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kybercrystals94 · 7 months

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Just Sit With Me

By KyberCrystals94

Read on AO3 here!

Whumptober 2023|Day 4|Prompt 4: “Are you in there?”

Bad Things Happen Bingo|Prompt: Hurts to Breathe

Rating: G

Words: 793

Summary: After another fight with the regs, young Crosshair just wants a few moments alone. But sitting with a brother might be good too.

The supply closet door slides open, casting white light against abstract shadows. Crosshair winces, pressing himself further into the corner, knees against his chest, arms hugged around his shins.

“Crosshair, are you in there?”

The sniper in training holds his breath, hoping that Tech will not investigate the small room further and leave him in peace. But when does Tech ever leave well enough alone?

“I should say that was a rhetorical question,” Tech continues in his frustratingly informative voice. “I saw your heat signature through the door.”

“Then why’d you ask?” Crosshair growls.

“Force of habit,” Tech replies easily, unaffected by Crosshair’s less than friendly tone. He shifts topics. “Hunter is worried about you.”

“Hunter needs a new hobby,” Crosshair retorts. “He’s worse than a mother tooka.”

“As though you have any experience with tookas. Maternal or otherwise.”

“Are you here just to annoy me, or do you have an actual purpose.”

“Well,” Tech says stiffly after a weighted pause, “Seeing that you are in no immediate danger of harm, I will leave you to your sulking,”

Crosshair curses under his breath. “Tech, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Can you just sit with me for a while?”

His brother hesitates, and Crosshair knows that he has not earned the right for Tech to honor his request. However, Tech has never been one to hold a grudge.

“I suppose,” he says predictably, and Crosshair hides a grin.

“I don’t want to talk about what happened.”

“Of course not, but Hunter will.”

“Thank the force you’re not Hunter then.”

Tech settles down next to Crosshair, mimicking his drawn knees and wrapped arms. “This isn’t very comfortable. I wish you had chosen a roomier hiding place.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“I hope there isn’t a next time.”

“We both know there will be.”

“Yes, but I can hope.”

“Hmm.”

“What did the regs say this time?” Tech asks.

“I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I never said I wouldn’t ask,” Tech says. “I simply acknowledged your reluctance.”

“Whatever. I’m not answering your question.”

Tech sighs. “I suppose we are at an impasse.”

“Suppose so,” Crosshair agrees.

“At least tell me this,” Tech says after another long moment of stillness, “are you injured in any way?”

Crosshair replies brusquely, “Bruised ribs. Not cracked or broken.”

“I’m hardly going to allow you to be the judge of that. When we return to our barracks, I am going to give you a full medical scan.”

Crosshair scoffs but doesn’t argue.

Tech, satisfied that he has exhausted all methods of retrieving information from his brother, falls quiet, staring around the supply closet with interest. There are cleaning instruments and solutions, broken droids and spare droid parts, and a few other miscellaneous objects that Crosshair doesn’t have a clue or care what they are.

Crosshair leans his head against the wall, noticing out the corner of his eye that Tech does the same. He smirks and shakes his head.

“What?” Tech asks, “Is something amusing?”

“Just you,” Crosshair says, nudging Tech in the arm with his elbow.

“Me?” Tech frowns, confused. “What did I do?”

“You’re copying me. The way I’m sitting, the way I put my head back…”

“I am not.”

Tech sounds truly offended, so Crosshair concedes the point with a shrug. “Fine, you’re not. Just coincidence, I guess.”

Tech makes an indignant noise that sounds like a noise Crosshair would make. Crosshair has to look away to hide the full-on smile that stretches his face.

Crosshair heaves a sigh. “I guess we better get back to the barracks before Hunter sends out a search party.”

“At last!” Tech says happily, unfolding himself to stand up and make his way to the door.

They leave the closet for the sterile white hall, falling into step together. Crosshair hugs his arm over his ribs protectively, each blow from the reg cadets engraved in forming bruises. It hurts a little to breathe, but he won’t admit that to Tech hovering beside him.

Tech observes Crosshair for a moment. “You know, if you gave me their CT numbers, I could make their lives most unpleasant without ever leaving our barracks.”

“Example?” Crosshair asks, entertained by the cryptic threat.

“I could put a virus in the shower settings that would make the water absolutely frigid whenever they use them. I don’t think maintenance would be able to figure it out for a couple of rotations if I hid it cleverly enough…which we both know I can, obviously.”

“Tempting,” Crosshair says.

Tech continues his quiet list of fairly harmless retaliatory actions he could take as they walk along, and Crosshair listens, reveling in the fact that his brothers will always be there for him.

No matter what.

#whumptober 2023 #day 4 #prompt 4 #are you in there?#bad things happen bingo #hurts to breathe #the bad batch #star wars #the clone wars #sw tbb #star wars the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #brothers #cadet batch #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fics by kyber

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just-a-silly-little-whumper · 7 months

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Adorn

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

For BTHB: Hurts to Breathe (and gives me my first bingo!!!) Takes places shortly after Pick Your Poison | Toxic.

Rather than engaging in research, Elze'ith tries on some new garments at Lord Denholm's behest.

Contains: Intimate whump, vampire whumper/bloodbag whumpee, captivity/gilded cage, referenced past noncon, manipulation, mind/thought control, minor oxygen deprivation, fainting, historically inaccurate fashion

~~~

There was a servant with Lord Denholm when he came to Elze’ith’s door.

Elze’ith’s brow furrowed in confusion; he almost never interacted with the castle’s staff. Didn’t even know most of their names. All of his efforts to reach out had been soundly rebuked. Yet here the young woman was, with an assortment of clothes neatly stacked and slung over her arm, standing behind Lord Denholm dutifully.

“Good morning, light,” Lord Denholm said, brushing past him into his chambers. Elze’ith didn’t attempt to stop him, just stepped aside to let him and the servant pass. She didn’t even glance at him.

“Good morning, milord,” Elze’ith replied reflexively. He hesitated for a moment. “Might I ask what—”

Lord Denholm cut him off with a raised hand and a smile. “I thought we could take a bit of a break from research today. I know how much you enjoy fashion and beauty, so I wanted to treat you to some of the finer things hidden away in my storeroom.”

“Oh.” Elze’ith did have an eye for such things, and it had been a while since he had a chance to really indulge in the simple joy of experimenting with new clothes. The few garments he could see, from what the servant was laying out on his bed, did look quite nice, and there were many more underneath those that he couldn’t. It could be… maybe not fun, trying things on with Lord Denholm, but pleasant, perhaps. There was even a chance he could find an outfit or two that he liked better than the clothes that Lord Denholm had tailored for him when he had arrived.

So why was he feeling uneasy about all of this?

“Thank you, milord. That is very thoughtful of you,” he said. Regardless of his irrational feelings, he couldn’t be rude.

“It is my pleasure,” Lord Denholm said, seemingly genuinely pleased.

The servant, her task completed, hustled out of the room and closed the door behind her. Elze’ith saw Lord Denholm’s fingers twitch ever so slightly, and heard the sound of the door’s lock click. The unease he was feeling suddenly seemed much more reasonable.

If Lord Denholm noticed Elze’ith’s hesitation, he paid it no mind. He just stepped forward, into Elze’ith’s space, and raised his hands to the collar of Elze’ith’s shirt.

“Here, light. Let me help you get out of this.”

Elze’ith swallowed. “I- I appreciate the gesture, but I should do it myself. It is not proper—”

Lord Denholm chuckled, low and dark. His fingers were already expertly undoing Elze’ith’s buttons, leaving his collarbone exposed. “My light, we are partners, are we not? We have already laid in bed together. There is no need to be shy.”

Elze’ith’s cheeks flushed. He did his best to forget that day, the terrible maelstrom of emotions brought on by his mistake in the alchemy lab. The last thing he wanted was to be seen like that, to be touched like that again. It was bad enough to have to go through it once.

But Lord Denholm wasn’t wrong. It would be rude to turn him down regarding this. And… the door was locked. Even if he did try to protest further, he knew it was futile.

He ducked his head. “Of course, milord.” His voice was made small by resignation and apprehension. But just as before, Lord Denholm didn’t pay his emotions any heed. He just smiled beneficently and kept moving his hands down Elze’ith’s shirt, meticulously undoing every button until Elze’ith’s entire chest was bare.

“You really are beautiful, you know,” Lord Denholm said softly as he trailed a finger down Elze’ith’s chest. Elze’ith shivered at the frigid touch, goosebumps breaking out across his flesh. With his other hand Lord Denholm pulled the shirt off of Elze’ith’s shoulders. It fell away easily.

Like this, Elze’ith felt far more exposed than he perhaps should have. But there was a hungry glint in Lord Denholm’s eyes, and his touch turned possessive as he laid his palm flat against Elze’ith’s sternum.

And then the moment was gone, and Lord Denholm pulled away. He folded Elze’ith’s shirt and placed it over a chair before picking through the pile of clothes the servant had brought.

“I do believe… ah, yes. Here it is.” He pulled out a finely-made corset, almost looking as though it had never been worn. Elze’ith gave it a curious look. Corsets weren’t entirely foreign to him, but they weren’t common in Elven fashion. He had certainly never worn one himself. And while he wasn’t necessarily opposed to it, it wasn’t at all what he had expected.

“A corset, milord?”

“You have such a fine figure,” Lord Denholm said. The flush on Elze’ith’s cheeks only deepened, and Lord Denholm smiled. “I know you’re shy about it, my light, but it’s true. I thought we could experiment with something that could accentuate that wonderful body of yours.”

“I…” The unease in Elze’ith’s chest was growing stronger, rapidly thickening into dread. But how could he say no? He ducked his head, hoping the gesture looked more like thanks and less like discomfort. “Thank you, milord. You flatter me.”

“I only speak the truth.” Lord Denholm stepped forward, the corset open in his hands. “Now, let me help you get this on. From what I hear, it can be a bit tricky to do yourself.”

Part of him wanted to shrug Lord Denholm off, to insist he do it himself, or even reject the corset entirely. Instead, he dutifully raised his arms so Lord Denholm could wrap the garment around his torso. It fit snugly around him, and there was something almost comforting about the pressure of it. There was a brief moment where he thought he might be able to enjoy wearing it.

That moment quickly ended when Lord Denholm circled around to his back. Elze’ith could acutely feel his presence just behind him as he began to loosely lace the garment together. It was slightly unsettling, having Lord Denholm so close, knowing he was just behind him, and not being able to turn around to face him directly. But he had been to enough tailorings to know the importance of keeping his body straight and facing ahead while having something put on, so he forced himself not to crane his head and look at the man behind him.

Lord Denholm hummed under his breath, almost inaudibly. His aura shifted ever so slightly, in a way that Elze’ith couldn’t quite discern. And then he pulled, tugging the lacing of the corset and forcing the garment tight against Elze’ith’s body. The sudden shift made Elze’ith’s breath catch. He suddenly had much less room to breathe, though it wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, at least not yet.

Another sharp tug had him wincing from the tightness against his ribs. He swallowed. “Milord?”

A hand, cold and with a firm grip, landed on his shoulder. “Corsets are meant to help emphasize certain curves and shapes of the body. It may not be the most comfortable, but the end result is tantalizing. Don’t you want to look beautiful for me?”

Elze’ith didn’t think he did. In fact, he almost definitely did not. Not if beauty would earn him more perverse attention from Lord Denholm. Not if it all came at the cost of carving out parts of himself and constricting his very being. But he nodded anyway, because he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. Even if the person dressing him wasn’t his Lord and host and keeper, the door was locked, and Lord Denholm’s grip on his shoulder was firm. There was no escaping this.

“Excellent.” Lord Denholm’s voice was punctuated by yet another pull to the corset’s lacing. He was expecting it, but the tension still made him gasp. The corset was tight and restrictive around his chest. There was definitely less room to breathe now. “Let me help you look beautiful.”

And Lord Denholm continued to tighten the corset, working his way up the lacing. It almost seemed as though Lord Denholm wanted to crush his ribs using just the garment. Each pull to the lacing drew another gasp or hitched breath from Elze’ith’s lungs, and it became harder and harder to inhale again each time. He was beginning to feel a bit faint as the corset grew ever more constricting and breathing became more difficult and more painful. The hand on his shoulder became increasingly reassuring and steadying every moment that passed by, as Elze’ith found himself about ready to buckle under the pressure.

Finally, Lord Denholm removed his hand from Elze’ith’s shoulder to tie off the corset. Elze’ith closed his eyes and tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but his lungs could barely expand with how tightly the corset was bound around him. Even trying hurt, an ache that he knew wouldn’t go away until the corset came off.

He opened his eyes again to Lord Denholm stepping around to face him. Both of his hands came to rest on his waist, trailing up and down his sides almost reverently. The pressure of his fingers was light enough to be barely perceptible. Elze’ith couldn’t help the way he shivered.

“Beautiful,” Lord Denholm said softly. “I knew you would be. You always are, but there is a certain allure to seeing you like this. All done up for me.”

Heat rose to Elze’ith’s face. It might have been a blush, or it might have been the growing lightheadedness. “Thank you, milord.”

“How does it feel?”

He bit his lip. How to answer? “It is… new. I am not used to how tight it is. I… I admit that it is slightly difficult to breathe, but I do not think it is a problem.” He would not let it be a problem. And even if it was, he knew he could not say as much.

Lord Denholm raised a hand to cup Elze’ith’s face. The touch was blessedly cool. His thumb stroked across Elze’ith’s cheek, leaving Elze’ith breathless purely from how intimate the gesture was. “That is normal, my light. I know you can handle it.” He smiled, lowering his voice. “And you look captivating like this, pale and dizzy and faint.”

Before Elze’ith could respond, Lord Denholm swooped in and stole his mouth for a kiss. Elze’ith was able to tamp down on his noise of surprise, but only just. The kiss was tender, and the hand on his waist pulled him slightly closer as though Lord Denholm was desperate to have him near.

And just as quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended. Lord Denholm pulled away entirely, turning back around to look through the pile of clothes once again. Elze’ith was left blinking, dizzy both from the tightness of the corset and the abruptness of what had just happened. Lord Denholm kissing him wasn’t unusual; that wasn’t the main issue. But just before, he had admitted that he liked seeing Elze’ith feeling faint and dizzy and unwell. Had he ever acknowledged that before? Elze’ith had been able to surmise that Lord Denholm might get some pleasure from seeing his pain, but having him admit it was…

Maybe it was just the ever-growing dizziness, but the thought left his grasp before he could fully examine it. He just frowned and swayed slightly in place as Lord Denholm turned back to him, a beautiful purple velvet gown in hand. It seemed to have no neckline or sleeves, and its cascading skirts were inlaid with small silver gems that made the dress sparkle when it caught the light.

“Is everything alright, my light?” Lord Denholm tilted his head, a flicker of what could have been concern crossing his face.

“I- I thought-” Elze’ith shook his head. The motion only made him more dizzy. “Nevermind. It is nothing.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, my light,” Lord Denholm said. Elze’ith almost believed him. “But I won’t push right now. Here, let me help you with your trousers so you can try on this dress.”

Cold, bright fear slammed into Elze’ith. He didn’t want Lord Denholm anywhere near his lower half. Not again. “No, I can-” But Lord Denholm was already kneeling in front of him, his hands on Elze’ith’s waistband. The world seemed to slow as Lord Denholm gently drew his trousers down off his hips. Miraculously, his underclothes remained in place. Elze’ith let out a small sigh of relief as he stepped out of the garment; both the corset and his desire not to show his trepidation kept him from expressing himself any more outwardly than that.

Lord Denholm almost seemed to loom over Elze’ith when he stood. There was a glint to his eyes that stirred Elze’ith’s unease, making it difficult to meet his gaze. Instead, Elze’ith just wordlessly held out his arms so that Lord Denholm could begin helping him into the gown. Lord Denholm hummed a bit as he went, slipping velvet over Elze’ith’s skin and guiding him to step over flowing skirts. Every adjustment of the dress was accompanied by lingering touches that caused goosebumps to break out across Elze’ith’s skin. As Lord Denholm began to finish tying up the dress, Elze’ith found himself focusing on his breathing, shallow as it was, just hoping that once Lord Denholm was done he would stop touching him.

But when Lord Denholm was finally finished, he didn’t pull away. Instead he put his hands on Elze’iths bare shoulders, pulling a shiver from Elze’ith.

“Ideally, this would be worn with gloves, but I think we can forgo those for now, I think,” Lord Denholm said lowly, leaning in next to Elze’ith’s ear. “Even now you look absolutely ravishing. What do you think, light?”

He thought he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He thought he could barely breathe. He thought he wanted to be anywhere but here. And yet… he had to admit he did like the way the dress looked, even if it clung too tightly, even if wearing it meant he couldn’t expand his lungs all the way under the corset. “The gown is certainly beautiful, milord. I do think I rather like it. I just do not know when I would have an occasion to wear it.”

Lord Denholm chuckled darkly. “Well, I’m sure I could come up with something for you. But until then…” One of his hands snaked around to lightly grip Elze’ith’s chin, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Consider this an indulgence, just between the two of us.”

Elze’ith realized that the bite was coming moments before it happened, but that didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. He instinctively tried to gasp, although even that hurt as the corset fought to keep his ribs compressed. A brief flash of disgust and loathing flew through his mind, there and gone in an instant. The world began to spin more and more as Lord Denholm drew away his blood and magic. His eyes started to flutter, his vision beginning to blur and darken, and he found himself losing balance as Lord Denholm pulled away.

The last thing he was aware of was strong arms catching him as he fell into unconsciousness.

#flicker in the dark #silly writes #whump #whump writing #elze'ith sylrel oc #lord soren denholm oc #intimate whump #manipulation #unconsciousness #mind control #hurts to breathe #bthb #bad things happen bingo

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