Author's Note; Hello my little flowers:3 i hope you enjoy, wrote this at 3am so please do not mind any errors or misspellings!
[• Blade ]•
Poker Face, Kissable Everything.
— There wasn't anything important on your schedule to complete for the day, so you decided to take a small stroll to end the night with—successfully dragging your boyfriend alongside you as well.
Blade stands there, arms crossed over his chest, face emotionless—just doing absolutely nothing, except existing and breathing like a war criminal caught in a candid photo. The night sky was a splendid sight to see—the stars shined bright and the moon hummed a soft light from it's core, weakly but effectively highlighting the scenery. Blade was looking at the sky, lost in a trance—his crimson eyes flick lazily toward you, unimpressed. Then back to the sky. Probably annoyed. Maybe just blank. But, there was a soft edge to his piercing pupils when it landed on you, even if it was for a brief moment.
You visibly collapse. Because—to you? It was a threat. A menace. A weapon of mass CUTENESS.
Blade with his eternally grumpy, stone-cold assassin expression, posture straight and composed, eyes sharper than any sword. To others—he's a merciless hunter. To him—he's something born from the roots of vengeance and revenge. To you? Accessable drug to get high on cuteness overload.
You're gripping the article of fabric your wearing—like it's the only thing tethering you to sanity and not go insane. You turn to him—with all your might to stay neutral, but there was a slight crack in your voice, “...You need to stop looking like that,” you say, tone strangled. Blade merely turns his head to face you—he doesn’t even blink at your sentence. And he has the audacity—the sheer AUDACITY—to question you with that flat tone of his as, if you weren't mentally screaming to squish at his cheeks (pun intended.) “Like what?”
You almost ascend at the way he raises his eyebrow slightly—oh how you wanted to smother his face in kisses will be something not even the aeons would want to question. “Like that! All stoic and deadly and—ugh, that little frown! Do you know what that does to me?” Blade tilts his head to the side—internally questioning what's going on. You take a deep breath,“Blade, I am experiencing...” you pause, “Cuteness aggression and it's critical. I want to bite you. Do you understand?” you fully turn to him, hands itching at your sides. Your words had this unhinged desperation tinged with it—but they were real. Like.. very real.
Silence follows after your statement. But you continue, on what might possibly be what'll happen to Blade in a few minutes prior to the future.
“I want to squish your face and kiss it. Repeatedly. Until you crack.” Blade blinks. Once. Twice. As if he was questioning you or himself, “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, and turns to walk away. However, you're not gonna let him off that easily—not after he turns on his heel, did you SEE the way his hair just flips around and goes back it it's place like a dis(knee)ney animation? Oh you definitely weren't letting him out of your grip, forever.
You tackle him like a koala in heat. Blade was caught off guard by the sudden hug attack and, spinned around to catch you into his arms on instinct—letting out a soft grunt of surprise as, you pepper his cheeks with rapid-fire kisses while, you stand on your tiptoes. You kiss every inch of his face—nose, eyes, cheeks, jawline, the corner of his lips and literally anywhere you had access to. “S’what you get! You weaponized your face and I retaliated!!” You cupped his face in your hands, squeezing his cheeks like they were your lifeline—you coo, kiss and squeeze him like he was your favourite plushie. He sighs. Deep. Patient. Loathsome. “Are you done?” One of his eyes closes when you kiss his eyelid, huffing in something that was mixed with soft embarrassment. “No. Never. I have to kiss both eyelids and boop your nose now. It’s a matter of national security.” You press your palms against his cheeks, squishing them until his lips puff out into the cutest pout you have ever seen in your life—and before he can protest, you kiss them. Instantly. No hesitation. It’s a tactical strike.
Blade freezes. Stared at you wide-eyed for a solid second. And then, he softly murmur against your lips,“...You’re the most unhinged person I’ve ever met.” There wasn't anything to his words—just soft, silent adoration. Despite his protests—his hands are holding you steady against him. And his cheeks are warm.
Maybe, just maybe—the corner of his lips curl upwards when you continue on with your affectionate assault on his face.
[• Jing yuan ]•
Do Not Yawn Near Me. (You Will Be Kissed)
— The day has ended and, nighttime has arrived. The whole day was exhausting to say the least, but it was the usual routine for you so—it wasn't much. The wind outside was hushed with the gentle whispers of the nightlife starting to stir awake. On the soft cotton bed, you were laying on your back, listening to one of Jing Yuan's bedtime rambles. He was on his side, facing you, his elbow propped up to keep his head from falling—your eyes were set on him, no matter how many his head was slightly not balanced properly. Jing Yuan already has that warm, languid energy that just radiates “I nap like it’s a divine right”, and today, he was quite tired. And that's when his voice drops lower and rougher, and his eyes go half-lid. Yet he still went on, fighting the sleepy allegations as best as he could—because he needs to spill the tea instead of focusing on his beauty sleep.
You were trying to be normal. Trying so hard. Jing Yuan’s voice lulled on about something—probably the latest strategy meeting or, how Yanqing accidentally cut his own sleeve again during training—but he suddenly paused. He had the audacity. The nerve. The audible crime.
He yawned.
It was SPECIFICALLY that one lazy little yawn, that stretches his entire body like a spoiled cat in the sun. Head tilting back just a little, arm lazily covering his mouth, hair tousling in that gorgeous effortless mess of fluffy locks—and worst of all, his eyes fluttered shut with that soft, contented hum at the end. He's acting as if the last string of resistance in you hadn't just snapped—loudly.
You were staring. Wide-eyed. Palms sweating at your sides. Soul screaming. Sanity vanishing.
Jing yuan slowly blinked—his eyelashes fluttering as he notices your staring,“...You okay?” he asked, voice low and gravelly from sleepiness, blinking slowly at you like some mythical beast in a sunbeam. You gulped. Suddenly—you springed up from your laying position, making him confused. You turn to face him like he ate the last piece of cake. “You can't do that!” you exploded, pointing a finger at him. His brows furrowed. “Do what?..” You tremble when he frowned slightly—he looked like a tiny floofball of a kitten who was denied treats before bed and god—that fueled your cuteness aggression even more. “Yawn like that! Stretch like that! Exist like that in front of me when I’m trying to be a civilized, functioning person.” You breathe in. Deeply and rushed. “Jing Yuan, I am THIS close to tackling you down and kissing your entire face.”
He chuckled—warm and rumbling. “This close, huh?”
Before he could blink again, you lunged at him—aggressively cupping his face like a hostage negotiator. His eyes were wide and he's blinking at you like you dropkicked a kitten in front of him. “I warned you.”
And with that—came the kisses. Endless. Wild. Forehead, nose, cheek, chin. His sleepy protest— “Wait, I'm still tired—” was muffled by your ambush and, drowned in your love. His airy laughter shook through you, but he didn’t push you away. He never did. If anything, he pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you lazily like he was claiming a particularly cuddly pillow.
“Mm... now I’m twice as tired,” he mumbled against your hair. Your hands shoot up and grabs his chin—causing his lips to puff out with a tiny pout that you swear, made you go even more feral. “Too bad. You’re not getting a single minute of peace now. You yawned, and I lost the ability to control myself. That’s on you.”
Jing yuan smiled lopsidedly—accepting the fact he's now a victim to your endless affection, and needlessly to say. He's definitely proud of the love you shower him with.
[• Dan Heng ]•
Do Not Disturb. (Except Please Do)
— Dan Heng doesn’t notice it at first. He’s seated at his desk, some ancient text spread open before him—showing all sorts of forbidden knowledge to unravel right before his eyes. The golden edge of a bookmark glinting beneath the soft lamplight. His posture is perfect, composed as always—back straight, shoulders relaxed. He turns a page slowly, eyes scanning, calm and attentive. Completely oblivious to your presence that was in the doorway—he continues to swim through crisp pages of age and intellect.
To him, it’s a normal evening study. To you?
It’s a goddamn spiritual crisis.
You’re staring at him from the doorway like you’ve just been struck by lightning and thrown off a mountain. You only happen to pass by—but you paused when you noticed how absolutely attractive he looked. That little crease between his brows. The light reflecting off his long lashes, casting a god complex shadow underneath them. Lips pressed together in a line, that sharp jawline on full display while he’s reading. That faint, unreadable expression he always wears when he’s deep in thought—why does he look so kissable without even trying the least bit?! Your fingers twitch. Like your body is warning you to act fast. You almost feel your legs walk on instinct.
You shift. Nervously. And gulp down. Silently
But the last sense of literally everything in you dispatched when—he tilts his head to the side, his tiny strands of inky black hair falling onto his face as he scribbles something down on his notepad—lost in thought, all while having that serious, focused face that made your knees go weak.
You explode. “—Dan Heng,” the calling of his name diverts his focus to your voice. He doesn't lift his head, he only hums in response, “I’m so sorry but I can’t take it anymore,” You say, already walking to him. He glances up in time to see you power-walk across the room like your possessed—by overdose of cuteness, might l add.
“What—”
It's too late now. You’re on him. Straddling his lap. Hands gently cupping his face as you proceed to pepper kisses all over. His cheeks, his jaw, that little spot under his ear, the corner of his mouth—every. where. He blinks, stunned. “What are you doing?” he pulls away from you momentarily—face flushed with a light pink. His hand resting on the curve of your hip to keep you from falling.
"You activated my cuteness aggression. You looked too hot while reading. I had to smooch you. ” You giggle, and Dan heng looks clueless with your given answer, “ It's like a condition or something. I don't make the rules.” You shrug nonchalantly—leaning over to him and press a soft kiss between his eyebrows, while he stares at you. Utterly dumbfounded. Like a lost puppy.
Dan Heng's hand reaches the book—and closes it with a quiet sigh.
He’s still blushing though.
"Next time, try giving me some warning." He scrunches his nose up when you kiss the tip of it, the feeling of your lips on the tip of his nose made his lower abdomen pool with warmth. You don't know whether he's giving you these adorable reactions on purpose or, just completely clueless that it's only adding fuel to your overload of cuteness. "Impossible. It’s a primal urge." You cup his face in your hands, nuzzling your nose against his. He sighs,”...Of course it is.”
[• Caelus ]•
You Make My Brain Go Bzzt (Please Let Me Kiss You)
— Caelus—being the usual Caelus. Is currently munching on trail mix, sitting upside down on the couch, wearing two different socks, hair defying gravity like he’s been static-shocked by the universe itself while he munches away. He's just peacefully vibing with his existence and free will. Nothing special or unusual.
Meanwhile, you on the other hand—was watching him from the living room doorway like a predator locked onto its prey. Eyes wide. Breathing shallow. Hands twitching. You swore you were normal—but Caelus said no and, is being extra cute today for absolutely no reason (he doesn't even know it.) You at some point wondered on how you even managed to pull the Trailblazer in the first place—because, no doubt. Caelus is literally the human version of a golden retriever in space boots and loose screws, and the cutest little chaos gremlin ever that loves to go through trashcans. And you aren't going to complain.
Caelus's eyes briefly flicker over to you—he pauses mid-munch. He blinks up at you (or technically down at you, because gravity doesn’t matter when he’s upside down). “Hey, babe! Did you know that your brain is constantly eating itself? Pretty cool right?” You're too used to him randomly spitting out weird facts. But right now..you aren't focused on his words.
You say nothing.
He grins. One of those big, lopsided ones, all sunshine and brain fog—just enough for even passing by people to be concerned. “You good?”
You are, in fact, not good. You are dangerously close to exploding into an affection shrapnel. And that last sense of sanity is hanging on one single thread. You tilt your head to the side with a smile, eyes closed, eyebrows relaxed, “Did you know I'm one millisecond from kissing you until, you stop being such a menace to my cardiovascular system?” You can practically hear the gears in Caelus's head malfunction for a minute. He turns to you, with the most adorable perplexed look you have ever seen,
“Huh?—”
He doesn't even have time to react when you speed walk yourself to him. He’s still mid-chew when you sit down onto the carpet and squish his face in your hands. Without wasting a second—you smother his stupidly adorable face in kisses—cheek, forehead, nose, chin, corner of his lips, the little spot behind his ear that makes him squeak like a malfunctioning microwave. Between your assault of overload of affection, he protests, “Ack! Wait! You’re—you're interrupting snack time!” You didn't even wait for your brain to construct an answer. While you kiss him, you very passively aggressively tell one word during each kiss, “You’re *kiss* interrupting *kiss* my *very aggressive kiss* life Caelus! ” His brows furrowed into confusion as he has no escape way out of your love—his eyes squeeze shut when you kiss the tip of his nose,” With your STUPIDLY CHARMING FACE AND BRAINLESS WISDOM!” You huff out a breath—leaning away to see his red face.
“You think I’m charming?” He gasps, delighted. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received!” Yep, he's gonna be trapped with your furious kisses for the rest of the day..or week. You're already kissing the dimples off him again. "Shut up and accept my love before I start sobbing into your hair."
Caelus chuckles like a child—it almost made your heart dance in circles like a lovesick anime character for how cute it sounded. “Okay, but just so you know—I haven't washed it in, like, four days.” You pause—for a moment only. You kiss one of his eyelids, “Perfect. Extra seasoning.”
Caelus just laughs—pure and raw form his heart. He tips his head into your shoulder like you're the gravity holding his entire orbit together. And to be honest—you are.
[• Sunday ]•
Winged Menace to My Sanity.
— Sunday tilts his head slightly as the afternoon light filters through the glass, casting kaleidoscope hues across the bedroom—blues, pinks, violets dancing on the walls from the delicate prism of his wings, the light hits him at the most perfect angle you could ever imagine of. His wings—give a lazy flutter, like a sigh made visible. Like a butterfly in human form.
You stare. Blink. The book in your hand suddenly was not that interesting anymore to you. Your hands grasp a nearby pillow like it’s a weapon.
Sunday is just standing there with his pretty, sparkly eyes, shimmering wings twitching slightly, all elegant, divine and unbothered. Just quietly existing like the eternal being he is. But you? You’re on the verge of a breakdown. A mental crisis.
This is illegal levels of pretty. Because why is he allowed to exist in 4K with his fluttering wings, delicate smirk and those dreamy eyes???
Immediately you throw the pillow to the side, like it offended your bloodline.
“Stop that,” you say—warn, absolutely breathless. He glances at you, eyes shimmering with innocent amusement. “Stop what, my dear?” you point a finger to him, accusingly, “Existing like that! With those—those wings!” You gesture violently. “You fluttered them. They sparkle. That’s cheating.”
He pouts—slightly. The kind that could make flowers bloom in winter. “Oh? But I was merely stretching.”
You gasp. Loud. Dramatic. Like you saw him say the most horrendous thing ever in humanity, “That was not stretching. That was SEDUCTION. Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” You tilt your head to the side, to add more depth (exaggeration) to your words, “I feel like I’m on a sugar high and I’m gonna pass out.” He raises a brow. Thinking for a small moment, his eyes flick down while his brows knit together in concentration—god, he looked like a tiny kitten getting lectures for eating the entire catnip. His eyes look up again, completely oblivious at what he's doing to you with just breathing, “Would it help if I folded them?”
“It would help if you braced for IMPACT.”
You launch yourself into his arms, a tiny yelp of surprises emits from him as his arms take you into his soothing embrace—your own arms wrap around his neck, hands greedily roaming his soft hair and jaw as you absolutely drown his entire face in kisses and utter love. “You’re too pretty. It’s a crime. I'm pressing charges—with my lips.” You kiss the side of his cheek, softly but possessively. Sunday laughs—a soft, lilting sound, like wind chimes in a warm breeze. “Darling, you’re out of control.” Says the one who's heartbeat is going at a critical rate due to the ambush of love attacks from you.
“And whose fault is that?” You plant one last dramatic kiss right between his brows, and his wings flutter again—whether from pleasure or surprise, you don’t know. But one thing's for sure—it hyped you up to absolutely mark his faces in your kisses. But you melt all the same. “I'll take accountability for it then.” despite the fact he's suffocated from the number of kisses your pressing into his face—he cannot help but barely hide a soft, teasing smile. It was heavenly sinful.
[• Sampo ]•
Smirk Me One More Time.
— Sampo leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his grin a full-blown menace to society. Hair tousled just right, earring glinting in the soft light above, that stupid tiny cape behind him dramatically fluttering even though there’s no wind in this room. His eyelashes flutter for a second, the corner of his eyes crinkling upwards, “Missed me already?” he asks, voice syrupy, smug, and deeply punchable. His signature smirk plastered onto his lips like he's testing you.
You narrow your eyes at him from the sofa.
No.
No, no, no.
You refuse to fall for it again. Not this time. Not after the last incident where you tried to keep it cool but, ended up kissing him into the couch cushions for thirty straight minutes without no breaks.
But we are talking about Sampo here. Sampo Koski. Famous and infamous for his insufferably smug, “I-just-got-away-with-a-crime-and-I’ll-do-it-again” grin? That twinkle in his eye that screams “I know I’m hot and I’m also probably lying to you right now”? It's the 8th wonder of the world on how you can stay completely composed with such a hot menace like him.
You clutch the book in your hands, the restraint in your body threatening to leave you any second. You gulp, your fingers digging into the cover of the book—like it's the reason for your sanity to be still standing with you right now. Your eyes briefly flicker over to him when you hear him softly chuckle, amused at how you're not giving in yet.
But then he tilts his head. Lets that grin spread across his face like wine spilled on a white carpet. And has the nerve. The damn crime. To wink.
Yep, you can't take it anymore. Your book is kept aside and you launch yourself to him—Sampo flinches when he catches you, “Woah—” You didn't let him to speak any further or else there will definitely be consequences—consequences that revolve around a kiss rampage and endless affection. You grab his face like he’s the last snack on Earth, squishing his cheeks together so hard his lips pop out like a kissy fish. It’s so stupidly cute, you immediately slam a kiss onto them with zero remorse. He blinks at you like you’ve committed a crime, and maybe you have. But it was worth it. You kiss and destroy his face with your love. For him, it's a trophy. For you, it's unconditional love.
Your hands are tangled in his coat. He’s laughing breathlessly between each kiss, trying to talk but getting no mercy. “H-Hey, wow—! Someone’s got the aggression bug today—mmph—!” You pull back only to squish his cheeks in your hands, face burning, eyes wild, breath stuttering,“You need to stop smiling like that. It’s a hazard. I’m filing a formal complaint. To HR. To the IPC. To god.” You huff out.
He just snorts, already leaning back in like a moth attracted to a flame. “Or you could just give in. Again. Y’know, for public safety~?” his voice was teasingly quiet, like he's trying to lure you into his trance of attraction.
You freeze. And he knows what he's done.
You tackle him to the sofa with even more fuel to utterly ruin his face with your lips.
Needless to say. He doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.
[• Aventurine]•
You Smirk, I Suffer.
— Aventurine is lounging—no, lounging like some decadent villain in a luxury casino suite, one leg crossed over the other, suit crisp and immaculate, fingers spinning a chip between them with maddening ease, his sunglasses kept onto the bridge of his nose. His smirk is surgical—precise, devastating, and permanent.
He knows he's winning whatever game this is, that he dragged you in. Chess? Poker? Life? He probably invented half the rules just to watch you struggle helplessly with the choices in your mind. Aventurine watches you ponder on a decision for like 10 minutes straight, he says—smugly, “Well well, darling, seems like luck’s on my side again~” He chuckles, rich and gutteral, it was the kind of sound that could pay an entire city's bills.
He leans into the cushion of the velvet sofa behind him, arms spread out like he's inviting you to just ditch the game and come into his arms instead.
You visibly snap. “Shut up.”
He quirks an eyebrow, smirk widening. “Hmm? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”
No. No, this is too much. You tremble slightly, internally fighting with your urges to give in or stay neutral. But, that little tilt of his head, that knowing glint in his eyes, the way he acts like he owns the galaxy and also the rights to your emotional stability? Nope, the restraint in you is now thrown out the window.
You stand up, earning a hum from him. Not even a second is spared as you lunge over the table.
He doesn’t even have time to react—you grab his stupidly handsome face and attack. Not violently. Affectionately. Desperately. Cuteness-aggression-ly.
Your hands cradle his face like he's something fragile, thumbs pressing in until his cheeks squish together, making his lips puff out adorably. His sunglasses on the verge of falling down as they are tilted to the side. You can’t help it—you lean in and kiss them right then and there, heart fluttering at how soft he feels. He blinks, but you didn't give him any mercy. “*Kiss.* *Kiss.* *Kiss.* *KISS.* This is what you get, you smug bastard—” You kiss both of his baby soft cheeks. The tip of his nose. The corner of his mouth. His forehead. His jawline. That perfect smirk disappears for like 0.2 seconds, replaced with a stunned blink. You lean away, still breathless from the aftermath of your violent affection. The sunglasses has already fallen off his face.
“...Darling,” he says slowly, the smirk crawling back, “If you wanted to kiss me breathless, you could’ve just said so.” You hiss, annoyed full of love and affection. “SHUT UP! I am filled with violent love and you’re making it WORSE.” You pull one of his cheeks like a grandma to her grandchild. He grins wolfishly wider. “Good. Makes it more fun when I provoke you.” his hand find it's way onto your hip, holding you steady to him.
You grab a pillow next to him. And he gets a face full of plush vengeance. The chip he was twirling earlier in his free hand clatters to the floor.
A laugh erupts from him. His face filled with raw happiness. Something he'll only experience when he's with you. His anchor to life.
[a/n - emotional shit, slight lime and making out hell yeah]
part 1-https://www.tumblr.com/devdozes/777400654296760320/ma-meilleure-ennemie-an-i-think-i-like-blade?source=share
A sickening shhk cuts through the chaos.
The weapon you threw—your last desperate attempt before the Stellaron rejected you—finds its mark. It buries deep into the chest of the one controlling Blade. A sharp gasp leaves their lips, their grip over the warrior breaking instantly.
Blade staggers. His eyes, once clouded with unnatural influence, clear as if a shroud has been lifted. His breath comes in ragged gasps, confusion flashing across his face as his grip on his sword slackens.
Then he sees you.
Collapsed on the floor. Blood pooling beneath you, dark and thick. Your chest unmoving. Your body lifeless.
The world around him blurs.
“...No.”
His sword clatters to the ground as he rushes to you, dropping to his knees, hands reaching out—hesitating—before they finally touch you. Warm. You're still warm. But your face is deathly pale, your lips parted slightly as if you had tried to speak but never got the chance.
“(Y/N)...” His voice is hoarse, almost fragile. His fingers tremble as they brush against your cheek, then slide down to press against the gaping wound in your chest, desperate to stop the bleeding—but there’s too much blood. It seeps through his hands, staining his fingers red.
He tries to shake you. “Wake up.”
No response.
His heart pounds against his ribs. A suffocating weight coils in his chest, pressing against his lungs like iron. He tries again, voice sharper this time, more desperate— “Wake up, damn it!”
Still, you don’t move.
The battlefield is eerily silent now. The enemy is dead, the Stellaron still pulsing ominously, but none of it matters. Nothing matters.
Blade doesn’t realize his hands are shaking. Doesn’t realize his breath is unsteady, or that something tight and unbearable is closing around his throat.
“Don’t—” His voice is quieter now, raw. “Don’t do this.”
But you don’t hear him.
♥♥♥
A cold, paralyzing numbness creeps into Blade’s bones as he stares at you. It’s wrong. This is wrong.
You were just standing. Just breathing. Just alive.
And now—
His hands press harder against your chest, trying—desperately—to stop the blood from spilling out, from leaving your body, from stealing what little warmth is left in you. His fingers are slick with it, trembling as they push down, but the more he tries, the more it slips through his grasp. It coats his hands, drips from his fingers, soaks into his sleeves like an irreversible stain.
A mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake.
He did this.
The realization crashes over him like a tidal wave, dragging him under, drowning him in a suffocating weight that crushes his ribs, his lungs, his very soul. He can still feel the lingering phantom of his blade, how it had sliced through skin, through flesh—through you.
It wasn’t supposed to be you. It was never supposed to be you.
His body tenses, chest heaving as something primal, something devastating, coils inside him, searing hot and unbearable. A silent rage, a self-loathing so deep it threatens to consume him whole. His own hands did this. His own sword.
And now you—
“Wake up.” His voice is a whisper, hoarse and uneven. Begging. “Wake up, (Y/N).”
But you don’t.
You’re so still. Too still.
A hollow sort of panic sets in, twisting his insides into something unrecognizable. He has seen death more times than he can count. He has caused death more times than he can count. But this—this is different. This isn’t just another body. This isn’t just another casualty on the battlefield.
This is you.
The one person who managed to wedge yourself into the cracks of his guarded existence. The one person who spoke to him like he was something more than a weapon. The one person who had seen him, truly seen him.
And now you’re slipping away.
His breathing is uneven, ragged. He bows his head, forehead nearly pressing against yours as if the closeness will somehow tether you back to him. His grip on you tightens, as if holding you close will stop you from fading.
“Please…” The word feels foreign on his tongue, barely more than a breath.
Blade doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plead.
But for you—
For you, he would tear the world apart if it meant undoing this moment. If it meant undoing his mistake.
But there’s nothing left to tear apart. There’s only you.
Blade’s body is frozen, every muscle tense as he cradles your lifeless form. His breath is shallow, erratic, his mind barely able to process the horror of what he’s done—what he’s lost.
And then—
A strange hum fills the air.
Blade’s eyes snap upward, his grip on you tightening instinctively.
The Stellaron—the very thing that had driven this battle into chaos—is no longer resisting, no longer trying to reject containment. But it isn’t going into the device meant to hold it.
Instead, it’s being drawn elsewhere.
Straight into your sword.
His gaze locks onto Agnes, your trusted weapon, the one you’d wielded with such precision and ferocity, the one that had struck down countless foes—and the one you had thrown in a desperate last attempt to stop the enemy controlling him.
It stands lodged in the chest of the one who had manipulated him, still embedded deep in their body, yet the Stellaron’s energy flows toward it, as if it has chosen a different vessel.
The swirling, radiant light pulses unnaturally, its tendrils stretching and weaving into Agnes’s blade like veins of power sinking into flesh. The energy crackles, a force both mesmerizing and terrifying, sinking deeper, deeper, deeper—until there’s nothing left of the Stellaron but its lingering glow, now fused with the weapon.
A deep, unsettling silence follows.
Blade barely breathes. His gaze flickers between the sword and you, his heart hammering against his ribs. There is something unnatural about this. Stellaron energy should not be able to merge with anything outside of containment protocols. It should not be choosing anything of its own will.
Why your sword? Why not the device?
And then—it clicks.
Your weapon, forged with a fragment of a Stellaron, was never just a simple blade. It had always been something more, something attuned to the Stellaron’s influence. And now, in this critical moment, it had acted as a vessel, drawing the rogue energy into itself, sealing it away without resistance.
But what did that mean for you?
Blade doesn’t care about the Stellaron. Doesn’t care about containment, about missions, about success or failure.
All he cares about is the person in his arms.
Your skin is still unnervingly cold. The blood on his hands is still far too much.
And then, He lets out a choked sob, burying his face in the crook of your bloodied neck. Yet, it still had the comforting scent of You.
Blade’s hands tremble as he stares at your bloodied form, the weight of your stillness suffocating him. His breath is shallow, barely leaving his lungs. His mind is screaming, telling him to do something—to act, to save you— but he knows, deep down, that he’s already too late.
But he refuses to accept it.
His gaze flickers to Agnes, your sword—now pulsing, glowing with an eerie light, the Stellaron completely absorbed within its steel. It hums with power, unstable yet contained, a force that no ordinary person could wield.
And yet, he grips the hilt.
The moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, burning pain slashes through his body. It’s like the Stellaron itself is rejecting him, pushing him away, forcing him to understand that this weapon belongs to you and you alone.
His vision blurs, but he grits his teeth, refusing to let go.
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if it destroys him.
If there is even the smallest chance—the smallest hope— that Agnes can help bring you back, he will endure any pain, any suffering.
But then—
A crack.
His breath hitches. His entire body stiffens.
The ground beneath you shatters.
Like fragile glass breaking apart, the earth beneath your lifeless form collapses inward, spiraling into a void. The shadows stretch, clawing at you, pulling you down—
Blade’s eyes widen in horror. No. No, no, no, NO.
He lunges forward—but the moment his eyes leave your body—
You’re gone.
Swallowed by the abyss.
The echoes of crumbling stone fade into suffocating silence.
Blade stands frozen, his grip tightening around Agnes until his knuckles turn white. His entire body trembles—not from exhaustion, not from pain—but from the unbearable weight of loss.
His chest rises and falls, breathless, disoriented. He should move, he should jump in after you— but the abyss has already sealed itself, as if you had never been there to begin with.
He stares at the spot where you had just been. His heartbeat is deafening.
His fingers dig into the sword’s hilt.
The Stellaron had chosen this blade. And now, it had taken you.
Blade’s breath is ragged, his body trembling as he grips Agnes so tightly his hands threaten to bleed. His mind is blank—no, not blank. It’s a hurricane, a violent storm of emotions ripping him apart from the inside.
Your blood is still on his hands.
Your warmth is gone.
And you—you disappeared.
He can't breathe. His entire body feels wrong, like his nerves are misfiring, like his own flesh is rejecting him. His chest aches—a deep, horrible pain unlike any wound he's ever endured.
The Stellaron—the fucking Stellaron.
It took you.
His grip tightens around your sword, the blade pulsing as if it were mocking him, reminding him of his failure. His head pounds, his vision swims, and for a split second, he forgets where he is.
The battlefield is quiet now. The bodies of enemies lie scattered. The air reeks of burnt ozone and blood. But Blade hears nothing.
Nothing except the echo of your last breath.
Then—
"Blade. Do you copy?"
A voice cuts through the suffocating silence. A voice he barely registers.
"Hey, where the hell have you been?! What happened? You weren’t responding!"
Silverwolf.
Her words feel distant, like she's speaking through water, but something in them grates against his already shattered mind.
The Stellaron.
That’s what she’s asking about. That’s what she cares about.
His fingers twitch, his nails digging into the metal of the hilt. His heartbeat is erratic, his breathing uneven. For a moment, he doesn't respond, just staring at the cracked ground where you had once been, where he had lost you.
Then—
"Blade. Answer me."
A spark of rage ignites in his veins.
Why the hell does any of it matter now?
He opens his mouth, ready to snarl—ready to break something, ready to tear apart the first thing that comes near him—
But then, a sharp pulse vibrates through his skull.
Silverwolf isn't waiting for an answer anymore.
She’s teleporting him back.
"You’re in bad shape. Hold still, I’m pulling you in—"
His surroundings shift.
The battlefield disappears. The gaping hole in the earth—where you fell, where you were lost— vanishes.
For a split second, Blade tries to resist, tries to cling to this place, to whatever trace of you is left—
But he’s already gone.
The next thing he knows, he’s standing on the Stellaron Hunters’ ship.
Cold. Sterile. Familiar.
And completely, disgustingly empty.
The second Blade materializes on the Stellaron Hunters' ship, the shift in air pressure makes his head pound. His muscles are still coiled tight, his breathing erratic, his hands shaking as he grips Agnes like a lifeline. The sword—your sword—still pulses faintly in his grasp, the Stellaron sealed inside.
Silverwolf, Kafka, and Firefly stand in front of him, waiting. The atmosphere is tense.
Kafka’s eyes land on the blood smeared across his clothes, the still-fresh stains on his hands. Her usual lazy smirk is nowhere to be seen.
Firefly, normally composed, shifts uneasily.
Silverwolf crosses her arms. “You look like hell,” she says, voice sharp but not unkind. “What happened out there? We lost your signal after the Stellaron—”
Her gaze flickers to Agnes, noticing the faint glow pulsing from the blade. Her eyes narrow. “Wait… where’s the containment device?”
Blade doesn’t answer. He can’t.
His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth might shatter.
Kafka steps forward, slow and measured, her gaze searching his face. “Blade,” she murmurs, voice softer than usual. “Where’s the kid?”
That’s when the dam almost breaks.
Blade’s voice is hoarse—so raw that it barely escapes his throat. "She’s dead."
The words shouldn’t have come out so easily. Shouldn’t have left his mouth like some cold, detached statement. But the second they do, the weight of them crashes down on him like a blade straight to the heart.
Silverwolf stiffens.
Firefly freezes.
For a moment, neither of them move. Neither of them breathe.
Then—
"No."
Firefly’s voice is barely above a whisper, trembling, eyes wide—disbelieving. "No, she’s not. She’s not dead."
Blade says nothing.
"She’s not dead!" Firefly’s voice cracks. It’s not like her. She’s usually composed—soft-spoken but firm—but right now, she looks like she’s about to break apart. "She can’t be. We—we just saw her last week—she—she promised to teach me how to—" Her breath shudders. She stops. Clutches her chest like it physically hurts to breathe.
Silverwolf doesn’t say anything either. Just stands there, lips pressed together so tightly they’re white—fingers twitching like she doesn’t know whether to grab her device, to break something, or to force reality to change.
But the truth is there. In Blade’s bloodstained clothes. In the way his hands are still shaking. In the empty space where your voice should be.
And then it hits.
Hard.
Firefly’s legs give out. She crashes to her knees, fists clenched so tightly they tremble. Her red eyes glisten, her breath unsteady. "She can’t be dead," she whispers, and it sounds so young—so small—so utterly broken.
Silverwolf grits her teeth. Shoves her hands into her hoodie pockets like it’ll hide the way they’re shaking. But the way her shoulders are stiff, how her head is tilted just enough to hide her expression behind her bangs—
She’s breaking.
They both are.
Flashbacks come, unbidden, flooding their minds like a tsunami of memories.
♥♥♥
With Silverwolf, The late-night gaming marathons where you always let her win at first, only to turn the tables at the last second, making her groan in frustration.
The teasing banter, the way you called her "kid" just to piss her off. The way you ruffled her hair, and she’d swat your hand away, grumbling—only to lean into it when she thought no one was looking.
The one time she stayed up too late hacking, you tossed a blanket over her and left a drink by her setup. You never said anything about it, but she always knew.
With Firefly, How you always fixed her mech suit with the utmost care, like it was something precious. How you helped her adjust the settings, making sure it fit just right.
The way you’d train together, spar together, laugh together. The way you called her "Firecracker" with that teasing grin, even though she pretended to hate it.
The one time she had a breakdown over a failed mission, you sat beside her, silent, letting her cry until she calmed down.
You were their sister.
You were family.
And now—
Now you’re gone.
Silverwolf clenches her fists, hard. “You’re lying,” she mutters, voice tight. “You’re—you're messing with us, right? There’s no way—”
Blade doesn’t respond.
Because there’s nothing left to say.
The silence is deafening.
And that’s when Silverwolf’s legs give out too.
The air is thick, suffocating, as Firefly trembles on her knees and Silverwolf stares blankly at the floor, her hands still clenched in her hoodie pockets. Blade says nothing.
And neither does Kafka.
For the first time, she doesn’t have some playful, teasing remark. No sly comments, no knowing smirks, no I-told-you-so’s.
Just silence.
She stands there, still, her usual relaxed posture gone—arms crossed tightly, fingers digging into the fabric of her coat.
Then, she exhales. Slow. Measured. But even that can’t hide the weight in her chest.
"So that’s how it is, huh?" Her voice is quieter than usual. Lacking its usual honeyed lilt. It’s not a question—more of a resigned statement.
Blade doesn’t answer.
Kafka lifts a hand, brushing her bangs back, and for a split second, her fingers tremble.
She remembers.
She remembers how you’d roll your eyes at her dramatic antics but still play along.
How you never backed down when she tried to get under your skin—how you’d fire back just as easily, always giving her a run for her money.
How she used to call you “darling” just to annoy you, and how you’d throw a wrench at her in response.
How—despite all the chaos, despite all the missions, despite everything—you always had their backs.
How you were never supposed to be the one to fall.
And now, you’re gone.
Kafka closes her eyes. She takes another breath, slower this time.
Then, she opens them and looks at Blade.
Really looks at him.
At the way he’s standing like a man on the verge of shattering into pieces. At the way his bloodied fingers are still curled like he’s trying to hold on to something that isn’t there anymore.
At the way his red eyes, always so dull and detached, are now nothing but an abyss of unspoken agony.
She’s seen Blade covered in blood before. Seen him come back from battle, cloaked in red like it was just another day at work.
But this—this is different.
This isn’t just another mission gone wrong.
This is personal.
And for once, Kafka doesn’t try to put it into words.
She just lets the silence speak for itself.
One Month Later
The Stellaron Hunters didn’t talk about you.
Not because they didn’t want to—because they couldn’t.
The silence stretched like an unspoken wound, raw and aching, a reminder of what was missing.
Firefly wasn’t as chatty anymore. She used to hum while working on her mech suit, rambling about improvements and upgrades. Now, she barely spoke unless necessary. The light in her eyes had dimmed. She still waited for your teasing comments. But they never came.
Silverwolf drowned herself in her games, playing until her fingers ached. She ignored calls, ignored everything. It was easier that way. She didn’t have to think about the fact that you weren’t going to pop in behind her and complain about how much she gamed.
Kafka still played her part, but it was different. Her usual smirks? Forced. Her teasing? Hollow. It wasn’t the same without you firing back. The last thing she expected was for you to disappear first.
And Blade?
Blade was gone.
Not physically—no, he was still here, still breathing. But he wasn’t here.
He barely spoke. He didn’t train. Didn’t even react when Kafka poked at him.
All he did was search.
Because deep down, no matter what he told them that day—no matter how much he tried to bury it—he refused to believe you were dead.
Not you. Not like that.
You couldn’t be.
And if there was even a fraction of a chance that you were still out there, no matter how impossible—he would find you.
You were nowhere.
Or rather, you were somewhere, but that place existed outside the grasp of time, beyond the laws of space. It was neither heaven nor hell, not the physical world, nor the afterlife.
It was just limbo.
A hollow realm where the sky remained frozen in early morning blue, neither dark nor light, just an eternal moment between night and day. The air was still—too still, as if it had never known the weight of wind.
Beneath you stretched a vast, endless field of lilies. Their pale petals gleamed in the faint, soft glow of the sky, their fragrance too light, too distant, as though it existed in another plane entirely. Each step you took pressed into the earth but left no imprint, no sign that you had ever been there.
There was no sun, no moon, no horizon.
Just the unchanging blue and the hush of flowers shifting without wind.
It felt like a dream. A dream you couldn’t wake up from.
But dreams weren’t supposed to feel this empty.
And yet… despite the stillness, despite the absence of anything alive, something whispered at the edges of your mind. Something was here.
Something was watching.
But no matter how much you turned, no matter how far you walked into the endless expanse, there was nothing.
Only blue.
♥♥♥
You remembered dying. You remembered Blade.
You remembered the **pain—**his sword piercing through your chest, the way the world had dimmed, your body growing weightless, like you were sinking into an abyss with no bottom.
But you never hit the ground.
Instead, something ripped you away from the moment of death.
Something interfered.
The Stellaron.
Agnes had been a part of you for years, and through it, you had unknowingly been exposed to the Stellaron’s energy for far too long. It had seeped into your body, into your very being, forming a bond that shouldn’t have existed.
And when you died—**or almost did—**that bond refused to break.
The Stellaron did not allow you to pass on.
But it didn’t save you, either.
It had displaced you. Shoved you into the cracks between existence and oblivion, into a realm where time and space did not hold meaning.
A place where you would remain.
Forever.
Silverwolf had never been this frustrated before.
She had cracked the Xianzhou’s firewalls, hijacked IPC’s databases, and even pulled off unthinkable data breaches across the universe—but this? This was the first time she felt utterly useless.
She sat in front of a sea of holographic screens, hands flying over her controls as she dug, searched, calculated— anything that could bring you back.
Because you weren’t dead.
She refused to believe it.
The Stellaron had done something. It had been exposed to you for years through Agnes. It had been inside your hands, inside your very core for so long that it treated you as part of itself.
That’s why your soul didn’t pass on.
That’s why you weren’t here, but not gone either.
"Come on, come on," Silverwolf muttered, pushing past encrypted logs, analyzing energy signatures, tracing connections.
The data was scattered, but there was a pattern—something binding you and the Stellaron together.
She felt a presence behind her.
Blade.
She didn’t turn to look at him. She couldn’t.
Because if she did—if she saw that blank, haunted look on his face—she’d break.
Firefly had already broken.
After Blade told them you were "dead," Firefly had locked herself in her room for hours. When she finally came out, she had collapsed in Silverwolf’s arms, shaking. Crying.
Firefly never cried.
But she had lost you. Her older sister. Her mentor. Her home.
Silverwolf had lost you too.
And she was not going to let this be the end.
"Anything?" Blade’s voice was low, but there was a sharp edge to it—one that barely kept him from snapping.
Silverwolf exhaled, still not looking away from her screens. "Maybe."
Blade didn’t respond, but she felt him step closer, watching her every move.
His fingers clenched at his sides.
He was tweaking. He had been ever since you disappeared. Like a machine running on broken code, barely holding itself together.
Silverwolf knew that if she failed—if she said "there’s no way"—Blade would tear the universe apart trying to find you himself.
And she wasn’t going to let it come to that.
Because you were still out there.
Somewhere.
Silverwolf found it.
Or at least, she thought she did.
She had been cross-referencing the Stellaron’s energy fluctuations with your sword, Agnes, tracking every signature it had absorbed since the moment you disappeared. And there—a pulse. A faint, but undeniable resonance buried in the data.
Not gone. Not lost.
Just... stuck.
The Sea of Quanta.
"She’s there," Silverwolf whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
Firefly, who had been silent the entire time, jerked up. "She’s alive?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the fragile hope in her chest.
Blade didn’t say a word. But his grip tightened on Agnes, his knuckles turning white.
Silverwolf barely heard them. She was already moving, working, hacking—calculating a way to stabilize the connection.
There was a chance. A method.
The Stellaron inside Agnes had absorbed part of you, enough to leave a trail—a thread tying you to this plane. If they could amplify that connection, create a rift through the Stellaron’s energy field, they could pull you out.
She turned to Blade. "We’re doing this. Now."
—
The ship’s control room had never been this tense before.
Silverwolf ran the calculations. Firefly prepared the energy stabilizers. Blade stood at the center, gripping Agnes like it was the last thing tethering him to sanity.
"Alright," Silverwolf exhaled. "Theoretically, if this works, the Stellaron’s energy should latch onto her soul and pull her back. It’s like... fishing. We just have to—"
"Do it," Blade cut in, his voice sharp.
Silverwolf didn’t argue, so she activated the sequence.
Immediately, the ship shook.
Agnes glowed violently, the Stellaron inside pulsing—reaching. The entire room was bathed in cold, blue light as the energy wave ripped through dimensions, searching, grasping.
For a second, just a second, it worked.
A distortion appeared in the air, a rift—a glimpse into the Blue Hour limbo where you were trapped.
There you were.
Standing in a field of lilies, your back turned to them, your figure bathed in the cold glow of that endless, unmoving sky.
Blade moved before he could think. He reached out—his fingers nearly brushing yours.
And then—
The entire ship shuddered violently.
The rift collapsed in on itself.
Agnes screamed—the Stellaron rejecting the process.
And then—
The connection severed.
The distortion vanished.
You were gone.
Silverwolf’s monitors flickered wildly before flatlining.
Nothing.
No signature. No trail. No sign that you were ever there at all.
Like you had never existed.
Silence.
Then—
"NO!"
Blade’s roar shook the walls.
Agnes clattered to the ground, the Stellaron’s glow fading as Blade dropped to his knees, his hands clenched into fists so tight they bled. His head hung low, trembling—shaking with unfiltered rage, grief, and pure, unbearable loss.
Firefly stood frozen, hands over her mouth, her entire frame shaking.
Silverwolf?
She just sat there, staring at the blank screen, heart pounding in her ears.
She had failed.
They had failed.
And you were gone.
♥♥♥
The silence after the failure was unbearable.
It was Silverwolf who felt it first—the crushing weight of nothingness. The absence where your presence had been just moments ago.
Her hands hovered over the keyboard, shaking violently. She ran the program again, and again, and again—replaying the sequence, searching, calculating—
But every time, the answer was the same.
Connection: Lost.
She tried to swallow, but her throat felt tight. Her chest **ached, burned—**something deep and ugly twisting inside her.
"That’s not—" she choked, voice barely above a whisper. "That’s not possible."
But it was.
The last fragment of your existence had just been wiped away.
The sword had failed.
The Stellaron had failed.
She had failed.
Firefly had crumpled to the ground, shaking violently. Her fingers dug into the cold metal floor as she clutched her arms—like she was trying to hold herself together.
"She was—" Firefly’s voice cracked. "She was right there—I saw her. I saw her, Silverwolf, we—"
Her breath hitched, shoulders rising and falling as she broke down.
Silverwolf’s hands clenched into fists.
They had spent months—
Months digging through fragments, searching through countless dead-end data points, chasing a hope that was nothing but a mirage.
And for what?
For it to be ripped away the second they reached out for her?
It was like the universe itself was laughing at them.
Blade hadn't moved.
He was still on his knees, staring at the empty space where you had once stood. His hair fell over his eyes, shadows swallowing his face. His breathing was ragged, uneven.
A slow, suffocating horror crawled up his spine.
You were gone.
No.
No, not just gone—
Erased.
This was worse than death.
If you had died, there would at least be something left—a body, a grave, something tangible to mourn.
But there was nothing.
No corpse. No proof that you had ever been there at all.
Just… silence.
A hollow, endless emptiness.
The weight of it hit Blade so hard his entire body locked up, his hands gripping his arms so tightly his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood.
His head tilted down, his breath coming out in short, shaking gasps.
Then, slowly, a sound tore from his throat—low, broken, guttural.
Not a scream.
Not a cry.
Something worse.
It was the sound of a man whose last tether to existence had just been cut.
His fingers twitched toward Agnes, the sword still lying on the floor, its glow completely dimmed.
His chest ached.
Physically, painfully, aching.
It wasn't supposed to end like this.
Kafka watched him, silent.
There was no teasing remark. No comforting words. No lies to soften the pain.
Even she—someone who had spent years seeing death, losing people, betraying and being betrayed—had nothing to say.
Because what was there to say?
She reached for a cigarette but didn’t light it. Just held it between her fingers, staring at the ground.
Silverwolf was still desperately rerunning the calculations, her hands trembling on the keyboard.
Firefly had curled into herself, crying so quietly it was barely even a sound.
Blade… Blade just sat there, staring at nothing, hands limp at his sides.
His mind was blank.
His chest felt like it had been hollowed out, ripped apart, emptied until there was nothing left.
The air in your limbo was always still.
The sky remained an endless early-morning blue, the horizon stretching infinitely with no sun, no moon—just a hollow, soft glow that never changed.
The lilies around you swayed even though there was no wind. Their white petals rippled gently in a nonexistent breeze, their fragrance mild, familiar, eternal.
You had grown used to this.
How long had you been here?
Time didn't exist in this place. No days, no nights—just the same tranquil, timeless existence.
You had walked through these fields countless times. Sat within them, lay within them, tried to piece together what had happened before you arrived here.
At first, you thought you were dead.
But dead people don’t think, do they?
You still felt things. You still existed—trapped in this plane, this place of stillness and blue.
You had accepted it.
Until now.
The air flickered.
A strange, foreign pulse ran through your body, cold and unfamiliar—like static crawling over your skin.
You turned.
The lilies near your feet had glitched.
For the first time since you had arrived in this eternal, unchanging limbo—something changed.
The blue sky distorted for a second, like a reflection rippling across water. The lilies in the distance flickered, shifted— like static running through a screen.
Your fingers twitched.
That had never happened before.
You took a hesitant step forward, and the moment your foot pressed into the flower-covered ground, another glitch rippled outward—
The sound of distorted voices.
Distant. Unclear.
But they were there.
Your breath caught in your throat.
That was new.
You turned your head sharply, scanning the horizon, searching for the source—
But the sky had already stabilized. The flowers had stopped glitching. The air had returned to its dead stillness.
It was like it never happened.
But it had.
You were sure of it.
Something—or someone—had reached out to you.
And for the first time since being trapped in this place, you felt something other than numb acceptance.
You felt hope.
The moment the world flickered—just for a second, just enough for something to break through—hope took root in your chest.
And you refused to let it go.
Your breathing turned shallow as you steeled yourself. If this place could glitch, if the sky could distort, if voices could reach you—then there had to be a way out.
You just had to break it.
Your hands clenched into fists as you turned toward the vast, endless blue.
Then, you swung.
A pulse of raw energy erupted from your hands, tearing through the air, cutting through the empty horizon. The lilies rippled from the force, petals scattering—
But the sky didn’t break.
Nothing shattered.
You grit your teeth, panting.
Again.
You struck again. Harder. More forceful. Desperate.
The sky flickered. The flowers glitched. A sharp, stinging crack ran through your fingertips.
But the limbo still held.
Your breath came in heavy, shaking gasps. It wasn’t enough.
You needed more.
With a raw, guttural scream, you threw everything into your next attack. Your hands tore through the air, slamming against the fabric of reality itself. Your body shook, the force tearing through your muscles, sending waves of pain ripping through your arms.
Your vision blurred, but you didn’t stop.
Your nails dug into your palms as you struck again, and again, and again.
Your knuckles split open. Blood dripped from your fingertips.
Still, nothing.
The sky still refused to break.
“No,” you whispered, voice hoarse, body trembling. “No—no, no, no—”
You slammed your fists into the ground, clawing at the lilies beneath you. The once-pristine white petals were now stained red, coated in the warm, slick proof of your desperation.
The pain in your hands was unbearable—but it wasn’t enough.
You weren’t strong enough.
You sobbed, shoulders heaving, forehead pressing against the bloodstained lilies.
This place… It was a prison.
No matter how hard you fought, no matter how much you bled—it wouldn’t let you go.
A choked sob tore from your throat as you collapsed to your knees, body shaking, hands drenched in blood.
It wasn’t fair.
You had fought. You had bled. You had torn yourself apart trying to break free.
But nothing changed.
This place wouldn’t let you go.
Your lips trembled as you let out a shuddering breath, tears slipping down your cheeks. The sky above you remained the same—empty, unchanging, cruel.
It mocked you.
Your screams ripped through the void. You slammed your fists into the lilies again, sobbing, gasping for air.
You wanted out.
You wanted out.
Your breath hitched, lungs burning, head pounding—but you didn’t stop.
With a final, earth-shattering cry, you poured everything—every ounce of strength, every drop of your existence—into one last, desperate strike.
A surge of power erupted from within you, radiating outwards.
The world cracked.
A violent tremor rocked the field. The sky distorted. The lilies withered, turning black. The air fractured, splitting apart as the limbo screamed in protest.
And then—
It shattered.
A deafening explosion of light, like glass breaking, like the very fabric of reality collapsing in on itself.
And suddenly—
You were falling.
The lilies, the endless blue sky, the prison that held you—it was gone.
Wind rushed past you. The cold kiss of the real world embraced your skin. Stars twinkled above you, endless, boundless.
You were high—so high. The night sky stretched forever, the clouds below you thick and dark, but none of it scared you.
Your body was plummeting, the air tearing through your hair, but all you could do was—
Smile.
♥♥♥
The wind roared in your ears as you plummeted, your body cutting through the sky like a star falling from heaven. The world stretched vast and endless around you—an ocean of darkness speckled with countless stars, each one shimmering like distant fireflies.
The sky above was a deep, boundless abyss, a velvety shade of indigo that swallowed everything whole. The air was crisp and cool against your burning skin, the sharp contrast making you shiver, though not from the cold.
Below, the clouds rolled like waves, a thick, silver mist curling and twisting as if trying to reach for you. The moon hung massive and radiant, a glowing pearl against the void, casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything.
Your white dress billowed wildly, the fabric whipping around you like ghostly tendrils, streaked with the crimson stains of your own battle. The blood smeared against your fingers had long since dried, but you could still feel the raw sting in your palms—the ache of what you had done to escape.
And yet, despite the pain, despite the uncertainty of what lay beneath the clouds, you smiled.
For the first time in what felt like eternity, you were no longer trapped in an endless loop of time, in a world that refused to change.
You could feel the weight of reality pressing against you, the rush of gravity pulling you down, reminding you that you were alive.
And so, you let yourself fall.
The night sky stretched endlessly around you, a cathedral of stars, and you—a soul breaking free from the chains of limbo—descended with nothing but the wind and the moon as your witnesses.
The rush of air screamed around you as you plummeted closer and closer to the ground. The neon glow of the city below grew sharper, more vivid—the blurred streaks of artificial light transforming into a sprawling cybernetic metropolis.
Skyscrapers loomed high, their glass surfaces reflecting the endless sea of neon billboards and holograms. Hovercrafts zipped through the sky, following invisible paths lined with glowing strips of cyan and magenta. The streets far below pulsed with life, movement, sound—a world so vastly different from the timeless limbo you had just escaped.
But you were falling too fast.
Your instincts kicked in. With what little power you had left, you willed the energy around you to bend—to break your descent before you crashed into the unknown city below. A shimmering blue force erupted beneath you, slowing your fall in bursts of crackling energy. Your body hovered just above the pavement, suspended in the glow of your own lingering power, before your feet finally touched solid ground.
For a moment, you just stood there, breathless.
You had made it.
Your fingers trembled as they curled into fists, your bloodied dress clinging to you in the humid night air. The scent of metal, rain, and electricity filled your lungs. The distant hum of machinery, the murmur of the crowd, the mechanical voice of an automated announcement—it was all real.
Slowly, your gaze lifted toward a massive, glowing billboard towering above the street. The neon letters shifted, flickering as a voice echoed through the air:
“Welcome to Ark City.”
The words seared into your mind.
You weren’t just anywhere. This was a place far from what you once knew.
And you had no idea what was waiting for you next.
The cool night air brushed against your skin as you walked through the bustling streets of Ark City, your bare feet meeting the cold, smooth pavement. Neon lights reflected off the wet ground, painting everything in hues of blue, pink, and violet. The city was alive—people in cybernetic augments walked past, machines roamed the sidewalks, and the distant hum of hovercrafts buzzed above. You must’ve looked insane—a girl in a bloodstained white dress, barefoot, with scratches on her hands. But no one paid you any mind.
You exhaled, pushing past the aching exhaustion creeping into your bones. You needed a change of clothes—badly.
♥♥♥
Eventually, you spotted a street-side shop with racks of clothes displayed behind a glass window. The store itself was sleek, dark, and minimalistic, glowing with a soft neon-blue light. As you stepped inside, a mechanical voice greeted you:
"Welcome. Please select your items and proceed to the counter."
The place was automated. No humans—just hovering drones scanning the shelves. Good. That meant no questions.
You quickly scanned the racks, grabbing what you needed:
Black cargo pants. Loose yet flexible, with enough mobility for you to move freely.
A simple dark hoodie. Oversized, comfortable, and something you could disappear into.
Fingerless gloves. For better grip—whether in a fight or simply getting things done.
As you walked to the counter, you reached up and unclipped the ornament from your hair—a small, intricately crafted piece of metal infused with a deep blue gemstone. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights, an object of unknown worth, yet something about it felt… valuable.
The scanning drone hovered over it before confirming:
"Transaction accepted. Your item holds high market value. Would you like to receive credits in return?"
You blinked. High market value?
"...Yeah. Give me whatever it's worth."
A small beep followed, and suddenly, a sleek black card slid out of the machine. Your balance was displayed on a tiny holographic screen—enough to last you for a long, long time.
You smirked. Well, that worked out.
♥♥♥
After changing into your new clothes, you felt lighter. The bloodstained dress was shoved into a waste chute, disappearing the moment you tossed it in. You looked normal now—or at least, normal enough for Ark City.
But you weren’t done yet.
Walking through the streets, your eyes landed on a weapons shop. It was nothing fancy—just a run-down store in a darker part of the city, its neon sign flickering. But it had what you wanted.
You stepped inside, scanning the walls lined with all kinds of weapons. Guns, knives, stun batons—but your gaze landed on something simple.
A metal baseball bat.
The weight felt good in your hands as you gave it a test swing. Sturdy. Solid. Reliable.
It’d do just fine.
After paying for the bat, you exited the shop and stood in the middle of the city, gripping the cold steel in your hands. You had money. You had weapons. You had freedom.
Now, the real question was—
What the hell were you going to do next?
The cool metal of the bat rested against your shoulder as you strolled through the neon-drenched streets, pockets stuffed with cash, no plan, no destination—just the desire to do whatever the hell you wanted. Ark City was a playground of chaos and lights, and for the first time in a long while, you weren’t bound by anything.
You ducked into a small convenience store, its shelves stacked with random trinkets, accessories, and snacks. The soft hum of the automated cashier filled the air as you wandered through the aisles.
That’s when your eyes landed on it—a tiny keychain hanging off a display rack, shaped like a blue-purple cat.
You paused, reaching out to take it.
It reminded you of Silverwolf.
A bitter smile tugged at your lips as your fingers ran over the smooth surface of the keychain. Her dumb little game-loving ass would’ve totally had something like this hanging off her bag. You shook your head, but instead of putting it back, you brought it to the counter.
♥♥♥
After stuffing the keychain in your pocket, your eyes landed on a glass display case filled with jewelry. Most of it was over-the-top, but one piece caught your attention—a silver ring with a thin red line running through it.
Your throat tightened. It reminded you of him.
Blade.
You clenched your jaw. You shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be picking things that reminded you of them—of a life that wasn’t yours anymore. But your fingers still curled around the ring, slipping it into your pocket along with the keychain.
♥♥♥
You left the store and walked through the streets, letting the night guide your steps. The scent of something sweet drifted through the air, and you followed it until you found yourself standing in front of a small bakery stall.
Your gaze flickered over the menu—and your chest tightened.
Oak cake rolls.
Your fingers twitched. Firefly loved these.
She’d always eat them with a stupid little smile, her hands barely keeping up with the crumbs that fell from her lips. You exhaled sharply and ordered one. When you took the first bite, the soft, sweet flavor melted onto your tongue, and for a second—just a second—you could almost hear her laughter.
You swallowed down the lump in your throat.
♥♥♥
Your last stop was another store filled with more jewelry and accessories, but this time, your eyes searched for something specific.
And there it was—a small necklace with a silver spider charm.
Kafka.
You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. It was ridiculous. What were you even doing? But your fingers still curled around the chain, and before you could think too hard about it, you bought it.
Now, you stood outside the store, gripping the bat in one hand while your other hand toyed with the small collection of items stuffed in your pocket.
You sighed, looking up at the towering skyline of Ark City.
You had money. You had a weapon. You had freedom.
But even now, with the entire city before you—
Why did it still feel like something was missing?
The electronic shop was sleek, filled with holographic advertisements and walls lined with the latest gadgets. The low hum of tech blended with the muffled beats of some upbeat song playing over the speakers.
You strolled past the displays, fingers lightly brushing over different models of headphones before stopping at a pair that caught your eye—sturdy, comfortable, and built to drown out the world.
Perfect. Holy shit you missed your electronics so much.
Grabbing them, you made your way toward the phone section. It didn’t take long to find a model that suited you—nothing too fancy, just something that worked. The cashier barely looked at you as they scanned the items.
♥♥♥
You stepped outside, the cold night air brushing against your skin as you powered up your new phone. The moment the screen flickered to life, you instinctively logged into your old account.
It had been so long. Too long.
Your fingers hovered over the screen as notifications from an eternity ago flooded in—messages you never got to read, calls you never answered. The weight in your chest grew heavier, but you forced yourself to scroll past them.
Instead, you focused on setting up your phone, connecting your new headphones and adjusting the settings.
And then—
A shiver ran down your spine.
You froze.
That energy.
It was distant, but unmistakable—the pulsing, raw presence of a Stellaron.
Your breath hitched, your grip tightening on the bat as your gaze slowly lifted toward the horizon.
Something was here.
♥♥♥
Your body moved with purpose, muscles remembering movements that had once been second nature.
As soon as that pulsing energy of the Stellaron hit your senses, you didn’t hesitate. The second you took off, the city became a blur—lights streaking past like shooting stars as you weaved through the dense streets of Ark City. People barely registered in your vision as you slipped through the gaps in the crowd, dodging and pivoting with ease.
The rhythmic thud of your boots against the pavement was drowned out by the roar of the metropolis. Bright holographic billboards flashed advertisements, neon signs buzzed overhead, and the smell of metal and coolant filled the air. The city was alive—thrumming with technology, towering skyscrapers stretching into the sky, and a web of interconnected rooftops that became your playground.
A set of metal stairs leading up a building caught your eye. Without breaking stride, you jumped onto the railing instead of the steps, using your momentum to launch yourself higher. Your hands gripped the ledge above, body swinging up and over with practiced agility.
The moment your feet touched concrete, you kept moving.
Faster.
Your heart pounded with adrenaline as you sprinted across the rooftops, leaping across gaps that would have terrified any normal person. The wind howled past your ears, the city stretching endlessly below you. You moved like you belonged there—a shadow weaving through the skyline.
But then—a whirring sound.
Your instincts screamed at you to dodge.
You twisted mid-air—just as a massive mechanical arm crashed down where you had been moments before. The rooftop beneath cracked on impact, debris flying everywhere.
Your eyes flicked up.
Towering before you stood a massive combat drone, its sleek metal plating reflecting the neon glow of the city. Its glowing red optics locked onto you, scanning your form with an eerie hum. You had no time to process before you heard another sound—a mechanical whine followed by the sharp crackle of energy charging.
More were coming.
Your grip tightened around your baseball bat. You exhaled, muscles coiling, a smirk playing at your lips.
"Guess I’ll be having some fun tonight."
The first bot lunged—a metal arm swinging down with lethal force. You ducked, spinning low to the ground as it smashed into the rooftop, sending cracks through the surface. Before it could recover, you surged forward, swinging your bat directly into its joint. The impact sent a shudder through your arms, but you felt the satisfying crunch of metal buckling under the force.
Without missing a beat, you twisted your body, flipping onto the back of the bot as another drone fired a blast toward you. The energy projectile barely missed, scorching the air where you had been.
Using the momentum, you leaped off, twisting in mid-air to bring your bat down on the second drone’s head. The reinforced alloy dented under the force, sparks flying as it crashed to the ground.
You didn’t stop.
You ran, flipping off railings, vaulting over pipes, and dodging more attacks with fluid precision. The city became an obstacle course, and you were unstoppable.
Another drone rushed at you. You ducked under its swipe, kicking off the side of a neon billboard to gain height, flipping over its head. As you landed behind it, you swung your bat into its exposed power core— a flash of electricity crackling as the machine staggered and collapsed.
But they kept coming.
Through the chaos, your focus never wavered. Your body moved on pure instinct—flowing, adapting, striking. Every hit was precise, every movement calculated. You weren’t just running toward the Stellaron anymore.
You were carving your path straight through.
And with each step forward, the pulse of the Stellaron’s energy grew stronger.
The last drone stood before you, its metal frame gleaming under the artificial lights of Ark City. This one was larger than the rest, its sleek black plating lined with pulsing crimson circuits—a clear indication that it was more than just a regular combat unit. Its optics whirred and locked onto you, scanning your battered figure with eerie precision.
It moved first.
The bot lunged with terrifying speed, its massive arm swinging down in a brutal arc meant to crush you instantly. But you were already moving—twisting your body, just barely slipping past the strike. The force of impact shattered the rooftop beneath where you stood moments before, sending shards of debris flying into the air.
Your grip on your bat tightened. Your body ached, your breath came in sharp pants, but adrenaline drowned out the exhaustion. You had come too far to stop now.
The drone pivoted, launching a barrage of energy blasts in your direction. You ducked, flipped, and weaved between the attacks with inhuman fluidity—your body moving purely on instinct. The scorching heat of the projectiles brushed past you, but you never faltered.
Then—an opening.
You rushed in, closing the gap faster than the machine could react. With all the strength you had left, you swung your bat straight into its chest—right into its exposed power core.
CRACK!
The impact sent a violent jolt through your arms, but you felt the satisfying shudder of metal breaking. Sparks erupted as the bot staggered backward, its circuits flickering erratically.
Not enough.
You spun on your heel, gripping the bat with both hands, and slammed it down again—harder.
CRASH!
The core shattered. Electricity surged wildly through the bot’s frame before its entire body went rigid. A second later—it collapsed, lifeless and defeated.
Silence.
You stood there, chest rising and falling heavily, as the wind carried the smell of burnt metal.
You won.
Your eyes flickered toward your bat—its surface dented, chipped, and streaked with black oil from the countless enemies you had taken down. Your hands, covered in scrapes and bruises, trembled slightly from the sheer exertion.
And then, you finally looked up.
The Stellaron was close—its pulsating golden energy illuminating the area in an ethereal glow. You could feel its presence buzzing deep within your bones, calling to you in a way you couldn’t fully understand.
You took a step forward.
But then—your breath caught in your throat.
Your gaze locked onto the figures standing near the Stellaron. Familiar figures.
Your blood ran cold.
Kafka. Silver Wolf. Firefly.
Your heart slammed against your ribs as the realization hit. The Stellaron Hunters.
They were here.
♥♥♥
Your hoodie, once pristine, was now scuffed and dirtied with dust, smoke, and streaks of oil from the bots you had destroyed. The fabric held up surprisingly well, proving its durability despite the hell you had just put it through.
Your cargo pants were slightly torn in places, nothing too drastic, but enough to show that they had endured the sheer intensity of the fight. Your fingerless gloves were stained—blood from your knuckles mixing with the black smears of machine oil.
Strands of your hair clung to your face, slightly damp from sweat, but your eyes still burned with determination. Despite everything—the exhaustion, the injuries, the endless running and fighting—you looked alive.
And as you stood there, gripping your battered baseball bat, staring at the Stellaron Hunters—you wondered…
Did they even recognize you?
The Stellaron pulsed, its eerie blue light flickering across the metallic rooftops of Ark City, illuminating the smoke-filled air in an almost hypnotic rhythm. The high-rise buildings stretched into the distance, their neon signs flickering like stars against the abyss of the night sky. Somewhere far below, the hum of the city continued—cars speeding down illuminated roads, crowds gathering in districts overflowing with artificial lights and holographic advertisements. But up here, it was silent.
Too silent.
Kafka, Silver Wolf, and Firefly stood near the Stellaron, their figures bathed in its luminescent glow. They hadn’t noticed you yet—not truly.
Silver Wolf was closest to the Stellaron, tapping away at her holo-screen with laser focus, a faint blue shimmer flickering across her glasses as she read through whatever data she had pulled up. Her short, silver-purple hair swayed slightly as she tilted her head, seemingly puzzled by the readings.
“This isn’t normal,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “The energy signature is fluctuating. It’s like something already tried to influence it…”
Firefly stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, her sleek, high-tech mech suit reflecting the glow of the Stellaron. Her blue-peach pink eyes which were like the sunset, narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face. She was tense—on edge.
And Kafka?
She was the furthest back, yet somehow the most aware. Her magenta eyes scanned the rooftop like she had already sensed something was off. One gloved hand rested on her hip, while the other twirled a strand of her deep burgundy hair lazily between her fingers.
A smirk tugged at her lips, but her usual playful ease was undercut by something sharper—a quiet, calculated wariness.
Then—she stopped twirling her hair.
The shift was subtle, but immediate.
“...We’re not alone,” she mused, her voice smooth yet laced with something unreadable.
Silver Wolf snapped her head up. Firefly instinctively took a step forward, her stance defensive.
The air grew colder.
A breeze rustled through the rooftop, carrying the lingering scent of burnt metal, smoke, and electricity. It was only then that they noticed—the wreckage.
The scattered remains of the robotic sentries lay across the rooftop in twisted, smoking heaps. Metal limbs severed, cores shattered, wires sparking. Something—someone—had torn through them.
Someone fast. Someone strong.
Someone who was standing right behind them.
Silver Wolf’s fingers twitched over her holo-screen. Firefly’s eyes sharpened, her fingers subtly curling as if ready to summon her weapon at any moment. Kafka simply turned her head ever so slightly, that unreadable smirk still playing on her lips.
And then, you took a step forward.
Your boots scraped against the rooftop, slow and deliberate. The neon lights of the city cast a long shadow in front of you, stretching toward them like the hand of a ghost. Your hood was pulled low, obscuring your eyes. But even without seeing them, you knew their gazes were locked onto you now.
“Who the hell…?” Silver Wolf muttered under her breath.
You didn’t answer. You just stood there, bat resting over your shoulder, body tense yet completely still. The oversized hoodie you wore fluttered slightly in the wind, barely hiding the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath.
The tension was thick.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then—Kafka chuckled.
“Now, this is interesting,” she mused, turning her body fully to face you. Her violet eyes gleamed with something dangerous—curiosity.
Firefly, however, wasn’t as amused. Her golden eyes burned with suspicion.
“You fought those drones, didn’t you?” she asked, voice sharp. Not a question—an accusation.
You tilted your head slightly, but still, you didn’t speak.
Silver Wolf’s gaze flickered down—noticing the dents and scratches on your metal bat, the streaks of black oil staining your gloves. Her brows furrowed.
“…Who are you?” she asked, voice quieter this time.
You exhaled softly. Finally, you reached up with one hand—gripping the edge of your hood.
And then, you pulled it back.
Your hair, messy from the fight, spilled out from beneath the hood. Your eyes, sharp and piercing, were finally revealed.
The moment they saw you, the world seemed to stop.
Silver Wolf froze. Firefly’s breath hitched.
Kafka?
For the first time in a long, long time—she looked genuinely surprised.
Silence.
And then—
“…No way,” Silver Wolf whispered, voice trembling. Her fingers curled into fists.
Firefly took a step forward, her sunset eyes wide with something dangerously close to disbelief.
“…It can’t be,” Firefly said, barely above a whisper.
Your gaze met theirs. A storm of emotions swirled behind their eyes—shock, disbelief, fear, hope—yet none of them dared to move.
Kafka was the first to recover.
Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. A mix of amusement and something deeper—something that looked almost like relief.
“…Now, this,” she said, voice like silk, “is a reunion I never expected.”
The Stellaron pulsed behind them, its eerie glow casting long shadows against the rooftop of Ark City. The hum of neon lights flickered through the thick, night-chilled air, the city below alive with the muted echoes of cars, distant chatter, and the occasional mechanical whir of passing drones.
But up here—on this isolated, broken battlefield—the world was silent.
Kafka stood with a smirk that was just a little too stiff, her violet eyes narrowing with intrigue, but the two others?
They were frozen.
Firefly, always composed, stared at you like she was seeing a ghost. Her blue-peach eyes widened, disbelief crashing over her face like a tidal wave. Her hands, which were usually clenched into fists out of habit, trembled at her sides.
Silver Wolf—Silver Wolf actually took a step back.
Her holo-screen flickered out of existence, forgotten. Her fingers hovered, twitching like she was trying to reboot her own brain.
Neither of them could move. Neither of them could breathe.
Until they did.
Firefly was the first. The moment her mind caught up, she bolted forward.
The next thing you knew—arms wrapped around you.
She crashed into you like a meteor, the force nearly knocking you off balance. You barely had time to register the warmth of her before—
“You idiot,” Firefly choked out, her voice unsteady. Her fingers clutched your hoodie like she was scared you’d vanish again.
Then—Silver Wolf.
She latched onto your side, gripping you like a lifeline. Her head pressed against your shoulder, and for the first time in forever, her cocky, easygoing demeanor completely shattered.
“…You were dead,” she muttered, voice tight. “You were—”
She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
The weight of their arms, the sheer force of their emotions, it hit you like a tidal wave. They were shaking. They were actually shaking.
The two people who never let their emotions slip—who never let their guard down—were holding onto you like they never wanted to let go.
And then—
A sharp inhale.
A presence—one that had been completely, eerily still since the moment you arrived.
Blade.
He stood at the very back, partially obscured by the Stellaron’s glow, his sword still gripped in his hand.
But he hadn’t moved.
He hadn’t spoken.
He hadn’t even breathed.
The shock on his face was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.
His usual impassive, unshaken expression? Gone.
Instead, his crimson eyes—so often cold, distant—were wide. His lips were parted just slightly, like he wanted to say something, like he wanted to speak your name—
But he couldn’t.
Because if he did, if he let himself believe what he was seeing—what he was feeling—he might break.
His grip on his sword tightened. The tension in his shoulders was unbearable, like a coiled spring seconds away from snapping. His breath was uneven, shallow. His entire world—his entire, painstakingly built existence—was shattering right in front of him.
Because you were supposed to be dead.
He had mourned you. He had spent days, weeks, months—lost in grief, in anger, in suffocating guilt.
And yet—
You were here.
Standing before him.
Breathing.
Alive.
Your hoodie—the one you had just bought—was dirtied, torn at the sleeve, but it still held. The cargo pants, loose and flexible, were scuffed from battle. Fingerless gloves covered your hands, streaked with oil and a bit of blood.
But it was you.
Blade felt his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Too fast. Too violent. Too real.
His jaw clenched.
And then—he took a step forward.
A slow, deliberate step.
The sound of his boots against the rooftop was deafening in the silence.
Silver Wolf and Firefly barely registered it, too caught up in their relief to even acknowledge Blade’s presence.
But you?
You looked up.
And in that moment, your eyes met.
Time stopped.
For a split second—just a fraction of a heartbeat—Blade saw everything in those eyes.
The exhaustion. The pain. The sheer, raw desperation that had clawed its way through your soul just to get back.
And something inside him snapped.
His sword clattered to the ground.
A harsh, shuddering exhale left his lips. His fists clenched at his sides—knuckles white from the sheer force of restraint.
His mind was screaming at him to move. To close the distance. To touch you. To make sure you were real.
But his body refused to obey.
Because the moment he let himself believe this wasn’t a dream—that you were actually here, alive, breathing—
He would break.
And this time, he might not recover.
The moment lingered between you and Blade, heavy and suffocating, the air thick with emotions neither of you had the words for. The Stellaron behind the others pulsed with an unsettling glow, its energy humming through the air like a silent, omnipotent force, but none of that mattered. Not when his crimson eyes were still locked onto yours, wide with something fragile and volatile all at once.
Then, Silver Wolf and Firefly, still breathless, their chests rising and falling rapidly from the sheer emotional overload, seemed to snap back to reality.
“…We need to check the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf’s voice was quieter than usual, her sharp confidence buried under layers of lingering shock.
Firefly hesitated for only a moment before nodding, though she glanced back at you as if she wasn’t sure if she could leave you alone. But whatever was going on with the Stellaron, it was urgent—something big enough that they needed to act fast.
“You stay here.” Firefly’s voice was gentler than usual, almost hesitant, almost like she didn’t want to let go. “We’ll be back. Just—stay here.”
Silver Wolf, still visibly shaken, exhaled sharply before pulling up a holographic screen, fingers typing at rapid speed. She didn’t even look at you when she spoke—maybe because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to leave either.
“Kafka,” she called, her voice carrying that same tension that hadn’t yet faded. “Come with us.”
Kafka, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with an unreadable expression, let out a soft hum. She placed a gloved hand on her hip, head tilting slightly, amusement flickering in her violet eyes—but underneath it, there was something else. Something deeper, something she didn’t say out loud.
“Sure thing.”
But before she turned to leave, she glanced at Blade.
And in that single glance, everything was said.
She knew.
She always knew.
That out of everyone, Blade was the one who had suffered the most in your absence.
That out of everyone, he was the one who had lost the most when you vanished.
And now that you were back?
She wouldn’t interfere.
“Stay with them, Blade,” Kafka said smoothly, her voice laced with something almost affectionate, but when he didn’t respond—when he didn’t even blink—she merely turned away, following Silver Wolf and Firefly towards the Stellaron.
And just like that—
It was just the two of you.
The air around you felt different.
Like the world had tilted on its axis, like the cityscape had faded into nothing, like the only thing grounding you to reality was the sound of Blade’s uneven breaths.
You didn’t know how long you stood there. Staring at him. Feeling his gaze burn into you with an intensity so raw, so overwhelming, it nearly made your knees buckle.
And then—he moved.
In a single, swift motion, he closed the distance.
Before you could even react, his arms wrapped around you.
And Blade—Blade held you like he was afraid you would disappear again.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t controlled.
It was desperate.
His arms, strong and scarred, caged you in completely. His muscles tensed as he crushed you against him, his entire body trembling ever so slightly.
His breath was uneven, shaky as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hair brushing against your skin. The warmth of him, the sheer presence of him, was suffocating in the best way possible.
And then—you felt it.
A slight, fleeting touch. The faintest press of his lips against your skin.
It was barely noticeable, so soft you almost thought you imagined it, but it was there.
And it was enough to make your entire body lock up.
Blade, the man who had spent so long trapped in his own grief, his own pain, his own relentless torment—was now here. Holding you. Clinging to you. Desperately.
His fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, gripping it so tightly it might tear. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the fact that you were here, alive, breathing.
He needed to feel it.
He needed to feel you.
To confirm that this wasn’t some cruel illusion.
That you wouldn’t vanish if he let go.
That he wasn’t dreaming.
His entire body was shaking. His heart pounded against his ribs, an erratic rhythm that he couldn’t control. He had no control. Not over his breathing, not over his thoughts, not over the unbearable ache in his chest that had been suffocating him for months.
He tightened his hold, pressing you closer, drowning in the feeling of you.
Because if this was a dream—if this was just another hallucination brought on by grief—then he never wanted to wake up.
Blade held you so tightly it almost hurt. Almost. But you didn’t mind—not when you could feel the way his body trembled, not when you could hear the erratic rhythm of his breaths against your skin, uneven and shaky.
His arms were unrelenting, strong, scarred, warm. The weight of his presence, the sheer intensity of his grip, made it clear—he wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever.
And then—you felt it again.
His lips.
A ghost of a touch against the crook of your neck, rough yet reverent, trembling yet firm.
A whisper. A groan. Your name, spoken in a voice so raw, so deep, so broken.
He was unraveling.
Blade—stoic, untouchable, unreadable Blade—was falling apart in your arms.
The air was thick with emotions, almost suffocating in its intensity. The cityscape around you blurred into irrelevance—the neon lights, the distant hum of traffic, the soft glow of the Stellaron behind you. None of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was him.
The man who had mourned you.
The man who had suffered in your absence.
The man who had spent months drowning in agony, unable to move forward, unable to let go—because how could he, when you were everything?
For the first time since you returned, Blade pulled away just slightly.
Just enough for you to see his face.
And—oh.
His eyes.
His crimson eyes looked so vulnerable.
So desperate.
So utterly, devastatingly fragile.
Blade wasn’t just looking at you—he was drinking in the sight of you, memorizing every detail as if afraid you would disappear if he blinked.
His hands slowly, carefully, moved up to your shoulders, fingers grazing your hoodie, lingering there like he was trying to convince himself that this was real. That you were real.
His breathing was uneven. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something—but the words wouldn’t come.
Because what could he possibly say?
What words could ever be enough to describe the way his world had shattered when he lost you?
The way he had ached for you, suffered for you, longed for you?
The way he had convinced himself that he would never get to see you again?
His fingers twitched against your hoodie, his entire body trembling with restrained emotion. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and for a brief, fleeting moment—
You saw it.
The slightest glimmer of moisture in his eyes.
Tears.
Blade, the man who never showed weakness, was on the verge of tears.
And then, before you could say anything, before you could even breathe—he pulled you back in.
Even tighter than before.
Even more desperate.
He buried his face against your shoulder, his arms caging you in, his body pressing into yours, as if trying to merge into you completely.
And in a voice so low, so deep, so utterly wrecked—
He whispered your name again.
This time, his voice cracked.
The moment was thick—heavy with longing, with emotions too raw to be spoken aloud. Blade’s body was still so close, the warmth of his embrace lingering against your skin, his face barely inches away from yours. His eyes—still yearning, still desperate, still so full of everything he refused to say.
His fingers twitched, reluctant to move, reluctant to put space between you. He was still drinking you in, memorizing you, as if letting go meant losing you all over again.
And then—the moment shattered.
“[NAME]!!”
A blur of motion—and then a weight slammed into you at full force.
“GAH—!”
Your breath was nearly knocked out of your lungs as a small but powerful force wrapped around you like a vice.
Silverwolf.
She latched onto you like a menace, clinging so tightly it was like she was trying to fuse into your very being.
Her arms around your waist, her head buried against your chest, shaking.
You barely had a second to register the warmth of her body against yours before—
Another impact.
A second weight barreled into your side, almost making you stumble.
Firefly.
She wasn’t nearly as aggressive as Silverwolf, but she was just as desperate. Her arms circled around you, her face pressing into your shoulder, trembling against your hoodie.
And then—you heard it.
The soft, muffled hiccup.
And then another.
And then—the quiet, shaky sobs.
Your eyes widened. They were crying.
Silverwolf—who always acted like she didn’t care, like she was too cool for emotions, was shaking in your arms.
Firefly—sweet, gentle Firefly—was holding you so tightly like she was terrified you’d slip away.
Your hoodie was getting damp from where their faces were pressed against you, their shoulders shaking as they sobbed into you, clinging to you like you were the last thing anchoring them to reality.
You felt something twist painfully inside your chest.
These two—these girls who had become your family—had suffered so much in your absence.
Their cries were quiet, muffled, yet so devastatingly broken.
Silverwolf’s grip on you tightened even more, her fingers digging into the fabric of your hoodie as she whispered through gritted teeth—
“You absolute… fucking… dumbass…”
Her voice cracked.
You exhaled softly, your own eyes stinging.
“…Yeah. I missed you too.”
Firefly sniffled, squeezing you even tighter. “…Don’t ever do that again. Please.”
You slowly, carefully, wrapped your arms around them.
And for a moment—nothing else mattered.
Not the city, not the Stellaron, not the battle you had just fought.
Only this.
Only them.
Only the warmth of family that you had lost—and found again.
But as you held them close, you felt something else.
A gaze. A presence—still near, still lingering.
You looked up—and Blade was still standing there.
Watching you.
His arms were stiff at his sides, his expression carefully blank—but his eyes.
God, his eyes.
So many emotions swirled in those crimson depths.
Love.
Longing.
Relief.
And just a bit of heartbreak.
Because he wanted to be the one still holding you.
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t say a word.
Just watched—as if knowing you were safe was the only thing keeping him standing.
The air still felt thick, heavy with everything unsaid. Even as Silverwolf and Firefly clung to you like you’d disappear if they let go, you could still feel Blade’s stare burning into you.
But before you could say anything, Silverwolf abruptly pulled away, sniffing and wiping her face aggressively, as if embarrassed by her outburst.
“Ugh, enough of this emotional shit.” She cleared her throat and straightened up, brushing off her hoodie like she hadn’t just been sobbing into you. “You need food. We’re getting pizza.”
Firefly nodded furiously. “Yes. And you’re eating properly this time.”
You blinked. “I—”
“No arguments.” Silverwolf snapped her fingers, already turning on her heel. “Let’s go.”
Firefly was already pulling on your arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come on! You need something warm in your stomach!”
You sighed in defeat, but you weren’t really complaining. The idea of sitting down with them, eating something normal—it felt surreal.
Blade, however, still hadn’t moved.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze.
“…You coming?”
For a moment, he just stared.
Then—he scoffed, looking away. “Hmph.”
But he still followed.
♥♥♥
The pizzeria was cozy, dimly lit, and smelled like heaven.
The moment you stepped inside, Silverwolf was already shoving a menu at your face.
“Pick something with a lot of protein and carbs. You look like a half-dead cryptid.”
Firefly huffed. “Don’t be mean. She’s been through a lot.”
“…And she looks like a half-dead cryptid.”
You just rolled your eyes and took the menu, but as you glanced up—you froze.
Across the table, Blade had just sat down.
In a disguise.
A terrible disguise.
A long, black coat, a dark turtleneck, and—oh god—
A hat. A baseball cap.
And sunglasses.
At night. Inside a pizzeria.
You stared.
You blinked.
And then—you laughed.
Loud.
Unrestrained.
A genuine, full-bodied, stomach-aching laugh.
Blade stiffened immediately, scowling. “What?”
You barely had time to catch your breath. “Are—are you serious? The hat? The sunglasses? Inside?”
Silverwolf snorted. “Yeah, he looks like he’s either hiding from the paparazzi or about to commit arson.”
Firefly covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “I—I thought we agreed he didn’t need a disguise.”
You wiped a tear from your eye, still chuckling. “Blade. You look ridiculous.”
He glared, adjusting the sunglasses. “Tch. It’s for precaution.”
You only laughed harder.
The ride back to the Stellaron Hunters’ ship was quieter than expected. Firefly had been talking about the pizza for the first ten minutes, Silverwolf had been boasting about some new hacking achievement, but eventually, both of them began to doze off, exhaustion finally catching up.
By the time you boarded the ship, Silverwolf and Firefly were barely standing. Yet, despite swaying on their feet, both stubbornly refused to go to sleep.
“We’re fine,” Silverwolf grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she leaned against a control panel.
“Yeah,” Firefly mumbled, “Not even tired.”
Kafka sighed, rubbing her temples before swiftly pinching their pressure points.
In a blink, both of them collapsed into unconsciousness.
You gawked. “Did you just—”
“They need sleep,” Kafka said simply, catching Firefly before she hit the ground. “You do too.”
Before you could argue, Kafka pulled you into a tight embrace.
Her warmth was comforting, the gentle way she held you—as if you’d slip away if she let go.
“Welcome back, dear.” Her voice was low, fond, but there was an edge of something deeper—relief, love. Like she had lost you once and refused to let it happen again.
Your arms wrapped around her instinctively, breathing in her familiar scent. “…It’s good to be back.”
Kafka smiled, then patted your head.
“Get some rest.”
With that, she turned away, carrying Firefly while Blade effortlessly picked up Silverwolf, disappearing into the ship’s quarters.
But sleep never came.
You stood on the balcony of the ship, overlooking the vastness of space. The stars stretched endlessly, glimmering against the dark abyss. You should’ve felt at peace.
But instead—your chest was heavy.
Too much had happened. Too much had changed.
And Blade—
“You should be resting.”
His voice cut through the quiet, deep and familiar.
You didn’t turn around. “So should you.”
He walked closer, his presence alone sending warmth through your cold fingers. Then, he stood beside you, gazing at the stars.
For a moment, there was silence. Then—
“I thought you were gone.”
You felt your breath hitch. The rawness in his voice—it wasn’t something he ever showed.
When you turned, you finally saw it—
The unguarded pain in his crimson eyes.
“…Blade.”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.” He exhaled sharply, as if trying to control himself.
And then—his hands suddenly gripped your shoulders, pulling you closer.
“I thought I lost you.” His voice was hoarse, his fingers tightening. “I was ready to destroy anything—anyone—to bring you back.”
Your eyes widened. “…Blade.”
His forehead pressed against yours, and you could feel his uneven breathing, the sheer desperation in his touch.
“Don’t do that again.”
Your heart pounded. “…What?”
His hands trembled against your skin. “Don’t leave me again.”
Your breath caught in your throat. This was Blade—reserved, quiet, always hiding his emotions. But now—
He was breaking in front of you.
Your hands slowly came up, cupping his face.
“…I won’t.” Your voice was quiet, firm. “I won’t leave.”
Blade exhaled shakily. His eyes flickered to your lips.
And then—
He kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate—like he needed to feel that you were real, that you weren’t just another dream slipping through his fingers.
Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
He responded immediately, his grip tightening, his body pressing into yours. His lips moved hungrily, devouring you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.
You gasped against him, and he swallowed the sound, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss even more.
It was consuming.
Your fingers traced the scars on his arms, and he groaned against your lips, shuddering at the sensation.
He pulled back for a brief moment, eyes glazed with longing. His lips were slightly swollen along with his bottom lip bleeding a little, his breath ragged.
“…I love you, God I'm infatuated with you.”
He groans out, burying his face in the crook of your neck again, this time letting himself get lost in you, your skin, your warmth, your scent. His lips latch on your neck, leaving feather-like kisses over your neck.
And then his hands find yours, intertwining them as if to make sure you’re truly here. His fingers, rough and scarred from years of battle, tremble slightly as they weave between yours. He strokes your knuckles with his thumb, tracing the lines of your hand like he’s memorizing every detail. His grip is firm, but not suffocating—he just needs to feel you, to remind himself that you’re not slipping away again.
Then, suddenly, his hands gripped your thighs. In one swift movement, he lifted you off the ground, his strength effortless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His grip on you was possessive, firm, his chest rising and falling as he walked—no, carried you—to his quarters. Each step was deliberate, his breathing heavy in your ear, the sensation of his warmth radiating through his clothes, through yours.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and the moment you were inside, Blade pressed you against it, lips finding yours again with even more urgency. His hands roamed, memorizing, worshipping, while his grip on you never wavered. His fingers ghosted up your spine, sending sparks down your body as he deepened the kiss. His heart was racing, his body pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.
His lips trailed downward, along your jaw, down to your neck where he whispered your name, breath hot, voice wrecked. His grip on you never loosened, and as he carried you further into the dimly lit room, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the quiet hum of the ship in the background, and the pounding of his heartbeat against your own.
He wasn’t letting go—not now, not ever.
OH MY FUCKING GOD FINALLY BRO I STRUGGLED SO MUCH WRIITNG KISS SCENES, I CANNOT WRITE KISS SCENES EVEN IFMY LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. im gonna write some sweetheart fluff after this I cannto deal with this shit any longer man 😭
Pleaj like comment and follow if u like my work guys 🤓☝️requests r open !!
Does anyone know the name of the fanfic about Blade x Reader where the Reader is a Stellaron Hunter with a stellaron sword and her life was taken the Stellaron Hunters grieving for days but she was revived somewhere and reunited with them, including Blade?
I wanna read it again and put it on my list for Blade x Reader! 😭
I was wondering if you write for any of the BOM members.
If so can I get angst to fluff, Kolivan and Ulaz (separately) with a medic s/o who is a member of team voltron and they get poisoned?
If not, then Shiro, keith, and lance with the same scenario.
I do believe at this point only God knows when this ask was sent in, I'm like really bad at answering reqs in a timely manner but I think everyones aware of this at this point.
I absolutely LOVED this plot idea and may or may not be writing additional parts for the Paladins as well lol
as always, I hope you enjoy! please feel free to comment/reblog with your thoughts🫶
c/w: poison; medical facility; mentions of fighting; badly written 'fight' scene; Kolivan gets wounded in his and reader is the one wounded in Ulaz's; reader is a medic so if you don't like depictions of medical practices, even briefly, this probably isn't your fic love; Ulaz’s got out of hand and is more of a small one shot than a scenario. my bad.
dividers by @cafekitsune
For as long as you could remember, you had always wanted to be a doctor. Your dream was to help people. You'd joined the Garrison Space Program in hopes of getting the opportunity to further your knowledge in multiple areas of medicine, quickly working your way into position of field medic.
Getting the chance to actually go to space had never been in your plans, you liked having your feet on the ground, where you could be more useful. But signing up for the Garrison didn't leave you with much choice in such matters.
The mission was supposed to be straight forward and to the point, you were hardly even needed. The people in charge wanted you there for the soul purpose of logging the members vitals. Collect scientific data so that the Garrison can use it for their next generation of space suits.
You had only wished it'd been that simple.
It was difficult to tell time in space. Your easiest guesses had been the rotation of meals and when you and the other prisoners were let out to fight in the gladiator pits. You loathed the days you were meant to fight and mostly kept to yourself in order to attend to wounded prisoners best you could.
When Shiro had told you he was busting out, you hadn't even hesitated in packing up any medical scraps you had left and leaving them with your apprentice of sorts. Promising to return to free the rest of the prisoners. Neither of you wanted to leave them there, but getting both of you out would be hard enough.
Getting back to Earth proved far easier than you'd anticipated with the Galran technology. You'd tried to attend to Shiro's arm best you could while he piloted the two of you home.
Home. You honestly thought you'd never see it again.
The landing was, rough. But you'd survived, and then you'd been treated as if you were a threat. Saved by a bunch of cadets before you could be transported back to the Garrison, where you probably wouldn't have seen the light of day for a good while.
Thinking back on those early days, how you'd come to be with the Paladins of Voltron in the Castle of Lions, was almost nostalgic despite not having been so long ago.
Kolivan
Organizing some of your equipment, you tried to busy yourself to not think of the mission they were on. Trying not to get too concerned for the team you'd come to think of as your family. Trying not to think of the one you'd come to love.
Before you could spiral into worst case scenarios, the door to your clinic burst open, Keith holding it open while Antok carried an unconcious Kolivan through the threshold, gently placing him on your table.
You were in full doctor mode before he was down, already gathering up various tools to check his vitals.
"What's the situation?" You asked to no one in particular.
"I think he's been poisoned. He was grazed and just collapsed not long after."
“Are you hurt?” A quick scan told you Keith was relatively unharmed.
“No, it’s just Kolivan.”
Cursing under your breath, you started searching for the wound, making quick work of cleaning it and patching it up after pulling a blood sample from it.
"Get this to Pidge, tell her to run it with every type of poison we have, I need to know what was on that blade." Keith was out of the room before you couldn't even finish.
You prepped every antidote you had or could make, waiting to hear back from Pidge.
Satisfied with your preparation, you turned all your focus and energy to Antok, checking him over for injuries and checking his vitals until he huffed out an “I’m fine.” taking up position by the door and watching you as you began to pace, no more concerns left to keep your mind busy from your bedridden lover.
"Y/n."
Kolivan's voice was hoarse, but very much real. You felt tears spring to your eyes as you turned to look at him.
"I'm okay." He tried to sit up, stopping only due to your hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down on to the bed.
"Okay or not you're going to stay put until I say otherwise."
It wasn't much longer before Keith returned with the type of poison, and you had the antidote administered.
You watched as even Antok seemed to relax, he and Keith both leaving the infirmary to give you some space.
Kolivan watched in silence as you cleaned up your area, carefully stashing away every antidote for every poison you've ever come across or even just read about.
"I'm okay, my love." He says again.
"I know, but you're only okay because I know what I'm doing. You could have died today." You tried to keep the tears threatening to break at bay.
"But I didn't because you know what you're doing. I have nothing to fear if I have you."
You scoffed a laugh, glaring at him over your shoulder.
He just shrugged, holding open his arms for you. Crawling up onto the bed, you snuggled into his chest.
"The mission always comes first." He whispered, a reminder of the life you'd signed up for and willingly walked into the day you'd fallen for him.
"And I'm not saying it shouldn't, just that you don't have to be so reckless with your health."
"I am not reckless."
The pointed glare you shot him made him chuckle, holding you tighter.
"I'll always come back to you safe, my love."
"Safe enough at least." You grumbled, curling tighter around him, causing him to flinch slightly from pressure on his wound, and hold you tighter against him to keep you from pulling away because of it.
Ulaz
You didn’t often find yourself actually in the thick of battle unless the Castle was, but even then there was a level of safety.
Finding yourself actually on a Galra cruiser was not common for you. At least not since you escaped your prison. But you’d sworn you’d be back for the ones you left behind, and after plenty of arguing back and forth, you found yourself tagging along with the paladins to do just that.
Moving about the ship to find your way to the cells felt like second nature, you and Shiro leading the way. The operation was going smoothly up until you passed the hall you wished you could forget.
Ulaz had lived on that hall. Forth door on the left, knock twice, wait, knock twice again. It was ingrained in you, just as the safest path to it was.
You'd tried not to think of Ulaz or your time together on the ship, it was easier not to than to ponder what might've become of him. Had he been made? Would the other Blade's have gotten him out if he had? Was he even still alive?
Time wasn't a commodity you had as you found yourself in the cells, already wrapping up any wounds that needed immediate care and taking note of what could be done once back on the ship.
You'd been far too focused on assisting the wounded, you'd forgotten the dangers of mission and the fact that could easily turn into a battle.
The prisoner you were helping screamed just a moment too late and you felt searing pain as a blade made contact with your arm. You hardly had time to look at your attacker before all you saw was the back of a Galra soldier.
Breathing a weary sigh of relief, you finished your work and urged the prisoner to follow the others, before taking a quick assessment of your wound and the room around you, smiling when Ulaz dropped to his knees beside you.
"What can I do to help?" He asked earnestly, checking your wound himself.
"I think there was poison on the blade, so if I fall unconscious, get Pidge, the Green Paladin, to run a test to figure out what type, I should have the antidote-"
"Get away from them!" Ulaz grunted as he blocked Keith's attack.
"No, stop. He's not hurting me."
The Paladin's all looked at you like you were insane. "He's Galra, Y/n." Hunk stated incredulously. "You're literally bleeding."
"And he dispatched the one that made me bleed. Look I'll explain on the ship, but lets get these prisoners to safety."
Lance moved to pick you up, but Ulaz tightening his grip and standing effortlessly with you stopped him.
"Lead the way, Paladin." He said gruffly.
Somewhere between the holding cells and the lions, you lost consciousness entirely. Comforted by Ulaz’s presence and the knowledge you’d be safe as long as he had you.
“We’re just going to let him stay here? What if he’s leading them right to us?”
“He hasn’t left Y/n’s side for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom, does that really seem like someone who’d compromise them?”
“He’s Galra Keith.”
“And when have the Galra ever not been completely forthcoming with exactly how they feel about us? Face it Lance, even the Galra have emotions and aren’t all bad.”
“But he was on a Galra fleet cruiser, that’s not exactly a green flag.”
“Y/n trusts him, so we at least need to hear them out.”
“Do they always talk this much?” Ulaz whispered.
You chuckled, followed by a coughing fit. Cracking open your eyes and squinting against the bright lights of your infirmary.
“This is mild for them.” Your voice was hoarse from lack of use. “You get used to it though.”
“Y/n!” Lance screeched, rushing to your side, shoving Ulaz away from you to check you over. “Keith, go get the others! Y/n how are you feeling? Do you need anything? What can I do to-”
You reached your hand up, covering his mouth. “Dim the lights, they’re gonna give me a headache. And don’t shove the love of my life away from me again or I swear I’ll leave all your healing to those ten thousand year old pods. Understood?”
His eyes widened in shock, looking between you, to Ulaz, and back again.
“Love of your life?” The muffled question felt just as incredulous as it was probably supposed to sound. Pinning him with what he dubbed the ‘Mom Eyes’ he quickly moved to dim the lights.
Ulaz returned to his spot beside you, gently pulling your hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it gently.
The other Paladins joined you, each taking turns to fill in the blanks of while you were out. Pidge informed you of the type of poison on the blade and how shocked she was that you actually had the antidote. Hunk mentioned the few survivors that have refused any type of healing, holding out for you to check them over. Finally, it was Allura that demanded to know why in the universe you thought bringing a Galra on board was a good idea. You just shrugged and shared a look with Ulaz.
“Because we’re married.”
The room filled with various amounts of confused faces, indignant squawks –yes, squawks– and a barrage of questions sounding over top others. Your voice couldn’t be heard even if you tried to answer any of them.
Ulaz brought the room to silence with a laugh, an honest to goodness full belly laugh unlike one you’d ever imagined getting from him. He looked at you fondly, kissing the back of your hand once more before turning to your team.
He filled them in on how you’d met while you were imprisoned, how you’d come to fall in love, the ceremony of a wedding the two of you had completely alone in his quarters, and finally of how he was instrumental in yours and Shiro’s escape. He told them that neither of you had ever expected to meet again after that. War wasn’t kind on anyone, but especially not on lovers.
When he’d been notified that there was an escape attempt happening at the cells you had been held in, he left his post to go check it out.
“Knowing Y/n, I almost expected their return for the captives. I needed to know they were safe if it was them. I truly mean all of you no harm. I just wanted to make sure my Y/n was safe.”
“What made you break away from the Galra in the first place? It’s cool you’re in love with our Doc, but you’re still Galra, no offence.”
“I was never truly affiliated with the Galra Empire. Much like you, I seek to bring it down. I was working on the inside as a spy when I met Y/n. I am just glad they are mostly safe now. Thank you Paladins, for caring for them while I couldn’t.”
content: Casper accidentally in erupts a moment between you and 5012. gender neutral reader, crack, fluff, slightly suggestive, Sunshine mentioned briefly (also gn).
word count: 1.3k
a/n: In honor of the demo for adwd2 coming out and the Kickstarter coming out tomorrow i wanted to write about everyone's fave owl! Hope yall enjoy!
You had spent the day being on your absolute best behavior. You had trained with Atlas instead of playing claw games with him all day, behaved in the field when going topside, and even filled out the proper paperwork and filed it. All of this was part of your master plan, of course.
You put on your most innocent smile as you walked into 5012’s office. He looked over the pile of paperwork on his desk towards you, eyes narrowing.
“No.” he deadpanned.
“I didnt even do anything!” you countered.
“I cannot humor any distractions at the moment, leave.”
“Me?? Distracting??” your tone indicated affront, which was a cover for what is really was, bullshit.
His eyebrow raised so high you wondered if it would float off his face.
“Im sure you have your own work to finish as well.”
“Already done. And since I finished early I figured I would help you.” You smiled in a way that was reminiscent of a door to door salesman in the 1950s with something to prove and a wife they didn't love.
He gave you a glare that would have sent most people running.
“I have actual work that needs to be done by tonight, I cannot humor your games today.”
“Oh dont be like that, I'll actually help! At least for a while, I promise!”
You paused for a moment, seeing his unnwavering glare.
“...and if you dont let me help, I'll get Atlas and we’ll play the trumpet really loud outside your door. And neither of us remember how trumpets work.”
5012 let out an audible sigh, which you took as a sign of his defeat.
You happily skipped over to his desk, pulling over an extra chair and grabbing about a third of the stack of papers to work on. Despite everything, you actually did want to help. Because you respected the importance of his work.
And because he was alot more fun to mess with when he didnt have work as an excuse to distract him.
After about an hour of both of you sitting shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence, the pile of work had significantly diminished.
Glancing over, you saw 5012 looking significantly less stressed. Of course for him, significantly less stress meant one line between his brows disappearing. His expressions were virtually unreadable for quite a while, but you had managed to decode his many vaguely annoyed faces into their true meaning.
Now was your time to strike.
“I have a question about filling out this form.” you stated, standing up from your chair and leaning in, setting the paper down in his line of sight.
Of course he wasnt focused on the paper, he was focused on the way your hand trailed from his shoulder to his bicep, slowly folowing the vein lines down to his wrist. He was focused on the way your hair lightly brushed his cheek when you leaned in, and how painfully soft your eyes were when you peered at him.
It wasnt long before the paperwork was forgotten, as was the chair you had pulled beside him. Instead you were straddling his waist while he sat in his leather armchair, hands on your hips as you ran your fingers through his hair.
Your lips met his, warm and soft and you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. You felt his hands grip your hips a little harder as-
BANG
The sound of a window slamming open immediately cut through the moment.
You instinctively jumped back, startled at the sound. You would have fallen off the chair if 5012 hadn’t caught you and pulled you back to safety. You let out an “oof” as your forehead bonked into his shoulder blade.
You saw the cause of the sound, a handsome young reaper with long white hair and red eyes was now standing in 5012’s office after climbing through the window.
A look of pure shock graced the reapers features as he stared directly at 5012, with the intensity of a cat staring at a can of food. 5012 looked like he wanted to bang his head into the wall until he forgot his own name. Or push the white haired man out of the window.
You gave the white haired man a friendly wave.
“No fucking way.” White haired man finally spoke, his shock breaking into a wide smile.
“Get the fuck out.” 5012 responded, you still wrapped up in his arms.
But you recognized that voice. This was the reaper 5012 had been talking to before. The revolutionary, 8394.
You jumped out of 5012’s arms and practically climbed over his desk to greet what may be 5012’s only friend. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“Hi, Nice to meet you 8394! 5012 told me about you and your epic love story!” You started, holding out your hand for the white haired man to shake.
The white man smirked in a way that reminded you of a white cat with many knives being pointed at it. Strange, must have been a memory from when you were alive.
“Please, call me Casper. And let me tell you, the pleasure is all mine. Although regrettably, 5012 hasn’t told me about you yet.”
"This is 2013. one of the reapers I'm...training."
you watched the defense come out of 5012's mouth, and the regret immediately follow. Being caught in a compromising position with someone Casper had basically forced 5012 to work with was not going to make this situation easier on him. It took everything you had not to laugh.
Casper gave 5012 a look reserved for a younger brother learning something that he would tease his older brother about for the foreseeable decade. And 5012 looked like he was about to become the Abel to 5012’s Cain.
“You have to tell me about 5012 in the revolution, I’ve been dying to know and he won't tell me anything.”
“Oh, I'll tell you everything. My sunshine and I have enough stories about him to fill a book.”
“Is that your mortal lover?” you questioned, excited. You absolutely needed to know about the forbidden romace that started a revolution
“indeed. My sunshine is the only other person who can compare to me in both looks and personality.” He preened.
You couldnt help but chuckle at his vanity. He was so different from 5012.
“Oh my gods, I have to tell them about this!” Casper exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and clicked on a name with a sunflower emoji next to it.
The phone was only able to ring once before 5012’s hand reached down and snatched the phone, ending the call.
“Alright that's enough. Get out.” 5012 crossed his arms and attemped to stare Casper down.
If anything, Casper just looked more amused as he met 5012s gaze, clearly used to his attitude. But in the end Casper was the first one to look away.
“Alright, I just needed to pick up that report from you, my sincerest apologies for interrupting…”
His silence said all it needed as he climbed back out the window, now floating above the twilight city.
“So double date when?” he smirked.
5012 strode over to the window and slammed it shut before Casper could get another word out, a tired sigh escaping his lips when Caspers laughter was finally silenced by the glass pane.
“He was fun.” You laughed.
5012 glared at you, a hint of betrayal in his eyes.
You laughed and moved to lean up against him, your hands once again finding their way to his silky hair.
“I just want to get to know your friends.”
“They're not-”
He began to protest, but one look at your face and he knew there was no winning this argument. Instead he just leaned into your embrace, his face finally calm once again.
. Word Count — 4.1k
. Warnings — None!
. Contents — Late nights, annoying 5012, hints of insomnia, mutual bullying, LOTS OF EYE CONTACT, Caspy Waspy is mentioned, 5012 being the workaholic he is, annoying 5012, existential questions and possible dread, lost memories, amnesia, fluff, comedy, soft angst, chickens, Reader is 0213 and gender neutral, did I say annoying 5012?
Prologue — Bothering 5012 is always fun. Bothering him about being a shut in that always stays in his office? Even funnier. Except that it quickly takes a deeper turn... and you decide to visit him every night
5012’s office door greeted you quietly.
Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork and paperwork again.
At this point when you thought about 5012, senior Grim Reaper and your trainer, you could only picture his face covered by stacks of paper.
Was that normal?
Why would a place full of dead people need so many files?
Souls probably, classified information, those terminated reapers in need of rescue and yada yada yada.
You fumbled with the edge of your shirt, stalling.
0204, Atlas, was nowhere to be found, probably off to sleep or… honestly you didn’t know. Did you even want to know?
Your section of HQ was quiet. Time was frozen in the Underworld, but it was supposed to be past midnight in the human world, and Reapers either set out for missions or rested around that time, for convenience.
In all that stillness, and boredom, you thought that it would be a good idea to greet your oh so dear trainer.
Taking for granted his probable irritation… ahem.
How should you even approach him? It was never easy, but not difficult either.
You kind of rehearsed your greeting while climbing the stairs to his office: barging into the room rather loudly and risk getting punched in the face.
No, you thought, you would revisit the idea for another day.
And there you were, listening to the led lights buzzing above you. In silence.
Waiting, anticipating.
“Are you going to come in or not?” His voice, muffled by the door.
It didn’t even scare you, it just surprised you a tiny bit.
“Just so you know, you probably look stupid standing idle like that, especially out of my office,” he continued.
Rude.
“First of all,” you slowly pushed the door open, “rude.”
Your face peered from the crack.
“Second of all,” you slid in the room, closing the door behind you, “you’re ugly.”
A smile adorned your lips, yet the man on the other side of the office, sitting behind his desk, didn’t even raise his eyes, “you’ll find out that I do not care about your opinion of me 0213.”
He flipped a file over, unbothered. "Especially when it’s uncalled for.”
What a grump.
In the new found silence you took in his office again. It was the same as always, but every time something appeared and disappeared.
A stack of files, an unfinished cup of coffee, 5012’s coat on the chair, books opened on random pages and so on.
It was like an ecosystem, a very sad one of course. Changing and working in its own way.
“Why are you here, 0213? You’re awfully quiet,” the grumpy, ugly, boring, absolutely lame man spoke again.
“Ah, uhm, I was distracted sorry,” you walked further into the room.
“Distracted by?” He barely raised his eyebrows, “why you of course,” you teased, smiling.
5012 refused to look at you, and to entertain you.
“Do you need help big boss?” You peered over the stack of papers. “Hardly, you’d only make things… harder."
“Tell me about it,” a stupid grin formed on you face, eyes wandering around before setting on the guy in front of you, who was already looking at you, sternly.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” you raised your hands defensively, only relaxing after his glare left you.
“Can I at least stay here?” You probably would’ve stayed anyway.
“Why?”
“There’s no one around and nothing to do.”
“Go rest.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“How would I know? I still don’t understand this Grim Reaper body,” you huffed, he sighed.
“Just be quiet.” He rubbed his temples, sliding his fingers down his face in resignation.
A few minutes went by, you could only hear your breathing and the occasional pen scratching the paper's surface.
5012’s office was very dark, and very purple… dark purple.
You slowly made you way around it, taking in the subtle details, the titles of the books, the pattern of their covers, the arrangement of the tiles on the floor. Some were uneven.
Your curiosity took you to the big window. Looking down you saw a street, in front of you endless “sky scrapers”.
You knew the word, but never actually stopped to think about it, how could a building scratch the sky if there was no sky?
“How high up are we?” You leaned against the glass.
“If you’re planning to jump down I’d advise against it,” he tapped his pen on the desk.
“Wh— Why would I do that?! I already died once,” you twisted your neck to look at him weird.
“0204 once said that he wanted to test his fall damage, maybe he shared that stupid idea with you,” you alerted the distinct tone of annoyance in 5012’s voice.
“Well, even if he did… I’m not him, and it’s not like I go along everything he does—“
“…?”
“Mostly.” You coughed.
And then silence again.
You finished scrutinizing his room and returned in front of 5012, sitting on one of the chairs.
“Your office is cozy. I get why you’re always here,” your arms flopped on the table, next to some signed files.
“I’m glad it’s to you liking but I’m not always here, 0213.”
“Every time I come knocking you’re here.”
“Pure coincidence.”
“When do you go out?”
“Occasionally.”
Silence.
“Are you sure you can’t lie?” You raised one eyebrow.
“I can lie, but chose not to,” he huffed.
“So you’re not lying now.”
“No, 0213, I am not.”
“But you’re avoiding the truth. Because it’s a fact that you’re shut in here most of the time,” you’ve been staring at the man for a while now, and just then he returned your gaze.
Not matching your energy at all… but at least he was looking at you.
He cleared his throat.
“Should’t you be resting? We have stuff to do in some hours,” you looked at the clock.
“I already told you, I can’t fall asleep. Check your hearing grandpa.”
You smiled, he did not.
In all honesty, if 5012 could, he’d be smashing his head on the table with much pleasure… and until the surface molded into the shape of his face
“Why did you come here?” He interlaced his hands together, resting his chin against them. Purple irises dug deep into you, were 5012’s eyes always so sharp?
“I wanted to keep you company,” your voice quivered with embarrassment. You wondered, on a scale from 1 to 10, how much you looked stupid while saying that.
“I do not need your company, 0213.” He repeated the word with a strange tone, almost as if he was pronouncing it for the first time.
“Wow you’re so emo.” You dead panned.
“Here I was trying to be kind,” you continued, folding your arms.
“I don’t need your kindness either, you’ll see that’s something the Underworld is lacking.” The senior Grim Reaper grimaced.
“I guess I’ll be the first kind Grim Reaper,” you whispered to yourself, fidgeting with your sleeves.
5012’s eyes snapped to your face, scanning you and maybe your very soul, in a pensive silence.
Silly him probably forgot to look away because you caught him right in the act when you focused on him once again.
“Do I have something on my face?” You joked, ignoring the weight of his attention.
“No you do not,” he began. “It just surprised me, what you said.” He blinked, dragging his eyes to the window and… staring, glaring, admiring it.
You expected him to elaborate further, but he didn’t, and you both sat in silence once again.
It was comfortable, for you of course. For that emo guy over there, probably not.
You could only hear outside world, 5012’s office acted as a bubble, quiet, floating over the everything.
“Why?” You heard him ask.
To who? You weren’t sure. He wasn’t looking at you.
“What?” You asked, caught off guard.
You swore you saw his body shake and stiffen, barely, but you knew it did. His eyes were on yours again, for one second he looked startled and the next it was gone.
“I,” his mouth hung agape in thought.
“I think you should go 0213,” his voice gradually got colder, back to his usual tone huh.
“Why?” You asked, confused.
Why.
“I need to continue with my work, alone. You are distracting in the worst ways,” he fixed his necklace and jacket, nervously.
“Did I do something?”
“Just go, I’ll see you later for training,” he refused to look at you.
You could only imagine the consequences of pushing him too far, so you let it go.
“Okay,” you got up, the leather of the chair creaking under your weight.
“Goodnight then, or good day,” you put on a light hearted tone while walking backwards towards the door, 5012 never looked at you.
Your smile faltered. Finding the handle you disappeared once again, in the cold and silent halls of the building.
Why?
If eyes could burn, 5012’s office door would’ve been reduced to ashes.
Brows furrowed, eyes squinted, various lines caused by tension decorated the man’s face.
His body was still stiff, until he deflated all at once, fingers creeping up to rub his eyes in frustration? Anger? Tiredness? Fuck him if he knew.
Staring at the spot you left empty, 5012’s night went on.
A sound from your computer caught your attention, you rolled on your bed, one of the plushies from the infamous claw machine in your arms.
Another sound, and another.
“Hmpf,” you wobbled towards your desk.
Atlas: “Earth, or idk, to oh two one three”
Atlas: “I was thinking, why not go try to make a mysterious food from we find in the kitchen? Who knows how the Underworld stuff reacts to each other…”
Atlas: “Helloooooo???”
You stared at the text, grinning.
0213: “Hi chicken”
Atlas: “I’m not.”
0213: “Honk honk”
Atlas: “That’s not how chickens sing”
0213: “How do you know?”
Atlas: “I saw a video duh”
0213: “Did you now…”
Atlas: “Here look”
Atlas: *1 attachment
…
0213: “woW”
Atlas: “Aaaaaaanyways,,, how are you? Wanna hit the kitchen?”
0213: “Not today sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”
Atlas: “I want to have your lot on my mind swell ;)”
0213: “5012 was mean to me”
0213: “:(((((((“
Atlas: “hOw Dare he, cold hearted king!”
Atlas: “He’s such a doofus.”
You would’ve searched the meaning of that word later.
0213: “Has he been weird with you too or…?”
Atlas: “He’s always weird with me, I mean in the mean way.”
You asked a stupid question. Or just to the wrong person.
Atlas: “Maybe he’s in THAT time of the month.”
0213: “Huh”
Atlas: “Idk dude, he probably hadn't had his coffee when you talked to him.”
0213: “We’ll wait and see, now go be useful to the world.”
Atlas: “You mean being absolutely useful to society and sending the claw machine in bankruptcy?”
0213: “Honestly I don’t even remember what that word meant but sure, pop off diva!”
You logged out of your iReaper, pondering on what to do in this soon to be boring day.
5012 hadn’t called any meeting nor training yet, which was weird, but until further notice you were free. As much as you were.
It wasn’t like your newborn soul was chained with this association of Grim Reapers that totally killed people, without a way out.
Heh. Free time!
Although, it confused you. 5012, senior Grim Reaper, role model, dutiful worker deathly dedicated to his job, didn’t alert you about working.
Nor training, not even complaining about some crazy shit 0204 pulled.
Checking up on him wouldn’t have been a bad idea, not a good one either.
Your feet went on autopilot and when you snapped out of your thoughts, you were back in front of that office.
Determine as you were nothing could’ve stopped you!
“Oh 5012!” Hand on the door handle you were ready to burst in until… the door didn’t budge.
“Huh,” you rattled it, lightly at first, then harder, gripping it with your whole strength, making the whole door shake.
He either closed you out or wasn’t in the room at all.
You could’ve knocked this thing down. No, too extreme.
Resting your hands on your hips you huffed.
“I guess I’ll come back later. With a chainsaw. This isn’t over, fuckass door.”
You glared daggers at the piece of building as you walked away.
Your steps faded out and silence settled back in, the two men in the room relaxed.
“Didn’t know your trainee was so, direct,” the white haired guy spoke first.
“What was direct in what they did?” 5012 asked, annoyed.
“Almost taking the door out of its hinges.”
“They’d know better.”
“Are they always like that?”
“Abrupt?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got two of them, actually three with you.”
“Hey, rude.”
“Casper, you should go, wouldn’t want to be eavesdropped on a second time.”
1 am. You were back. Along with your… will? You couldn’t find a chainsaw.
Skipping the knocking you directly went to the offensive, trying to open the door, which again, didn’t budge.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you cursed under your breath, pushing and pulling it angrily.
Suddenly you heard a clicking sound, and got dragged along the door as it opened. Revealing a very, very, annoyed 5012.
Your hands were glued to the handle, sweaty.
“Oops, hi boss,” you did everything you could to avoid his gaze.
“Sometimes I wonder why they made you a Reaper 0213,” he sighed.
“I guess I’m that good,” a stupid grin was plastered on your face, letting go of the door.
“I half thought you wouldn’t be here, and actually asleep,” you continued.
“So you DO spend all your time in here,” you pointed an accusing finger to the tall man.
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes and also, uhm, to ask why there wasn’t training today.”
“Paperwork kept me busy,” his voice was lower than usual, taking a good look at him, you noticed that he looked more tired. And that was surprising considering he looked tired all the time.
“Can I help?” You smiled, encouraging the man to say yes.
“No,” he replied quickly, “but, I appreciate the offer.”
Your stomach flipped upon hearing 5012’s tone soften. Damn.
“Of course,” you looked down at the floor.
“Can I at least stay here? I’ll be good!”
“I have a feeling that you will stay regardless of what I may say,” the Grim Reaper sulked away, defeated, and headed back to his desk.
“You know me so well!” You followed him with a skip in your step.
The night passed in the quiet of 5012’s office. Having small talks every now and then, insulting each other.
The thought of your trainer never resting lingered.
Persistently.
You weren’t REALLY worried though.
...
Ok, you were. A tiny bit.
So you kept “visiting”, sacrificing your nights to stay with him and the days to hang out with 0204. After a while you also resumed training.
5012 never questioned the real reason behind your nightly appearances, and if he was bothered by it, he didn’t show it through and through.
It became a habit, going to the “purple room”.
Every night he was in his spot, refusing to rest.
Because his job was his life, and he wanted to feel alive, to have a purpose.
A week passed of you and him spending your nights together, obviously 5012 couldn’t have a say in this.
Tonight was no different. You were lounging under the big window, asking stupid questions to the other man, for the sake of wasting his time.
“Why can’t chickens fly?” You quizzed.
“How did you learn about chickens?”
“Atlas told me about them, they’re cute,” you smiled, focusing on the faraway buildings. Imagining a chicken flying from one to the other.
“I don’t know why I’m answering you, but no. From what I know and saw, chickens can’t fly,” 5012 facepalmed, you giggled.
The night went on like that, you asking his favorite candy, him admitting that he never had one, you being shocked before moving on to another question.
Before the both of you realized it, you fell into a habit of being there for each other. Well, sort of.
You fell into the habit of being there and 5012 into the one of, waiting. Waiting for you.
He slowly noticed how he’d think about you in the evening, whether you’d show up or how’d you show up.
A week in, tonight, before you made your appearance he made sure to tide up any misplaced objects and hide the fragile ones just because he saw you almost trip on yourself during training, and decided that he wanted nothing to do with broken objects.
“I heard that Reapers can fly,” you spoke suddenly, he nodded.
“Is there a secret or…?” You tilted your head.
“No, it’ll come to you eventually.”
The man looked at the window, you followed his line of sight.
There was nothing outside.
A dark, empty sky and tall, cold buildings.
You whispered something about reaching the moon, or the sun.
5012 did’t immediately ask you why.
He pondered, and wondered how you could remember what those two things were.
In the end he did ask, carefully.
When did he start being cautious around you?
“Oh I,” you paused, staring at him.
“I don’t. I don’t remember. I just feel that I want to see them.”
You smile, a bit confused yourself.
“You could always describe them to me,” you fidgeted with your clothes. "So at least I’d know what I want to reach,” you joked.
The senior Reaper stared back at you. Searching, questioning.
He surprised you when he complied, beginning with the Sun.
Pure light, he said, warmth, the opposite of whatever you had seen in the Underworld.
Then the Moon.
Something you figured he preferred by how he talked about it.
“The Moon has been my only companion, since the beginning of this long job. The only real witness of all the souls I’ve taken,” his eyes slowly set on his desk, his hands intertwined.
“Many mortals spoke to the Moon before their end, they asked for mercy, kindness. Sometimes for a reason.”
He paused, thinking, calculating, recalling.
And as quickly as he started, he stopped, abruptly.
“Yeah that’s all.”
5012 cleared his throat, collecting pieces of his cold attitude, building his wall once again.
You had perked up during his explanation, his delicate tone caught you off guard. So reverent, smooth, chilling.
You decided against teasing him about it. He felt like a wild animal when he was near you. Inching closer, painfully slow and running so far away if noticed.
You kept your tongue in your mouth.
“Just a big ball of light in the sky,” he spoke, rushing his words.
“And the other is a smaller ball, white.”
You nodded.
“I’d like to see them one day, maybe even touch them,” you blinked, eyes meeting the vast black sky.
5012 thought about saying something about it being impossible AND dangerous. He did not. He let you dream.
But why did you want to reach the sun, the moon?
Why did you want to be kind?
Why?
Your conversations swayed between unbelievably stupid topics to extremely deep ones in matter of minutes.
First you were asking about the moon, then how many plastic balls would be needed to fill the Reaper’s office.
Then about your lost life, and later about fishes.
One day you asked about the stars. You had heard other Reapers talk about them and you, obviously, got curious, and decided to rely on 5012cyclopedia.
“It’s been a while since you asked me about space,” the man noted.
It had been a little more than 2 weeks since you started nagging your trainer.
“They’re small white dots in the sky,” the corners of his mouth curled slightly.
“They’re little moons!” You smiled.
“Not quite but to the human eye, I suppose.”
“Can you reach them?”
“0213 we can’t even reach the moon, which is pretty close.”
No response.
Another day you met him at the coffee machine. The first thing you noticed were his prominent eye bags.
Not that he never had them, but they were particularly dark tonight.
5012’s eyes quickly found you. Zeroing on you from the side.
“Rough night?” You asked.
“Rough everything. 0204 covered my office in confetti.”
He looked —more like glared— down at his coffee mug.
A few seconds of silence passed, 5012 suddenly felt his blood pressure rise. “Please don’t ask me anyth—“
“What’s your favorite blend of coffee?”
Ugh.
And it went on. And on, and on, and on.
Night after night.
He thought of you as a nuisance at first, but gradually reconsidered your presence as an ALMOST entertaining one.
He wondered if you sacrificed your sleep for him.
The idea made him smile. Wait, no, huh?
Maybe you didn’t sleep at all. Or you did, just not at night.
Until finally, after a month of you stating that 5012 was a recluse who only stayed in his office, his pride took over, deciding to prove you wrong.
How?
One evening he quickly messaged you that he wouldn’t have been in his office that night and to not search him. No further explanation and no clues.
Turns out he decided to hang out on the building rooftop, not expecting you to show up.
Firstly because he didn’t tell you where he was, and secondly because you didn’t know how to reach that place.
That is until you, somehow, barged through the stairs’ door.
“How did you—“
“I started asking about you and searching for a way up here as soon as you texted me. It’s that simple.”
No it’s not, it wasn’t, it shouldn’t have been.
You’re dumb, stupid.
He didn’t say anything.
“Why the change of location?” You walked up to him, looking at the scenery.
“Birdwatching.”
You stopped next to him.
“There are birds in the Underworld?”
“I’m messing with you 0213.”
You snapped your head towards 5012, he was looking at the other buildings ahead.
“Since when do you lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie, it was a joke.”
“Even worse. Since when can you joke?”
“You and 0204 are a bad influence.”
“Rude.”
You swore you saw a smirk grace 5012’s face.
Your voice and Casper’s mixed in his mind, reminiscing when the other “Reaper” told him the same thing.
“Anyways,” you chirped, “you finally left your office!”
He huffed, annoyed.
Was it worth entertaining you? He didn’t answer.
In the quiet of the night you thought that... this was nice, chatting with 5012. Then you noticed that you were smiling to yourself.
Ah…
You shielded you face from him, suddenly embarrassed.
If he saw you like that he probably would’ve called you an idiot.
Luckily the man was distracted by the dark sky above.
“Say 0213,” he whispered.
Why.
“Why do you want to reach the moon and the sun?”
Your eyes widened, surprised.
He remembered that?
“Uhm,” you paused, not exactly knowing why.
The reason was buried in your lost memories.
But it felt right —like your name— to grasp at anything and everything connecting you to the human world. To the lost you.
Purple eyes pierced you. Waiting.
“I saw a few pictures of them and I…” the words died in your throat.
Your brain was digging, clawing at something that was no longer there.
“It just felt… I felt, grief.”
Grief.
5012’s eyes softened.
He hummed, acknowledging your answer, eyes meeting the sky once more. Oh, how eyes could tell everything.
During the shared nights the man had unconsciously learned to read you better. He never wanted to, but still, it happened.
His tongue trembled in his mouth.
It downed on him the reality of the situation. Two mortals now dead and reborn anew. Two beings that had to learn how to “live” again, on the rooftop of a random building, in a cold city. Alone.
He thought he got used to it. But you… you were new to this.
You truly were alone in that world.
It was a rare occurrence, seeing 5012 have mercy, be kind.
But that night, engulfed in death with you, he gave you solace.
“0213,” his tone was painfully delicate.
Only then you noticed the proximity.
It was both suffocating and comforting at the same time.
You hummed low, curious.
Some time ago, you'd never thought you'd find yourself having serious talks with 5012.
You only ever wanted to poke him. Annoy him.
But you longed for more. You yearned.
In him you could start seeing a person. Someone worth discovering.
Someone that made your heart squeeze and your stomach twist.
Because he knew what having it hard felt like.
Only God knew how your lived your human life.
Yet your body remembered.
In him you saw someone who could understand, even if he refused to.
And then, only then, the man showed a piece of his heart. To you.
“I will show you the moon.”
Thank you for reading this short oneshot! Hope you enjoyed!
English is not my first language, sorry for little errors!
. Word Count — 4.1k
. Warnings — None!
. Contents — Late nights, annoying 5012, hints of insomnia, mutual bullying, LOTS OF EYE CONTACT, Caspy Waspy is mentioned, 5012 being the workaholic he is, annoying 5012, existential questions and possible dread, lost memories, amnesia, fluff, comedy, soft angst, chickens, Reader is 0213 and gender neutral, did I say annoying 5012?
Prologue — Bothering 5012 is always fun. Bothering him about being a shut in that always stays in his office? Even funnier. Except that it quickly takes a deeper turn... and you decide to visit him every night
5012’s office door greeted you quietly.
Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork and paperwork again.
At this point when you thought about 5012, senior Grim Reaper and your trainer, you could only picture his face covered by stacks of paper.
Was that normal?
Why would a place full of dead people need so many files?
Souls probably, classified information, those terminated reapers in need of rescue and yada yada yada.
You fumbled with the edge of your shirt, stalling.
0204, Atlas, was nowhere to be found, probably off to sleep or… honestly you didn’t know. Did you even want to know?
Your section of HQ was quiet. Time was frozen in the Underworld, but it was supposed to be past midnight in the human world, and Reapers either set out for missions or rested around that time, for convenience.
In all that stillness, and boredom, you thought that it would be a good idea to greet your oh so dear trainer.
Taking for granted his probable irritation… ahem.
How should you even approach him? It was never easy, but not difficult either.
You kind of rehearsed your greeting while climbing the stairs to his office: barging into the room rather loudly and risk getting punched in the face.
No, you thought, you would revisit the idea for another day.
And there you were, listening to the led lights buzzing above you. In silence.
Waiting, anticipating.
“Are you going to come in or not?” His voice, muffled by the door.
It didn’t even scare you, it just surprised you a tiny bit.
“Just so you know, you probably look stupid standing idle like that, especially out of my office,” he continued.
Rude.
“First of all,” you slowly pushed the door open, “rude.”
Your face peered from the crack.
“Second of all,” you slid in the room, closing the door behind you, “you’re ugly.”
A smile adorned your lips, yet the man on the other side of the office, sitting behind his desk, didn’t even raise his eyes, “you’ll find out that I do not care about your opinion of me 0213.”
He flipped a file over, unbothered. "Especially when it’s uncalled for.”
What a grump.
In the new found silence you took in his office again. It was the same as always, but every time something appeared and disappeared.
A stack of files, an unfinished cup of coffee, 5012’s coat on the chair, books opened on random pages and so on.
It was like an ecosystem, a very sad one of course. Changing and working in its own way.
“Why are you here, 0213? You’re awfully quiet,” the grumpy, ugly, boring, absolutely lame man spoke again.
“Ah, uhm, I was distracted sorry,” you walked further into the room.
“Distracted by?” He barely raised his eyebrows, “why you of course,” you teased, smiling.
5012 refused to look at you, and to entertain you.
“Do you need help big boss?” You peered over the stack of papers. “Hardly, you’d only make things… harder."
“Tell me about it,” a stupid grin formed on you face, eyes wandering around before setting on the guy in front of you, who was already looking at you, sternly.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” you raised your hands defensively, only relaxing after his glare left you.
“Can I at least stay here?” You probably would’ve stayed anyway.
“Why?”
“There’s no one around and nothing to do.”
“Go rest.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“How would I know? I still don’t understand this Grim Reaper body,” you huffed, he sighed.
“Just be quiet.” He rubbed his temples, sliding his fingers down his face in resignation.
A few minutes went by, you could only hear your breathing and the occasional pen scratching the paper's surface.
5012’s office was very dark, and very purple… dark purple.
You slowly made you way around it, taking in the subtle details, the titles of the books, the pattern of their covers, the arrangement of the tiles on the floor. Some were uneven.
Your curiosity took you to the big window. Looking down you saw a street, in front of you endless “sky scrapers”.
You knew the word, but never actually stopped to think about it, how could a building scratch the sky if there was no sky?
“How high up are we?” You leaned against the glass.
“If you’re planning to jump down I’d advise against it,” he tapped his pen on the desk.
“Wh— Why would I do that?! I already died once,” you twisted your neck to look at him weird.
“0204 once said that he wanted to test his fall damage, maybe he shared that stupid idea with you,” you alerted the distinct tone of annoyance in 5012’s voice.
“Well, even if he did… I’m not him, and it’s not like I go along everything he does—“
“…?”
“Mostly.” You coughed.
And then silence again.
You finished scrutinizing his room and returned in front of 5012, sitting on one of the chairs.
“Your office is cozy. I get why you’re always here,” your arms flopped on the table, next to some signed files.
“I’m glad it’s to you liking but I’m not always here, 0213.”
“Every time I come knocking you’re here.”
“Pure coincidence.”
“When do you go out?”
“Occasionally.”
Silence.
“Are you sure you can’t lie?” You raised one eyebrow.
“I can lie, but chose not to,” he huffed.
“So you’re not lying now.”
“No, 0213, I am not.”
“But you’re avoiding the truth. Because it’s a fact that you’re shut in here most of the time,” you’ve been staring at the man for a while now, and just then he returned your gaze.
Not matching your energy at all… but at least he was looking at you.
He cleared his throat.
“Should’t you be resting? We have stuff to do in some hours,” you looked at the clock.
“I already told you, I can’t fall asleep. Check your hearing grandpa.”
You smiled, he did not.
In all honesty, if 5012 could, he’d be smashing his head on the table with much pleasure… and until the surface molded into the shape of his face
“Why did you come here?” He interlaced his hands together, resting his chin against them. Purple irises dug deep into you, were 5012’s eyes always so sharp?
“I wanted to keep you company,” your voice quivered with embarrassment. You wondered, on a scale from 1 to 10, how much you looked stupid while saying that.
“I do not need your company, 0213.” He repeated the word with a strange tone, almost as if he was pronouncing it for the first time.
“Wow you’re so emo.” You dead panned.
“Here I was trying to be kind,” you continued, folding your arms.
“I don’t need your kindness either, you’ll see that’s something the Underworld is lacking.” The senior Grim Reaper grimaced.
“I guess I’ll be the first kind Grim Reaper,” you whispered to yourself, fidgeting with your sleeves.
5012’s eyes snapped to your face, scanning you and maybe your very soul, in a pensive silence.
Silly him probably forgot to look away because you caught him right in the act when you focused on him once again.
“Do I have something on my face?” You joked, ignoring the weight of his attention.
“No you do not,” he began. “It just surprised me, what you said.” He blinked, dragging his eyes to the window and… staring, glaring, admiring it.
You expected him to elaborate further, but he didn’t, and you both sat in silence once again.
It was comfortable, for you of course. For that emo guy over there, probably not.
You could only hear outside world, 5012’s office acted as a bubble, quiet, floating over the everything.
“Why?” You heard him ask.
To who? You weren’t sure. He wasn’t looking at you.
“What?” You asked, caught off guard.
You swore you saw his body shake and stiffen, barely, but you knew it did. His eyes were on yours again, for one second he looked startled and the next it was gone.
“I,” his mouth hung agape in thought.
“I think you should go 0213,” his voice gradually got colder, back to his usual tone huh.
“Why?” You asked, confused.
Why.
“I need to continue with my work, alone. You are distracting in the worst ways,” he fixed his necklace and jacket, nervously.
“Did I do something?”
“Just go, I’ll see you later for training,” he refused to look at you.
You could only imagine the consequences of pushing him too far, so you let it go.
“Okay,” you got up, the leather of the chair creaking under your weight.
“Goodnight then, or good day,” you put on a light hearted tone while walking backwards towards the door, 5012 never looked at you.
Your smile faltered. Finding the handle you disappeared once again, in the cold and silent halls of the building.
Why?
If eyes could burn, 5012’s office door would’ve been reduced to ashes.
Brows furrowed, eyes squinted, various lines caused by tension decorated the man’s face.
His body was still stiff, until he deflated all at once, fingers creeping up to rub his eyes in frustration? Anger? Tiredness? Fuck him if he knew.
Staring at the spot you left empty, 5012’s night went on.
A sound from your computer caught your attention, you rolled on your bed, one of the plushies from the infamous claw machine in your arms.
Another sound, and another.
“Hmpf,” you wobbled towards your desk.
Atlas: “Earth, or idk, to oh two one three”
Atlas: “I was thinking, why not go try to make a mysterious food from we find in the kitchen? Who knows how the Underworld stuff reacts to each other…”
Atlas: “Helloooooo???”
You stared at the text, grinning.
0213: “Hi chicken”
Atlas: “I’m not.”
0213: “Honk honk”
Atlas: “That’s not how chickens sing”
0213: “How do you know?”
Atlas: “I saw a video duh”
0213: “Did you now…”
Atlas: “Here look”
Atlas: *1 attachment
…
0213: “woW”
Atlas: “Aaaaaaanyways,,, how are you? Wanna hit the kitchen?”
0213: “Not today sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”
Atlas: “I want to have your lot on my mind swell ;)”
0213: “5012 was mean to me”
0213: “:(((((((“
Atlas: “hOw Dare he, cold hearted king!”
Atlas: “He’s such a doofus.”
You would’ve searched the meaning of that word later.
0213: “Has he been weird with you too or…?”
Atlas: “He’s always weird with me, I mean in the mean way.”
You asked a stupid question. Or just to the wrong person.
Atlas: “Maybe he’s in THAT time of the month.”
0213: “Huh”
Atlas: “Idk dude, he probably hadn't had his coffee when you talked to him.”
0213: “We’ll wait and see, now go be useful to the world.”
Atlas: “You mean being absolutely useful to society and sending the claw machine in bankruptcy?”
0213: “Honestly I don’t even remember what that word meant but sure, pop off diva!”
You logged out of your iReaper, pondering on what to do in this soon to be boring day.
5012 hadn’t called any meeting nor training yet, which was weird, but until further notice you were free. As much as you were.
It wasn’t like your newborn soul was chained with this association of Grim Reapers that totally killed people, without a way out.
Heh. Free time!
Although, it confused you. 5012, senior Grim Reaper, role model, dutiful worker deathly dedicated to his job, didn’t alert you about working.
Nor training, not even complaining about some crazy shit 0204 pulled.
Checking up on him wouldn’t have been a bad idea, not a good one either.
Your feet went on autopilot and when you snapped out of your thoughts, you were back in front of that office.
Determine as you were nothing could’ve stopped you!
“Oh 5012!” Hand on the door handle you were ready to burst in until… the door didn’t budge.
“Huh,” you rattled it, lightly at first, then harder, gripping it with your whole strength, making the whole door shake.
He either closed you out or wasn’t in the room at all.
You could’ve knocked this thing down. No, too extreme.
Resting your hands on your hips you huffed.
“I guess I’ll come back later. With a chainsaw. This isn’t over, fuckass door.”
You glared daggers at the piece of building as you walked away.
Your steps faded out and silence settled back in, the two men in the room relaxed.
“Didn’t know your trainee was so, direct,” the white haired guy spoke first.
“What was direct in what they did?” 5012 asked, annoyed.
“Almost taking the door out of its hinges.”
“They’d know better.”
“Are they always like that?”
“Abrupt?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got two of them, actually three with you.”
“Hey, rude.”
“Casper, you should go, wouldn’t want to be eavesdropped on a second time.”
1 am. You were back. Along with your… will? You couldn’t find a chainsaw.
Skipping the knocking you directly went to the offensive, trying to open the door, which again, didn’t budge.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you cursed under your breath, pushing and pulling it angrily.
Suddenly you heard a clicking sound, and got dragged along the door as it opened. Revealing a very, very, annoyed 5012.
Your hands were glued to the handle, sweaty.
“Oops, hi boss,” you did everything you could to avoid his gaze.
“Sometimes I wonder why they made you a Reaper 0213,” he sighed.
“I guess I’m that good,” a stupid grin was plastered on your face, letting go of the door.
“I half thought you wouldn’t be here, and actually asleep,” you continued.
“So you DO spend all your time in here,” you pointed an accusing finger to the tall man.
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes and also, uhm, to ask why there wasn’t training today.”
“Paperwork kept me busy,” his voice was lower than usual, taking a good look at him, you noticed that he looked more tired. And that was surprising considering he looked tired all the time.
“Can I help?” You smiled, encouraging the man to say yes.
“No,” he replied quickly, “but, I appreciate the offer.”
Your stomach flipped upon hearing 5012’s tone soften. Damn.
“Of course,” you looked down at the floor.
“Can I at least stay here? I’ll be good!”
“I have a feeling that you will stay regardless of what I may say,” the Grim Reaper sulked away, defeated, and headed back to his desk.
“You know me so well!” You followed him with a skip in your step.
The night passed in the quiet of 5012’s office. Having small talks every now and then, insulting each other.
The thought of your trainer never resting lingered.
Persistently.
You weren’t REALLY worried though.
...
Ok, you were. A tiny bit.
So you kept “visiting”, sacrificing your nights to stay with him and the days to hang out with 0204. After a while you also resumed training.
5012 never questioned the real reason behind your nightly appearances, and if he was bothered by it, he didn’t show it through and through.
It became a habit, going to the “purple room”.
Every night he was in his spot, refusing to rest.
Because his job was his life, and he wanted to feel alive, to have a purpose.
A week passed of you and him spending your nights together, obviously 5012 couldn’t have a say in this.
Tonight was no different. You were lounging under the big window, asking stupid questions to the other man, for the sake of wasting his time.
“Why can’t chickens fly?” You quizzed.
“How did you learn about chickens?”
“Atlas told me about them, they’re cute,” you smiled, focusing on the faraway buildings. Imagining a chicken flying from one to the other.
“I don’t know why I’m answering you, but no. From what I know and saw, chickens can’t fly,” 5012 facepalmed, you giggled.
The night went on like that, you asking his favorite candy, him admitting that he never had one, you being shocked before moving on to another question.
Before the both of you realized it, you fell into a habit of being there for each other. Well, sort of.
You fell into the habit of being there and 5012 into the one of, waiting. Waiting for you.
He slowly noticed how he’d think about you in the evening, whether you’d show up or how’d you show up.
A week in, tonight, before you made your appearance he made sure to tide up any misplaced objects and hide the fragile ones just because he saw you almost trip on yourself during training, and decided that he wanted nothing to do with broken objects.
“I heard that Reapers can fly,” you spoke suddenly, he nodded.
“Is there a secret or…?” You tilted your head.
“No, it’ll come to you eventually.”
The man looked at the window, you followed his line of sight.
There was nothing outside.
A dark, empty sky and tall, cold buildings.
You whispered something about reaching the moon, or the sun.
5012 did’t immediately ask you why.
He pondered, and wondered how you could remember what those two things were.
In the end he did ask, carefully.
When did he start being cautious around you?
“Oh I,” you paused, staring at him.
“I don’t. I don’t remember. I just feel that I want to see them.”
You smile, a bit confused yourself.
“You could always describe them to me,” you fidgeted with your clothes. "So at least I’d know what I want to reach,” you joked.
The senior Reaper stared back at you. Searching, questioning.
He surprised you when he complied, beginning with the Sun.
Pure light, he said, warmth, the opposite of whatever you had seen in the Underworld.
Then the Moon.
Something you figured he preferred by how he talked about it.
“The Moon has been my only companion, since the beginning of this long job. The only real witness of all the souls I’ve taken,” his eyes slowly set on his desk, his hands intertwined.
“Many mortals spoke to the Moon before their end, they asked for mercy, kindness. Sometimes for a reason.”
He paused, thinking, calculating, recalling.
And as quickly as he started, he stopped, abruptly.
“Yeah that’s all.”
5012 cleared his throat, collecting pieces of his cold attitude, building his wall once again.
You had perked up during his explanation, his delicate tone caught you off guard. So reverent, smooth, chilling.
You decided against teasing him about it. He felt like a wild animal when he was near you. Inching closer, painfully slow and running so far away if noticed.
You kept your tongue in your mouth.
“Just a big ball of light in the sky,” he spoke, rushing his words.
“And the other is a smaller ball, white.”
You nodded.
“I’d like to see them one day, maybe even touch them,” you blinked, eyes meeting the vast black sky.
5012 thought about saying something about it being impossible AND dangerous. He did not. He let you dream.
But why did you want to reach the sun, the moon?
Why did you want to be kind?
Why?
Your conversations swayed between unbelievably stupid topics to extremely deep ones in matter of minutes.
First you were asking about the moon, then how many plastic balls would be needed to fill the Reaper’s office.
Then about your lost life, and later about fishes.
One day you asked about the stars. You had heard other Reapers talk about them and you, obviously, got curious, and decided to rely on 5012cyclopedia.
“It’s been a while since you asked me about space,” the man noted.
It had been a little more than 2 weeks since you started nagging your trainer.
“They’re small white dots in the sky,” the corners of his mouth curled slightly.
“They’re little moons!” You smiled.
“Not quite but to the human eye, I suppose.”
“Can you reach them?”
“0213 we can’t even reach the moon, which is pretty close.”
No response.
Another day you met him at the coffee machine. The first thing you noticed were his prominent eye bags.
Not that he never had them, but they were particularly dark tonight.
5012’s eyes quickly found you. Zeroing on you from the side.
“Rough night?” You asked.
“Rough everything. 0204 covered my office in confetti.”
He looked —more like glared— down at his coffee mug.
A few seconds of silence passed, 5012 suddenly felt his blood pressure rise. “Please don’t ask me anyth—“
“What’s your favorite blend of coffee?”
Ugh.
And it went on. And on, and on, and on.
Night after night.
He thought of you as a nuisance at first, but gradually reconsidered your presence as an ALMOST entertaining one.
He wondered if you sacrificed your sleep for him.
The idea made him smile. Wait, no, huh?
Maybe you didn’t sleep at all. Or you did, just not at night.
Until finally, after a month of you stating that 5012 was a recluse who only stayed in his office, his pride took over, deciding to prove you wrong.
How?
One evening he quickly messaged you that he wouldn’t have been in his office that night and to not search him. No further explanation and no clues.
Turns out he decided to hang out on the building rooftop, not expecting you to show up.
Firstly because he didn’t tell you where he was, and secondly because you didn’t know how to reach that place.
That is until you, somehow, barged through the stairs’ door.
“How did you—“
“I started asking about you and searching for a way up here as soon as you texted me. It’s that simple.”
No it’s not, it wasn’t, it shouldn’t have been.
You’re dumb, stupid.
He didn’t say anything.
“Why the change of location?” You walked up to him, looking at the scenery.
“Birdwatching.”
You stopped next to him.
“There are birds in the Underworld?”
“I’m messing with you 0213.”
You snapped your head towards 5012, he was looking at the other buildings ahead.
“Since when do you lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie, it was a joke.”
“Even worse. Since when can you joke?”
“You and 0204 are a bad influence.”
“Rude.”
You swore you saw a smirk grace 5012’s face.
Your voice and Casper’s mixed in his mind, reminiscing when the other “Reaper” told him the same thing.
“Anyways,” you chirped, “you finally left your office!”
He huffed, annoyed.
Was it worth entertaining you? He didn’t answer.
In the quiet of the night you thought that... this was nice, chatting with 5012. Then you noticed that you were smiling to yourself.
Ah…
You shielded you face from him, suddenly embarrassed.
If he saw you like that he probably would’ve called you an idiot.
Luckily the man was distracted by the dark sky above.
“Say 0213,” he whispered.
Why.
“Why do you want to reach the moon and the sun?”
Your eyes widened, surprised.
He remembered that?
“Uhm,” you paused, not exactly knowing why.
The reason was buried in your lost memories.
But it felt right —like your name— to grasp at anything and everything connecting you to the human world. To the lost you.
Purple eyes pierced you. Waiting.
“I saw a few pictures of them and I…” the words died in your throat.
Your brain was digging, clawing at something that was no longer there.
“It just felt… I felt, grief.”
Grief.
5012’s eyes softened.
He hummed, acknowledging your answer, eyes meeting the sky once more. Oh, how eyes could tell everything.
During the shared nights the man had unconsciously learned to read you better. He never wanted to, but still, it happened.
His tongue trembled in his mouth.
It downed on him the reality of the situation. Two mortals now dead and reborn anew. Two beings that had to learn how to “live” again, on the rooftop of a random building, in a cold city. Alone.
He thought he got used to it. But you… you were new to this.
You truly were alone in that world.
It was a rare occurrence, seeing 5012 have mercy, be kind.
But that night, engulfed in death with you, he gave you solace.
“0213,” his tone was painfully delicate.
Only then you noticed the proximity.
It was both suffocating and comforting at the same time.
You hummed low, curious.
Some time ago, you'd never thought you'd find yourself having serious talks with 5012.
You only ever wanted to poke him. Annoy him.
But you longed for more. You yearned.
In him you could start seeing a person. Someone worth discovering.
Someone that made your heart squeeze and your stomach twist.
Because he knew what having it hard felt like.
Only God knew how your lived your human life.
Yet your body remembered.
In him you saw someone who could understand, even if he refused to.
And then, only then, the man showed a piece of his heart. To you.
“I will show you the moon.”
Thank you for reading this short oneshot! Hope you enjoyed!
English is not my first language, sorry for little errors!
content: Casper accidentally in erupts a moment between you and 5012. gender neutral reader, crack, fluff, slightly suggestive, Sunshine mentioned briefly (also gn).
word count: 1.3k
a/n: In honor of the demo for adwd2 coming out and the Kickstarter coming out tomorrow i wanted to write about everyone's fave owl! Hope yall enjoy!
You had spent the day being on your absolute best behavior. You had trained with Atlas instead of playing claw games with him all day, behaved in the field when going topside, and even filled out the proper paperwork and filed it. All of this was part of your master plan, of course.
You put on your most innocent smile as you walked into 5012’s office. He looked over the pile of paperwork on his desk towards you, eyes narrowing.
“No.” he deadpanned.
“I didnt even do anything!” you countered.
“I cannot humor any distractions at the moment, leave.”
“Me?? Distracting??” your tone indicated affront, which was a cover for what is really was, bullshit.
His eyebrow raised so high you wondered if it would float off his face.
“Im sure you have your own work to finish as well.”
“Already done. And since I finished early I figured I would help you.” You smiled in a way that was reminiscent of a door to door salesman in the 1950s with something to prove and a wife they didn't love.
He gave you a glare that would have sent most people running.
“I have actual work that needs to be done by tonight, I cannot humor your games today.”
“Oh dont be like that, I'll actually help! At least for a while, I promise!”
You paused for a moment, seeing his unnwavering glare.
“...and if you dont let me help, I'll get Atlas and we’ll play the trumpet really loud outside your door. And neither of us remember how trumpets work.”
5012 let out an audible sigh, which you took as a sign of his defeat.
You happily skipped over to his desk, pulling over an extra chair and grabbing about a third of the stack of papers to work on. Despite everything, you actually did want to help. Because you respected the importance of his work.
And because he was alot more fun to mess with when he didnt have work as an excuse to distract him.
After about an hour of both of you sitting shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence, the pile of work had significantly diminished.
Glancing over, you saw 5012 looking significantly less stressed. Of course for him, significantly less stress meant one line between his brows disappearing. His expressions were virtually unreadable for quite a while, but you had managed to decode his many vaguely annoyed faces into their true meaning.
Now was your time to strike.
“I have a question about filling out this form.” you stated, standing up from your chair and leaning in, setting the paper down in his line of sight.
Of course he wasnt focused on the paper, he was focused on the way your hand trailed from his shoulder to his bicep, slowly folowing the vein lines down to his wrist. He was focused on the way your hair lightly brushed his cheek when you leaned in, and how painfully soft your eyes were when you peered at him.
It wasnt long before the paperwork was forgotten, as was the chair you had pulled beside him. Instead you were straddling his waist while he sat in his leather armchair, hands on your hips as you ran your fingers through his hair.
Your lips met his, warm and soft and you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. You felt his hands grip your hips a little harder as-
BANG
The sound of a window slamming open immediately cut through the moment.
You instinctively jumped back, startled at the sound. You would have fallen off the chair if 5012 hadn’t caught you and pulled you back to safety. You let out an “oof” as your forehead bonked into his shoulder blade.
You saw the cause of the sound, a handsome young reaper with long white hair and red eyes was now standing in 5012’s office after climbing through the window.
A look of pure shock graced the reapers features as he stared directly at 5012, with the intensity of a cat staring at a can of food. 5012 looked like he wanted to bang his head into the wall until he forgot his own name. Or push the white haired man out of the window.
You gave the white haired man a friendly wave.
“No fucking way.” White haired man finally spoke, his shock breaking into a wide smile.
“Get the fuck out.” 5012 responded, you still wrapped up in his arms.
But you recognized that voice. This was the reaper 5012 had been talking to before. The revolutionary, 8394.
You jumped out of 5012’s arms and practically climbed over his desk to greet what may be 5012’s only friend. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“Hi, Nice to meet you 8394! 5012 told me about you and your epic love story!” You started, holding out your hand for the white haired man to shake.
The white man smirked in a way that reminded you of a white cat with many knives being pointed at it. Strange, must have been a memory from when you were alive.
“Please, call me Casper. And let me tell you, the pleasure is all mine. Although regrettably, 5012 hasn’t told me about you yet.”
"This is 2013. one of the reapers I'm...training."
you watched the defense come out of 5012's mouth, and the regret immediately follow. Being caught in a compromising position with someone Casper had basically forced 5012 to work with was not going to make this situation easier on him. It took everything you had not to laugh.
Casper gave 5012 a look reserved for a younger brother learning something that he would tease his older brother about for the foreseeable decade. And 5012 looked like he was about to become the Abel to 5012’s Cain.
“You have to tell me about 5012 in the revolution, I’ve been dying to know and he won't tell me anything.”
“Oh, I'll tell you everything. My sunshine and I have enough stories about him to fill a book.”
“Is that your mortal lover?” you questioned, excited. You absolutely needed to know about the forbidden romace that started a revolution
“indeed. My sunshine is the only other person who can compare to me in both looks and personality.” He preened.
You couldnt help but chuckle at his vanity. He was so different from 5012.
“Oh my gods, I have to tell them about this!” Casper exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and clicked on a name with a sunflower emoji next to it.
The phone was only able to ring once before 5012’s hand reached down and snatched the phone, ending the call.
“Alright that's enough. Get out.” 5012 crossed his arms and attemped to stare Casper down.
If anything, Casper just looked more amused as he met 5012s gaze, clearly used to his attitude. But in the end Casper was the first one to look away.
“Alright, I just needed to pick up that report from you, my sincerest apologies for interrupting…”
His silence said all it needed as he climbed back out the window, now floating above the twilight city.
“So double date when?” he smirked.
5012 strode over to the window and slammed it shut before Casper could get another word out, a tired sigh escaping his lips when Caspers laughter was finally silenced by the glass pane.
“He was fun.” You laughed.
5012 glared at you, a hint of betrayal in his eyes.
You laughed and moved to lean up against him, your hands once again finding their way to his silky hair.
“I just want to get to know your friends.”
“They're not-”
He began to protest, but one look at your face and he knew there was no winning this argument. Instead he just leaned into your embrace, his face finally calm once again.
MixMatch!? More like misfits. In which you and Minajael meet online and bond over certain rebellious acts…without ever knowing each other… wait, is that it!?
Notes:
This has been stuck in my drafts for weeks, ever since I reached the 2k wc. I separated and wrote the sections in random points of my life, so the writing style is inconsistent (and some are unmotivated, unfortunately). I wanted it to see the light, so I finished it at 5am... I suck at endings ;P
“— so, I did the reasonable thing.” A smooth voice was transmitted by the device laying on your bedside table.
“Uhuh? Knowing you, I expect something absurd…” you replied absentmindedly, while looking at your reflection and applying the skincare products that Vil generously forced gifted you.
“Oh?” You froze, hearing the familiar chuckle. A small smile tugged across your lips, pursing at the thought of you being the cause of his joy at the moment.
“Then, pray tell. What do you think I did, hm?” the male's voice continued, breathier and airy now that he finished laughing at your antics.
“Good question… you either ran away, didn't bother showing up, or both. I'm guessing you did go, but once you realized what it was, you immediately left without showing yourself?”
Though he couldn't see you, you tilted your head, anyway.
“Oh my, it seems you've understood me more than I thought. A correct assumption, ya qalbi. I went to the event, though the moment I realized its purpose, I simply feigned illness, no, not really… I left quickly as I came. I simply have much more important matters to attend to, surely they'll understand.”
You blinked once, twice, maybe a third time to make sure you heard it properly. A light scoff escaped your mouth uncontrollably, the sheer absurdity of the situation was to be expected from him. After all, that's what you've known Minhaj for. The random person on the internet who's been evading arrangements left and right, just as much as you'd like to do with taxes and overblots.
“Anddd your list of important matters somehow involve spending time with me? I'm flattered.”
Since the opportunity rose, you weren't one to shy away from it. Well, at first you did, but the flirting banters between you two weren't uncommon. Your conversation partner simply had quite the oiled tongue, making you used to hearing what would've flustered you deeply before.
“Do be.”
Just as you expected. You could almost hear the smirk in his smug voice, as if the lowering of his intonation were to say otherwise.
“It's not everyday I proactively choose to accompany someone, after all…” he trailed off.
“Much more when I'm not even the center of their attention.” His voice was now laced in faux sadness, you could almost imagine the mocking pout he had to achieve the effect.
“Mmm? I told you I'd be doing skincare on the side, you chose to call, anyway. Not my fault I’m too charming for you to resist, ok?” Immediately after saying that, you covered your face in embarrassment. Thank the Sevens this was virtual, otherwise he'd be the one flustering you to death, not that he hadn't yet, but to a higher degree.
AND THANK THE SEVENS YOU WERE ALONE IN YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW…! If Grim was here and he heard you, he'd give you that stare. The one that makes you contemplate your life choices. The one that has a look of pure and utter disgust, wondering how you could say such cringy words to someone you don't even know.
Well, maybe that's the point… you don't know Minhaj irl. And even if you did, basing from the things he's been telling you, you'd just be another one of the people he's been running away from. Honestly makes you curious about his identity and looks, but you weren't one to pry. After all, you also had secrets of your own to hide.
Oh, wait a minute…
“Oh, I simply must agree, habibti/habibi. Seems as if I've fallen for your charms, how ever will you take responsibility for it?”
Silence.
All after that was silence.
You were zoning out, didn't even process his words. You've been trying to wrack your brain just thinking about your partner's whereabouts.
“Wait, Minhaj… I just realized something.”
“Hm?”
You quickly stood up, leaving the jarring sound of your chair sliding across the floor, the noise it left in its wake sure to be received by the other end of your call. The not-cat has been missing in action ever since you returned. No wonder it's been so quiet… you didn't even notice it since Minhaj kept you preoccupied. Damn your ignorant brain. Broes before hoes, remember? But between him, his smooth voice and arrogant personality though… who could blame you?
“My roommate slash son is gone. It's getting late and he's still not here, I have to find him.”
“... Oh.” His reply came rather late, his tone softening with something you can't discern between disappointment or concern, maybe even…jealousy? You shrug it off, unable to pinpoint the exact emotion, nor were you unable to get rid of your delusion.
“Sorry, I'll get back to you later. I need to ask my friends first, he might be there without me knowing.”
You picked up the phone Crowley lent gave you and swiped to the call.
“... Why do you even have to know, anyway?” Though now closer, the voice at the end of the line seemed muffled instead.
“Because he's my friend and roommate…?”
The call ended.
-/-
It's been a few hours since Minhaj’s last message.
Also been a week ever since the incident with Grim presumably going missing, only to find out he's been hiding somewhere in the kitchen, secretly eating a stash of canned tuna that he stole from your marked ones.
The very same duration of your dwindling conversations with your one and only favorite chatmate. The two of you used to chat often, quick paced and lighthearted. Always a message here and there, even in between classes. So much so that your friends often bugged you to tell them who the mystery person was — but how could you, when even you didn't know his true identity?
Nowadays though, it's been rather dry. While he does message back, it's more on to reply rather than to converse. Ever get the feeling that they're only talking to you because you initiated it? Yeah, that.
He didn't outright ghosted you, no. He simply took his time with things. It's driving you insane. Leaving you to relapse like the addict that you are. I mean, maybe you were addicted to his presence.
He doesn't call you anymore, either. Doesn't send random pictures from his day, or memes that lightened his mood. You often wonder what's up with him, but couldn't bring yourself to ask.
Well, what right did you even have?
He wasn't obligated to talk to you in the first place.
As much as you want to confront him, you don't have the same nerve you use to face overblots with, in the face of your feelings.
Despite having only known him for a relatively short time via the internet, nonetheless, you feel very much attached to his presence.
And you could only hope he felt the same with yours.
You've done what you could and made up excuses for him. Maybe he was just busy? He did mention being a leader of some sort. It suited him. He's quite charismatic, smooth and authoritative. At least, from what you could tell. He's influential, most likely a person with power. No wonder arrangements flock to him left and right, no? You feel icky at the thought.
He probably wasn't ignoring you either. It's not like you did anything wrong.
Or did you…?
You think back to your last decent conversation with him. You vaguely recall the two of you having fun and the flirting that followed, and the question he asked you and…
Oh. You never did reply to it, didn't you?
Great. You've lost your chance before even taking it. Then, tonight, you’re planning on getting wasted.
Jokes on you, you will, but not in the way you wanted.
There's no alcoholic beverages in Lilia's farewell party, after all. Just his concoctions and maybe something else…
-/-
It happened fast. In fact, you don't remember much at all — just the screaming, the crying, the panic. The way you felt so disturbed by the unexpected.
Now, here you are, in a dream haze wasteland, running across the ink-filled room where Mickey once stood, desperate to escape.
You held Grim tightly in your arms, incapable of parting knowing that the slightest mishaps of his fire breathing could lead to both of your demise.
For now, it's just you relying on speed, desperately carrying your child's weight through sheer will and adrenaline. Talk about unsolicited heavy lifting.
You felt your body slowly collapsing under pressure, then you felt the slightest shift in the wind. A hand quickly grasped your arm from behind, successfully startling you.
A quiet voice resolutely resounded, calming your tense nerves.
“To those I've met and will someday. Meet in a dream!”
-/-
The first time Minajael opened his eyes, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. So, he blinked a second time, a third, and maybe a fourth.
The castle was exactly as he remembered it to be — the walls a glamorous white filled with markings of cultural heritage. It has always been like that ever since he was a child.
Yet something felt odd.
When he awoke from his slumber, strange as it is as he doesn't recall sleeping here in the first place, the entire area was quiet. Not the deafening quiet, but more of, something-is-very-wrong kind of quiet.
A huge tiger was laying near his bed, a sharp contrast to the color coded ornaments in the room, yet it wasn't such an odd sight. Minajael recognized it as his companion since childhood. It was the only one since he wasn't allowed to… huh?
No, that can't be right.
He looked at the animal in front of him again. It was letting out soft noises, faint snores that tugged at his heartstrings, and yet… it definitely wasn't his only friend, right?
Of course not. Minajael is royalty, he's sure to have socialized with other people befo…
Gasp.
A strangled noise escaped his throat, the feeling of a memory long gone resurfacing in his mind, yet it refuses to be remembered. His head hurts in ways he cannot fathom.
He thinks it's best not to think about it, after all.
-/-
He immediately accepts that something was undoubtedly wrong. The feeling crept into his skin, gnawing at bones, and settling far deep into his soul, yet he lets it flourish.
He doesn't know how much time has passed or if it passed at all, but the commotions outside were indicators of what could've been. Still, he lays in wait. The unknown leaves him with curiosity. He's been missing a lot of things.
And maybe that was the point?
Ever since awakening, things were different, but his core remained unchanged.
The palace was not a strict place (that can't be right?). People come and go (they absolutely shouldn't), some are more than eager to talk to him (he doesn't want to socialize), and his father heeds his words (since when?).
It was an eerie contradiction, with the voice in the back of his head aching in a way that it knew better than to trust what he could see.
He listens to it briefly, letting the (questionable) frequent festivals take place, sparing it not a thought as it occurs right outside his windows. It happens so often, as if he was meant to hear it, as if he was invited. He is.
And during one particular night, where his patience finally snapped, and curiosity finally won over, he wasted not a second, loomed over the balcony and jumped.
As if in slow motion, he saw the vast expanse of what exists beyond the palace, yet as gravity took hold of him, he closed his eyes and braced for impact.
It never came.
The bushes, as itchy but safe they were (not really), remained inches away from his figure. Instead he felt the familiar tickle of silk beneath him. He glanced down and saw the magic carpet keeping him afloat.
This dream would always keep him safe.
Restraint is a word forgotten at this moment. It does not exist in the Scalding Sands’ language.
The earlier faint buzzing of music now becomes louder as it nears him.
It doesn't bother him at all, in fact, he embraces it with his senses.
And so he flies.
-/-
A lot has happened ever since the meeting with Mickey. Heavy truths unfolded, leaving nothing behind but regret in all its wretched glory.
Silver pulled you away, saving you from the clutches of the black goo. You two easily reunited with Sebek, suffered under the harsh terrains of war with Lilia, botchered up the hidden past, and completely fucked up your future plans.
All because Malleus, who you understood overblotted from his unwillingness to be lonely once more, appeared in the general's dream, draped in black and blot as accessories, clearly awaiting for the time the moment of his birth arrived.
It meant meddling, being able to provide a happy ending, a good memory to look forward to — no tears, no sorrow, no regrets, just lies —
Then, everything faded into black once more.
The next time you awoke, the first thing you notice is the temperature. A cool breeze gently caresses your skin, the night shade providing temporary comfort to your dilemma.
This place doesn't seem familiar… or is it?
Sand grazed your body, providing something grounding amidst the confusion. Your eyes swept across the lands, imprinting the scenery into memory, attempting to correlate it with information you've heard prior.
It does nothing to stop the faint ache in your soul. The bare foot that bears the burden of weight stands barely stable, the texture beneath equally foreign.
Though isn't this a dream? You wonder whose it is. The awareness creates hope that you can conjure an appropriate attire for the environment purely from imagination. You were really starting to miss your schoolmates.
In this foreign land with unknown civilization, you could only do so much on your own, after all. You let your feet take the lead.
-/-
So, when the sound of music continued to reverberate across the unexplored fields, the wise option was to follow it and satiate one's curiosity.
A certain prince held onto the magical carpet he sat on — right now, he was free, far and unrestrained. His usual garments were a mess, evident gaps from what usually weren't supposed to be seen. He's sporting an uncharacteristic bright smile on his face, his own melodious tune harmonizing with the songs.
Right now, he wasn't a prince.
Tonight, he is only a man. One with dreams, life, and so much love to give.
The surroundings are a vaguely familiar mess — a crowd of people, the sea of sand, and the markets below. Among the skies where he lingered, Minajael observed the view below. It was everything he ever dreamed of. Everything he ever wanted.
Nothing much, nothing more, just to take part of the mundane joy that others had the privilege of celebrating.
He took one deep breath, and lowered the trajectory of his mount.
Minhaj felt the ground below, and never has it been grounding in more ways than one.
He pressed his foot firmly, memorizing the texture of freedom like a newborn fawn. He released the air he was unknowingly holding, curiously looking at the stalls.
From the corner of his eyes, he spotted someone eye-catching.
It was the start of a fairytale handcrafted by the fae himself.
-/-
You too had made your way towards the source of the commotion. Silver’s reminder that it was necessary to stay near the dreamer resounded resolutely in your head. Except… you don't know anyone here, so far.
Throughout your journey, you realized this must be the land of the Scalding Sands. There wasn't much to base it on, other than Scarabia’s architecture and the duo’s description of the place, though it was mostly Kalim rambling about missing his hometown, and Jamil hating every second of it (with a barely concealed tug of his lips).
You desperately hoped the dream you were in belonged to either of them, because otherwise… you're fucked.
The terrain seemed a bit different compared to what they initially told you, but you quickly assume it's due to the nature of the dream. It seems that the dreamer really wanted to throw a celebration, considering how everywhere was decorated one way or another.
You now desperately hope it was Kalim.
With each step you take, and with the increase of the music's volume, your hope continues to flourish. Only he would dream to throw a party of this caliber, although you're certain he might already have in reality.
If it weren't for the circumstances, you would have loved to stay and appreciate the rich culture of the nation. You'd love to partake in the festival, be draped in appropriate attire and live the night out.
The place was expansive. There was so much space to fall into, and yet something, or rather, someone caught your attention.
Then, your hope was shattered.
The first thing you notice is the carefree expression decorating the man's beautiful face. It fit well with the rest of his features, as if relief was always meant to be his.
The second that draws you in is the pair of mesmerizing brown eyes that glinted with the moonlight. The very orbs in question were currently…looking straight in your direction.
Huh?
Above his head was the white bird that indicated the dream’s owner.
As soon as your hope for Kalim being the dreamer was shattered, it was quickly replaced by something else, as the two of you stared at each other.
-/-
Neither of you should really be doing this.
But it really didn't feel wrong.
Neither of you looked away when it happened. You simply let it be. The pull was there — strong, tantalizing, but never binding. It exists like a soft tug, a reminder of what could be.
So, against your better judgement, as well as his, the two of you inched closer to each other.
As he opens his mouth first, you greedily take in the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, and the face he possesses.
“Gree—” he drew out, but quickly shook his head.
“I'm Minhaj. May I know your name?”
You took his outstretched hand in yours, unwilling to part, even if it was merely for a handshake.
“I…”
You look at him with an awe filled gaze.
Before your expression fell blank.
“I just remembered my friend is missing…”
Poor Grim. You will be missed.
-/-
You don't remember what exactly happened or how much time has passed.
You simply felt more at peace here with Minhaj, than you ever were in your real world or even at NRC.
Granted, this was a dream… so… maybe it's that…?
You're not really sure anymore. There's this inexplicable feeling residing in your chest whenever you think of him. There's always something that flips within your stomach whenever you talk to him. There's an urge to just run up to him whenever you see him.
And yet… It doesn't help that this is a dreamscape. This was a work of fiction, nothing here actually exists in reality.
You carry the burden of the heavy truth.
This was but a dream. Minhaj is a real person. Just what kind of life does he live in reality for his dreams to focus so much on being free?
You weren't quite certain either. You simply felt that there was something to him than meets the eye. He's a mystery, for sure, but in this dream world you call home…he's your mystery.
After your initial meeting, the two of you simply run around together without any end in sight. It was odd for someone as well dressed as him, but it wasn't something you actually considered, especially with your muddled thoughts and rose tinted glasses.
Minhaj was unbelievably pretty, you'll follow him to the ends of the world, end of discussion.
Please and thank you.
Period.
…
Would you really, though? If it were in reality, you'd do so in a heartbeat, but…
The now familiar streets of the Scalding Sands appear in your vision. It seems just as it did yesterday, and the day before that, making you well aware of the illusion you were trapped in.
If this dream could be any more mind muddling than it already is, you're certain you'd forget about the real world and succumb to this instead.
Succumb to the warmth Minhaj brought into your life.
The said man has his arm intertwined with yours, dragging you off into the market. It fills you with a sense of domesticity, one that could never last.
So, you take it, anyway.
The two of you walk together, keeping a pace meant for sightseeing. If there's one thing you notice aside from his pretty face, it's his way of looking at things as if it were the first time he ever saw it.
He always takes in the time to appreciate the fading novelty, treating it as if it were new to his world.
You don't really know. Maybe it is.
So, you take your time alongside him.
As if feeling the rise of your woes, he pauses. He looks at you with a small, fond smile that knocks the air out of your lungs.
He's everything you've ever dreamed of.
Probably because it is a dream, but hey. As long as it works, right?
For a second, you relish in it, wanting more.
For a second, you believe it will work out somehow.
For a second, you let your hopes rise and let yourself fall.
In that second, it comes crashing down, as you spot a familiar furball from the corner of your eyes.
All you do now is hug Minhaj and smile. He doesn't press, and simply returns the gesture.
For that second, it was enough.
-/-
Huff, huff
With a startled gasp, Minajael springs from his bed fast. His eyes widen in disbelief, chest heaving with a rapid up and down. He struggles to gulp the lump forming in his throat.
Beads of sweat trail down his seemingly delicate figure, the moist of his eyes cascading down to his facial features.
A testament to what occurred and what he awoke to.
He puts a hand to his head, another being clenched around his fist. A desperate attempt in gaining composure, yet ultimately failing, as tears escape him in the end.
He doesn't stop, doesn't speak, doesn't let himself completely fall off.
Thoughts quickly fly in his head, the reality beaming upon him. It was all a dream, he realized.
With one heavy regretful breath, he removes the hand covering his head, letting his eyes dart around his room.
Everything remains as it did before he slept. Nothing had changed within his room in Dunasmina, except himself.
He allows himself another moment of silence and spiteful acceptance, before reaching out to check his phone.
Confusion swells within his mind, wondering why the date has yet to change, when he already spent a lifetime with another in his dreams.
Speaking of…
Who was that?
His hope rises once more.
-/-
It was uneventful in Night Raven College for a change. Times like these make you remember certain things — it's rare and it's dreadful.
It's leaving you listless without anything to do. Something about the temporary peace is screaming deafeningly despite the physical silence: something will go wrong soon.
But of course, situational awareness can only help prepare for so much, especially since there wasn't any hint prior to it.
Much more when it involves resident cheapskate, Crowley.
You and Jamil internally winced simultaneously upon hearing the headmage’s announcement for an emergency meeting. All housewardens, their vices, and the Ramshackle prefect were required to join. Great. You're certain you'll just be added weight or the one pulling it all up physically, since, of course, you were magicless. Imagine attending a prestigious arcane school without magic.
Better yet, imagine attending another prestigious arcane school as a magicless exchange student. Well, you don't have to. You already got as much of a near death experience with Rollo.
You only have Crowley to thank for that.
It's overwhelming, honestly. Things have just gotten to settle down, it's already been one incident after the other. No one's really getting a break. Poor you.
With the entire island plunged into a dreamy chaos last time, and yet having exams proceed as planned, there's really no such thing as mercy in NRC.
You're about to find out what no mercy actually is.
“Now, I'm sure everyone is curious and excited for the reason we called you here today.” The crow put a hand on his mask, seemingly contemplating. To you, the gesture only looked demonic. For everyone else? Just as much.
You hold your breath, awaiting the bullshit that will eventually be spewn out in a matter of seconds, or minutes if he decides to drawl it out.
“Ahem, in consideration of the incidents that occurred and for my dear students, I alongside our… mm, friendly local arcane school, headmaster Ambrose of the Royal Sword Academy, have decided to host a collaborative school event.” He pauses.
You already know what he'll say next.
“Aren't I so magnanimous?”
Aarghhh, so much for rest. You can already hear the others complaining internally.
“Ugh.”
Nevermind, you're certain you just heard Leona actually groan. Kudos to him for having the nerve to express himself. Yay to self expression.
You wonder, when will this nightmare ever end?
The dreams were much better than this…
-/-
As part of the event management team, it is your duty to ensure that it will be done successfully.
Not for you to be standing ogle eyed, probably plotting to team up with the rival school, and in distress when you find out one crucial detail.
“You mean you're in here, right now? Are you serious?” You gaped out, one hand holding your phone near your ears, the other tightly clutching a clipboard. Now, that one's under your mercy, for sure.
“Since when have I ever lied to you, hm?”
Oh, you missed that voice.
Ever since you returned from the dream, your memory has been a foggy haze. There was nothing much to comfort you, when there's a lingering sense of loss in the pit of your stomach.
Fortunately, you had Minhaj, your trusty online friend, who happened to share the same name with the one you fell in love with in a dream.
The two of you have started talking more often again. Turns out, contrary to your overthinking, he was only busy, leading to dry out conversations prior to Malleus’ overblot.
You found comfort in his presence. His voice was soothing, gentle and familiar. There was something else you couldn't quite pinpoint, but you attributed it to your senses readjusting to reality.
As much as you're attached to your dear friend, the hollow gap in your chest tells you what else you've been missing.
Probably a hand to hold. A beautiful face to stare at.
“Ever since you learned how to lie to me!” You reply, adjusting your grip on your device.
“Which is never, habibi/habibti.” You could almost hear his teasing smile.
“Uhuh… so, what's the plan? We leave it up to fate?” You look up towards the sky, the very same one that reminds you of the one you flew to with your Minhaj. Silently, you cross your fingers.
“Hm, how about this. I'll describe what I'm wearing right now, and you do too. This way, we'll be able to identify each other, if we ever meet by chance, but if not, then it simply wasn't meant to be,” his voice is laced in faux disappointment at the end of his sentence, but you heed no mind.
You already know how Minhaj is. It's already a blessing he even decided to humor you and risk revealing his identity. He doesn't even need to, considering you're just online friends.
And maybe that's why you're longing for something more.
“I'm wearing…” The words came out before you could stop yourself.
You hear a slight pause in the background, followed by a short chuckle.
“Actually… it seems, I already found you.”
“What-?”
You feel a light tap on your back, urging you to move in that direction.
A familiar sight embellishes your eyes, yet something is different from what you remember.
A man with a very attractive face, soul-sucking brown eyes, tan skin, and smug smile looks at you as if you were an interesting specimen.
Yet his smile drops as quickly as it came.
“You're—”
Realization dawns on you. Your eyes widen in recognition, an unpermitted gasp exits your lips. He does the same, mimicking your flabbergasted expression.
This was your Minhaj. With a kept hairstyle, secured clothing, and a contradicting aura from the dream.
Tags: crack fic, funny, lighthearted, comedy, fluff kinda, second hand embarrassment, embarrassment, the laugh is pure amusement and joy don't mistake it for mocking.
Summary: You're tired after school. You constantly trip over small rocks on your way back, and that one time you fell onto Minajael!
It's been another long day at RSA. So long, in fact, that you had almost fallen at least 5 times over teeny tiny rocks. You had no energy to even lift your legs properly when walking.
It's been an incredibly long and tough lesson of PE, which was supposed to prepare the students for the incoming Interschool Tournament. It was working, yes, but by Sevens, it was exhausting.
There are only a few steps left, and you'll reach the mirror chamber and will finally head back to your dorm. Then, enter your room, and finally rest for all of the laps you had to run.
Just as you've been walking through the mirror, you have tripped over its frame on the bottom and fell down onto a fellow student on his way out of the dorm.
That managed to wake you up real quick, as you immediately jumped away and started to apologize profusely, not even daring to look up.
This moment will keep haunting you awake for the next 30 nights.
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Said a warm and reassuring voice, which made u pause. You know that voice. When you finally dared to lift your head, you were met with a prince of the Scalding Sands, Minajael Tealrajah.
After seeing your face, the man couldn't help but laugh, which he quickly stifled as he stared at your pure mortification. Quickly regaining his composure, he'd calmly reassured you that everything was good.
And when you thought it was all over, just as you both were to part your ways, you had stumbled on the uneven pavement tile and fell straight into the man's arms, leaving both of you laying on the ground.
IF YOU EVER COULD LIVE DOWN THE PREVIOUS FALL, THEN THIS ONE WAS A TOTAL DISASTER. No rescue. The soul leaves your body.
At that point you wished for the ground to swallow you up completely, or to faint at least.
Please, let me faint, please PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!!
You weren't bestowed mercy like that.
Your face had found itself against the prince's chest, your torso against his hips, and your legs laying uselessly on the ground.
You were so red, your face was practically burning, and you're pretty sure he could feel the heat, too.
This time, Minajael couldn't hold in his surprise and burst out in a hearty laughter, the one with the tears at the corners of his eyes, one that made it hard to breathe. You stared amazed at him. It was such joyful sound, so full of life.
Since you were still lying on his chest, you could feel the vibrations in his chest when he laughed, making you fluster even more.
What wasn't helping was the circle of nosy students who were looking at the interaction of you two. Yeah, your social life is done now.
When Minajael had finally looked down at you, with a redness on his cheeks from the laughter, so out of breath that he was panting. You couldn't bring yourself to say a single word. You tried. You just couldn't.
His hair was slightly messy, his cheeks had a reddish tint, his chest was heaving trying to catch a breath, and that oh so stunning smile of his, wide and showing teeth. He looked divine, otherworldly, untouchable.
Well... He would be untouchable if you hadn't been lying down on him...
At the realization, you immediately lifted yourself off of the man and just hid your face in between your hands. The victim of your "tackling" just laughed at your reaction again.
He quickly got back onto his feet, cleaning his attire from any dust from the ground and lending you a hand with a still amused expression, yet it wasn't mocking.
"Are you okay?" Minajael asked as he helped you up, your face still burning. You couldn't help but avoid his eyes and shake a little from nervousness. His hands were so soft that you couldn't help but melt a little.
Then, as if waking up from a dream, you shot up when he squeezed your hand a bit and looked at you with concern.
"Y-Yes! Yes, I'm fine! Thank you for catching me, and I'm sorry!" You said very quickly and immediately turned around to run away.
... And you fell over another pebble. The prince's laughter had rung out once more. That pure unrestrained laugh of pure happiness, one you couldn't get enough of. You suppose you wouldn't mind making an embarrassment of yourself just to hear that sound once more.
❤︎ warnings : ooc, this is a slightly different au. You’re engaged to them and it’s heavily implied that it’s since childhood, it was written with male reader in mind but I used gn pronouns. Cussing , reader is not yuu. You’re from a noble family or smth?
❤︎ summary : your friends finding out you’re engaged.
❤︎ note : arranged marriage au is genuinely my favvv!!! Unfortunately, there’s not enough of them :( especially the toxic and doomed ones! (This ones isn’t)
- 𝓡iddle rosehearts ,,
Your engagement with riddle wasn’t a vvvery strictly kept secret. Some people, like Trey and cater, of course were very aware that you two are engaged and to be wed.
But, it also wasn’t a hard guess given the matching rings you to had, the way he applied every rule that could get the queen of hearts and king of hearts closer together. (You’re his king of hearts, obviously.)
The way you have your own seat next to him at unbirthday parties, where the king of hearts would be sat, or that your own attire for unbirthday parties was just as elegant and beautiful as his. It’s only fitting for his king of hearts.
or how he let you off the hook when you broke some rules , which ace is so bitter about. And his bitterness lead to the very conversation you two had now.
You were sitting on the floor of ramshackles living room, deuce and ace around you. Yuu stepped out for a moment, while ace kept whining about riddle.
“I mean, you did fuck that up, ace. I’d kick you out the dorm if it was me..shame on riddle.”
“As if you’re one to talk! You never ever got your head cut off !"
"speaking of..housewarden riddle is always somewhat around you..”
“That’s to be expected. We’re engaged.”
…
You said casually, eating another piece of candy that deuce gave you. You were too nonchalant about it they genuinely thought you’re joking.
“Well that ain’t funny, I’ll tell you!”
“..? What’s funny about it? I thought it was pretty obvious, personally.”
You said , showing them your hand, the ring on it. They would’ve shrugged it off, saying that it’s a promise ring or a normal ring or something, but it looked pretty damn expensive..
“It dose look like the one riddle wears..”
“Right?!! I didn’t know you were engaged to housewarden riddle !”
“Lucky..that’s why you always get off trouble!”
You hummed , pulling your hand from him, eating another piece of candy. Maybe you are lucky, maybe you’re not. Who knows?
- 𝓚alim al asim
Your engagement with Kalim was mainly to connect your family and his. Something with benefits and bla bla bla..you don’t really care, not when you were younger and definitely not when you were older.
Jamil was just glad that you aren’t much of an airhead and risky thing as Kalim is, so he didn’t have to worry too much about, despite you being just as annoying sometimes.
Honestly, with how much Kalim is affectionate around you, basically never calling you with anything but pet names, you thought it’s obvious you two are together. Which is mostly the case. People assume you’re only dating, not engaged.
The other day, during lunch, you were quietly eating, deciding to keep your energy for later, until a voice cuts you off.
“Hey, I’m just noticing but..your ring looks hella expensive. Where’d you get it?”
You looked at ace, confused on why he was suddenly interested. Turns out deuce was thinking of a gift idea, and they were talking about Jewellery and that’s how it came up to your ring.
“Ah..I don’t really know, it was given to me.”
“Given to you?! Who gave that to ya? Ooh, must be a lover huh~”
“Well, yeah actually. It was from Kalim.”
The tables was silent just for a moment before they all looked confused.
“What do ya mean from Kalim?! That almost look like an engagement ring..”
Spoke epel, clearly surprised, and clearly not knowing he just guess it right, which was even more hilarious.
“Would it be crazzzyyy if I said it is?”
- 𝓘dia shroud
So. Your engagement with idia came from the fact that both your parents worked at Styx. Well..his parents ARE Styx, but your parents were like a real real close right hands men or something, so to ensure no information is leaked , they just made you the next head with idia! Easy , right?
But also because it’d be easier even for idia. Who knew if he’d find someone for himself? Which he was glad for tho..he really likes you.
But since he was usually a shut in loser , no one really suspected it. That you’re engaged, or he was.
The other day, you went to hang out with your friends and ortho , you wanted to show them your new gaming console ! Hehe, it was soo, so so cool!
“Look at it! It has many games already , too. Hehe, we should totally do a game night together!”
“That’s so cool! Where’d you get it? I heard that it’s , like, a super limited edition!”
“Idia got it for me! He also got one, so we sort of matched.”
Ortho nodded from beside you, adding to
“We tried it out with nii-san earlier! It’s so fun!”
“You hang out with him and ortho oddly a lot..are you two friends or something?”
Ace asked next, you paused for a moment, you do go to idias room quite a lot..and hang out a lot , because, duh ! Of course you will, you’re his spouse, but you just didn’t know if he wanted to tell them. Yet when you spoke, ortho cut you off.
“Actually, it’s—“ “[name] and nii-san are engaged! That’s why they hang out a lot.”
…
…
Wow, way to go ortho. Way to go. You won’t be saving him when idia gets him for this. Not at all. Matter of fact, you’re not giving him your gaming console.
- 𝓜alleus draconia
Listen, your engagement with malleus would NOTTT be kept good secret ok. He doesn’t see why , and trust me, people wil know who is the spouse of THE malleus draconia. So for this fics sake we will say, you were his spouse , but you never was exposed to the public. So they knew he had a spouse, they just didn’t know who.
Anyway, today, the first years had a sleep over at ramshackle! Yay, fun right?
BZZTT!! WROONNGGG
“WHERE IS IT?! Oh my sevens..sevens..”
You yelled frantically as you moved pillows and looked under cushions and carpets and pillows, damn, damn it! Your ring! You lost it, you glanced at sebek, he could help you. He needed to!
“Sebek, don’t just stand there! If we don’t find the ring , we will get in some big trouble!”
You said, did sebek have anything to do with your own reckless behaviour? Nope. Did he have anything to do with your mistake of losing the ring when coming to ramshackle? Also no. But he couldn’t possibly say no to you, so he , with his usual loud mouth and manners started to look for the ring with you.
Because really, you can always get him in trouble with you. Easily. And actually, many times where lilia scolds you, it somehow ends up with him getting upset at you AND sebek. So really. It was easy.
And if you don’t find the ring..uueugh..sevens, malleus would get so upset. And who will have to deal with him?? You! Sigh..it’s the worst when he has one of his tantrums, cause he sometimes purposely give you a hard time. You suspect that he only dose it to get your attention, but you didn’t ask that yet.
“Damnit..”
“What’s gotten you so ruffled up over a ring, anyway? It’s not the first time you lose something.”
Ace spoke, and he somewhat regretted the words that left his mouth with your glare. Not the time huh..
“Because if I lose the ring, I MIGHT AS WELL LOSE MY HEAD. YOUD KNOW LOTS ABOUT THAT.”
“OKAY.”
Ace didn’t even know why he was catching strays, but he should’ve kept silent anyway.. you give up with a weak sob as you fall face first on the floor, with epel slightly patting your head as if trying to comfort you. Then deuce spoke,
“But seriously..is the ring that expensive? You’ve lost few expensive stuff before and didn’t care..so..”
Deuce tried his best to word it right, so he won’t get what ace got, you huffed as you sat up. Sebek hesitantly sat next to you. Clearly, he didn’t find the ring.
“It’s not about expensive. It’s my engagement ring. And if I lose it now out of any time else , malleus would get so upset.”
You said with a sigh, resting your cheek on your palm. You were too occupied with your thoughts, and was only cut off by yells from the other three..
“ENGAGED?!”
“MALLEUS?”
“YOURE GETTING MARRIED?!”
You glanced at these three and rolled your eyes , what’s so surprising, anyway ? Before you could say anything, sebek beat you to it of course, speaking loudly about how of course you’re engaged to malleus and speaking of your greatness..
A moment after though, Jack walked in and saw the..messy circle but decided not to comment.
“Uh, I found this ring on the floor, dose it belong to any of you?”
Your face immediately brightens as you looked at what Jack was holding, that’s..
“MY RING!”
“YOUR RING!”
You and sebek, spoke at the same time.
lol. He must be excited too.
A/N : this was a bit rushed , but idias part was too short because I’m actually planning to write a whole fic. The engagement idea is something I’m so happy I came up with! So I’ll make it better and longer. If you have any reqs, feel free to send them!
tags; anime vergil x female reader, nightmares, hurt and comfort, bed sharing, wing hugs, soft vergil.
Shadows softened in the corners of your apartment.
The room was partially dark. Somewhere, something was dripping—surely the bathroom faucet that had yet to be repaired. The sound was accompanied by the distant murmur of the city. At least the walls were thick enough to keep the noise of the traffic at bay. When you opened your eyes, the faint glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting stripes of light across the bed.
You let out a silent yawn, and the digital clock on the nightstand blinked. The sun was still nowhere near rising.
Then, the sound of steady breathing reminded your sleepy mind of who occupied the other half of the bed. Beside you, Vergil slept. Or rather, he did what he referred to as sleeping. You described it as remaining eerily motionless for hours with his eyes closed.
He claimed there was no difference, but there was.
Ever since Vergil decided to share a space with you—or rather, ever since you sheltered him in your home—you had watched him adjust to being back in the human world. Or among the sapiens, as he sometimes called them. Sleep, among other things, was an abstract concept to him. And it didn't always come easily.
Vergil tended to stay perfectly still, his eyes squeezed shut as if he were listening to something in the far distance. Or as if he were waiting for something to happen. Rare were the occasions when he truly slept, and when it did happen, it was because you were with him.
You tried not to let that affect you. You failed.
Tonight, however, he seemed genuinely submerged in sleep. Without his shoulders tensed and his brow furrowed, he almost looked younger, less defensive. His breathing was slow and constant. Peaceful.
Then, you remembered why your body had decided to wake you. Ah, right, you thought. I need to use the restroom.
You tried to be as quiet as possible. The sheets slipped slightly as you climbed out of bed. Once sitting on the edge, you looked over your shoulder. Vergil hadn't moved. You took a selfish moment to look at him. Even while doing something as banal as sleeping and wearing the most mundane clothes, he exuded something that made it glaringly obvious he wasn't completely human.
The floor was cold beneath your bare feet.
You just needed to use the restroom.
You slipped out of the room cautiously, careful not to interrupt Vergil's sleep, unusual as it was. The door remained ajar behind you.
And the room fell silent once more.
Nightmares were enemies whose ambushes Vergil could never anticipate.
When they caught him, they dragged him into a darkness of no return, deeper than the hell that had torn him to pieces only to rebuild him out of rot. Then, he would see them: grotesque demon faces reaching for him, claws and wings pursuing him, training him.
Then came the fire.
The heat of the flames scorching stone, consuming wood until it splintered apart, made him feel terribly small, even within himself. He was. Surrounded by fire once more, back in the body of a child. The panic felt so real. Through younger eyes—his own eyes—Vergil desperately tried to find salvation, only to find it on the ground, pooled in blood. Then the fire consumed everything, and he was dragged to a prison where the horrific heat would only intensify, swallowing his tortured screams along with it.
He snapped awake.
It was never a gentle return.
It was like being ripped from his own mind by claws and fangs.
In an instant, Vergil was sitting up, his hands clenched into fists over whatever fabric he could grasp, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. For a dizzying fraction of a second, he didn't know where he was. The memory of the fire and a cell in the bowels of hell were still too vivid. Blood could be smelled in the air—dense, and undeniably his own. What his senses perceived was the darkness enveloping the space, the silence, and the cold. He tasted smoke and the blistering heat on his skin.
Then... nothing.
Reality rushed back as quickly as it had vanished. The room, the cracked and faded walls of the apartment, the sheets he remembered falling asleep on beside—
He snapped his gaze sideways, letting go of the fabric and instinctively reaching for the space beside him. Empty.
Any lingering remnant of sleep vanished.
The room was empty. Far too empty.
Vergil stood up without a second thought. Every muscle in his body stiffened with a tension he only ever felt before a fight. His breathing grew shallow; to his ears, it was barely perceptible, yet it felt deafening. His gaze swept the room until it locked onto the door left ajar. The apartment remained silent. No voices. Nothing.
An unpleasant pressure constricted his chest.
She left. The thought surfaced before he could stop it. It was absurd, irrational. And yet, there it was. The ghost of the fire and a childhood shattered to pieces, years of pain and rot. Of being completely adrift.
Gone, gone, gone.
Before he realized it, Vergil was standing in the hallway. The air felt heavier, but there were no traces of other demons in the vicinity. Then what...? A current of energy traced a path beneath his skin, as if his body were tearing itself apart to fight something that wasn't even visible. What was he going to fight?
His own fears?
Then, he heard footsteps. Light, soft. Unmistakably human.
Before Vergil could take another step, you appeared, walking barefoot with a sleepy expression and tangled hair.
Ah, he thought, all his instincts silenced by a relief so dense it smothered everything else. There you are.
You stopped the moment you noticed him. Your eyes narrowed in confusion, as if you hadn't expected to see him awake, let alone looking like he was about to kill something.
"Vergil?"
You stepped closer to him. Your gaze, clearer now, immediately caught the tension wrapping around Vergil's tall frame like a rope snapped taut. The tightness in his jaw only showed like that when he was angry or irritated, but you had learned to read his moods. Vergil didn't look angry in the slightest. It took you a long moment to recognize the emotion blanketing his features because you had never seen it before. Not on him. You had never seen fear in Vergil.
The distance between you closed by a couple of steps.
"What's wrong?" you asked.
Nothing, he thought. A superficial, useless answer when he clearly looked as though he were about to lunge forward and trap you. Ridiculous. You were perfectly capable of getting up during the night without a tragedy occurring; he knew that.
But a part of Vergil—a terribly human part—couldn't differentiate between a momentary absence and a permanent loss. Not when there were still times he woke up expecting to find smoke, or waiting to hear his own screams echoing off the walls of a cavern. But now... a vacant bed had been enough for Vergil to imagine the worst, because a door left ajar had been enough to drag him decades back. What kind of weakness was that?
Nothing, he thought again. He didn't grab you only because he remained rooted to the spot, staring at you. Searching for wounds, traces of blood, any sign of danger. There was none. And how sickening it was, the way the pressure in his chest dissipated the moment he realized you were unharmed.
Only then was Vergil able to answer.
"You weren't here."
There was a moment where the words hung suspended in the air. Just that. You weren't in bed. It wasn't a reproach, nor was it an accusation.
You blinked, startled.
All Vergil could hear was the rhythm of your pulse.
You understood, and your heart took a painful plunge in your chest as it clicked.
You knew his nightmares. He had told you about that night and everything that followed. How could you have forgotten? Vergil's nightmares always began like this. He had undoubtedly feared the worst when he didn't see you.
You had seen it before, on the nights he snapped awake with a start and held you tighter, the times he stayed awake staring at the ceiling. You knew where it all came from.
"I just went to the restroom," you said softly, closing the distance between you. His eyes followed your every step, capturing everything from the movement of your body to the cadence of your breathing. Vergil's eyes were honest in a way he himself could never be. A few strands of white hair fell out of place, disrupting his immaculate appearance, you fought the urge to brush them away. "I'm sorry."
Vergil's jaw clenched before he forced himself to relax it.
"You have nothing to apologize for." His shoulders sank just a fraction as your scent replaced the air around him.
You tilted your chin slightly to look him in the face.
"I should have told you," you murmured. "Or made a bit more noise—"
"You are not responsible for my afflictions," he replied in a hushed voice. If anyone else were to hear the tone Vergil used with you, hell would freeze over.
Your expression softened under the bluish glow of his gaze.
"Maybe not." Your hand slowly sought his out. Vergil followed the movement as if it were mesmerizing, as if he didn't comprehend that it was meant for him. Slowly, your fingers laced with his—soft skin slipping against the hand calloused by swordplay and years of training. "But that doesn't mean you have to deal with them entirely alone."
In moments like this, Vergil was grateful you couldn't hear his heartbeat. It wasn't a frantic pulse born of fear or alertness, but it undoubtedly exceeded established boundaries, and it was ridiculous, and he couldn't stop it.
A human making the heart of a half-demon beat for something other than hunger. Perhaps he truly was banished from hell.
For a suspended moment, Vergil didn't answer; he simply stood there, watching you. If only you could see yourself through his eyes.
Finally, his fingers closed around yours, covering them.
"Go back to bed," he said.
For a split second, he almost sounded on the verge of saying please. You couldn't help but smile a little, even as your heart melted inside your chest.
"That sounded suspiciously like a request."
Vergil shot you an unimpressed look, but the corners of his mouth twitched just enough to give him away.
"Do not flatter yourself."
"Was it a request?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Completely."
"Because it felt like a request."
"Your perception is flawed."
You laughed, and the sound did something inside his chest. Something warm and unknown, something that would take him time to accept. Slowly, the nightmares receded. He knew that, at least for tonight, they wouldn't return.
Because you were there.
Because you were smiling at him.
Because tonight was simply a mundane, boring night.
Vergil didn't let go of your hand on the way back to the bedroom. Your fingers unraveled from his when you flopped onto the bed—the exact way you knew made him huff—and opened your arms wide.
Vergil watched you the way one observes something entirely nonsensical.
"What are you doing?"
"Offering hugs."
A cricket could have played a concerto in that silence.
"I do not need them."
You dropped your arms and shrugged, looking more amused than slighted by the rejection. You had long since learned not to take Vergil's defense mechanisms personally, but you pulled the entire blanket over to your side of the bed anyway.
"Your loss," you said, barely hiding your amusement as you cocooned yourself in the fabric.
Vergil sighed. That long, resigned sigh you discovered was reserved exclusively for you. The mattress dipped beside you as he took his place, hogging more than half the space. The bed wasn't built for two people, much less a half-demon.
In the ensuing silence, nothing happened, and you wondered if he was pretending to sleep. You were just about to drift off when a firm arm wrapped around your waist. The heat of his skin bled into yours through your clothes. You smiled against the pillow.
"So you did need them."
"Silence."
"Caught you red-handed."
"Silence."
"Vergil has feelings."
"I am going to let you go."
"No, you won't."
He didn't. You two knew it.
The pause that followed was so long you almost started to chuckle.
Then, a surge of energy filled the room. A warm blue radiance momentarily coated the walls before dimming into a soft illumination. The bed groaned under the sudden shift in weight. The cold instantly vanished, and all you felt was a wall of heat pressing against your back. The arm around your waist grew broader, lined with claws that tickled your skin. The blanket covering you disappeared, and you found yourself face-to-face with... well, Vergil. In his Devil Trigger.
It wasn't the first time you'd seen it, but your jaw dropped nonetheless. The bed was definitely not made to sustain the weight of a demon.
"Seriously?"
"Sleep."
"You're gonna break the bed."
"Irrelevant," he replied, his voice a octave deeper. The hand—claw—at your waist hauled you backward, making the poor bed wail. Your back collided with the solid armor of his chest. "You are speaking too much."
Massive wings unfurled, swallowing up most of the room, but Vergil used them to drape over both of you, creating a barrier. A sanctuary. The most dangerous creature your world knew was shielding you with his wings in an attempt to protect you from that very world. Or perhaps it was just another way for Vergil to harbor himself.
The outside world fell entirely mute. Inside that barrier, it was only the two of you. The beat of that heart—which was as human as it was demonic—became a drum that, of all its lethal purposes, ended up lulling you to sleep.
Slowly your eyelids began to close.
"Goodnight, Vergil," you whispered.
There was a low rumble, a rough sort of purr that vibrated against your back. Vergil pulled you closer.
He felt the moment you fell asleep. This time, when Vergil closed his eyes, there was no darkness, no home swallowed by flames. Only your breathing, and the human fluttering inside your chest. Only your warmth.
Slowly, he closed his eyes, silently letting himself drift away, anchored by the certainty that when he woke up, you would still be there. Right beside him.
𝔠 : “Mhm, just like you said about the last twenty.”
𝔞 : “Well yes, but I mean it this time. We can try more out tomorrow but for now let’s go to the kitchens. I’m craving a snack.”
𝔠 : “I’m right here, princess.”
𝔞 : “Ha. Ha. Now let’s go! Oh but I wanna be carried.”
𝔠 : “Number?” ¹
𝔞 : “Hmmm… 6!”
𝔠 : “As you wish, my pearl.”
¹ in capitira, we have a numbered list of ways i like being carried (i.e. princess style, piggy back, on a shoulder, etc etc). in the above situation, I choose 6 where he carries me in a chair lift (aka the chair lift trend)
titsay
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ellievsbear
baratheonpilled
