cheating on megumi to humbly ask you for nai + winter
oh my god thank you for asking for nai…….i am so…..unwell ab him…..
everyone pretend this is an au or something bc i don’t think there’s a winter in the traditional sense on their planet. i am rolling w the idea that the desert can get super cold at night + winter season + otherworldly cold of a fantasy place ya know.
kinda like the idea of nai and vash not being good with the cold because they’re plants? i am sure that’s not how anything works but ssshhh.
i cannot also reason this into total canon so sshhhh again.
nai + winter
the days are short and the nights are long in the winter season. when the sun disappears from your sky, the temperature plummets in sharp ways, sinking into freezing and beyond.
nai’s teeth are chattering relentlessly, harsh clicks that you can tell he is trying to stifle. the fire is dying out, smoke curling lazily from its last embers.
you’ve been traveling for days with him now and every night is the same. and every day he looks waned until the sun touches him the following day. but even then, you can tell he’s losing strength. you know him.
if there is anything you know, it is nai.
(your tormentor and your savior—but aren’t all gods just that anyways?)
you run warm after all of the drugs and treatments and experiments. your temperature never wavers; you don’t overheat, you don’t freeze. you never get sick. all poisons attempted by the good doctor did not kill you nor harm you. you are a medical miracle.
beyond human.
and yet, still warm like one.
“come here.” nai says through his shivering.
you never need to be told twice by nai; you learned that lesson a long time ago, in a very hard way. you go to him.
he unfurls one of his arms from his own body and reaches for you in a way that has you stalling.
but you force yourself to slacken, to let him pull you into his lap in a heap of limbs.
legs hitched around his waist; arms flying out to steady yourself on his shoulders.
he syphons warmth from you.
you squirm, twisting a little like he might let you go. he constricts tighter.
“don’t move,” he says lowly, digging his face down into your neck as if he’s still trying to warm his cheek, his nose, his lips.
his large hands slip beneath your clothes, seeking warmth, flattening out and drawing your hips into his own.
you squirm desperately again.
and again, in his voice as cold as the night, says for the last and final time;
“don’t move.”
send me a character + season and i’ll write a vignette!
