faded scar as a reminder of what happened. Techno watches on, emotionless on the outside but internally screaming at himself. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He didn’t mean to fight Wilbur. It was just supposed to be a sparring session, but the voices that had slowly been popping up started to demand he hit harder, stop pulling his punches and aim for the more tender spots of his opponent. One thing led to another and the next thing he knew he was standing over the body of his brother, watching as he bled out into the front lawn.

Wilbur gasps softly, taking a deep breath in as Phil clutches onto him, hugging his son close to him.

Phil looks up to where Techno is sitting, practically burning holes into Techno with his stare. “Get away. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, standing and walking past his brother and adoptive dad, who sit on the ground hugging each other.

Ash stands, watching Techno leave, seeing the confused look on Tommy’s face as he watches from the doorway. She follows after him into the house, telling Tommy to stay on the couch for a little bit.

Knocking on the door of the bathroom, Ash can hear the water being turned off before it swings open, a confused Techno standing on the other side.

The medical kit sits opened up on the counter and she sees the bloodied shirt Techno wore discarded on the floor.

“May I?” She nods towards the medical kit and he moves out her way wordlessly, letting her into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

Stringing the needle silently, she starts work on stitching the long cut. He doesn’t make a noise, as unmoving as a statue while she works. She would use her magic, like usual, but she used up her energy practically bringing Wilbur back from the dead.

“Why?” Techno asks after some time, not questioning why she helps people, but mostly why she’s in here helping him having seen what he did.

“Because I know you didn’t mean it. I know what it’s like being persuaded to do things you don’t want to do, and I know how you feel. I’ve hurt a lot of people in my very long life, and I can tell you that that’s not the worst I’ve seen. And I don’t hate you. Phil doesn’t either. He’s just hurt and worried for Wilbur right now. That’s a very scary thing to have to see as a father.” Ash finishes stitching up the wound and bandaging it, looking up at the piglin hybrid's face to see tears glinting in his eyes.

Before she can say anything, he’s already wrapping his arms around her in a hug, letting her cradle him to her chest on the ground and hold him as he lets the silent tears roll down his cheeks. She doesn’t know how long they stay there in that position, but soon she can hear the almost inaudible snores from Techno and smiles at how adorable the young piglin hybrid is when sleeping.

After a few moments of thinking, she knows what she needs to do. The only hard part will be convincing Phil it’s the right thing.

#dream smp #sbi x reader #sbi inc x reader #philza minecraft #wilbur soot #technoblade #dream #tommyinnit #dream x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #jschlatt #The Immortals-dsmp #lizzy writes

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tetsuwhore · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐚 | 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢

Night Club AU! Series: Vol ii.

‘In you, he found a blazing fire that sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, and in you, he found a sense of familiarity that embraced his heart in a comforting warmth.”

Description: your eyes always hold a plethora of emotions - hunger; desperation; ache; lust. but never love.

Warning: explicit smut - light degradation, unprotected sex, overstimulation, a bit of ‘knife’ play (???), toxic behavior, unhealthy emotional attachments, angst, mentions of alcohol, drug use

Word Count: 3.7k

Song Rec: Breed by Crim3s

back to masterlist?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.�� .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Terushima Yuuji liked thrill.

He refused to take anything too seriously, adopting an ideology that consisted of chasing after whatever granted him that adrenaline-induced rush of pleasure - perhaps to the point where it was almost hedonism. And when reprimanded for his carefree attitude, he’d simply laugh and clap the person on the back, proclaiming something along the lines of how he wanted to “live, not survive”.

It was perhaps also part of the reason why he found himself coming back again.

It’s loud. Terushima allows himself to revel in the feeling of the thumping bass, the powerful vibrations reverberating through his body and intermingling with the prickling of the tequila-induced buzz. He succumbs to the psychotropic waves clouding his mind, drifting through his head in wispy tendrils that teeter on the edge of feeling almost tangible.

(He doesn’t remember much about what he took to even reach his current state - at least, nothing beyond the fact that the boy who offered him the capsule was cute and had really soft lips.

Then again, not like he really gives a flying fuck about much else anyway.)

His eyes flutter open, and he’s greeted with a blurry kaleidoscope of flashing fluorescent green and purple. It’s captivating, but his eyelids feel far too heavy, so he allows them to fall shut again. The movements of his body become second nature - he gives into the techno beat, morphing his form into becoming one with the moving sea of bodies.

Yes, Terushima Yuuji liked thrill. Still, he was only human. And like every other human, he was a creature of habit - one that felt uncomfortable with change, and sought after the familiarity of things. While the loud atmosphere and substance use that came with rave culture may not have been the most conventional sources of comfort, it was what Terushima always found himself reverting back to.

He parts his eyes again. This time, he sees you.

Terushima watches you, angling himself so he can look past the crowd in between and catch a better glimpse of your face, dewy and illuminated by the black light. You’re not there alone - there’s a man behind you, his lips attached to your neck, and a woman in front, gripping your hands to her hips.

And yet, your eyes are fixated on him.

Time seems to be moving just the slightest bit slower now. Terushima watches as the flashing hues of purple, pink and green slowly fade away, blacking out the mass of dancing bodies.

Suddenly, his world is an abyss, and all he can see is you.

You, seductively swaying your hips, meandering your form in slow, fluid movements that remind him of a charmed snake. You, as you return his gaze with equal intensity, a mischievous glint dancing around your eyes and inviting him closer, closer, closer-

He’s abruptly pulled out of his trance when you blink, breaking the connection, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

Time rushes at a dizzying pace now as he pushes through the tight gaps of the packed bodies before him, bronze eyes flicking back and forth as they scour for your familiar form. Terushima remembers the fateful night when he had first caught your eye. He knew then - as he spent the remainder of it in a dark corner, hoisting you up against a wall and fucking you into oblivion - that he was hooked.

Every time after that was always like this - you walking away, and him chasing after you.

Still, Terushima finds that he doesn’t quite mind the chase. He doesn’t mind working himself ragged, running with all his being. Not when it’s the sweetness of your lips and the warmth of your arms waiting for him at the finish line.

So yes, Terushima Yuuji sought after thrill.

Terushima Yuuji sought after comfort.

Terushima Yuuji sought after you.

Because in you, he found a blazing fire that sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, and in you, he found a sense of familiarity that embraced his heart in a comforting warmth.

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief when he finally finds you in the bathroom at the end of the club hallway. You’re leaning against the sink counter, metal file in hand as you casually swipe it across the tips of your nails. Nudging himself into the dim space, he reaches for the latch, only to find it broken.

“Want me to find a way to keep this door locked?”

“Leave it,” you reply coolly, “It’s far from the main hall anyway. And if someone does decide to come in, ‘least they’ll get to watch a nice show, hmm?”

Grinning, he pulls the door closed before turning back around and advancing closer to your form. Your head is still tilted away from him, the sharp chafing of the file sounding through the bathroom as you speak.

“You kept me waiting, Terushima.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, angel,” Terushima murmurs, hands gripping the counter on either side of where you’re standing, “I’ll make it up to you, yeah?” His lips are just barely ghosting over yours, eyes fluttering shut as he inches forward to close the distance between you two.

Then, he feels it.

Cold metal pressed up against the underside of his chin. It’s sharper than he expects - the pointed end threatens to pierce through his skin, warning him from moving any closer.

“Not so fast, baby.”

You’re donning a slight smile, with your arm poised up as you lightly press the nail file against his throat, edging him away from your face. “Careful there, sweetheart,” a slow grin forms on his face as he speaks, “You could really hurt me with that.”

“I could.”

Terushima feels the file drop down ever so slightly. Ah. So that’s what you wanted.

His grin grows as he steadies himself by gripping the counter before slowly crouching his body down. You’ve got your eyes locked with his in a piercing gaze, your hand slowly moving downward. And yet, the file remains dangerously close to his throat, lightly grazing his skin as he continues his descent.

He’s kneeling before you now.

It’s instinctual - the movement of his hands as he brushes them up the outsides of your legs. Rough palms graze the expanse of your skin, inching higher and higher as Terushima reacquaints himself with your softness, with the familiarity of the texture. He’s almost restless by the time he reaches the hem of your skirt, hastily bunching it up over your hips.

But once again, just as he’s inching himself forward, bringing his face closer to the alluring scent of your heat, he’s stopped. Groaning, he pulls back, golden eyes flitting up at you in impatience. “C’mon, baby, lemme taste you.”

Your hand doesn’t budge.

“...please? Just wanna take care of you.”

And you finally, finally pull away, leaving him free to nudge his face up between your thighs. It’s been a whole week, and he would’ve loved to savour the moment, to take his sweet time reveling in the feel of your skin. But he can’t; not with how he’s overloaded with the scent of sin, of your arousal dampening the fabric of your panties.

Terushima wastes no time looping his fingers into the bands of your underwear before yanking them off, absentmindedly tossing them aside in a forgotten corner. Parting your legs wider, he moves forward, tilting his head up until his lips are directly under your dripping folds.

His ears perk up at the sound of your sharp intake of breath as you await his next move in eager trepidation. It’s satisfying, having you on the waiting end for a change. He can’t help the smug smile on his face as he pokes his tongue out, just barely ghosting it along your labia.

Then, in one fell sweep, he swipes it along the length of your inner folds, from your leaking slit, all the way up to your throbbing clit. And, oh, it’s so, so gratifying, hearing the soft whines you let out as he trails the slick muscle across every inch of your hot, needy cunt.

One of your hands has found purchase in his hair, fingers lightly carding through the blond strands. He can vaguely make out murmurs of how it feels ‘so good!’, and how you want ‘more, more, more!’ Oh, he hasn’t even gotten to the best part yet. He would give you more, alright.

He pulls away briefly, smirking to himself at your petulant whine upon the loss of contact. Terushima taps the hand currently nestled in his hair. “Hold on tight, yeah, babe?” Your brows furrow in confusion, lips parting to question what he intended on doing-

Your words fall flat on the tiled floor, replaced instead, by a sharp whimper.

Snickering, Terushima flattens out his tongue and repeats the motion, rolling the cold metal ball right against the swollen head of your clit. A sudden clattering on his left interrupts his rhythm, forcing his eyes to the source of said disturbance. His peripheral view catches sight of it - the nail file, fallen free from your shaky hands.

A rough tug on his scalp pulls his attention back to you, refocusing his efforts on bringing you closer and closer to the edge. His large palms are spayed flat against the outside of your quivering thighs, fingers indenting the thick of your flesh as he presses you up against the edge of the counter.

“Wait, T-Terushima, I- I can’t keep- fuck-”

He braces himself just in time as your legs give way, bringing your weak form down entirely on his broad shoulders. Hearing you whimper at the lack of support, he hushes you, toned arms snaking underneath the back of your thighs to settle you on top of him.

“Easy, sweetheart. I gotcha.”

Your breath stutters in surprise when he gets himself back up, with you still perched on his shoulders and forearms, before planting you on top of the counter. Pressing his hands against the back of your knees, he pushes them up until your thighs are pulled as close to your chest as they can go.

It’s likely uncomfortable for you - having your body pressed up in half, your neck awkwardly angled so you can rest your head against the mirror behind you. And yet, you tuck your arms under the back of your knees to hold your legs in place, teary-eyed and eager as you wait for him to continue his assault on your pussy.

The shift in power is perfectly evident in how sweetly you whine, and whimper, and beg for him when he moves his face back to your warm cunt, lapping his tongue in heavy strokes. He takes full advantage of the cool piercing adorning the slick muscle, catching it beneath the sensitive hood of your little nub.

It certainly becomes crystal clear when you hit your climax, moaning out a shrill string of profanities that graduate to whiny pleas of his name when he doesn’t stop. He can’t help chuckling, even with his lips glued to your overstimulated clit, upon hearing your weak cries of how it was ‘t-too much!’, and could he ‘please, p-please, stop, please!’

And as he watches the tears stream down your cheeks as you squirm in his hold, bears witness to your descent into a beautiful, frenzied depravity, Terushima knows it’s clear.

You’re no longer the one in charge.

You’re all limp and boneless in his arms once he eases you back upright, looping your arms around his neck in a weak hold as you press yourself up against his hard chest for support. And you’re so soft, so compliant - it’d be no effort to rile you up, to taunt you and take advantage of your current vulnerability.

But no, he couldn’t.

(Terushima liked to tell himself that the whole sadistic dom thing just wasn’t his style. At the very least, it provided some semblance of an excuse to avoid confronting the fact that he just liked being sweet on you.

And only you.)

Terushima gathers you in his arms with an uncharacteristic tenderness, cupping your cheek to tilt your face up towards him. “Fuck, I missed you, angel. I’m gonna take care of you now, ‘kay?”

He chuckles at the dazed expression worn on your features, lightly brushing his thumb across your trembling lower lip. And then, he connects them with his own.

He allows himself to get wrapped up in your arms, to inhale the sweetness of your perfume, to tangle his tongue with yours. Terushima allows himself to be enveloped in you. And as he pulls you infinitely closer into his hold, presses his body against every inch of your softness, he thinks it’s almost intimate.

Almost.

Because as you muster up more energy, as you recover from the exhaustion of your previous orgasms, you reciprocate his kisses with hard vigour. Your hands, previously looped tight around his neck, now dig almost painfully hard into the fabric covering his back, tugging the cloth so tight that he can hear the sound of ripping threads. The soft saccharine of your touch dissolves, giving way to bitter, bitter desire.

And when you pull away, hastily yanking his shirt over his head, Terushima catches a glimpse of your eyes. They’re blown wide, and bursting with a plethora of emotions that he attempts to place.

Hunger. Desperation. Ache. Need. Lust.

But not love.

The intimacy is practically non-existent when you bend forward, urging him to unzip his pants and fuck you over the counter. He can’t see your face as clearly, he can’t kiss your lips, he can’t hold you like he wants to-

But he does it anyway, gripping your hips in a bruising hold and driving forward into your hot cunt in one hard thrust. Because he’ll take it; he’ll take any scrap he can get, just so long as he can spend another moment pressed up against you.

Terushima snakes his fingers down your front, gathering the slickness smeared across your clit. Holding them up in front of you, he grips your head back by your hair, forcing your face up.

“Look at how wet you are, baby,” he separates his fingers in a spread V, the fluid strings of your arousal glistening under the light. “Who got you like this, hmm? Who’s got you dripping like a little slut?” the taunts flow out in hisses, partly because of how hard you’re clamping down on his dick, mostly because of the red, hot frustration coursing through his veins. “Was it that man you were prancing around with back there? Or maybe, it was-”

“No, nooo,” you’re practically gurgling on your words from the recklessness of his movements, “It’s y-you, it’s you, i-it’s you, Teru-”

A dark laugh bubbles past his lips as he rolls his lips in another punishing thrust, “None of that, baby. It’s Yuuji.”

“I-It’s because of you, Y-Yuuji! All, ah- all because of- of you..”

“That’s right. All because of me. Because you’re, uh- you’re mine, aren’t you?” he makes sure to punctuate every next word with a particularly hard thrust, “All. Fucking. M-Mine.”

(His. His. His.)

And you’re slobbering over your words, spewing out some sort of garbled nonsense that can hardly even be considered speech. But it’s okay. It doesn’t matter now, not when you’re both so close to your highs. His fingers return down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles in tandem with the feverish jerks of his hips.

Terushima yanks your head back up again, lips pressed hard against your neck as he mouths kisses and nips along your skin. Yellow eyes glisten as they burn into your expression in the mirror, reserving it into his permanent memory. The dark pupils follow every contortion of your features, every scrunch of the skin around your tightly shut eyes, every tremble of your lips as they fall open to paint the silent bathroom vibrant with your frenetic moans.

Terushima decides, then, that this is how you look prettiest. Even slathered in sweat, and even under the harsh, white bathroom light - you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful when you’re held in his arms, you’re beautiful when you’re falling apart under his touch, you’re beautiful when you’re stuffed full of his cock.

You’re beautiful when he can, even if just for a second, pretend you’re his.

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

He’s hunched over, arms pulled around himself as he attempts to placate his staggering breaths. You’re in a similar condition, gripping the edge of the counter in a tight hold to stabilize yourself.

“Fuck, Terushima-” he looks up at your sharp tone, willing away the quiet hurt that resurfaces upon hearing you revert back to his family name, “You came inside! I’m gonna have to go clean up, and-”

It’s not long before he’s back on his knees again, having coaxed you into letting him ‘clean’ you up himself.

Terushima resigns himself to lazier strokes this time, squirming his tongue past your slit and curling it along your quivering inner walls. He licks out every bit of you, angling his head closer so he can scoop out every drop of your essence mixed with his cum.

He can feel the light tremors of your movements as you sigh, allowing your head to loll back as your fingers thread across his scalp. There’s no frenzied jerking, no desperate jutting of your hips into his face. Instead, it’s replaced by a full bodied tremble that crawls down every inch of your skin as you near your high.

But, wait, wait-

What is he-

You tilt your head back down to eye him in curiosity. The movements of his slick muscle - previously lazy and languid, with no particular direction - now seem almost… methodical. What is he doing with his tongue?

And then, as you concentrate hard on figuring it out, realization dawns on you. Is he- Oh, god, is he-

“Are you-” your eyes fall wide in disbelief, “Are you spelling out your name?”

The playful look in his eyes is answer enough. But before you can press any further, right when he gets to the very last letter, you’re coming undone, head instinctively falling back as you release a final whimper of his name.

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

“So, again next week?”

You’re in front of the mirror, hands busy redoing your smeared makeup and smoothening your mussed hair. You freeze at his words, temporarily shifting your focus away from your dishevelled appearance to look back at where he’s sitting, leaned up against the wall.

“Uh, I- I don’t think so, Terushima.” The look you send him is laced with guilt and discomfort. “Read between the lines,” it practically pleads with him, “and don’t make me have to spell it out for you.”

Terushima picks up on your discomfort, on your hesitance, on the finality of your words. He isn’t stupid. What he is though, is petty.

“Oh?” he asks in mock ignorance, “The week after, then?”

“Terushima…” your voice trails off as you bite your lip, eyes flitting back and forth between him and the floor. He clenches his palms into fists as he speaks.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

You flinch at the venom in his tone, nervously eyeing his fuming state. “Yeah, um, I’m seeing someone.” You straighten yourself out, voice relatively unwavering as you attempt to remain calm. “I think it might be serious this time. And they- they want to become exclusive now. So, uh- we can’t… We need to stop, Terushima.”

He’s completely sobered up. There’s no alcohol, no substance clouding his mind. He registers every word, every sentence falling from your lips with a painful consciousness.

It gives rise to red, hot anger, as he shoots you an accusatory glare. “So you were using me then? You knew, you knew how I- how I felt and you-”

“H-Hey, that’s not fair-”

“You were using me as your fucking side piece!” Terushima almost regrets the harshness of his words when he sees the tinge of hurt flash across your face, but the frustration and jealousy overtake his guilt. “You knew, you knew, you fucking knew!”

(Knew that all he had ever wanted was for you to be his.

He leaves the words unspoken. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud, can’t breathe tangibility into the thought, because god fucking damn, another ounce of vulnerability would kill him.)

“Okay, okay, Terushima, I-” you edge closer to the door, speaking quietly in an attempt to placate him, “I’m going to leave now.”

“No! Wait-” He sits up from the floor, eyes welling up in tears and frustration as he watches you go still at the doorway. Terushima attempts to finish his sentence, to put out his thoughts, his one final request. But, he can’t- fuck, he can’t- He pushes himself, forcing the words out from within him, but they remain painfully lodged in his throat, and- and fuck, he’s choking, and-

“Terushima?”

Your voice pulls him out of his stupor. They come out hoarse and heavy, but Terushima manages to string the words together, “J-Just say it! That you’re mine… Just o-once, please, please…”

(His. His. His.)

Your voice comes out in barely a whisper, “Terushima, you know I-”

“Lie to me then! Just as o-one final kindness, please…”

And you look at him, sitting down on the dirty tiles, tears trailing down his cheeks. That look unsettles him. It’s not harsh enough to be disgust, no, your expression bears no malice. And yet, it’s not invested enough to be concern.

Pity. It’s pity.

“I’m sorry, Terushima, but doing that would be beyond cruel.”

The sobs rain heavy and free once he hears the door click shut. It’s not long before the fatigue and exhaustion weigh down on him, and soon, even sitting up takes too much effort. Terushima lowers himself down until he can feel the cool tile against his cheek. The bathroom floor is disgusting, caked with filth and grime. It smells. He’s too tired to care.

And then, just as he’s about to close his eyes, to allow himself some reprieve in the abyss of sleep, his peripheral catches it.

Your nail file, laying abandoned a few inches away from him.

He’s not sure why, but it makes him cry harder.

#terushima x reader #terushima smut #terushima yuuji x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #pick your poison series #tw drugs #tw alcohol

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