#not tagging chars I’m lazy
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Redraw of this post from 2 years ago lol
#I saw the old post get a little trickle of notes and yknow how you can get that old art jumpscare#well. anyways it’s back everyone take this one instead#everyone bullies gerome hour…2#myart#fanart#fire emblem#fire emblem awakening#fe awakening#not tagging chars I’m lazy#thinly veiled excuse to bully inigo my true target
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And So It Goes - Part 17
Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)
Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.
AN: I have the entire week off work, so I'm catching up with my WIPs. 😜
Word Count: 5,800
Tags/Warnings: Angst, violence, more of Soldier Boy’s bad flirting, hurt/comfort, PTSD, explosions…
ASIG Series Masterlist
17: Emotionally Deficient Men
Helena used an old bobby pin in the pocket of her jeans to break free of her restraints. It took her a while, but eventually the metal handcuff clicked open and she hastened to her car.
Butcher, Hughie, and Soldier Boy had maybe half an hour on her, but she could make up some of the time if she didn’t stop, only for gas halfway through the six-hour drive.
Vermont was lovely this time of year. The only sights she could afford to take in was the luxurious mansion owned by the infamous T&T Twins, who were hosting an even more infamous…party.
Oh fuck, not Herogasm, Helena thought, as she pulled up to the side of the road and parked her car. She zipped up her leather jacket against the windchill as she got out and surveyed the huge lot.
She’d heard about Herogasm, but she’d never had the misfortune to go to one of these events; she wasn’t a supe. And she was never more grateful for that as she took in the scene.
The mansion was already on fire. It was a clusterfuck of half-naked supes and working professionals fleeing, screaming, crying as they filtered out across the manicured lawn and back to their cars.
Helena’s eyes widened as she took in the half-demolished house, which looked like it had been blasted right through the front. Soldier Boy.
They must’ve already gotten here before her.
She was cautious in approaching the house, coming in from the back gate by the pool that was swinging open. She made it through the debris in the house with careful steps. It was quieter inside, eerie in a way. She avoided looking down at the bodies and held her breath at the smell of charred flesh.
She turned a corner of the house and stopped short. Her breathing shallowed with a gasp when she came face to face with the one man she’d hoped to never see again.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” asked Homelander. He looked almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him, and her eyes widened.
In her mind, his blue eyes flashed like a memory: of a hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. A lazy, crazed look in his eye as he debated whether he was going to let her breathe again.
“I was…invited,” she lied on the fly. “I’m just a bit late to the party.”
Homelander’s smile was subtle, but telling. He didn’t believe her. He tilted his head and took a booted step forward into her orbit. Helena stepped back out of reflex, but when she turned her head, she realized she had unintentionally stepped into a battlefield.
Soldier Boy stood mere feet away, suited up with his shield in hand. He regarded her with a half-smile in greeting, though his gaze was focused on Homelander.
“Out of the way, sweetheart,” he said.
She wanted to be annoyed by the nickname, but she tried to oblige him. The last thing she wanted was to be caught between the past and present of dickhead supes.
But a gloved hand grabbed the back of her neck. She gasped, instinctively cringing and glancing back at Homelander. His eyes flicked down to hers.
“Oh, Helena,” he drawled. “Don’t tell me you know this guy.”
“I think we all saw him on the news,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “I’m surprised it took you this long to catch him.”
“What fucking rock did you crawl out of, I wonder,” he mused out loud. His hand tightened a fraction, making her wince and suck in a breath as she fought to remain still. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you?”
Panic welled in her lungs, squeezing around her heart like a vice. Her gaze darted to Soldier Boy. It was pure instinct, the plea in her eyes. He saw it, though he said nothing until his attention turned back to Homelander.
“Homelander, I take it.” Soldier Boy eyed the other supe with a quirk of his lips. He gestured to the long red and white cape hanging from Homelander’s shoulders. “Nice candy stripes.”
Homelander tensed, though Helena wasn’t sure if it was because of the other man’s taunt, or because Butcher stepped into the hallway beside Soldier Boy. Butcher’s eyes widened when he saw her, and he hardened when he realized her predicament.
He sharpened on Homelander, who was perceptive enough to catch the brief exchange. His gaze narrowed.
“William Butcher and Soldier Boy,” he remarked. “Of course, you’re behind this. This whole thing… It really is all about me.”
Bile rose up in Helena’s throat. Just the sound of his voice made her sick, but the sheer size of his ego was even worse.
“William, we made a deal,” he continued. “To fight to the death. You, and me.”
Helena’s eyes widened. What kind of fucked deal was this, and when was that bargain struck?
Again, Butcher glanced at her, but he focused on Homelander.
“This is cheating,” said Homelander. His brows pinched with a glare. “Deal’s off.”
He lasered at Butcher with his eyes. Helena screamed as the man went down hard on his stomach. She tried to go to him, but Homelander’s hand tightened on the back of her neck and yanked her back.
She gasped and was forced to look at him through tearful, wide eyes.
“What, are you on their side now? Are you helping them?” His hand moved into her hair and started to squeeze even tighter, making her unconsciously whimper and twist against him. Her nails bit fruitlessly into his hand.
The mania behind his eyes was familiar. It had been featuring in her nightmares. “Be honest, Helena.”
“Figures that you’d hide behind a woman,” Soldier Boy remarked.
It earned Homelander’s attention.
“Excuse me?” he asked. He took a step forward, dragging Helena along with him. Her boots scrambled for purchase over fallen debris.
Homelander had to chuckle a little. “You know, you were my hero growing up. I watched all your movies, hundreds of times. You were the only one that was nearly as strong as me.”
Helena bit the inside of her lip. She could tell, just by the look on the other man’s face, that that was the wrong way to endear himself. Soldier Boy’s ego was more than a match for Homelander’s.
“Buddy, you think you look strong?” Soldier Boy said dryly. “You’re wearing a cape.”
Homelander took in an irritated breath.
“You’re just a cheap fucking knock-off,” Soldier Boy added.
It made Homelander seethe. “Oh no, no, no… I’m the upgrade.”
He pushed Helena away from him and launched full speed at Soldier Boy, tackling him into the next room. And she was shoved against the wall hard enough to knock her clean out.
Helena woke to a pounding in her head and a sharper agony in her ribs.
She uttered a pained groan, soon realizing that she was laying on a dingy bed with a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead. She tried to sit up, but that proved to be too much. She fell back with a gasp.
“Hey, hey, don’t get up,” said Hughie. He came into the bedroom with a glass of water and some pills in his hand. He helped her sit up enough against the pillows to take the meds and drink a bit of water. She thanked him, and moved her frizzy hair away from her face to meet his concerned gaze.
“Where the hell are we?” she asked.
“A motel just a couple hours south of Vermont,” he replied.
She nodded. She was still wearing her now dusty gray shirt, jeans, and boots, but her jacket had been draped on the far corner of the bed.
She looked past Hughie to find Butcher standing in the doorway. Hughie noticed as well, and he laid a comforting hand on her arm before he got up.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said. She nodded, though she could hardly think at the moment.
Butcher shared a brief, but meaningful gaze with the younger man as he left. Then he stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of her bed. He let out a sigh and reached for the side of her head, and she winced as his fingers brushed a tender knot there.
“Got your bell rung, didn’t ya?” he said.
It was her turn to sigh.
His eyes took her in; the pain in her face, the way she shifted to try and fail to get comfortable.
“You all right?” he asked.
All Helena could manage was a jerky nod of her head, even as tears glistened in her eyes. Her hand reached up and shakily touched his chest.
“What about you?”
Butcher quirked a smile. “Had me a little supe cocktail, didn’t I?”
Helena let out a breath of relief. V24 was still untested poison, but it had saved his dumbass. And he’d saved her dumbass in turn…
“Does Homelander know I was the mole at Vought?” she asked.
Butcher’s expression dimmed.
Hours ago…
Butcher got up, shaking off the feeling of a point-blank laser blast with a shrug of his shoulders thanks to the Temp V coursing through his veins. He rubbed the sting out of his chest and shook off the stun of hitting the ground so hard.
Butcher pushed off the ground, and the sounds of the nearby fight between Homelander and Soldier Boy reached him. But he also saw Helena just a few yards away, lying prone on the ground, twisted onto her back.
His eyes widened, and he went to her. He dropped to his knees at her side and brushed her dark hair away from her face with slightly shaking hands. Her eyes were closed, her body unmoving. He cupped her cheek and felt for her pulse at her neck.
The tension in his shoulders eased when he felt her heartbeat thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Fucking hell.
How the fuck had she broken free of those cuffs? And more importantly, why did she insist on putting herself in the line of fucking fire?
Butcher knew the answer, deep down, but he stowed that all away to ease her more comfortably on her back, untwisting her hips and legs. He hated to leave her like this, but he had no choice. He saw that Soldier Boy was having a hard time with Homelander on his own.
So Butcher jumped into the fray, lasering Homelander from behind. The supe’s face betrayed his confusion, and even his anger in that tick in his brow.
“What have you done?” he asked.
“Scorched earth,” Butcher taunted.
But Homelander glanced passed him, at Helena still lying unconscious in the hall. It made Butcher tense and shift his stance, subtly putting himself in between.
Homelander smirked. “Wait, wait…you and Helena Flores? You have a thing, don’t you?”
His steps forward were somehow both lazy and measured. Butcher’s movements were even more calculated, stepping closer, but still blocking Helena.
“How long has this been going on?” Homelander asked. “Couldn’t have been very long. I mean, how did you even meet? She worked for us…”
Something seemed to don on the supe, and a sinking feeling churned in Butcher’s chest.
“Fuck me,” Homelander chuckled as a realization brightened his eyes. “You had an inside woman at Vought, didn’t you? Feeding information to you and your little rats.”
His grin deepened at the way Butcher’s smugness faded, and his expression became sharp and threatening.
Homelander wasn’t intimidated. Only pleased.
“Now everything makes sense,” he said. “Tell me, how long has she been servicing you?”
Butcher glowered, his eyes flickering with golden light. Homelander’s smirk raised higher.
“I’ll have to ask her about her hourly rate—”
That was the last quip the supe got out, before Butcher lasered him directly in the face. Homelander flew forward and met Butcher blow for blow, until Soldier Boy yanked Homelander down by his cape.
The fight began in earnest, with even Hughie joining in.
Unfortunately, Homelander slipped away at the last minute, leaving Butcher with the bitter aftertaste of an opportunity lost. And even worse, he knew, was the target now firmly painted on Helena’s back.
Now, in the relative safety of a crusty motel, Helena tried to wipe the tears from her face as she took in a breath meant to steady herself. It didn’t work.
Homelander knew the truth, and she was deep in this shit now.
For his part, Butcher buried a hand in her hair and sighed deeply.
“For fuck’s sake. This’s why I bloody told you not to come,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me, you restrained me,” she snapped.
“For all the fucking good it did me,” he said, just as angrily.
She stared into his eyes and saw the depths of his concern behind the anger. She knew how to read through the cracks of his rough exterior, and despite the fact that she was still so unbelievably mad at him, for several reasons, part of her felt mollified. She knew he still cared about her.
She was feeling petulant, however.
“You don’t have the right to lecture me,” she said. “Anyway, what the hell happened? When I got there, everything was already on fire.”
Butcher crossed his arms. “Yeah, Soldier Boy fucking snapped.”
Helena frowned. “What do you mean?”
“On account o’ his PTSD.” Butcher rubbed at his mouth and beard. “I think he blacked out. Same as Midtown.”
For a moment, Helena was in shock. “Shit. And this is the guy you want to make a deal with?”
“The deal’s been made, love,” said Butcher. He regarded her with more guarded eyes. “Only thing to do is keep moving forward.”
“Right,” she snapped. “Until you get killed.”
Helena shook her head and tried to sit up straighter. It caused a shift in her ribs that felt like white hot pain, a knife stabbing into her. She gasped and grabbed at her right side.
Frowning deeper, Butcher stayed her hand and lifted up her shirt enough to take a look. What he found was a large, yellowish bruise covering nearly half of her ribcage. It wasn’t dark enough to be internal bleeding, but he knew her tan skin would darken soon enough.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“Is it bad?” she asked in worry.
“Is the pain dull or sharp?” he asked.
“Sharp,” she replied.
“Likely you’ve got a couple of broken ribs,” he said. “You can still breathe though. Nothing feels like it’s pokin’ ya, is it?”
She shook her head, relieving him further.
“You’ll probably be fine,” he said. You should get checked out at the hospital, though I doubt you’ll fucking take my advice. “They’ll heal up eventually.”
She frowned at him.
Maybe he should’ve made the hospital suggestion, because she shoved his hands off her and withdrew from him. He realized then how’d she’d taken his attempt to reassure her—like a lack of concern.
“Thanks, Dr. House,” she griped. “Your bedside manner is impeccable. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
Butcher held in a sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean it like—”
“I don’t care,” she said. Her tongue was sharp, but her eyes said that she was exhausted, in pain, and done with him.
So he reluctantly left her room and shut the door behind him. He eyed Soldier Boy, who sat on the couch, still in his supe suit while channel surfing on the TV. Hughie was trying to figure out on his phone where the closest fast food was.
Already Soldier Boy had given Butcher a list of possible safe houses to find Mindstorm: the second to last cast member of Payback. They were close enough to one of the addresses that it justified stopping for the night, but it also meant leaving Helena injured and alone with this radioactive boomer fuck, complete with PTSD and a taste for anything in a skirt.
Butcher grabbed Hughie’s arm and led him just outside the motel.
“I’m gonna cross off the first safe house on the list,” he said. He jabbed a pointed finger in Hughie’s chest. “Don’t leave her alone with him, whatever you fucking do. And make sure he don’t fucking leave.”
Hughie was wide-eyed, but he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
Butcher raised his brows. I mean it, the gesture said. Hughie nodded, a silent agreement struck between them.
He soon went back into the motel while Butcher took off in his car.
Hughie found the supe exactly where he’d left him: on the couch, watching reruns of Cheers. Soldier Boy didn’t look all that entertained, but his gaze slid over to Hughie when he came in.
“What’re you doing about food?” Soldier Boy asked.
Hughie blinked, and once again checked his phone. They were so deep in the middle of nowhere, no regular restaurant was going to deliver within an hour. There wasn’t even an Uber Eats or Doordash that delivered out here.
“That ain’t gonna cut it,” said Soldier Boy. His gaze was firm. “30 minutes or less. That’s what I’m’ giving you, before I go look for something myself.”
Fuck, Hughie thought. He couldn’t leave Helena alone, but he couldn’t have Soldier Boy taking off on him either.
“You can go, Hugh,” Helena said. He turned to find her standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking worse for wear, but standing on her feet. She was leaning against the wall, and he immediately went to help her.
She directed him on where she wanted to sit: at the small, two-seater dining table.
She didn’t care what she ate, as long as it was hot, she told him. Though Hughie promised to bring her a soup of some kind, while Soldier Boy wanted “red meat.”
A burger it is, Hughie thought, internally rolling his eyes. He was still reluctant to leave, but Helena gave him an, I’ll be fine smile, weak though it was.
Hughie shook his head. Butcher was going to kill him, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. He left soon after, aiming to walk to the closest Wendy’s about half a mile down the road.
Meanwhile, Helena let out a breath. Already she knew this shitty plastic seat at the dining wasn’t going to do it for her. She needed support for her back and ribs, but she also didn’t want to lay down in bed anymore.
It made her head swim and her stomach churn, but she slowly got up and moved to sit on the far end of the couch, where Soldier Boy sat. At least she’d be able to watch some TV and try to take her mind off her pain as she waited for the meds to kick in. However, it did mean trying her luck with the supe.
She glanced at him, giving a thin smile. Soldier Boy turned to her with a gaze that slowly took her in.
“This isn’t an invitation,” she said warily. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
His smile was lazy, with the confidence of a man who’d no doubt fucked his way through starlets, cabana girls, and certainly any willing supe.
“Hey, now,” he said with charm. “What kind of man do you fucking take me for?”
A murdering one, Helena thought. But she didn’t sense a predatory attitude from him. At least, not in that sense. It didn’t mean she would let down her guard, but she did breathe a little easier.
“Besides. We both know that at some point,” he said. His voice lowered, like he was sharing a secret. His voice was deep and smooth, “You’re gonna get off your little high horse. When that time comes, I'll be more than happy to fuck you well and good, baby doll.”
Again, this man’s audacity knew no bounds. Helena’s brows raised high in shock. It took her a moment, but she eventually cleared her throat.
“Unlikely,” she deadpanned, despite her blush. “And who hits on someone with broken ribs?”
“They won’t be broken forever. And I can be…gentle,” he said. His eyes once again slid over her form, lingering on the hint of cleavage of her V-neck shirt. “Gentle enough, anyway.”
She couldn’t help but laugh a bit. This guy was too much.
“For the love of God. Enough, please,” she said. She shook her head, despite her incredulous smile. “I thought you said I needed a leash.”
She’d heard that little tidbit from the bug she planted in Butcher’s car.
Soldier Boy smirked. “Maybe. You are a bit fucking mouthy for my taste.”
That dimmed her amusement, into annoyance. There was that old-fashioned machismo that she couldn’t stand.
“Welcome to the 21st fucking century,” Helena snipped. “There’s a lot more where I come from.”
Soldier Boy shot her a look, annoyed yet contemplative. “So what, you and Butcher had a thing?”
“Good use of the past tense,” she grumpily acknowledged. She took the remote that lied between them and started looking through the TV guide for something to watch.
The supe eyed her with a certain smile.
“What’s the fucking deal with him and Homelander?” he asked. “I mean, the guy’s a prick. But why does Butcher hate him so much?”
Helena paused in her channel search. For now, she landed on an old episode of The Mesmerizer.
She let out a deep breath, holding a hand to her side when that pained her ribs. She wasn’t sure that this was her story to tell, but maybe if Soldier Boy knew the truth about Homelander, he’d be even more motivated to kill the bastard, besides ego and jealousy.
“Becca. Butcher’s wife,” she began. “Homelander…”
Helena paused. Even now, it was hard for her to say it out loud. She took in another steadying breath, and she met Soldier Boy’s green-eyed gaze.
“He violated her,” said Helena. “He ruined her damn life…and she died, because of him.”
That fell between them with a stiff, somewhat awkward silence.
“And how do you fit into all this?” Soldier Boy asked, gesturing at her.
Helena inclined her head. “Becca was my best friend.”
She told her part of the story, after Becca disappeared. How she’d worked at Vought, and Butcher had come knocking on her door demanding her help. But once she was on board, she became committed to avenging her friend. Helena did omit any mention of Ryan, for his protection.
She gave Soldier Boy just enough of the story that it still made sense, down to her finally leaving Vought and giving the CIA as much intel as she could, while trying to keep her involvement with Butcher and his team a secret from her ex-employer (and Homelander, most of all).
“So you hooked up with your best friend’s husband?” Soldier Boy mused with a smirk.
Fucking figures. That was what he took from this conversation?
Helena gave him a shrewd frown.
“You’re taking the moral high ground here?” she volleyed back. “We didn’t get together until this year, if you must know.”
The supe shrugged. It led her to look at him with a little more contemplation. She asked a question she probably had no business asking, if she wanted to have some self-preservation. But her pain meds were kicking in, and it was giving her a high dose of fuck it.
“How long were you with Crimson Countess? You know…before,” she asked.
Soldier Boy’s expression dimmed, with a bitter edge.
“Too fucking long,” was all he said, crossing his arms. “She was always a raging bitch.”
Helena wanted to roll her eyes, but she supposed his vitriol was understandable, given that the woman had helped gift wrap him for the Russians, along with the rest of his team. She truly must have hated him.
“Did she participate in Herogasm too?” Helena asked. Or was its founder the only one allowed to fuck other people?
Soldier Boy quirked a brow at her, but she held her ground. She’d heard about that particular tidbit when she still worked at Vought.
“She knew better,” he replied. It made Helena chuckle.
“Right. I just wonder if maybe Countess was a little bitter,” she mused. “I mean, her man is over here having frivolous orgies while she’s expected to be the Virgin Mary.”
Soldier Boy frowned in earnest now, with irritation and a hint of warning behind his eyes. Helena was too buzzed on her meds to heed that warning. Fuck, what the hell did Hughie give me?
“I was dedicated to our relationship,” Soldier Boy argued.
“In the viewing public, sure,” Helena retorted. “Vought’s poster boy committing serial adultery would’ve probably been frowned upon.”
She worked with supes for ten years. She knew how their marketing worked, especially with their “relationships,” fabricated for PR or otherwise.
Now, however, Soldier Boy turned to her with a sharper warning.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he raised his voice.
Helena paused with a small flinch. But she hid her apprehension.
“There’s no need to get loud,” she said.
“There’s no need to be a smart-mouth bitch,” he shot back.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “I take that as a compliment, comrade.”
Soldier Boy didn’t know whether he was more irritated or amused by her audacity.
“You must really wanna end up over my knee, sweetheart,” he said snidely.
His arrogant face was insufferable, Helena thought. But he’d made no move to “put her in her place.” Maybe because she was injured. If she was a supe, or even a man, she didn’t think he’d be so lenient.
She smirked. “Or maybe….maybe I’m just high. Jesus, how many milligrams did Hughie give me?”
She tried to shift into a more comfortable sitting position on the couch, but it only disrupted her ribs, with a sharp flare of pain that made her wince. Her head ached as well, cutting through some of her brain fog.
She needed a shower, food, and sleep. The shower would have to wait, but Hughie had better hurry the fuck up with the food.
She was so preoccupied with her discomfort that she didn’t notice, at first, how Soldier Boy was looking at her. He still seemed irritated as he took the remote from her.
“You should probably shut the fuck up then. Get some sleep. Maybe then I’ll get some peace and quiet,” he said.
Helena raised her brows. “Wow, you are a delight.”
Soldier Boy rolled his eyes.
He was an asshole. In fact, he’d just caused a hell of a scene, had apparently blacked out, and as a result, had even killed a handful of people in the process of getting revenge on the T&T Twins.
And yet…
Get some sleep, he’d said.
He seemed to have a tiny sliver of decency. Helena only detected it because she was fluent in the language of emotionally deficient men.
She considered getting up to take his “advice,” of getting some rest, but he managed to find Lethal Weapon playing on one of the movie channels.
“Oh, that’s a classic,” she told him. “From the late ‘80s…you probably just missed it.”
Soldier Boy frowned at her, but he didn’t turn the channel. They watched the movie from then on in a strangely companionable silence.
But of course, the peace couldn’t last for long.
There was a shootout on the screen; predictable for an action movie. Helena had seen this scene half a dozen times, but she heard a hitch of breath. She turned to her right and saw that her companion’s gaze was glazed over, unfocused.
Soldier Boy sat stiffly, blinking, with a subtle shake of his head, like he was trying to get rid of a ringing in his ears.
“Soldier Boy?” she tried. He didn’t seem to hear her.
Oh fuck. She paused, realizing what was happening.
Though it pained her battered ribs and head, she pulled herself up straighter and scooted closer to him on the couch. When she touched his shoulder, his gaze snapped up to hers. She tried not to flinch.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“…I don’t know,” he gritted out.
Her breath shallowed along with his. Even if she tried to run, she doubted she’d get very far if he freaked out and blasted this motel off the map.
“Okay, it’s okay. Soldier…what’s your name?” she asked.
For just a moment, her question managed to split him out of his disassociation.
“What?”
“What’s your name?” Helena repeated.
He blinked like he had something in his eye, though she knew he was trying to concentrate on her. At the same time, she seemed to be irritating him.
“Soldier Boy,” he said.
“No, not that bullshit. Your real name,” Helena insisted, and she squeezed his shoulder. It was unnaturally warm.
She couldn’t know that her words kicked the man back into his memories—before Russia. Before even Payback.
Behind his mind’s eye, he saw the tall, stoic, imposing figure of his father. The floral print of his mother’s Sunday dress when he was a kid. Her smile when she touched his cheek.
“Ben,” he gritted out. His chest was started to burn and glow from the inside. He was fighting it tooth and nail as his gaze flit over the woman next to him. Run, you fucking idiot.
“Ben,” Helena repeated. Her concern was in her eyes as she chanced lowering her hand, from his shoulder to his arm. “Stay with me, Ben. Can you breathe through it?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, shutting his eyes.
He wanted to tell her to stop touching him like he was some weak piece of shit. But the pressure was building beyond his control.
“Ben?” she prodded weakly. Even through his super suit, his arm became too hot for her to touch. She gasped and was forced to release him. She saw the glow of his chest through his suit and tried to back away, but her shaking body was frozen in fear.
Her wide eyes met his.
Ben had just enough presence of mind to push her away from him, just before a burst of nuclear power escaped him. With a rough yell, he tried to angle it upwards. The beam tore through half of the motel room and escaped through the ceiling.
Afterwards, he was breathing hard and staring into a midnight sky through the large hole his power had created. The distant sounds of screaming and car horns blaring was familiar, though he grimaced.
Fuck, he thought. He looked at the carnage wrecked through the rest of the motel room, though he didn’t remember creating it.
Belatedly, he remembered Helena.
She had been tossed to the floor, onto her back. Ben hesitated, but he slid off the couch and went to her, taking a knee on the ground beside her prone form. He brushed some plaster dust off her face and checked her pulse at her neck.
He nodded at the feel of her pulse thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Then, he surprised himself by sliding and arm under her back and propping her up against him. He tapped her cheek.
“Hey, wake up,” he prodded.
She didn’t oblige him just yet, making his brows furrow. Ben had a moment to take in her dark lashes that matched her long, dark hair of loose curls. (He could imagine wrapping them around his hand.)
Though her face was pale at the moment, her skin was tan and smooth, with full lips he couldn’t help being tempted by. Through the sweat and dust, he could even detect an earthy, floral scent. Maybe it was her shampoo.
“Helena?” Butcher’s voice made Ben raise his head. He frowned, mostly because he hadn’t heard the man coming. His ears were still ringing a bit, though he wouldn’t acknowledge it.
Butcher got down on her other side and took Helena from Ben’s arms, quickly, but still with care. Butcher touched her clammy cheek, then glared at the supe.
“Get your Wonder Girl powers in check before you blast us all to hell!” he snapped.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ben barked back, as he stood. “Without me, you’ve got fuck all.”
Butcher seethed; both because he was furious, and because he knew Soldier Boy was right. They still needed one another to accomplish their respective agendas, and that was the bitch of it.
Butcher got back onto his feet with Helena in his arms. He ignored the supe for now, and brought her to the bedroom, which had mostly remained unscathed.
He laid her down on the bed and surveyed the damage, even lifting her shirt to make sure she wasn’t visibly bleeding. She really should’ve been checked out at a hospital…
Just as he almost resolved to do just that, she started to wake, with a moan of pain. Butcher softened. He rested a careful, and surprisingly tender hand against her cheek. He held his breath, waiting for the moment that she blinked awake, revealing those honey brown eyes.
Helena bit her lip when she saw him, leaning her cheek against his hand. She was still full of painkillers and brain fog, and all she really wanted right now was some comfort. The thought made her eyes sting with tears. She held his hand against her face.
“You gotta stop doing this to me, love,” Butcher muttered. His thumb caressed her cheek.
She smiled, because this was the man she knew. She missed him so damn much.
“I thought you hated being bored,” she rasped.
Butcher let out a long breath while his thoughts darkened. Might just kill that prick after Homelander.
Her gaze narrowed a bit.
“I know that look. Believe it or not, this was him saving me,” she said, with a sigh, briefly closing her eyes. “The Russians pulled a fucking number on him.”
“Yeah. He’s got a few fucking screws loose, don’t he?” Butcher replied.
Helena tugged him down to her by his collar and touched his cheek.
“Come with me, Billy,” she all but pleaded. “You can still let this go…”
She leaned up enough to nearly press her lips to his, but Butcher held off. His eyes roamed over her face, concentrating on her lips. They both knew he wanted this…
But he wouldn’t let himself. Her tears dripped down the corners of her eyes when he gently pulled her hand away. He leaned back and sat up on the edge of the bed.
“We’re gonna have to move,” he said. “Just rest there a tick, ‘til we get all squared away, figure out where we’re going. And where the fuck is Hughie?”
The latter he asked to himself, but Helena couldn’t be bothered to answer him. She wiped at her face and tried to bury her hurt and dismay, deep under a layer of anger. She forced her body to sit up with a whimper.
“Ey,” Butcher protested. She ignored him.
“I know where we can go,” she said, meeting his gaze. “It’s safe, and neither Vought or Homelander know where it is.”
He was confused at first, but he was too smart not to know where her mind was headed. Her house was close to the city, but still far enough to give them cover. And only Helena, Butcher, and Grace knew its location.
Butcher frowned.
“No,” he started to say. Before he could get going in earnest, Hughie stepped into what was left of the motel. They saw him through the gaping chasm—of what used to be a wall between the bedroom and the front door. He nearly dropped the Wendy’s bags.
“What the shit?!” Hughie exclaimed. “Where’s the roof?”
AN: 😬 Okay, so a lot of Soldier Boy being an ass in this chapter lol. (As usual.) And now these four are headed to Helena's house. What could possibly go wrong? 😂
Next Time:
Maybe I really do have a death wish, Helena thought, as she let the most wanted supe alive into her home.
Butcher and Hughie joined him, with the latter taking in her two-story house for the first time.
“Nice,” Hughie said with a nod. “This place is beautiful.”
Helena gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
Though she gave Ben a pointed look. “Try not to break it, please.”
He shot her a raised brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched her turn and show them one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on the curve of her ass in those jeans.
Butcher caught the supe’s lazy perusal with a sharp eye. Ben felt his stare and had the gall to shoot him a wink with his smile. His steps had a certain swagger as he followed Helena down the hall.
Keep Reading: Part 18
The Boys Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Ko-Fi Me ☕
Tag List:
@lauraaan182 @homielander @calizmor @haibara-ai-tsii @brujaporfavor @sleepyqueerenergy @adoringanakin @skyesthebomb @lunaticgurly @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007
@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso
@xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @emily-winchester @xxlaynaxx @kaleldobrev @jad3djay
#Emotionally Deficient Men#And So It Goes#Part 17#the boys#billy butcher#soldier boy/Ben#soldier boy#billy butcher x oc#butcher x oc#billy butcher x ofc#poc!oc#billy butcher x reader#Butcher x Latina!OC#karl Urban#poc oc#latina!oc#hughie campbell#zepskies writes
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10 first lines challenge
Tagged by @stripedscribe
Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!
Im lazy, here's my profile! https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonbrutalism/works
(First 3 are Spider-Man stuff, the rest are Daredevil centric)
Unprompted Drone Attack: Miles is pretty sure the drone is buzzing them.
Heretic Pride: The monster dies at the end of the story.
Mostly Intact: Miguel’s skull was still buzzing a little when he came to.
On the Anti-Magical Properties of Danny Rand's Bathtub Moonshine: “It’s definitely getting worse,” said Foggy, using a pen to idly poke his rubber band ball, which was currently suspended about a foot above his desk and covered in a thick layer of ice, “Have you checked out the subway, yet?”
I'd Arrest You If I Had Handcuffs: “I’m not saying I handled it well, Foggy…”
Fear Itself: There was a rumor going around in Hell’s Kitchen.
Cards, Catch and Fortune Cookies: “This is a really ominous card, man.”
Five Percent Discount on Whole Human Blood: “Okay, what about Frankenstein?”
Charred Debris Oh shit oh no fuck fuck fuck.
Welcome Knife: “You’re an absolute psycho, you know that, right?”
Tagging: @inkforhumanhands
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funny story, i saw gojo a long time ago on tiktok and i was like « oh he fineee » but i was to lazy to watch the anime and then the « daddy’s home » happened and i saw him again and i was obsessed watching 74831 edits and finally watched the anime and started being really in love with him bc of fan fics (and your posts too)
anyway i love your blog and can’t wait to read more of anything of yours gojo related lmaooo
xoxo 🫂💋
ofc he fineeee !!! i think at least that’s something we all agree on whether we like him or not 😌 he’s just one of those types of ppl/chars that are objectively hot (annoying too) and we can’t deny it, i think.
“daddy’s home” was one of my biggest nightmares lmao i try to forget about it but it still haunts me to this day bc there’s always that one person who reblogs an old post or something and puts that in the tags jskhs and i’m like ok i just have to get used to it 😔
thank you!!! it means so much to me that you love my silly thoughts and occasional writing, i appreciate it so so much! 🥹🩶
#[ ai—mail ]#fanfic literally waters and grows the love you have for a certain character#i think this is why i am the way i am with my faves in general 🥹
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tagged by @manallakhuna to do this uquiz for my ocs lol
tag yourself as desired, i am lazy
and because i am lazy i'm only gonna do a few of my chars because i have TOO MANY
Serafina Hawke:
benign culpability
everyone hates you because you are a facetious lying bitch. …kidding, i think. seriously, though! you try way too hard to look like a picturesque example of class and responsibility, but you use your position as a social butterfly to take advantage of those weaker than you. it’s rare for anything not to be your fault, and everyone thinks you’re crying wolf when you actually HAVEN’T done anything. it gets kind of tiring to have everyone on your dick all the time, but it’s less interesting to actually behave. good luck with the therapy?
Quinn Shepard:
acerbic wit
you're a mentor — an old scarred wolf, an injured soldier, a disgraced paladin. your teachings read as shamelessly pretentious, speaking in rhymes and biting down hard into anyone stupid enough to make the wrong move. this isn't your first life, nor your second, nor your sixth — you'll make the most of your time shackled to this world, no matter how many loops it takes to get it right. with every defeat, you reincarnate; a little smarter, a little quicker, crueler and nastier. will you choose to be brutal, equalizing, that final strike in the face of your enemies? will you go soft, become tender and domesticated? the choice is yours. it's not like i can stop you.
Eli Ryder:
cauterizing rage
the house has burned around you, and you’re the only one left standing. is it gratifying to be the survivor? fear and anger are weapons in your capable hands, used only to serve your agenda of fighting back when deemed necessary. you're a powerful person, built from the ashes of your despair and your family's mistakes. with time, you'll bloom into someone softer, like the full blossoms that grow each spring and wither away with the leaves in fall. they won't disappear if you take your eyes off of them. you're enough.
#okay this quiz is fun i gotta say#but honestly of the three only quinn's was really accurate#eli's result belongs to serafina tbh lmao#it does fit eli but it fits serafina better#serafina's makes me laugh#it's not... wrong#but it's more the image she presents than how she actually is
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tag game - tagged by @eeveearoace
favorite time of year: there’s a week between fall and winter and another week between winter and spring where the temperature isn’t too warm but isn’t freezing cold either
comfort food: one specific brand of ready-made samosas.
do you collect stuff?: yes. i’ve got a bunch of stuff just piling up on my dresser, including:
medium sized safety pins
a piece of chalk i found next to the track one day and kept
1/4 of a ruler
one small yellow paperclip
two small ketchup packets (probably expired by now)
one small ranch packet (also probably expired)
two weird metal things i found on the road some time ago. i dunno how to describe them. you can pm me if you want pics later (for some unknown reason?) but i’m too lazy to take pictures now
an old wiry headband. it’s uncomfortable to wear.
two old, unusable cameras. one of them uses film but the film inside of it is ruined so :/
the other one is digital but i don’t know where to get the batteries for it. it did come in handy once when i had to draw a camera and google images just wasn’t cutting it (it kept cutting out where all the buttons were, even when i added “references for artists” onto the search. rude.)
did i say i had one paperclip. well i was wrong. i have three paperclips, including the first yellow one. the other two are uncolored but very shiny. one of them is charred at the end, because it was used to hold up several cheetos and knockoff oreos during a chemistry experiment where we burned snacks to see how many calories they contained. I think we were supposed to throw the paperclip out but i snuck it out of class in my hoodie pocket because,,,, shiny,,,,, i fucking love chemistry class. the other paperclip i think i stole it off a desk or something, because, again, shiny
i’ve also got this green balloon (uninflated). I don’t remember where I got it from. Maybe a goody bag or something?
the SHELLS i forgot the shells. my sister was spending time with her friends at the beach and i was just also there so me and one of the friends’ sisters went looking for shells to pass the time. one of the shells i got was one of the cool spiral ones! there was sand in my room for weeks afterward though
i do have this giftbag-looking bag there from the eye doctor that used to contain a bunch of contacts. now it contains 1) a bunch of ads for crystalize or whatever it’s called 2) yarn 3) three-ish expo markers 4) broken machanical pencils 5) a repair kit for a drone that i never fully got the hang of piloting, mainly kept because it has a screwdriver
you may be thinking “but doesn’t a collection have to have a common thread between all of them” and you may or may not be right, i don’t know. but i will answer the question anyways. the common thread is that most of these items are useless to me and i should really put them away but hoarder brain says “you will need these later” and i can’t argue with that. heck, it’s already come true for a couple of them!
favorite drink: apple juice, probably? or mango lassi
favorite song: it changes over time but recently i’ve been listening to this mashup and hell's coming with me by poor man's poison (dl pearl anyone?)
favorite fic: oh this one is hard. tie between flee your ghosts (burn your house down) and There May Be Some Collateral Damage by @/metisket.
tagging: @titsmasher69 @zzrkpfor /nf
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ꜱᴜʙᴍɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀᴛʙᴏʏ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅɪᴇ
Comic Version under the cut:
#the island of dr. moreau#frankenstein#dr moreau#victor frankenstein#frankenstein’s monster#hg wells#mad scientists#gothic literature#this is how victor will repent for his sins#🛎this is a premade post.#moreau makes his debut!#he’s still under construction bc I’m still not finished w the book but#I can’t wait to finally add the time traveler bc I love him#somebody who’s a little less bastard#⚡️👓🧪#kuu’s frankenstein#kuu’s moreau#kuu’s art tag#becuase I am lazy I don’t have the energy to make a full moreau char sheet but.#he’s a part of the story too djdnfndd#there’s also been a very slight change of art style#and a little bit of redesigning#the first batch of designs were more like a pilot#but I still will maintain the cheesey badly drawn vhs tape aesthetic 📼#hopefully after this round I don’t go into idea burnout djdjfndnc#I’m still alive just brainstuck or daydreaming too much
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Yaku told me nobody would fuck me and now I'm sad, will you fuck meeee - Lev
yaku’s right and he now owes me $50 for emotional compensation let him know
#goddammit#i will stomp ur ankles how bout that#SIGH#lin don’t clown me for responding i’ll scream#miki replies#i’m too lazy to make individual tags for fuckin char anons#so imma just slappem under uhhh#char.anons#sick
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I was tagged by my loves @odeng1e @bangpdgf and @fakelovesgf 💘💕 thank u bub this was really fun to do even tho it took me a solid 1983940573 years for me to get to it 😅
the templates are here!💘
anyways I tag: @t0d-oder-freiheit @seokjinsult @jinseas @seokjiniesgf @jinbeann @jinergy @kimseokjinniestan @cafejoon @jinsapeach & anyone who wants to 💕
#it is written in the stars that I’m a giant lazy glutton here to sip on the tears of my enemies and silently judge people#so....is anyone surprised 😂#anyways I love you wendi and thank u for tagging me💕#thank u also to alexandra and charlotta for tagging me too 💖💖💖💖#as usual you dont have to do these if you dont wanna#wendi ful#de alex e#char ming#muwutuals#hash tag games
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Original Sin | Darksaber!Din
Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)
Word count: 3.4k~
Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.
Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry
Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨
Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )
Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!
The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.
It wasn’t always this way.
They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.
But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.
Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.
Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—
It’s different. It feels different. Something is...
off.
You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.
Killing you.
There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.
Was that a shadow? No.
Is someone there? It’s just you.
There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.
Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has
changed.
The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.
You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.
When this Other became.
On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.
“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.
A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.
“No.”
Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”
“Come here, mesh’la.”
And you did. You always do.
The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.
By you, too.
Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.
Din Djarin is a pit of a man.
And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.
To inhabit.
The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.
For all of you.
Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.
You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.
Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.
And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.
But— you aren’t.
You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,
lower.
It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.
You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.
You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.
“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."
Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.
“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.
“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”
Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.
“I’m-"
I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.
Your brow wavers. “I-"
He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.
“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.
“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”
Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.
“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.
“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.
Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.
He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.
“How much?”
For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.
“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”
Your cunt bottoms out.
He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”
Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.
“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."
Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.
You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.
“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.
“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”
Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.
He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.
You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.
Beg for more.
“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”
Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.
“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”
Fuck.
Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”
He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”
He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.
“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.
A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.
You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”
Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.
“Din-”
You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.
“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”
It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.
And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.
No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.
You want to be possessed by him.
“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”
Be good be good be good
He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.
A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.
Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.
“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”
You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.
He is a pit.
Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.
“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.
“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”
Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.
“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.
Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.
When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.
Undetected.
It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.
Breeding there.
“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”
You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.
It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.
“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.
Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”
You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.
/
Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—
until you don’t.
Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—
A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.
No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-
You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.
Inside you.
The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.
‘Wake up, sweet girl.’
/
Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec
#darksaber!din#dark!din#dark!din x reader#dark!din x you#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#mando fanfiction#mando x you#mando x reader#the mandalorian#star wars#sw fanfic#darksaber#Im so sorry#dom!din#haunted!din
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I'm an village idiot and forgot to clarify that the (12 for Hawkins, Heat or Shyarly) request was fort he fluffy alphabet! I'm super sorry! ;;
a/n: no worries, love!!! happy to write this request for you 🥰 I know I’ve recently presented the idea of non-cuddly Hawkins, but now I offer you all an awkward cuddly Hawkins instead! with a lil but of angst...sry idk what’s been up with me lately 😳 hope you like it! also plz ignore the bad editing of the banner I’m too lazy to fix ahhhh
prompt: BOX A - ⑿ Feeling for each other in the dark
pairing: Hawkins x GN!Reader
warnings: angst from a nightmare, but overall fluff!
word count: ~470
The feel of Hawkins’ hands reaching out for you in the middle of the night was a feeling you admittedly weren’t quite used to.
You respected Hawkins space just as he respected yours. You were preparing yourself for the day Hawkins suggested separate beds, but what you didn’t know was that he’d actually grown accustomed to the feel of your warm presence beside him. In fact, he’d probably grown quite dependent on it.
That dependency manifested on a stormy night in Wano; the rumble of thunder and lightning at play with his subconscious as he tossed and turned on his side of the bed. Thunder was replaced with Kaido’s monstrous roars, lightning symbolizing his blazing inferno that destroyed all in its path. When Hawkins realized that you were in his path, he ran.
As with all nightmares, it felt like he was running through tar pits. His legs refused to move at desired speed, and everything around him seemed to pass in slow motion though Kaido barreled through the charred wasteland with ease, arriving above you with lightning speed. As the ominous glow illuminated behind snarling teeth, Hawkins cried out for you which resulted in him searching for you in your shared bed.
Sleep was still heavy in his movements as he aimlessly reached out for you. Just the feel of your skin, any inch, would do. But panic settled within him when your side of the bed seemingly offered him nothing. His eyes shot open, adjusting poorly in the pitch black darkness and his hands began searching for you in distress.
You awoke to his frantic movements, somnolently reaching out to grab at his hand. As you softly laced your fingers with his and placed a kiss along your tangled hands, the lightning illuminated your drowsy figure and Hawkins sighed in audible relief.
“Mm, Basil? Everything okay?” You mumbled out, sleepy, but still aware of the shaking from the hand you held. You squeezed it in an offerance of comfort.
“I’m alright.” He responded as he slowly eased back into his previous position, focusing on regulating his racing heart. You attempted to release your hands, but remained when you felt him squeeze you firmly, a silent plea to not let go.
“Bad dream?”
“Yes.”
You opened up your arms to invite him in. While you truthfully expected him to turn away from you with a polite rejection, he surprised you by slowly crawling over to your side and easing into your embrace. His arms were a bit awkward as they wrapped around you. Nevertheless, this was a rare moment, so you accepted his affections graciously.
“Is this...okay?”
You couldn't help but snicker, wondering if his question was more for you or himself. You burrowed in his hair and hummed lightly, “Stay as long as you need.”
tag list: @kaizokuwritings @mariegeoise @pagingdoctorbedlam @lofi-coffee @vemuabhi @ro6inante @greyblueberries @some-piece @minruko @issatheartist @ochizokulevy @fueledbyapplepi
» join the tag list
If you enjoyed this, let me know by leaving a like, comment, and/or reblog! Any form of support is always appreciated. 🌸
» need more fluff?
#doctorgerth#doc writes#2000 follower event#2 year anniversary#milestone celebration#prompt event#box a#imagine#fluff#established relationship#romantic#one piece x reader#basil hawkins x reader#hawkins x reader#gn!reader#anon
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Check-in tag
@rudhira said anyone who sees their post is tagged, so I’m going to do this for both mrs-mquve and mrs-mquve-cc!
Why did you choose your url?
Because one of my favorite fictional characters is M’Quve from Mobile Suit Gundam. I was crazy obsessed with him for several years (I've had fictional character hyperfixations my whole life). I’m not so embarrassingly fixated on him anymore but I still love him, of course! I added “cc” for my Sims 2 custom content blog.
BTW, if anyone unfamiliar with Gundam is wondering how M’Quve is pronounced, it’s muh-KOO-vay.
How long have you been on tumblr?
10 years!
Do you have a queue tag?
I don’t use the queue - I’m a dork who’s on my computer all day so I just save drafts and post them sporadically. When I did briefly use it the tag was “m’queuve” 😆
Why did you start your blog in the first place?
To post about M’Quve and find other Gundam fans. Unfortunately the fandom (for the original Gundam from 1979) has fallen off the face of Tumblr. I just post other stuff I like and character aesthetics on my main now. I started my Simblr shortly after I started making CC because I discovered the TS2 community here.
Why did you choose your icon/pfp?
Another character hyperfixation. It’s Laegrinna, the protagonist of Deception IV: Blood Ties (Kagero: Dark Side Princess). I also play characters from that game in TS2, so sim!Laegrinna is my pfp for mrs-mquve-cc.
Why did you choose your header?
Because I took a sexy picture of sim!Laegrinna and I loved it. My Simblr header is her and Zeno Shin, they are my OTP.
What’s your post with the most notes?
Hoo boy. A silly post years ago about a Char Aznable vibrator I found browsing Japanese Gundam sites. I blocked notifications because I was still getting them 8 years later. I’ve since deleted all posts pre-2015 because my god was I cringy back then. Currently it’s a gif I made with PicMix of Tuvok from Star Trek: Voyager. I don’t know which post on my Simblr has the most notes.
How many mutuals do you have?
I’m too lazy to count. I do know that most of them for my main are inactive.
How many followers do you have? How many people do you follow?
444 on my main and 850 on my Simblr. I follow 460.
Have you ever made a shitpost?
All the time on my main. I even have tags for them. #fia shitpost and #deception shitposting.
How often do you use tumblr each day?
I have it open in my browser most of the day and post when I feel like it. I have no life, lol.
Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won?
Uh... yeah, when I first joined. They won when they sent me a kind of threatening ask and I dropped it. I was more outspoken and generally cringy back then. I shared a lot of TMI. I feel like getting older has made me more careful and reserved.
How do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?
I hate them. Nobody’s obligated to reblog anything. Tumblr’s not just for activism, people can post whatever the hell they want.
Do you like tag games?
Yes, they’re a lot of fun!
Do you like ask games?
Not really. I’m socially awkward so talking directly to people is less comfortable for me than communicating through posts.
Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?
Oh, I dunno. I might be mutuals with a few bigger Simblrs but that might be it.
Do you have a crush on a mutual?
No. I’m married and that would be weird.
I’m pretty sure most people have done this at this point, so if you see this and haven’t already, consider yourself tagged.
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2021 Hakuoki Calendar Stellaworth Bromides scanned by me. sorry but im lazy and will not be tagging chars in any other post aside from this one....
The calendar is too big to scan so I’m going to take photos of it tomorrow (unless there’s not enough sunlight)... when I have natural lighting since all the light I’ve tried using has given all my pics a yellowish tint.
oh and i gave up trying to remove the scanner blemishes from the Souji image cuz I’m tired (the Saito one is mostly okay tho that’s cuz i spent about 30 min in photoshop touching it up)... will provide the raw .bmp to anyone who wants to fix that...
as always, feel free to use~
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The new boy in town.
Tags: @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @moose-teeth @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript
Chapter 2
CW: body-shaming/ insults, discrimination/ dehumanization of mutants, an insect gets hurt, a nearly fistfight ensues
Heat thrummed through Gideon’s bones and throbbed in unison with his building headache. His patience had shriveled up like dried fruit under the torrid summer sun while this horrible lavender scent clung to his hair, his skin, his clothes, making him dizzy.
It became stronger on the village outskirts, Gideon realized as he hurried after Director Sahin. The man ascended the crooked stone staircase effortlessly, his moss-green robe billowing behind him. His artfully decorated spear swayed with every step he took, not brushing a single leave. The only thing rustling through the underbrush was the wind and the creatures living there.
A twig caught in Gideon’s black curls, while the Director rambled on about the virtues of disciplinary work. How it encouraged the growth of one’s character, or some shit. The twig broke off with a quiet snap, painfully pulling at his scalp. Gideon’s mood dropped even lower. It was going to be a nightmare to fiddle all those shitty branches and leaves out of his hair later on.
He was seconds away from losing his barely-held composure.
The only thing keeping him from bursting at the seams was the promise he’d whispered into his brother's grave, a last farewell bedded beside a corpse.
Gideon had come to this godforsaken village to learn how to fight and survive in the forest, not to become some obedient little soldier boy! But in order to do that, he had to get cleared for training again and out of suspension.
If he had to play the director’s errand boy for a day to achieve that, so be it. He had endured worse.
“Haaah, here we are.” Director Sahin inhaled deeply, arms falling wide. “Finally. My dear friend’s farm. Tell me, young Gideon, is it not simply beautiful?”
Gideon shrugged. “‘S’ okay.”
Granted, the house did look cozy, resting encircled by giant roots with its warm brick walls, but those gigantic snails everywhere sent a shudder down his spine. If he had to touch those slimy monsters he-
The farm’s sliding doors opened before he could utter a protest, and a fine-boned, middle aged woman emerged, followed by a huge man with a greying beard. A boy, probably his own age but significantly shorter, held the door open for them.
The older woman’s lips curled into a crooked smile as she caught sight of Director Sahin, whose whole face had lit up. Dark eyes shining.
“Moira. My darling. Please do not tell me you are about to leave? Not when I looked forward to seeing your beautiful face again.”
Gideon suppressed a gag. Moira crossed her arms, smile growing sharper. Her eyes held a warm twinkle as she spoke. “Eric; charming as ever.”
The man behind her stepped closer and huffed: “M happy ‘ter see ya too, Eric.”
“Oh Ansgar you flatter me. But I must confess, I am not here solely for tea and a chat-“
The Director rattled on and Gideon’s focus wandered to the girl that had stepped out the door behind a blonde woman. A fancy grey blouse hung off her thin shoulders, nearly covering the lace trim of blue silk short. A stark contrast to the more practical attire favored by most villagers. But that wasn’t what caught Gideon’s attention, no, he had seen all sorts of fancy getups up in Berlin -in the city's upper ring that is- what drew his eyes to her, was her face.
Its left side was oddly deformed, her pale skin uneven like a creased silk sheet, drawing her left eye down and her full lips up. She mouthed something to the boy, smiling, earning a smile from him in turn.
“Ah yes may I introduce: Gideon, my newest student.”
Having lost most of the adults’ conversation Gideon tuned back in just in time, to give them a curt nod.
“I will send him to collect the salve after the feast, then,” Director Sahin announced, please as can be.
“Wonderful.” Moira clapped her hands. All back to business brusqueness. “Sahar will appreciate not having to deliver it for once. Right?”
The other boy snapped to attention, green eyes wide and fingers twitching like the hands of a pianist. A grateful smile rose to his face and he nodded.
Oh great, so Gideon had to take the trip up here twice.
They descended the stairs, lined up one after another on the narrow path. Sahar right in front of him, following the strange girl. He had avoided Gideon’s eyes as he squeezed past him, careful not to touch, probably scared off by his uniform. The school’s emblem, embroidered on his stainless white shirt, proudly declared him a scout in training. Deadly. Fearless. The little farm boy definitely did better not to mess with an insect slayer like him.
The girl came to an abrupt halt, frozen in the woodland’s shadows before it gave way to the dusty hill road. Gideon nearly collided with Sahar, when he heard it.
A primal, bone chilling hiss tore through the hot afternoon air, rattling through his very core.
Every hair on his body stood, muscles tensing, on edge just like his fraying nerves.
He knew that sound.
Even though he’d heard it only once before. On the crusade from last-stand-berlin to the village, where he had seen the beast it belonged to lurk on the riverside, watching them.
He would never forget a spider’s hiss.
And there one stood, right in front of him, its eight thorny legs towering high above its ugly head. The spider’s giant yaws worked, rubbed against each other in agitation. Its razor sharp fangs glistened in the sun.
A man sat atop its massive, hairy body, scar-faced and clad in a straw cape that was fastened to a beetle’s shell armoring his left shoulder. Shimmering in iridescent hues of blue and green. The man did not smile as he glanced down at them. A silent challenge was edged in the hard lines of his rugged face.
Tense static filled the air, an almost tangible thing that bit at Gideons fingers. It wormed its way into his bones, crawled over his scalp.
He almost, almost, flinched when Director Sahin shouldered past him, spear drawn and followed by the other man. Both planted themselves right in front of him and the others.
The intruder’s scar stretched with the rise of his eyebrows, eyes slitting in a lazy half-grin.
“Hey, there. Hold your horses. Before someone does something he regrets later.”
“That a threat?” Ansgar grunted.
Moira ducked past him, face twisted in a furious scowl as she spit. “Oh, something other than entering our village on a damn wolf-spider you mean?!”
The corded muscle in her boney arm flexed as she shook her fist at the man, unveiling a wrath behind her primly dressed form that no one would have wanted to fall victim to.
He, however, just leaned closer, smile stretching into a shark-tooth grin. “Gutsy, are we? I like that.”
Director Sahim stepped up beside her, spear held in a steady grip. “How could you make it past our InD-Units with this monstrosity?! God show you mercy if you did something to-”
“What do you think I am?!” the intruder drawled, hands raised in mock offense. “A monster?! Only reason I got past your insect defenses was this baby here.”
Gideon had to stand on his tiptoes to catch a glance of the small round device that sat embedded into the spider’s head, partly hidden by the man’s straw cape. A little red light blinked in a steady rhythm above three buttons, which the man was careful not to touch as he rapped his knuckles against it.
“Renders her absolutely obedient. All natural instinct turned off. See?”
He unsheathed a knife from a holster strapped around his leg and its steel blade shimmered in the sun before he rammed it in one of the spider’s eyes, plopping it out with a nauseating plitch. The spider endured its master’s violation in utter stillness, only its yaws twitched, creating this awful hiss in their never ceasing movement.
“She’s docile as a lamb.”
“And how exactly is that supposed to work?” the girl inquired, meeting the man’s stare with a calculated cold composure. She ignored the incredulous look the blonde woman gave her, as she mouthed: “Charlotte, what are you doing?”
The intruder's mouth twitched.
“Man, what do I know, Missy?! I’m a mutant hunter not a scientist.” He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, fixed on the girl's deformed face. Venom spiked his words, dripped from his tongue like acid. “My expertise lies in chasing down freaks.”
The condescendingly cruel way in which he spoke, wielding words like a weapon meant to pierce and twist where it hurt most, reminded Gideon oddly of his father. Anger welled up in his chest, buzzed down his legs and made them move. He planted himself right between the girl and the intruder.
How dare he compare someone to mutant scum?!
“Tsk. Mutant hunter?! You’ve ever even seen one? Or are you just talk? Threatening girls?!”
“Gideon.”, Director Sahim hissed, squeezing Gideon’s shoulder in warning as he tried to pull him back.
The man gave them a wry smile. “No no. Let’s hear him out. Have you ever seen one boy?”
“Yes.” Gideon spat, unable to reign his emotions back in. “They’re hideous monstrosities. And I’m going to find and kill every single one of them.”
The man burst into violent laughter, shoulders shaking and head thrown back, nearly losing his balance under the force of it.
“You do have guts, I give you that. But also lots to learn. Do you really think a girl can’t be a mutant? Monster’s come in all shapes and sizes, boy.” His eyes wandered back to Charlotte. “Just ugly, that’s the whole lot of them.``
The blonde woman gasped, searching for words to shoot back, but falling silent as she noticed Charlotte’s expression.
Red blotches burned on her face, rage twisting it into a vicious scowl. The afternoon sun set her copper curls on fire. Ready to spew fury and flames, she opened her mouth but Sahar was faster, his small voice piping up.
“Char- Charlotte is… is no- no mutant and and and she’s neither ugly nor weak. And and and people who talk about, talk about killing others for no- no, no reason are… They’re the- the real monsters.”
His fingers fiddled with his shorts, tapping and twisting in the dark, worn linen as he stumbled over his words. His big green eyes jumped from the rocky street to the spider’s fangs, lingered on the intruder’s face before landing on Gideon. They narrowed as he all but spat the last words in Gideon’s face.
“The hell you just said?!” Gideon’s nostrils flared. How dare this little runt run his mouth about things he didn’t know shit about!
Crossing his arms, Sahar forced himself to hold his ground against Gideon’s furious, wide eyed stare. “You you, you heard me.”
Gideon heart hammered in his throat, pumping liquefied fire through his veins. His hands twitched.
“I give you one chance to take. That. Back.”
The boy’s trembling fingers dug into his forearms, knuckles whitening as he lifted his chin.
“Never.”
A roar tore from Gideon’s throat as he leapt forward. Rage burned through him like a wildfire, ready to ignite everything his fist would come in contact with.
Beating the selfritousnes out of that stupid stammering farmboy was the only thing that mattered now. Everything else blurred to background noise. Even the stranger on his shitty spider.
In that frozen second between charge and impact, Sahar’s feet moved. His body tilted to the side. Dodged Gideon’s blow. Effortlessly. He bounced back. Landed on the first stone step and uncrossed his arms. Ready to defend himself. His fingers had stopped twitching.
That little runt had nerves!
Gideon broke into a sprint.
“You sure are good at dodging!” He swung his arm back. “Try to handle this!”
Muscles flexing Gideon readied for impact, only for his arm to be janked back. A large hand had wrapped around his wrist. Stopped him mid punch. Craning his neck, Gideon stared up into Ansgar’s stern face.
Fuck he’s fast?!
“Looks like ya still got lots t’ learn about respect ‘n self-discipline, young man.”
Director Sahin sighed, eyes still locked on the intruder, who watched the spectacle with a lazy kind of interest.
Ansgar released Gideon’s hand and turned to Sahar. His grey eyes glistened like ice shards. “Same goes for you. Ya disappointed me, Sahar.”
Sahar blinked up at the man, eyes round and full of disbelief.
“Wh-what- what, what do you, do do do do- what do you mean?”
“I haven’t trained ya to run off ‘n start mindless fights. I tried to teach ya discipline ‘n how to survive these woods.” Ansgar’s voice did not waver and every word made Sahar shrink into himself. His fingers tapped a hectic distorted rhythm over his leg
The intruder snickered, “someone’s a stuck up,” earning Moira’s venomous glare.
“But- but I didn’t- he he he he he was, he was the one who-“
“Enough,” Ansgar thundered. “Don’t argue with me. If ya want a beatin’ so bad I’ll give ya one later. And now back t’ the farm. Ya grounded for the week. No fest. No nothin’!”
Sahar crumbled under the man’s anger, head ducked between his shoulders as the first teardrop fell. It trickled down his trembling jaw, painting a glistening path on his warm skin.
Voice reduced to a shaky exhale Sahar nodded, “yes, sir.”, and stormed up the stairs.
He had just vanished between the thick bushes, when the intruder broke out into a new laughing fit.
#whump#whump writing#mutant whumpee#crying whumpee#insults#fighting#post apocalypse#post apocalyptic#whumpee#some flowers have teeth#sahar#gideon#charlotte#sahar tries his best#gideon the angry bean
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sugar.
Summary: Walter Marshall gets a new neighbor. And she is a bit more than he bargained for. (yes I am aware this is a Fall Out Boy song Sugar, we’re going down, no it was not intensional)
It’s not my fault. I really don’t mean to stare.
Or grab the bottle of wine while taking a seat facing the window. Watching as my handsome neighbor paces in his kitchen, running a hand threw his hair.
Popping the cork, I settle in my seat, bottle poised at my lips.
In the three months I have lived here, I have yet to actually meet the man. But, according to his mail that I sometimes get, his name is Walter.
Though, I haven’t made a point to go visit him and introduce myself.
Not that I could, we seem to be operating on different schedules. He is away when I am home, and I can only guess he is home when I am away.
I wonder what he does for work to have such odd hours.
Maybe he’s a spy? He does look to be in good shape.
Oh, spicy.
Tipping the bottle, I tilt my head to the side, watching as he bends over to do something.
Even from a distance, the man has a fine ass.
“If he’s straight, and has an ass like that, Imma be pissed.” I whisper into the bottle, taking another swallow.
I wonder what they would feel like. Gripping them in my hands as he fucks me.
A shiver goes down my spine at the thought. A lazy smile on my face as I continue to watch him.
Standing back up, he bends over again, grabbing something off the table. He looks frantic, moving things this way and that. Papers flying everywhere.
Finally, he straightens, holding something in his hand. I see his head move, but I can’t tell anything farther from that.
He dashes out of the room. I hear a door slam, another door open, the roar of an engine and another slam.
Well, I guess he found what he was looking for. And I now lost my view.
Damn. I even pulled out the good wine.
~~~
By the time I head out for work the next morning, he is still not home.
I hope he is okay.
The entire drive to work, I can’t help but think something bad happened. He left in such a rush. But the news doesn’t say anything about an accident or anything. Well, other than that the police captured the man that has been terrorizing the city for the past week.
“Hey, Charlie, how are you?” A voice calls out, pulling me from my thoughts. Looking up I see my boss, Peter walking up to me.
“Hey, Peter. I’m good. How are you? How was dinner last night?” I ask, knowing that he had a date with Susan in reception.
A blush takes over his face as he scratches the back of his neck. “It went okay. She is a little...adventurous.” he chuckles, looking at me, as if to see my reaction.
“Peter, I know we are cool, but I don’t need to know about your sex life.” I laugh as we step into the elevator together, ready to hide in our cave of monitors.
Working in the IT department of a multibillion-dollar company is so glamorous.
“Great friendships start with these kind of conversations Char. We could be amazing.”
“First, don’t call me Char, I’m not a stripper. Second, can we be friends? You are my boss after all.” I point out as the elevator dings and the doors open, his secretary and my friend, Scarlett standing ready.
“Hey, Charlie! Good morning!” She smiles as she hands a file to Peter before he could walk away. “I saw you, don’t think you can get away with not signing those! I’ll be in your office to collect them in fifteen minutes, old man!” She calls after him.
Peter just mumbles under his breath. Saying how he was going to fire her, like he does every week, and how he isn’t old, “I’m only 35.”
“Why do you do that to him?” I ask, setting my things at my desk, starting up my computer.
“Because he knows he’s hot shit so I feel the need to bring him down.” She says simply, sitting in my chair. “Men are trash, Charlie.”
In the three months I have lived here, Scarlett has been the biggest help and my greatest confidant. I don’t know what I would do without her.
“You are only saying that because when you try to seduce him he looks the other way.”
“No, I say that because he wants to fuck my best friend and I won’t have that.” She gives a pointed look.
I roll my eyes at her, “Peter does not want to sleep with me. I have told you this how many times?”
“Deny it all you want. But one day, he will ask you out. I know it!”
“I love you, Scar, but you are crazy in thinking that.”
She shrugs as she stands, “Crazy in a good way.” Flipping her hair, she flashes a smile, “Have you spoken to your neighbor yet?”
Now it was my turn to blush. “We can talk about it at lunch.” I mumble as she squeals.
“Can’t wait! See you at 12, babe!”
~~~
I flop on my bed, clothes and shoes still on, mind reeling. I can’t help going over mine and Scarlett’s conversation at lunch.
"So, you just watched him?” Her fork halfway to her mouth. “That’s kinda creepy.”
“I know, okay, but I didn’t walk into my kitchen with the intention of watching him. I was there. He was there. The wine was there.”
Scarlet just looks at me, an eyebrow raised.
“What? I didn’t do it on purpose! He is literally never home when I am, how was I supposed to know?”
“But you still stayed and watched him...”
“He has a great ass?” She looks at me, erupting in laughter.
“Fuck, I’m so creepy.” I mumble to myself, rubbing my face with my hands. With a groan, I drop my hands. “Okay, Charlie, you are going to get up, take off these heels, skirt and shirt, and draw a nice relaxing bath.” I hum at the thought. “With the good wine.”
Sitting up, I look around the room.
I should really finish unpacking.
I stand as I pull my hair from the evil confines of the rubber band holding it at bay. Kicking off my shoes next, I work the zipper of my skirt, letting it pool to my feet. I turn toward the bathroom, turning the faucet on and stopping the tub, watching as the water begins to slowly fill it.
“Oh, almost forgot the wine!” Walking out, I start unbuttoning my shirt, stopping only to reach for the bottle. “Much better. Now. We relax my friend.” Pulling the cork out, I bring the bottle to my nose, inhaling the sweet smell.
Bottle in one hand, the other running through my hair, I walk toward my room when there is a knock on the door.
I really don’t wanna.
Knocking continues, a little harder this time.
With a sigh, I turn back around and head for the door, swinging it open.
I am met with a man that has dark curly hair and dull blue eyes.
That seem to brighten the longer they stare at me.
Huh. Oh.
It is only then, do I realize that I just answered the door in panties, my shirt halfway button down, cleavage on full display and mussed hair.
Leaning against the door, I ask, “What kind of sugar are you looking for, neighbor?”
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Another chapter from the Ender Mirror Series:
FIRE FLOWER SCAR
Romance: Ranboo/Tubbo kinda? The husband thing but slgihtly more romantic
TW: Scars/Constant Pain
Slicing through a golden apple the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board echoing around the kitchen. The sound of Michael babbling to himself in piglin gentle and barely registering in Tubbo’s damaged ear. Sounds of birds outside the open window silent to his brown floppy ears, drowned out by the ringing that would come and go in the left and buzzed constantly on the right.
Tubbo grabbed his right wrist dropping the knife watching it slightly fall against the floor narrowly avoiding his socked feet. Cursing under his breath Tubbo stretched out the fingers of his right hand watching them slowly curl back to his palm. The tips were numb, and he knew it would be a good hour before feeling returned even with a health potion, it would alleviate the burning tension in his charred tendons though. Placing the apple slices on a plate Tubbo turned to Michael in his highchair. Michael paused his unrecognizable speech pattern watching Tubbo with a curious blue eye. Setting the plate down in front of his son Tubbo smiled rubbing the soft cloth they kept over Michael's exposed skull to protect it.
Seeing the small piglin Tubbo remembered how attached he felt at first glance. A zombie pigling on its own missing an eye with skin peeling away from the right side of his face. it was like looking into a grotesque mirror. His skin itched all over remembered what it felt like as it peeled away in large scabs over time. The pain as he picked away large chunks of himself. Until Ranboo found him Tubbo was no better than a pathetic animal fighting away everyone out of fear. Lashing out with his untrained left hand desperate to hide his injured body that refused to heal. Ranboo had lured the monster out of its cave to give him healing potions every day and change his bandages. When Tubbo saw Michael, he wanted to wrap his arms around the trembling piglin and let him know he wouldn’t hurt forever. Now Tubbo made sure Michael would never hurt again.
“Here you go big man,” Tubbo smiled feeling the pain creeping up his arm. Heat radiating in his neck.
Watching Michael’s hooves gently grasp a golden apple slice Tubbo smiled.
Pushing aside bottle after bottle in the medicine cabinet Tubbo groaned standing on his tiptoes pushing another strength potion out of the way. The bottle slipped past the edge crashing to the floor.
“Damn it Ranboo, why do you have to put everything so high?” Tubbo grumbled remembered to give his husband an ear full when he got home.
Sliding the last bottle to the side Tubbo sighed closing the mirror. Fuck. Did Ranboo say he was going to make more healing potions today? Did he forget to tell Ranboo they were out early enough to have one leftover? The pain seized his right arm making him flinch stiff in one place as he willed himself to relax. Standing in the bathroom Tubbo let his gaze shift to the mirror he always avoided. A monster he hardly recognized gazed back at him through thick dark scruffy hair. One broken jagged horn with a gold band accompanied a white horn with cracks that curled around the fluffy mass of hair. Long ears with matching brown fluff almost got lost in the mass of hair just distinguishable. At least one- the ripped ear was hidden. The ear that wasn’t damaged sported an ear tag, the only part of his past he couldn’t seem to part with no matter how much he wanted to. The tag was bright yellow with dark bold lettering that read peace. Being forced into his ear during the festival to taunt him, remind him he was nothing but a pawn, an expendable animal no one was really listening to. Tubbo wanted nothing but peace for L’manburg, he wished he believed the people who said it was impossible.
With his left hand, Tubbo pushed his tangled bangs from his face. Red, angry, chewed up, and spit back out. From the right edge of his nose to the tip of his ears and down across his body Tubbo was walking scar tissue. The eye in his right socket milky and lazy lolling to the side useless. The bright yellow one he had left got fuzzy if he concentrated for too long on one thing. When he first joined Ranboo back in a home Tubbo avoided all mirrors unable to deal with the state of himself. Growing his hair long to cover the scars clothes couldn’t, he just wanted to forget.
Groaning again Tubbo walked to the bed he shared with an enderman hybrid laying down on his left side curing up. Unsure of the time he wasn’t sure when Ranboo was coming back from his lesson with Technoblade. Grinding his teeth -the way he wore down his top canines- it made him shiver every time he pictured Ranboo enjoying himself at Techno’s. Ranboo had denied it hundreds of times, calling it an opportunity to learn potion-making to help Tubbo. A way to keep the family safe if he was in Techno’s good graces. Tubbo knew it was all bullshit Ranboo liked hanging out with the Blood God, but Ranboo didn’t know he had that title.
Ranboo didn’t know a lot of things about his past from two years ago. He didn’t need to know and never pried. Tubbo tried once asking him to not hang out with the piglin and when his husband asked why Tubbo didn’t have a good answer. For some reason, he believed Ranboo would just obey what he said. Ranboo also thought it would be good for Techno to be around Michael maybe it would bring the little piglin out of his shell or give him some comfort. Tubbo was still fighting that idea as if Technoblade could be a comfort for anyone. Grimacing at himself in the mirror he knew the blood god was a comfort to his best friend in his time of need when Tubbo wasn’t there. Tubbo tried to take Techno from Tommy commending the pig to death in a public execution. Holding an ax against his exposed throat felt right, it felt good. He had power, control, all the fear in the back of his mind melted away. His scar didn’t burn in shame.
Techno escaped that day fucking scot-free no answering for a single crime. Not that Tubbo gave a shit about what he’d done the small ram just wanted to watch his boogie man get what he deserved. Eye for an eye, public execution for public execution. Tubbo is certain he is the only man to see fear in Techno’s red eyes and he’d been itching to see it again.
Snorting and squealing alerted Tubbo to Michael being sick of his highchair. Sighing sagging his one good shoulder Tubbo hated doing anything with Michael when he was immobile. The young boy would squirm kicking Tubbo who begged him to be still just for one second. Currently, his right arm was numb to his shoulder with a quick zap of pain-causing his neck to twitch to the same side. Out of the highchair one fluid movement, he could do it.
“I know I know,” Tubbo smiled at his son, “You want out and I can do that, just work with me,” he begged knowing it would be for nothing.
Slowly worming his left arm under Michael’s arms Tubbo held his breath as he started to lift upward. He’d been working hard on his left arm strength holding heavy objects, gardening, and writing with his left arm. To his surprise, Michael stayed relatively still ignoring a few squirming kicks. Nestled under Tubbo’s arm like a bag Michael giggled and Tubbo was proud of himself.
The screen door opened in the minute making Tubbo spin on his heels to a figure ducking under the door frame to enter the house.
“Didn’t we ask Foolish to make this bigger?” Ranboo stretched his back out stepping into the kitchen.
Tubbo smiled looking at the gold ring around Ranboo’s white horn on the non-enderman half, “He’d been busy with Quakity from what I’ve heard. I’ll try asking him again.”
Ranboo cocked a brow and Tubbo had forgotten Michael spitting raspberries under his arm snout squished up.
Lowering the piglin child to the ground Tubbo rolled his shoulder back, “I’m getting good at the one arm dad thing.”
“Fuck,” Ranboo started digging through his canvas shoulder bag, “I’m so sorry, is it bad?”
Shaking his head Tubbo smiled, “Not unbearable, good thing you came home at just the right time.”
“Here.”
Ranboo held out a little round potion bottle with a cork in the top, Tubbo tilted his head to the side and Ranboo used his claws to swiftly uncork it. Grasping the bottle in his stubby fingers he noticed how dull his own nails had gotten. He used to have sharp nails that could cut through the skin too easily. Ranboo held him down the first time he filed his nails down crying more than Tubbo did. The ram boy had sued his long claw privileges to pull thick pieces of skin away from his body. The enderman said he’d never heal that way. At the time Tubbo hadn’t wanted to heal and it was fine with him if he stripped himself to the bone.
Downing the pink liquid Tubbo shuttered poking his pink tongue from his mouth.
“You guys still can’t make this taste any better?”
Ranboo shrugged, “I tried bringing it up to Techno, he seems to look down on strawberry flavored health potion.”
“He looks down on anything that fits outside of his perspective,” Tubbo could feel the right side of his body at least.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Ranboo avoided any more Techno talk ushering Tubbo to the living room.
Pouting Tubbo wanted to continue his regularly queued-up Technoblade rant knowing it would accomplish nothing. It just felt good to make his opinion known again.
Falling back onto plush couch cushions guided by Ranboo’s gentle hand Tubbo felt his right side tense up again. Forcing his back against the couch he focused on the way his left side felt relieved after being busy on his feet since he woke up. Busy with Michael, running an Inn and doing maintenance, planning out a greenhouse for when winter made its swift return, and gardening. The day had gone so fast and he’d gotten so much done, why did he still feel like he could have done more? The pain settled in his shoulder and neck making him wince.
“Ranboo can I have another health potion?” Tubbo groaned leaning his head back against the couch.
“You know the rules,” Ranboo placed his slender fingers on Tubbos shoulders, “You have to wait twenty minutes between each potion.”
“Just let me double dose this once,” Tubbo whined, “It’s been a long day Boo.”
“Doctors orders.”
Ranboo pushed Tubbo forwards and Tubbo slumped on command feeling Ranboos fingers kneed across his back. He hummed basking in the massage his husband was always so willing to give. Tubbo had tried massage therapy before with Niki she was sweet and tried every way she knew how to get Tubbo less dependent on health potion on bad days. He never felt less pain though, and slowly stopped going too embarrassed to tell her it wasn’t working. The moment Ranboo watched Tubbo down three full health potions in five minutes like a glass of water the enderman hybrid put his foot down. Hiding the health potions Ranboo took notes from Niki using his strength to kneed into Tubbo’s muscles making him melt. In minutes Tubbo was sprawled across the green couch Ranboo hated because Tubbo found it outside and said it was the color of puke. Tubbo thought it was the comfiest couch he’d ever sat on and told the older it relaxed him. That was all it took and Ranboo gave in when it came to physical comfort Ranboo would do anything to alleviate Tubbo’s pain.
Tubbo frowned.
“Why haven’t you ever asked me what happened?” Tubbo mumbled into his crossed arms.
“Hm?�� Ranboo paused.
“Even the day you found me, you’ve never asked what happened,” Tubbo slowly started to sit up feeling a dull ache in his back.
“I figured you would tell me when you were ready,” Ranboo pressed down a little harder keeping Tubbo from straining himself.
Ranboo was too patient with Tubbo who could never bother to be patient with anyone. Maybe it was time.
“Do remember the firework festival last year?” Tubbo mumbled.
“Vaguely.”
Tubbo sat up feeling the hitch in his back choosing to ignore it, “You’re kidding! How could you forget that?”
Ranboo rolled his green and red eyes the horizontally divided bottoms showing, “I’m more prepared this year. I got earmuffs.”
Tubbo played with the extra-long sleeve of his shirt- actually it was Ranboo’s shirt.
Every year a firework festival is held when all corners of the map experience spring or summer simultaneously for a week. The air is hot and sticky with not one cool place left to run to. Tubbo had spent the week in every year since he was a kid sensitive to temperatures. Moving to Snowchester had been good for him he thrived in the cold. Snowchester had four months of warm weather before being fridged the rest of the year. Six years ago, everyone found the hottest week of the year was the same no matter who you spoke to and to celebrate something altogether they started putting on firework shows. Ranboo had begged Tubbo to sit outside and watch and he thought he’d be fine. With Ranboo to protect him, he was rarely afraid of anything.
Tubbo pulled a strong on his sleeve, “You know it wasn’t the noise, by itself at least,” he scratched his ear, “I love loud noises. I can’t hear quiet things anymore.”
When he saw that first flash in the sky it all came flooding back and his vision tunneled. Every spark was coming right for him ready to fall on his head and set his hair ablaze again. Heat pooled across his skin feeling it melt and slosh off to the ground. He felt exposed and vulnerable as red illuminated the starless sky. For the first time in two years, he swore he could see out of his right eye, and he saw his demise. Over and over again he watched himself die. He grabbed his hair and screamed letting it echo in his ears over the bursts. They had set up a blanket on the roof of their home. If not for Ranboo holding his small waist letting him curl and cower into his tall frame Tubbo would have jumped. He felt it in his bones he would have gone out on his own terms because he’d gone out on everyone else’s so far.
“Lights too bright?” Ranboo cocked his head to the side, “I can fix that,” he gently coaxed Tubbo’s hands out of his baggy shirt to hold them.
Tubbo squeezed Ranboo’s hands, they were always so cold. His hands were dwarfed in comparison, Tubbo knows they’d never seen bloodshed. He wondered what it was like to not lose a piece of yourself to others' violence. To not get swept up in others' regrets as they clung to morals that never meant much in the end. Not enough to destroy nations and livelihoods. Tubbo wanted to get lost in Ranboo’s world it wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe. He squeezed Ranboo’s hands gently with his black tainted ground down claws.
“I was executed Ranboo,” Tubbo felt his heartbeat stutter, “In front of everyone in L’manburg during a festival.”
Silence.
Looking over at Ranboo his eyes were glassy water collecting in the corners Tubbo wiped them gently. There was no sense in him crying over something that happened long before they met. Nothing he could change now it was written in stone, but Ranboo made the past bearable.
“A firework was shot directly at me, I had nowhere to run labeled a traitor. The impact killed me, and I didn’t revive quite right. With no one to heal my wounds while I was returning. I was thrown to the side a causality really.”
Ranboo squeezed Tubbo’s hands tighter his eyes no longer held tears, but something strong, steely. Anger, it was a rare look for the soft enderman hybrid he could find the good in a nuke.
“Who was it?” Ranboo’s voice sounded strained a sound Tubbo had never heard before, it made him nervous. He was never nervous around Ranboo.
Tubbo couldn’t look at the man shaking gently hoping Ranboo wouldn’t notice. This is all he wanted, to tell his husband to get him away from the piglin hybrid, but Tubbo knew. He knew how much Rnaboo enjoyed the others' company, who was he to take away his husband’s happiness? He was his father.
“I-I-I,” Tubbo babbled.
“Tubbo,” Ranboo shifted from his spot kneeling on the floor holding Tubbo’s shoulders firmly.
Tubbo’s good eye connected with Ranboo’s beautiful gaze his green and red eyes had a fire lit behind them making them shine.
“I can’t tell you,” Tubbo’s throat felt dry and scratched.
“You can tell me anything,” Ranboo promised.
Tubbo opened his mouth again shocked that nothing came out. This was the moment he was waiting for, he never shut up about what a terrible influence Technoblade was. Why couldn’t he drive the final nail into the coffin?
“If I say then I’m no better than Schlatt,” Tubbo turned his face from Ranboo.
“Who?”
Tubbo flinched, “Oh yea, that’s my dad.”
“I’ve never heard you use his name.”
“But you’ve heard everyone talk about how awful he was,” Tubbo was sure of it.
“Y-yea,” Ranboo stuttered.
“He manipulated just about everyone, Me, Quakity,” Tubbo’s throat hurt as he forced his voice not to waiver, “ Technoblade was manipulated into killing me.”
Daring to glance at his husband Tubbo was met with a shocked expression. Ranboo’s eyes were clouded again with tears dropping silently against his cheeks leaving red thin trails that would take weeks to heal. His Adams apple bobbed gently over and over Tubbo was afraid he was choking back on his words.
In a desperate attempt to comfort the lanky enderman hybrid Tubbo took his clawed hands in his again a physical comfort.
“Boo,” Tubbo frowned hiding behind his long bangs, “I’m sorry, really I- it wasn’t his fault.”
“You don’t think that,” Ranboo’s voice was raspy, “You always ask me to stop hanging out with him. You’re mad at him.”
“No,” Tubbo hurried, “Techno was a good friend of mine, I’m not mad, I’m. I’m afraid.”
The thought of the large piglin hybrid alone sent a chill down Tubbo’s spine.
“I’m afraid of what he could take from me again. I’m afraid of what he thinks after that day.” Tubbo pulled his hands back fidgeting.
The silence was ringing in Tubbo’s ears. He just wanted Ranboo to say something.
“This,” Ranboo started his voice too loud suddenly, “This probably doesn’t mean much, but he asks about you.”
Tubbo felt his lungs seize his good ear straining to listen.
“He asks about your injuries, how you’re healing if you’re in pain. He’s upped the strength of several health potions and tested them before letting me bring them home. He asks if you need anything. I think in a weird way, he’s sorry.” Ranboo’s voice was soft, and it sounded like Tubbo was underwater.
“Really?” Tubbo’s voice cracked.
Ranboo nodded.
Tubbo felt his lip quiver and knew there was no way to stop the flow of tears that mimicked his husband. To finally talk about the day he died the pain of losing more than his life, but the comfort of a friend. To be afraid of Ranboo suffering a similar fate or being told Tubbo was nothing but a kid pretending they knew how to run a nation. He knows what he became on accident a dictator bred with fear of losing everything by his father. The man also lived in crippling fear of an uprising. Tubbo knew that seeing Techno again would feel like a hot iron to his skin, it would be terrifying. Even with Ranboo beside him, it would take everything for him not to collapse at the feet of his executioner. Yet Ranboo stood beside that man every day, and if he wasn’t safe Ranboo would keep him far away. He would never tell Tubbo he thought the man had remorse if he didn’t believe it to be true.
Tubbo lunged forward knocking Ranboo back against the hardwood as he landed on top of him burying his face into his suit collar as he cried.
“Baby steps,” Ranboo rubbed Tubbo’s back, “Right now let’s get you another health potion.”
Tubbo nodded feeling the pain in his arm, but it didn’t sting as bad as before.
#dsmp writing#dsmp fic#au#tubbo mcyt#ranboo#clingy duo#writing#fan fic blog#fan fic author#update#i literally released this the day after they talked about scars#ender mirror#enderwalk state#bee duo
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