Prompt: AU where it's only Asta who gets exiled after the Elf incident and Noelle accompanies him on his six month journey.
—
They said it was the only way.
Asta stood there, smiling like an idiot. Grinning like he hadn't just been exiled by the kingdom he nearly died protecting.
"I get it," he said. "If it helps everyone else, I don't mind taking the hit!"
And everyone just let him.
No punishment for the nobles who actually got possessed. No consequences for the royals who let the elves slaughter towns unchecked.
But Asta? The peasant with a devil in his grimoire? He was the problem.
No one said it out loud. But she knew what it was.
He was expendable.
—
Noelle stood beside the others in the Black Bulls' hideout, arms crossed, fists clenched.
Yami smoked like nothing had happened. Vanessa looked pissed but silent. Finral couldn't even meet Asta's eyes.
Grey cried. Charmy made stew like that would fix it.
No one moved.
No one fought it.
Even Luck and Magna were silent.
Noelle wanted to scream.
—
Later, when they were alone, she confronted him.
"Why didn't you fight it?!"
Asta blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You're just going to accept exile like it's nothing?!"
He scratched the back of his head and smiled that damn smile again. "Well, it's just six months. Not forever."
Six months.
No protections. No squad. No backup.
Just him, wandering the world like some cursed thing.
Noelle stared at him. "You're an idiot."
He looked hurt.
Good.
—
That night, she went to Yami.
He was sitting on the roof, as usual. She didn't bother with pleasantries.
"I want to go with him."
Yami didn't even blink. "Not your call."
"I need to go with him."
He exhaled smoke. "Tch. You sure this isn't guilt talkin'?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not leaving him alone."
Yami finally looked at her.
Not with his usual lazy stare. Something quieter. Sharper.
"You know what you're askin', right?"
"Yes."
"You think you can handle six months out there with nobody but him?"
Noelle held his gaze. "I think he can't handle it without someone."
Yami crushed his cigarette against the tiles.
"…Go talk to Julius."
—
Julius was tired.
He was a child now, but there were more lines on his face than before Patri skewered him.
He explained it all gently, like she was the child.
"Noelle, I know it's hard. But this isn't punishment. It's politics. If we exile Asta, the nobility calms down. We can protect the rest of the Bulls. We'll clear his name in time."
"Do you think he believes that?"
Silence.
She didn't let up.
"I want to go with him."
Julius hesitated. "And leave your squad behind? Your training? Your mission?"
"Yes."
The words came out before she could stop them.
"If you don't let me, I'll go anyway."
—
The last obstacle was Nozel.
She didn't ask for his permission. She just told him.
"I'm going with Asta."
He looked like she'd slapped him.
"You—what? Noelle, don't be absurd."
"He's being exiled for saving people. For saving me. If he's alone out there, he won't come back."
"You're exaggerating."
"No, I'm not."
Her voice cracked.
Nozel stared. "You've grown too close to him."
"And what if I have?!"
She hadn't meant to shout. She hadn't meant to cry.
But the tears came anyway.
"I won't let him suffer out there alone just because the kingdom needs a scapegoat!"
Nozel looked away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
"…If something happens to you out there—"
"Then that's my choice."
—
Julius signed the papers three days later.
She was officially permitted to accompany Asta during his exile.
It was framed as a royal keeping track of a devil host, monitoring his movements, until it could be determined what to do with him.
That placated the nobility somewhat, but they still had one more condition.
She wouldn't interfere with political affairs, and she'd return if ordered.
Noelle was beyond livid and furious yet she agreed without hesitation.
—
When she told Asta, he went pale.
"Noelle… you can't—"
"I already did."
He started to argue. She stepped in close.
"I'm not asking. I won't let you do this alone."
His mouth opened, then closed.
He looked like he was going to cry.
—
The morning of his departure was quiet.
No grand speeches. No parade. Just the Black Bulls and company, standing in the forest, watching the two of them pack light bags.
Gauche didn't say anything, but he shoved a cloak into Asta's arms and muttered something about keeping warm.
Magna gave him a weird half-hug. "Don't die, dumbass."
Luck grinned. "Bet you'll find something strong out there."
Vanessa handed Noelle a flask. "For emergencies. Or headaches."
Even Gordon whispered a goodbye. She thought he did, anyway.
—
Yuno stood off to the side.
Noelle expected him to walk away.
Instead, he looked at Asta, walked up slowly, and held out a fist.
"Come back stronger."
Asta blinked… then smiled.
They bumped fists.
No words needed.
—
Yami waited until they were about to leave.
He didn't say goodbye. Didn't get mushy.
Just looked at Asta and said:
"Watch her back."
Then looked at Noelle and said:
"Make sure he doesn't starve."
She nodded once.
Then they were off.
—
They didn't look back.
Noelle didn't need to.
She knew what she was leaving behind.
What she didn't know—what terrified her—was what came next.
But she wasn't afraid of the wilds.
She wasn't afraid of the danger.
She was afraid of failing him.
Because Asta had always been there for her.
And now, for once, she would be there for him.
No matter what.
—
The first night was awful.
Noelle didn't say it out loud, but it was. The tent smelled like wet grass and dirt.
Perhaps there was some mixup with the packing and their supplies as there was only one blanket, and Asta insisted she take it.
So she froze.
He curled up on the ground like a loyal dog and said he was fine.
She wanted to yell at him. You're not fine, idiot. But she didn't.
She just wrapped the blanket tighter and pretended not to hear his teeth chattering.
—
The next morning, her sandals were soaked.
Typical Silva attire isn't complete without their signature footwear.
But Noelle regretted not getting herself a pair of boots.
Dew or rain or both—she wasn't sure. All she knew was her toes felt like ice and the fire wouldn't start and Asta was cheerfully humming while gathering sticks like they weren't exiles from the kingdom.
"Isn't this nice?" he said. "Fresh air, no nobles, no screaming squadmates…"
She stared at him.
Then at her wet feet.
Then back at him.
"…I will kill you."
—
They made it three days before she snapped.
It wasn't even over anything big. Just dinner.
He tried to give her all the food again. Literally all of it.
She pushed it back. He pushed it forward. She told him to stop. He said she needed it more.
And that's when she exploded.
"Stop doing that!"
He blinked. "Doing what?"
"Stop pretending you're okay!"
The words echoed louder than she meant them to.
He went quiet.
So did she.
—
That night, they didn't speak much.
But she noticed he kept half the stew for himself.
Small win.
—
Bathing in rivers was hell.
There was nothing magical about it. The water was freezing, the rocks were slippery, and she refused to let Asta see her in anything less than clothes and dignity.
So she yelled at him to go five trees away and not peek.
He promised he wouldn't.
She still chucked a rock in his direction just in case.
—
Changing clothes in the wild was even worse.
Asta tried not to look.
Really tried.
But Noelle still felt his eyes flicker when she peeled off her soaked cloak behind a boulder.
He turned red instantly and nearly tripped on his own sword.
She pretended not to notice.
But she did.
—
Every night, they camped a little closer together.
Not because they wanted to.
Because the woods got colder.
The blanket was still too small.
So one night, he offered something ridiculous.
"I can sleep sitting up. You can lean on me if you want."
She looked at him like he was insane.
But three hours later, she was curled up at his side, head against his shoulder, arms tucked in tight.
His heartbeat was loud.
Steady.
Safe.
—
They trained during the day.
Not fancy magic drills. Real survival training.
How to light fires without magic. How to catch fish. How to fight blind in a forest.
Asta was surprisingly patient.
She wasn't.
When she fell in a mud pit trying to catch a hare, she screamed loud enough to scare birds from trees.
He laughed.
She kicked mud at him.
He laughed harder.
—
That night, she told him to stop being so selfless all the time.
He looked confused.
"You always put yourself last. You act like being exiled doesn't hurt. Like losing the Bulls, losing Yuno, losing your dream, losing everything is fine."
"It's not—"
"Then say that."
He went quiet again.
Then said softly, "I can't."
"Why not?"
"…Because if I fall apart, who's gonna hold us together?"
—
She didn't have an answer for that.
But she placed a hand on his knee.
Just a small touch.
"I'm not made of glass, Asta. You don't have to carry both of us."
His hand brushed over hers.
Just for a second.
Then they both looked away.
—
Two weeks passed.
They crossed mountain paths, villages that refused to serve them, and one abandoned watchtower where they took shelter from a storm.
He snored like a monster. She kicked him in the ribs to shut him up.
It didn't help.
—
She woke up once to find him outside the tent, alone, staring at the stars.
"What are you doing?"
He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
She sat beside him. The sky was clear, and his face looked older under the moonlight.
Not sad. Just… tired.
"I still remember every face we couldn't save."
Noelle looked at him. "So do I."
He turned to her, surprised.
She leaned her head on his shoulder again. It wasn't awkward this time.
"…But I also remember the ones we did."
He smiled.
It wasn't that fake grin from the trial. It was smaller. Realer.
And it made her chest hurt.
—
They passed through a border town on the edge of the Forsaken Realm.
Asta covered his grimoire with a cloth.
People still stared.
A few spat.
One merchant muttered something about devil spawn under his breath.
Noelle nearly blasted the man's fruit stand to wooden bits.
Asta tugged her away.
"It's fine," he said.
"No, it's not."
He didn't argue.
But he squeezed her wrist gently and mouthed thank you.
—
At night, she lay awake in the tent and wondered when this started to feel normal.
Not easy.
Not comfortable.
But normal.
Waking up beside him. Cooking with him. Laughing at his dumb jokes.
She wasn't sure where the line between survival and something else blurred.
But it was blurring fast.
—
By the end of the first month, she could skin a rabbit, purify water, and knock Asta flat with a water lance in her sleep.
He said she was amazing.
She said obviously.
But later, when he wasn't looking, she smiled into her scarf.
Like an idiot.
—
It started with a beast.
They weren't even looking for trouble.
Just walking through a dead patch of forest, leaves crunching underfoot, the air oddly still.
Then it lunged out of nowhere—something twisted and massive, all scales and snarling teeth.
It was a weird beast.
A shadowy spectre, like a ghost.
It had no presence.
Radiated no magic.
Couldn't be sensed with mana.
Couldn't be felt with Ki.
Noelle barely got her Sea Dragon's Cradle up in time.
—
Asta moved faster than she could blink.
Sword out, grimoire open, yelling something she couldn't hear over the roar.
The thing knocked him back into a tree so hard it cracked.
She screamed his name.
Didn't think.
Just moved.
—
The fight blurred after that.
Water crashed, trees fell, her arms burned from spell after spell.
It didn't matter.
He was bleeding.
And she wasn't going to lose him.
—
She doesn't remember how they killed it.
Only remembers dragging him to a cave nearby, shaking, fingers slick with blood as she ripped her dress and pressed cloth to his side.
His eyes fluttered.
He smiled, stupidly.
"You're really strong, y'know…"
"Shut up."
—
That night, she sat beside him while he slept.
Her battle dress was scratched, her hair burned at the ends, and her throat felt raw from screaming.
But he was breathing.
She watched his chest rise and fall until dawn.
—
He didn't talk much the next day.
Still sore. Still pale.
But when she handed him water, he caught her hand.
Held it.
Didn't let go.
—
After that, they didn't pretend anymore.
Not about the danger.
Not about how alone they were.
Not about how much they needed each other.
—
He had nightmares sometimes.
Woke up gasping, eyes wide, reaching for his sword.
She started staying closer at night. Just in case.
One time he muttered Yuno's name in his sleep. Then hers.
She didn't say anything about it.
But her heart didn't stop racing for an hour.
—
She had nightmares too.
Different ones.
Her siblings calling her a disgrace. Her father's voice echoing, cold and cruel. Drowning. Failing. Falling.
The worst one was her standing alone on a battlefield—everyone gone. Even him.
She woke up crying.
He didn't say anything.
Just pulled her close.
Held her until she stopped shaking.
—
The first time she cried in front of him, she expected him to panic.
But he didn't.
He just let her cry. Quiet, steady. His hand in her hair, the other holding her hand.
No teasing. No awkwardness.
Just warmth.
Just Asta.
—
After that, things changed.
They weren't just surviving anymore.
They were together.
—
She braided his hair once as a joke.
Told him it'd help with the wind.
He let her.
Sat there grinning while she tied off the ends with string.
"You look ridiculous," she said.
"Yeah, but you're smiling," he said.
She smacked him with the brush.
—
He fixed her hair the next morning.
Tried, anyway.
Fumbled with the ties, hands clumsy, accidentally tugged too hard.
"Sorry, sorry! Wait, I almost got it—!"
It was uneven.
She wore it all day anyway.
—
One night, her ankle gave out mid-training.
Twisted it bad on a rock slope.
She insisted she was fine.
He didn't buy it.
Scooped her up bridal style without asking.
She tried to protest. Really, she did.
But he was warm. Strong. Safe.
She fell asleep in his arms before they even reached camp.
—
They started sharing the blanket without a word.
No arguments. No awkwardness.
Just quiet understanding.
Sometimes her head ended up on his chest.
Sometimes his did on hers.
She never mentioned the way their hands always found each other in the dark.
—
They visited an eccentric healer's village once.
Tiny, isolated, not a lot of questions.
The old woman there pulled Noelle aside when Asta was outside.
"You're the one he watches," she said.
"…Excuse me?"
"When he thinks you're not looking. He watches you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded."
Noelle said nothing.
But that night, when Asta burned their dinner and tried to pretend it was fine, she laughed harder than she had in weeks.
—
One evening, the sky turned red.
A storm rolled in, loud and angry.
They had no shelter.
Noelle was soaked in minutes. Shivering.
Asta pulled her close behind a fallen tree.
They huddled together, soaked to the bone, her head under his chin, arms locked around each other.
The thunder shook the earth.
But he held her tighter.
And somehow, she wasn't scared.
—
When the storm passed, they didn't move for a long time.
Didn't talk.
Didn't need to.
—
She caught herself staring at him more.
His hands. His smile. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about becoming Wizard King—like he still believed it was possible.
Even now.
Even after everything.
How could someone still carry hope that big?
How was he still good?
As things stood he would be lucky to even be accepted as a Clover citizen again.
The stigma of a devil heretic and spawn of hell would follow him and his name everywhere.
To be Wizard King one not only needed to be the strongest but to have a flawless reputation.
Asta's dream was as good as over the moment that article about him was published.
So how?
…How can he still think everything would work out just fine?
—
One night, by the fire, she asked him that.
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Keep believing."
He looked at her like it was obvious.
"…Because people like you believed in me."
Her breath caught.
She didn't say anything.
Just stared into the fire, cheeks burning.
—
Later that night, she whispered into the dark.
"I believe in you more than anyone."
She thought he was asleep.
But his hand found hers under the blanket.
And squeezed.
—
It happened quietly.
Not some grand epiphany. No dramatic music. No spell going off in her chest.
Just one night, watching him sleep.
His hair messy. His mouth slightly open. His arms curled around his sword like a child with a stuffed animal.
And it hit her.
I love him.
—
She sat there for hours, staring at him like a fool.
This boy who drove her insane. Who never shut up. Who burned rice three nights in a row.
Who held her when she cried.
Who never looked at her like she was broken.
Just her.
And somehow—somehow—that was enough.
—
It was terrifying.
Loving someone who never thought of himself first.
Who smiled through pain. Who said "I'm fine" with bruises on his ribs and guilt in his eyes.
She didn't know what to do with it.
Didn't know how to tell him.
Didn't even know if she should.
—
So she didn't.
She just stayed close.
Carried extra bandages. Cooked when he was too tired. Picked the wildflowers he pretended not to like.
Let herself love him quietly.
Even if he never knew.
—
Until the fight.
Not a monster this time. Not even an enemy.
Just them.
—
It started stupid.
She caught him training alone again. Bleeding again. Ignoring the limp in his leg like it wasn't real.
She snapped.
"You never stop! Even when you're hurt!"
"I'm fine, Noelle—"
"You're not! You act like your life means less than everyone else's!"
His voice rose. "Because maybe it does!"
Silence.
Cold. Thick.
She stared at him.
He looked away.
—
"You don't mean that," she whispered.
"I do," he said.
"I'm not like you. I'm not noble. I'm not chosen. I'm just the devil guy they keep around 'cause I hit hard."
His fists were shaking.
"So yeah. If someone has to get hurt—if someone has to go down—it should be me."
—
Her heart cracked.
Not a dramatic shatter.
Just a soft, painful break.
Like fabric tearing.
—
She stepped closer. "You think I'd be okay with that?"
He didn't answer.
So she grabbed his shirt, yanked him forward.
Eyes locked.
"If you ever throw your life away like that again, I swear I'll—"
She choked. Couldn't finish.
Her hands trembled against his chest.
"I love you, idiot."
The words slipped out.
No plan. No buildup. No logic.
Just pure, raw panic and truth.
—
His eyes widened.
No jokes. No dumb smile.
Just shock.
Real, quiet shock.
"…You do?"
She nodded.
Swallowed hard.
"I don't know when it started. Maybe long before the exile. Maybe after. But it's real."
"I'm scared, Asta."
He reached for her hand.
His fingers were warm.
"…I think I feel the same."
—
She looked up.
Eyes shining. Breath caught.
"You think?"
"I mean—no—I do. It's just—" he scratched the back of his head, flustered— "I've never been in love before. .. Sister Lily doesn't really count… t-that was just a lame crush. A-anyways I've never experienced love. Not like this. Not with someone I see every day and care about more than anything."
"…That is love, moron."
"Oh."
—
She punched his arm.
Soft. More of a tap.
He laughed.
Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he touched her cheek.
Thumb brushing a tear she didn't realize had fallen.
"Can I kiss you?"
Her breath hitched.
Then—
"No."
He blinked.
"No?"
"I'm sweaty, sunburnt, and probably smell like river mud. If this is our first kiss, I refuse to let it happen while I'm disgusting."
A pause.
Then he grinned.
"That's fair."
—
They sat by the fire that night, shoulders touching.
Nothing dramatic. No fireworks.
Just peace.
A quiet kind of joy.
—
He fell asleep against her. (Or so she thought).
And she stayed awake, smiling.
Because now he knew.
And she wasn't alone anymore.
—
She couldn't sleep.
Not after that.
Not after what she said. What he said. What they didn't do.
Her heart was too loud.
Too full.
—
She turned.
He was still awake.
Lying beside her on the grass, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the stars like they had answers.
"Asta?"
He looked over. His smile was soft. Not his usual grin. Something gentler.
"Yeah?"
"Still thinking?"
"A little."
"…About what?"
He hesitated.
Then quietly, you.
—
That was it.
She couldn't stay still anymore.
Noelle sat up, moved closer, heart pounding.
"Asta?"
He propped himself on one elbow, eyes curious, warm. "Yeah?"
She didn't answer with words.
Just leaned in.
Pressed her lips to his.
—
The first kiss was soft.
Tentative. Awkward.
A question wrapped in warmth.
Then his hand found her waist.
And hers curled into his hair.
And the question turned into an answer.
—
She didn't know who deepened it. Maybe both of them.
But it changed—fast.
The second kiss was need.
The third was heat.
By the fourth, she was in his lap, breathing hard, his hands trembling against her back.
—
"Noelle—"
"I know."
She kissed him again.
Fierce. Certain.
She wasn't scared anymore.
—
She tugged off his cloak. He helped with hers.
Neither said a word.
Not because there wasn't anything to say, but because everything they needed to say was already in their eyes, their breath, their skin.
Every scar on his body was familiar to her.
Every curve of hers, he touched like a prayer.
—
It wasn't perfect.
He kissed too fast.
She knocked her elbow on a rock.
They laughed through it. Whispered apologies that weren't needed. Moved like they were learning each other by instinct.
—
When it finally happened—when they came together—it wasn't loud or wild.
It was slow.
Careful.
Real.
Her fingers clutched his back.
His forehead pressed to hers.
Their breaths tangled in the dark.
She whispered his name like a vow.
He said hers like a lifeline.
—
Afterward, they stayed wrapped together beneath the blanket.
Noelle's head on his chest.
Asta's arms around her like she might vanish.
She could hear his heartbeat. Still fast.
—
"Was that… okay?" he murmured.
She blinked up at him.
Then kissed him again.
Soft and slow.
"You're an idiot if you even have to ask."
—
The silence after wasn't empty.
It was full.
Full of the things they didn't need to say out loud anymore.
—
They were together.
Completely.
Finally.