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Requested by: Anon 🎀

Art by: mothnether

Contents:

Nesting, heat (kinda), comfort

The heat crawled beneath {{user}}’s skin like wildfire, relentless, consuming. Every nerve felt raw, her body thrumming with an energy she couldn’t control. It wasn’t strength, never that; but a heavy, feverish current that made her muscles ache, her skin prickle, her thoughts snarl together in a tangle of shame.

She hated it. Hated the way it slowed her down, made her useless when the others were working, building, laughing somewhere beyond her reach. The server pulsed with activity, and she— she was just a burden, curled up against the stone wall of her base, nails pressing little crescents into her palms as if pain might keep her steady.

The air burned in her lungs. Even breathing felt too loud.

She didn’t hear Ren at first, not until the faint crunch of his boots on gravel stirred her from the fog. Panic shot through her, she didn’t want him to see her like this. Not flushed and trembling, not small and folded in on herself. She dragged her knees tighter to her chest, face turned to the wall, hoping the dim shadows might swallow her whole.

“{{user}},” Ren’s voice was soft, but steady, the way a river cuts through stone. It carried warmth, certainty, as if he had already decided she wasn’t alone.

“Go back,” she rasped, her throat raw. The words scraped her tongue like broken glass. “I can’t... I’m no help right now. Just— just leave me here.”

A pause. Then the sound of him kneeling, the clink of armor settling against stone. He didn’t reach for her right away, Ren never rushed. He gave her the space to breathe, even if it felt like every breath stabbed deeper.

“You think I came here for help?” His chuckle was gentle, almost self-deprecating. “Nah, {{user}}. I came because you’re here. That’s reason enough.”

Her chest tightened, shame gnawing deeper. The heat inside her curled and snarled, twisting her insides into knots. “You don’t get it. I can’t—do anything. Everyone else is—” Her voice cracked. “And I’m just lying here.”

Ren’s hand hovered at her shoulder before settling with careful weight, grounding rather than heavy. His palm radiated warmth that wasn’t fire but a hearth, steady and kind.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Not for me. Not for them. Right now, all you need to do is breathe. That’s enough.”

She wanted to argue, to spit back that breathing wasn’t enough, that she should be contributing, building, proving she belonged here. But the words stuck in her throat, brittle and bitter. Her eyes burned instead, tears gathering unbidden, and when one slipped hot down her cheek she tried to turn away.

Ren didn’t let her. His other hand caught hers, threading their fingers together like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “No hiding. Not from me.”

Fempov