#the way i SCREAMED he shows up with a title that says ���’Death From Above’

[heydragonfly]

okay I’m playing Hades 2 and every character has been absolutely wonderful BUT

ICARUS IS IN THE GAME!!!!! (this is the incomplete/temporary art they’ve used for the other allies of this section hence why it’s sketchy)

also??? I think he’s Melinoë’s ex???? “not about to let you fly out on me again” is LOADED

meli 😭😭😭😭

[trippygalaxy]

4 Prompts, 4 Stories

I asked @yourlocaltreesimp for some prompts earlier and wrote a few short blurbs for them! As you can tell Im reallllly into angsting the Sacred Realm boys!

ALSO! kinda unedited so, sorry for any mistakes!

Characters: Link, Time, Sky, Worlds, Twilight (Kinda) Warnings: The Prompts Blood and Change are angsty! Blood has implied character death but open ended ending, Change has descriptions of blood/injuries!

Blood

Distant screams are muffled by the roaring thunder, the darken sky lights up with blinding flashes of white as the cold rain harshly hails from above.

If Link’s vision wasn’t already a haze with darkness creeping in at the corners, he was certain the crackling lighting would assault his eyes just the same, but now it seemed to be a guiding light as if he was a moth to a flame. He…he wasn’t sure where it would lead him, but his heavy eyes fought to follow it.

“-NK!!”

A muffle cry breaks through a thunderous clap.

“GET UP BR—!!”

A guttural demand was interrupted by the roaring storm, as distant as the clouds.

“Oh by Hyila- There's too much blood..”

A voice much closer shakes ever so faintly.

Link didn’t even notice the hasty footsteps, mud kicking up around him as his back only sinks further into it. Blood…was that the warmth he felt? He hasn’t noticed it until now but…it was nice, like….well he wasn’t sure actually.

Huh…when did th e l ight f a d e….

Care

The faint crackling of the low flame fills the makeshift ‘camp,’ its orange hues glowing in the darken clearing yet never grazing the skin of the cook. It was…calming, the quietness of night mixing with the sanctuary that came with the mundane act of cooking…though it still took Wild off guard- the whole ���ghost’ thing.

Well, Sky was instant that they were more the mere ghosts-

“Poes are ghosts!” He sighed for the umpteeh time. “Ghosts are scary and evil, we are legendary spirits, the heroes of Hyila, the definition of–”

Rolling his eyes at the man’s voice echoing in his head, Wild normally stopped listening at that point, why should he care about titles? He lived his whole life being burdened with such things, cant his afterlife be less…labelizing? 

—

Link’s stomach growled quietly, as if it too was afraid to break the silence, but he couldn’t help it! The wild hero -or Wild as he decided- was making something truly divine! Link has never smelt something so good before, and he was eager to finally taste what the cook was making. A part of him wondered how the spirit could do such a thing…He heard stories of the hero’s strange knack for cooking but it was odd how the spiritual form could still interact with things.

Sure, Sky and Time were able to touch and carry him but everything else they just kinda…phased through. So was it a him thing or maybe because the spirits–

“You’re thinking way too hard about this.” A snort cut off his thoughts, bring the young hero back to reality. 

Feeling his ears twitch in embarrassment, Link pulled his legs closer as he averted his eyes from the hero’s back. 

“S-Sorry, Mister hero…” He mumbled.

The faint yellow glow of the spirit burns a little brighter as he faces the young hero who rested on top of a tree stump. Though the teen averted his eyes, he can feel the amused eye raised in his direction. 

“You-” A ladle is lazily pointed in Link’s direction. “And everyone in that damn medallion needs to learn to care a lot less about the little things. Also what did I say about calling me that? You already gave me a nickname, just use it.”

The lighthearted scoff caught the young man’s attention, his eyes looking back to the cook who wears a lopsided but freeing smile. 

“Sorry, I j-just–”

“And stop saying sorry!”

“Sorry–”

“Kid!” A laugh.

Link cant fight back the smile on his lips, even as his face burns with embarrassment…he cant help but admire the cook. He knows that the hero has gone through many battles, faced many judgmental eyes and been deemed ‘unworthy’ by countless but he didnt show a care. A part of Link wonders if he’ll ever reach that.

Self Care

An obnoxiously loud and long sip breaks the tension like a knife.

Two heads whip around to the source, their faces showing varying degrees of annoyance and exasperation. Sky’s brow knitted together in confusion while Time’s eyes bored into the new annoyance- he may be a spirit but he can already feel a phantom migraine drill behind his eyes. The two had been arguing endlessly about something- Worlds didnt care enough to listen but he did know that the fresh hero was sitting to the sidelines looking like a kicked pup.

Speaking of said hero, Worlds sees a faint quiver of a smile on his lips. Good.

“What in all hells are you–”

Time’s gritted tone was cut off by another loud sip as Worlds drank from his hot chocolate. Hiding his smirk behind the froth as the older hero’s eye twitches.

“Worlds…Where did you even obtain…?” Sky trails off, blinking at the hero.

Shrugging, World swirls the pretzel in the drink before taking it out and crunching down on the soft bottom, dipping it back in. This only caused the grump to bristle, his teeth grinding like goron joints.

“The kookie cook made some,” He hums, bored eyes glancing at the young hero for a moment before nodding his head behind him. “Might still have a batch left if you’re quick…”

The young hero seems surprised by the offer, eyes flickering between the smaller hero and the elders. The idea of some hot chocolate did sound appealing but…

“He has strawberries picked too.”

Worlds almost laughed at how quickly the hesitant dropped from Link’s face, his feet quickly carrying him off back to where the wild hero took up his cooking spot, leaving behind his mentors without a second thought. Shaking his head, Worlds wonder what started this obsession of his.

Silence hangs in the air after the young hero’s footfalls patter away- Well, almost silence, Worlds took deliberate sips from his drink when he sees one of the hero’s mouths open.

“Would you–” siiip “YOU LITTLE-”

Sky grabs the hero’s cloak collar, as Time tries to lunge at the smug young hero.

“Good luck with that Sky,” World snickers, turning on his heel as he takes another sip. “I'm taking a self care day.”

Change

A thick fog had suddenly flooded the chamber, rushing in like water breaking past a dam running over and past every surface and body like it was never there. That brat had touched something when Time had his back turned for ONE SECOND- he swears, if that kid didnt kill himself with his stupidity then Time would. 

The faint call of his has his eyes rolling as he turned, of course that brat was looking for him to hold his hand-

But it wasn’t Link.

Standing in front of him, bloodied and face sullen, was Twilight– no…no this was Link. This was His Link.

It was Link.

“What happened to you..” A raspy voice is pulled from the boy’s chapped lips, dull eyes staring through the hero with nothing behind them. Time tried to fight back the shiver of dread as his student’s question echoed around him. 

Link takes an uneven step forward, stumbling like his broken legs fought to stay upright even as bones stick out harshly from blood stained fabrics. Time fought every urge to rush forward, to scold and scoop the kid into his arms, to plead him to stop moving and to just let him help-

Sneering at the man, Link’s face almost seemed to melt with the fog, getting his features twisted and swirled in ways that made Time’s stomach churn before flickering back to normal. “You’re nothing more than a disgrace, tainting that tunic with every mistake…every ounce of innocent blood, every broken promise woven into it.”

“N-no…” Time shook his head, words caught in his throat as it burned with something raw and trembling.

Disgust is laced with every syllable. “You’ve changed, and the thing is? You could change for centuries and no one would like the end result. Not even yourself.”

“Link please-” Time choked

A sudden gust of wind rushed in the room, the heavy fog running away like a wounded beast and suddenly, Link– Twilight…is gone. Hes…gone…

“Time?!” A familiar voice calls. “Oh my hyila, I am so sorry! A-are you okay?”

Shutting his eyes, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists, Time lets out a shaky sigh through his nose. He had changed, more than he’d like to admit and so much more than he’d ever want Him to see. 

@majorproblems77 @treasure-goblin @zelda-the-sacred-realm

[tarabyte3]

Remember You Are Half Water

Pairing: Kino Loy x f!Reader

(7.2 k words)

AO3 link

Summary: Drowning is easy. It's surviving that's hard. Or: After the prison break, you and Kino hide out on Narkina 5.

Warnings: (18+) Explicit, angst, enemies to lovers (kind of), they argue and not in the flirty way, vaginal sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, grim realism, survival situation, descriptions of drowning, descriptions of resuscitation, cpr, thoughts of death, thoughts of dying, talk of dying, mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of imprisonment, themes of death, themes of drowning, description of pain, dreams, nightmares, illness, self-indulgent melancholia

A/N: I accidentally wrote this after getting a random idea in my head while working on I Want You to Show Me Weak (my brain will do anything but finish a fic 😌), so have a surprise Kino oneshot. Just please mind the tags, especially with the events currently happening in the real world. This isn't a dark fic, but the tone is quite grim. (Mostly. I am still a filthy hopeless romantic, after all.) Also, I'm well aware of what Narkina 5 is supposed to look like, however I simply Do Not care 😌

Fic title is from The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood. Collage quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Ocean.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

- e.e. cummings, maggie and milly and molly and may

Your lungs burn.

There's a weight across your shoulders, pulling you down and under the waves. Your arms are spent and heavy with exhaustion. You have no idea how long you’ve been swimming—dragging something through the water, but your muscles are on fire. Your lungs are on fire. It would be so easy to just give up.

To just let go.

Because you're so tired. You’ve heard drowning isn't so bad. Like going to sleep, they say. You can do that. That's nothing compared to this.

You catch sight of a face at your side, barely breaching the surface. His face. His eyes are closed and his mouth is slack. Like he's sleeping.

You go back to swimming.

“Breathe, goddamn you!” You sob. Even though you're numb from the cold, your hand is trembling as you pound against his back with your fist. Between the shoulder blades, behind his lungs. Every hit makes a wet slap. His white uniform is soaked through and nearly translucent. It clings to him. The water, greedy, still won't let him go. “Don't you fucking do this, you prick! Wake up!”

He doesn't flinch under your assault. Not even when you roll him back over onto the rocky sand and press a rhythm into his ribs.

This is worse, you think, because now you can see his face and feel the ghost of his angry stare, even through his closed eyelids. His skin is grey and clammy, his lips nearly blue, and his beard and hair are slick and dark with water. His expression is relaxed. Peaceful. Not asleep. He's never looked like that before. This isn't how he's supposed to look.

The only movement beneath your hands is the jolt of his body from the compressions.

You let out a scream of frustration.

The waves lap at your face, forcing salt up your nose on an inhale. You splutter, losing your grip on that arm slung around your shoulders, and for a moment it slips. You kick frantically at the water as you scramble for him.

“No—” Your voice gets choked off by the whitecap of another wave.

You grab at his face, drive it back above the surface, even as you plunge below it. Whatever else you were going to shout is lost in a cloud of bubbles. You're the only thing keeping him from sinking to the bottom now. Just you, clinging to the hope of life.

You can't think about that dead weight.

You fight back to the surface with a cough, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. You have to keep moving. You have to keep—

You’re being shaken awake. The hand on your shoulder is warm, but the grip is almost harsh—unforgiving as the fingers dig into your flesh.

You blink your eyes open to find Kino staring down at you with a frown. The light from the small fire throws shadows across his face and deepens the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth and along his forehead, making him look even more severe than he usually does.

“You were dreaming again,” he grumbles. Then he releases your shoulder without warning, nearly shoving away from you in the process, and he shuffles back across to his side of the small cave to resume lying down.

Now that you're conscious, all of your injuries and pains from the past few days come rushing back to fill your awareness. You let out a groan as you push yourself up off the cold stone floor. Not that sitting is any better—there’s a rock digging into your ass to prove your point, and you send it skittering. It doesn't make a difference. With a sigh, you rub the heels of your hands into your heavy eyelids in an attempt to clear the blurriness from your vision.

“Sorry,” you try, your voice hoarse with sleep. You quickly clear your throat and try again. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

He only grunts in response.

The sky at the mouth of the cave is a slate grey. It’s been raining the last few days—as if the water is trying to follow you ashore—so you aren't sure if the muted light is the growing dawn or due to the thick storm clouds that leave the landscape darkened, no matter where the sun is overhead. It's made everything damp and chilly, and you can feel it in every joint and bone. Between that, your desperate and adrenaline fueled escape from the prison, nearly drowning, and laying on the hard, rocky ground, your entire body aches.

You're both still wearing your white and orange uniforms, though they're worn and filthy now. More brown than white. The fabric is also next to useless outside of a temperature controlled environment, but you have nothing else to keep you warm and nothing at all for your feet. You’d gotten lucky that there had been driftwood piled inside the seaside cave, brought in by the tide and left safe from the rain. Kino had found several more pieces along the beach on that first day and dragged them into the shelter to dry out. Neither of you dared to venture any further afterwards, either from fear or exhaustion.

The last of the wood is burning between you, and, when it’s gone, there won't be anything left to keep the chill at bay. You know you’ll have to recommend sharing body heat at some point soon, but you're reluctant to do so because you also know it won't go over well. You're certain it's the last thing he wants, even if the alternative is stubbornly dying from exposure.

“Think they’ve moved on yet?” You ask, just to have something to distract you from your thoughts.

“Doubt it,” he replies in that gruff voice.

“Yeah,” you sigh. You slump forward and let your forearms rest on your knees, suddenly weary. “But we're going to have to leave eventually. We need food and real shelter.”

“You’re too weak to walk it,” he says to the cave wall.

“I’m fine,” you insist.

Kino's head whips around, and he meets your eyes with a glare. “No, you're not.” You let out a noise of disgust before you can reconsider, and his jaw clenches in response. “You nearly died.”

“Don’t start this again.” You mean it as a plea, but it comes out merely resigned in your exhaustion. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had this argument since you first woke up to him coughing and shouting on the beach. You don't want to have it again.

“Like you’d listen anyway,” he says. And then he scowls, like you're the problem.

Alright, maybe you'll have it one more time.

“Gods, that bit of power really did go straight to your thick skull didn't it?” You laugh in disbelief. “Why can't you just accept that it was my choice? Mine!”

“I’m well aware of your poor decision making!” He shoots back. Then he sits up to face you, and now it's a proper fight, you think. “I’ve already told you, no one was supposed to die because of me!”

“And I already told you to get over yourself!” You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Do I look fucking dead to you? Hmm?”

“Don't act like it wasn't a close call!”

“I never said it wasn't.” You pinch at the bridge of your nose in an attempt to keep your frustration at bay. Screaming won't make him listen to reason, no matter how good it will feel. “What would you have had me do, Kino? Just let you drown?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation.

“Well, I didn't.” Your arm flops to your side, too heavy to hold up now. “So maybe you should just consider being fucking grateful instead.”

“I didn't ask for this!” He snaps. It's followed by an immediate look of regret.

Oh. That's new. You take a moment to study his face—the way he can suddenly no longer meet your eyes, like he's ashamed of all things.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You ignore his sardonic, “You.”

Because you don't understand him. Is he really this upset or his pride so wounded over the fact that he needed to be saved? Is he truly this angry just because someone—or more specifically you—saw him when he was weak after being in control for so long? Those are convenient reasons. They're probably even contributing to his horrid mood, but they don't feel as if they’re the reason. It's almost as if—

“You wanted to die.” The shocked realization tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

There's a long, deafening beat of silence.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” he says quietly as he gathers those strong arms around himself and crosses them like a shield.

Part of your mind is screaming at you to just drop it. You’ve entered new territory. You've never made him defensive like this before, and you don't know how he'll react. But based on all of your previous interactions with him, you know it won't be pleasant. Which is an understatement. The stubborn part of you, however, hopes that this means you're actually making progress. And if you’ve come this far…

“Is that why you won't even try to leave this shit hole again?” You press. “Is that why you're trading one prison for another?”

“That has nothing to do with this,” he says as he narrows his eyes at you, and you're almost disappointed to hear some of his anger returning.

“Yeah right,” you scoff.

“Listen, neither of us is in any condition to evade the searches. All we’re going to accomplish is getting caught.” It sounds almost reasonable, but you know better. You know it for what it really is: a deflection. You did hit a nerve.

“That's only going to get worse,” you argue back. “The lack of food is going to weaken us further, assuming we don't freeze to death first.”

“And it will still be easier if we're not being hunted. We have to be patient,” he says as his frown deepens, frustration beginning to take root once again. “Let them think we’re dead or gone.”

“And how long will that take? Days? Weeks?”

“A hell of a lot longer than three days!”

“Fine. Then we should at least go out and do some scouting so we have an idea of which way to go when the time comes,” you offer instead. “We might even find supplies.”

“It's too risky,” he says dismissively as he waves you off. You bristle against the gesture. “We’re safe here. The cave entrance is hard to find, but if we go in and out too often, we’ll draw attention to ourselves.”

“There's always going to be risk, Kino, whether we leave tonight or a week from now. If we wait, it could be too late,” you point out. “For all we know, the Empire is sending a blockade to keep us all trapped here! Then what?”

“They aren't going to send a blockade for a prison break,” he scoffs.

“And how can you possibly know that?”

“How can you?”

“Why is it so hard for you to trust me?” You hate the hint of misery that seeps into your voice and betrays how much that idea pains you.

“Why should I? If I recall correctly, your judgment has nearly gotten you killed once already,” he says in a mocking tone.

You glare at him. “My judgment saved both our lives.”

He glares right back. “I'm starting to think that was sheer dumb luck.”

Oh, how fucking dare he. After everything you went through—

“I didn't realize you were such a coward,” you say coldly, desperate to hurt him as much as he's hurt you.

The tendons in his neck go taut with rage. “Fuck you,” he spits, but he no more than gets the words out when he's racked with a violent coughing fit. The force of it makes him double over onto the cave floor, and his body heaves with each one.

You wince at the sight, feeling ashamed of your comment now. You didn't want this.

The coughing spells are a parting gift from Narkina 5—the water still won't let him go. He's had a few of them since you got him to shore and forced the ocean from his lungs, and each one sounds a little bit worse than the one before. You're no healer, but that's obviously not a good sign. He needs medicine. You also haven't broached the subject with him because you know it will just start a fight.

As if everything you say doesn't start a fight.

You lean back to wait it out, letting your head thunk tiredly against the cave wall. There's nothing you can do to help him and trying will only make it worse—you learned that the hard way. Plus, it doesn't seem fair to argue with him while he's like this, even if you're only doing it to get through to him for his own good, the stubborn jerk.

It takes several minutes before he finally stops coughing long enough to get his breathing under control. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, rights himself with as much dignity as he can muster, and gives you a cold, hard stare. “Go, then, if you're in such a hurry to end up back in a cell,” he grits out, his voice a strained, wet gravel.

“Fine,” you huff, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here and waste away if you want. See if I care. I can find a way off this slag heap by myself.”

You almost make it past the mouth of the cave.

The moment your foot touches the rain slicked rock, the combination of fatigue and an unsteady gait causes you to slip. You hit the ground with a grunt, landing hard on your hip. Sharp, hot pain shoots through the joint, curling up your spine and down your leg. The shock of it takes your breath away, and your eyes sting with fresh tears.

Oh, brilliant, you think caustically. Of all the times to fall on your ass.

Behind you, Kino swears. A second later, you hear the slap of his bare feet on rock as he stomps towards you.

“Broken?” He doesn't quite snap the question at you, but it's a near thing.

“No,” you choke out.

“You have a fucking death wish,” he growls before he hauls you to a sitting position.

Despite the pain, that statement makes you laugh, though it's a bitter, near hysterical sound. You tilt your head back to grin up at him. “Guess we make quite the pair, huh?”

He doesn't respond.

He just shoves his hands under your armpits in an attempt to get a grip on you with those thick fingers. Then your laughter quickly dissolves into a wounded hiss as he drags you back into the cave with no care for your new injury. You're not sure why you suddenly expected him to start coddling you. He never did before.

He dumps you back into the spot you’ve been occupying, glad to be rid of you, and you catch yourself with your hands before you land in a heap.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath.

After that, neither of you speaks for a while, content to sit and lick your wounds in what passes for peace now. Eventually, the pain in your hip lessens to a dull throb and the fire is reduced to embers, the long hours sucking the heat out of both.

Outside, the sky has gotten a bit lighter, but is still that dreary mask of grey that makes time feel nebulous. Unknowable. The rain, at least, had turned into a mist about an hour ago. Without the sound of the drops echoing throughout the cave, the silence is unforgiving. Every shuffle along the rock, every sniffle or sigh, every brush of clothes is harsh between you.

“Why are you so mad at me?” You finally ask, desperate for any noise that isn't him heavily exhaling a whistle through his nose.

“I already told you,” he replies, emotionless.

“I’m not talking about that,” you sigh. “You hated me the moment I stepped onto the floor.”

In the low light, there's a brief look of shock on his profile before his scowl returns in full force. “I didn't hate you.”

“Yes you did. You could barely look at me. And you yelled at me all the time.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you continue on so he can't interrupt you. “Look, I understand, in a way. I was slower than nearly all of the men, and you were pissed about being stuck with me. But it's not like I did it on purpose.”

“It wasn't that.” There's a renewed touch of exasperation in his voice. You're intimately familiar with that tone. You’ve heard the way he normally sounds when speaking to other people—got to see what it was like without ever experiencing it yourself—but you’ve never spoken to him without receiving either his impatience or his distaste. You prepare yourself for another fight.

“Then why? Because I was a distraction?” Your bitterness bleeds from you, an anguish built from months of labor and fear. And loneliness, you think. Because, even though you’d been constantly surrounded by people, you’d never felt so completely and utterly alone.

“It's nothing.” He rolls onto his side to face the cave wall, intent on ignoring you.

“It clearly wasn't nothing,” you respond dryly.

“Just drop it,” he says over his shoulder.

“No.” You cross your arms. You're done listening to him just because he tells you to. You don't have to now. You're not in there anymore. “After everything, I think I deserve to know what I did to have you treat me that way.”

“And I don't want to fucking talk about it,” he growls.

“Well, too damn bad! Because there's nothing else to talk about, and I want to know why you hated me when all I wanted was—” You cut yourself off with a hitched breath before you accidentally finish that sentence.

Fighting is one thing. That's easy. Safe. But this is something big and messy that you're still trying to come to terms with, made all the more complicated by your current situation, which was already plenty complicated before. This will only make things worse. You know it will. And despite all the hurtful things you’ve said to each other, you wouldn't be able to stomach his rejection. His pity. His disgust—couldn’t handle being forced to endure it while stuck in this damned cave and made to wallow in the forced intimacy of the space that's anything but. No, this is the one truth you could never take back.

To your embarrassment, your voice is rough and raw with emotion when you speak again. “When all I wanted was to be treated like a person.”

“If that's what you wanted, you were in the wrong place,” he says coldly to the cave wall. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

“No!” You shout. You no longer care if you’re being petulant because you are angry about it. You’ve been holding onto the feeling for months, but you're tired now. You don't want to carry it around anymore. “I won't let you bully me into silence. I want the truth.”

“Keep your voice down!” He hisses as he flings himself upright to glare at you. Every bit of him is rigid with tension. Dangerous. At least he's looking at you again.

“Then answer me!” You stubbornly glare back at him. “You owe me that much.”

“Fine! I was afraid, alright?” He finally snarls, reminding you of a cornered animal, spitting as it lashes out. “Is that what you want to hear? That you were right? That I'm a coward?”

“What?” All of your anger leaves you in a sudden rush. The hiding, the running, the water—that fear you can understand. But this? You stare at him in genuine confusion. “Why?”

“Because I was scared shitless about what could happen to you! That place was cruel to the men it was designed for. Whatever it had in store for you was going to be much worse. I thought…” He runs a hand down his face and over the scruff of his beard, now grown out beyond a neat trim. The action wipes his own anger away, and underneath it is something human: exhaustion and vulnerability. “I thought, if I kept you at a distance, it would hurt less when it finally broke you, but you made it so damn hard.”

“Oh,” you breathe out in shock, as though you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you. You have, in a way, because, gods, what can you possibly say to that? It's the last thing you were expecting—realistically, you thought he was worried your lack of strength or speed would get someone else killed. This, however…you couldn't have even imagined this. The implication of it… “Kino—”

“Don't. Okay?” He cuts you off. And then he turns away to shut you out as well. “Just…fucking don't.”

So instead you sit there in the uneasy quiet of the cave, feeling adrift. Helpless. Like you're right back in the middle of the ocean, at the mercy of the waves, with nothing to hold onto to keep from sinking; there’s only water in your fumbling grasp. At least then you'd known which way you were supposed to go, it was the getting there that was the problem. Now you don't even have that. You wonder if you’d have the energy to even try if you did.

A part of you wants nothing more than to reexamine every interaction, every look, and every word he’s ever spoken to you and see what you might uncover that you'd missed, but you can't do that with him right there. His presence just muddles everything up until you can't help but mix reality and memory, past and present, assumption and realization. You're nearly dizzy with it.

Plus, knowing that things weren't so black and white between you doesn't change what happened or how you feel. You’ve been hurting and angry for a while—especially at him, and most of which he still deserves for how he treated you. That something more existed lessens the intensity of those feelings, but it doesn't erase them completely. Not yet. Reconciling what you know and what you thought you knew will only come with time.

To the rest of you, however, that reconciliation doesn't seem as important as your fear at almost losing him or the realization that there is something more than just hatred on his end. Even if that thing is nothing more than kindness and compassion, it's something. And you could have died not knowing that. Or worse, you could have lived without knowing instead.

Gods, complicated is an understatement. If only you could have wanted something easy for once. You wonder if he thought the same thing as he watched you from across the work floor. And it feels odd to think that maybe it's not such an unrealistic hope anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, breaking the silence between you at last.

He laughs, and it manages to sound condescending. The familiarity of it is grounding. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

“I guess…” What are you apologizing for? For misunderstanding him? For making his life harder, even if it wasn't your fault? For not agreeing with him? For being unable to shoulder his anger? For continuing to push and push and push. Maybe all of it, you realize. For your part in the making of this. “I guess for saving you when you didn't want me to,” you answer with a shrug instead.

At first, you think he isn't going to respond to that, and you can no longer find it in yourself to blame him. But then, with a voice that’s softer than you’ve ever heard from him—weren’t even sure he was capable of it—he says, “It's not that I didn't want to be saved.”

“Then why? Help me to understand, Kino,” you plead, praying that he won't clam up or lash out again. Not when you've come so far. “Please.”

He gives you a heavy, resigned look before settling his attention on the cave entrance where his gaze becomes unseeing. Though there are only a few feet between you, he suddenly seems miles away.

“When we were planning all of this, I knew what was waiting for us on the outside. I mean, they built the fucking thing in the middle of an ocean and I can't swim. How ironic is that? All that work, and I was gonna make it to the door just to drown.” Then, quietly, “I never gave a thought to what I would do if I didn't. Now I've got no clue what comes next.”

“Neither do I,” you say in disbelief.

He lets out a dark laugh. “Sure don't act like it,” he mutters.

“I’m just better at hiding it.” You give him a small smile that he cannot see.

“Maybe I should be, too,” he muses to himself. “It’d be a hell of a lot better than feeling so lost.”

“Hiding it doesn't make that go away,” you say sadly. You know that all too well.

His only reply is a non-committal hum, and it suddenly occurs to you that he has no clue what you actually went through. How could he? He lept into the water and woke up on shore with nothing but darkness in between. All he knows is that you saved him. Without the rest, he thinks he's struggling alone.

“I almost gave up, you know,” you admit quietly.

That gets his attention again. He turns to look at you, and his eyes are wide with fear and concern. “What?” He gasps.

“I could barely see the shore when the adrenaline wore off. When faced with that distance, all that water, and no strength left?” You shrug in an attempt to seem unbothered, even as the memory fills you with dread. “For one horrible moment, I suppose drowning just seemed easier.” Like going to sleep, you don't say. “But I couldn't. I looked at you, and I couldn't. Not without trying first. And before you say anything, leaving you behind was never an option. Not for me. If this place was going to win, it was going to have to take us both.”

“I never wanted that,” he says helplessly. “When I came to and saw you laying there, I thought you were dead.” His voice breaks and he takes in a deep, shaky breath, but it does little to steady him. “I knew then what you did for me, and I thought it killed you. That after everything, it was me. I broke you, and it wasn't worth it. Not me.”

“You didn't,” you insist, desperate to make him listen. You recognize that despair because it's the same one that haunts your dreams and doesn't let go when you're awake. It's the same fear that grips your chest in icy fingers whenever you catch his sleeping face or you're forced to sit by and listen to him cough—the water still won't let him go. You understand now that he needs the reassurance that it's over just as much as you do. So you push yourself to your knees and dare to move closer, despite the protest of your aching body. “I’m right here. See? I was just tired afterwards, that's all. Just tired. I’m right here.”

Without warning, he reaches for you, and, even though he's never harmed you, you flinch thinking maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. Only, he grabs the front of your uniform and pulls you to him, just as unkindly as he dragged you across the cave. And then you think he's going to scream again, but when he opens his mouth, he leans in and crushes your lips together instead.

You freeze against him.

Because Kino Loy is kissing you, and that can't be right. He hates you. His mouth can only scowl and scream and cough and—there’s a little grunt from the back of his throat as he adjusts the angle of your lips, and, oh, this is real. Without another thought, you're kissing him back.

At first, there's only tentative relief—at the reassurance, the sensation, at finally getting something you want—but heat starts to build in the breath-humid space between your bodies the longer you kiss and kiss. Something born of more than lust or desire. And though they flicker in your belly as well, it's a bone deep desperation to feel alive that drives you forward and aches to be quelled.

When you break apart to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours. Close enough for your noses to brush together and to feel each hard exhale—that blessed, life sustaining air—across your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a sob. His voice is low and thick with grief against your mouth. The sound and shape of it is so different from his anger—in the low light, only a ghost of that harshness is left, clinging to the shadowy lines of his face. You don't have to ask what he's apologizing for.

“Show me,” you whisper back. You let your lips brush over his again in invitation. He responds by delving into the wet heat of your mouth and wrapping you in his arms with a moan.

So you give yourself over to the exploration of his tongue against yours and his large, callus roughened hands as they engulf the sides of your face, caught in the whirlwind of him. It leaves you breathless faster than you like, and when you break for air again, you don't want to give him a moment to change his mind or to pull away completely. So your mouth wanders to his cheeks, the scruff on his jaw, his Adam's apple, the hollow of his throat above the collar of his uniform—seeking out every bit of him that you can reach as he pants and swallows beneath your lips.

He smells like sweat and smoke and saltwater, and his skin is sharp and briny on your tongue as you lap at a spot on his neck. He tastes like drowning, and for a moment you're lost in the memory of him in the water, his weight pulling you beneath the waves. His lifeless face staring up at you from the shore. But then he sucks in a sharp breath, jolting you back to the present, and his lips are on yours again. Warm. Alive. Not the cold flesh you forced air through. Not the same shared breath.

“Wanna see you,” you gasp into his mouth as you lift at the hem of his shirt.

Without a word, he moves to obey.

You both peel away your filthy uniforms with trembling hands, revealing bodies that are just as dirty and unwashed to the chilled air, but beneath all of that is color. His flush of arousal. Bruises that are starting to fade, a gruesome rainbow of healing. The shadows playing in the shifting of muscle as he reaches for you to pull you back into the warmth of his arms. Alive.

He's the first soft thing you’ve touched after days of nothing but rock. And before that, months of only tools and labor and struggle. You bask in the sensation: The greying hair on his chest, the roundness of his belly and hips, salt dried skin, his palm on your cheek. The other on your thigh. He’s softer than you remember from when you were hauling him through the waves—

You wrap your hand around his cock, and his heartbeat throbs in your fist. Alive.

He lets out a groan when you stroke him, something deep and guttural that rumbles through the cave like thunder. The sound sends blood and heat rushing to your core, where it pools between your thighs and leaves you aching and empty. You tease the silken foreskin over his length and work your thumb along the underside of the swollen head just to hear more of it.

With a growl, he falls upon you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongues and hunger. His hand cups the swell of your breast while his thumb circles your nipple. You cry out and arch into the roughness of his hand. Then you're both eagerly groping and learning all the ways you can draw more noises from each other until you're left squirming against the insistent throbbing between your legs.

“I want you inside of me,” you murmur into his mouth.

He clenches his eyes shut as his breath hitches, and you're thrilled you can get that reaction out of him. But then he opens his eyes again and, in a shaky voice, asks, “You're sure?”

“Yes!” You growl, impatient. “Fuck me, Kino.”

He lets out a groan. “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last very long.”

“Don't care as long as your cock is inside me first.”

“Fuck!” He hisses. His hips involuntarily jerk forward at the thought, and said cock grinds into the bend of your groin. “Then I'll give you what you want.”

After that reaction, you think he's going to throw you down and do just that. Instead, his touch gentles, his palm cradling the base of your skull as he lays you out along the rock. The movement doesn't make you feel delicate or like something that's injured and cowering in a cave, but rather like something to be revered.

This is his apology.

A caress along your inner knee has your legs falling open, leaving you exposed before him. Before you can be self-conscious about it, he gives your arousal a heated look that drives the thought from your mind. Then he traces a fingertip up the tender skin of your thigh, and fire licks from your thigh to your belly.

For a moment, you wonder what it would be like to have this on the other side of the galaxy. Not in a cave, but in a bed, warm and clean with a full stomach. Maybe it would be sweet like this between you the whole time rather than something that's taking an effort just to maintain. Because you know this is only a moment—a reprieve. It can't last, not when that cold desperation and panic are rebuilding within your gut.

It's a lovely thought. But by the time he kneels between your thighs, you need again. You pull him down and he goes willingly, falling to brace his hands on the stony ground on either side of your shoulders. Then you hold your breath as he closes the distance, slowly, until the length of his cock is resting and throbbing, flush against your sex.

Your hips grind up against him, trapping him between your heat and his belly so that when he thrusts back, seeking more, he drags himself along your wet folds; the sensitive head of his cock rubs against your clit. Both of you moan, wounded and strangled sounds. So he does it again. And again. Over and over until you're both gasping and shuddering at the slick friction.

All the while he stares down at you, studying you. Taking in the way your face contorts and breaks with pleasure. His eyes are sea blue, you realize—the water, greedy—so wild and deep and pulling you in. It sets your pulse racing and makes your palms sweat against his shoulders. You turn away from the intensity in that gaze.

“No.” To your surprise, he takes your chin between his finger and thumb, not gentle but steady, and he forces you to look anyway. To face him. “Let me see you.”

He holds you there with the weight of his body as he shifts to nudge at your opening. It's so close to what you need. Your legs wrap around his waist in silent encouragement. Then, once he's lined up, he sinks forward with a groan and stretches you open on his cock until you're aching and full.

His mouth goes slack. Those eyes become heavy and lidded. Not closed—alive. Which makes all the difference to your wounded mind. So you drink in the sight of him like this, buried in the tight embrace of your cunt. A ruinous look.

You're drowning again.

It scares you, just how much you want to give yourself over and let go. How easy it would be to become lost. To believe that this is something more than desperation. But then his eyes refocus and whatever tenderness had gripped him is absent from that gaze. In its place is hunger. Need. Urgency.

“Gods, you're so tight,” he grinds out from behind clenched teeth as he gives a shallow thrust into you. The sound goes straight to your core, soaking him further. “Feels so good.”

Then he finally—finally—fucks you. Hard and fast.

The ground is cold and unrelenting beneath your spine where you're folded and crushed against it. Above you, he's blanketing you in heat and the delicious slide of flesh along your nerves. A lovely contrast already, but then his hand finds your hip, his fingers digging into your fresh bruise, and you gasp from the pain—it hurts, but if it hurts that means you're alive. He doesn't stop at the sound. Instead, there's understanding in those eyes as he pulls you in to meet each plunge of his cock, and, oh, that's even better.

You spare a thought for his knees right before he shifts. Then he's dragging against that spot inside of you, and your mind goes blissfully empty with pleasure. Your head falls back, weightless with it. At that opening, he buries his face in your neck, muffling every grunt into your skin. He presses the vibrations of them into your flesh and bones alongside his exhales, the scrape of his beard, the unconscious skim and purse of his lips. You shiver.

You won't come from this alone, but you don't care. This is enough. You just need to feel something—need the proof that he's alive. That you're alive. That this IS real and not some drawn out hallucination your dying brain came up with between the span of one heartbeat and your last.

But it has to be real. Even in your darkest moments, alone in your cell, you never allowed yourself to want this—the thing you could not have. The galaxy had been cruel enough on its own without any assistance from you. So there were no images or dreams in your mind to conjure this from. Which means these messy kisses, the wet noise of your joining, your sweat slicked skin, his hair, salt-stiffened and curled between your fingers, must be real. It also means every moment of this is new and unburdened by expectation or comparison.

It's everything else that haunts you.

All too soon, and just as promised, his body grows tense, and he starts to tremble above you. Between your exhaustion and his unrelenting pace, this was never intended to last. And he's so close, but when he meets your eyes, you see hesitation. Uncertainty. When he moves to pull away, you realize he means to finish by stroking and spilling himself across your belly instead. But that isn't what you need.

“No! Don’t,” you beg. Your legs tighten around his waist, and you grasp at his neck and shoulders, unwilling to let him go with a strength that surprises you both. Then you roll your hips and grind yourself onto his cock, dragging a hiss out of him. “I want to feel you.”

He groans as he yields to your plea, too near that edge to argue, so he falls right back into a punishing rhythm. Yet underneath the hunger and determination, there's anguish now, too. As if by doing this, he remains afraid he'll break you somehow. Still, he clings to your hips as every thrust turns short and sharp with purpose until, at last, he buries himself fully and chases that relief in the depths of your cunt.

When he comes, the only sound he makes is a harsh sob. And then his cock is pulsing inside of you, filling you with warmth. Life.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He collapses heavily at your side with a few wet coughs, spent and too exhausted to hold himself up any longer. You lay there for a moment, listening to his ragged breathing, unsure of what comes next. You're afraid he’ll push you away once his mind clears. That he’ll go back to hating you from across the cave, now muggy with the scent of sex, as his come leaks down your thighs.

He doesn't.

Instead, he holds his arms open in silent invitation and you realize he's offering you a choice: move forward with or without him. And this time, you know he accepts that it's your decision to make. But you’ve already made this choice once, when you watched him slip beneath the waves. When you dove for him in the water, hauled him back out of it, and then forced it from his lungs. It was just as easy to make then. Maybe now he’ll understand what it means.

You go to him and curl against him in acceptance. He kisses the fragile skin of your temple, and then he helps you get settled by tucking your head under his chin and rubbing warmth in a soothing pattern along your stone chilled back. Your hand finds his waist. His leg entangles with yours. Back and forth until there's nothing but drying sweat between you, as if you have always fit together in this way.

You want to savor this. More than that, you want to have this if you can. If he’ll let you. If he doesn't go back to holding you at a distance out of habit and self-preservation in a day or so, always waiting for the worst to happen and scared of the hurt that might follow. As if anything could be worse than losing him now. Then he really would be the thing that broke you. A self fulfilling prophecy. You almost want to laugh at the irony.

All at once, the silence feels heavier than you can bear.

“Never again tell me you aren't worth it,” you whisper fiercely to the cave. “You are to me.”

He doesn't respond, but the hand splayed over your ribs twitches before clutching you tighter.

“We’ll try in the morning,” he says quietly instead. Under your ear, the compromise rumbles loudly throughout his chest. Beneath that, his steady heartbeat.

His statement doesn't fill you with anything as naive as hope. The Empire is still looking for you, and they aren't ever going to stop now. You’ve only traded imprisonment for the illusion of freedom. The thought claws at you, threatens to pull you under. But there's an arm around your shoulders that squeezes as it holds you close, and you remember that you can't let go. You can't lose him. You won't. You have to keep moving.

“In the morning,” you agree.

"Hey,” he said, half-asleep, “what were you before me?” “I think I was drowning.” A pause. “And what are you now?” he whispered, sinking. I thought for a second. “Water."

- Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

A/N: The song for this fic is Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish btw.

[wordy-little-witch]

It’s a shame that BuggyxFem!Shanks as a concept isn’t as popular as Fem!BuggyxShanks of Fem!BuggyxFem!Shanks, because as a concept it’s just … so fun.

Red haired Shanks, empress of the sea, heiress to a title left behind by Gol D. Roger himself, a force to be reckoned with, a legend.

Buggy: “Shanks? Yeah. Don’t get me started on that cow. We bunked together when we on Rogers crew and every.single.morning she’d wake me up by letting her rankass feet dangle from her Hammock above me and rub them in my face. SHE DID THAT UNTIL WE WERE 16!!!”

But at the same time Buggy having been head over heels for her since they where 12, thinking she is the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen, not conventionally pretty in any way, too angular and sharp for that, a red headed, hairy legged, bruised little thing with a toothy grin that was missing a few, but she was RADIANT. He still thinks the same when he sees her wanted poster ages later, face scratched up and hair grimey and messy, but with a determination and confidence in her eyes that’s a far cry away from the stupid teenager he left in the rain ages ago, as an even stupider teenage boy with a crush on the girl he called his best friend.

No, Shanks has always been beautiful… and that’s why Buggy almost trips over his own feet when he sees her at Marineford again, smiling at him like *THAT* , hastily assuring her that she looks even greasier than the last time he saw her and it may be completely unprompted but btw she totally isn’t his type anyways blablabla-

(But also Buggy being so accepting of transfem Shanks even after all these years that he could be ranting about her for hours, but as soon as a crew mate makes an awful joke about her being trans he just stops dead in his tracks, grabs said crewmate by the color and just yeet!! off into the ocean you go…. Anyways GOD HE HATES SHANKS SO MUCH-)

While shipping Buggy with a lady is smth I rarely ever indulge in ((only time being when Buggy is trans too, more on that later-)), this is SO CUTE.

Buggy: gods I fucking HATE that redhaired BITCH-

Rando: *says smth transphobic*

Buggy: Ah You Have Chosen Death, I See

Just. Yes. Buggy being a mega tsundere about it is,,,,, so cute. Gosh and Shank really WOULD be a greasy woman. She's a pirate empress with an alcohol problem and manages to make the gaudy horror show that is her wardrobe WORK. Buggy cannot handle this. It's infuriating. She's infuriating. He has never once ever liked her, he swears it, he hates her so much and he'll scream it from the rooftops, he WILL, and no he is NOT BLUSHING SHUT THE FLASHY FUCK UP-!!!

And here I go ham on my own spin on this~

I'm just imagining them both as cabin brats, transfem Shanks, transmasc Buggy. They're Uncomfortable. They're each other's. Things kinda suck in a weird nebulous way, and it only gets WORSE when they both hit puberty and shit gets WEIRD.

Buggy's got some soreness on her chest, and Crocus gives her and Shanks The Talk (the horrors), and now everything is WACK because Buggy is NOT stoked about BLEEDING for a week every month what the FUCK, that's STUPID!!!!

Shanks meanwhile is gangly, is growing into his body, is so wildly uncomfortable without the words to explain it. He's struggling. He's looking to the only person he Vibes with, the only one who he doesn't need to fake it for, and he's choking on the weirdest burning feeling in his tummy. It makes him feel a little sick. He doesn't understand.

Finally, eventually, somehow, someway, they're both in their room together, laying opposite across the floor, head on each other's shoulders, Buggy's curls under Shanks' head, Shanks' locks tuckling Bug's cheeks. It's quiet. It's comfortable.

And they talk.

"I envy you," Buggy starts.

Shanks meets the admission with his own. "I'm jealous of you."

"Why?"

"It's weird."

"Yeah.... same."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"Damn..."

Silence reigns. Buggy rolls over, forehead pressed to the line of Shanks' jaw. There's stubble there. It makes the younger pirate want to be sick.

It takes a while until they finally get the heads together and realize what it was. Frankly, I love the ideathat Buggy chop-chopped her tits off, claiming they got in the way during fights and so did it often to "keep up the control". Shanks finds them at one point. Buggy goes to rain he'll down on him for it. He's just.... kind of staring, though. A little pale. Shaking. Buggy isn't used to that look on him. And then Shanks asks.

"Can.... Can I...?"

"Can you WHAT, you stupid redhead?"

"Can I try them on?"

"Wh-" Buggy tilts her head. Shanks doesn't make eye contact. He begins backtracking. Buggy reaches out, pokes the other in the forehead hard enough to send him tumbling to his butt. She's blushing. "Don't tell anyone I let you.... but yeah."

"Huh?"

"Don't make me SAY IT, you moron!!!! You asked. I said yes. Get to it. Gods..."

So Shanks tries on Buggy's boobs in the safety of their room late at night. The only light cones from their lantern and the moon. It's quiet. It's peaceful.

Shanks stares at the mirror. There were no outfit changes, just a slip in and shift of fabric. Shanks is staring. Buggy is staring. It's quiet.

".... I'm paler than you," Buggy says after a few minutes of the other admiring the reflection in their small mirror. "Come here."

Shanks lets Buggy dab on some concealer, lets the other blend the color into a smooth transition. The redhead lets the blue haired pirate fix up the shirt, the breasts, the sash. Then both are turning to the mirror.

Buggy's chest is flat. Shanks's chest is not.

Shanks's clothes give an illusion of a curve. Buggy's clothes hide it.

"I look like a girl," Shanks says softly.

"I look like a boy," Buggy sighs.

They're quiet for a moment. Then Shanks decides to break the strangely fragile air. "I think... you'd look really good as a boy. If you... ya know.... wanted to be."

And Buggy side eyes the redhead for a moment before huffing. "You'd make a ridiculously pretty girl. Still gross, but.... pretty."

They share a look, then a laugh. Then they cry. Then the next thing either know they're hugging on the floor, trying to stay silent as they sob, clinging so tightly it was sure to leave bruises.

Shanks is 12, Buggy is 11, and they come out to the crew, hand in hand.

It goes better than expected. It is not, however, great.

There are many hiccups, and Roger is vehement on supporting both of the kids, on giving them the freedom and allowance to do and be whoever they are. Rayleigh is a little slower to the party, but he's getting there. Crocus tries to scare the kids with medical side effects of transitioning. Nothing dissuades them. Not much changes, but Buggy has a realization that he's maybe a little less of a MAN than something man-like. They're comfortable with themselves, and Shanks is still overbearing protective, Buggy's still explosively temperamental. ((And Shanks bit someone who called her far more ladylike than Buggy could ever be, right after insinuating that her Blue wasn't man enough. She did not apologize.))

Eventually, the crew manages to get in touch with Ivankov, and Shanks knows what she wants. Iva helps. Buggy is practically VIBRATING in excitement because Shanks looks so happy and healthy and good and is GLOWING and he wants to be just as flashy and cool and comfortable and-!!

And his body splits at the stab. He blinks. He blushes. He tries to force himself to stay together. He splits again. Iva is frowning. Buggy is trying desperately not to cry. Roger proceeds to come up with increasingly insane ideas, and they try them all, and it never works. Iva's hormones are a direct path, and seastone or sea water will negate the abilities. Buggy is.... out of luck.

Shanks tries to make Iva undo her changes. "If Buggy can't then I won't either!!"

It's not safe to immediately back-to-back change, Iva explains, and then Buggy plasters on a smile, fake and fragile and hollow and tells Shanks that if she does this, he'll kick her ass. She deserves to be happy, he says. He sounds genuine about it. Something about it doesn't feel right. The crew calls it his first "proper choice as a man". Shanks is bristling and Roger gives the men a harsh frown.

Iva considers the boy before them. "I may not be able to help this way," they admit, "but you can do it the manual way. It's medically possible. Many people do it, and there are many methods beyond just injections to achieve it."

Crocus, who had told both teens that it was impossible, tries to creep away. Roger catches him.

Ultimately, Buggy gets some T beginning at about 13. A late bloomer, Roger tells him warmly. It's enough for some mild voice changes, and Buggy is so excited, so stoked, so happy-!!!

And then he gets sick.

And then the crew goes to, names, returns from Laughtale.

And then Roger disbands the crew.

And then he and Shanks are alone.

And then two years passes.

And then Roger dies.

And then Buggy might as well have died for all that occurs in the wake of it all.

He loses access to all of his medicine, he spirals, he's essentially a dumpsterfire of a man, and then he grits his teeth, grabs the situation by the balls, and he makes his life himself.

Reuniting with Shanks at Marineford is definitely not on his list, but it damn sure happens, and he damn sure screeches his displeasure about it.

And he's only mildly angry that she manages to wriggle her way back into his heart as if she'd never left in the first place ((she didn't, but he'll swear loudly that he'd evicted her immediately)).

They keep it lowkey - at least as well as they can, between a lovesick lover girl and a flashy, easily flustered clown. Not much changes to common view, and between Buggy's rarely used network strings and Shanks' frequently underestimated poker face, they manage.

And finally? Finally, they're actually happy.

[devils-dares]

Safe and Sound

summary: what happens when matt finds a little girl hiding from her dad in her room and takes her home.

pairing: matt with unnamed!child!oc

wordcount: 2842

warnings: abuse, mentions of abuse, mentions of abandonment, mentions of death, a father being shitty to a child, crying. like a lot of crying. matt having attachment issues, mentions of bluey the show, scraped knees, ends semi-sad.

a/n: this isn't x reader, because i thought that would be kind of strange to write in this instance. this is really just headcanons turned into a fic, been sitting on it for like a month. let me know if you guys want a part two.

comments and reblogs appreciated!

-----

Matt couldn't begin to understand how this day was ending. A long day in court followed by anger management patrol, and now he's in some little girl's room shushing her before she cries and alerts her already drunk and aggressive dad.

"Hey, hey! It's okay, it's just me! Do you know who I am?"

"No but you look scary, please go away."

"I'm here to help you get away from your dad, but you gotta be real quiet alright?"

"Are those horns?" Matt rubs the forehead on the mask.

"Yes they are, and if you come with me I'll let you touch them, but I gotta get you out of here."

"Are you the stranger danger man?" He needed to find a way to get her out of here.

"I'll explain everything if you can pack a bag with everything you need so we can leave alright?" She nods reluctantly, grabbing what seemed to be her school bag.

"It's a Bluey bag. You know Bluey?"

"I don't."

"Boring." She walks over to him, and he takes the bag from her, slinging Bluey over the coarse armor. He steps out onto the fire escape, signaling the girl to follow him.

"Wait!" She whispers, "I'm scared of heights." He beckons her over still, yet she holds steadfast in her grip on the window frame.

"Will it be better if I hold you?" He asks, and she nods, so he picks her up, arm wrapped around her as her legs wrap around his hip and her head thunks on his shoulder.

Matt wracks his brain on where to take her for the night. He could just take her to a police department or a hospital, but there’s no evidence of harm on her, and they’d just return her. Crisis centers weren’t open 24/7, and the only place he could think of was his own apartment.

This was a stupid idea.

She was shaking, the poor girl, when they reached Matt’s rooftop. She couldn’t have been older than seven, and she was freezing cold. Her breaths froze midair, amusing her slightly as she kept making huffing noises next to Matt’s ear.

“We’re here.” He says, gently placing her on the ground before opening to the rooftop door.

“Head inside, it should be warm.” Her shoes tip tap down the stairs, pausing at the bottom.

“Where are we?” She asks.

“My apartment.” He sighs, scratching at his chin.

“Are you going to hurt me?” She asks.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but if you could tell me about your dad, I can make sure you never get hurt by him again.” Her body jolts ever so slightly at the sound of the title.

“How did you know?” Childish wonder pours through her voice, but Matt can hear the undertones of skepticism.

“I heard your mom scream.”

“Not my mom, dad’s girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Matt listens, “tell me more. Does he do it often?” She pauses, and then nods.

“All the time.”

“Has he hurt you recently?” She nods again, then pulls both her pant legs to above her knees. Matt smells dried blood.

“He pushed me.” She says simply, and Matt feels his hands curl tightly into fists.

“I’m going to get you something for that.” He walks to the bathroom, and she wraps her arms around her stomach, trying her best to make herself appear smaller.

“I got you some bandaids and some antibiotic cream, but I gotta clean it first okay?” He gestures to her to sit on the chair by the dining table and kneels in front of her.

“Do you have the bandaids with the smiley faces?”

“Hm, no. But I can draw on these ones with a marker?”

“Okay.” She did not sound amused.

“Can you take the helmet off?” She asks, touching the horns.

“I can,” he says, “but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?” She nods enthusiastically, and his fingers graze the helmet before tugging it off.

“I’m going to clean your scrapes now.” He says. Her whines break his heart when he presses the alcohol wipe to her raw skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He says, and he can tell her bottom lip is quivering as the smell of salt fills the air. He goes through it as quickly as possible, grabbing the marker behind him to cheer her up.

“Want smiley faces?” He asks, and her mood shifts almost immediately. She wipes her tears away and nods. She watches as he finds the edges of the bandaid with his thumb, drawing within the barrier he created with his fingers. It’s then that she notices that he’s not made eye contact with anything.

“All done.” Matt stands up, smiling at her.

“Are you blind?”

“Oh- uh- yes. I am.” He rubs the back of his neck, as if he’s been cornered.

“That’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“I’ve never met a blind person before.”

“Oh.”

“Can I ask about stuff?”

“About being blind?” She hums.

“Okay,” Matt says, grabbing her a glass of water from the kitchen and some snacks, she must be hungry, “but you gotta eat these and drink this while you ask, I don’t want you going hungry.”

“‘M not hungry.” Right on cue, her stomach growls.

“You sure about that?” She grumbles and takes the snack.

“How does the cane help?” Her voice comes out mumbled from her stuffing her face.

“It helps by telling me what I’m going over, like if I’m going to run into something, or if I’m going to hit a curb. It also helps people know that I’m blind.”

“What color are your glasses?” He laughs.

“I’m told they’re red.”

“Red glasses are cool.”

“Thank you.” She falls silent, the only sound coming from her chewing.

“Are those two the only questions you had?” He asks, amused.

“Mhm.”

“Okay, is it alright if I leave you for a bit? Just to take a shower?”

“Do you have Bluey?”

“I’m- not sure what Bluey is on.”

“Do you have a tv?”

“I have a laptop.”

“Gimme.”

He gets her set up with the show, and before he steps into the bathroom, she has another question.

“Why is there a man talking on the computer?”

“What do you mean?”

“This man is not on Bluey.”

“Oh! Those are audio descriptions, they help me ‘watch’ tv by describing what’s happening. Here, I can turn it off for you.”

-----

Matt’s rubbing his damp hair dry with a towel when he emerges from the bathroom. The kid’s not on the couch, and Matt realizes she’s rummaging around the kitchen.

“Are you still hungry?” He asks, checking the time on his watch. It was just half past two in the morning.

“I didn’t have breakfast or dinner,” she explains, “just stinky school lunch. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t think I have anything you’ll like, but I know a diner that’s still open and delivers. Does that sound alright with you?”

“Waffles and hot chocolate?”

“Waffles and hot chocolate.” He confirms, a smile growing on his face.

“Can I have whipped cream?”

“On the hot chocolate or on the waffles?”

“Both! And chocolate chips on the waffles!”

“Okay kiddo,” Matt says, chuckling, “let’s see what I can do.”

Thirty minutes later, the two of them are sitting at the dining table and eating waffles and drinking hot chocolate. Matt also indulged himself in whipped cream, and the kid was laughing from his whipped cream mustache. Her giggles are interrupted by a yawn, and Matt finally realizes just how late it is for her, even if this is normal operating hours for him.

“Why don’t you finish up that waffle while I set the bed for you? It’s been a long day.” She nods, and Matt gets up to set the bedroom for her. He’s glad he put in the investment to get curtains installed in the bedroom, so it’s easier for her to sleep. He grabs a few pillows and thicker blankets for her, as well as plugging a nightlight into the wall. She’s falling asleep at the table by the time he comes back, and he resorts to just carrying her to the bed.

“You’re sleeping here tonight, I’ll be on the couch. If you need anything you can wake me up, okay?” He explains, and she nods.

He settles on the couch, blanket up to his chin. He ventures in and out of slumber, listening in to the kid’s heartbeat until he realizes it hasn’t settled or slowed. He listens a bit more, getting up when he hears soft sobs.

“Hey,” he slides the door on its rollers, “are you alright?” She shakes her head quickly and reaches out for him. He rushes to her side and allows her to wrap her arms around his neck when he sits next to her. His hands rub up and down her back, as she buries her head in his neck and he lets her cry to her heart’s content. She cries about everything her dad did to her and his girlfriend, to her mom, she cries about her mom leaving her, she cries about getting bullied at school and being hungry all the time. The one thing that breaks Matt’s heart the most is how badly she cries about how nice he’s been to her. That the waffles were the most she’s eaten in one sitting in a month. That this is the first time she’s had clean sheets since she can remember. That he let her watch tv on his laptop.

He lets her cry until her sobs fall quiet, hiccups running through her little body. She asks him to stay, and he does just that. He props himself up against his headboard with a pillow tucked behind his back while she stays in the same position, body tucked against his, and she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder.

-----

He gets woken up by small taps on his shoulder. He jolts awake, trying to get his bearings.

“Why are you up?” He asks, hands coming up to rub his eyes.

“I have school. You gotta take me to school.”

“You have- can you miss today?”

“Nuh uh, they’ll call my dad, and plus I have a spelling test.”

“When does your school start?”

“8:30.”

“That’s in- that’s in twenty minutes. Oh god.” He springs out of bed, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

The two of them are out the door in eight minutes, Matt’s tie is crooked and his hair isn’t brushed, but the kid looks impeccable and that’s what matters.

“What time does school end?”

“Three.”

“Okay, I’ll be right here to pick you up alright? I’ll try to get something sorted for you as far as everything else goes.” She nods, hugging Matt quickly, and before he can react she runs through the doors of the school.

-----

“Do I want to ask what happened last night?” Foggy says, but Matt’s focus is on Karen.

“Can you call Mahoney up here? And also child services? I have a- case, an important one.”

“Child services?” Karen asks.

“I’ll explain everything when they get here.”

The good thing about Mahoney knowing that Matt was Daredevil was the fact that he never questioned where exactly Matt got the kid from. He knew it was probably some vigilante act, but all Brett really cared about was knowing that there was a kid out there who was safe.

“Where did she stay last night?”

“She stayed with me.”

“Okay, we’re going to have you fill out some paperwork, Mr. Murdock, and then we’ll need to talk to her. Do you know where she is right now?” The woman from child services asks.

“School. She’s at school,” he turns to Brett, “could you request a wellness check on the girlfriend?” Mahoney nods.

“I’ll call it in.”

A few hours of paperwork and worried looks from Foggy and Karen puts Matt at 2:45. He asks if he can leave to pick the kid up from school, and they agree. Brett accompanies Matt in the fear that her dad might show up to pick her up, but nobody’s there when school lets out. Matt’s relieved and also a little heartbroken for her; Jack wasn’t the best father but he was still present and loved Matt as much as he could.

“You’re here!” He hears her squeal, her body making impact against his legs, her head thudding against his stomach.

“‘Course I am,” he says, taking her backpack from her and slinging it across his back before picking her up, “told you I’d be here.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tight.

“Murdock, I gotta talk to you when we get to the office,” Brett says, “in private.” Matt nods, and the girl peers at him.

“Who’s he?” She points at Mahoney.

“He’s someone who’s going to help put you in a safer place, I promise. Are you hungry?” She nods.

“Why don’t I meet you two back at the office?” Mahoney suggests, and Matt agrees.

“What are you in the mood for, kiddo?”

“Fries!” Matt sighs happily.

“Fries it is.”

Twenty minutes later the two of them show up, fries and burgers in tow. The child services worker pulls the kid away, and Brett finally gets to talk to Matt.

“They performed that wellness check, the dad answered, and officers were able to enter. They found a trail of blood leading to the bathroom. Matt, the girlfriend’s dead.”

“So you’re saying-”

“Kid can testify for assault and a witness for murder.”

“Jesus.” Matt rubs his forehead.

“We get her into some foster care or orphanage, we can keep her safe.”

“What about her mom?”

“Not on the records.”

“Birth certificate?”

“Was changed not to include her.”

“So she’s alone now.”

“Yeah.”

“That poor kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So what part do I have to take?”

“Nothing. As far as I know, you’re done with caring for the kid.” Matt rubs his forehead again, only looking up when the door to the conference room opens and little footsteps charge towards him.

“She said she’s taking me somewhere fun, are you coming with us?”

“Sweetheart-”

“You’re coming with, right?” Her voice softens, “he’s coming with us?” The lady shakes her head sadly, and the kid almost bursts into tears right then.

“You’re leaving me? I thought you liked me!” Her voice raises in anger and sadness, and Matt kneels in front of her.

“I do, sweetheart, I really do. But you’ll be better off with them. They’ll keep you safe.”

“You’re leaving me just like Mom did!” She bangs her small fists against Matt’s chest. He lets her, her anger bubbling over until she can’t contain it anymore. When she stops and begins crying, Matt takes her into a hug. She squeezes tight, and he lets her sob into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but they’re going to take care of you.”

“I want you to take care of me.” She says, and Matt bites back tears at her confession.

“You’ve known me for a night, love. They have the resources, I don’t.”

“I’ll be so good! I won’t ever get in trouble!” A tear does fall from Matt’s face now, and he hugs her back tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gets her to settle down slowly, “I’ll come visit. I’ll visit you all the time with chocolate chip waffles and whipped cream on everything. I’ll be there, I promise.” She nods slowly in understanding.

“You have to make a pinky promise.” He holds out his pinky solemnly, and she takes it with her shaky hands. She hugs him again, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Time to go,” the worker says, “you get to meet new friends there!” She tries to entice the kid, but she stays glued to Matt.

“Do you want me to walk you to the car?” She nods, holding his hand as she walks with him.

The goodbye at the car was tearful. She clung to him, wishing she didn’t have to leave while Matt sobbed silently. She tugs her backpack in with her and waves bye to him as the worker rolls up the window.

Matt goes straight home. He tried to stay in the office, but Foggy and Karen told him to leave, come back tomorrow when you feel better. He throws out the empty boxes from last night’s dinner and opens his laptop on the couch with a beer in hand to distract himself with case files. Except he’s not greeted with case files. He’s greeted with the Bluey theme song.

He sits there as episode after episode of the Australian show plays, sipping his beer as tears run down his face.

“This is stupid.” He mutters. He knew that kid for less than a day and was already so attached to her. He wipes his face and cleans around the house to distract his mind.

And then he gets waffles and hot chocolate with whipped cream for dinner.

[two-white-butterflies]

WAITING FOR A BUS

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Daemon Targaryen x Reader (MODERN)

Description: A new promotion at work prompts you to move into a small modest town with your boyfriend, Aemond Targaryen. There you meet a few friendly faces. It seems like life is going where it's supposed to. That is until you meet your new boss, Daemon Targaryen, who is your boyfriend's estranged uncle.

It doesn't help with the fact that you've been having dreams about him since birth.

masterlist | chapter twenty

After the conversation, Olenna left the both of you alone - she figured that giving you time to think was important. "He murdered someone. Bloody crazy." you mumbled, retracing the conversations that you had with him - searching for signs that he was only showing you a facade of what he was.

"I knew that he was unhinged, but not fucking mad." he replied rubbing circles on his palms.

When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin - madness and greatness are their two sides.

"That could've been me," you huffed, forgetting about the coffee in front of you. Aemond has always been - different, anger pumped through his veins and his emotions changed as easily as he breathed. "I wanna get the hell out of here, Daemon." you added, finding comfort in his presence.

"I don't want to see anyone that we know. I don't wanna see Aegon, or Helaena or Alicent." you rambled off, remembering the times that they defended Aemond's hostility towards you. They didn't harm you - but they tolerated the harm that was happening to you.

He would scream at you in front of them, talk about indecent things in your presence, and all that they could say was: it was normal.

Yes, it was normal.

It was normal for Aemond to act that way, but it didn't make it right.

Daemon watches you descend into the past. His hands snake towards the small of your back, comforting you silently with his warm palms. He could see right though you - every neuron and thought that went through your brain.

"Did they know about the murder?" you ask, eyes narrowing at the thought of death. Alicent was a good person, but a mother will go through lengths to protect her children.

He leans into his chair. He takes a deep breath before opening his mouth. "Apparently, Aegon testified in his defense." he answered truthfully, recalling the words that were written in the report. "Fuck, that's messed up." you cursed, burying your head in your palms.

"I-I don't think I can ever look at them in the same way again." you stuttered, a permanent title was etched above their names. Criminals and defenders.

"You don't have to look at them again. We can move away from here - and forget all about them. You studied five-years in law. You can continue studying if you want to." he offered, retracting his hand and playing with his watch.

He's been thinking about leaving for a long time. He's been wanting to finish his Ph.D since he's stepped foot inside Dragonview. He only stayed because there was a reason to stay.

"I'd love that."

(Five-Years Later)

It's been five years since you disappeared off the face of the earth. You can still remember the day that you left: May 8, 2023 - and everything after that was pure bliss.

You and Daemon quickly moved into Switzerland, enjoying the snow - and the scenery around you. He finished studying for his Ph.D a few years quicker than he was supposed to - you however postponed finishing your law degree. Instead, you focused on teaching kinder-gardeners and healing from your scars. The both of you were lucky to welcome your first child, Maekar Targaryen.

After Switzerland - you moved to Siargao.

The warm sand was kissing your barefoot. The shoreline was beautiful in the morning, but the sun was far different than what they had in Canada. There was humidity in the air, and the sun felt like razor blades in the afternoon.

"Do you wanna go for a swim?" Daemon asks while pulling your hand closer to the water.

"It's not safe yet, I don't want to get stung." you whined but he keeps laughing and pulling you inside the water.

The water was warm - slightly colder than the sand. It was comforting to be in paradise - the constant feel of the current on your legs, and his warm hands that were wrapped around yours.

"They're not gonna bite you, I promise." he smiled, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. He was enjoying life - the both of you were. "The last time we took a morning swim, I had to get hauled to the hospital." you recall and he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry for that," he laughed, as the both of you walked deeper into the water. The seaweed was tickling your feet. You tried to avoid the corals and the fishes. The smell of salt-water flooded your nose. You remove your hand from his own. You lift both of your arms, holding onto him for balance.

You couldn't reach the water anymore - and he was the only person tall enough to reach it at this point. "It's nice here," you mumbled, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like home.

"Let's stay here for a while." you add, his hands wrap around you for balance. "We should live here - I'll buy a house right there, beside the celebrity's house - so Maekar can swim whenever he wants to." he imagined, earning a playful glare from you.

"And who's going to watch him?" you huffed, his hands wrap around you tighter. "Me." he answered, reaching for your jaw with his free hands - pulling you closer and bridging your lips together.

His lips tasted like salt, but his mouth was sweet.

"I love you, Dae."

"I love you too."

You walked slowly to your beach-chair - hair dripping with water. Maekar and the maid were sitting on one of the chairs, watching the sun shine. Your little boy liked being on the beach - he also hated wearing sunscreen, much to your dismay.

He was wily, and talkative. He blabbered about a subject, but none could understand what he was talking about - he was only four months old anyways. He always reached for your hair, bite his father's fingers - and laugh at everything he saw.

He was half of your soul. You love him with all of your heart.

You fish for the phone inside of your bag. There were a few notifications from work and pilates, but one of them managed to catch your eye - it was Rhaenyra messaging you from the abyss.

NYRA 5:49AM It's been a while. I was hoping that you and Daemon could come back here. It's very important. NYRA 5:49AM As you know...Alicent's been struggling with her disease for a long time now. She died peacefully inside her house. Aegon and his kids were there, but she's getting buried a few days from now and none of us know where you are. NYRA 6:00AM It would mean the world for us if you attended. The funeral's being held in the Clubhouse, come whenever. 💚

You read out the long message, tears flooding your vision as the news became too heavy for you to bear. "Daemon!" you call out to him and he emerges from the waves, wearing a badge of confusion.

"Yeah?" he asked, reaching for the towel on the sand. He wraps it around his torso - eyebrows merging into each other as he sees the tears that were flowing from your irises. "Alicent's dead." you informed, before wrapping your arms around him in grief.

"Oh no," he replied, combing through your hair.

He didn't believe that Alicent was part of the family - but she was the mother of his niece and nephews. She suffered under the abuse of her husband, his brother, and that earned her respect. Her existence didn't leave a mark on his life - but it left a mark on yours.

"We need to be there, I need to see her." you pleaded and he nodded his head. He could never disagree with you. "I'll book the tickets. We'll take the quickest flight out of here." he promised while turning his head towards his baby boy. "Hello, Maekar." he leaned down on the chair, taking the boy out of Liz's hold.

"We'll bring him. His cousins should meet him." you inform, staring lovingly at the little boy. He tried to reach for your hair, but Daemon pulls him away.

"You silly boy, always reaching for mama's hair." he chuckles, rocking the baby gently.

next chapter>>

taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @namelesslosers @immyowndefender @ammo2022 @perihelioneclipse @gracielikegrapes @joliettes @ammo23

ONE LAST CHAPTER (for my own self-indulgence)

[sugaryapplepie]

🦉Twin Chrysanthemums🦉

Pairing: Huntsman & Xingshen Tags: Non-romantic, angst, grief, drabble, comfort, S3

The night was quiet aboard the airship. Huntsman hadn't been able to sleep, not with the manic grins of skeletons and the screams of his queen filling his head. Everything had happened so fast...too fast. He needed a break. The spider demon made his way to the large deck of the ship, and there he'd see her. A familiar tall figure wearing white, her long black curls hidden in a cloak. How could he forget? She must be hurting too. Before he could turn and leave, he heard her rich voice speak to him: "Do not go. Stay with me."

It was such a simple request, how could he say no? Huntsman made his way over to her by the railing, looking up at Xingshen's face. Ever since the queen's death, Xingshen had lost the iron authoritative aura that kept those around her grounded. Now she looked hallow, as if stars soul had been carved from stars body. Her golden eyes looked heavenward. The night was clear, allowing the masterpiece of the cosmos to act as their ceiling. Yet she saw not its beauty.

"You could not sleep." Huntsman startled a bit when she spoke. "No, my princess. I-" "You do not need to explain. You miss her just as much as I. Not to mention your friends."

The screams of the dead filled the void between them. Huntsman shuddered. No- don't think about it. Don't think about how if you'd been there, if you'd been faster, if you'd only-

Suddenly, something was draped over his shoulders. Xingshen's cloak. "We are high up, you must keep warm." It was such a simple gesture, but it hurt something in Huntsman. He didn't pretend to be a man of 'sappy' emotions. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, anger at Syntax trying to show him up in front of the queen and princess, the glow of accomplishment and satisfaction when his queen gave him that delighted smile. He wasn't used to loss. It was all-consuming, soul-shattering, it ripped the ground from under him and left him falling back into a dark chasm he couldn't escape. But...he wasn't alone. Someone was falling with him, and though they didn't know where they'd land star was willing to offer even the slightest bit of comfort.

This realization made him feel he had to speak. "My princess..." He faltered. What could he say? He had lost a queen, but she had lost a wife.

"I think about that, you know," Xingshen said, still looking at the sky. "By rights of inheritance, now with Zhizhu...gone... I inherit her queendom. Her titles. What a cruel joke the gods have played on me. I wonder, is this to be my fate? Queen of two dead queendoms? My vassals shall be naught but corpses, and the slaughtered are the only ones left to sing my "praise". What a heavy crown to wear."

Oh boy he was really out of his depth here. Xingshen had barely opened up about anything, and it made her sudden bout of sharing that much more jarring. Just how much did Huntsman not know about the monarchs he pledged his fealty and life to? What was Xingshen like before she met the queen? He'd never known. They were as parents are to a babe, they simply always Had Been. The Queen and the Princess, those whose approval he would seek above all others. But they'd been more than that. It made the loss of the queen so much worse. Could he have learned more about her? The Spider Queen had once had a mighty empire, but that was about all Huntsman knew. His musings were broken by Xingshen speaking once more. "Forgive me, I should not be ruminating in such a bleak manner. There is still battle to be done. She may yet be saved, may yet be avenged." But her empty eyes said star held no hope. Even if the Bone Demoness was slain, that would only leave the two of them.

There was only one thing Huntsman could think to do. He reached out a hand, gently grabbing hers. Xingshen's expression morphed to one of shock as she looked down, but soon it became one of understanding. Slowly, she pulled Huntsman into a hug. Huntsman tensed, his first instinct being to shove back, but he made himself relax.

The ocean. Xingshen always smelled like the seaside...

He felt tears pricking his four eyes, and before he knew it his princess was knelt in front of him, letting him bury his face in her chest. Star sushed him, holding him close and wrapping her cloak tighter around him, whispering reassurances that star would not leave so long as star could help it. Promises that they would make it through. Star swore it.

After he was too tired to cry more, Huntsman just sat there, clinging to Xingshen. He felt like an idiot, bawling like a spiderling, but his ravaged heart didn't care. While in those maternal arms, he felt a resolve forming. The Queen was gone, they might not be able to get her back, but there was still Xingshen. There was still his princess. He could still protect her, even if he died in the attempt. He'd continue his duty and deal with the confusion- the grief- once she was safe.

[xxonceuponafuckxx]

Title: Out of Time

Location: Agrabbah

Timeframe: One day

Tagging: Jasmine and Terry White (poundedx)

Warning: Non-con, Dub-con, kidnapping

Description: Forced marriage to save her kingdom from a usurper

“Aw, do you not want to play anymore?” said the Sorcerer, approaching the hour glass and putting on a fake show of disappointment. “Such a pretty girl to let die. “Say the word, and you can come out and it’ll all be over. You know what I want to hear.” 

She slammed her hands into the glass, praying that someone would come for her. They never did. Jasmine panicked more and more as the sands started to rise above her head. She knew that her death would do nothing to protect Agrabah, scratching to keep her head above the sand and screaming at the last second. “Please?! I-I... Yes!” She hated it, but she thought it would at least buy her more time.

Those were the magic words. Terry grinned and with a wave of his hand, the sand stopped filling the hour-glass and it fell over instead, sand spilling out and allowing Jasmine to topple to the ground. Terry grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her to her feet. “You made the right choice…wife,” he said, kissing her roughly, forcing his tongue into her mouth. “Prepare her for our wedding,” he ordered, and immediately two guards came in and began to tear the clothes from Jasmine’s body. 

Out of the fire and straight into the frying pan. She the urge to vomit as he shoved his tongue into her mouth, slowly pulling away from him. “P-please? Please, can’t we have time to... t-to plan? I need more time.” The two guards grabbed her and began ripping clothes from her body. She sobbed, trying her best to hide herself as the men exposed her body and held her tightly. “Please?! I did what you asked! I gave you what you wanted!”

“No time like the present, Sweetheart,” Terry cooed, laughing as he took a step back and watched his men rip the clothes from her body strip by strip until she stood naked in front of them. “Don’t you want to see your wedding dress? I got it special for you.” He held up a few measly straps of white fabric and then tossed them to her: strips that would surround her cunt, her breasts, and her stomach but leave it all open to prying eyes. “Put it on, future Mrs. White. Or I’ll put it on you. And you won’t like that. The groom isn’t supposed to see the bride in her dress before the wedding after all.”

She shook her head, struggling against the guards. “You can’t do this! I won’t accept this... You can’t finish the ceremony without my consent at the alter a-and you won’t get it like this.” Jasmine knew how stupid it was to fight against the sorcerer. He was powerful, but he still needed to her say the words ‘I do’ for the marriage to be at all legally binding. “I agreed to marriage, not this.” She’d been trying to protect her kingdom and her life, but she wasn’t sure this had truly done either. “I will not wear that. I will not be treated like this.”

Terry stepped forward and grabbed her throat, wrapping his fingers tight around her windpipe. “If you do not say ‘I do’ I will murder every last innocent person in your kingdom, beginning with your father. And then I will rule over the ashes with or without your help.” His other hand slid down her body and then between her legs, grasping her pussy tightly. “So be a good queen, and take care of your people. Put on your wedding dress…Darling.” He handed her the white strips. 

Jasmine bit her lip nervously, slowly taking the skimpy garment with shaky hands. His hands on her felt disgusting, but she knew he wasn’t bluffing when he spoke of what he would do if she refused. She held the outfit in her hands, shaking nervously as Terry’s men grabbed her on either side. They took her from Terry, promising to get Jasmine ready for her wedding. She was naked, led through her home like a prisoner. Which she supposed she was. 

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave!” Terry called after her tauntingly, loving the way her ass wiggled as she was hurried off. They bathed her first, a humiliating scrub where they made sure she was shining and rubbed raw, cleaned inside and out, violating and groping her to make sure every spot and hole was cleansed. Then they dressed her in the wedding “outfit” and then locked her hands in shackles. While this was happening, Terry went out to where the wedding ceremony would be held and stood at the alter in a nice suit. It was up on the balcony of the castle, with all of the dignitaries and royals in a line around the aisle, and all of the kingdom gathered down below to watch. Even her father was there, shackled and bound and gagged as the men dragged Jasmine out and made her walk down the aisle toward Terry. 

Jasmine was put into the humiliating outfit once she was washed by the guards. She was shackled and leashed by a collar around her neck. They’d added a trailing veil behind her with white heels and sheer white gloves, as if that dignified the skimpy white thing she was wearing. She was dragged down the aisle, keeping her head down as she was led to Terry. They stopped, the guard handing over the leash to him. She finally looked up, trying to avoid looking at any of the prying eyes on her. She stared up at Terry pleadingly, trying to convince him to show her mercy from this humiliation. “P-please? Please don’t continue this? I’ll be your wife, just please end this spectacle? I beg you... Th-this isn’t a wife. I’ll do as you ask, just please stop...” She was hoping to appeal to him, to convince him to stop this.

Not only could all the important people in the kingdom see their once respected princess naked, her cunt and ass and breasts all on full display, but all of the people of the kingdom–all the citizens who had looked up to her–were gathered and watching, thousands of them watching her humiliation. They gasped as she came out, but Terry paid this no mind, taking the leash and tugging his wife to be close until she was practically in his arms. “You are in no position to bargain,” he reminded her. “If you hope to save your people, you will do as I say. And this is as I say.” He brought her by her chain to the edge of the balcony where the gathered crowd could better see her. “Someone grab her father,” he decided. “I’d like him to give away the bride.” 

Jasmine struggled against the restraints, glaring up at him as he not only refused her request but called for her father to be brought into it. “Stop this! You do not want a wife, that much is obvious from this humiliating display! You are making an absolute mockery of marriage and my kingdom.” She was helpless and she knew that. There was no denying the fact that she could not defeat him alone, that was the entire reason that she’d asked for help from the one known as the savior, but he’d never come to help them. “I will not marry you if you continue this tirade.”

They dragged her father forward, bound like she was, though at least he got the dignity of clothes. They forced him to take her arm and walk her down the aisle. “And what will you do? Stand by and watch me destroy your kingdom so that you may save your dignity? Is your modesty worth all their lives?” Terry asked. The music stopped and the “priest” began to say the vows. “I do,” said Terry. Then came Jasmine’s turn, and they all stopped and waited to see what she would say. 

She was afraid, not knowing what to do as Terry forced her into an ultimatum. “I-I... If I refuse, you have no right to rule over Agrabah. You have no right to harm my people.” Jasmine knew that was true, that he had no rights to rule over her kingdom while she was refusing. But, how much did that matter to Terry? He had so much power and she was helpless, which was obvious by her outfit. Jasmine had been forced into the outfit by the guards. She’d attempted to escape as soon as she had the chance, only getting dragged back and trussed up for the humiliating mockery of a wedding ceremony. “You disrespect the unity of marriage and my kingdom. I refuse...” Jasmine was terrified to refuse, but she couldn’t marry him. Especially now.

“Your queen does not care for you,” Terry announced to the people. “She would let you all die to preserve her pride. But that is no matter. I have taken her castle. I have taken her home, her family, her loved ones. And soon she will bear my child. This kingdom is mine.” With that, he grabbed the bound girl and threw her so her body was bent over the railing, looking down at the thousands of her people gathered beneath, her breasts hanging over the edge. Making sure she had to look at her kingdom, at all the people she had failed, Terry pulled down his pants, let his cock spring free, and shoved it into her unprepared cunt while behind them the guards, her former house keepers, and her father watched her be defiled. 

Jasmine screamed as he grabbed her, shaking her head wildly as she tried to fight back against him. She looked at her people for the first time since stepping onto the balcony, knowing that she could do nothing to help them. She couldn’t save herself and she couldn’t save them from his rule. “I love my people! That’s why I refuse! E-everything you’re doing is not under the crown, you are not truly their ruler. You are a traitor and a usurper.” Jasmine hoped she could help them with her words, though she knew how small words were in times like that. Words did nothing to protect them from his magic, from his guards. But, she wanted to give them something and that was all she had to give. His cock inside of her was agony, but she tried to keep herself together. As she struggled through her words, Jasmine tried to be stronger.

[itostea]

spider-man au with itoshi brothers:

warnings: near-death experience (?), you blackmail rin LOL, i am a firm believer that the brothers’ love lang is quality time, enemies to lovers in both tbh, both of them being sneaky, unedited & i may have overextended oops

rin:

spider-man au where rin is your classmate that you’re partnered up with for a project

at first, you tried to be optimistic about it all but all he wanted to do was curl up and read or watch something soccer-related 

his only redeeming factor was that he at least showed up to your scheduled plans together

it was only when you escaped a dangerous encounter that you managed to figure out his other identity 

The streets were empty besides from a random car driving by or someone on their daily night jogs. At first, you were a bit reluctant to stay after school to help out with club activities but the persuasion of your friends was enough to make your objections die on your tongue. Somehow even with promises you’d make it home before sunset, they still managed to keep you there until there wasn’t a speck of sunlight in sight. 

You sigh, pausing in your journey home to reach in your bag for your phone. If not for the fact that it was dead silent in the pitch of night, you would’ve noticed how the hooded figure behind you stopped as well. It’s that sort of realization that people get every now and then–the kind of gut feeling that you can’t ignore even if you tried to. Your eyes scan your surroundings and there’s not any soul in sight and that makes your heart sink. 

Instinctively, your legs begin to move on the path and you’re quick to type out a quick message to one of your friends and family members that if you go missing tonight, it was 100% because of the suspicious figure following behind you. The person tries to mask their presence by blending in with your footsteps until all of a sudden, you hear how the footsteps grow louder—they’re running towards you. 

If this was a horror film, you prayed that you weren’t going to trip over your own feet or feel your legs buckling. And as if the universe was taunting you, you yelp as you step on your shoelaces, the pull dragging you down. You wish the hooded figure was at least a slow runner or a bit sympathetic at the sight of you falling so you could get back on your feet. To your misfortune, they’re in front of you and you feel as if you just swallowed needles. You were going to get hurt or even worse, die here. 

Time works in strange ways. When you’re enjoying yourself, a couple of hours can be mistaken for ten minutes. Yet, when there’s anticipation just creeping around the corner, you feel as if you’ve lost ten years of your life. 

That’s why you’re confused as to why you don’t feel any pain and a thought crosses your mind. Is death supposed to be this painless? You expected more of screaming and crying as flashbacks went through your head.

Confused, you open your eyes and to your bewilderment, you see red and blue along–a tall figure looming above you. You blink once. And then you blink again, this time in understanding. 

“Spider-man?!” You screamed and the masked hero puts a finger to their mouth as if telling you that you couldn’t attract more attention. You nodded and lowered your voice into a whisper. “Right, sorry,” you offer a strained smile, standing up. It’s silent as you watch spider-man tie up the hooded figure and you’ve come to notice that the hero was a quiet one. You clear your throat. “Thank you for saving me,” you say smiling, earning a nod from them. 

This would’ve been a story to tell your friends and maybe grandkids in the future if not for the fact that spider-man dropped a book out of their suit (you don’t know how they managed to keep it hidden in their skin-tight suit but you assume it’s a superhero thing). “Wait you–” you pick up the book, pausing as you see the title. It was a soccer book. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

You would’ve ignored the fact that spider-man was a football fan since a lot of people were football fans. Then again, your fingers graze the page markers that you could’ve never forgotten: they were the ones Rin had, in the exact same order. Black. A few blues. And a lot of red. 

“Rin?” You mumble, catching the attention of the hero. The figure stills and you are already moving before they can escape. Your hands reach for the mask and pull, revealing the green eyes you’re used to seeing everyday in class and the familiar silky locks of hair. You gape. “Oh my god. You’re spider-man?!”

You see how an expression of true shock paints his features. It’s not the usual deadpan or grimace you’re used to seeing. Itoshi Rin was truly surprised that his identity was revealed because he let his guard down around you. Something he never does. He palms his forehead. “Fuck.” 

“I-Is this why you’re,” you pause, not knowing exactly what to ask. You hand him back his mask, clearing your throat another time. “D-Did you finish your portion for the project?”

“What?” 

“What?” You echo and smile awkwardly. You blink and tilt your head. “Did you finish the–”

“I heard you the first time,” he scoffs, weaving a hand in through his hair. “And no. I’m working on it.”

“You said that yesterday and the day before!” You exclaimed and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Rin would’ve found it funny that you decided to confront the spider-man about the details of a project instead of anything else. 

He crosses his arms and you have to stop yourself from noticing how defined his biceps were or how the suit hugged his torso–revealing the sculpted figure of his. You shake your head as you feel your mind drift and he raises a brow at your strange behavior. “I said I’ll get it done soon. Stop complaining already. And how the hell are you so calm? Is this kind of stuff normal to you?”

“What is your definition of soon?” You inquire with a frown, ignoring his questions. 

“Before the assignment is due.”

“I want to review our work together!”

He shakes his head with a sigh, grabbing his phone to dial the cops. You watch as he talks in that bored voice of his, ending the call whilst blankly looking at you. “This conversation is lukewarm. I’m going. Don’t tell anyone you saw me or else–”

Rin doesn’t understand how you can move so quickly, grabbing your phone. The sound of a camera clicking makes his eyes widen as he stares at you in disbelief. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

You nodded, grinning. “It’s blackmail. Take the project seriously or else I’ll expose your identity. Sorry Rin but I need our teacher to round my grade.”

He glares at you and you would’ve felt fear if not for the fact that you had his picture. “Delete it.”

“No, I'm good.”

“I’ll break your phone,” he threatens. 

“My photos are connected to iCloud.” That’s a lie but it’s believable. You watch how Rin experiences the five stages of grief and how he groans, the sound a true testament of the terrible situation he got himself into.

“You’re annoying,” he huffs and you smile in victory at his indirect agreement. 

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Wait,” he stops you and you think he’s going to bribe you, persuade you into deleting the photo. Instead your eyes linger on the hand clasped around your wrist. “Let me walk you home.” He was just going to follow you after you left to make sure you got home safely but he thinks this new idea was less creepy.

Not knowing how to respond, you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind. “In your spider-man suit?”

“I know a short-cut,” he mumbles, sighing as he clasps a hand around the back of his neck. “I don’t think you can outrun another criminal with the way you fell earlier.” 

Your lips part and you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. He was there when you tripped face first onto the ground. “You actually saw that?!” You squeal. “How much did you see?”

“From when you started running,” he says very seriously. 

“And you didn’t help me?!”

“I’m a fan of horror films. Even the bad ones that include tripping over nothing.”

Your squeals give him some form of satisfaction, seeing as you were ballsy enough to threaten him with blackmail. As if trying to ignore the fact that Rin saw you running and embarrassing yourself, you try to muster up a poker-face, positively failing as you can only manage a grimace. “Fine. Let’s go.”

On the way back, the two of you bicker amongst one another and you would’ve thought the moment was fun if not for the fact that it was Rin you were talking to. You reach the front of your house, sighing as your time tonight comes to an end. “I’ll see you next time then.”

“Yeah,” he nods, ready to slip back into the shadows and fight crime, the stuff superheroes usually did. “Wait,” he says, surprised that he even did so. “Let me…let me walk you home from now on.”

“Huh?”

“So you don’t get mugged or attacked again like today,” he quickly covers, maintaining a serious mask that luckily you don’t see through. He doesn’t understand the strange flutter in his chest at the sight of you nodding nor does he really care to know. He’s just relieved that you believed his lie and he’s not the slightest guilty about it. 

“Okay,” you shrugged. “Then I’ll wait for you after-school then?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” you grin, waving at him as you enter your house. “Don’t get hurt fighting the bad guys!”

He watches as your figure disappears behind the door and the sound of your footsteps dying down the further you got away from him. Suddenly, a waterfall of red splashes across him and he covers half of his face, groaning to himself. Itoshi Rin never paid much attention to other things besides soccer and maybe saving lives. Yet, here he was, experiencing his midlife crisis as all he could think about was your cheeky grin and your pretty eyes. 

sae: 

spider-man au where he’s still a football player 

he gets injured during one of his fights and you just happen to be there

Sae messed up. 

Juggling his life between being a football star and a hero who fights crime on the weekends, he sometimes finds that there’s no specific way to balance it. To tell the truth, he uses the “ego” he’s acquired as a football player to guide his judgment when fighting crime–something he wishes he never did until today.

He hisses in pain, gripping the spot where he took a kick from. It’s just beneath his ribs and it aches when he moves. His lips fall apart to mutter a silent curse, mentally yelling at himself for being so careless–especially before he had a game next week. With a grimace, he breathes out a sigh, resting his back against the wall of some random fence. His mask’s off, revealing the sweat that gathers above his brow and his eyes that glow green in the dark. 

There’s not a person in sight and he’s not in the mood to be cautious when it’s nearing midnight. The crickets chirping blend with his breathing that gradually grows more shallow as he feels the blood seep through his suit. He needs to get up. But who knew a stab to the rib could hurt this badly. For a second, he humors the idea of closing his eyes until he fully accepts it. ‘I’ll get up in five…’

He’s so close to letting the darkness surround him until he hears the sound of panicked cursing, the noise enough to provoke a headache. When he opens his eyes, he feels his heart stop and he’s so glad you don’t see how his lips part slightly, muttering a quiet wow. Sae doesn’t believe in miracles but he’s certain the face looking at him is an angel. Or maybe he’s just losing an enormous amount of blood and you’re deranged figuring out what to do. 

“Wait hold on, aren’t you Itoshi Sae, the football player?” You gasp and he feels his eyes roll. Never mind. You’re too noisy to be an angel. “I didn’t know you cosplayed and took it so seriously!”

Even in the midst of pain, he feels himself gape at your seemingly baseless logic. “I’m not cosplaying,” he groans as speaking makes the wound sting even more. Your eyes flit to the small gap in between his suit and skin, making your eyes widen and you contemplate multiple possibilities. Yet, your eyes wander to the wound and you gaze into his eyes that droop. 

“Okay,” you mumbled. “I’ll help you.”

“Just leave,” he sighs. Dealing with another fan would just make matters worse. If he can manage to get away now, he can figure out a way to keep your mouth shut. 

To his surprise, you poke at the wound, earning a hiss from him and a glare. You shrug, standing up. “You don’t look like you wanna go to the hospital right? The paparazzi would love that. Please just let me help you. I won’t do something to you, I promise. Besides, I like your brother more.” 

This causes him to raise an eyebrow and he’s about to retort, falling silent when you attempt to put him over your shoulder. He tries not to muffle a laugh at the way you drag your legs, huffing as you try to shoulder his weight. And oddly enough, he lets you take him inside your house, even if your panicked mumbles did little to soothe him. 

“Okay I’m going to undress you,” you say, making him grimace. “It’s not like I want to! I need to fix you up and maybe do a few stitches…”

“Should I be trusting you to do this?” He groans, thinking he just entered a situation far worse than his previous one. 

“Well I have some experience…”

Sae doesn’t like the way your lips curl into an awkward smile and how you avoid his gaze with a whistle. Rolling his eyes, he relaxes and tries not to notice how you beam at his display of trust. Your touches are gentle, ensuring you’re not causing him too much pain. You whisper apologies when he lets out a groan of pain and he seriously thinks it’s stupid that he’s actually letting you do this for him. Yet, he can’t stop the way his eyes wander to how concern paints your face and he’s almost tempted to smooth the furrow in between your brows. 

During this, you ask questions about why he was bleeding and why exactly he was clad in a spider-man suit. Naturally, it took him moments to respond and it makes sense as to why he’s so distrustful. After all, you just met him. 

Then again, your persistent rambling is weirdly effective on him and he indulged you in his side job as the hero shrouded in mystery: spider-man.

“I-I think I’m done now,” you mumble, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “Not bad for a beginner right?”

He only hums in response before his eyes shoot open at the feeling of your fingers on his cheek. You’re close. 

“You have a cut here,” you frown, leaning towards him. “Wouldn’t want a handsome face like yours be ruined while you fight crime right?”

He smiles lazily, his eyes not leaving your face. “You think I’m handsome?” 

“A lot of people think you’re handsome,” you roll your eyes, grabbing some disinfectant. “Don’t get cocky! I’m not one to be affected by looks.”

“I didn’t ask.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. It’s gonna sting a bit.”

You say that as if he didn’t just undergo multiple trials of pain enduring the stitches for his knife wound. Even so, he remains silent, watching how your tongue peeks out the corner of your lip in concentration. He would’ve continued to let his mind wander if not for the light flush. It’s most definitely not from the heat since your AC was blaring in the background. Maybe it was from your deep state of focus but he crosses that idea immediately when your eyes fall to his lips and to his bare torso. 

For someone who claimed to not swayed by looks, you were looking a bit too nervous around him. He’s about to say something when you suddenly fall back, averting your eyes. “Okay I’m done!” You squeak. “Do you want me to call your manager?”

“No,” he says before he can stop himself. “Let me stay here for a while.”

“Excuse me?” You gape, looking at him as if he was the crazy one. “But–”

“I have a game next week. I need to be in good condition.”

“W-What about the paparazzi? Imagine you, Itoshi Sae, walking out of a woman’s house! It’ll be all over the news!”

Sae ponders that thought before he shrugs, closing his eyes as if ready to fall asleep. He groans when you slap on his shoulder. “What?”

“That’s a stupid idea!”

“It’s convenient,” he sighs. “Worry about the details later. Do you have any clothes? Clean ones please.”

“Seriously,” you mutter in disbelief, standing up to glower at him. “I can use this as blackmail, you know?”

“Will you?” He challenges, looking you dead in the eye as if telling you to try it. As if sensing your defeat, he closes his eyes–hearing the sound of your footsteps padding on the ground while you rummage through your closet. 

Sae messed up. But this situation wasn’t so bad. He got the treatment he needed, convinced you to continue nursing him back to health–all perfectly practical for him. It’s not because he thinks you’re pretty and for the first time, feels interested in something that isn’t football. His mind drifts to the game and he sighs. 

Maybe he’ll make you come to his game when all of this over.

tags: @imherefortea

Kathyyy hiii idk if this counts as a request or not but I hope it isn't.

Your thoughts on itoshi siblings as Spiderman au???

IM SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONSE I DIDNT SEE THIS 😭😭

i’m assuming you want them done separately right? i’ll tag you once i finish up the ask since it’s cute!! 🫶🫶

[genderfluid-insomniac]

Afraid of a little water? /// merman!Scaramouche x reader

just mermaid scara being sassy and flirting with you

༻Scaramouche༺

You were down by the sea hopping from stone to stone and gazing at the tide pools, making sure the loose clothing you wore didn’t get wet. The cool blue-green water of the ocean crashed against the sand as you heard the caws of the birds and the sounds of the waves. A small hermit crab crawled out of a small pool of water and onto a nearby rock, stopping to look at you and hesitantly moved closer.

Reaching your hand out, the hermit crept onto your hand and moved back and forth when you bridged your palms together. You laughed at how amusing it was, going to show someone when you heard a splash behind you. That caught your attention and searched for whatever made that noise.

“What was-” You trailed off and spun around when you heard another, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw it was just a boy with dark violet hair and vibrant purple eyes. Blushing when you realized he was shirtless but it made sense since it was the beach and all.

You couldn’t see the bottom half of his body as it was covered by a rock he was laying on, a smirk crossed his face and surveyed you. He was eyeing you up and down, you cursed yourself for staring but he was very attractive. “Hello~”

“Hi…” Something felt off and you carefully put the crab down, seeing it scamper off back into the seaweed-covered tide pool. You moved closer and steadied yourself so you wouldn’t fall in, despite the ocean being beautiful you had some past trauma with it and swore to never swim in it again.

“I didn’t expect to find someone so… intriguing at the cove today. What brings you here to my abode?” His abode? Your throat hitched as you realized why the bottom half of his body was hidden, he was a mermaid.

The deep violet scales forming along at his hip and ending in black, the scales shimmered in both red and gold highlights. It was genuinely beautiful the way the droplets glistened when the sun shone on it. The man caught you eyeing it and lifted his tail up and out of the water, saltwater dripping off of it.

“Hm see something you like? Why don’t you come closer and I'll let you touch it? I know you want to, it's practically written all over that cute face of yours~” He was right and you were entranced by the merman in front of you, cautiously stepping forward. His short hair damp but being blown in the wind, leaning on his elbows as he looked you up and down.

“I would but I don’t know you. You could drag me down to my watery death!” He rolled his eyes and scoffed, almost offended. “You humans will believe any old folk tale, won’t you? I have no reason to and anyway, you interest me.” You guess he was right, no one to your knowledge had ever seen a merperson and even if they did, who would believe them.

“Well, okay then but I still don’t know you’re-“ “Scaramouche. My name is Scaramouche. Yours?” Telling him your name he went on to say how some people he knew called him by a couple different titles, one being The Balladeer. You both seemed so fascinated with each other and desiring to know more.

You wished you had kept closer to the rocks and not to the water beside you had you known Scara was going to “joke” around, yanking your hand and pulling into the water with him. There was one problem, you didn’t swim and that crucial detail is why you almost died all those years ago in the same ocean and refused to go any deeper into the ocean than your knees or thighs.

Everything happened in slow motion, your instinct was to scream but your body caught itself and looked around for any sign of him before racing to shore or trying to get to the surface. Flailing your arms and holding your breath, you tried to mirror how you saw others swim just enough to reach the bottom but your foot slipped on a seaweed-colored rock, and in panic, you tried to scream for help.

Slowly, your vision became dark and darker, hoping that someone would find you or attempt to save you. Seeing someone dive in above you before blacking out and trying to reach your arm up. You could feel someone rubbing your cheek and a muffled voice trying to speak to you, a sky of blue greeted you and you felt choked up.

Turning onto your side and throwing up all the saltwater you had swallowed, your throat nearly hoarse from coughing you did. Your savior continued to comfort you as they kept mumbling to get it all out and ran their hand against your back, easing you back onto their lap to rest more. Their soaked violet dripped onto your shoulders and deep purple eyes flashed concern, trailing his hand down your cheek.

Your savior was the one person who nearly killed you in the first place and who was now comforting you as he laid your head against his dark tail, the end half splashing in the water so he didn’t dry out. Fearing he was tricking you, you sat up trying to get away from him, having arms wrapped around your waist as you struggled against his hold.

“You’re going to hurt yourself again- Wait!” Figuring that struggling against someone who was seemingly stronger than you wasn’t going to benefit you and resting your head against his chest, “Why? You pushed me in to die than to save me? What the fuck-” “I thought all humans could swim, I intended to just get you wet jokingly but when I saw you fall unconscious I knew I seriously screwed up.”

“I never meant to hurt you, well, fatally that is.” As much as you wanted to argue with him, all the energy you previously had was sucked up by being revived and laid your head against his bare chest. Scara’s hand ran through your hair and sighed, asking you if anyone you knew was here or would be looking for you.

“I came down here alone, so no. You’re not going to kidnap me are you?” Try to laugh but ended up coughing, doing your best to bring some humor into the serious situation and he chuckled as well. “No, although you are adorable enough to try to keep to myself. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to my home, you can rest there if you want or you can go back home but I just want to apologize.

You weren’t in any condition to go back home and even if you did your roommate would be insanely worried as to why you were soaked and looked dead. So you agreed but the look of hesitation he gave if he asked if you were scared of deep water might have dissuaded you, seriously rethinking your decision and how'd you even be able to will yourself up to it.

Scaramouche lifted your face to his and bit his lip, thinking over what he was about to say. “I know you have no reason to trust me but I just want to make sure that I didn’t cause any serious harm, if I did I want to help. I can help you with the breathing part, merpeople can give humans the ability to temporarily breathe underwater for a couple hours with a kiss.”

Further explaining how the kiss worked, casting something like a spell and giving you the temporary ability, saying you didn’t have to open your eyes if you were scared. A part of you did truly believe that he was sorry but the other half of you didn’t want to have anything to do with the ocean, even though it was a bit too late for that.

Reason overpowered your decision when you realized getting yourself to a medical center was going to be tough in your condition and he was your only hope. You agreed and he cupped your face, looking into your eyes for confirmation, smirking when you leaned closer and he closed the gap. His lips pressed into yours, you returned the kiss, humming when he wrapped an arm around your waist.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Blood for the Blood God

(Technoblade x Reader)

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

~~~

A young hybrid stood at the edge of the world, his pink hair tied up in a bun, face free of scars he’d acquired in his later years, and he looked decades younger. A diamond-encrusted dagger rested against his hip in its holder, his feet nervously tapped on the dirt. Silence surrounded him, maybe he should’ve told Phil where he was going, what he was going to do, the deal he was about to make. There were no trees on the cliffside, no signs of life anywhere for miles, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he stepped into another realm altogether. It was just him, the cliff, and of course the ancient scrolls in his bag. Technoblade frowned slightly thinking back on his old friend once more, would Phil’s family and his old friend be disappointed in his choices. Did he even care? He swallowed thickly holding out his hand, he pulled out a dagger from its holder, and drug it across his palm. Blood spilled from the wound, Technoblade let out a hiss of pain watching the blood pool in his palm. He held his hand out over the void and let a few drops of blood seep into space. He had long since memorized the words on the scrolls in his bag, Technoblade chanted the words written in Greek and he felt the wind begin to pick up around him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, He was grateful his hair was wrapped up in a bun or else it would be tangled and blowing all over the place. At this time in his life, his hair was down to his ankles, getting it calm in any sense of the word was a struggle.

Dust picked up and he covered his eyes, by the time Technoblade opened them a beautiful figure stood in the void, the goddess was giant, towering far above the treelines below the cliff. A crown rested on top of the Goddess’s head, it was golden and formed a halo above her head, stars littered across her face as her eyes opened. Her gaze bore straight into Techno’s soul, her gown was a deep black with red lacing across the neckline, and it flared out at her feet. A corset tight around her waist, intricate gold was embedded into the fabric, her (h/c) hair floating around her head.

“Technoblade,” Her voice sounded like silk in his ears, and he loved the way her voice said his name. Pink blossomed in his cheeks as his eyes widened, he didn’t even comprehend that she knew his name without even asking. “Why have you summoned me here today?” The Goddess hummed softly leaning downwards her giant face in front of Technoblades, he was in awe at her majesty. He gaped like a fish for a few moments and she lightly giggles pulling away from his body, Technoblade swallowed thickly recovering from his shock.

“You’re the Blood God?” He questioned not expecting you to be so womanly, you hummed softly tapping your nails on the ground causing it to rumble under his feet.

“I go by many names young one, but yes that is one of them.” She hummed the clouds began to swirl around her head, “I’m known as the Blood God, Blood Goddess, but if we strike a deal you may refer to me as (Y/n).”

“The scrolls said you’d be a man.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, not at all.” Technoblade hurriedly corrected himself, “Just startled.”

“Men always like to change history,” She clicked her tongue in distaste brow furrowing in frustration. “Changing the great things women do, the fear of powerful women is only felt by weaker and pitiful men.” He watched the Goddess’s eyes turn blood red a smile came across her lips, “They deserve to bleed. Pitiful men don’t deserve to walk the same earth of those worthy.” Technoblade felt himself nodding alongside the Goddess’s words, she had a point. Any man who disrespects or underestimates women deserves the fate she mentioned. “Now Technoblade tell me what you need from me?”

“I wish to never die.” The words hung in the air, he watched the goddess lean back in contemplation.

“I cannot make you immortal, I’m afraid you’ve contacted the wrong God.”

Technoblade shook his head, he knew he contacted the proper God, if he tried to contact the God of Death, Phil would know immediately.

“It’s not necessarily immortality I am after,” You titled your head curiously urging the young man to continue his point. “I just want something to make me never die, whether it’s power or unaging, I need something.”

“Why? Are you aware of the consequences of becoming immoral or like an immortal,” The Goddess gently reached her hand out nudging her giant finger against his cheek, “To see those who love you die around you while you never age? Anyone, you fall in love with won’t grow old with you.”

“I don’t plan on falling in love.” He interrupted the goddess, standing up straighter. He watched her purse her lips, in a blinding flash of light a woman was standing in front of him. Technoblade felt his face heat up, in her mortal form she was much smaller, but her outfit remained the same, the crown still on her head, showing off her power.

“You cannot comprehend the ideas of the goddess of love Technoblade. She has many interesting ideas on who should fall in love.” Technoblade straightened as she leaned in closer to his face,

“I’ll fight them.”

The Goddess blinked a few times as Technoblade looked away awkwardly at what he blurted out, and you burst into hysterical laughter. You covered your hand with your mouth trying to stifle said laughter, he made a small ‘heh?’ like sound as you clutched your abdomen.

“Sorry- Sorry! I just never heard someone so willingly eager to fight the God of Love so they don’t fall in love.” Your eyes lit up with delight as Technoblade visibly relaxed, for the self-proclaimed Blood God you sure were child-like, much like Wilbur, “You’re so cute yet so naive.” He tensed again his teeth grinding together,

“I’m not naive.” He huffed narrowing his eyes not even processing that she had called him cute. You hummed a few more giggles spilling past your lips, before collecting yourself and straightening your dress.

“Technoblade, before we continue forward with our potential deal there are some stipulations.” You hummed softly holding out your hand, “If you wish for my power to never die this is what I can grant you.” You pressed your glowing red finger to his forehead, his pupils shrunk in and he saw himself in the future. Scars littered his face, arms, and back, his hair was tied into a tight braid, gold jewelry coated his ears and fingers. He had a scruff of a beard on his chin, and he overall radiated power. By his side in some form of a Tundra, was Phil, looking a little older, his right-wing shredded beyond repair. On Technoblade’s back were three Wither Skull tattoo’s one in the middle of his back and the other two on his opposite shoulder blades. A netherite sword hung on his hip and it seemed to be coated in dried blood, his arms were crossed in distaste, he caught a glimpse of three lines on his arm.

He never lost a single life. Suddenly he heard thousands of voices echoing in his head, he clutched his ears falling to his knees, all of them were screaming, pleading for blood.

Technoblade breathed heavily snapping back to the current reality, “what was that?” He panted eyes a bit frantic, “the future?”

“One version of it,” You hummed pulling your hand down to your side. “The future can change on such a whim there never may be a true future I can show you, but it was one.” His brow furrowed watching you reach out and trace over the lifelines on his wrist, a pleasant tingle was sent up his spine. “I can assure you the power I can give will not make you immortal, but it will give you the power to slaughter all your enemies on a whim. Reach your goals and make it nearly impossible to die, that is the power I can grant you.” He watched his lives glow a soft gold and he choked on his spit, another tingle shot up his body, “but there are consequences as there is with every deal one makes.”

Technoblade nodded in understanding willing to risk anything to be that powerful, keeping his life and living with Phil. So the older man won’t have to lose anyone else in his life due to his immortality.

“While you’ll be powerful and practically impossible to kill you will still be mortal. You will be able to die and will still be bound to the three life systems my brother has set up. However, you will live forever so long as that does not happen.” He felt your hand move up his arm and he involuntary flexed his muscles. “But, you’ll have to bear the curse of the Blood God,” You whispered eyes flashing in regret, “The voices.”

“Voices?” He questioned with an eyebrow raise watching you nod almost sadly.

“They will be hard to ignore and occur almost instantly once the deal is in place. There will be thousands of them, always talking or screaming begging you to kill and slaughter. Begging you to kill and supply me with the blood I so desperately crave be spilled on the land. They will say other things too, commenting on your thoughts and your life, you’ll eventually learn to live with them. Especially with my help, but they’re hard to deal with, hard to ignore their yearn for the slaughter of anything with a pulse. You’ll have to learn to get along with them, that is your only hope to not lose yourself to them.” He felt your hand up to his cheek, thumb brushing against the apples of them, “It will be painful and you’ll still need to train to gain more muscle and strength, but it will be easier for you to reach that goal. So with that in mind Technoblade, do we have a deal?”

Technoblade locked eyes with the Goddess in front of him, he could deal with a few voices screaming in his ear, after all, you’d be by his side, helping him learn and grow.

“Deal,” Technoblade spoke gruffly, “how do we go about this?” He tensed swallowing thickly watching you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re touching my face, that’s fine this is fine, not intimate at all.” He watched you raise an eyebrow,

“It’s about to get a lot more intimate I’m afraid,” You purred as Technoblade flushed red, he felt your one hand remove itself from his cheek. She trailed her hand down his neck and his body, he was a shivering, red mess, she found the dagger at his side. He watched in awe as it floated in front of her, slicing open her palm, blood bubbled from the wound it was laced with golden flecks of ambrosia. Technoblade looked at her nervously, “Drink.”

“Eh?” He made a disgusted face eyeing the blood smearing on your palm, he watched it drip intimately down your wrist. Technoblade swallowed thickly, “why?”

“You have to take a piece of me to grant my power, you’ll grow fond of the taste of blood eventually.” You smiled pityingly, another hand gently squeezing his neck and Technoblade let out a shaky breath. He placed a hand on your wrist looking up into your eyes, you hummed sweetly urging him to continue, “I don’t bite. Hard.” You mused, eyes sparkling, dangerously, the look was verging on flirty, the young man flushed. He leaned forward, hesitantly licking the dripping blood that spilled down your arm up to the cut you made with his dagger. The ambrosia in your blood tingled his tongue tasting sweeter than honey, his pupils blew wide dragging his tongue across your palm. He barely registered your hand in his hair, curling around the loose stands tenderly, and much like a kitten, he began to lap at your palm. Technoblade felt like his entire body was on fire, but the blood you possessed tasted so sweet, he felt as though he’s never tasted anything better. He drank until your body healed and he couldn’t taste any more blood, he felt a whine bubble in his throat desperately trying to get more blood from your healed cut. You shushed him softly poking his nose, which seemingly snapped him back to reality, ears turning red as a small amount of blood stained the corner of his mouth. You leaned forward standing on your tiptoes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue lapping at the left-over blood. He let out another whine as you pulled away licking your teeth, humming fondly at the taste. “Such a good boy, listening to your god,” he felt himself pant his vision blurring the praise from you swimming in his head, doing things to him he didn’t quite understand.

Technoblade’s eyes snapped open as the world around him filled with screaming voices, he yelled out in agony as a fire shot through his skull, burning his brain and licking at the top of his spine. Voice pleading and screaming for more blood, to paint the entirety of the cliffside with sweet blood, to grab the nearest thing with a pulse and tear it to pieces. His pupils shrank and his mouth began to water helplessly,

‘Blood for the Blood God! Serve her! We live to serve her, get her blood. Feed us, Feed her. Blood. Blood. Blood. Kill anything that tries to stop us. Blood. Blood. Blood.’

These millions of voices pounded heavily in his ears, he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Suddenly the voices quieted and he was vaguely aware of your hand on his forehead,

‘Goddess, our goddess.’

“Shhhh,” You whispered fondly and Technoblade leaned into your cool touch. “Be kind to this one, he’s special.” He didn’t understand what you meant but heard the voices calm down as you spoke to them. “Play nice,” Techno realized that you weren’t talking to him but the voices in his head.

‘Yes ma’am. We’ll be good. But I want to break this one. Don’t be rude to our goddess! Bark, bark, bark. Don’t bark at her! She’s gorgeous though! Truly a work of art. We just want to provide you with blood! Let us play with him a little!’

“I know my darlings and I appreciate it.” You cooed fondly and Technoblade felt warmth flow through his entire being. “But try to get along with this one, he’s special,” Technoblade watched the goddess wink at him. He found himself asking her if he would see her again and she snickered softly,

“Of course you will. We’re interconnected now,” you took his hand, allowing his bigger one to encompass your own. “I’ll see you again soon, try not to die.” In another flash of light, the goddess was gone, he was left alone with the roaring voices and deep-seated loneliness that he was not accustomed to feeling.

It only took a few weeks for Phil to find out about his meeting with the Blood God herself he was immediately worried for his friend. Scolding him for doing something so stupid and reckless, even if what he was preaching was largely hypocritical. The newly acquired voices seemed to have a different interpretation of his nagging, instead, they urged Technoblade to call the man Dadza. Behind Phil his crows cawed and flocked around the both of them, Phil’s brow furrowed and squeezed Technoblade’s shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing mate. Dealing with gods is a dangerous game,” Phil sighed “I know that better than anybody. You need anything, contact me immediately.”

“I will,” The young man nodded in response to his old friend, “Trust me.”

“You know I do.” Phil responded his wings fluttering anxiously, “Just know how dangerous the Blood God can be, the voices granted to you will be hard to resist.”

“She gave me the spiel Phil, I can handle a few voices.” Technoblade scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, “Have a little faith.” Phil only grew more concerned watching Techno’s hand twitch, he could only hope he knew what he got himself into.

~~~

“Oh, Technoblade what have you done?” Your voice echoed in his head as he snarled loudly, red eyes blazing fire. Corpses littered his feet, blood staining the floor and walls, he was older than the last time she had visited. Hair was tied in a braid, scars littered his face and arms that seemed to only accentuate the blood staining his face. His ax was in the corner of the room blood stained the weapon as well, “You poor man.” He turned towards you and snarled the voices in his head roared needily, his head and heart were pounding, “Use your words.” You commanded hardly red mist swirling around your fingers, it hit him square in the chest sending him flying backward into a wall. Behind you stood a taller figure, in his state Technoblade could only make out a mask with a large ‘X’ carved into it.

“Your little plaything seems to be struggling with your curse dear sister,” XD mused from behind you, “Your supposed prodigy seems to have lost control.” You clicked your tongue in distaste sending your brother a look.

“Technoblade come back to your God.” You commanded your voice harshly seeping into his ears, he only roared in response, steam coming out of his nostrils. “I’m disappointed in you all,” the voices all at once stopped their screaming and Technoblade fell to his knees the sudden shift to silence throwing him off. You walked over to his crumpled body, bare feet stepping on the wooden planks marking the floorboards with your bloodied footprints. You knelt in front of him, the hybrid breathing heavily, his tusks tried to cut your skin and succeeded in pricking your fingers. You grabbed onto his tusks, those were also bigger than the last time you saw them, you tugged them harshly. He grunted in pain, “No.” You snarled looking deep into his eyes, “You slaughtered an entire village of innocent lives! That is not in my plan or my wishes you stupid mortal!” You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his clarity was slowly coming back to him. “There were children here! Children you tore apart, I trusted you to have some semblance of control, and you!” She pressed a manicured nail to the top of his head speaking directly to the voices, “I asked for one thing from you and you make him do this!”

“Get ‘em, girl. You tell them.” XD mused from behind you, snapping his fingers almost sassily. His robes flowing around his arms, you turned over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Oh, go fuck George Lore.”

“Fuck you.” Lighting cackled from behind the God of the SMP his long nails digging into the flesh on his arms. You huffed glaring at your older brother, from behind you Technoblade tried to lunge at God for disrespecting his Goddess. “Watch your dog,” He scoffed another growl bubbling in Technoblade’s throat.

“Techno.” Your voice filled his ears again and he fell against your shoulder, “I haven’t been a good Goddess to you have I?” You spoke softly, his entire body relaxing into you as he listened to you. “You cannot handle the voices on your own that was my mistake, I will train you so this doesn’t happen again that I can promise you.” Your fingers gently played with the hair on the back of his neck,

“(Y/n)?” He mumbled groggily,

“There he is, welcome back to the real world.” The goddess pulled away from his beaten body, he looked around seeing the blood and the bodies. His ears twitched something akin to guilt curled in his stomach.

Had he done this? To a village of innocent traders?

“Did I..?”

“You lost control I’m afraid.”

“I- that’s impossible, I was doing so well I had control-”

“Technoblade!” A voice called out pushing past XD, an older gentleman with messy blonde hair a bucket hat. “You’re alright!- Who the hell are all of you?” The man seemed to realize they weren’t alone and his eyes locked onto yours. “(Y/n)?”

“Philza Minecraft. Long time no see,” You hummed a smile spreading across your lips, “Kristin says hello.”

Phil’s entire face flushed to the tips of his ears and he coughed nervously, “Er...tell her the same and that I miss her.”

“I will,” You gave a little bow of your head, “Is Technoblade your son?”

“More like an old friend, but I see him as such.”

“Shut up old man,” Technoblade grumbled sitting up on his knees without you to support him.

“I didn’t realize you were the Blood God,” Phil continued dropping by Technoblade’s side the old man was missing a few of his flight feathers. A large cut was gouged into his shoulder, that was it that was the trigger, something must’ve hurt Phil and caused the halfling to snap.

“That seems to be a common theme,” You frowned a little with a gentle sigh, you tried to glance at your brother, but XD had long since disappeared from the doorway. Most likely because he was bored and wanting to go bother Foolish, “Philza.” You declared as Technoblade glanced over at you through hooded eyes, “Will you allow me to train and help your son."

“He’s not my dad-”

“Of course Goddess, whatever will help him stay in control.” You nodded your head at the consent, in a flash of light your entire appearance changed. You looked much more human, with a simple yet sophisticated outfit that fit the period

“Then let’s begin.”

~~~

The sun began to rise above the cliff where Technoblade had first summoned his Goddess. He took in a deep breath inward and then let the breath outwards after a few minutes of holding it. He sat criss-cross on the cliffside letting air into his lungs as he remembered the meditation techniques you had taught him many years ago. The voices were particularly antsy today but he had learned from the best how to control them, to quiet them down, talk, and reason with them.

‘The sun is rising. It’s very pretty, can we please just spill a little bit of blood?’

“No.” He murmured under his breath, “We get to see (Y/n) today. Don’t ruin this for me. We need her help.”

“They bothering you?” Your voice flowed through his head like butter, and warmth engulfed his entire being,

‘We are not! Come on, we love you! E!!!! Don’t be mean to us!’

“They said you’re being mean.”

“Am not,” You snorted wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and fell across his broad shoulders. Surprisingly the goddess’s touch comforted him, while others’ touches felt like fire, yours was pleasant. “Just want to make sure my prodigy is safe and in control,”

“I am thanks to your lessons.”

“Good, now. You said you wanted to talk to me about something important. Do tell, I’m very curious. It’s not like you to keep secrets from me.” A feather-light kiss was placed on his cheek as you moved from behind him to the front, he adored you. The sunlit up your cheeks and framed your head like a halo, it was like everything on earth was made to make you look perfect.

“I have a predicament,” He tapped his nails on his knees as you hummed thoughtfully, “There’s a war brewing between the government of ‘New L’manburg’ and myself. The government killed Wilbur, drove him so mad that Phil had to kill him to stop his nonsense.”

“I remember that,” You said with a stern nod, “there was a lot of blood spilled that day.” The people who fought in the war lost a lot of lives and you remembered it vividly, XD watched the battle with you from above, you wanted to keep an eye on Technoblade. When the battle was over and his allies betrayed him it took all of your willpower to not go down there and kill them all where they stood.

No one touches your prodigy.

XD had to physically hold your powers away from you, it was the closest you’ve come to losing control of since you were a young Goddess.

When Technoblade escaped to the Tundra that’s when you appeared in front of him, giving him a bone-crushing hug. He grunted at the unfamiliar body but there was only one person that he knew of who could appear out of nowhere and that was his Goddess. You remembered him apologizing to you, fearing you’d be mad at him for failing to kill all those who opposed you and him. You shut him up with a searing kiss, he was dizzy as you pulled away,

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he murmured still recovering from the shock of the kiss, recovering from how much he enjoyed feeling your lips press against his own. “I won’t disappoint you again,”

“You better not.” You cupped his cold cheek with your hand, he nuzzled into it, “You have so much more to give.” Technoblade gave a stern nod as the voices urge him to kiss your forehead, and he listened. “My strong prodigy,” you recalled how he shivered at your words “Are you mine?”

“Only if you’re mine in return.”

“I can live with that.”

His big hand cupped your cheek and you snapped your attention back to the mortal in front of you, you smiled and kissed one of the scars on his palm. Techno brushed his thumb across your cheek, the stars on your face left his fingers tingling. “I need your help, they tried to execute me and hurt Phil they need to be taught a permanent lesson. Please fight by my side,”

“Love, you know I’m not allowed to interfere with wars of mortals. My brother will demote me.”

“I know that,” Technoblade assured reaching out to squeeze your hand, “that’s not what I mean or what I want for you Goddess.” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head,

“Explain,” consider your curiosity peaked.

“Grant me more of your power, fight through me, my dear.” Your eyes widened as his eyes flashed red,

“That’ll tear you apart, you will not be able to handle that.”

“I will.”

“Techno-”

“I trust you.”

Your lips dipped into a tight frown, “I don’t trust myself.” You admitted closing your eyes, “I’m called the Blood God for a reason Technoblade.”

“You’ve taught me how to keep control, I know you can as well darling. Please.”

“Fine,” You agreed after a while looking at the ground, “I’ll let my power flow through you on one condition. You only use it once when it’s life or death.”

“I promise you,” he leaned forward and kissed your lips causing you to purr happily. “I’ll only use it once just keep an ear out for when I call for you.”

“I will.”

The battle came much faster than Technoblade would’ve liked, he had Dream, Phil, and the dogs by his side. They would blow the government to smithereens and won’t stop until they hit bedrock. Above the clouds, he knew his Goddess was watching over them, there was no way they wouldn’t succeed. He felt the voices yearn for blood, yearn to serve and please their god, to wreck the entire governmental system. Dream told Technoblade and Phil their duties, which consisted of distracting the government with as many Withers as possible, so Dream could set up the canons. Technoblade could feel the buzzing in his skull knowing the voices were itching to set off the Withers and conquer. They gathered the wolves from underneath L’manburg and Technoblade ruffled their fur and gave them each some last-minute treats, he hated to think of that as a last meal for some of them, but that’s essentially what they were. As he made his way into the country Phil had squeezed his shoulder, a gesture meant to be affectionate in nature.

“Try not to die.”

“You too old man. You still have the totem I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Now let’s kick their asses,” Technoblade grinned viciously. He looked up into the swirling clouds in the sky, crows screaming overhead, “Watch over me, my goddess.” His head filled with warmth and he knew you were by his side like you promised you would be, Phil smiled over at Technoblade and looked to the sky as well.

‘Watch over him (y/n), Kristin,’ He thought getting into a position to release his Withers onto the world.

Technoblade followed suit, the citizens caught onto his presence almost immediately, ready to battle him with weapons drawn. Luckily the dogs took care of anyone who dared try to get a hit in, ripping apart any exposed flesh and spilling their blood on the ground. The dogs allowed him to set up two Withers and send them into the battle, exploding and targeting individuals in their line of sight. Technoblade escaped into a small area by a river and was suddenly attacked by Sapnap. The fire demon spawn’s eyes were alight with bloodlust, seemingly from slaughtering half of his pet wolves singlehandedly.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Sapnap grinned swinging the sword in his hand, fire sparking from the horns on his head. Technoblade had no time for the cocky man’s small talk as he charged at him, he blocked the blow with ease, golden ring glinting in the fleeting light. “Not much of a talker huh? No matter,” Sapnap snickered, “I’ll be the one to take your first life.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Technoblade snorted pulling away to kick Sapnap in the chest, he stumbled back but he was known for his quick recovery time. He grunted a little and sent a trail of fire-spitting towards Technoblade’s feet. Technoblade was distracted by the fire and it allowed the demon to slice a deep cut into Technoblade’s chest, the man didn’t have time to block. He grits his teeth and felt blood seep across his chest, pain ricocheting through his body. The voices roared to kill the idiot, to get up and give him a severe wound back, but before he could he was kicked in the chest by Sapnap and fell to his back. The sword was pointed at his neck and it dug in just deep enough for a droplet of blood to bubble under the sword.

He was fucked.

‘Call her. Call (Y/n). Call the Blood God. Call our Blood God. Blood for the Blood God.’

“Any last words?”

“(Y/n) I need you.”

“Who the fuck-” A blaring light blinded Sapnap as he stumbled back, squinting his eyes he could barely make out Technoblade in front of him. Technoblade’s eyes blazed a scarlet red, the wound on his chest healing over rapidly like he just ate two god apples. That wasn’t the worst of it though, Sapnap stumbled back some more, above Technoblade’s head was a stunningly gorgeous woman. Her hands were cupping his head, red seeping from her fingers and licking at Techno’s head like flames. The Goddess’s eyes were closed as her hair floated around her head, framing her face beautiful, she was terrifying calm,

“What the fuck. Who the fuck?” His voice cracked watching the being open her sharp eyes, a bloodthirsty grin appeared on her lips. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Technoblade. Kill the idiot man, who dared to try and kill you. That is my command. Give Blood to your Blood God.”

Technoblade’s lips curled over his tusks, he was salivating, the voices were roaring. “Blood for the Blood God,”

He spoke and the last thing Sapnap saw was the shine off Technoblade’s blade, and the glowing eyes of the Goddess herself before the world around him went dark.

Technoblade was breathing heavily, the voices wanted more blood, he felt the pull from you as well, you wanted more blood spilled. Steam curled around his nose and he shook his head, ‘no. no more. Thank you.’ He licked the blood off his sword and the voices quieted, satisfied with the taste on his tongue.

“Stay safe,” Your voice echoed around the battlefield, some chose to ignore the booming voice of the female but others turned to look. Staring in awe at the sight of the goddess, many not knowing her origin or what she was but felt her power over the battlefield. “Don’t disappoint me,”

“You know I won’t.” He grinned blood staining his teeth, behind him an explosion rang out, Dream was ready with the TNT cannons. He heard a familiar cry from who he assumed Tommy and when he turned back to face you, you were gone.

They will forever know that Technoblade serves and is dating the Blood God.

~~~

Tag list: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

[zodiakuroo]

Cupid’s Bullet

Dabi comes home with a very special Valentine’s Day surprise for you.

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Contains: dubcon/noncon, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship, gun play, fear play, forced orgasms, squirting, mindbreak, angst (if you squint?), quirk usage, one slap but it’s a hard one :3, overstimulation, creampie

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: pls this title is so cringe but it's like bullet instead of arrow cause... ya know but anyways happy valentine’s day from scumbag boyfie!dabi

Dating a villain meant that your relationship was unconventional to say the least. For one, public dates were out of the question, unless you wanted it to end in destruction of public property and some scorched heroes. You also always had to have some kind of flimsy excuse for your family and friends when they asked to meet your elusive boyfriend. In addition, you had to accept the fact that he would have to disappear sometimes for weeks on end to do his boss’ bidding.

There was also the small matter of arson, murder and theft and a multitude of other crimes that you’d prefer not to know about. And while you weren’t necessarily okay with a lot of what Dabi did, you loved him. You loved him so much that turning a blind eye was so easy it made you question your own morality. He didn’t scare you either. Not in the slightest, because you knew in his own special way, he loved you too.

In fact it ran much deeper than that. On his worst days, Dabi could set the world ablaze until nothing was left because in the end he didn’t care about anyone or anything, not even himself. Until he met you, he says. He tells you that in you, he’s found something to tether him to this existence.

Ok so maybe he didn’t use those words exactly, but he doesn’t have to. You know that’s what he means when he spoils you with expensive, stolen clothes and jewellery, when he offers to burn alive any person who makes you even the tiniest bit upset and when he comes home to you bloodied and beaten, trusting you to take care of him.

In summary, your relationship forced you to give up on having any “normal couple” experiences.  That included, celebrating anniversaries and silly holidays like Valentine’s Day so you never bothered to keep track of them. It could hardly be considered a sacrifice when you compared those things to what you actually got from your relationship.

Dabi had been gone for close to a month now and you didn’t expect him back anytime soon, not knowing where he was or what he was doing. In fact the very last thing you expected was for him to creep into your bedroom in the middle of night and rouse you from your peaceful sleep with a soft kiss on your temple.

You don’t jump out of bed in a panic, like any sane person would. Instead you let out a satisfied hum, surrounded by the scent of burnt flesh, ash and menthol, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. It should be unpleasant but its Dabi’s scent and you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. You pick your phone up from your night stand, squinting your eyes at the bright light that makes them sting.

Sunday 14 February, 2:43am

“Welcome home.” You mumble groggily, trying your best to fight off your tired body urging you to go back to sleep.

Instead of replying, he greets you by pressing his mouth to yours. You let out a quiet gasp, startled by the sudden display of affection. His lips are chapped but that doesn’t matter, your tongue darts out to moisten them before your lips lock into a gentle kiss.

You reach up, weaving your hands through his dark hair in an attempt to draw him closer but he retreats, opting instead to turn on the bedside lamp but keeping his other hand behind his back. “Sit up doll. Got a surprise for ya.”

Any thoughts of sleep were long forgotten as soon as his lips met yours but now he’s really piqued your interest. You push yourself up against the headboard and sit cross-legged. You look up at Dabi expectantly. Your boyfriend is smiling wide, skin pulled so taut you think one of his staples might give out. He reveals to you what he has hidden behind his back. A square black box, wrapped in a cobalt satin ribbon.

It’s so cliché you can’t help but let out a small snort. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift. You know… for Valentine’s Day?” He says as though it should be obvious to you.

Your heart swells at the gesture. It really was a surprise. Not in a bad way, you just knew he wasn’t your average boyfriend and that was okay. You didn’t want him to be.

“Well now I feel awful. I didn’t get you anything.” You pout as he props the box onto your lap.

“’S like a toy… so it’s technically for you but kinda for both of us.” It’s unusual to see Dabi this excited. The way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes filled with mirth makes you all the more curious.

“Like a sex toy?” A giggle escapes you as you undo the bow.

“Are we playing fuckin’ 20 questions? Just open it.” He presses you.

You huff at his impatience but you don’t comment, not wanting to wait any longer either. You remove the lid of the box only to find something wildly unexpected.

A revolver?

You look up at your boyfriend with confusion etched on your face but his gleeful grin doesn’t falter. You’ve never seen a sex toy like this so you pick up the article to test its weight. It’s definitely the real deal.

“Dabi, this isn’t a toy.” You state matter-of-factly.

He merely rolls his eyes and says “Doll, when you can incinerate someone with a flick of your wrist, that little thing is definitely considered a toy?”

“O-okay? What do you want to do with it?” You ask, placing offending object onto your nightstand, not really wanting to hold on to it anymore, the metallic smell making you feel queasy.

“Ever heard of Russian Roulette?” Dabi, picks up the abandoned item, looking down at it with pride.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows as nervousness starts to creep into your system and you instinctively move to back away from him but Dabi is quick to pull you back.

“It’s real easy doll. No need to look so scared.” He crawls on top of you, caging you in with his limbs. “6 chambers. 1 bullet. All you have to do is be a good girl for me. If not, I pull the trigger and we see what happens.”

The look on his face is positively demented. Azure eyes wide and bright, patchwork face contorted into a a sinister smile, white teeth and silver staples gleaming in the dim light.

“Baby,” you hope the pet name will placate him. It usually does. “I don’t know about thi-“

CLICK

You let out a shriek as your body jolts in fear but you’re unable to move with his weight pressing on top of you.

“You see now doll?” He clicks his tongue behind his teeth. “You’ve gone and wasted a shot.”

Dabi climbs off of you and you’re left lying there with your heart hammering violently in your chest, body trembling, still reeling from the shock of what just happened. Reeling from the shock of what is happening

“You gonna listen now? Gonna be good?” Dabi prompts, rolling the gun around in his hand.

All you can do is nod as your eyes being to water. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only grows worse as your mind races with the possible things Dabi has in store for you.

“Good. Now strip.” He command and like a good girl, you obey.

Your arms feel like they’re made of lead, moving rigidly to take off your shirt (one of Dabi’s old ones). You can’t stop the tears from falling as you pull down your panties, fat droplets roll down your cheeks, desperately trying to swallow the sounds of your sobbing.

This can’t be happening. It’s Dabi. He wouldn’t hurt you. He promised you that.

“Oh cut the fuckin’ waterworks.” He snaps. “As long as you listen, you’ll be fine.”

You try to calm yourself with deep breaths, not wanting to irritate him any further.

When you turn to face him, he’s leaning back on his haunches, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily gripping the revolver. “Fair warning, I’m more of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kinda guy. But you know that already.” He thumbs the cylinder, making it spin. “Now, touch yourself for me.”

Breathing is difficult. No matter how much you try, it’s like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. Thinking only of gun in your boyfriend’s hand, you still you bring your own hand between your legs, but you can’t concentrate, what with the dread taking over your body making it tough to have any control of your body. Your movements are stiff and apparently not up to Dabi’s standards.

He only scoffs before-

CLICK

You scream again, body nearly flying off the bed before you curl yourself up into a ball. The fright is enough to stop your heart. For a second you believe it has.

“Doll,” Dabi’s gruff voice brings you back to earth, reminding you that you’re very much alive and whether or not you stay that way is entirely up to him. “You’re ruining my surprise. Got it ‘specially for you and now you’re being a brat.” He quirks an eyebrow at you, almost like a challenge.

“So-sorry.-“ your voice breaks. “I’ll be good.”

You’re still struggling to comprehend how any of this is real. You thought you knew him. You thought he loved you. And here he is, treating your life like it’s a game. You can’t help but think that this is your own fault. You thought you were above everyone else, the exception to your boyfriend’s villain behaviour.

“Yeah?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Then show me.” He challenges you. Dabi slips off his t-shirt and moves between your legs to get a better view, pressing on your knees to split them apart.

Self-preservation kicks in. There is one way out of this alive and that’s doing what he says. You spread yourself even wider, showing him all of you. Your hands, glide over your smooth thighs, kneading the pudgy flesh as you get closer and closer your sex, teasing yourself the way he would.  Your fingers find your clit and just a little pressure makes your eyes melt shut. Probably for best anyway. It makes it easier to imagine anything but this. You drag those fingers through your delicate folds, letting out breathy sighs as heat begins to bloom between your thighs.

You pretend, its Dabi’s touch. In your mind’s eye you see the two of you, limbs tangled with Dabi on top, resting his forehead against yours. It’s one of those nights where he wants to go slow. So slow that the sensation of his cock dragging in and out of is you bordering on torturous. It’s one of those nights where he wants to lay his head on your chest, mouthing at your breasts, laving your nipples with his wet tongue while you tell him, in that sensual voice  that you love him, that he’s perfect, that he’s yours.  Because it’s one of those nights, where everything feels like too much for him and the only person that he really has on his side is you.

It’s not long before you’re leaking. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice chastising you for being so easy for him… even now. There’s almost no resistance as two of your fingers, press into your entrance. Your fingers are no match for Dabi’s, they never hit all those deep, hidden spots  that make you see stars but still, you start to move them slowly, brushing your thumb over your clit every so often.

“Look at me.” You feel his breath waft over your pussy.

Eyelids fluttering open and you meet his gaze. It stuns you a little and your hands come to a standstill. He is handsome, breathtakingly so, even though he thinks you’re lying whenever you when you tell him that. The way he stares at you, with love and adoration in his eyes, it’s almost like the fantasy you were just imagining. Almost like the fantasy you’ve been living in this whole time. It’s enough to make you forget the situation you’re in. Then the muzzle of the gun is pressed to your clit, snapping you back to reality fast enough to give you whiplash.

“Fucking slut.” He growls and smacks your hand away from your pussy.

You jerk as he starts to move it the gun circles over your sensitive nub and then dipping down to your tight slit to gather up your juices.

“All those fuckin’ tears but look how wet you are.” He says more to himself than you as he admires the way your slick leaves a sheen on the barrel. With his eyes trained directly on yours, his perfectly pink tongue pokes out to lick it clean, groaning at the taste.

The next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your legs, guiding them over his broad shoulders. He kisses you on your mons before his tongue begins greedily lapping at your hole. “Tastes so good doll.” He mutters with his nose pressed against your clit. He slips the wet muscle inside of you making you whine.  You reflexively grab onto his black hair, tugging on the stands and he lets out a groan of approval. He moves up to your clit, circling it with his tongue before suckling on it. While he brushes just the tip of a finger over your cunt, making it clench around nothing while you desperately buck your hips, in an attempt to have it inside you.

The way he’s eating you out is almost romantic?

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the metal digging into your flesh.

“Doll,” He places a sloppy kiss on your clit, lighting dragging his teeth over the hood. “Want you to squirt for me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You can count on one hand the amount of times that has happened. You’re not sure of the odds that you’d be able to right now and it’s not a gamble you’re willing to take. “Dabi, I don’t think I can….”

CLICK

You thrash, screaming so loud it makes your throat burn.

Dabi still holds you open, keeping you in place. “I wasn’t asking.” He makes sure to maintain eye contact as he drops a fat glob of spit right on to your clit before diving face first into your cunt once again.

He pushes 2 of his long, lithe fingers into your tight entrance. It’s unexpected and you wince. He drags his right hand (the one holding the gun) up your torso, resting the muzzle underneath your breast, right over your racing heart. A reminder of what’s at stake. He envelopes your sensitive clit with his lips, moving his fingers in tandem with the suction. You’re consumed by desire as Dabi brings you so close to the edge.

“Dee-Deeper please.” Your pant out.

He smiles against your mound before complying with your request. “Right here?” His fingers press against that squishy patch deep inside you and your eyes roll back.

“Nnnggg yeah.” You’re barely able to mewl out. You dig your heels into his back and grind against his face, chasing your high. Dabi keeps hitting that spot with astonishing precision but you hold off for as long as you can, letting the pleasurable sensation build until the pressure in your core becomes unbearable. When it finally snaps because you can’t hold it anymore, your eyes squeeze shut, hands flying to his biceps and you dig your nails into the sinewy muscle. You gush around his fingers and all over his face. Dabi doesn’t move though, flicking your clit with his tongue repeatedly until you’re trembling and whimpering, pushing him away from your pussy. He finally relents, a pop echoing around the room as he lets go of you.

He gives you a predatory look, scared face and chest wet with the remnants of your orgasm. “You made such a mess baby but I’m glad you’re finally having fun.” He’s just as out of breath as you are but far more composed.

Your head is still fuzzy and limbs are still twitching but your boyfriend doesn’t let you recover. “C’mon, doll. My turn.” He begins to undo his belt, silver buckle clinking as he rushes to drag it through the loops of his jeans

You pull yourself on to all fours, now eye level with his crotch. He pulls down his pants and boxers in one go, his erection almost hitting you in the face.

“You’ve been lucky so far.” He taps the bulbous head of his cock on your lips, smearing your lips with the pre that dribbles out of it. “But I wouldn’t test it if I were you. Open.”

Your mouth is already watering at the sight of him. So long, thick and veiny. It’s disgusting actually, this Pavlovian response. He fucks you deeper, stretches you wider and makes you feel better than anyone ever had. You wonder briefly, if anyone ever could fuck you as good as Dabi.

You stick out your tongue and he slides himself between your lips, groaning as he pushes into your mouth, slowly, inch by inch. He fills your mouth completely and you shut your eyes, savouring the salty taste of him but you feel the muzzle press against your temple and making them shoot open. “Atta girl. Lemme see those pretty eyes.” He grunts as he plunges into your throat. You bob your head up and down his shaft, the hand at the back of your head setting a brutal pace. The room is filled with the sounds of you gagging and his hefty sac smacking against your chin.

“So good to me baby.” He tilts his head back, losing himself in the pleasure. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him while your saliva leaks out, dripping down his balls. Dabi is big and heavy, stretching you so wide and making you jaw ache from the weight of him. You’re already lightheaded from the lack of air, no matter how much you try breathing through your nose. You don’t dare to complain though.

He pulls out of your mouth slowly, stretching a string of saliva from the head of his dick to your tongue that’s hanging out of your mouth. You pant like a bitch attempting to catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time before he’s in your throat again, back to fucking your face.

“I love you so much. You love me?” He sounds so sweet, totally blissed out.

He stops thrusting and tilts your head up to look at him, blinking tear-clumped lashes. You try utter a ‘Yes, I love you.’ but with his shaft gagging you, it comes out all garbled. The muscles in your throat convulse around the deep intrusion. “You’d do anything for me right?” He asks, jabbing the muzzle even harder into your temple, finger resting lightly on the trigger. You nod, watching Dabi lose his composure bit by bit. “Yeah. That’s why you’re my girl.” He pushes himself even deeper inside you, making you finally take all of him, until your nose meets his pubic hair and holding you there. “Fuck.”

CLICK

“Hmmhhhhngggh” You squeal around him but you can’t pull off because of the grip he has on your scalp. When he lets you go you’re choking and coughing up a lewd mixture of spit and pre-cum.

“Wh- Why” You blubber, voice hoarse. You don’t understand. You were doing exactly what he asked. You were being good.

“Sorry baby. Felt so good, my finger slipped.” He doesn’t even try to hide his mischievous smirk. The fucker is definitely not sorry.

You want to beg him to stop this ridiculous game because you see now there’s no way you can win because Dabi doesn’t play fair.

He doesn’t give you the chance though, already shuffling off his bottoms all the way and propping himself up against the headboard. “C’mon pretty baby.” He tugs on your ankle.  Wanna see you bounce on my dick.”

You clumsily position yourself atop his lap quickly, before you can even think about it. You know he doesn’t need a reason to pull that trigger but still, you don’t want to give him one.

He grinds his tip along your heat, piercings dragging across your clit over and over again. It’s something he does whenever you have sex, to rile you up. And just like all those other times, it’s working. Circumstances be damned. “Needa feel this hot little pussy. Give it to me doll.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You nod as you lift yourself off of him to hover your dripping wet hole over his hard dick. You slowly squat down on onto him, the fat head stretching you out, burning with every inch you take. You mewl, making futile attempts to blink away tears. You get halfway before you have to stop, resting your hands on his shoulders trying to gain leverage. You’re outright crying now, wet droplets landing on Dabi’s chest.

“’S matter doll.”

I’m terrified. You yell in your head but stay silent, choosing to focus on relaxing your ever-tightening hole in order to take more of him.

“Oh, I know.” He coos, voice dripping with condescension. “’S too big for your tiny cunny.” He leans forward to kiss away the salty tears. “But you can take it. I know you can.” He cups your jaw, stroking your cheek with a calloused thumb. “You can do it for me”

You start to move slowly up and down, using gravity to force more of his monstrous cock inside you with shallow movements. You really are trying your best but that’s apparently not good enough for Dabi and he lets you know that by pressing the barrel of the gun into your stomach. You freeze, horrified, more tears start falling from your eyes. You open your mouth to beg him to just give you a little time. You’re trying.

“Quit being a baby and just take it.” He says before you even get the chance.

“I’m trying Dabi, please just-“

CLICK

He cuts off your plea.  He’s not interested in your excuses.

The rotation of the cylinder sends vibrations through your abdomen. Amidst the shock, you release your grip on his shoulders and impale yourself on his shaft by mistake. The combination of the searing stretch and the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix is so overwhelming that you collapse forward, head falling on to your boyfriend’s chest. You feel the rumbles of his chuckles while he’s quite literally splitting you open.

“See? Knew you could. Just needed a little scare. Isn’t that right.” He rubs your back as if to comfort you. He lets out a low whistle. “But looks like you’re all out of chances doll. Now bounce.” He gives you a spank with an inhumanly warm hand, making you squeal and leaving your cheek tender.  

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders again. Dabi’s sapphire eyes are practically glowing, daring you to be stupid enough to defy him one more time.

You pull off almost entirely, keeping just his tip inside of you, before spearing his shaft into you again.

“Good girl.” When he praises you with that raspy voice makes you keen and desperate for more of it.

His hand snakes its way up your torso to cup one of your breasts. Your back arches, pushing into his scorching hot touch, forgetting momentarily about his other hand and what he’s holding in it.  He gropes your chest, tweaks and twists at your nipples, leaving red, inflamed hand prints in his wake. You’re practically delirious with pleasure, babbling out incoherent streams of his name along with “yes” and “more”.  All the while, he murmurs praises about how good you are and how much he loves you. It’s confusing and you can’t process any of it.

“Who owns this perfect pussy?”

“Dabi. Fuck. Dabi.” Your tongue lolls out of your mouth in the most obscene way, drooling down your chin. Your plush walls pulse around him as he hits that sensitive spot every time you sink down on him.

“That’s right it’s all fuckin mine. My pretty baby.” Dabi’s eyes are focus on where your two bodies are connected watching the translucent ring of your cream appear and disappear as you ride him.

“Preeeettyyy.” You slur and he laughs at how fucked out you are, brain completely jumbled between the fear, the pain and the bliss all combined into ecstasy.

“Doll.” He groans. “I feel ya squeezin’ me. You gonna cum?”

He’s right. You nod as you feel that coil tightening again, threatening to snap at any second. The man finally starts putting in work, pounding into you every time you pull off of him. Dabi abandons the gun in favour of playing with your clit, rubbing quick sloppy circles. “Yeah? Gonna cream and gush around me? Want you to baby.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking, biting and licking while he assaults your sopping wet pussy. “C’mon doll, please.”

With that you orgasm. He grabs your hips pulling you flush against his thighs, fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips up into you until your high finally subsides.

He doesn’t let you catch your breath before he’s got the revolver pressed hard underneath your chin. “Now make me cum.” You almost collapse but the harsh grip he has on your hair suspends you upright.

Your mind is so foggy and Dabi gives you a small smile, appreciating the perplexed look in your droopy eyes. But he’s not done with you yet.

“Hey.” You’re ripped from your daze, when he slaps you across the face, sending your head swinging to the side. “Don’t pass out on me now.”  

“So-sorry! ‘M sorry!” You grovel as you slam your tired body down on his dick once again, trying to ignore the throbbing on your cheek, the ringing in your ears, and the ache in your battered cunt.  You’re so sensitive from your last orgasm but you don’t have a choice and you don’t dare deny him anything. Your thighs are quaking and burning with every movement but your boyfriend is unimpressed.

“You can do better than that doll.” He lets out a bitter laugh, enjoying every second of tormenting you. “It’s like you want your brains splattered on the ceiling.”

You start crying again, shaking your head frantically. In the time that you’ve been with Dabi, you’ve learned certain tricks, you know he likes it, but in this panic/lust induced frenzy, you can’t remember any of them. Instead, you bounce, mindlessly on him while your gummy walls clench tighter around him every time he nudges at your a-spot. Your legs are going numb from all the effort and you plop down, limp onto his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Dabi tsks at you, reminding you that you can’t rest just yet. You swivel your hips, grinding your pelvis against his while he’s buried deep in your wet heat. You pray to whatever deity is listening that he’s getting close, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“If I don’t bust in the next 5 seconds.” His hand finds your clit again, you grind across his fingers has you rock against him. “Bang!” He emphasises the word by bringing a heated palm down on your ass.

A choked sob bubbles at the back of your throat, making him snicker

Hands pressed to his chest, you ride him like a woman possessed, the last bits of adrenaline kicking in. Your sloppy cunt squelches every time you drive yourself down on his cock just motivating you to fuck him harder.

“Five.” He grits out.

“Dabi, please!” But you’re met with icy, apathetic eyes staring back at you, feeling the terror that the rest of the city does when they so much as hear his name.

“Four.” He rubs your already raw clit, faster and you can feel another orgasm building, much quicker than your last two.

Your body feels so heavy but you can’t stop moving, not unless you want him to- “Please cum!” You beg. “Need your cum.”

“Three.”

He starts to fuck up into you again with unforgiving force.

“Wh-Why?!” is all you can manage as your mind starts to fog up again, the need to come becoming all the more urgent.

“Two.” He ignores your question, transfixed on your tits bounce in his face. You’re getting close to your third orgasm of the night and it seems Dabi is determined to get you there.

You still can’t believe this is real. You never thought that Dabi would treat you like this. You were supposed to be special.

Or at least that’s what he told you.

Moreover, you can’t believe how your own body is betraying you. You can’t believe you’re actually going to cum. Again.

“One.”

You cry out his name one last time, unsure if it’s out of fear or pleasure. You dig your nails into his arms again, in a feeble attempt to ground yourself as you cum around him. The orgasm that rips through you makes it difficult for you to be sure of anything.

What you are sure of is the fact that there was no bang or bullet.

Just one last CLICK (practically drowned out by your screaming) and the sensation of Dabi’s hot cum flooding your womb. He has a bruising grip on your hips, gun now discarded, and he ruts up into to making sure to stuff your cunt absolutely full of him. He begins to laugh as he softens inside you.

Your head is still spinning but once you’re able to push yourself off of him, you can finally make sense of what just happened.

He was fucking with you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yell, using weak and quivering arms to throw pillows at him while you cry so hard it makes you dry heave.

Your asshole of a boyfriend starts cackling, clutching his abdomen as if he just pulled the world’s funniest prank while your heart is beating so hard and fast you think it might break through your ribcage.

“You should have seen your face. You were so fuckin’ scared.”

You become nauseous, feeling bile rising in your throat as you come to a sickening realisation.

This is not your Dabi. This is the Dabi that the rest of the world gets to see.

Evil, sadistic, merciless. This is the real Dabi.

You attempt to scramble off of the bed to get away from him, feeling overwhelmed by the humiliation. But Dabi grabs your wrist and yanks you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms. A gesture you used to treasure but now it just made your skin crawl. “C’mon Doll you didn’t think I was being serious did you?”

You writhe in his hold, hitting against his hard, toned chest with pathetic fists. “Don’t be such a crybaby. It was just a joke.” He strokes your hair oh so tenderly. But you won’t fall for that again. Dabi is a villain through and through. You know that now.  

It’s no use fighting him off though, all the fight in you is used up. You don’t know what else to do. So you do the easy thing: nuzzle your head into his chest, tremors rocking your body as you hiccup, while he holds you. That way you can pretend that you feel safe with him, just like you used to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, doll. I love you.”

[doctorofmagic]

So, in fairness to this ask, I haven't read strange #1 BUT I'm losing it at the idea that Clea just hurt Victor's feelings so badly he lost his motivation to fight her 🥺. And like, ok 2 things because I'm losing it but:

1. Victor losing any motivation to fight Clea after she basically said that Stephen doesn't trust or even like him (VICTOR!! Victor who is in that weird space where he is better friends with Stephen than most other heroes are. Their connection is truly bizarre but hey, that's magic, also you force a guy to sleep over at your house for a month and you think he understands the way you work, and then his wife shows up and tells you "nah fam he's always thought you were way too sketchy and specifically did something to stop you because he doesn't trust or like you" and apparently it makes you so smad you storm out without accomplishing anything you were gonna do lmao.)

2. I'm LOSING it Victor's doing it again HE'S DOING IT AGAIN!! Victor is going through the exact same process of grieving he did with Tony in Infamous Iron Man!! He is here to steal their signature things and take on the mantle to HONOR THEM HE'S DOING IT AGAIN YOUR HONOR (I know there's a LOT more perks to being SS (including the title) and Victor definitely wants those things but JUST. From a meta standpoint!! This is the second time Victor has lost a superhero friend he considers CLOSE TO HIM and the first thing, the FIRST THING HE DOES IS TRY TO FIND WAYS TO HONOR THEM I'M FUCKING CRYING YOUR HONOR) listen just. It's just me reading into it like crazy but the idea that Victor could've shown up in SOME REGARD, SOME PERCENTILE OUT OF GRIEF (not SHEER grief, I'm sure) IS MAKING ME LOSE MY SHIT.

Just. Victor is definitely a man of action and most often those actions have double meanings to them!! Yes usually it's played where something that seems good may actually be bad but THE REVERSE CAN ALSO BE TRUE FOR HIM. He wants to grieve and the only way he knows HOW is to honor the fallen and it could be that ACTUALLY (he'd snap my neck instantly for saying it and of course he's hiding it all behind pomp and anger and apathy but) HE'S DEVASTATED ABOUT STEPHENS DEATH that made him leave when Clea started saying, well, mean shit Victor ABSOLUTELY has a thick skin for after years of being belittled by superheroes!! And it's not like he genuinely takes authority above him seriously!! He like, NEVER has cared for someone being "above" him before!! the only example that comes to mind of Victor respecting someone higher up on a totem pole than him was FOR STEPHEN AS SORCERER SUPREME!!! so, SO! SO!!!

(this is such a long incomprehensible ask and I'm so sorry I'm just a poor little Victor Stan screaming about the idea of him being more hurt than he appears to be about Stephens death)

Anoooooon 😭😭😭

Okay so I have a huuuuge queue of asks but listen, when people talk about my faves in such an emotional and beautiful way, they have priority, this is my blog and I make the rules /j

Apologies in advance, my reply will be a mess as well.

I didn't really know how to feel at first, truth be told. The chapter really left me in a shocked mood about pretty much everything, especially when it comes to Victor and Clea. She was really mean to him and I wonder how she knew exactly where to go with words in order to hurt his feelings. I mean, it is canon that Stephen didn't want Victor to become Sorcerer Supreme back in New Avengers v2, but that was before Secret Wars. That was before Savage Avengers and Hellfire Gala. And Clea wasn't there in any of these occasions except for Infinity War (which also means that she's aware that Doom almost died to Thanos because of his desire for power).

At this point, I have the feeling that Clea is also aware of Stephen and Victor's relationship because, well, they are married and also connected to the magic community on Earth. She kinda knows that Stephen assisted Victor plenty of times.

I'm not so sure about Jed's portrayal of Doom, if there are actually hidden feelings or just pride (because, well, as Doom stans, we know that not all writers go that deep for him). But if we analyze his reaction when Jericho became SS compared to Clea, Victor couldn't care less about Jericho's feelings because they didn't talk about personal matters. Victor only stepped back when the light of the Eye was too much for him to bear. On the other hand... Clea said it to his face that Stephen's last desire was to make sure Victor wouldn't become the SS, which is not true. And instead of retaliating, Victor just... flinched.

Also "where were you when Stephen died?" I also have my doubts here if he's sorry for not being there or he was just not interested. There's also the possibility that he was busy with the Guardians of the Galaxy, and he now possesses Dormammu's power, which could lead them to another argument. But it's true. He didn't show up when the Mothers and the Peregrine Child arrived. Victor saved Stephen's life in Savage Avengers but he was not around when he died for real.

So we have the "old" (and I use this word carefully because I do believe Victor has plenty of character development) Doom, the cold king who doesn't show emotions. And yet, I like to think that, even though he still hides his heart beneath a literal armor, Stephen is one of the few people who are able to see through his façade. Or else, how can one explain this???

This is indulgence at its finest.

What I mean is, I deeply want to believe that Victor is here not because of power but because he wants to honor the mantle and Stephen's memories. If you think about it, Victor would have to make the Sanctum partially his home since it's a place of power and artifacts. And he knoooows the heroes would retaliate to see him as the SS. It's IIM all over again deep down.

It's tricky, ngl. I need more to be sure because I don't want to have my hopes up only to read more of one-dimensional Victor, but of course my heart CRAVES it, LONGS FOR IT. I have no idea if Victor and Clea will clash again, and the whole Dormammu's power will be brought into light. But if I could choose the plot, boi, we'd be reading T&T 2.0 with both of them teaming up to save Stephen. I'm manifesting it every single day of my life lmao. Although, since it's Clea's book, it's hard to believe she will have assistance. Unless there's character development to show that it's not good to be alone when you're the SS. Stephen more than anyone else knows that.

hhhhh and I couldn't agree more! Victor never tried to steal the mantle from Stephen because the man respects him so so so much. Also, have you ever seen Doom saying these words to ANYONE ELSE????????

I'm losing my mind too sos.

Ugh, I feel so frustrated for loving a character like Victor because while we have excellent and deep perception of his character (Hickman, Duggan, Al Ewing, Stern), we also have to deal with writers like, ew, Waid (yes, people, Waid is bad both to Stephen and Victor haha) or whoever wrote that atrocity called Fantastic Four Life Story. So it's always a surprise if Victor will be an emotional mess or just a shallow villain. I'm always here for emotional mess, obviously. And I pray that Jed is also aiming for that. I want him to break. I want him to be in shambles for failing Stephen. Because I love him and this is my love language. In the end, I think Clea made him swallow his pride and showed him that he does not deserve to claim something that was Stephen's when he was not there for him. And that really hurt him, whether it was his pride or guilt. I suppose it was a bit too much but she had a point there. And I adore this kind of angst. Also... I'm not saying it's canon or anything, but what if she resents him for not being there when Stephen died? And now he has the audacity of claiming his legacy? NOT ON HER WATCH! (ah, yes, more angst, delicious food) Anyway, I didn't make any sense, did I? I just cried over them like I always do hhh I'm sorry. But I wanted to thank you deeply for this ask, it was really so so so beautiful and I'm with you till the very end. And please feel free to interact whenever you feel like it, I'm always down for it n.n

Have a wonderful day/night 🥰

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I really wanna know what happened during the painful bath that Nanda promised Jameson a while back. Baths in whump have the potential to be so soothing and excruciating at the same time, which kinda fits Jameson’s whole character don’t you think?

CW: Pet whump, dehumanizing language, intimate whumper, dubcon touch NSFW (not explicit), implied dubcon (fade to black), referenced blood and whipping, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, creepy comfort, drowning, talk of sui (to escape torture), implied death by drowning (unnamed oc)

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

NEW VIDEOS of the Box Boy Killer! Never Before Seen!

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee 14h ago

So I got a really good response to my short series on the mysterious Box Boy Serial Killer (you can find my previous write-ups here, here, and here).

Well, recently I discovered something entirely new that I think you'd enjoy getting a look at! Found among personal items belonging to Nathaniel "Nanda" Matthew Benson: a medium-sized external hard drive containing nearly 750GB of photo and video content.

The hard drive was labeled 'Personal'. Police stated there was a second hard drive labeled 'Professional', but what content was on there, if anything, has never been released.

Technically, neither has this. Someone from within the police department leaked a bunch of videos and photos at some point, and I was able to get ahold of them thanks to a friend of a friend (who shall go unnamed, don't want to tip off whatever FBI agent is watching his internet activity, haha... or is it her or their internet activity... FBI Agent will never know.)

In my writeup on Nanda Benson's life with his Boxie, I didn't have a ton of details on how they interacted with each other. Finding this trove of info definitely changed a few things on how I view their relationship.

Take a look and let me know if it makes you maybe reconsider a few details, too. FYI: This does have nudity and some spicy times! Nothing worse than you've seen on HBO or whatever, but like, fair warning.

[Embedded Video Player With Title: Bathtime With Boxie: NSFW and Yet Somehow Still Oddly Wholesome Kind Of]

The video begins with the tub already filled with water, hot enough to gently steam. It's a gigantic soaker tub, large enough for four people to easily sit without crowding, nestled alongside a window in a truly enormous, incredibly well-lit bathroom. Everything is in shades of white, which makes the person in the frame even more immediately the enter of attention.

A young man with short, shaggy brown hair and dark eyes sits in the tub. He looks up, wrinkling his nose and glancing away. Only then does a bright red mark, darkening already to a bruise become obvious on one side of his neck.

"Don't fucking tape this," He says. His voice is slightly rough-edged, as if he's been screaming, and he sounds exhausted. "That's weird. Not taping the fucking but taping the after bit."

Red welts are visible above the line of water, marking his shoulders and arms. The welts are a deep red that is nearly purple - they are surrounded by bright red irritated flesh.

"Oh, but I like you like this." The voice holding the camera is deep and amused. The camera wobbles slightly and then settles, and soon enough a second man enters the screen. It's clearly Nanda Benson himself, stark naked.

Where the Boxie is heavily bruised and beaten, Nanda himself would be spotless if he weren’t flecked with drying red spots that are clearly the pet's blood.

"Yeah, well." The pet shifts to the side as Nanda steps in, hissing softly in contentment at the sudden burst of heat when he enters the water. He settles down against a bench set in to the side of the tub, and opens his arms.

The pet moves immediately into them, without hesitating. His eyes flicker nervously back to the camera and then away again.

"Yeah, well-... yeah well what, pet?" Nanda laughs as he pulls the Boxie into his lap, toying one hand already damp from the tub over the ring at the front of his collar. "Cat got your tongue after that fun we had together?"

"Tongue's the only thing you didn't take," The pet responds, almost playfully flirtatious. "I guess you'd miss it too fucking much."

"If I took your voice, who would call me a fucking idiot before I fuck him into the ground, hm?"

The pet flushes, looking down at the water, at the slightest pink of his blood still running into it. "Sir-"

"Ssssshhhh. I like you insulting me. I like punishing you for it more." Nanda mouths at the unmarked side of the pet's neck, pulling him back-to-chest where he sits, so he's facing the camera directly again. The pet's back arches when Nanda's teeth dig in, making a soft, high-pitched whine as his head drops back onto the man's shoulder.

The camera picks up the quiet splash of water as the pet tries to move away and is pulled roughly right back, catches the refracted sight of Nanda's hands on the pet's thighs forcing them apart, each of his calves on the outside of Nanda's thighs.

"Please-... H-hurts-"

"You love it," Nanda whispers, and bites down again, right into the crook of the pet's neck where it meets his shoulder. The cry this time is wild with a mix of pain and something darker, the pet's hands moving helplessly up and back to clasp just behind Nanda's head. His back is nearly a bow, every muscle trembling with a need to escape and to hold perfectly still, both at once.

When Nanda pulls back this time, the camera picks up the blood smeared on his teeth before he runs his tongue over them. It finds the light glinting off the fresh blood welling from the new bite along the pet's shoulder.

"It's too much," The pet says, struggling to sit back up straight, turning to look at Nanda. For a moment, his shaggy damp hair and angle hides his expression from the camera's gaze.

The twist of his spine, though, shows the bloodied whiplashes making their way up his back nearly to the nape of his neck.

"It's too much," The pet repeats, in a whisper. "Please. Please, it's too fucking much, if you fuck me again I'll fucking die. Please."

"Now, pet," Nanda teases, flirts shamelessly, running his wet hands through the pet's hair. He grips on tight and forces his head back again. The profile of the pet's face shows the slight bump of a broken nose healed almost perfectly, but not quite. The gasp he makes when Nanda's free hand presses over the welts on his chest is loud enough for the camera to catch. "You know you don't get to say when it's too much."

"You'll f-fucking kill me," The pet protests, voice tight from the angle forcing his collar to dig painfully into his throat. "Please, I... everything hurts so much..."

"You love the pain." Nanda's eyes look up to meet the camera before a more sinister smile finds its way across his face. "I know what you can take better than you do, pet, and I think you can handle one more. Sssshhh, here we go. There..." Nanda exhales softly as the two of them shift in the tub, the pet making a soft pained sound, his hips rolling as he is worked slowly down into position.

Then Nanda chuckles and slides his entire arm over the welts marking the pet's torso, holding him tightly in place. "Now take a deep breath."

"Wh-what?" The pet's eyes widen, comprehension coming a half-second too late. "Wait, don't-"

Nanda's hand gripped into the pet's hair plunges him forwards, bent at the waist, forcing the Box Boy's head suddenly under the water. The pet struggles desperate trying to get his head back up to breathe. Nanda grunts in a rhythm as his hips snap up and down again. He groans, "So fucking tight, goddamn I love you, you fucking slut for me-"

[/END VIDEO]

The video cuts off there, but my friend tells me the rest of it is basically the kind of stuff you have to pay a monthly fee for everywhere else on the internet.

But there's another video, from way later, that I find a really interesting contrast and comparison. Same friend got me this one. It involves Robert, whose write-up you can see right here.

[EMBEDDED VIDEO: Titled Holy Shit, No Wonder He Killed Him]

The screen is black for a few seconds, with the sound of someone taking the cap off a camera before things come into blurry view and then slowly into focus.

The bathroom in this video is tiny. It's barely large enough for everything in it, and a person sitting on the toilet will damn near bash their knees into the side of the bathtub. The grout in the tile floor is dark with old stains, and the tile itself needs either serious scrubbing or an exorcism.

Sitting naked in the bathtub is a young man with long blond hair that hangs in filthy, dirty clumps down to his shoulders. His face is streaked with mud and worse, and he has a black eye that has nearly swelled his left eye shut entirely. His hands are bound with rope stained brown with dried blood, held up in front of him.

His one good eye, maybe blue, follows with a kind of resigned terror the person behind the camera.

He sits in water up to his waist, but by the way he is shivering, it's clear that the water is not even warm, let alone hot. Further bruises mark his ribcage and his legs. One leg juts out in front, and something about it seems like it might be broken.

The camera is handheld, panning slowly from the young man's torn and lacerated heels and feet through his bruised leg - one swollen - and then back up to his face.

"Tell me your name." The voice is Robert Weber's.

The young man's mouth twists in a snarl that fades as quickly as it came and he looks away, to the side of the tub marked with deep soap scum. When Robert's house is searched, there are scratches in the tub as though someone had clawed that deeply into the sides in an attempt to escape. "It's..." The young man inhales, winces at the pain. "It's twe-... Twenty-One. M-My name is... Twenty-One."

"Good. And-... what did we practice saying next?"

The man's jaw trembles visibly onscreen. Then he says, flat and numb, "My name is Twenty-One and I have... two weeks to l-live."

"Perfect. Now I promised you a good scrubbing if you played along downstairs-" The young man flinches, closing his good eye and curling up in the tub as best he can. "-and I will keep that promise." There's a pause, jostling as the camera is slotted into a tripod to continue filming. Then, Robert's voice is suddenly deafening. "Dog! Get the fuck in here!"

The door opens with the creak of hinges deeply in need of oiling, and then the Boxie moves into view. He's skinny, malnourished and underfed, and his hair is roughly cut short in uneven hunks. He has bald spots worn in by the muzzle that is buckled over his mouth, making his breathing an audible rasp. He glares with unhidden hatred.

"Give Twenty-One a bath," Robert says, and his hand moves into view as he pats the Boxie on the head. The Boxie flinches but then forces himself to hold still, closing his eyes as the pat turns into prolonged petting. His muzzle is unbuckled and then removed. Robert's fingers drift over his bald spots, play along the red marks pressed into his skin by the muzzle, move over a scar cut into one side of his mouth that wasn't there in the video with Nanda.

The Boxie is naked but for an old dog collar around his neck.

Robert hums, disappears entirely from view. The door opens and closes again. The sound of a lock clicks.

The Boxie looks at the young man in the bathtub, who doesn't look up. "Fuck this shit," The Boxie mumbles, but he moves - dragging one of his legs a little, and there are ropes tied around his ankles that ensure he can do little more than shuffle - and finally kneels next to the tub. "Are you going to be a shit?"

The young man looks at him with surprise. "You... I've never heard you talk before," He whispers, looking fearfully to the side towards the door.

"You've never seen me without the fucking muzzle before, either," The pet replies. His voice is far rougher than the first video, suggesting long-term damage to his vocal chords. "I asked you something. Are you going to fight me and be a shit about this or no?"

The young man hesitates, then shakes his head. "I couldn't fight if I wanted to anymore," He says, like a man confessing a sin. "It all hurts too much. You know? I had a girlfriend-"

"Stop it." The pet cuts him off and leans over, picking up a stiff washcloth and soaking it in the water until it's soft enough to use again, running it over the young man's shoulders. For all the edge of meanness in his voice, the pet's touch is clearly gentle. "You're going to fucking die here, better if you don't talk about stuff that gets you fucked up first. Forget her."

The young man leans over to give easier access to his back. The soft whimpers he makes show that there must be some grievous injuries back there that the camera can't see. "I-I know I will. Die, I mean. Do I really have-... is it really two weeks?"

"Yeah." The pet takes a bar of soap and runs it over his own hands, rubbing them together to work up a lather. The soap found in Robert Weber's house after his death is Irish Spring and Dove - it is believed he used different soap for different captives according to his own odd whims. "He's put little heart shapes on a calendar he marks off. He'll hurt you a little worse every fucking day and then make you beg for him to end it."

The young man slowly nods, looking at his bound wrists. There's a soft sniff, but he seems too tired for tears. "There's no chance of getting away, is there."

It's not really a question.

The pet answers anyway.

"You're the twenty-first, and none of the others have. What do you think?"

"I-I can't do this."

"You have to." The pet gets a red Solo cup sitting on the side of the tub, fills it with water, and pours it down the young man's back. He hisses and cries out softly in pain. "He doesn't exactly ask your goddamn preferences."

"Help me escape," The young man pleads. "Help me get out of here."

"I'm fucking hobbled," the pet snaps. "He'll be on us both before we even made it out of the hallway. You think I'm fucking stupid? I'm the only one who might not die if I stay good. Come on, lean forward so I can wash your hair."

The young man moves to obey, hands disappearing beneath the filthy bathwater, and then he turns, looking over his shoulder. He and the pet share a long, silent moment. Then he leans over far enough to put his mouth nearly to the pet's ear and whispers something so low that the camera doesn't pick up the words.

The pet inhales sharply.

He looks at the door, and then back to the young man.

"Are you sure?" He asks, and the edge is totally gone from his voice, now.

The young man nods, slowly. "Please," he says, a little louder. "If I have to-... please. Not him. I-I know you'll get punished, but... please. God, please, just this one thing." His hands come back up to grip onto the pet's hand where it lays along the side of the tub.

The young man leans forwards, and his forehead gently rests against the pet's. They are silent for a long moment.

"Please, don't let him be the one to kill me," The young man says. "I know I'm g-going to die, but... let me take that a-... away from him. Please. God, I don't even know your name, but-... please."

The pet swallows, then nods, tipping his head back to press a kiss to the young man's forehead. "I don't have a name. What's your name? I'll remember it. Your real name."

The young man's throat bobs and he whispers into the pet's ear again.

He sits back up, leaning over until some of his long hair falls into the water. "I'm-... I'm ready."

The pet takes a deep, deep breath, moves up to kneeling with his thighs vertical, lays both hands on the back of the young man's head, and says, "I hope it's better, wherever you go."

Then he pushes the young man's head underneath the water.

[/END VIDEO]

According to my friend, there's more to that video as well, but obviously it's been cut to take out the end of the poor guy. Now, my friend swears up and down the pet is crying at the end of the video, that he can see tears, but I'm not sure.

That doesn't really line up with the pet killing people before this, you know?

But one thing it does prove is that the Boxie knows the name of one of the unidentified victims. If he could be found, we could give that man back his name and get his family the closure they deserve.

I know some of you argued with me last time that the Boxie is clearly a VICTIM and not a PERPETRATOR, and I definitely admit this second video maybe suggests you're on to something there.

But I still think we have a Boxie killer on our hands here - I just think maybe I was wrong about why he's killing them at all.

I guess we'll find out if he kills again.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

​

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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

The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Learned Helplessness.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very patient @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Hawks/Reader (BNHA).

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Mindbreak, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Themes of Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Gaslighting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and Implied Kidnapping.

Sometimes, Keigo had to wonder if there was ever a point where you hadn’t been afraid of him.

It’d always been there, even if Keigo liked to remember your anxious smiles and stuttered greetings in a kinder light. It made sense, in the moment, the way you kept your eyes on the floor when you first approached him, struggling to introduce yourself as you fumbled with the disposable cup in your hands, caught between the urge to leave an off-shift hero alone and the temptation get your favorite idol’s autograph before he could slip out of the small, back-alley bar you found him in. You’d been nervous, obviously, hesitant to admit you were just as eager as he was when he asked for your number, when he called you for the first time – hell, it took him months just to get you to spend the night in his apartment. You were shy. He liked that about you. You’d always been so timid.

The fear, the genuine fear, started later on. He remembered it, the weeks you spent holing yourself up in the smallest corner you could find, how many times he tried to lure you out and how many times he was met screaming and thrashing and struggling, but you’d always been scared, slow to adjust, reluctant to sit still and listen when he asked you so nicely to try. You wanted to be loved, but you didn’t know how to let your guard down. You wanted him, but…

But, he was making excuses. You were never shy. You’d never really been scared. Even when things went bad, he doubted you were ever really afraid of him.

You were afraid now, though, and if he’d been a better man, he might’ve been able to admit he was the reason why.

Your hands were shaking. Violently, visibly, despite your attempts to keep them folded behind your back, to keep the evidence of your paranoia out of sight and out of mind. It was enough to give you away, though, and if it hadn’t been, your posture would’ve done it, too stiff and too rigid to be comfortable, or your bowed head, or the smile you couldn’t seem to force onto your grim expression as he let himself into the kitchen, stopping to lean in the doorway. Already, it felt like an invasion, despite the fact that he’d taken you to his villa, on his property, far away from anyone or anything you’d interact with willingly. He was home too soon, and this wasn’t his territory, anymore. He wasn’t your caretaker, anymore. He’d lost the right to think of himself as such a benevolent figure.

But, he tried. You had to give him that. Out of the two of you, he was the only one trying to make this work. “No need to be shy,” He started, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. You didn’t react well when he raised his voice, and when he tried to be more gentle, to soften himself into something delicate and unimposing, you never bought the act. He couldn’t blame you. If he didn’t know how sweet you could be, how playful and how loving, he wouldn’t know to be dissatisfied with the frightened thing you currently were. “I don’t bite, (Y/n), you know that. You can calm down.”

He wanted you to correct him. He wanted you to grit your teeth, to cross your arms, to get angry. You only nodded, narrowing your eyes at the tiling. “You… you’re early.” Your voice was quiet, barely above a mumble, but it was still an improvement. Not long ago, you’d refused to talk to him at all, and when he could choke a few words out of you, he’d have to deal with the breakdown that came afterward, the pleads for mercy forced out between hitched sobs. This was better. He could tell himself that this was better, even if it was less, too. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been there to greet you. I would’ve, if I thought you were going to—”

You were rambling, again. Keigo didn’t have a problem with that, not by itself, not when so many memories he had of your absent-minded tangents were still tinted with that sparkling, rose-colored haze, but he didn’t care for this, panicked muttering only made more painful by the way you shifted your weight, managing to hold your tense smile, this time. Did he ask you to do that? Smile when he was around? Play house and pretend you were happy when your captor chose to pay attention to you? It seemed like something he would do, back when he still thought that wearing you down was the solution. Fuck, it seemed like something he would do now, if he didn’t already know how painful it was to watch you try.

“It’s alright,” He cut you off, taking half a step forward. Instantly, reflexively, you flinched back, that slight shudder suddenly more pronounced. It wasn’t just your hands, now, your shoulders were shaking too, your jaw locking into place as you leaned into the sharp edge of the countertop. “Sweetheart,” He tried, moving forward before realizing his mistake and freezing, cursing under his breath. Predictably, none of it did anything to soothe you. “Baby, I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I got off early, and I figured we could—”

A stifled gasp interrupted him, just the hint of a sob. A month ago, he would’ve taken it as a sign of disobedience, another bad habit you had to be trained out of. Now, it was all he could do to stop himself from wishing you would cry, kick and bite and scratch at him until you’re too exhausted to care that he'd be the one comforting you. At least that way, he’d get to touch you. At least that way, you’d be something, other than afraid.

“Please, I just—I haven’t done anything!” Because you’ve been good. Because so much as being near him was a punishment. Because he wanted you to love him and now, he was paying the price for hoping he could ever do something so shamelessly heroic. “I can’t— please, don’t come any closer, I don’t know if I can—”

He wanted to hold you. That was all he could think about. He just wanted to hold you, the actual you. Not whatever shell he’d gotten used to living with. “Stop talking.”

You clenched your eyes shut, then you opened them again. Like a child, trying to blink away the remnants of a nightmare after just waking up. “I’m so—”

“Stop talking.” In his defense, he didn’t yell, he knew how much you hated it. He did yell, he didn’t throw a tantrum, not like you would’ve, not like you were about to by the time he stepped forward, crossing whatever ridiculous boundary you were so convinced he had to respect. You moved to shrink into yourself, but he grabbed you before you could collapse, catching you by the bicep and latching onto your hip, refusing to let you fall and make him seem like the bad guy. You already had your fun. You’d already gotten away with enough. You had to know he would put his foot down eventually, and you didn’t have the right to seem so shocked, when he finally did. “Just stop talking. Shut up. Don’t say a goddamn word until I tell you to, fucking brat.”

Now, now, you were crying, tears welling in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks, your entire body trembling like he’d ever given you a reason not to trust him, like he’d ever hurt you a reason to think he had anything but your happiness in-mind. He couldn’t bring himself to care, not about the tears, not about the excuses you were stumbling through, and not about the way you were holding yourself, your arms crossed over your stomach and your nails embedded in your sides, a moment away from drawing blood. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

You didn’t say anything, but he still shook his head, sighed, made a show of cupping your cheek and idly brushing away your tears. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, letting the disappointment seep into his voice, allowing his tone to dip into something superior. Compared to your whimpering, at least. “I trusted you to get better on your own, and I shouldn’t have. I thought you could pull yourself together, but clearly, I was wrong. You just can’t do anything on your own, can you?”

You looked like you wanted to say something, to argue. You didn’t, but you looked like you wanted to, and that was enough to make his heart skip a beat on its own.

“I’m tired of this.” Just as quickly as he took you up, he let you go, watching in silence as you struggled to stay on your feet. “Go to your room. Yours, not mine. I don’t want to look at you if you’re going to act like I’ve done anything but help you.”

You looked at him, at that, met his gaze for the first time since you decide doing so was a death-wish. It was only for a breath, a fraction of a second, but he still saw it – that spark, that light, that hint of something other than thoughtless, blank fear. It wasn’t positive, the adoration he would’ve liked or the resigned neutrality he would’ve tolerated, but it was something. It was something, and it had been so, so long since you’d given Keigo anything.

He couldn’t make you love him. He’d tried, he failed, and he’d tried again and made thing worse. It was over. He just couldn’t do it.

But, he was beginning to think you didn’t need to love him. Not as much as he loved you. Not at all, really.

Not if he could get you to hate him enough to make up the difference.