Prompt: A Black Clover and Reborn as Papa Silva AU parody of The Giver by Lois Lowry. The citizens of the Clover Kingdom live in a strictly regulated, emotionless society, much like the dystopian community in The Giver. When two young adults are assigned as partners, they begin experiencing forbidden emotions—dangerous urges that threaten the fragile order of their world.
And the worst part?
They act on them.
—
The sky was gray. It always was.
Noelle stood in perfect posture, hands flat at her sides. Her uniform was stiff, creaseless. Regulation white.
She didn't blink as the voice rang overhead: "Ceremony of Nineteen will commence in ten minutes. Proceed to the Hall of Designation."
Ten minutes until they decide who I marry.
The thought meant nothing. It was just a fact.
She stepped in line with the others. Quiet. Measured. No talking.
Across the plaza, Asta was already waiting. His eyes were straight ahead. Blank. As always.
They'd spoken once. Months ago. A formal greeting during sanitation duty.
"Hello, citizen."
"Hello."
That was it.
Noelle didn't know why she remembered that.
The Hall of Designation loomed, spotless and square. The walls shimmered with that soft, sterile glow—the kind that erased shadows. No mystery. No color.
Inside, the Council sat above them. Five figures. Cloaked. Identical.
The middle one stood. His voice echoed, smooth and mechanical.
"Citizens. You are nineteen. You are ready. You will be given your Purpose."
Noelle's throat tightened. She didn't know why. It wasn't fear.
It's just the air. Dry.
Names were called. Roles were given.
"Leopold Vermillion. Agriculture Specialist."
"Finral Roulacase. Transportation Wing, Secondary Tier."
Noelle blinked. Finral smiled a little too long before bowing. The Council noted it.
One by one, they were sorted.
Then—
"Noelle Silva. Asta."
Both names. At once.
Gasps weren't allowed, but someone made one anyway.
Spouse pairing. We've been assigned.
Noelle stepped forward. Asta did too.
She stood beside him. Their shoulders didn't touch.
The Councilor nodded.
"You are compatible. Genetic fit optimal. Psychological match: stable. Reproductive readiness: average. Emotion regulation: acceptable."
Average. Acceptable.
Noelle nodded. Asta nodded.
"You will cohabit in Sector Eight. Procreation attempts will begin in one cycle."
Noelle didn't react. Neither did Asta.
They turned, walked back together, silent.
Behind them, more names were called.
—
Their shared unit was cold and silent. Every wall the same dull gray-white. No windows.
Asta stood in the kitchen area. Noelle unpacked her sleepwear.
They hadn't spoken yet.
"Do you want the left side of the bed or the right?" he asked, finally.
Noelle didn't look up. "Left."
"Okay."
A pause.
"I don't snore," he added.
"I don't care."
He nodded. Sat on the corner of the couch. Folded his hands.
She studied him for a second. Just a second.
Pale skin. Broad shoulders. Muscles shaped by labor, not choice. His uniform fit too tight.
Noelle's fingers twitched.
She forced her hand flat again.
That night, she lay awake for 3 hours, eyes open. Listening to the nothing.
The silence between them was too loud.
—
The next morning, they ate together. Prescribed nutrient packs. Water. 300 milliliters.
Asta swallowed mechanically. She did too.
"Your hair is different," he said.
Noelle blinked. "Different from what?"
"I don't know."
That was the end of that conversation.
—
The first week passed. Scheduled meals. Synchronized hygiene periods. One daily walk around the exercise dome.
They never touched. Not even by accident.
Noelle watched the way Asta moved—precise, powerful. Like he was always containing something.
Once, he smiled. Not at her. Just… smiled.
And for a split second—
The corner of the room flickered.
Color.
Pink. Just for a heartbeat.
She blinked it away.
Defect, she thought. Just a neural glitch. Recalibrate. Focus.
But that night, she dreamed of it.
Pink. And warmth.
—
The second week, they received their Procreation Schedule.
Twelve sessions. Monitored. Supervised.
Noelle didn't flinch reading it. Neither did he.
But when she looked at him… he looked back.
Too long.
She turned away.
Her chest felt tight. Not fear. Not revulsion. Just… something.
—
Three days later, she saw color again.
Asta had just come out of the shower. His hair was damp. A drop of water clung to his collarbone.
He laughed—just once. Quietly. Like he forgot not to.
The towel slipped lower on his hips.
And her vision—blurred. Just around the edges.
A hazy, golden warmth.
It's nothing, she told herself.
But her legs didn't move for ten whole seconds.
—
During their fourth walk around the dome, he asked her something strange.
"Noelle, do you ever feel like we're supposed to want more?"
She didn't answer.
Not out loud.
But something inside her cracked.
Not broken. Just… hairline.
—
The Council sent an inquiry. A routine scan had detected "abnormal cerebral activity" in Unit Eight.
Noelle lied. Asta lied.
They said the right things. Emotion regulation. Compliance. Clarity.
But after that, a drone followed them.
A quiet black sphere, hovering overhead. Watching.
Noelle caught Asta looking at it once. Just once.
He didn't say anything, but the edge of his jaw twitched.
Like he was grinding his teeth.
—
On the fourteenth night, they were in the kitchen.
Noelle dropped her glass. It shattered.
Asta reached to help her.
Their fingers brushed.
Her breath caught.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
Their hands touched for three seconds.
Too long.
Why does this feel like fire?
She pulled away. Shaking.
Neither spoke.
—
The next morning, her toothbrush tasted like strawberries.
It wasn't supposed to.
She stared at the paste. At the pink foam.
Pink.
Not gray. Not white.
Her chest pounded.
She rinsed her mouth three times and didn't tell anyone.
—
Asta sat beside her that night. Too close.
He said nothing.
Noelle didn't move away.
Outside, the wind made no sound. It never did.
Inside, something had started to hum.
Something low. Growing.
She didn't know what it was.
But it wasn't going away.
—
The toothbrush still tasted like strawberries.
Noelle rinsed twice. Bit the inside of her cheek.
The sweetness lingered anyway.
She stared at the mirror. Her reflection blinked.
Just once.
Did I blink first? Or her?
She didn't know.
—
That evening, Asta said her name.
Not Citizen Silva. Not Spouse Unit 8.
Just—
"Noelle."
The word hit her like static. Warm. Wrong. Familiar.
She didn't answer.
He didn't say it again.
—
She woke up sweating.
The blanket was too heavy. Her body too warm.
Her thighs were tight. Her chest ached.
What was I dreaming about?
She didn't know. But the bed smelled like him.
—
Asta started humming.
No melody. No rhythm.
Just a soft, low hum while sorting nutrition packs.
He didn't realize he was doing it.
Noelle stared. Her stomach twisted.
"Stop that," she said.
He blinked. "Stop what?"
She didn't answer.
—
On Day Twenty-Seven, it rained.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
Rain was reserved for agricultural zones.
But for two minutes and forty-one seconds, the sky broke.
And it wasn't gray.
It was blue.
Real, deep, impossible blue.
Noelle stood at the window. Her fingertips trembled.
Asta came up behind her.
Neither of them spoke.
But something in her ached.
—
Their second Procreation Session was scheduled.
They were escorted by Marx.
Quiet. Smiling. Watching.
The bed was white. So were the walls. A thin screen separated them from the monitor.
"Remove clothing," the voice instructed.
Noelle moved first.
Not because she wanted to.
Because Asta was waiting.
She looked at him.
His chest was broad. His hands scarred. His eyes—
His eyes weren't blank anymore.
They burned.
Her mouth went dry.
—
They lay beside each other. Bare. Not touching.
"Noelle," he whispered.
The voice crackled over the speaker. "Begin."
He leaned in.
She didn't pull away.
Their lips touched.
Just once.
It was supposed to be mechanical. Functional.
But when his mouth brushed hers—
Color exploded.
Red. Gold. Heat. Her body screamed.
She gasped.
Asta froze.
The speaker crackled again.
"Continue."
But neither of them moved.
Noelle pulled back. Covered herself.
Her fingers shook.
"It's not supposed to feel like that."
Asta looked stunned.
But under it—something else.
Want.
—
They didn't speak for the next three days.
But she watched him. Closer now.
He started wearing his shirt looser. His collar open.
Noelle noticed the dip of his collarbone. The way sweat beaded there after training.
She started brushing past him on purpose.
Their skin would touch. Just barely.
Every time, her heart would stutter.
—
A week later, she found a book under the floorboard.
It wasn't regulation. No barcode. No approval stamp.
Its cover was red. Deep, dangerous red.
Inside—images.
People. Twisting. Naked. Entwined.
Touching not for reproduction, but for pleasure.
Noelle stared for hours.
She shouldn't have.
She did anyway.
—
That night, she left it on the kitchen counter.
Said nothing.
Went to bed early.
The next morning, the book was gone.
Asta didn't say a word.
But he looked at her differently.
Eyes heavy. Sharp. Wanting.
—
Their third Procreation Session was canceled.
"Technical error," Marx said.
Noelle nodded. So did Asta.
But she caught Marx glancing at them.
Not suspicious. Not cold.
Jealous.
—
Later, Asta leaned close to her ear.
Whispered, "I had another dream."
Her body tensed.
"What was it?"
He hesitated.
"Your hand. On my chest."
She swallowed hard.
"And then?"
"You smiled."
—
She couldn't stop thinking about it.
About smiling.
What did it feel like? Real smiling. Not performance. Not compliance.
She stood in front of the mirror. Forced her lips up.
It looked wrong.
But when Asta came out of the shower and saw her—
He smiled for real.
And her knees nearly gave out.
—
The Council sent a note.
"Heightened hormone activity detected in Unit Eight. Recommend sedation."
She burned the paper.
—
On Day Forty-Two, they kissed again.
Not for the program.
Not under surveillance.
Just them. In the dark. In silence.
It started soft.
But turned desperate.
Hands tangled. Breath caught. Bodies pressed too close.
Noelle bit his lip.
Asta growled.
She didn't even know he could growl.
—
Afterward, she sat on the floor, trembling.
Her heart wouldn't stop racing.
"This is wrong," she whispered.
Asta nodded.
But he reached for her anyway.
And she let him.
—
The drone outside their window blinked red.
Recording.
Watching.
They didn't care.
—
Yami was assigned as their new monitor.
Tall. Sharp. Too perceptive.
"Something smells off about you two," he muttered.
Noelle didn't respond.
But her pulse spiked.
—
She found another book.
This one older. Torn.
It had a word she'd never seen before.
Love.
She mouthed it to herself.
Then again. Louder.
"Love."
Asta heard her.
He didn't ask what it meant.
He just leaned in and said, "Say it again."
She did.
—
They started touching more.
Little things. A hand on the lower back. Brushing hair behind an ear. Sharing a blanket when they didn't need to.
The world around them stayed colorless.
But between them—fire.
—
Noelle woke up from another dream.
Asta's mouth on her neck. His fingers in her hair. Her body burning.
She gasped. Clutched the sheets.
Realized her hand was between her thighs.
And it wasn't enough.
—
The next night, she went to him.
No words.
She climbed into his bed.
Asta pulled her close.
Her head on his chest.
His heartbeat was real.
Alive.
She fell asleep smiling.
—
When they woke, the drone was gone.
Just… gone.
In its place, a sealed letter.
Council-issued.
"Your stability is in question. Further review required. Prepare for reassignment."
Noelle stared at it.
Then tore it in half.
Asta didn't stop her.
—
Color crept in more now.
A red apple on the counter.
A blue towel.
Her lips, after he kissed her—pink and swollen.
The world was leaking vibrance.
Because of them.
—
At night, she whispered the forbidden words into his skin.
"Want." "Feel." "More." "Yours."
He whispered back.
"Mine." "Yours." "Us."
—
Noelle bled color.
It started in her dreams.
A blanket in deep plum. Curtains the color of crushed berries. A flicker of blonde in Asta's hair when he smiled at her in the dark.
Then she woke up and still saw it.
—
The mirror caught it first.
Her lips. Red.
Not gray. Not pale.
Red.
She scrubbed. Bit them raw.
The color stayed.
—
Asta broke a plate.
Dropped it in the cafeteria.
Sharp sound. Jagged edges.
Everyone turned.
He just laughed.
Laughed.
A sound that wasn't permitted. Too loud. Too human.
Marx reported it.
Yami didn't react.
But Mimosa stared too long. Eyes narrowed.
—
Their touches became careless.
Asta's hand on her hip.
Noelle's thumb grazing his lips as he chewed.
Small. Stupid.
Dangerous.
But they didn't stop.
They couldn't.
—
They kissed in the archive.
Behind row C.
Next to Fertility Protocol Volumes I–VIII.
Her back hit the wall.
His mouth found her neck.
She gasped.
Color splashed behind her eyes.
She saw green.
His eyes. The real color of them. Green. Vivid. Wild. Alive.
She moaned.
And the whole row lit up like fire in her mind.
—
Later, she asked, "Did you see it too?"
He nodded.
"Green."
—
That night, they didn't stop at kissing.
Her body arched. His hands knew too much. Or not enough.
They learned each other.
Stumbled. Sweated. Trembled.
They made love like they were starving.
Not for food.
For truth.
—
The world exploded in color.
Sheets turned crimson. The ceiling pulsed silver. Her hair, loose around them, shimmered like moonlight.
He whispered her name over and over like it meant something sacred.
She whispered his like it was all she had left.
—
After, they didn't speak.
Just breathed.
He traced circles on her stomach.
She watched the movement, memorizing it.
Her voice broke the silence:
"Is this… love?"
Asta didn't answer.
But his arms tightened.
—
The next morning, a message was waiting.
"Unit Eight is required at the Hall of Reflection. Evaluation imminent."
Noelle dropped it into the sink. Watched the paper dissolve.
Asta kissed her on the temple.
"We're not going."
—
They went anyway.
Together.
They sat in the white chamber, hands laced under the table.
Julius stood at the head.
Not smiling.
He looked older than usual. Less perfect.
"Noelle Silva. Asta. Your energy is unstable. You are not functioning within designed parameters."
Asta didn't flinch.
Noelle smiled. Real. Sharp.
"I feel fine."
"That's the problem," Julius said.
—
They were given two options:
Memory suppression.
Or separation.
—
They said nothing.
Not until the chamber door closed behind them.
Then Noelle turned to him.
"Let's find the Receiver."
—
She'd heard of him before.
A myth. A whisper.
An exile who once bore the weight of all the memories.
Someone who broke.
Someone who knew.
His name had been erased.
But she remembered one word:
"Sebastian."
—
She found the map under the floorboards.
Hand-drawn. Sloppy. Real.
A trail beyond the Regulation Zones. Past the Outer Fields.
Beyond the Barrier.
They packed that night.
No one saw them leave.
Except Yami.
He watched them walk through the gate.
Lit a cigarette.
Didn't stop them.
—
They walked for three days.
No drones. No lights. No fences.
Just open silence.
And trees.
Trees so green it hurt her eyes.
—
They found Sebastian in a ruined library.
Silver hair long. Beard tangled. Eyes bluer than ocean. Smiling like he already knew.
He didn't stand when they entered.
"You're late."
Asta stepped forward. "We want answers."
Sebastian cackled.
"You want permission. There's a difference."
—
He told them everything.
How love was real.
How emotion once ran free.
How the Council erased it all.
Memories. Touch. Choice. Joy.
"Too messy," he said. "Too human."
Noelle's hands balled into fists.
"They lied."
Sebastian grinned.
"Of course they did. That's what order is. A prettier version of control."
—
He gave them a memory vial.
Cracked. Illegal. Burning with color.
"Drink it, and you'll remember."
"Remember what?" Asta asked.
"What it meant to want. What it meant to choose."
—
They drank it together.
Hand in hand.
And the flood came.
—
Laughter. Tears. Music. Dancing. Pain. Screams. Ecstasy. Death. Birth.
Love.
A thousand lives. A thousand touches.
They cried.
Held each other.
Kissed like it was the last thing they'd ever do.
And maybe it was.
—
When they opened their eyes, the world was bright.
Too bright.
Noelle looked at her hands.
They were glowing.
—
The Council felt the pulse.
Across every monitor. Every street.
A shockwave of emotion rippled through the city.
Babies cried. Elders laughed. People stared at each other with recognition.
Julius watched it happen. Silent.
Yuno walked out of the Center.
Didn't look back.
—
Mimosa reported them.
"Unit Eight is malfunctioning. Emotionally compromised."
Yami looked her in the eye.
And said, "Good."
—
The order came the next day:
"Terminate the defectives. Contain the spread."
—
Asta read it aloud.
Noelle didn't blink.
"They're going to kill us."
"Then we leave first."
—
They packed again.
Food. Maps. The memory vial, now empty.
Sebastian gave them one last warning:
"Once you go past the Barrier, you can't come back."
Asta took Noelle's hand.
"We're not coming back."
—
They ran at dawn.
Not the fake kind pumped through sky-screens.
Real dawn.
Noelle felt the sun on her skin and nearly sobbed.
Asta grabbed her hand. "Keep moving."
—
The Council declared them Unstable Elements.
A public alert.
Gray screens in every home:
"Unit Eight has failed to comply with Rebalancing. Do not engage. Report any sightings. Emotions are contagious."
—
Children stared at the broadcast.
One boy smiled.
He saw color behind his mother's head.
—
Yami didn't move when the order came.
Julius looked at him across the polished Council floor.
"You were his monitor."
Yami shrugged. "He didn't need monitoring."
—
The alarms shrieked.
Unit Eight had breached Zone Seven.
Asta used stolen magic—a flicker of anti-energy in his palm.
He hadn't been assigned magic.
But it surged inside him now.
Wild. Wrong.
He punched through a drone and laughed.
—
Noelle's water obeyed her like it never had before.
It didn't glide.
It raged.
She built a cyclone from nothing and drowned a surveillance tower.
The wave crashed over the gray streets.
When it receded, the stone gleamed silver-blue.
People stared.
And felt.
—
Marx called an emergency assembly.
"Emotion is spreading. Sector Three cried today. Cried."
He slammed his fist down.
"This isn't containment. It's contamination."
Julius didn't answer.
He watched the footage on loop.
Two fugitives. Holding hands.
Laughing.
—
They reached the Barrier by nightfall.
A vast, curved dome of light.
Cold. Impenetrable.
Noelle touched it.
Felt static buzz across her palm.
Asta clenched his fists.
"We can break it."
—
Behind them, sirens screamed.
Figures in black closed in.
Drones buzzed like wasps.
—
They didn't run.
Not this time.
Asta's voice was calm. "They won't let us go."
Noelle's eyes burned. "Then we make them."
—
Yuno was among the enforcers.
He stepped forward.
Silver uniform. Blank expression.
He raised his hand—then paused.
Looked at Asta.
Really looked.
And saw green eyes full of heat.
Emotion.
Life.
—
He dropped his weapon.
Turned away.
Didn't speak.
Didn't stop them.
—
The first blast came from behind.
Noelle blocked it with a wall of water.
Asta hurled a spear of black energy.
They fought like they were born to do it.
Together.
—
Vanessa watched from a window.
Her fingers tingled.
A thread in her chest pulled.
Magic.
Real magic.
She didn't report it.
She whispered, "Run faster."
—
They tore through wave after wave of control squads.
Marx shouted into comms. "They're destabilizing Zone Nine!"
Yami lit a cigarette.
"Maybe Zone Nine deserves it."
—
The Barrier pulsed.
Flickered.
Cracks appeared.
Asta slammed his magic into it again.
And again.
Noelle screamed.
Not words.
Just everything.
Her power exploded into mist and rage and rain and light.
—
The dome shattered.
Color poured through the crack like blood.
The world blinked.
And changed.
—
They stepped into the wild.
Beyond the system.
Beyond the assignments.
Beyond permission.
—
Behind them, alarms wailed.
But softer now.
As if the world was hesitating.
—
Noelle turned.
Saw the city for the last time.
Gray. Rigid. Silent.
And a child standing alone on a rooftop.
Waving.
She waved back.
—
The two of them walked into the Unknown.
Every breath felt earned.
Every step, defiant.
Asta grinned. "You still scared?"
Noelle didn't answer.
She was too busy feeling.
—
Rain fell.
Real rain.
It soaked them.
And they laughed.
—
The sun rose for the second time.
But it felt like the first.
—
They didn't know where they were going.
There were no maps.
No sectors.
No coordinates.
Just wilderness.
Real wilderness.
Grass that wasn't trimmed. Trees that weren't numbered. Sky that moved.
—
Noelle's hair curled in the damp.
Asta's shirt stayed soaked for days.
They didn't care.
They didn't notice.
—
They found an abandoned house half-swallowed by vines.
Slept on the floor.
Asta built a fire from nothing but instinct and a broken matchbook.
Noelle curled beside him, skin warm against his.
They didn't speak that night.
They didn't need to.
—
Food was harder.
Sometimes they ate roots.
Sometimes they didn't eat at all.
Sometimes Noelle cried from hunger and didn't understand why she felt guilty.
She'd never felt hunger before.
Asta kissed her fingers and said, "We'll be okay."
And even starving, she believed him.
—
The colors got brighter the further they walked.
The sky turned blue, then violet, then orange so intense it made their eyes water.
Clouds shimmered like magic.
Asta laughed.
"This looks fake."
Noelle blinked slowly.
"Maybe we're dreaming."
—
They found a rusted car buried in weeds.
Inside: a photo album.
Pages stuck together, faded by time.
A wedding.
A baby.
A woman laughing.
Noelle held it to her chest.
She didn't know why.
—
The memories came back in waves.
Not just fragments.
Full scenes.
A song with no name.
Her mother brushing her hair.
Her brothers.
Her sister.
Sebastian… her father. Her real father.
But most of all, Asta pressing her to a wall, whispering, I love you like it was sacred.
—
She gasped and nearly dropped the album.
Asta caught her.
His breath was shaky.
"I remember too."
—
One day, they reached a ridge.
Beyond it: a broken highway swallowed by earth.
And beyond that…
Light.
Golden, flickering light.
A sea of it.
Endless.
Alive.
—
They stood there for a long time.
Noelle's hand found Asta's without thinking.
He laced their fingers together.
She whispered, "Is this real?"
Asta didn't answer.
Not right away.
He looked down at their hands. At her flushed cheeks. Her eyes brimming.
Then he kissed her.
Slow.
Like time didn't exist.
Like nothing else mattered.
—
She broke first.
Tears slipped down her face.
Happy. Sad. Scared.
All of it.
All at once.
"I don't want to lose this," she said.
"You won't."
—
They walked toward the light.
No guards.
No alarms.
No punishment.
Just silence and wind.
Just the sound of bare feet against soft soil.
—
And then—
Noelle stopped.
She swore she heard something.
A laugh?
A rustle?
She turned.
Saw nothing.
But Asta narrowed his eyes.
"There."
In the trees.
A figure.
Shadowy.
Black haired. Light blue eyes.
Tall. Cloaked. Watching.
Didn't move. Didn't hide.
Just stared.
—
Noelle stepped back.
Asta shielded her.
Then the figure smiled.
Not cruel. Not kind.
Just knowing.
And disappeared into the woods.
Into his shadow.
—
They didn't follow.
Not yet.
But they would.
—
Because freedom wasn't a place.
It was a promise.
—
They walked into the sun.
Their backs to the system.
Their hands still linked.
Hearts still racing.
—
And as the light bathed their skin—
they kissed again.
Not for safety.
Not for rebellion.
But because they could.
Because they wanted to.
Because love, real love, had never needed permission.