#techno fluff

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

Technoblade was just a man trying to get through life. He never wanted to be apart of the everlasting wars throughout the terrain. Getting dragged into them was another thing that ended up fueling desire in him, deep down he hated it, but it just became something, like a part of who he was. An anarchist who was out for blood.

But with you he was a completely different person. Sweet, caring, though he still tried hiding that about him. You knew whenever something was wrong or off. It would automatically click in your head. The way it did right now, he was an awfully quiet man. Usually keeping to himself, unless spoken to or something important was needed said.

You never knew what he wanted unless he specifically directed it to you. He had many ways of doing this.

Techno's eyes scanned across his home, the very one he built with the help of his then bestfriend, now partner.

He was exhausted, the battle of earlier had left him like no other had done. It was almost shocking to him, but it would take something greater to even cause him to flinch. All he was, was an exhausted man who seeked nothing more than solace and solitude with the person he loved.

His axe dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The sound made you jump but you knew who it was.

His heavy footsteps, made their way into the room occupied by you. In there he saw his most favorite person in the world, reading a book on the couch. Your eyes instantly dropped onto him, your soft smile flatered once you'd seen his bloody condition. But before you could say,

"It's not mine." He said plainly.

Your eyes scanned his face," Well no, but those bruises and gashes are." You say.

You sighed and got to him, leading him to your bedroom. You pushed him to sit over on the bed, you then headed over to the chests in your closet, pulling out a first aid sewing kit.

"Your friend Ranboo came and asked for pots, so this will have to do for now. At least until he comes back tomorrow."

You say gently. Techno only nods his head, anticipating the pain of the needle. You slowly cleaned the areas most likely to get infected, a small dab of a alchohol dipped cotton ball would do it. You grabbed the needle and sutures, you got only to his face and began to thread the gash back together.

Techno flinched, causing you to almost drop the needle.

"I know, I'm sorry. We just don't want it to get infected okay?" You say softly, he gave a sound of affirmation.

You'd thrown in all of his clothes into a trough of boiling water, that you'd let soak overnight. Waiting for Techno to get out of the bathroom, you throw away blood soaked cloths, the ones you used to clean him up. You cleaned up as much as you could, thanking that the bed wasn't drenched in blood.

When he comes out he's dressed in a button up, and a pair of loose pants. You walked over to him and hugged him, relief setting over you, finding that he was still okay. He wrapped his arms around your form.

"Come on, it's getting late." You say as you'd both let go of each other. You blew out a torch and the only light was the one from the hallway and the moonlight from the window.

Techno made his way to the bed, pushing the covers down to accommodate himself. You followed, laying down right beside him.

"Techno!" You shout as you drop to the ground in front of him, cupping his cold cheeks in your just as cold hands "Are you okay?"

You begin to brush the snow off his shoulders as he opens his eyes. He looks at you, his eyes widened. He didn't say anything.

"Techno? You can talk to me." You say, visibly worried.

"I just-" Techno cuts himself off, letting out a sigh of frustration. You sit there patiently, waiting for his response.

He looks into your eyes, seemingly deep in thought.

You place your hand on his. "I'm here for you Techno." As if these words triggered something in his head, he cups your face in his hands, taking a deep breath in. He kisses you. His lips are harsh but smooth on yours. He quickly pulls away, almost like he just realised what he had done. You sit there in shock, trying to process what just happened.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know wh-" He stutters, pushing himself up from the ground. You grab his wrist and shake your head frantically, unable to form words. He stops and stares at you until you, red as a tomato, pull him in for another kiss. If the first one wasn't already amazing, this one was heavenly. You felt as if you could melt into the snow below you as warm butterflies swarm your belly. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you deeper into the kiss.

And you had resigned yourself to an equally not fun dinner, a poor excuse of a sandwich, and bathed in not-quite-warm water. Inside, you knew you didn't deserve to kind of punish yourself, but you couldn't be bothered to try to comfort yourself either. You just needed to do the things you needed to do.

And sleep was the last thing you had to worry about.

Your boyfriend, in all of his murder-inclined reputation, hadn't even gotten home until the night was well underway. You figured it to be a fair deal.

Your eyes, though closed, heard him wander in your shared home, probably setting his robes and his weapons down on the table or their respective places, it was always a fifty-fifty shot with him, pausing to look at whatever you brought home this time.

(It'd been a book about mushrooms, a lot of the pages that had the mushroom's picture was accompanied by a short poem. You'd tucked it into your bag, a fond smile on your face when you thought about showing it to Techno.)

And when he finally nudged the door open to your bedroom, you still didn't open your eyes, feeling the thud of his feet against the floor, moving from the doorway to the closet. Hearing the clothes being pulled off of his, most likely sweaty or very heated, body and then hearing them be tossed into the hamper by the door. Cloth slides against skin and you hear his bare feet walk across the floor before you feel the dip in the mattress and hear the groan it sounds out while he gets comfortable.

It was nice, feeling his very warm body in the coldest room in the house, a painfully thin sheet covering you gives you little heat. He pulls you into his arms, tucking his chin into your neck and breathing out heavy. "You okay, honey?"

You time your breath with his, breathing deep and feeling yourself melt into him. "Long day."

He hums, and says sorry, offers you a beat of silence to elaborate but when you continue your deep breaths, he presses a kiss to your head, rubbing a large, warm hand over your stomach in wide circles. "Okay," he breathes out, "goodnight then, I got breakfast tomorrow." You smile to the ceiling, and it's the last thing on your mind before you're lured to sleep with promise of rest and warmth, and perhaps your warrior of a boyfriend in the only apron in the house, daisies covering the front.