#Death's Child (Reaper!AU)

[yayan-dmenace]

Reaper being sassy to his children or child

I luv how geno is just so done with them xD

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Here's some semi-structured thoughts on the grim reaper!Akai AU that lives rent-free in my head. Fair warning, this is basically all just about the death in Rei's life.

Rei is four when he encounters Death for the first time.

Doesn't quite understand yet that when the paramedics throw a blanket over his mother's limp form and take her away, it's the last time he'll ever see her.

He just sits at the kitchen table and waits, patiently, as she told him to, with dread and the feeling that something's wrong in his stomach. He's a big boy. Can't go around crying all the time, anymore.

One of the medics pats his head, tells him he's being very brave. Rei preens a little.

Then they're gone.

.

Death is an occassional visitor at the Miyano's clinic.

His foster parents have explained to him how mother's in a better place, now, and he believes them. After all, the other kids incessantly ridicule him for all the things he is and isn't - any place would be better than this. He's only a little upset she didn't take him with her.

Instead, he's forced to struggle and fight and fend for himself, and that's how he first lands himself a visit to the clinic.

Little Akemi drags him there, when things go a little too badly, when he's in over his head against several boys older than himself.

It's a kind soul that patches him up, and not just him. He doesn't have anywhere else to go, so Rei stays in the waiting room, watching and waiting while Elena soothes the pain of the injured, the sick, and the dying. Observes how, despite everything, they leave a little better off than they entered.

Sometimes someone is brought in, and leaves with the paramedics. The medic that patted his head, black hair inconveniently fanning out untied over his back, is usually with them. Throughout the summer, they meet every once in a while. Rei makes sure to wave at him every time. At first, the man seems surprised, but eventually he smiles back, tentatively.

The people that leave with him, Rei never sees again.

.

Rei is nine when he has a brush with Death himself, for the first time.

It's honestly a surprise it's taken that long, considering his recklessness and tendency to get into arguments, but meeting Morofushi Hiromitsu has dampened his fighting spirit a little. There's other ways to spend his time, now, more peaceful ones. Fishing, for example.

It's inoccuous enough. He's waiting for Hiro, tiptoeing on the edge of the pier as he's done countless times before, against his best friend's best judgement. Rei has a great sense of balance, though, so he's fine. Until one day the wood is still slick with rain and algae. He slips, hits his head on the planks, and goes under.

Rei fights against the freezing cold seeping through too-thin clothes, digging its claws into his flesh and bone, but it's a short-lived struggle. Even if he could figure out which way is up through his syrup-y mind, his vision is rapidly darkening, and his limbs lock up with spasms.

He wonders, as he is drowning, whether he will get to see that better place now, and surrenders himself to the gentle embrace of Death. The freezing eases into a cool, steady presence around him, infinitely patient and all-encompassing, and oh, this is what rest is supposed to feel like, isn't it.

Rei closes his eyes.

He wakes up in the ambulance, a wet and shivering Hiro by his side, covered by a thermal blanket.

The usual medic is nowhere to be seen.

.

Rei is twelve, delirious with fever, when he sees him again.

He's never been afraid to die. There's things he wants to - needs to - do, and he will do them, or die trying. It's a risk he's willing to take, every single time, because the rewards are worth it.

Just because he's not afraid of Death, however, doesn't mean he doesn't cling to life - especially when it's a pathetic sickness that has him in its grasp. He won't be taken out, like this.

So his mind and body resist, and the distinction between minutes, hours, days, has lost all meaning in the painful haze that burns him alive. His sleep is fitful, where it exists as at all.

His foster parents must have called a doctor, because Rei wakes up to a soothing, cool hand on his forehead, taking his temperature.

"Good evening, Furuya Rei."

Ah. The man must have gotten a promotion, because looking down at him is the same pale medic with strands of inky black hair falling over his shoulder. Now that he's thinking about it, Rei has never seen his eyes, before, always hidden by a cap. They're a lovely shade of jade, the man ethereally beautiful.

Or maybe he's just a fever dream.

"Hello. Who are you?"

Speaking is easier than it should be, considering he's coughed his throat raw.

The man offers him the glass of water standing on his bedside table, steadying him while Rei gulps the liquid down greedily. The cold spreads inside him, familiar and comforting.

"A friend. Feel free to call me whatever you like."

Hm. That's not helpful at all. Rei will have to think about that. But thinking is rather difficult, at the moment. Later, then.

"How are you feeling?"

Terrible, he wants to say, should say, but that isn't quite the truth, is it?

"Better." The cold is seeping into his body, chilling him to the bone, opposing the fever.

The man smiles, small and private. "I'm glad." He wipes away some of the water Rei spilled in his haste.

"Would you like to come with me? I should be able to treat you better, in my domain. Could take away all your pain."

The man's hand rests on Rei's chest, numbingly cool, a gentle pressure over his heart. Cold comfort.

Rei thinks of how the people that leave with this man never come back. Thinks of Hiro, screaming and shouting until his throat was hoarse when he thought Rei had drowned.

He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, I can't leave with you."

The man's smile dims, sorrow creeping in.

"I see."

It hurts, to see him downcast like this, but it hurts more, when the man takes his hand away, and the fever rushes back into Rei.

"Will I see you again?", he manages to rasp as the pain returns to his throat.

That, at least, seems to amuse the man.

"Most certainly."

.

When he's fifteen, Rei meets Morofushi Taka'aki for the first time.

Hiro's brother has been working for the police for a while now, and his insight into the work is what sets Rei on the path to becoming an officer himself.

That, and the fact that despite digging through several databases, Taka'aki has been unable to locate Elena. Rei's been digging through social media himself, and, just to be sure, looking for obituaries or graves.

There's nothing.

He'll need better resources. She can't have just disappeared, but there's only so many records of unidentified corpses a teenager can get access to. It's stupid, really - adults can try and hide the demise of humanity all they want, but that doesn't stop it from existing.

One day, Death catches up with everyone.

.

By the time he's twenty, Rei knows he wants to spend his life investigating Death.

Of course, he's seen the statistics; the rate of violent crime has supposedly been stable, if not receding, for years now. But as Rei's grown older, he's seen Death from the corner of his eyes every once in a while, waiting patiently, before a scream split the night, and a body was discovered.

Rei's left to wonder if he sees Death because he's actively looking, or whether it finds him, follows him around. They haven't talked, if it even happened at all, since that first time, and ever since Hiro gave him an odd look when Rei started to talk to him about the green-eyed spectre of Death, he's learned to keep his mouth shut. Maybe it really was just a feverish hallucination.

Still, every once in a while Rei gets the feeling of being watched, a glimmer of jade looming for a moment, before disappearing into the darkness.

.

Rei's academy days can be best described as a continuous flirtation with Death.

Somehow, the friends he's managed to make are just as reckless and driven as himself, which results in them enabling each other to perform stunts that would be deadly, if not for their teamwork.

It's a dizzying high to see what they can accomplish, unafraid of failure, with their talents combined, one close shave after the other, but ultimately victorious.

All the while, Rei feels the spectre of Death looming, but he just grins at it with reckless joy.

Of course, those bright days can't last forever.

.

Rei's first kill is in self-defense. It won't be his last.

He's called the emergency services, hoping he could subdue his clearly drugged-up victim, but when all is said and done, there's nothing left for the medics but to jot down time and cause of death, and take the body.

A member of the trauma team drops a blanket over him, hands him a cup of coffee..It warms him a little, though Rei's hands continue to shake.

Death sits down by his side, on the floor.

Rei is unsurprised to find green eyes watching him, but he's too tired to play pretend.

"What do you want?"

"You were the one who called. I'm just here to collect what is due."

"Then why are you here, while the body is carried off by your colleagues?"

"He's dead, he can wait a few minutes. Time very quickly looses its meaning. Besides, I was curious."

"Excuse me?"

"You've taken a life. I was wondering how it would affect you."

"I'm not your guinea pig. Go bother someone else."

Rei really would like to have an opportunity to rest and recover from the incident that just occured. Instead of talking to this weirdo.

"I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Most people avoid me. Many people are afraid of me and run when they realize who I am. Those that seek me out... well, it's usually a rather short conversation, if they can see me at all."

"I see. Well. I won't run, but I would still like to be left alone, now."

"Alright. See you soon."

Rei really hopes he won't, but presumably Death knows better.

.

When Rei goes undercover, Death walks beside him.

The guy really needs a name, because he's clearly not just the abstract concept of death, but an actual, well, almost-person. With his own characteristics, interests, and weird hobbies - mostly people-watching.

Rei's sure that if it didn't make him feel sick, there's a lot he could learn from Death. As it is, though, none of his skills are of the sort Rei would like to improve on, if he can help it.

.

His familiarity with Death is what steadies his hand when he does have to kill for his work. It doesn't happen frequently, thankfully, but still more often than he'd like. He tries to make it quick and painless, and Death will be waiting by his side when it's over, his cool presence seeping into Rei, helping to carve from ice the mask that is Bourbon.

Sometimes, when it's really bad, Death will provide support - steady his back, help him aim. It's strange to get pointers from Death, but he certainly has the knowledge to share. When Death takes over, it's fast, though usually messy.

Eventually, that's how Rei settles on a name for him - Akai, for the blood that stains them both.

.

Akai's decent company, once you get past the inhuman curiosity.

He's non-judgemental in a way even Hiro can't be, just observes and asks questions - usually it boils down to how certain things taste and smell and feel like. What sort of feelings Rei's experiencing.

It's probing in a way that should be deeply unpleasant, unfiltered, digging into the deepest, most private parts of his psyche. Because damnit, sometimes it feels good to abuse his position and deal with some of the scum of society. To know corrupt politicians won't ruin his country anymore, to coerce someone into paying the child support they owe their mistress, the list goes on.

It turns out that Death is a good listener, and so Rei gives him much more of himself than he could, to a human.

.

It's cold comfort to know, too, that if things go very bad, there's always an exit strategy. Death is always waiting for him, after all.

.

Rei hears of Hagiwara's death only belatedly, and somehow, that hurts even more.

He tries to drink himself into a oblivion, and he's probably getting there, because several hours in Akai shows up at his doorstep.

Death's embrace is still as comforting as it was as a child.

.

It's unclear to Rei whether Akai is ever really there. He seems to be able to blend in with crowds, and sometimes, he'll see Akai's silhouette reflected in the eyes of the dying, but Scotch never seems to notice when Akai is around, even when he's just performed a kill.

Rei knows he's garnered a reputation as some sort of madman who keeps talking to himself, and although it's incorrect, he doesn't bother correcting them. They wouldn't believe him if he told them the truth, so what's the point?

Besides, a reputation for insanity is as much a shield as anything, in this environment.

.

Akai isn't always around. In fact, he's often busy, or so he claims. But without fail, he'll be there when Rei meets Gin.

For a being that's supposedly the great equalizer, impartial like no other, Akai seems to really, really hate Gin. If Rei is feeling uncharitable, he supposes it's because Gin's trigger-happy nature means more work for Akai. If he was being kind, he'd suppose Akai might be a good judge of character.

And if the people that deem him insane are right, well. Rei hates Gin, so it makes sense a figment of imagination would share the sentiment.

And maybe, just maybe, Rei's just a bad influence. Because some days it almost feels like Akai is getting more human.

.

Either way, through Akai's barbs - he's trying to get Rei to take action against Gin - Rei learns a few key things.

One, Akai can only speak to those that are either affiliated with death, or close to it. He won't say which one applies to Rei, but maybe Hiro is onto something when he tells him to eat and sleep more.

Two, there's more deaths than just Akai. This is unsurprising, considering Akai isn't busy literally every second of every day.

Three, despite the term Grim Reaper being tossed around for his kind sometimes, there is little actual reaping involved. Akai can't actually influence the mortal world aside from some small ways, much less kill someone. The best he can do, apparently, is talk, though this is sometimes enough to push someone over the edge. But his job is mostly just to escort souls to what comes after - he declines comment on what that would be.

.

One of the few times he's pretty certain he's not the only one noticing Akai, he's gently holding a defiant young mother, staring Gin down while he shoots first her child, then the woman herself. It's just business, to Gin - payment for attempted betrayal of the organisation by the child's father.

She seems, in her final moments, comforted by Death's presence.

If this is what it takes for others to see Akai, Rei doesn't want a repeat performance.

.

"Give him back!"

"You know I can't do that, Furuya-kun."

Death is taking the place of a crematory operator, today. The one currently in the process of handling his best friend's body - or rather, what remains of it after Rei scraped him off the pavement.

He should have called someone else to clean the scene up. The smells and thoughts and feelings will never leave his mind. But this is the last thing he can do for Hiro, the last kindness he can perform. Making sure his body won't be further desecrated, his ashes will find their way home. Fuck. He won't be able to reach out to Hiro's brother any time soon.

"What did you tell him, Akai? Why did you make him jump?"

Akai's calm as he's operating the device, often comforting, is now increasingly aggravating to Rei.

"Nothing. It was his own choice."

"I don't believe you."

It has to be a lie. Hiro wouldn't have left him behind. He had to have been in a vulnerable space, easily influenced and drawn over. Rei knows the siren's call, has resisted the sweet release of death several times over by now.

This is all Akai's fault.

Without him, Hiro would've sought Rei out, and they would've found a solution, together.

Akai reaches out a hand, expression pained - that can't be true, Death doesn't have emotions, it's just a law of the universe - touches Rei's shoulder - frost burn cold spreads from the point of contact, numbing, freezing his heart, trying to lock him in place. He won't be taken, like this.

Rei flinches, takes several steps back.

"Don't you dare touch me ever again."

Akai takes one last, long look at him, and then he's gone.

.

Rei goes over the deep end with burning determination.

Clings to his job harder than ever. He owes it to Hiro and Elena to see it through, to see the organisation that took them from him crash and burn.

Some might say he lives dangerously, takes too many risks, but Rei can't bring himself to care. Even as he kills, watches torture and murder and death, Akai stays out of sight, so he's not too worried about himself. There's worse things than death, sure, but as long as he lives he'll be a thorn in the organisation's side.

His reputation is deserved now; even as he hates him, Rei finds himself missing Akai, too used to sharing his thoughts with him. He ends up talking to empty air.

He barely sleeps and eats, anymore, and it's probably only through Akai's blessed absence that he stays alive.

Or maybe it's a curse.

.

Somehow, Rei survives three years, like this.

It doesn't feel like living, it feels like barely hanging on, deadly mistakes waiting in every direction. It's a matter of time until he makes a misstep that gets him killed, but so far, he has evaded his fate.

It's hard to think straight, anymore, his thoughts and feelings devouring themselves in an effort to keep him alive.

.

Date is hit by a drunk driver and killed, and oh, that was the last straw.

Rei determines his aim to be good and true, decides to go out with a bang. He sits at the kitchen table, pistol in hand, and starts drinking, waiting for Death.

Between one slow blink and the next, Akai appears in the doorway, observing him neutrally. No hint of amusement, no glimmer of interest in his eye.

"Good evening, Furuya Rei."

Asshole. As if their shared history means nothing.

"Akai. Good. You've taken all that ever really mattered, might as well collect me, too, while you're at it. Complete the set."

Rei's face is stuck in an demented grin, hysteria taking over. He feels like crying, but all he manages is to watch and wait and drink. Maybe doesn't want to die after all. But he can't live like this anymore, either.

"Even if I wanted to, I can't." A wry smile on Akai's lips. "You told me not to touch you."

"I take it back." Rei opens his arms as much as he can move them still, an invitation. "Come. Take me."

Akai approaches, looking him up and down, the blood and sweat and misery. Squats down in front of Rei.

Smiles up at him, with that same sweet sorrow of years prior, when Rei had denied to come with him.

He knows what it means before Akai even speaks.

"No."

"What do you mean, no? - I'm dying, you can't just leave me here!"

Not you, too.

"You're not dead yet, and you won't die today. What happens to souls that die like this... I won't let it happen to you."

"You don't get to make that choice for me. You're a law of the universe. You can't escape your nature."

"True. But here's the thing, Rei: I can afford to be patient. Death catches up with everyone, in the end."

"Fuck you, then."

The distance is short enough that even with alcohol poisoning, he manages to aim at Akai's chest, and fires. It doesn't matter if he's real or not. If he's not going to make himself useful, Rei will shoot him. Maybe with enough intent, he can get rid of Akai, and then he can shoot himself and some other Death will come collect his soul.

Akai seems unperturbed by the fact that he's bleeding. Did he know he could? The image is more disturbing than Rei thought.

And still, Death is smiling at him.

"Please, hold on a little while longer. I promise you, things will get better."

Rei wants to believe him. He was right so often before, but what if he's wrong, now?

He'll give him a year. If Akai is wrong, Rei will just go through with his plans, then.

He's so tired.

When he falls forward, Akai catches him.

Rei rests, suspended in blessed oblivion.

.

He lives to see another day, for better or worse.

The kindly old lady next door called emergency services on him when she heard the shot.

Akai's blood still stains his floor.

.

Six months into borrowed time, he meets a woman just as haunted by the spectre of Death as himself.

[dire-kumori]

Time Travel AU where Michael goes back in time physically instead of just mentally, back before the loss of either of his siblings, and comes across his childhood self. He takes one look at this stupid, cruel, selfish little brat. The same one who let his sister die because he’d rather goof off that watch her. Who murdered his brother in cold blood. Whose terrible behavior put strain on William’s marriage. All of which contributed to William’s deteriorating mental state which ultimately stopped him from getting help with his homicidal urges (or so Mike believes). He takes one look at this kid (who is currently staring up at this moldy stranger thinking ‘why does this dude smell like roadkill’) and immediately wraps his hands around the brat’s throat. Mike strangles his past self to death right there in broad daylight.

Mike’s body is found abandoned at the side of the road. Neither hide nor hair is ever found of the murderer, almost as if he’d vanished into thin air.

[demonangelgirl134]

redraw of a screenshot from the grim adventures of Billy and Mandy with adult Nergal Jr. and Sombra Reaper, My Grim x Death the wolf fanchild.

Sombra looks like Death & has his whistle but has Grim's personality and accent. (she also has Death's fighting skills but doesn't use them on Grim's side).

she even has a life similar to both of her dads. She lost a bet to Billy and Mandy's twin son and daughter, Gwen & Chace, and is in forever servitude to them, while also, she first came to them to take the life of a CAT. (Billy's cat, milkshakes, to be exact)

(and her right eye is just an empty eye socket, being heterochromia from one of her dads being a skeleton)

Here's the original image

[kazooiesart]

oops sorry I made another really ridiculous au

[anotherrosesthatfell]

On scale 1-10, how terrible Reaper curse is?

10

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

SHORT DP X MCU WRITING PROMPT #2

(Possible side story/chapter to the MCU portion of the reaper of heroes au? How about a little bit of fluff for once?)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

✦

After the events of this and this, I'd like to think Danny does Death a favor in apology for having to step in on her dimension's matters, regardless of her giving him full permission to handle things.

So what if he found an easier way for Death and Wade Wilson, AKA Deadpool, to meet with each other that doesn't involve Wade having to take a painful, semi-permanent nap? Like, he uses his will over the Infinite Realms to make a small comfy pocket of reality, like full-on apartment looking space, that both of them can easily access whenever they want. He does this partially as a favor to Death and partially because he's seen/kept Wade's soul in the Infinite Realms so many times between deaths (to give the poor man's spirit a little more time to just rest damn it) he feels like Wade deserves a private spot of happiness in his (unending) life.(1)

Also, official face to face meeting between Danny and Wade so he can tell the guy the good news, not just face to soul meeting? That'd be interesting. I just think it would be sweet.

✦

Okay, I think I'm gonna go make that master post now. This is getting ridiculous. 😅

Notes:

(1) Yes, he's seen Wade's soul multiple times before so Wade is easily recognizable at this point. Danny just never realized that his soul was from another dimension, was immortal, and that it was the soul of one of his Death sibling's lover. It was a big surprise when he learned/figured it out tho. Also, I think Wade would be under Danny's jurisdiction, regardless of alive/dead status. Danny is also the Lord of the undying for a reason.

_

@jotaroslooseeyebrowhair

Whatcha think of this? Doesn't have as many badass vibes, but I think it would be interesting to see. Danny is like, the ultimate wingman here.

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Honoring the Nation’s First Responders Day & Plush Animal Lover’s Day

Person A is a first responder who is a part-time reaper for extra income on the side, but always carries some plushies on them to offer comfort to children they know are going to die due to their reaper clearance. Person B is their coworker whose concerned that the plushies are killing the children because every child Person A gives a plushie to dies.

[ask-the-three-reapers-au]

Sombra Reaper

The Daughter of the Grim Reaper

[monellian]

Loss.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady." 

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?" 

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?" 

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

[mononijikayu]

forg_tful — fushiguro megumi.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.  Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  “Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor. You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

GENRE: alternate universe - grim reaper au;

WARNING/S: mythical beings and creatures, aged up megumi, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, unhappy life, depression, illness, hurt, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, pining, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, depiction of character death, depiction of illness, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of panic attack, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, grim reaper! megumi, long suffering dying! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: when i was dabbling about what to post, i did a wheel of names and megumi won so here is another megumi fic. i was talking with @midnight-138 the other day and we got in this conversation about goblin, the kdrama. and there were grim reapers there. so i ended up writing about that here. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! anyway, i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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THERE IS A WONDER ABOUT HUMAN DESTINY. You heard a story about it then, at the orphanage. One of your carers would tell you about it often. How humans were born into this destiny in this new life after their old one.

And this life is determined by how good or bad that past life was. And that each and everyone must live a good enough life in each cycle, in order to have a good life in the next.

When you were a child, understanding this concept felt like a challenge. How could one’s destiny ever be decided just like that, by things you don’t even remember? Who gets to decide whether or not we are good?

Is good and bad easy to tell? You would ask the older kids at the orphanage this, and sometimes you caretakers. But they never seem to understand why you could not accept it as it is. 

After all, you were a child. And a child would always find that ridiculous, you think. You were a child. You haven’t done anything wrong. Not to anyone. Not about anything.

You doubt you could have done something in your past life that should warrant any punishment. You were someone people knew to be a good kid, you always have been. People looked at you warmly, ever so kindly. 

But now you can only say that you know better. You have grown up. You had seen the truth. And it was not good, it was ugly and rotten. It was a tragedy. And you hated it. You hated everything about it.

Because your past life, your past self — they might have been a terrible person. They must have been the worst of the worst. Because, if you weren’t, then what justifies that sad suffering? That painful existence you had lived up until now.

You sighed heavily, taking in the whiff of bitter antiseptic, that artificial fragrance. You like to think you’ve been cursed to live a sad life. And today was just another proof of it.

Every thought of it just lingers like a familiar shadow, whispering in the quiet moments when you’re too tired to fight back. It’s easier to believe in curses than coincidences, easier to pin your pain on something cosmic than accept a world so indifferent.

You were an orphan, after all. Not in the storybook sense where miracles come to those who wait, but in the raw, unvarnished truth of it. Alone from the start, without a name to cry out to when the nights felt endless.

There was no mother to call for warm hugs, there was no father to give you reassurances. Just that cold metal bunk bed, which creaks at night as you twist and turn and the dark moonless nights.

You were passed from one place to another, faceless in a system that churned endlessly, always one more lost child than it could handle. You kept being told that it wasn’t that because you were unlovable, that’s what they always said.

But it was just that they found out what love looks like when they look at someone else, at another child that they think fits in their family. That was just how they felt they said, that was just their truth. And it shouldn't be personal. 

You learned early on that love wasn’t guaranteed, that kindness wasn’t free, and that your worth was measured by how little trouble you caused. And just like that you grew up in that orphanage, being your own parent, being your own mother and father, your own sibling. Your own family.

When the kids at school found out, they immediately latched onto it. The teasing started small, barbs disguised as jokes, but it grew sharper, crueler. Just as the years dragged on, they had grown to be even crueler, even more vicious about being someone like you. 

Even as you started to have your own life and slowly became an adult, you found that people would never think to give you anything. You had expectations at one point that people would be more understanding. That they would give you more grace about it. 

But you would find yourself broken up over by your significant other because their mother didn’t like that you had no one in your family. Well, their mother never liked you from the beginning.

They thought you were difficult and had no manners, all because you never had a family, no parents to teach you all the things that would make a good person.

You would find yourself having friends and then getting into fights with them when you couldn’t show up for them at times, because you had to work multiple jobs to get through college.

Or how you couldn’t hang out with them because you had to take another shift for extra cash for your rent. They would say, what would be the need of you if you can’t be there?

Over time, you found yourself isolated from the world. No matter what you did, you found yourself alone. You found yourself unable to please people, unable to keep people. Unable to attain happiness or peace in this life. And over time too, you stopped expecting anyone to step in. You stopped expecting anything at all.

You’ve had a rough life—that’s what they’d call it, isn’t it? A neat little phrase to gloss over the thorny, jagged edges of this existence. It was as if that phrase could capture all of the nights spent crying into your pillow, the gnawing hunger for connection, for someone; the sense that the world moved on without ever noticing you.

And somehow, your misery can only continue.

It started with little things, barely noticeable at first—a name you couldn’t recall, a face that seemed familiar but unplaceable. Then it got worse and worse as time went by. Days lost to a haze of things you couldn’t explain, moments slipping through your fingers like water flowing downstream. 

You didn’t wanna worry about it that much in the beginning. Maybe you’ve been working too hard. You’ve taken so much work these past few weeks. And maybe you had forgotten to eat anything.

You had a sensitive stomach, after all. Maybe that’s what has been causing the fatigue and the headache. Maybe the headaches are the reason you’ve been forgetting a lot of things. Yeah, that’s what it could be.

Yet, it just never went away. Even with the lifestyle changes, even when you would cut back on work to take care of yourself and rest. Nothing had changed. In fact, the pain had only gotten worse.

And more and more, you would find yourself forgetting things more and more. At one point, you had cried so much after forgetting which street you lived on after work. 

You had felt your head spinning, your vision went on a blur and that night lamp began to burn against your eyes. Your breath labored over and over, and you had tried to get it controlled — but you couldn’t. Tears fell even more as you leaned against the lamp post. You felt like you were going to collapse.That you were going to throw up on the floor. 

It took some time for yourself to regain some control, you knew that much. You just stayed there, letting the tears fall. You still didn’t remember where you had lived. You were forgetting it all. And that frustrated you to no end. You knew then that this can’t continue happening. That this cannot continue on. 

That’s why you came here in this godforsaken place known as the hospital. You’ve always hated hospitals. It was such a terrible place. Even as a child, getting your check–ups with the other orphans terrified you. Nothing about this place spells any good. You were already with bad luck, with such a terrible destiny in this life and you didn’t want it to continue.

But you cannot control destiny, not ever.

You could only control yourself. 

And even that, you cannot have control.

Not anymore, not ever again.

The doctors confirmed it: a rare, terminal illness. Brain cancer, in its final stages. Not only was it going to kill you, it was going to take everything that made you along with it.

Your memories, no matter how horrible, your identity, no matter how empty, your self, no matter how broken. All of who you are — you'd fade away in pieces, becoming a hollow shell long before your body gave out.

You thought the universe had no more ways to hurt you. 

But you knew you were wrong, from the very beginning.

And then, on a night when the weight of it all felt unbearable, you saw him.

He wasn’t what you expected. No black cloak, no skeletal frame, no cold, lifeless eyes. The grim reaper was... human. Or at least, he looked that way. His dark colored hair fell in soft, dark strands over his forehead, his clothes unassuming—a rather plain and boring suit, even.

But there was something in his presence, a quiet intensity, that made your heart skip. His blue-green eyes, sharp and unreadable, pinned you in place, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“Who are you?” you asked, though deep down you already knew.

He studied you in silence for a moment, as though deciding whether you were worth an answer. Your eyes narrowed at him, as though trying to make sure that this isn’t just your brain making a mess of you. But he wasn’t. He was very much real. He was very much here. Finally, he spoke.

“Megumi.” he said. His voice was calm, steady, but there was something beneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t expected that from a grim reaper. You had expected something more rough. Something more….grim.

“Is that all?” you pressed, desperation clawing at your throat. You wanted—no, needed—to know more. Why him? Why now? Why couldn’t you just be left alone?

“That’s all you need to know about me.” he said simply.

His words were a wall you couldn’t scale. No matter how hard you tried, you knew there would be no answers, no explanations, no mercy. At least not until you were dead. You sighed, leaning against the bench.

This was it. The final countdown was coming soon. There was no escape. Yet, as the silence stretched between you, a strange feeling took root in your chest. Not comfort, not exactly. But something close. It was at least something. And for once, you weren’t alone.

You didn’t know what this grim reaper, this Megumi, was meant to be to you. What was he? Was he a guide, a witness, a judge? You didn’t know. And perhaps it was easier not to ask questions, to not know. 

But as you continued to sit there, staring at the one who would carry you to your end, a thought crossed your mind. At least he wasn’t judging you. At least he was just there, waiting. He was calm as can be, quiet and without any grievances towards you. 

Perhaps, maybe — at least he wasn’t as cruel as life has been. You began to think to yourself as you closed your eyes about one thing. Maybe if he was here, then maybe the end wouldn’t be so lonely after all. Maybe there will finally be some sense of peace at the end. 

You opened your eyes, your lips seeping into a small smile. “I look forward to meeting my end with you.”

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AS THE TIME GOES BY, HE WAS WITH YOU IN EVERYTHING. No one else around you could feel or see him the way you do. And he couldn’t go anywhere else. He was bound to you, until he could take your soul away and bring it with him. So, Megumi continued to watch over you as you continued to live your life, or at least what remains of it.

At first, his presence unnerves you. You weren’t used to this, being watched so closely almost everyday and every hour — especially with what remained of your miserable life. But slowly you found yourself getting used to him being around. And at the very least, he still gave you space when you did things that required privacy.

Otherwise, he’s always there, quiet and still, like a shadow you can’t shake. And as the days stretch into weeks, you begin to realize that he isn’t all bad. He does talk, sometimes. At least when he thinks you do something worth giving a response about.

He was truly quite reserved and serious half the time, yes, and almost cold in the way he speaks and carries himself, but there’s something beneath it. It wasn’t easy to notice at first, because it was ever so subtle. It was as if he never wanted anyone to notice that there was  something soft within that hard exterior of his.

Megumi didn’t seem to fit his job description—not at all. He was patient in a way you didn’t expect from a reaper. From what you’d gathered from folklore and stories about grim reapers, you imagined something far more ominous.

Shadows and sickles, maybe even whispers of death. But Megumi? He had a quiet presence that felt nothing like the foreboding figures you’d pictured.

When your mind betrays you, when a memory slips through your fingers like grains of sand, Megumi is there. He doesn’t judge the gaps, doesn’t rush you to remember. Instead, he catches the loose ends with an ease that seems effortless. 

Sometimes, it feels as though he’s more of a guide than a harbinger, steering you gently through the storm of forgetfulness. His voice is steady, grounding. His gaze is understanding, never invasive.

There’s a calmness to him, a patience that wraps around you like a soft cocoon. It’s disarming. You wonder how someone charged with ferrying souls could be so tender. Yet, when you look at him, you see no malice, no hint of the cold indifference you expected. Just the faintest trace of weariness in his eyes, as if he’s carried too many burdens that aren’t his own.

Sometimes, you forget who he is. And in those moments, Megumi doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets you speak, lets you ramble, and when the memory comes back, when you remember why he’s here—he doesn’t revel in the grief.

He simply nods, a quiet acknowledgment that this, too, is part of the process. He’s not here to rush the inevitable; he’s here to make sure you don’t face it alone.

“Your nurse’s name is Alice, by the way.” Megumi says again when you struggle to introduce yourself. 

You could feel your mouth fumbling over syllables that don’t quite fit together. Your cheeks feel red at the thought, now remembering as she smiled at your direction. You waved at her. His voice is calm, steady, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to find your footing. You blink at him, your thoughts swirling too fast to make sense of.

 “Huh?” you finally ask, the confusion thick in your tone. 

“She takes care of you in the mornings. Alice always makes sure to bring your meds with water, no ice.” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to know. “You told her once that cold water hurts your teeth, so she makes sure to bring you water without ice.

You glance down at your hands, unsure of what to say. His eyes felt warm against your own as you nodded slowly at him, trusting his words. Those details feel foreign to you, like a story you heard about someone else. But his words fit, even if you can’t remember saying them. They were warm, they felt truthful.

“Oh.” you mumble with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He looks away from you. “No problem.”

Later, in the cafeteria, you sit in front of a tray of food that feels unfamiliar. Your appetite is as absent as the clarity of your thoughts. You stare at the carton of apple juice, its horrifically bright label somehow irritating, though you can’t pinpoint why at all.

“You liked orange juice better than apple.” Megumi says, breaking the silence. He gestures toward the carton with a small nod. “That one’s your favorite. Not too sweet, not too sour.”

The simplicity of the statement hits you like a lifeline, tethering you to something concrete. You pick up the carton, turning it in your hands before setting it back down. You smiled at him again, but this time almost a mix of relief and embarrassment. You were relying on your grim reaper to remind you of everything, now more than ever.

“Thank you.” you say again, a little louder this time, just enough for him to hear.

The two of you sit in silence for a while before you decide to pull out the small notebook you’ve been keeping. Your doctor suggested it as your brain got even sicker. You needed to remember something and so this notebook, it was your place to track your thoughts before they disappear entirely. 

You scribble furiously, trying to make sense of the jumble in your head. You’re working on a sentence about feeling forgetful, but the words tangle together, your handwriting messy and uneven. You pause, staring at it. Something feels wrong. Something feels off. Your face contorts, your eyes narrow at the page.

“You missed an E.” Megumi says softly, leaning over to glance at the page. 

He doesn’t reach for the notebook, doesn’t try to take it from you. Instead, he taps the spot with his finger, just enough to draw your attention. Your eyes blinked. Sure enough, forgetful is written as forgtful. You bite your lip, heat rising to your cheeks as frustration bubbles up. 

“I—I know that, you know?” you say defensively, though the truth is you hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out.

He doesn’t laugh or tease you. “It happens, don’t worry.” he says simply, his tone free of judgment. “You caught it now. That’s what matters.”

You glance at him, expecting pity, but his stoic expression is as steady as ever, like this moment isn’t something to dwell on. You pierce your lips in a tight line. You carefully picked up your pen again, correcting the error with a shaky hand. 

“Thanks for telling me.” you mutter, embarrassed but grateful.

“You were talking about your favorite teacher, earlier.” he reminds you a little while later, after your thoughts derail mid-sentence. 

You’d been telling him about a memory. It was a rare one, where everything about it was good. It was such a warm, fuzzy one that had felt so clear in your mind just moments ago—but now it’s slipping away, leaving you grasping at straws.

You look at him, feeling lost. “I... was?”

“You were.” he confirms with a small nod, his tone encouraging. “You said they were the first people to notice how much you liked writing. You were just getting to the part about their funny laugh.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!” you whisper, the thread of the memory slowly weaving its way back into focus. “Right. Mr. Greene. He laughed like a seagull.”

Megumi doesn’t laugh at the description, but his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. That was a rare thing, you knew that. But you like to think that maybe, just maybe, if he tried — he would look even better when he smiled. He already has a handsome face, you knew that. But maybe, his smile, it would make it even better.

“That’s it.” he says, his voice carrying a quiet kind of approval.

It’s small, these moments of clarity he gives you, but they feel monumental in a life that’s slowly crumbling. For a moment, you feel like you’ve reclaimed a small piece of yourself, and you can’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him, a reaper, of all things can make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

You can’t help but admit it but he was your first true friend.

He was your longest companion to boot, with that.

And perhaps, he will be the only constant you’ll ever have.

But maybe he already knew that and he just doesn’t tell you.

He accompanies you often, especially in the long, quiet hours spent tethered to hospital machines. The hum of monitors and the rhythmic drip of IVs become a backdrop to his steady, unobtrusive presence. At first, you think he’s only there to observe, to do whatever grim reapers are supposed to do as your life ticks away. 

But the longer he stays, the more you realize he’s keeping you company at every appointment. Keeping you from being so alone. Even if it was his job, he could wait elsewhere. But he sits beside you, in an empty chair no one dares sit at. 

And he stays, throughout each and every appointment. Appointments which barely keep you alive. It was only a matter of time before he had to deliver your soul to wherever it had to be.

You started to wonder if he’ll think about this time with you too. If he will find this moment to be something that will cross his mind once this job, you, were done and gone. 

It’s strange, this relationship you’ve fallen into. He doesn’t talk much unless prompted, not unless you forgot something or need anything. But you like to think that you could start to rely on his silence. Especially when doctors and nurses give you all those complicated jargons that you didn’t even need.

It fills the void in a way words can’t. When you’re too tired to make conversation with visitors, when there are visitors, probably motivated by guilt or necessity, your grim reaper Megumi is there. Unfailingly, he would be sitting by your bedside, his gaze steady, his presence grounding. As though he wants to give you strength to deal with it all. 

But of course, as  you already know, no one else can see him. Just you. At first, you tried explaining him to the nurses, the doctors,  or when you felt like talking about something you knew he would listen to — but the looks they gave you were enough to stop. They chalked it up to the illness, the stress, or the medications. 

But Megumi is real. You know he’s real. The way he moves, the way he seems to sense your thoughts before you speak them, the way he exists on the edges of your life without ever intruding.

The way a glint in his eyes would appear warmer than before. He was here. He was there with you. You weren’t going crazy. And he knew that too. He was the only one that knew that.

One day, in the suffocating stillness of the hospital ward, you finally ask him the question that’s been gnawing at the edges of your mind. The pale light filtering through the blinds casts long shadows on the sterile white walls.

And the quiet hum of distant monitors feels unbearably loud. You shift uncomfortably in your bed, clutching the thin blanket as if it could anchor you to something solid.

“Why are you here?” The words escape your lips before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, hesitant, but the question feels monumental, breaking the fragile peace between you.

Megumi doesn’t look surprised. He’s seated in the chair by your bed, one leg crossed over the other, his posture as calm as always. His gaze lifts from the book he’s been reading, something he always seems to have in his hands.

Though you’ve never seen him get past the halfway mark. He seems to be carrying it as though it was a prayer book he was forced to hold at a sermon at church.

“To watch you.” he says simply, his tone neutral. There’s no elaboration, no attempt to soften the starkness of his answer. As though it was almost like his words were that of fact. You furrow your brow, confused.

“I know that….But why? Why do you keep on watching me this closely?” you press, the weight of his presence suddenly more tangible. He isn’t like the nurses or the doctors who flit in and out of the room. He doesn’t belong here—not in the way they do.

“Are you uncomfortable about it?” 

You blinked at him, your mouth agape for a moment. “N–no.”

“Okay, then. I’ll continue on doing what I want.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. You like to think that it was all you were going to get from him. So you just sighed, leaning against your hospital bed and closing your eyes. This was the most he’d ever talk to you, and perhaps the longest. That could be a win, right?

“For you.” He spoke again, as though he couldn’t handle the silence between you. 

“For me?” you echo, your voice almost a whisper. The words feel foreign, as though they belong to someone else. “What does that mean?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your question. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion you can’t name. Not pity, not detachment, but something softer. “Does my reason matter?”

“You have me curious now.” You whisper to him, letting out a small laugh. “What was your reason?” you ask him again.

Though deep down, you think you already know. The thought lodges itself in your chest, sharp and unwelcome. Megumi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. His gaze holds yours for some time, steady and unwavering. 

“I made a promise I’d like to keep.” he says finally, the words carrying a gravity that makes your breath hitch.

“What promise?”

His eyes narrowed at you, almost as though it was full of hurt. “You don’t want to know.”

The suffocating stillness of the room presses down on you, but somehow, his presence feels like a small crack of light breaking through the weight of it all. You want to ask more—how he knows, why he cares, but the words catch in your throat, tangled in the storm of your thoughts.

It’s such a brief answer, yet it lingers with you long after the words fade. There’s no pity in his voice, no judgment, just a quiet truth that settles like a blanket over your weary mind. And in some inexplicable way, that’s enough.

So, instead you nod, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. It’s not acceptance, not yet, but maybe it’s the beginning of it. And Megumi, patient as ever, doesn’t push for more. He simply stays, his quiet presence a reminder that, whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.

Over time, Megumi’s presence becomes less foreboding and more… comforting. If someone told you a grim reaper could be anything close to a friend, you would’ve laughed. But now? You’re not so sure.

He still doesn’t talk much, but the moments he does are starting to feel less like obligations and more like. Well, like he cares. His dry humor catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips when you grumble about hospital food or tell him a ridiculous story from your childhood that you’re shocked you even remember.

“They let you keep a pet fish in third grade?” he asks one day, his eyebrow quirking ever so slightly.

“Let me? No, I smuggled it back to the orphanage.” you reply, puffing your chest out like it’s something to be proud of. “Named him Mr. Bubbles. He lived in a mason jar by our shared windowsill until one of the staff found him.”

Megumi gives you a sidelong glance, and for a second, you think he’s about to scold you. But instead, his lips quirk into the tiniest smile. “Mr. Bubbles, huh.” he repeats, almost to himself, and the sound of it in his voice makes your chest feel light.

He’s always a comfort in the painful days of longevity treatments. You were getting even worse, not even the precious medication was working. Megumi was the one to urge you to continue, even if they were never going to do anything for you.

After all, he was here for a reason. Nothing was going to help. And yet, he still insists that having more time is better than having little.

This time, you like to think you could agree with him. With more time, you could continue to have Megumi by your side. You could continue to have conversations with him.

You could continue to see his small ghostly smiles and find him sitting there beside you, looking through pages of that book he never reads. You could have more time living, experiencing some good in your life – a good that was waiting on death’s door. 

Sitting in the chair beside you, his legs crossed casually, as though he’s simply there for the ambiance and not because you’re hooked up to an IV that feels like it’s siphoning the life out of you. Sometimes, you fall asleep mid-session, and when you wake up, you find him sitting exactly as he was, as if not a single moment has passed for him.

“I wasn’t sleeping at all.” you insist groggily one day, blinking the drowsiness away. “How could you even know I was sleeping at all? I know, it’s my body!”

“You were drooling.” he counters flatly, gesturing toward your chin. “Look, it’s still there in the corner of your lips.”

You hurriedly swipe at your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I was not!”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He could be a trickster when he wants to be. He could be silly from time to time. And funny enough with that dry humor that you could cry tears as you laugh so hard at what he says.

Despite his initial stoicism, Megumi starts picking up on your quirks, learning the things that make you smile. And most days now, especially now with these horrible and miserable treatments, you looked forward to them. 

Like the time he noticed you doodling on the edge of your treatment log and, the next day, casually handed you a pack of gel pens. Your face conforms to a confused daze as you look at him and then at the gel pens in your hand. There were so many that you don’t even think you could count them.

“How the hell did you get this, Megumi?” You asked him, your eyes narrowing at him. “Why are there so many?”

“They were free.” he said, refusing to meet your eyes as you stared at the colorful bundle in awe.

“From where?” you asked, skeptical at his response to you.

“Places.” He still wasn’t looking at you.

“Megumi.” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Do you want the pens or not?” he huffed, crossing his arms in a way that made him look surprisingly boyish. “They’re really good too. I tried them downstairs. And they’re free. What? Is the security going to look at your bag when you leave? This isn’t a mall, you know.”

You looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded at his sudden ridiculous tirade. Then slowly, your tummy rumbled as you laughed and laughed. The notion of it all was silly. Still, you were entertained by it. Megumi seemed glad that you laughed. And that you went along with all of it. 

You took the pens, of course. You put them in your bag after he handed it to you. No one checked it and for the rest of the day, you tried them and made little doodles with them on your notepad at home. And that day, for the first time in a long time, you felt genuinely happy.

As much as Megumi claims he’s only there to “watch” you as part of his job, you found that it’s obvious he’s doing more than that. He’s doing the most out of all grim reapers you like to think.

Of course, you don’t know any other grim reapers. And you doubt you’d look sane if you tried to bring it up to another dying person. But your grim reaper, at least you, was the kindest. 

As you settle into bed, the hospital room bathed in the faint glow of a bedside lamp, you glance over at Megumi. He’s sitting in his usual chair, arms folded loosely, his expression calm but watchful.

It’s become routine now. His quiet presence is a constant that you’ve come to rely on, though you’d never admit it outright.

“I think you must be the kindest grim reaper to ever exist.” you say suddenly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. 

Your voice is soft, worn out from the day, but it carries the weight of sincerity. Megumi raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Do you know any other grim reapers?” he asks, his tone laced with dry humor.

You chuckle, a sound that feels lighter than it has in weeks. “No, not at all.” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t need to. You’ve set the bar pretty high, do you know that?”

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or perhaps a glimmer of gratitude he’d never put into words. His lips purse into a flat line, as he looks at you. You could tell that there’s something in his green–blue orbs that you couldn’t read. But you knew better than to ask.

“Thank you, Megumi.” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“For what?” he asks, his gaze steady on you.

“For being the first good thing in my life.” you say simply, your chest tightening as you force the words out. 

It feels strange to say, especially to someone like him. You know you shouldn’t be thanking the person meant to take your soul, the one who will guide you into the unknown. But it feels right. You swallow hard, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. 

“I know it sounds ridiculous. Thanking a grim reaper. But I mean it. You were... the kindest thing in my destiny. And I think that’s enough to be happy about.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t need to. The faintest nod of his head, the subtle softening of his usually stoic expression, is answer enough. The weight in your chest eases as you let your head sink into the pillow. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you fight to keep them open just a little longer. 

“Goodnight, Megumi.” you murmur, your voice trailing off as sleep begins to take hold.

“Good night.” he says softly, his voice carrying a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

As your breathing slows, becoming steady and rhythmic, Megumi stays where he is, his gaze fixed on you. And he knows. He just knows—it’s time. Your time. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and bittersweet, but he doesn’t flinch.

This was always the inevitability, but watching you now, peaceful and free from the fear that had once gripped you, he feels something akin to relief. Perhaps even a quiet sadness.

When the time comes, Megumi will be there, as he always has been. For now, though, he lets you rest, a faint sense of solace settling over the room.

══════════════════

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, THIS MISSION WASN’T EVEN FOR HIM TO TAKE. Megumi didn’t choose this assignment at random. No, not at all. That morning began like any other in the sterile monotony of his existence. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glow on the rows of cubicles where reapers sat, reviewing their tasks for the day. 

He’d been staring at the dregs of his coffee, debating whether he had the energy to bother getting a fresh cup, when the assignments for the day appeared on the board—a mosaic of names, dates, faces.

He’d glanced up, disinterested at first. It was just another day in an endless cycle of endings. Souls came and went, and reapers like him did their jobs, guiding them to whatever came next. There was no time for attachment, no reason to linger on a single name or face.

But then he saw yours.

And everything stopped.

His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor in a muted crash. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He blinked once, twice, as if his eyes might be playing tricks on him. But no matter how many times he looked, it was unmistakable.

It was you.

Your face stared back at him from the board, frozen in a candid snapshot. It was a face he knew better than his own, even after all this time. A face he’d never forgotten, not even through lifetimes of distance.

It had been so long since he’d last seen you. Lifetimes ago, you had been more than just a part of his world—you had been his world. The memories were fractured and blurred at the edges, but they still burned vividly enough to hurt.

He remembered your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing through a life that had otherwise been far too short. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your gaze full of trust, full of hope.

He remembered losing you.

And now here you are again, pulled into this cycle of life and death that neither of you could escape. But this time, you were already dying. You were going to go and suffer again, and there would be no one to save you. He couldn’t stop it last time. And now, he cannot stop it this time. It was set in stone already.

And yet, his heart breaks over and over again. You were barely more than a child, younger than either of you had been in your shared past life. You hadn’t even been given a chance to live, and yet the world had decided it was already time to take you away.

Megumi’s heart ached in a way he hadn’t thought possible anymore. He was a reaper. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. But as he stared at your photo, the weight of it all crushed him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you’d been taken from him once, and now it was happening all over again. This time, there would be no miracles, no last-minute reprieves. He knew that. He’d seen it a thousand times in other lives.

But he couldn’t just let you go alone.

Without thinking, he rose from his chair, his movements mechanical as he walked toward the board. Each step felt heavier than the last, his resolve hardening with every breath. When he reached your name, he stared at it for a long moment before finally speaking.

“I’ll take this one.” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The room went silent. Assignments weren’t supposed to be chosen; they were distributed at random to avoid any emotional entanglements. Reapers were meant to be impartial. But no one questioned him. Megumi rarely spoke, rarely asked for anything. If he wanted this assignment, there had to be a reason.

As he returned to his desk, your face still fresh in his mind, he made himself a quiet promise. He couldn’t save you. The rules were clear. Your fate was already written, and nothing he did could change that.

But he could be there. He could make sure you didn’t have to face the end alone, that you wouldn’t have to feel the crushing loneliness he’d once felt when he lost you before.

Even if you didn’t remember him. Even if you didn’t know that in another life, you had been his entire world. He would carry that pain for both of you. Because this wasn’t just another assignment. It was you. And losing you again, even knowing it was inevitable, would be the cruelest fate of all.

When Megumi first appeared to you, he knew he had to keep his emotions in check. His job wasn’t to interfere, and no matter how much it hurt to see you again, he couldn’t let the truth slip. You didn’t know who he was, didn’t recognize the connection you’d once shared.

And why would you? To you, he was just a stranger. A quiet, brooding figure who had been assigned to shadow your dying days.

At first, he told himself that keeping his distance would make it easier. That if he stayed aloof, if he acted like this was just another assignment, maybe the ache in his chest wouldn’t consume him. But the moment he saw how lonely you were, trapped in a hospital bed, tethered to machines, fading faster than anyone your age should—he couldn’t help himself.

It was the little things at first. Reminding you of a nurse’s name when your memory failed. Offering a quiet presence during your treatments. Bringing you that pack of gel pens when he noticed your fingers twitching over the edges of your journal, longing to create something amidst the monotony of hospital life.

But as the days turned into weeks, Megumi found himself doing more than he should.

He started sitting closer to you, his usual stoic demeanor softening with every conversation. He started bringing you small comforts—a cup of coffee he swore he “found” a scarf on the day the hospital felt too cold, a faint smile when you told him a joke, no matter how bad it was.

“Why do you even hang around?” you asked one afternoon, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and weariness. 

You’d just finished another grueling medicinal session, your body too weak to sit up straight. He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in his dark blue–green eyes. Then, he shrugged.

“You’re interesting to me.” he said simply, but his voice betrayed the truth he couldn’t say.

You laughed weakly. “Interesting? I’m a walking tragedy.”

“No, never say that. Not ever again.” he said firmly, his tone surprising you. “You’re more than that. You are more than your tragedy.”

The words hung in the air, and you didn’t press further. But in that moment, something shifted between you. As time went on, you began to look forward to his visits. He wasn’t just a reaper to you anymore; he was someone who made the unbearable a little more bearable. 

Someone who listened when you needed to vent, who stayed when the nights felt too long, who reminded you that even in the shadow of death, you weren’t invisible. And Megumi… Megumi was breaking all his own rules. Rules he had set long after you, long before you again.

Every time he saw you laugh, even if it was just a fleeting chuckle, a part of him swore he’d do anything to keep that spark alive. But every time he saw you struggle; when your hands trembled too much to hold a pen, when your memories slipped further and further away—his heart ached in ways it hadn’t in centuries.

He hated this. Hated that you had to go through this. Hated that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t change your fate. But he stayed by your side through it all. He lets himself relive it all over again, no matter the pain. No matter what comes. Because it’s you. Come what may, it’s you.

“You know, Megumi.” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the hum of the machines. “You’re not so bad to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Not so bad?”

You smiled, your eyes heavy with exhaustion but still warm. “Yeah. You’re like... a friend. A precious friend.”

A friend. The word stabbed at him more than it should have. Because that’s all he could ever be to you in this life. A friend. A shadow. A quiet presence watching over you as you slowly slipped away.

“You think so, huh?” He asks you, as you nodded and smiled. Silence engulfs the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s precious friend before.”

“Then we are the same. Well, almost.” 

He blinks at your words. “What do you mean?”

“If you call me your precious friend too, then we’ll finally have it. Being a precious person, at least once.”

You’ve always been a precious person to me. Megumi thinks to himself. In every lifetime, in every you — you have always been my precious person.

And even though he would never tell you the truth, that you’d been so much more to him in another life, that losing you once had broken him and losing you again was killing him all over again, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

Because this was his last chance to be with you, even if you didn’t remember him. Even if it would never be enough. Nothing with you would ever be enough, not even if you lived a thousand years. 

But, every moment is worth it, no matter how short it would be. When you love someone that much, it has to be enough. It has to be more than enough. He has to live through this immortal and wretched life, making those moments feel like they were as eternal as him. Even if he wanted more.

“Alright.” Megumi says to you as you perk up, your eyes shining. “You are a precious person to me.”

You giggled at his words. “Was it so hard to say? I am grateful that you said it at all.”

It was never hard to say. It never had been.

But now he has to live that memory over and over again.

He lets his lips echo a small warm smile as he looks at you.

“No, no it wasn’t hard at all.”

══════════════════

THE TREATMENTS HAVE STOPPED FULLY. And because of that your condition was getting worse and worse. The moments of clarity you once had were growing fewer and farther between. The pain in your body became an unwelcome constant, a weight that pulled you down even when you tried to fight against it. 

Every movement felt like dragging yourself through glass, and the fog in your mind thickened, stealing memories and thoughts before you could fully grasp them. Everything about it felt so fragile, and you were afraid of breaking it. Even if it was already broken, you were scared at seeing it break even more. You were scared and he couldn’t do much about it.

Megumi hated seeing you like this. He watched as you lay curled in your bed, tears streaming silently down your face, your breathing shaky and uneven. He hated the way your hands trembled as you gripped the blanket.

It was as if holding onto it might keep you tethered to something real. Something solid enough to bring you back to earth, to existence. To humanity. Hated the way your voice cracked when you spoke, each word laced with frustration and grief over what was slipping away from you.

“I hate this, I hate this.” you whispered one night, your voice barely audible. Your chest hitched with a quiet sob as you turned your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your cries. “I hate... not being able to think. To remember. I feel like I’m disappearing, and I can’t stop it.”

Megumi clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words felt like ash in his throat. What could he say? That it would be okay? That you’d find peace? That this agony would end? None of it felt true, and none of it would matter to you at this moment.

You didn’t want peace. You wanted your life back.When you looked up at him, your eyes red  and swollen, the sight nearly broke him. You looked so weak, one couldn’t even think you were someone with such strength at one point. He hated this. He hated how miserable you’ve been, how pained you’ve been.

“I’m so tired, Megumi.” you admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Megumi moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid his presence might shatter you further. He sat at the edge of your bed, his usually impassive face shadowed with something raw and unguarded.

“You’re still you, you always will be.” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a choked sob. “How do you know that? You don’t even really know me.”

He froze for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands. He wanted to tell you that he did know you, better than anyone ever could. That he remembered you in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine. But he couldn’t. Not now.

Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering over yours for a moment before he let it settle gently against your trembling fingers. The touch was warm, grounding, and for a moment, the chaos inside you stilled.

“I know because I saw it. I’ve seen it all, even for a while.” he said finally. “Even when you’re hurting, even when it feels like everything is falling apart, I see you.”

His words hung in the air, fragile but steady, and something in your expression slowly softened. You leaned closer to him and he didn’t mind it at all. He pulled you even closer, letting that warmth of him become even more felt.

“It’s okay to be angry about all of this.” he continued, his voice steady now. “It’s okay to cry. You’ve been fighting so hard, for so long. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Your tears flowed freely then, and Megumi stayed right where he was, his hand never leaving yours. He didn’t try to stop your sobs or hush your pain. He simply stayed, letting you pour out everything you’d been holding back. And for the first time in centuries, in his entire lifetime — Megumi couldn’t help but feel unequivocally  helpless.

He was a reaper, meant to guide and observe, but watching you crumble under the weight of your illness was unbearable. You didn’t deserve all of this. You shouldn’t suffer like this. You had done nothing wrong, not in your previous life and not this one. But this was still your fate. 

And he hated the unfairness of it all, the cruelty of a life that had given you so little only to take it away too soon. If he could have taken your place, he would have done it without hesitation.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t trade a life for a life. The gods do not have mercy in that regard. Fate was fate. He cannot do much about it. And he hates it. He hates seeing you like this. 

All he could do was stay by your side, no matter how much it hurt to watch. Because you deserved that much. You deserve someone who wouldn’t leave, even in your darkest moments. And Megumi would be damned if he let you face this alone.

As the night deepened, the room fell into a heavy, fragile silence. The only sounds were the steady hum of the machines and your quiet, uneven breaths as you lay spent from crying. Megumi hadn’t moved from his spot, his hand still lightly covering yours.

Your fingers twitched against his, seeking more warmth. The motion was subtle, but he noticed. Carefully, he threaded his fingers between yours, his grip firm but not overbearing. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your grip tightened just a little, like you were holding on to him for dear life.

“Why do you stay?” you asked, your voice hoarse from the tears but tinged with something vulnerable. You didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the faint outline of his hand entwined with yours.

Megumi hesitated. He wasn’t good at this—at talking about feelings. He was better at quiet gestures and staying in the background. But something about the way you asked, so small and uncertain, pulled the words out of him.

“Because you shouldn’t have to go through this alone, jot ever.” he said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You blinked at his answer, a lump forming in your throat. “But you don’t even know me, not at all, Megumi.” you repeated, weaker this time, as if you wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. “How could you stay for someone like me?”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. 

You didn’t know half of it.

“I know enough.” he said finally. “I know you’re stubborn and strong, even when you feel like you’re not. I know you don’t like hospital food, but you’ll eat it anyway because you don’t want to make the nurses worry. I know you still draw on the edges of your notebooks, even when your hands shake so much that the lines go crooked.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words and Megumi felt his heart clench at the way you were looking at him, like you were seeing him for the first time. And as though, it was the first time in a while you had known him that he truly saw you.

“I see you.” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every part of you, even the ones you think you’ve lost. They’re still there. You’re still here.”

You felt the tears welling up again, but this time, they weren’t from frustration or anger. They were something softer, quieter. You take a deep breath, to calm yourself for a moment.

And he brushes your hand against your own. He was so warm, even when your hands were cold. He warmed you enough back to life, even for just that moment. 

“You make it sound like I’m worth something.” you murmured, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

“You are. You always have been.” he said instantly, the conviction in his voice startling you. “More than you know. I promise you.”

Your chest ached, not from the illness this time, but from the overwhelming mixture of emotions his words stirred in you. It was almost too much, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to stop bringing you back to life. You didn’t want him to stop giving you reasons to want to live.

“Megumi.” you said quietly, finally looking up at him.

His name sounded different coming from you, like it carried more weight, more meaning than it ever had before. It was as warm as back then, when you would say his name and smile at him, like he was your world. Like he was someone you dearly loved.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

You hesitated, your dulling eyes searching for something you couldn’t quite put into words. Then, with a shaky breath, you smiled—a real smile, small but genuine.“Thank you. For all you have done for me, for all you will ever do for me. Thank you.”

Megumi’s lips couldn’t help but twitch at your words, and for the first time, he allowed himself to give you a wide smile in return. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it was for you, only for you. And you knew that it was only for you.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, his usual stoicism creeping back into his tone, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it.

That night, as you finally drifted off to sleep, your hand still holding his, Megumi stayed by your side. He watched the rise and fall of your chest, each breath a reminder that you were still here, still fighting. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Megumi let himself hope.

Not for a miracle, no. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in those anymore—but for something smaller. He hoped that in the time you had left, he could make sure you knew you weren’t just a fleeting soul, a name on a list, a face on a board. 

You were everything to him, even if you never remembered why. And as he sat there, his hand still holding yours in the quiet of the night, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could carry that truth for both of you.

══════════════════

HE KNEW THAT HE CAN’T KEEP BUYING TIME. That’s not how it works in this line of work. The higher-ups had been patient with Megumi for as long as they could. They had watched from a distance as he ignored the rules, as he lingered at your side longer than necessary.

He had been told once, perhaps twice, that his attachment was blurring the lines of his duty. But no one had come forward to confront him, not until now.

The meeting room was cold, sterile—just like all the others. It was almost like the hospital. It even smells like it too. The flickering lights did nothing to soften the sharp voices of his superiors, their words cutting through him like a blade. Megumi has always hated this room. As much as you hate the hospitals. 

He has lived for a long time. He has been in the reaper department for so long, he doesn’t even remember when he had started. But no matter how many times he stays in it, the smell will always linger and he hates it. Just as much as he hates the higher-ups, perhaps. Yet, he knew he couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Megumi, this isn’t working any longer.” One of them had said it, their voice cutting through the stale air of the room like a blade, sharp with frustration.

The council sat in their cold, unfeeling silence, their dark robes blending into the shadows that clung to the room. The words echoed in Megumi’s ears, even as he sat still, his fists clenched tightly under the table.

“They are already dying,” the voice continued, each word hammering against him. “You know this, you always have. Fate cannot be changed. You cannot keep delaying it. You’re prolonging their suffering, and you know it. We cannot let this go on any longer.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His blue-green eyes stayed fixed on the floor, a storm brewing behind them. He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself, because deep down, he knew they were right. He could feel it every time he saw you. 

In this way your body grew weaker with each passing day, as if life itself was slipping through your fingers. Each breath you took was a silent battle, and every glance you gave him carried an unspoken understanding that your time was coming.

But what they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t understand, was why he couldn’t just let go. Not yet. Not when your laughter still lingered in the corners of the hospital room.

Not when you still found the strength to smile at him, even through the haze of your pain. Not when you had thanked him—thanked him—for being the kindest thing in your life. How could he take that away from you? How could he take it away from himself?

“It’s not for your benefit that they should stay alive, you know that.” another elder said, their voice low but unyielding, like a hammer falling against stone. “Do it for their sake. The sooner you do it, the sooner they can find peace. You mustn’t prolong the suffering for your wants.”

The words cut deeper than Megumi would ever admit, a blow he wasn’t prepared for. His fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms, but he kept his gaze down, unwilling to let them see the flicker of defiance in his eyes. 

He wanted to scream at them, to tell them they didn’t understand, that it wasn’t about his wants, it never had been. It was about you. About giving you every last moment, every fleeting second that you deserved, no matter how much it hurt him to watch.

But none of that mattered to them. The rules were the rules. His mission was clear: guide souls to the other side, no matter the cost, no matter the pain. He was meant to be impartial, detached, but he wasn’t. Not this time.

As the meeting adjourned, their final words hung in the air like a noose tightening around his neck. “You have to let them go, Megumi.” the elder had said, their tone devoid of sympathy. “It’s not about you. It’s about them. Do what must be done.”

When the room emptied, Megumi remained seated, his shoulders heavy with the weight of their judgment. He wanted to argue, to push back against the inevitability they demanded he enforce. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t delay forever. 

He could feel the edges of your life fraying, could see the way the light in your eyes flickered, like a candle in its final moments. And yet, even as he sat there, alone in the suffocating silence, he made a decision.

Not yet.

Because you deserve those moments, however brief they might be. You deserved the warmth of the sun on your skin, the chance to smile one more time, the chance to feel something other than pain before the end. And if he could give you that, even at the cost of his own heart, he would.

But he also knew the truth, the one he couldn’t ignore forever. Time wasn’t on your side. And when the moment came, when the inevitability could no longer be postponed, Megumi would have to let you go.

Just not today.

Not yet.

He needs more time.

When the meeting ended, Megumi didn’t move. He couldn’t. His mind was too heavy with the weight of their demands, and yet his heart felt too torn to process it. He takes a moment to compose himself before he walks out. 

As he walked out into the hallway, he wasn’t surprised to find Gojo Satoru waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall with that ever-present, cocky grin on his face. The two of them had known each other for lifetimes, especially with how Gojo was now his boss. 

Though Gojo was the opposite of Megumi in nearly every way. Where Megumi was reserved and quiet, Gojo was loud and unapologetic. He hated the elders too, he hated the rules as much as Megumi too. 

But he had never let himself be swallowed by what he feels personally as he works. And Gojo Satoru knew that too well, when he saw that look in Megumi’s face. He had not taught him well enough to separate it all. 

“Megumi, hey.” Gojo said, his voice a little more serious than usual. “Can we talk?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gojo pushed himself off the wall and fell into step beside Megumi, leading him down a quieter hall away from the bustling administrative wing. He already knew what he was going to say.

But Megumi wishes he wouldn’t say it. Because when Gojo says it, it becomes even more real. It becomes even more true. And it’s something he can’t handle. Not right now.

“I know what you’re thinking, okay?” Gojo began, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “And I know it’s hard.”

He’s saying it. He’s talking about it. There was nothing that would stop it from being real. Not anymore. Megumi didn’t answer, he didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.

Gojo  Satoru could always read him, could always sense what was going on under the surface, even when Megumi tried to hide it. He was always going to tell Megumi the truth, even when it was hard.

“I don’t get it, Gojo–san.” Megumi said, his voice low, rough from the strain of keeping it all in. “I know the rules. I know they have to go. But… but I can’t just let them die like this. Not again. Not this miserably.” 

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to face Gojo, his face a mix of frustration and sorrow. “They’re suffering so much and miserable to boot, and I’m supposed to just… let them go? How is that even fair?”

Gojo’s expression softened, the usual smugness gone, replaced by something much more genuine. He took a step closer, his hands in his pockets as he regarded Megumi with quiet understanding. He takes a deep sigh.

“I know it’s not easy, kid.” Gojo said, his voice lower now, almost tender. “But this isn’t about what you want. You’re not their savior, Megumi. You’re their guide. You can’t heal them, that’s not part of the job description. It never was. You can’t protect them from everything.”

The words stung, sharper than Megumi expected. 

But it was the truth, the unavoidable truth.

This was a job, even if it meant the world to him.

It cannot be more than a job, not even like this.

“I know you care about them. Hell, you’re probably more attached than anyone in this damn place,” Gojo continued, the hint of a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But your job is to make them transition to something peaceful. To comfort them. Not to prolong their suffering because you’re too scared to let them go.”

Megumi looked away, his blue–green eyes burning with the weight of his own guilt. He could feel them water ever so slowly as he thinks about you, about everything you suffered — in all your lives. And now, when you suffered the most. He bit his lower lip. How could he just let it all go?

“I can’t just stand by and watch them die, Gojo–san.” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, betraying the deep ache inside him. “Not like this. Not when I… when I care about them this much. Not when….Not when I love them so much.”

Gojo Satoru’s gaze softened further, taking a moment to sigh at him. He’d known Megumi for so long. He’s a good kid, he’s always been the best of everyone here, if he was being honest. But even now, he was still so human. And perhaps that is his weakness. He cannot be a reaper, and be human too. He cannot have both.

“I know, kid. I know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But this is the hardest part. You have to be strong for them now. It’s time. And you have to do your job. You have to help them let go. That’s the only way they’ll be able to be free from the pain, okay? If you do your job. They’ll be free. And it can be, if anything, the greatest act of love.”

Megumi wanted to argue, wanted to lash out and scream that it wasn’t fair, that this wasn’t right. But something in Gojo’s cerulean eyes made him stop. Gojo Satoru wasn’t just talking about the rules; he was talking about them. About the person Megumi had come to love more than anything in this world, someone who was ever so dear to him in each and every lifetime. 

He was right. He can’t do anything about death or about fate. And he was right — death was the greatest mercy, instead of suffering. This could be the greatest act of love, as it had always been in each lifetime. To be there for you, to hold your hand and whisper all the love he has in your ear as you go. To set you free.

The truth was hard to swallow, but the reality was clearer than ever. Your suffering wasn’t going to end unless he let you go. And if he truly cared about you, he would have to find the strength to be the one to guide you to peace. With a deep breath, Megumi nodded, the weight of his decision settling in.

“I’ll do it, Gojo–san.” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll make sure they’re at peace.”

Gojo gave him a small, approving nod. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Megumi knew it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever do. But as he turned back down to earth, to the hall toward where you were waiting, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was to come, he also knew it was the only way to truly set you free. 

He just hoped that, somehow, you would understand. And that you would forgive him. That you would smile warmly back at him once again, when you meet him again in your next life. That you could love him again, if you can.

══════════════════

HE BRACED HIMSELF FOR WHAT COMES NEXT. Megumi stood outside your hospital room, his heart heavy in his chest. The hallway was unnervingly quiet, the soft beep of monitors and the occasional shuffle of nurses’ footsteps the only sounds that kept him tethered to reality. 

He had never been so sure of something—so certain that this moment had arrived. It was time. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Having done it once didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder. He’d have to relive this moment over and over again, like all the other times.

But he had no other choice. If you were to die, he’d rather it be him holding you. He would rather it be him you hurt, leave a scar only he could see. Megumi would rather that he would be the one to comfort you one last time, to tell you that he’s got you. That everything will be alright. Because you were together. Because he was the one taking you away.

You were there, propped up against the pillows, looking so small under the white sheets. Your face was pale, your features drawn and tired, but when you saw him, your expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"You're here again, hm?" you said, your voice hoarse but warm.

Megumi stood frozen for a moment, the sight of you sending a wave of emotions crashing over him. You looked so fragile, so close to the edge, and yet here you were, smiling at him like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t been battling this slow, painful decline for so long.

He forced his lips into a small, bittersweet smile. "Of course I’m here."

You sat up a little straighter in your bed, your eyes trying to focus on him. There was a faint sense of confusion in them, as if the fog in your mind was thicker than usual today. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you sought his, and Megumi moved closer, carefully taking your hand in his.

"I didn’t know if you'd come today, you know." you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “For the last time.”

Megumi felt the weight of your words press against his chest. You couldn’t remember everything, not anymore, but you remembered him. And somehow, that was a mercy. A small one, but a mercy nonetheless. He hated it, but it was all he had. It was all there was left.

"I’m always here when you need me, always." he said quietly, his voice unsteady despite the calm he tried to project. "You know that, right?"

You nodded slowly, as though trying to make sense of everything that was slipping through your fingers. The memory of his voice, the sensation of his presence, the feel of his hand in yours—it was enough to pull you back from the brink.

"I... I don’t remember... a lot." you confessed, your voice faltering, as though you were apologizing for something you couldn’t control. "But... I remember you."

Megumi’s heart squeezed at that, and he fought the urge to crumble. Don’t show weakness now, he told himself. Not with them. Not when they need you the most. Don’t falter. Love them, love them even if it hurts. 

“I’ll always be here.” he repeated softly, gently squeezing your hand. “You’ve always been important to me. You always will be.”

You tried to smile again, though it was faint, and the effort seemed to take everything out of you. "I wish I could remember everything... all the good stuff we did together. There was a lot, wasn’t it? Even before…..I’m sorry if I don’t remember it all. But I can remember you right now, Megumi. I hope that’s enough. I hope…I hope that’s alright."

He felt his eyes sting, but he held it back, keeping his gaze steady on yours. "That’s enough. That’s more than enough."

Your grip tightened a little on his hand, your eyes slowly drifting over his face, as if committing his features to memory, trying to remember every detail of him before the fog came back.

 "It’s always so funny to me." you whispered, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heaviness in the air. "You don’t look like a grim reaper."

Megumi chuckled quietly, the sound devoid of any real humor. "I get that a lot."

The silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt almost peaceful, like the calm before the storm. You leaned back against the pillows, but you didn’t let go of his hand.There were so many things he wanted to say to you. 

So many words that were caught in his throat, threatening to spill over. But now—now there was no time for them. No time for the confessions, for the truth he’d never dared to speak. He simply stayed there, sitting at your side, holding your hand, because that was all he could do.

When you spoke again, it was quieter, slower. "I don’t want to forget you, not ever, not now." you said, your voice so fragile, so raw. "But I know I will. I already am."

Megumi shook his head, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of your hand, as though to comfort you, even though the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. He couldn't promise you anything, couldn't tell you that this would all be okay, because it wouldn’t be.

“I’ll never forget you.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll remember for the both of us. Even when you aren’t here anymore.”

“Then….will you let me fall in love with you again, if I were to be reborn?” You asked him, tears in your eyes pouring down your cheeks. “Will you let me, Megumi?”

His breath hitches shakily. His lips wobbled into a small watery smile. “Of course, I will. You can love me as many times as you want. I’ll let you do it. Over and over again.”

You choked into a giggle. “Then….Then, I’m glad. I’m forgetful, after all. It’s good, you’ll remind me next time.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. Even at the end, you were taking care of him. You were making sure he wasn’t sad. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a brief moment, the confusion in your eyes faded. 

The fog cleared, just a little, and you smiled. It was a small, soft smile, but it was there, and it was for him. All for him. As it always has been. You take a moment, a breath. He waits patiently for what you want to say.

“I wish…..” you whispered, your voice trailing off as your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally taking over.

Megumi’s chest tightened as he waited.  

But the words never came out of your lips. 

As you slipped into a quiet sleep, your breath steady and calm, Megumi stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours. He knew it wasn’t enough to stop what was coming. But for now, he will hold on. He will cherish the warmth that remains. 

It was the last time. The last time he would see you, the last time he would hear your voice, the last time he would get to make you feel comforted before you let go. And somehow, it was enough. Because you remembered him. And that was all that mattered now.

“I love you.” He whispers to you as he closes his eyes, letting the tears flow. “Goodbye.”

[seneon]

EYES DON'T LIE ──── prince! touya × fem warrior! reader.

about. the crown prince can't tear his gaze away from the warrior girl. set in edo period, rural japan! au. written from age to age. a bittersweet romance. touya is written as touya ( before dabi existed ) includes his stimming in some parts, minor mentions alcohol and blood, death. wc of 5300+

notes. silly tsundere prince who has a thing for his strong independent warrior UEGJ I'M IN LOVE. if you didn't know i love rural japan stuff. perhaps courtesan!reader next??

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, there was a birthday celebration held for the crown prince tōya of the todoroki royal family. his turquoise gaze briefly rushed past the crowd in boredom, looking forward to the end of the day already. even as a young prince, he never found anything in the royal events intriguing.

his birthday was no different. as a child of eight years, he already felt like he knew the darkest secrets of the world, the ones that were locked away to the underworld for the reapers of hell to deal with.

prince tōya sat with his family, seated between his sister and brother, both younger than him. as his eyes roamed around, they came to a halt the moment they landed on eyes that sternly looked around. tōya ceased his chewing for a second, staring at the owner whom those stern gaze belonged to.

“fuyumi, natsu, can little girls become warriors?” the curious prince asked, tilting his head to the side, his gaze never leaving the little figure that stood by taller ones.

fuyumi followed her elder brother's gaze. she has just spoken to the girl that stood beside honourable warriors and soldiers. the princess could feel a smile surfacing at the sight of little eight year old you, mimicking your father and his comrades to serve as guards of the party.

“that is y/n! kuromiya y/n, she's the daughter of the general.”

“daughter of the general?” tōya repeated, his tone twisting into curiousity. he resumed his chewing before swallowing. “i didn't know general kuromiya had a daughter…”

the younger prince popped a bite of a monkfish, chewing it to taste the flavour before beaming with satisfaction. the fish was fresh and amazing. firm texture, a refined sweetness with a clean aftertaste.

“she follows her father around a lot, brother. you might get to see her more often.”

just as the crown prince pondered on his brother's words, you looked around, eyes and senses all together alert for any danger that might strike. then, your gaze traveled to the young crown prince, freezing upon his gaze which was locked on yours.

in your eight year old mind, it is rude to stare at people of nobility and royalty. so you quickly looked down at your feet, afraid that perhaps the crown prince might tell of your discourtesy to the king and queen. if that is the case, your eyes will certainly be gouged out the fingers of an executioner.

you shivered at that thought, feeling your father's arms resting on your shoulders as you looked up at the huge man.

“anxious, little warrior?” asked your father as he bent down to your eye level.

you shook your head, fingers grazing at the corner of your eye sockets. “my eyes are going to be plucked out, father. i stared at the crown prince for too long..”

your words made the general raise a brow before he chuckled, a roaring laughter emitting from the back of his throat as you simply stood there in confusion. the man tells you that you shouldn't worry about staring at the prince for way too long, because he noticed that the young todoroki also has his gaze on you the moment he sat down to eat.

you calmed down a little. just a little, though.

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐍, you excel in kyūjutsu, the art of archery. supposedly, you are a natural in the field of long-range attacks, never a loyal servant to the close-ranged such as a blade.

crown prince tōya did not like the fact that there is a soul who dared to take his place as the most supreme in a field. he would occasionally grumble, roll his turquoise eyes, and repeatedly tap his feet on the ground whenever you overtake his arrows in a much more professional way.

he silently cursed you for having a father that is idealistically superb in the field of archery, since your father specializes in serving the king as his eye during battle. tōya simply couldn't stand the fact that a mere girl is better at something he should be good at.

so one day, the young prince approached you as you were firing your shots in the archery academy. you never falter even as he stood behind you, his gaze burning into your back as you ever so calmly shoot arrows repeatedly. one by one, each arrow that overlapped the other, completely tearing the previous one out.

“you're not very girly are you? shooting arrows like how a soldier is supposed to do that,” the prince said, eventually breaking your momentum with his childish and immature words. your arrow did not overlap the previous one. instead, it went a bit over the bullseye, eyes immediately shooting glares at the prince who watched you with furrowed eyebrows.

“that is rude, don't you think, your highness?” you lowered your bow, face twisting into a frown.

tōya shrugged. “nope. i mean, you're the only girl in the archery academy! yet the only one who's genuinely good at shooting a bunch of… stupid arrows...”

his words are uttered with frustration, let loose like a curse through gritted teeth. you noticed that his cheeks are a bit flushed, as if they have been covered in blush that was extracted from red ochre.

“your highness, i believe you caught a cold. your cheeks are red,” you pointed at the prince as he flushed even redder, his feet moving to stomp away.

“i-i’m not sick!”

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍, the crown prince hunted his first live animal to present it to his parents as a trophy and a remembrance piece of his first hunt. of course, the todoroki family is proud, even little prince shōto who gave his brother the littlest of claps.

on the other hand, you stood by your father, watching the royal family's interaction. your eyes might be on the sweet family, but your mind wanders right to the cuts and bruises that tōya received when he hunted for the animal.

your fingers twitched slightly, resisting any urge to pull away the prince from his family just to force him into treating his wounds. the prince is smart. he hides his newly-received marks with layer upon layers of cloth, allowing it to seem like a gear when in reality, it stains his skin dirty.

but you knew. you were with the prince when you hunted with him, assisting your father.

“father, i know it's a crime. but do you mind stealing the prince away?”

so that same day at night, when the military army discusses their plans about the next battle, you're in the room of your friend-enemy, telling him to stop moving around and sit still as you tend to his wounds.

poor tōya, his wounds left unattended for the whole day and only treated at night. you knew the crown prince is stubborn enough to not pay a visit to the family doctor just to get himself treated, so you'd rather get medical knowledge just to treat a stubborn prince.

he's such a hard wall to break too, always putting up a façade that he's so strong and independent wherein he really is just a child who seeks to be the best and to live up to the expectations of the country as its prince.

the colour turquoise is practically imprinted in the skin of your fingers and hands now, having the prince to stare at you working your hands so skillfully to patch him up without trying to tickle a burn or torn skin.

with such silence, the boy moved his gaze upwards, now staring at your face which was so focused on patching him up. tōya searches for a reason in your focused eyes, attempting to find a reason as to why you would stick around to help him with such stupidity.

tōya couldn't help but feel heat rising up to his cheeks, even if his lips are still and his gaze is still locked onto your face. he takes in your feature, your beautiful features that has him in an unbreakable trance.

he wonders just why in the world would you want to be a warrior that will eventually stain your precious face with splatters of the enemy's blood instead of the snowflakes that would paint your cheeks a rosy hue.

“your highness… prince tōya,” you called out, waving your hands in front of his face before he snapped out of his daydreaming, fluttering his eyes a little.

“you were staring, your highness.”

not again. he's been caught doing that so many times it is almost easy to catch him staring. specifically, his gaze is on you, always you. as tōya grows older, he gets smarter than the age he was before. he's quick to act now.

“i’m not. i’m looking at the candle behind you,” the crown prince lied as if he's telling the truth. it flows down his tongue so smoothly, like the waters in the lake that dances forward.

he will never admit the fact that he was just daydreaming and wondering about you into the unknown. no, never. the prince will never embarrass himself with a mere girl that is just a tad bit better than him in archery.

he moves his hands and arms, slightly wincing at the sore.

“you should rest, your highness. i shall take my leave now,” you bowed at the prince, standing up before leaving him alone, not even staying to listen to whatever regards he might have kept in stock for you when his mind travelled to the back of his mind.

crown prince tōya laid down, holding his hands up in the air as his mind once again replayed the images of you treating his wounds. it played in his mind over and over again as if the memories were an old stop motion film.

“what a bother,” he murmured under his breath before covering his turquoise eyes with the back of his hands, covering an initial blush that started building up along the heat of the candle before he blew it off to have his rest.

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍, you are presented to the crown prince as his retainer upon joining the military ranks. however, the prince isn't delighted in the least at the idea of having a girl as his personal follower.

he tells the king, the general, and you— that he is capable of protecting himself and has no need for a retainer, let alone someone of the opposite gender. tōya isn't keen on bringing a girl to the battlefield where she has to protect him. it makes him feel absolutely pathetic.

despite despising the entire ordeal of you being his personal servant, his mind changed a little when you got on your knees to vow and promise your life to the prince.

“your highness, i ask that you use me. i am your eye, the one who will look after your back or your front in battles. i swore to lay my life down for you, crown prince tōya.”

tōya wanted to protest, to tell you in your face that you are not supposed to be the one doing that. he wants to tell you to stand up immediately and ask that you leave. but he knows all too well that in his weaknesses, there's strength.

you are his strength. you are the one that will cover for his one weakness and complete him. crown prince tōya does not want to protest anymore. he is too tired to let any word slip out from the tip of his tongue anyway. so he only lets out one simple sigh.

that one sigh that told the warmth of your heart that the prince is all the more appreciating your dedication to serve him until death.

he will be sure to use you well as his eye.

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍, the eavesdropping ears of the young boy pondered upon the conversation between the general and the lieutenant general. they speak about the coming of age for the general's daughter.

her birthday is coming up very soon. and at the sixteenth birthday of a girl marks her age of legality. her youth and beauty is at its finest. to be dressed in silk, expensive makeup and be wedded to a man is the standard life of a woman.

“my wife and i will celebrate her birthday, do not fret,” said general kuromiya to his lieutenant. “we have not celebrated her birthday in a few years because of how busy the military gets. but, we've cleared some time for our girl's special day.”

tōya hears the lieutenant chuckle then speaking. “if your daughter isn't the crown prince’s retainer, are you going to arrange your daughter into marriage with a noble?”

upon hearing those words, tōya furrowed his eyebrows. it is as if those words were the sharpest of blades ever forged which had just impaled the skull of the todoroki.

his mind is a mixture of curiousity and anger. curiousity for the wanderer mind, and anger for the mind that remained. he could not pick one emotion to feel.

how could the lieutenant speak of such things to the general about his daughter?

and even so, the thought of you being arranged into a marriage with a noble tickles the back of his mind where his pent-up frustration and anger is kept in the dark. he might not be fond of the idea of you becoming his retainer a year ago, but he isn't exactly fond of the idea of you being a normal girl and being wedded to one of those wretched nobles.

if there's anything he did get from eavesdropping, that is that your sixteen birthday is in a week. and he spent a whole week thinking about it.

during missions, visiting a neighbouring village, meeting the citizens and villagers to offer services, hunting, training. whatever that was on the prince’s agenda. he could not get your birthday out of his mind.

when the general's small team along with you and the prince walked through a rather busy city, tōya finally set his mind on a specific subject for your birthday.

he watched in silence beside you as the both of you ventured into a shop that sold all clothing essentials. some of your gears are ruined from the previous hunt, and this is a great opportunity to purchase some items to fix your gears.

your eyes flickered at each corner of the store in search of your desired items. but occasionally, they come to a halt at a few jewelries that were on display. the beautiful blinking ones that beautiful women wear in their hair.

tōya sees you staring at pretty hairpins, and his gaze switches to your hair, wrapped in a topknot that he has never seen falling before. the prince doesn't even know if you even knew how to place a hairpin in your hair. well whatever, he now knows what he's going to give you for your birthday as a great and loving prince to his beloved retainer.

on the night of your birthday, a nicely wrapped rectangle box appeared on your windowsill as you were cleaning your arrows. crippling curiousity overflowed from you as you opened it, eyes widening in surprise at the content inside the box.

there it is, a hairpin which colour perfectly matches the hue of your eye. it was custom made, you can tell, since such a colour isn't so easy to be made into a hairpiece.

regardless of the surprise, you cannot fathom your imagination on who could've given you such a beautiful thing. you opened a supposedly jewelry box and looked at yourself in the tiny mirror before beginning to let your hair down, brush it, and tie it like the girls on the streets with pretty hair and pretty kimono. at last, you set the hairpin in your hair, fingers caressing the metal piece.

such a sight to behold . . . it made tōya’s heart flutter at the sight of you with your hair down, the hairpin beautiful set in your hair. he isn't going to fall for this absurdity though, considering how he just sneaked in the manor of the kuromiya family and swiftly placed your gift on your windowsill.

he clicked his tongue in annoyance. annoyance in himself for committing such a ridiculous thing and all for such a foolish reason.

all for his eyes to watch as the corner of your lips curved into a sickeningly warm smile which twisted at his lower abdomen and in return, granted him a moment to admire you with a lovesick gaze.

you looked extremely beautiful with the hairpin.

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍, at one of the days where you are off duty from serving the prince, you attend a party with your father instead— as his daughter. the daughter and the heiress of the kuromiya family.

not seen as a military officer or a servant of justice, you are present as the daughter of the honoured general and a woman of the kuromiya house.

dressed in the finest silk of the kimono found in that age with a dolled up face and beautifully brushed hair.

tōya of the todoroki family isn't a prince at that moment. he is a normal guest at that party. this is not his party, he only arrived because he was invited by the general.

but gosh, from heaven and back and for the love of the twinkling stars in the universe, he could not tear his gaze off of you. he has never in his entire life seen you so proper, so ladylike and poised.

it was like a whole new different person to him. the only thing that remained the same is the hairpin that was sticking out from your little bun, the extra pieces dangling to and back.

his heart flutters at the sight of you covering your mouth in utmost manner as you smiled and laughed at the other guests. you've greeted the man you've served, that's for sure. but he isn't the only one you have to entertain for the night. and somehow, he doesn't mind being like that, treated like any other normal guests and not being pestered by other souls.

familiar turquoise eyes keep making their way to yours, never plucking them off of you as you conversed through the night. he couldn't help it, he couldn't look away from such beauty. it was too overwhelming for the prince to handle.

it twists at his cold heart that tonight— you wouldn't speak to him that much, or even walk by his side. his insides did a little pout at the realisation at that very simple fact that you have no time for him.

however, the moment his gaze lingered onto her, his feet moved on its own to approach you, intrusively grabbing your hands to hold onto them, never letting go before his gaze bores into the soul of a samurai.

“this is my wife.”

and tōya makes sure the samurai's mind has that information burnt into him, albeit his grasp on your hands were let loose almost immediately after the man who was harassing you left.

there was an uncomfortable silence before you said a soft “thank you,” something you'd never ever say to the prince, to the man you serve. the prince walks a bit ahead of you, his back facing you like how it is always supposed to be. “whatever…”

you assumed he's going to walk away and leave you alone to entertain the other guests, but you invited the crown prince to ditch this aggravatingly bone-crushing party. so now, you two are alone by the lake, far away from people. the moon takes favour in the both of you, illuminating an equal amount of beauty.

yet somehow for this special night, you managed to shine and glow more than the prince himself.

“you look beautiful.”

your cheeks flushed. “uh, thank you..”

and there was silence again. this time, a comfortable silence with a reasonable distance between you and the prince by the lake and the moon reflecting onto the surfaces of the lake.

one more gaze, and tōya sees you smiling up at the moon. his heart aches and clenches inside of him, doing whatever tricks it could— including a race that would not last a horse.

todoroki tōya's eyes never lie. once they determine something is beautiful, it stays beautiful for an eternity.

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘, the scent of strong alcohol hit your nose the moment you entered the prince’s lounge room. drunken men are laid all over, obviously wasted. the prince drinks, coming to a halt the moment he notices you standing at the entrance of the room, watching his every move.

“hello, dear retainer..” he grumbled under his breath as you went over to him to pluck the cup out from his fingers, draping his arm over your shoulders and balancing him up on his feet.

“you are drunk, my prince.”

“ah ah archer, you know.. my guys don't have retainers who're good at archery..”

“is that so?”

the prince hummed in response as he held your shoulder and wobbled in his steps. “you’re the best one in the entire country, y/n.”

“it's an honour. but you mustn't speak. your words are oddly disturbing to me,” you said, receiving a chuckle from the drunken prince.

it is true, the prince never touched on the topic of your archery skills. he is still angry at the fact that you excel at archery better than he is. even if it has been an entire decade of indirect competition. you will always surpass him with efficiency.

“i hate the way you always steal my attention, you damned retainer.”

your eyebrows furrowed at his words, glancing at him momentarily before sliding the door to his room open.

“my apologies,” you said softly with a tiny smile, leading him to his haven where he slumbers. ���i didn't mean to do that.”

with that, you set him down his bed, plucking whatever piece of him that felt uncomfortable as his turquoise eyes burned into your soul, watching your every move.

the prince is silent, gaze following the way your fingers would graze the collar of his kimono or untie his obi to loosen it. his stomach felt like it was twisting at your touch, butterflies swarming around like fools at the pit of it.

he snapped out of his trance the moment you were going to stand up as he quickly grabbed hold onto your wrist.

“do not leave me…” he uttered, words so slurred from the alcohol that he consumed, grip tightening when he felt you lightly tugging your wrist away. “i said, do not leave me.”

“your highne—” your senses tingled as your back hit the soft futon on the ground.

both hands at either side of your face, the prince looks down at you through his half lidded turquoise eyes. you searched for a reason behind this action in those ethereally dangerous eyes of his. and there was only a hint of a dark desire.

“you make me sick to the bones.”

you held your breath, the prince letting out a heavy sigh as you felt his fingers gently grazing your cheeks, moving along the lines of your jaw. his touch fueled you on the inside, you have to admit to yourself. cold fingers with such a tender touch. it makes you yearn for him to continue his actions.

“who knows you would look so… beautiful, under me?”

as if warmth hasn't made their debut to your cheeks, he words gifted your cheeks a field of red roses. you were about to part your lips before his sweet traces along your jawline ceased, his weight falling onto you.

and then there was it. nothing else. just a drunken prince who fell into slumber after leaving his retainer in a flushed mess. you cursed under your breath and moved him off of you, tucking him into bed before brushing his hair as white as snow away from his face.

“you are murdering my mind and heart, your highness… it's been like that for so many years too..”

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄, the prince puffed and panted at the cruel training given to him by his retainer upon orders of the king. you are to hone his skills to perfection in the fields of kenjutsu.

prince tōya does not know why he has to go through this rigorous training with someone who specialises with a bow and an arrow instead of a sword, but his tongue slips out curses of regret the moment he clashes his blade with yours after a whole decade.

he clearly underestimated you, never imagining the fact that your swordsmanship skills have been polished way over perfection until it appeared to the prince that you are ultimately the perfect warrior. and it itched his brains along with the tugging at his heart.

the both of you were well aware of an upcoming war that will possibly bring nations to an end. neither your father nor tōya's father has the time to spend on their respective children to train them, so it was only ideal that they trained each other.

“your highness .. we must continue to swing our blades…” you tell the prince, gripping the sword hilt with both hands.

“oh come on, you should shoot arrows, not play with swords in the first place,” tōya rolled his eyes and dropped his sword to the ground, taking a seat. “can't continue anymore.”

once again, your stamina outranks the royal prince. what a shame, you stood longer than he did before you followed him and seated yourself on the ground, falling backwards to hit the ground.

“i’m still not fit for swords, it seems…” you murmured as the prince is now seated beside your lying form, glancing down at you. “then stick to being the archer, my backbone. let me charge ahead. you will follow me behind.”

you looked at his eyes before switching to the clear blue sky. his eyes matched the colour of the sky perfectly, it made you tugged a smile at the corner of the lip along with his words that sunk into your mind.

“i will always follow you behind, prince tōya.”

the prince rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his palm, a tiny blush coating his cheeks rose. “you better not stray too far..”

“i won't. i’ll be right behind you,” you chuckled as the voice of the royal princess fuyumi called out, inviting you and the crown prince to have some tea with her.

the prince stands up to brush his hakama. then as you sat up. before you could push yourself off the ground, he held his hands out. you looked at his hands for a quick moment before accepting it and he pulled you up gently.

“imagine if this is the last time we'll ever leisurely spend time with each other… you know... before the war and stuff.”

“that is not a very nice thing to say,” you frowned at tōya's words as he chuckled. “i’m just kidding… it will not be. trust me.”

𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄, heaven forbid the prince to keep his words and promises to you.

oh dear, how could this happen? why is there an arrow stabbed right through your shoulders? why are you still clenching the reins when blood drips down your shoulders and stains your clothes wine red? why are you still marching forward to follow the prince right behind as you have told him you would?

the prince’s army came to a halt when he stopped his horse and went to catch your falling body into his arms, your blood seeping into the fabric of his clothes almost immediately.

you hear the prince call out to you over and over like it was a chant, a desperate chant that does not go through your ear. your mind is too hazy to even be focusing on the view in front of you.

you shut your eyes to relieve some of that blur and when you do, it's the prince's turquoise eyes that cover your field of vision. it has always been his eyes that pulls you back to reality, it pulls you from straying away too far. his eyes are that one thing that you always seek from the very start.

“shit, y/n, no no no no no….”

you hear him say, oddly clear that your mind isn't as hazy as it was before, thanking his eyes that pierced through your haziness to make way so you could see his face.

“why would you do that!?”

you knew he was referring to the moment where at the most unexpected moment, an arrow shoots the prince's way and you went to his side to serve as his shield.

you did it because you want to protect him. you did it because you have made a promise to be his eye. you did it because you didn't want him to be hurt.

you did it because you love and care for him.

“how dare you get hurt, y/n!”

it makes you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to hold an amount of pain, both on the outside and on the inside. you must not falter, you mustn't show weakness in front of the prince as his retainer and most loyal servant.

“i apologise, my prince,” you forced yourself to sit up, coughing up a smile that breaks tōya's heart.

“we have to get the arrow out now, quickly, and efficiently,” the prince calmly said in a stern voice, unsure of how to really react to this. the inside of his mind a whole raging calamity.

from this point onwards, the sleeves of his hakama is now completely stained from holding you in his arms. it drips down his arms like blood-soaked honey. his fingers are constantly moving around to squeeze your arm, his usual habit of stressful stimming clearly portrayed as his mind wanders everywhere in visible conflict.

“your highness, you can't! none of us are authorised medics! and she will bleed more if you take the arrow out!” one of tōya's soldiers exclaimed as you held the prince's hands to calm his stimming down.

“please, prince tōya. it's futile, the war is still ongoing. you must go back out there to fight.”

“without my archer? without my retainer? without my backbone!? how am i even supposed to stand without you!?” he cries out as you shut your eyes to contain the tears that are beginning to gather at the corner of your eyes.

“someone please. please just get it out of her...”

“i’ll be fine. please... your presence is needed out there,” you whispered.

“i don't want to go out there without you. not when there's still so much for us to do.”

you felt his fingers resting on your dirtied cheeks, caressing your face with such shakiness that your cheek is now dripping with the tears of the prince. one drop at a time, he wipes his tears on your cheeks with his thumb, this sickeningly despairing smile portrayed on his face.

it makes you want to clench your heart in nothing but for the sake of easing your pain. even if it hurts and pulls at your soul, you held his hands and leaned into his touch, holding his fingers tightly.

“i’m sorry.”

there's not even a moment where his eyes leave you, darting all around while trying to find a way to put you out of your pain. it twists and turns on the inside, fueling his debuting rage.

tōya rests his forehead against yours, his snow white hair falling onto your face as he gazes into your eyes, trying to find a way to find solace in your own gaze.

“i don't want to leave you alone.”

“but tōya," you dropped the formality. "my eyes feel heavy. i’m going to rest for a bit.”

turquoise eyes widened at your words before his hands held you tighter and embraced you into a hug so warm that you smiled your way out of his life.

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[demonangelgirl134]

Grim and Sombra

Sombra was 6 years old when this picture was taken. Grim loves his daughter with all his heart and is a very good dad. (Mom)

[kazooiesart]

[sapphoherselz]

howdy!! two literal people have asked for some andreil rec so here they are!! my most favest fics EVER in the first 60 ao3 pages (I'll keep updating tho as I read!)

Not yours to bleed:

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won.

At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up.

Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

 

**Updates every other Wednesday, whatever hell may come.**

The Sun Still Rises:

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS:

Neil closes his eyes and counts the things that he knows:

One: Death has a name.

Two: He has met Death before. Several times, in fact.

Three: Someone is trying to kill him. Permanently. But it's only kind of working.

Or, the one in which Andrew is the Grim Reaper, Neil is very, very good at dying, over and over and over again. They teach each other a few things over the centuries.

Hearthlines:

The Fae king and queens have gone away, closing the knowes behind them and abandoning their offspring to the mortal world. As the Fae have spread far and wide, their bloodlines thinning if not vanishing forever as they flee from mortal persecution... two Fae have found a way to reopen the knowes - Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama. The Fae regroup once more, the balance of power shifted amongst them, and 'changelings' appear now and then in the mortal population.

Andrew Doe is one of those changelings, a young child suffering in the foster system, shunned by his peers for some reason and hearing voices in his head.

Alex - the latest name gifted to him by a charm - is on the run along with his mother from his father, using their talents as shadow walkers to slide between worlds and stay one step ahead of the powerful Fae. Except even that is not enough anymore. Except that's not Alex's only talent.

*******

An urban fantasy where I throw Fae, necromancy and magic at TFC characters, pretty much!

Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die):

Neil Josten goes to the Nest for Andrew, but he stays for a lot more.

~

"I'm sorry Coach," he muttered.

"For what kid?" Wymack shifted. "You've got to give me something to work with here."

Wymack watched the thin traces of sorrow as paper exchanged hands and he was looking down at a contract with the Edgar Allan Raven's.

"I signed them Coach, I'm sorry."

~

The one where Neil doesn't come back from Winter Break.

Amor Vincit Omnia:

“I said it already,” the man said, “Your cluster.”

“But what does that mean?” Neil asked.

“It means that you are no longer just you,” the man said tersely, “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating.

A Sense8 AU where the foxes all share one subconscious and kick a lot of ass

The Real Thing:

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes.

That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.)

Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

mad girl says she's wolf-proof:

Keeping her grip light on Nina’s throat, Andrea drops her gaze to her plump lips. She smiles—coldly, slowly. Fangs on fangs. Salt tombstones. It is not a nice smile, none of Andrea’s smiles are, but Nina’s eyes are stuck in it regardless. “And I will answer, all the better to eat you with.”

 

(Andrea Dobson vs girlhood and lycanthropy.)

lessons in caretaking:

Neil was acting shifty, and Andrew knew why; that motherfucker was leaving. Despite the promise between them, Neil was prepping to run. Andrew wasn't upset about that, not at all. After all, if notorious Neil "No-Swing" Josten needed to leave after Andrew admitted his desires regarding his proximity to Neil's shorts, who was Andrew to stop him. But that doesn't explain why Neil was stealing socks, or why he wanted Andrew's clothes.

Whatever. That was probably unrelated.

Sauntering Vaguely Downwards:

They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not the Beginning Beginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.

Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.

A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.