APRICITY // technoblade x reader DISCONTINUED

7 - Demons and Deals

Ranboo's grip on the plate tightens as the realization leaves your lips, and as you glance down at his hands, you finally notice that they're mismatched as well. His right hand is an ethereal purple, so deep it's almost black, and his left is a stark bone-white. His face is almost perfectly split down the middle, back and white meshing in the center, right down his nose. His mouth is a bit too wide, and his teeth a bit too sharp and otherworldly, but the sheepish expression on his face is human enough.

"You, uh, picked up on that a lot quicker than most people do. Uh, yeah. You're right."

You know he's a demon, but he seems so harmless right now. Despite his height (well over Technoblade, who falls around six and a half feet tall), Ranboo seems to make himself seem almost small.

It's so different from how otherworldly his actual energy feels, now that the fog over your mind is clear. He feels... different, in a way that you can't quite wrap your mind around. His presence is there but not, a sort of electric feeling radiating off of him like warmth. It's unnerving, to say the least. and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

Nervously, you take the plate from him, trying not to flinch as your fingers brush. His skin is cold, like the spine of a book left untouched for hours on end. Demons are dangerous, no matter how unassuming they may seem or appear.

"Thank you, Ranboo," You say politely, very aware that a minor slip-up to this demon could very well kill you. "I'm going to eat and go to bed now."

He nods, looking as grateful to end the conversation as you feel, and turns to leave. You slip inside, shutting the door behind you, and slump to the floor next to your bed to have a mild crisis about your realization.

You eat on the floor that night, carefully listening to the unintelligible white noise of Technoblade's conversation with Ranboo next door, and fall asleep curled into yourself, grimoire hugged close to your chest.

You stir in the early hours of the morning and stretch from your spot on the floor. You hadn't meant to fall asleep, but It worked out better for you this way. Now that you're up, you blink the sleep from your eyes, light the candle on your bedside, and begin to quietly dig through your trunk.

Your hand meets the same cold steel as it had earlier, and the curiosity as to what it could be comes flooding back in. It feels heavy and solid in your hand, and as you lift it, a cloth slides the rest of the way off of it, revealing a glimmering, ruby-inlaid pommel. Director Arya's sword, sheathed in a familiar scabbard, rests in the palm of your hand. You run your fingers up the hilt, tracing along the leather-wrapped grip and the rubies that dance in the warm candlelight, sending flickering red prisms along the floor.

This is yours now, you suppose, but it really doesn't feel like it. The sword begins to blur in your vision, ruby-red and the warm brown of the leather swirling together as hot tears pool in your eyes.

You tilt your head down as you finally let yourself cry for the only home and family that you'd ever known.

Once your tears have run dry, you wipe your face off and stand. No matter how oddly polite Technoblade and his demon are, they're still technically your captors.

You buckle the sword's sheath to your belt, pulling the leather straps tight and latching them into place. It's bittersweet to see yourself cut the same figure as Director Arya when you see yourself in the mirror because you'd often dreamed of inheriting the sword in a much different way: becoming the Director yourself.

You shake your head, pushing away your thoughts. You pack things back into your trunk, keeping a knapsack on you with a change of clothes, the grimoire from Niki, and some other essentials. By the time the sun rises, you're confident that your knapsack has everything you need, in case you're separated from your trunk. You latch the trunk shut and dramatically flop on top, slightly tired out from packing.

A knock at your door interrupts your thought, and you stretch for a moment before cracking the door open. Technoblade is still tying the boar skull mask around his face, his pink hair tousled and loose from its braid. The hilt of a greatsword pokes out from above his left shoulder, pommel almost scraping the doorframe due to his looming height. You glance down instinctively as he finishes trying the mask, waiting until his arms drop to glance back up.

"Good morning, Y/n. Are you packed and ready to go?"

"Yes. When are we leaving?" you ask.

"Soon enough, I'll spell your trunk to the carriage, and get the horses hitched so we can be on our way." He pauses, seeming to notice the rapier belted at your side. "Good. You might need that. I-"

He pauses, seemingly gathering his thoughts before he speaks again. "Keep that blade with you. The Director left it to you in her will. I want to figure out what got you here, and why she died. So I'm going to have to trust you, and you're going to have to trust me. Deal?" He holds out his hand, and you take it. His hand is bigger than yours, calluses clearly from the sword on his back.

Magic and sword fighting. It's only been two days, but he's surprising you more and more.

You could get used to this. "Deal," you reply confidently and squeeze his hand gently in yours.

He squeezes your hand one last time before letting go, and you find yourself almost instinctively following his as he does so. You pull back abruptly, a blush rising on your cheeks. He doesn't seem to notice, though, as he removes a small pouch from his belt and tosses it to you.

"Get us some breakfast, and I'll meet you by the carriage. We should get on the road soon, I have someone I want you to talk to."