Safe and sweet.
Haaaiii luvies!! this is for the bestest friend ever (i'd say we're friends <3),, they're fr the #1 urumi fan and idc i ship urumi x igi so bad!!!!!!!!!!)!))))!!!! Soooosssososoo,,, this is for them!!!!!!
TYPE: urumi x reader (no use of y/n.), gender neutral!reader, fluff, borderlands au (after a game.)
WARNINGS: brief mention of blood, injury, and death. small kiss,,, obsession with strawberry pocky—and just cuties <3 idk lmk if i forgot anything???
pocky crumbs and sweet kisses, at least you survived.
The game ends with the sound of the siren crackling into silence.
You’re still alive. Barely.
Your hands are scraped, your clothes half torn, and your lungs ache like they forgot how to breathe in panic mode. Your legs are jelly, your body buzzing with leftover adrenaline, but your eyes sweep the space for one thing.Or one person.
“Urumi…?”
You spot her near the edge of the collapsed scaffolding—standing there like it hadn’t even happened, like she hadn’t just dodged death twice with nothing but a flick of her smile and a switchblade.
She’s stretching her arms above her head, yawning like she’s bored. She’s smiling. Of course she is.
“You look like shit,” she says cheerfully.
Your breath hitches in a half-laugh. “Thanks.”
“I mean it in a flattering way.” She turns, brushing dust from her coat. “Kind of a rugged, tragic hero thing.”
You roll your eyes, wobbling a bit as you step closer. The gash on your leg stings with every movement.
She notices. Her smile fades a little. “You’re bleeding.”
You glance down. “Yeah, I noticed that too.”
She walks over, and suddenly she’s right in front of you—close enough to smell the faint, sharp tang of metal on her clothes. Her fingers reach out to gently pull your pants away from the wound. Her touch is light. Delicate, even. You’re not used to her being delicate.
“You okay?” she asks, voice soft now. Real.
“…Yeah. Are you?”
She hums thoughtfully, then grins. “Mostly annoyed you didn’t duck faster.”
You snort. “I didn’t realize you cared about my ducking speed.”
“Oh, I don’t,” she says, brushing hair from your face in a way that betrays the words. “But I was sort of planning on flirting with you after this, and it’s harder to do that when you’re dead.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. Wait, what?You blink. “You were what?”
She grins wider. That smug, sweet curve of her lips. “Mm. I mean, if you died, it’d be a huge waste of all the tension we’ve been building, don’t you think?”
You don’t know what to say. Your brain is still trying to catch up.
She leans in slightly, still watching you with that glint in her eye. She always looks like she’s in on a joke no one else gets. It used to annoy you. Now it’s just… her. And somehow it makes you feel safer.
“You’re really full of yourself, huh?” you murmur.
“Only a little,” she says, her voice dropping a bit. “But I’m usually right.” Her expression softens, the playful spark still there—but behind it, something honest. Something vulnerable, maybe.
She reaches out again, slower this time, and her fingers brush lightly under your chin. “I meant it, though,” she says. “I was scared. When I couldn’t see you in the smoke.”
Your throat tightens. “…I was scared too,” you admit.
“Thought I lost you.”
Something shifts between you, the space shrinking without either of you moving much at all. She doesn’t rush it—just watches your expression, eyes flicking between yours like she’s reading the fine print of your soul.
And then, slowly, she leans in. Not fast. Not desperate. Just soft. Intentional. Like she’s giving you time to stop her—like she knows you won’t.
And you don’t.
Her lips touch yours in a kiss that’s all warmth and quiet, laced with something tender that makes your knees a little weaker. It’s not a performance. It’s not teasing. It’s real.
She pulls back after a few seconds, still so close you can feel her breath.
“…Told you I’d flirt with you.”
You stare at her. “That was more than flirting.”
Urumi gives you a smile that’s both proud and soft. “I’m good at escalation.”
You laugh—fully this time, a little dizzy with adrenaline and affection. “You’re insane.”
“Mmm. Maybe. But I’m still your type.”
You should be annoyed. You really should. But instead, you take her hand, squeeze it gently, and shake your head with a grin.
“Yeah,” you whisper, “you kind of are.”
And for once in the Borderlands, it feels like surviving wasn’t just about living—it was about getting to this moment.
With her. With that stupid, beautiful smile.
──── ୨୧ ────
It was Urumi who suggested they find a place to hide out for the night. “There’s a shuttered café nearby,” she said, casually inspecting her nails like she hadn’t just kissed you senseless. “Hard to break into unless you know which vent to crawl through. Lucky for you… I do.”
You didn’t ask how she knew. You were starting to realize that Urumi just… knew things. About places. People. Vents. Pocky stash locations.
Anyways, though, luckily, the trek there wasn’t long, though you winced every time your leg flared with pain. Urumi walked beside you—not doting, not hovering, but aware. She didn’t offer to carry you or anything dramatic like that. She just adjusted her pace to match yours, wordlessly.
And when you stumbled once, her hand caught your elbow and steadied you like it was second nature. Like she already knew your center of gravity better than you did.
The café was small. Dusty. Forgotten. Cracked tiles and broken chairs, but the backroom was intact—warm enough to keep the chill off, and quiet in that rare kind of way. Like the world had been paused.
You both sat on a pile of worn blankets that someone, somewhere, had left behind.
Urumi unzipped her satchel and casually pulled out two slightly crushed snack boxes. “Today’s dinner,” she said, holding up the red foil packet. “Strawberry Pocky. Vintage.”
You blinked. “How the hell do you still have that?”
“I hide things better than I hide feelings,” she said with a crooked grin. “And I hide feelings very well.”
You laughed, gently, and took one of the sticks she held out. Your fingers brushed. Hers were warm.
The first bite was sweet and artificial and perfect. The kind of taste that reminded you—somehow—of life before this place.
“Don’t inhale it all,” she warned, nudging your shoulder as she opened a small container of what looked like broken, buttery cookies. “I’m sharing this with you even though you ran directly into a tripwire back there.”
“I dodged it,” you said around a mouthful of Pocky.
“Barely. You flailed.”
“I didn’t flail.”
“You made a noise.”
“I got startled!”
She bit into a cookie, smiling against it. “It was cute.”
Your cheeks flushed. You didn’t respond. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It never was with her. It felt… settled. Like the storm had passed and now there was only this strange little calm where you sat beside someone who, for whatever reason, made the end of the world feel a little less lonely.
You looked over at her. Her eyes were closed, lips tinted faintly pink from the candy, her knees pulled loosely to her chest.
The quiet made you bold. “Why do you always smile like that?” you asked softly. “Even when things are going to hell.”
She opened her eyes slowly and looked at you. “Because if I don’t smile,” she said, “I’ll think too much. And if I think too much, I’ll panic. And panicking’s not cute.”
That answer should’ve made you laugh. But it didn’t. Because something in her voice told you that was the truth. You didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then you leaned in just slightly and bumped your shoulder against hers. “I’m glad you didn’t panic,” you said quietly. “Because I needed you today.”
Her expression flickered—like a spark in the dark. She didn’t smile this time. Not the usual cheeky grin, at least. Just something softer. Tired.
She reached into the Pocky box, pulled out another stick, and offered it to you with a lopsided look. “I’ll take that as a thank-you. Feed me this one.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
So you did. You gently lifted the stick and held it toward her. She leaned forward without breaking eye contact, bit down, and took it from your fingers in one slow move.
When she sat back, she smiled again. “Romantic.”
“Teeth kind of ruined it.”
“You love it.”
You hated how much she was right.
The two of you sat in the dim light of the backroom for a while, trading snacks and sharing body heat and dumb little jokes that didn’t mean much but also kind of meant everything. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t confessional.
But when Urumi let her head tip to the side and rest on your shoulder—that felt like a secret.
And when she whispered, just barely audible:“…Don’t die in the next one, okay?”
You whispered back, “Only if you don’t.”
And she murmured, eyes already half-closed:“Deal.”
In a world where everything was cruel and loud and fast, this moment was none of those things.
It was soft. Safe. And, for once…sweet.