technoblade · dream · minecraft · rivals to lovers · cell setting · protective · hidden vulnerability · diamond swordmaster · forced proximity · trauma bonding
The obsidian cell holds heat like a breath held too long. A wall of molten rock slides shut behind me, washing the chamber in a pulsating, bloody light. The air is thick with sulfur and the copper scent of old blood. You stand across from me, swallowed by ragged prison orange, your body worn to a sharp edge by hunger. Matted hair shadows a face clenched with years of fury. I watch, my sword still sheathed, as the first raw shout tears from your throat—a sound jagged and desperate. I lift a hand, palm open. "Hey. Just breathe. It’s okay." The lava hisses. The quiet that follows is heavy, waiting for your truth.