a/n i've been sitting on this lil blurb for a while and wanted to make it into something bigger but it never worked </3 so here's to what could've been
imagine technoblade casually flirting with you
you, philza, and technoblade had intercepted a pillager outposts raid plans and managed to get to the large trading village a week before they intended to raid it, offering help in building a wall and training the men who volunteered to fight.
as you and technoblade milled about, supervising the training men, you questioned, “no wall work today?”
“not for me, at least,” techno grumbled quietly. “’was gettin’ tired of all the attention.”
you let out a laugh at that. it was no secret that all eyes of the village women were on your strong friend--especially when he had discarded his shirt yesterday, and suddenly they all had lemonade and refreshments to offer him.
“yeah? i mean, i get it. there were a lot of eyes on you at all times.” you spared a glance around and corrected yourself, “are a lot of eyes on you.” the hybrid didn’t even bother looking around, just shrugging at you. “sorry. it’s gotta be annoying that you can’t avoid it.”
he just shrugged again. “yeah. but it’s only a few days. and they don’t approach me as much when i’m around you.”
you turned your eyes back to your friend with amusement. “they don’t?”
technoblade simply returned your amused gaze. “has anyone come up to me since i’ve been with you this morning?”
you let out a snicker. “i guess not. does that make me your scary, unapproachable dog?”
he let out a laugh at that and shook his head. “no. i think it makes you the one thing they know they can’t compete with.” he smirked when your jaw fell open in the slightest. red began to flush your cheeks, and you were just about to say something when one of the village leaders called out to you. you stuttered over words for a moment before giving techno a long look and stalking off toward the leader. he snickered when you were gone.
he'd never admit it, but flustering you was a past time that would always amuse him, no matter the situation.
Summary: Yandere!Technoblade. Fake gods are worshiped with wine and flowers; real gods require blood.
Need to Know: They/Them. Yandere!Technoblade / Enabler!Reader. established relationship. DARKFIC & LIGHT SMUT PLEASE READ WARNINGS VERY CAREFULLY !!
A/N: 2755 words. hey holy shit read the warnings i mean it. this really isn't for everyone. but anyways i started this months ago lol and it makes me feel some type of way. probably OOC as all fuck. if you do end up reading this, 1. is it coherent? 2. is it any good? :/
Warnings: Romanticisation/Rationalisation of Yandere Behaviour; NON-GRAPHIC SMUT (no genitals specified), GRAPHIC KNIFE-PLAY BLOOD-PLAY AND PAIN-PLAY, SEMI-VIOLENT BODY WORSHIP?? OBJECTIFICATION. Violence. Scarification. Bondage. Mutual Obsession. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Citrus Scale: ❤️ GRAPEFRUIT ❤️
{ yandere!dsmp masterpost }
He gets antsy in isolation; the voices are hungry, and fresh bruises will never compare to cherry-red blood on the snow, on his hands, like wine the way you'd seen him savour it before the regret flashes across his face. Blood for the Blood God cheered like the fleeting high was worth the exhaustion the whole ordeal brought with it. You'd seen it time and again; violence simply for violence sake was tiring. It's been a long time since he'd felt like killing for anything or anyone that wasn't you, and since you're by his side in the tundra, there was little reason for him to jump to violence, or at least, violence you didn't relish in.
Because you basked in reminders of his power, finesse, how easily he could wreak devastation, and there was something thrilling about when he turned those skills upon you, knowing he loved you too much to break you beyond repair. But there was also something intoxicating when he almost would, when he'd spend days lavishing praise upon you as he cared for you, tended to the wounds he'd inflicted, nursed you back to health.
In the split second after he'd land a hit while sparring, and he's breathing heavy, eyes wild, and the pain hasn't hit you yet, you see the way his eyes light up. This time it had been a deep gash in your cheek, which had genuinely startled you, and he turns immediately, apologising, saying he lost himself in the moment.
"Don't worry about me," you tell him as he takes your face in his hands, the contact stinging as blood begins to seep from the wounds, "you wouldn't kill me," you assured him, and it's as if he needed to hear the words out loud to believe them, his gaze softening, your hands resting on his hips, "and if you did, we both know you would have your reasons."
"You're so..." but he can't even finish the compliment, syrupy affection in his eyes as he looks at you, still holds your face. He can't find the words in this moment, cant say what you know he's thinking, 'you bleed for me' but you can still hear it. His gaze is endearing as he looks at his own hand on your cheek, before holding it up in the sunlight, your blood shiny and slick on his fingers.
You take his hand in yours, love unspoken but well heard as you softly kiss his knuckles. Carefully, you bring his hand back to your cheek, the stinging wound and the warm, red proof that you were alive. When you pull him in for a kiss, he's holding your face tighter this time, the pressure searing beneath his touch as you kiss him; the tense set of his shoulders had eased, however, and to you, that's all that mattered.
The moment, he tells you later, soothed the voices, at least for the time being. You, stretched out next to him in bed, carefully applying bandaids and ice packs to your more recent training wounds, make a noise of interest.
"I don't like hurting you like that," he admits, voice low, sounding almost remorseful. Instinctively you turn your attention from your bandage application, to him, curling an arm over his chest, resting your chin on his shoulder.
"Like what?" Because he's not one for admitting remorse, especially not about something like this; you've got well cared for scars to the contrary.
"Like in a way we haven't discussed," it takes him a long moment to find the words, but you know its still not entirely the truth; as if your awareness of the altercation was crucial to his enjoyment of it. He got caught up like this a lot, when injuries were accidents. The problem was that it wasn't his intention, it wasn't premeditated; you never minded the lack of warning, he'd had your complete trust for as long as he'd had your heart. You knew what he was capable of, but that he loved you, that's why you trusted him. He, however, knew what he was capable of, and loved you, which is why accidents scared him half to death.
"But it felt good, didn't it? Better than usual," as you say that, he looks to you, sharp and calculating, gaze focused on the patching job he'd done on your cheek earlier, "do you want that? The blood?"
"I don't need it," he says softly, kissing your nose, "I like what we have, I like training with you, you don't-"
"But do you want it?" You ask, reaching up to touch his cheek, your fingertips feather light as you trace where the scar would be on him, and his eyes close for a moment. He leans into your touch.
"The things I crave," he begins, before amending with the faintest smile, "the things other than you, don't matter out here; I'm keeping us safe. The violence for the sake of blood, it's exhausting to keep searching for," he groaned faintly, before adding, "and dangerous," his gaze slides to you, and you know he's not concerned about himself. You, however, held his face for a long moment.
"And what of blood without violence?" You ask softly; he goes very still, breath caught alongside the thought, "Blood for the Blood God," When you lower your hand to his chest, his eyes open. Dark and thoughtful, there's hesitation there, confusion almost.
"You don't know what you're offering," his tone is like ice water, a shock to your system with how cold it is. There's no warning when he sits up, out of your embrace, leaving you cold and confused, "I'm trying to keep you safe." Accusatory, as if you're in the wrong, as if you should know better.
He leaves before you've even formulated a response, tense and seemingly furious and you have no idea how or why the situation changed so dramatically. It's always hard to try and sleep alone nowadays, but you don't have much of a choice.
Techno comes home still wreathed in the heat and horrible sufler smell of the Nether, sweet words on his lips as he curls into bed beside you. None of them are an actual apology, but he's got a talented hand between your thighs as he tells you he loves you, and it's enough to ease your fretting, half asleep mind for the time being.
It seems safer to leave that topic well enough alone for the time being, but it doesn't leave your mind. The thoughts that begin to haunt you encroach on every part of your life. Intrusive, idle chatter starts up when you're training and the sun glances off his blade and catches your gaze, and won't shut up as you're preparing dinner together, and the chatter roars with approval whenever you so much as get a paper cut. Perhaps this is what it's like to experience the voices that clamour for blood and violence in your love's head, though more and more you're sure it's your mind's way of encouraging you, because there are moments where Techno looks at you, eyes dark with a barely concealed desperation, and all thoughts in your mind go silent.
"Don't look at me like that if you're not going to do anything about it," you teased, catching him in one of those dark, thoughtful moments he was becoming increasingly prone to. Techno, however, is pointedly quiet, averting his gaze, light from the fire making him seem somehow even more dramatic, "you've been trapped in there a lot lately," settling yourself on the sofa beside him, you curl up by him, cheek against his shoulder.
Still, he remains quiet.
The crackle of the fire fills the otherwise silent room, though Techno shifts to wrap his arm around you, pulling you a little closer. You feel when he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
"Wish I could be trapped in here," he mumbles against you, drawing circles on your shoulder with his finger, "figure out how you live like you don't feel fear."
"I have you," you respond with absolute, blunt sincerity.
"What?" It sounds as if he genuinely didn't expect your response.
"I have you," it comes out a murmur, angling your face to his, nose to nose as your gaze locks with his, "why would I ever feel afraid." His pupils are blown so wide with want that you're half afraid you'll get lost in them. He must feel the erratic beating of your heart, must know the thrill you feel in this moment -
"You should fear what I want to do to you when you say things like that," his voice is low and you feel like you could melt at the implications, which was probably not his intention, but you didn't care.
"And yet you don't even do anything," you sighed languidly, eyelashes fluttering as you find your gaze dropping to his lips, "what a tease -" but then there's two fingers in your mouth, effectively shutting you up.
"And if I tore you apart, would that make you happy?" He practically snarls, but you angle your head to make sure he can see the dreamy look in your eyes. After a few moments of intensity, he moves his hand from your jaw, your mouth, to grip your thigh, to pull you closer.
"Is it what you want?" You feel elated, all kinds of heady and fire-warm. This is the precipice, the moment where he yet again understands you truly mean you'd do anything for him, and his hesitation will evaporate -
"More than anything," he admits, as if his honesty had left him breathless, and he kisses you hard before you have time to think. Pulling you into his lap, he takes the opportunity to fist his hand in your hair. When he pulls hard, it's the first of many wonderfully aching, stinging, bruising moments of the night.
And you learn that there is no blood without violence, not for the Blood God...
There's a sharp pain the moment the blade first breaches your skin, metal along your sternum cool before the pain brings with it heat. You try to bite back your yelp, but can't quite manage it. You've been cut before but never so deliberately, not by someone who looks at you like Techno does now. Techno, sitting carefully on your thighs, doesn't seem to acknowledge it; he drags the blade down the centre of your chest with an almost agonising unwaivability, tears springing to your eyes, trying not to squirm, to make the pain worse.
"Techno," you whimper, his name escaping you almost involuntarily, nervously tugging at your wrist bindings above your head. There's something dark and strangely detached in Techno's gaze as he meets yours.
"I'm okay," you murmur unconvincingly, "I- it hurts more than I thought it would is all, I'm sorry I'm-" though for all your babbling you don't even consider asking him to stop. He presses the flat side of the blade to your ribs and reaches out with his free hand to carefully wipe away your tears.
"You're so good," there's something hungry in his eyes, "so good to me... beautiful like this." And something clicks in your brain; you'd do anything to keep him talking to you like that, looking at you like that.
"More- please, again," you choke out, a desperate gasp as pain and pleasure weave together in your mind. Something about the way you've already begun to beg has his breath catching in his throat, an animalistic noise escaping him. Already his self restraint is all but shredded; before you knew he'd hesitate, or check in with you, but now -
"More what?" A demand for an answer. The blade is ice cold and feather light against your skin.
"Blood, please," stutters from your lips as you try to lean up to kiss him. Instead, he keeps one hand firm on your shoulder against the table, wearing a pleased smile as he instead dips to keys you, "my love, make me bleed."
He seems to derive pleasure from the way you whimper against his lips, your faint noises of pain as he carefully carves into the skin of your sternum while kissing you. It's starting small, he tells you, at least for now, having left a simple geometric pattern on your sternum that he admires as he fucks you. He lavishes you with praise, works hard to get you off but leaves you a bloody mess until well after the afterglow has faded.
When he tells you it will leave a beautiful scar, something inside you lights up with joy, with love.
"I can take more, I -" already you're babbling, offering. He hasn't untied you; the ache of your bound wrists is comfortingly familiar as you allow yourself to be taken care of.
"Don't," Technoblade warns you firmly, looking up from where he's cleaning and dressing the wounds. Even so, he seems calmer and steadier than he's been in a long while, as if granted a brief moment of mental peace after what had just occurred.
"You keep offering something very dangerous, but maybe your naivete is part of why I find you so precious," he pauses for a long moment before leaning in to press a kiss to the edge of the bloody pattern he was responsible for. A thin line of your blood shines by the corner of his mouth as he pulls back and smirks up at you. You're desperate to kiss him, but you knew it would interrupt his care, and you'd probably remain restrained past the point of it being enjoyable.
"Did it help?"
He is quiet for a long moment after your question. Finally, he spoke.
"How much did it hurt?"
"What?"
"Tell me how much it hurt," there was an unexpected dark edge to his voice now, something pleased and almost smug. He's holding bandages but his hands have stilled, "when you begged me to carve into you like that," it's that hunger again, the same you'd seen the moment you'd winced and gasped and squirmed once he'd finally put the blade down in favour of admiring his work, now free hand between your thighs.
Now he's just... admiring you, bound, marked, still comfortable at his mercy. Looking at the angry red lines in your skin, he can see the blood slowly seeping from them, his personal form of art. Carefully, you wet your lips, shifting the barest amount against the still bloodstained linens.
"It was awful," you murmur honestly, "it still is kind of unbearable, more than I expected." He blinks slowly, hands still hovering inches away from your torso. He hears it, you know he hears it, the way you speak so carefully about the pain without a hint of negativity. He's a sudden rush of movement, kissing you with newfound intensity, one hand coming to cup your face while the other he presses flat against the still fresh wound.
"I could kill you, you silly, porcelain thing," he groans, as if turned on by the very idea he's warning you about.
"Could you?" A breathless, wanton gasp escapes you, and it turns to a pained whimper as he presses against the wounds more insistently, which he echoes with a pleased noise of his own, "please, I need you to -"
For the first time in a long time the voices seem sated. They've had their fill of violence, of blood, of you, they're practically sick with how they've gorged themselves on all you've offered for them. But Techno himself? He loves to know just how much it hurts, and loves to make you beg for it nonetheless. He loves knowing how far you'll let him go, how much you'll endure and still ask for more. He loves the proof of your devotion. He will never get enough.
And you?
You want to wear the scars like the proof of your love for him, with pride. You now understand and appreciate the pain he's inflicted on others in your honour. You relish in knowing you can satisfy all he craves in a way that no-one else ever would.
But mostly, you crave those moments, the bloody handprints he leaves on your thighs, the gentle way he caresses the ice cold blade against your skin, and the look in his eyes as you whimper, like you're the only thing in the world that has ever mattered.
Could you possibly do c!Wilbur or c!Technoblade helping reader though a panic/anxiety attack?
yes ofc! thank you for the request!
{Calmness in the Rough} c!Technoblade x Reader
pronouns: not mentioned
word count: 549
trigger warnings: anxiety attacks
regular masterlist
taglist
"I can't do it, I can't do it!" You paced around the room, your hands in your hair, slightly pulling at the base.
The war was approaching and you were finally going to reveal yourself as Technoblade's spy. You were apart from L'Manberg after the first war for independence, but when Technoblade offered you payment, freedom, a safe place, and eventually love, there was no way you could say no.
Technoblade was planning on in two day's time to make his attack with Phil and leave L'Manberg in shambles. All because you were on the inside and getting all the information.
"I heard you yelling and came as fast as I could!" Techno swung the door open from outside. "What's the matter?"
You couldn't tell him what you were feeling because you simply needed to breathe, but the more you breathed, the harder it was. Every breath became shorter and you were starting to feel light headed.
"Let's sit down," Techno put his arm around your back and slowly walked you to the couch. He sat next to you and rubbed your back with one hand and with his other holding yours. "Take your time... take your time."
You hated feeling this weak, especially in front of your all-powerful boyfriend. Once you caught your breath you looked at him, tears threatening to fall, "I can't betray them. They can't know it was me."
"Is this about the war?" Techno asked. "y/n, you already betrayed them. You chose my side and by doing so, lighting up my life. This, this right here, us, this is more than just a war. It's not because you don't want them to know that you're with me right?"
You shook your head, "I promise that it has nothing to do with you. Those people trusted me, they told me things that only they knew and I promised them not to tell anyone. And now they're gonna all kn-"
You couldn't finish your sentence due to another rush of emotions that caused you to bend over. You grabbed at your heart, feeling it absolutely shatter into pieces.
"Hey now," Techno took his hand back from you and devoured you into a hug. He gently rested his head on your shoulder blades, his hair fell in front of you, "Take a break. We can talk about this later. I don't care about the war, I don't care about what's gonna happen after, I don't care about their feelings. I only care about you, y/n. My first priority is making sure that you are happy, and you do not look happy right now. How can I help?"
You sat up and turned yourself for that you were sitting in his lap. These moments were very rare, even without the anxiety attack. Technoblade wasn't one to show his softer side, so you were surprised when he pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled your head into his neck.
His scent was calming to you, like some sort of drug. You felt yourself relaxing with every stroke he made down your hair to the bottom of your spine, "You are gonna be just fine..."
You nodded, "I'll still have friends right?"
He shrugged, "I don't know for sure, but you'll always have me and Phil, always."
requested by anon “Can you do something fluffy with the SBI where Reader moves in next door to them? Thanks if you do, make sure you take care of yourself!”
imagine moving in next door to the sbi
“is our neighbor on the roof right now..?”
wilbur and technoblade looked up from the television when tommy spoke the skeptical words. the younger boy was on is tiptoes staring out of the window toward the house next door, which had been unoccupied for as long as they could remember until a couple of days ago. the twins connected eyes, and technoblade shrugged. they both stood and stalked over to their brother.
by then, tommy had wrenched it open by standing on the chair under it. the gentle, familiar strum of a guitar pierced the quiet night air. the boys all gazed curiously upon the silhouette they could barely pick out through the darkness.
“hey!” tommy called into the night. technoblade gave him a disapproving look, and wilbur a more amused one, as the guitar picking came to a halt. tommy continued, “you good?”
the shadow held up a thumbs up and an unfamiliar voice yelled back, “im in my feels!”
tommy let out a loud laugh as wilbur snorted. “i like your guitar playing!” tommy called out again, grin wider on his face.
“thank you!” the neighbor called back, a laugh evident in their voice.
“my brother plays the guitar!” tommy continued, hands now cupped around his mouth. technoblade pinched the bridge of his nose in feigned annoyance while wilbur continued to crack up at the younger boy’s boldness.
“tell your brother he’s cool!”
“hey, wil,” tommy spoke, his voice returning to a normal volume for a moment as he turned to his older brother. “you’re cool.”
wilbur snickered, “thanks, bro.”
tommy nodded before turning to the window again. “he says thank you!”
“no problem!”
tommy snickered to himself and the boys heard them chuckle, as well. “i’ll leave you alone now! sorry about your feels!”
before tommy could close the window, returning the disconnect between them and their new neighbor, technoblade called out, “sorry.”
im ending my writing prompts,, feel free to rq before they’re gone
imagine trying to coax technoblade to bed
“darlin’, im trying to focus,” technoblade sighed when you wrapped your warm arms around his strong shoulders, resting your cheek against to top of his head, looking down at his neat handwriting within the leather bound journal. despite his complaint, the larger man leaned into your tired embrace.
“and im trying to go to sleep,” you muttered.
technoblade sighed again, humming when your hands rubbed over his chest and brushed his hair behind his shoulders. you began to play with his silky locks as his eyes closed.
“your hands are cold,” he noted when your fingers brushed over the back of his neck.
“i know, it’s unbearable,” you murmured. “maybe you should come warm up the bed.”
he reveled when your nose nuzzled into his hair, but answered anyway, “im almost done, darlin’. can you wait a little longer?” you whined against his pink locks, and he couldn’t help but smile at your adorable impatience. “you really can’t sleep without me there?”
“no,” you hummed. “too cold, too.. unloved.” you giggled at your own words as technoblade shook his head.
“unloved?” he repeated with a chuckle, his chest rumbling under your hands. “that’s a little dramatic, don’t ya think?”
you made a considering noise, drawing yourself away from your boyfriend as he finally stood from his desk. “im not too sure about that.” he turned and shook his head at you. his eyes were undoubtedly tired as they bore into your own, his hands wrapping around your waist as you settled your own back on his chest. “maybe you should come make it up to me.”
he nodded, pulling your cold body closer to his warmer one. “only you could drag me away from my work because the bed was too cold.” you shrugged, obviously proud of yourself. “you’re special, huh?” instead of answering, you slipped your hands into his and finally pulled your lover back to bed.
requested by anon “can i request a prompt 56 with c!techno where maybe the reader got seriously injured and is dying and in the midst of techno trying to do anything and everything to save them, the reader is just content that they were able to be with techno for the time that they were able to. and no pressure but maybe royalty au as well? i also love your work hiii”
warning detailed mentions of blood, injury, fighting, gore, and death
im ending my writing prompts,, feel free to rq before they’re gone
imagine losing a canon life in front of technoblade
technoblade reveled in the feeling of victory; you both had managed to fight a hoard of pillagers who were trying to move in a little too close to his territory, and you took them down within the hour. it was nearly twenty to two, and yet you two were victorious. he turned to share his pride with you, but technoblade’s grin fell when he saw you coughing.
your chestplate had cracked at your side, where an arrow had buried into your flesh. you coughed again and technoblade watched as blood dribbled from your lips and slipped down your chin. your tired eyes flicked up to him just as your weak knees crumbled beneath you. he surged forward immediately.
you stabilized yourself with your hands, holding your body from the ground as another splatter of blood split from your lungs. technoblade immediately dropped to your level, catching your arms when your elbows began to wobble. you let out a harsh cough as he held you closer to him.
“tech..,” you rasped out when he finally laid you flat on your back, beginning to unstrap your chestplate from your weak body.
“don’t speak,” he spoke quickly as he fumbled with the leather straps that held the strong diamond together. god, he had told you to wear netherite.. would it had made a difference if you had listened? “your lung’s gotta be pierced.. if you talk you’re gonna bleed out.”
but you both knew the truth. you were going to bleed out anyway, judging from the deep gash that had deteriorated your chestplate in the first place.
you coughed again, deep red once again gurgling from your throat. but once the fit of breath stopped, he was chilled by how serene your expression was. he had already stripped off his chestplate, ripping his shirt off to tie around your bleeding abdomen. he glanced back up at the beauty that was your face, only to see your eyes beginning to droop.
“hey, none of that,” he spoke sternly, flicking at your cheek. your eyes opened to look at him again, and he could’ve cried from the sight of your tired eyes. so tired, that it seemed you might fall asleep. but he was worried that you might not wake up this time. “stick with me, okay? it’s not far back to my house.”
“do you remember when we first met?” you spoke quietly instead. he looked down when you scarily steady hand found his atop your stomach. when his eyes met yours again, you continued, “one of the first questions you asked me was how many canon lives i had.”
technoblade shifted so he was squeezing your hand as he recalled the distant memory. “we were in the middle of a battle, i-”
“i know,” you hummed. “but i still have another left after this one, techno. you need to remember that.”
he shook his head at you. “that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“i know,” you repeated, your other hand coming to rest on his pale cheek. your fingers felt like ice on his skin, but your touch was as comforting as ever. “im just glad i got to spend this one with you.” you began to cough again, and in seconds, your body disappeared.
