DSMP x Reader || Oneshots

Achilles - Technoblade

^Twitter: Surintaro1
^^Instagram: Surintaro

Type: Angst/ Hurt

Trigger Warnings-
Blood
Animals Dying
Mention of a corpse (goes into detail
Disrespect of said corpse
Stabbings/ Killings

[ (H/n) - Horse's Name ]
—

You had been walking for nine days now. It was almost therapeutic, with your aching feet trudging through the snowy plains. The sound of his netherite armor clinking on his horse's saddle beside you. Your own horse snuffling and shifting under added weight. And the lovely quiet of the carcass behind you.

No one had said a word at your late arrival. Everyone was too busy waging war on each other to notice you had slipped by. You had brought Carl with you that morning, seeing as Techno had taken (H/n). He promised you he'd be safe, he'd lead the soldiers to the battle you never wanted to take part in.

The two of you would always talk about your lives after the war, he'd speak of tending to the fields: Just mindless work to keep him busy. You told him about starting a bakery together one night under the stars. He hadn't laughed at your claims and instead indulged your wishful thinking. Truth be told, a tragic life you both led was never meant to end in joy.

He had tried to distract you from the dark clouds anyways. A man who was born in war doing anything to prevent the cold hands of the world from the one thing that brought him happiness. An ever growing pack of wolves, simple farmer lives, beekeeping for gods sake- he did it for you. It had worked for a small while: you almost managed to forget you were soldiers.

But when you awoke to find his armor missing, and your horse gone you knew he'd fallen back into death's grasp. You gave almost no time to think before grabbing your own set of Netherite and weapons, and Carl's saddle. Barely a days journey it took before you saw the hellfire of arrows flying and swords clashing together.

A masked man covered in enchanted armor was busy fighting a familiar form. They seemed in their own world, sword and axe dancing like twin flames. As Techno dodged an axe swipe, an arrow was there to meet him. The masked general, Dream, gave no room for error and was relentless in his attacks.

Still, Techno dodged them: Firing back with his own bow and stabbing quickly at the armors weak points. They moved quickly and you urged his steed to run faster. You knew Techno, as fast and strong as he was, he relied too much on brute strength than lithe movements like Dream. As the general managed to pierce through Techno's shoulder a horrible gut feeling nestled into your stomach. The fight wouldn't last much longer.

The very second Carl reached the top of the hill, the battle around you was drowned out. You watched almost as if seconds were minutes Dream's axe carved open Techno's neck. It was a clean cut, the blood that seeped out was instantaneous and he didn't have any time to cry out. Maybe it was because his vocal chords were slit in half, or maybe it was the fact he was already on the floor. It was all blurry, tears flooded your vision as you ran down to the scene. You couldn't register your own screams or how you had alerted the very general before you of your presence.

You gingerly held Techno's body in your lap, bracing his shoulders against your arms. No movement came from the man before you, and when the wind gently blew past giving the illusion of life, you began to sob. You stripped the Netherite cuirass off of him carefully, avoiding damaging his frail body at all costs. The shirt he had worn was sopping wet with blood: his blood. Something you prayed to never see was now your reality in the middle of a field.

Suddenly the only noise on the stilled battlefield was overshadowed with cackles. The cursed general loosened his grip on the bloody axe, clutching his wounded side and shaking with laughter.

It was insulting: as you stared down the blonde devil behind you. His body, even after dragging it through the dirt nonstop was pristine. His freckled skin held no blemishes, the cuts and scars from the battle healed. The ropes shackled around his feet covered in grime and frayed at the edges.

You had killed him quickly, he was still reeling from victory of killing his rival when you plunged you're dead lover's sword straight through his throat. The after thoughts haunted you, he should've suffered longer for killing him. You should've stabbed him slow and carefully: taking a turtle pace in every precise incision. But in the end, they both still would be dead.

A familiar house was spotted along the horizon, smoke still billowing out of the chimney. A barn resided next to it, with soft golden light shining through the panes. Wolves howled in the distance and you urged the steeds forward. The familiar fence walls almost made you burst into tears once more. Months, it felt like, since you had last felt the comfort of your home.

You grabbed a dagger from one of (H/n)'s sheaths and cut off the rope that tied Dream's body. He couldn't come into your sanctuary. His body, even in death was not permitted to taint the joyful memories. You brought two of your frozen fingers to your mouth and whistled towards the trees. More howls had answered you and soon the dogs came running.

You were glad there was be a fresh fall of snow later that night to hide the bloodshed.

You brought both horses to their stable and unlatched the woolen clasps holding your love's body to (H/n). With both arms gently tucked under his armpits you lifted him up the stairs into the main room. You laid him on the couch and immediately started to comb your fingers through his hair.

The old blood and long ride home had tangled the lovely pink strands, you worked diligently and handled him like a cracked vase. After an hour, he was in a fresh blouse, dress pants, and his hair was neatly braided. He shown no disturbance, save for the giant patch of bandage wrap around his neck. To the passing eye, he would be sleeping.

You stumbled to the dining room and turned off the lights, closing your eyes before letting anymore tears escape. You would bury him tomorrow, maybe under the tree you two sat under when the Arctic nights weren't as cold. The grief settled deep into your heart and you sat down at your usual chair at the dinner table.

The wolves howled after their feast, and as you looked at a couple pieces of scrap paper you thought to yourself:

Phil might want to know of his son's death.

-