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Black and Blue.
Yan Blade x GN Reader.
Synopsis: Blade has a habit of leaving swords on his opponents’ graves. You have a habit of picking flowers near those who are dead. Unfortunately for you, those two things combined had you meet the immortal Stellaron Hunter for the first time.
Warnings: Yandere themes, descriptions of past violence, and implications of a future unhealthy relationship/stalking.
Word Count: 700.
*~*~*~*
“Why… are you staring at me?”
Your body isn’t well covered, Blade notes as he steps a bit back to take in the full sight of you. Your arms are paler than the snow here.
One of your hands grasps the stems of the flowers you had just plucked from an important resting place. It’s deep and just as old as Blade is judging by the crumbled stone bricks and withering vines yet none of the winter elements seem to cover it. Someone or some people must keep it clean to honor the dead.
Your grip is so tightly that the thorns have dug into your skin and have started to make you bleed. Aside from the roses, your wounds and Blade’s eyes are the only bright red things in the vicinity.
The clouds of Morana haven’t set in a long time. They cast over this planet like a mist so thick Blade had trouble navigating himself to the top of this mountain. The humans here have angered the long-fallen Aeon, causing her to seek revenge on her people.
It isn’t the first time an Aeon has made sure their followers have tragic fates ahead. Blade knows, and so do people that the Xianzhou have long removed from their historical records.
“You’re a thief,” He replies, his voice slow and steady – afraid that you will run if he is too harsh. “This grave belongs to the late Caterina the Great.”
“Flowers only grow here and nowhere else,” You reply, your tone less scared but more annoyed now. Perhaps you have realized that Blade isn’t from Morana. “It’s too cold down there. This is the only way I can pay for food without stealing it. Please understand…”
He only hums as he listens further, yet he only tries to make sense of his emotions in this present moment.
Is this pity he feels?
No. It’s something else.
Something not like pity, but relatability.
You have been through plenty; it is as obvious as a fact like a dog’s nature is to be loyal. Your clothes are tattered. You’re shivering from having no warm place to go. But unlike when he was a wanderer with nowhere to go and nothing to hold but his sword, you could die in so many ways here. Someone can have you executed if there are other witnesses to you stepping on a war hero’s grave so carelessly. The elements can freeze your bloodstream if it gets too cold. The mountain itself can have a tree fall on you like your fallen Aeon put all of her hatred into a singular action and positioned it at a singular person.
The old sword is pushed into the snow in front of your bare feet, and you stop speaking.
“Be more careful next time,” Blade says. “You’ll get hurt if someone sees you.”
He points and you follow his gloved finger.
“Take it.”
“What?”
“Take the sword,” He orders, and then quickly removes his gloves. He puts them in your palm. “It’s old. It should be enough for a while.”
“Do you mean… sell it?” You are bewildered.
“If that is what you wish, go ahead.” Blade then removes his jacket and sets it on your shoulders. “Or use it to defend yourself. I am not familiar with Morana culture, but you most likely are. Trust your gut when making this decision.”
He’ll follow you after, he decides. For a while. Maybe forever, if Kafka doesn’t allow you on the ship.