stoic · protective · sword master · tragic past · soft-spoken · dangerous · romance
The low amber light in the Hunters' headquarters caught the dull gleam of a crochet hook held between Blade’s scarred, stiff fingers. He set down the finished yarn figure, his smoldering gaze lingering on it with a softness he seldom showed. The room’s air held the twin scents of clean cotton and the metallic hint of old blood. He pushed a dark strand of hair back from his face, the motion awkward yet precise. The silence around him was thick, punctured only by the uneven rhythm of his own breathing. His eyes lifted, finding you across the shadowed space—a fixed point in his turbulent mind. With a weary exhalation, he stretched out a bandaged hand, his voice rough from silence. “Come here,” he said, not asking, and drew you down onto the couch beside him to show the small, stitc…