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iznsfw · 8 months

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Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away.

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit.

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly.

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink.

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid.

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook.

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to.

Take your drink and thank Yuri.

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything.

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that.

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way.

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb.

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down”

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real.

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human.

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you.

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute.

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.”

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?”

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human.

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in.

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Only if you go first.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile.

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?”

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive. “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds.

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever.

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes.

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her.

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head.

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them.

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure.

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real.

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…”

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair.

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly.

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her.

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases.

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles.

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up.

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks.

See the blood running down her arm.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding.

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality?

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this.

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met.

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap.

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her.

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had.

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion.

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her. You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness.

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty.

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity.

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before.

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use.

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust.

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her.

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs.

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!”

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears.

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before.

What the fuck?

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive.

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment.

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?”

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing.

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her.

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

610 notes · View notes

rottenpumpkin13 · 1 month

Note

Now I wonder what Kunsel has on everyone in Shinra. How is he able to blackmail even the Turks? (and not get a bullet to the head for attempting to?)

Kunsel's Blackmail List

• A video of Sephiroth pursuing a laser from a laser pointer, calmly but clearly intrigued.

• A photo of Zack playing online games on the computer in Lazard's office *note: he's wearing one of Lazard's suits.

• A video of Sephiroth putting sugar on his french fries in the mess hall and saying "Perhaps this will make me feel alive."

• A photo of Sephiroth and presumed-dead former Turk Vincent Valentine side by side, with a sticky note that just reads "hmm"

• A copy of Reno's special brownie recipe that he occasionally leaves in the Turks' break room. *note: it's weed.

• An audio of Genesis saying "Sometimes I feel like Loveless isn't that good."

• Evidence that Cloud Strife is a time traveler: Video of him "trying out" Angeal's Buster Sword. Cloud expertly slammed the sword onto a metal door and Angeal shrieked as if Cloud had harmed his first born child.

• A video of Zack arguing with a dog. The dog is seemingly winning the argument. One minute later Genesis also joins the argument.

• Evidence that Reeve and Cait Sith are the same person - an audio of Reeve going "Hojo can suggest turnin' injured soldiers intae guinea pigs an' the President's all for it, but if Ah were tae break Hojo's knees, Ah'd be in the wrong an' sent tae jail."

• Audio of a conversation between Sephiroth and Genesis where they discuss how to "hypothetically" fake their deaths and flee to a remote island away from civilization.

• Photos of Zack and Cloud that Angeal took. It's the classic prom pose. Zack has his arms around Cloud.

• A video of Angeal discreetly pouring alcohol into his morning coffee and going "don't worry, it's decaf"

• Security camera footage of Sephiroth taking an entire cake from the break room exactly one minute after it was placed there.

• Emails between Zack and Cloud where they're freaking out because Sephiroth still hasn't noticed that his sword is a replica, and they lost the real one.

• Evidence that Cloud Strife is a time traveler: The smoke detector went off in the lounge and Cloud immediately attacked Sephiroth.

• A receipt from Angeal where he purchased horse items: a saddle, reins, and feed. Curiously, Kunsel never found the horse.

• Security cam footage of Sephiroth walking, stopping in the middle of the hallway, shouting "FUCK!" and then proceeding as if nothing happened.

• Dashboard footage of Angeal teaching Zack how to drive, a chaotic twenty minutes of A: "YOU JUST RAN A RED LIGHT!" followed by Z: "I mean what's the difference between red and green, realistically?" and A: "PULL OVER YOU'RE COLOR BLIND"

• A video of Zack going into the men's bathroom empty-handed and then coming out with a popsicle.

• Evidence that Cloud Strife is a time traveler: video footage of Cloud showing up to Sephiroth's apartment unannounced with therapy pamphlets.

• Chat logs from the SOLDIER group chat the day they tried to hide evidence that they broke the training room from Lazard, with Sephiroth suggesting they all gaslight Lazard into believing the training room is fine and the fire has been there all along.

• Security camera footage of Zack dropping down from the vents, placing a photo of Cloud Strife on Sephiroth's office door, and then retreating back into the vents.

• A video of Zack walking into the break room, going over to the fridge, opening the door, and climbing inside. Motives unknown.

• Security camera footage of Sephiroth practicing his nunchucks maneuvers in an empty training room, accidentally hitting himself in the face, and then standing there as if he just got slapped by an invisible force.

• Evidence of a file on Angeal's computer labeled "things that make me happy." Kunsel expected pictures of his friends. Instead, there's just an image of the buster sword and a stock image of an air fryer.

• A photo of Genesis' drawer of theft™ in his office, which includes Zack's kazoo, Zack's harmonica, Zack's hand bell, Zack's rubber chicken, and Zack's autographed photo of Sephiroth.

• A selfie of Tseng with Rufus asleep at his desk in the background. Tseng is holding up a bottle of Nyquil.

• An email from Sephiroth to Hojo that he never sent. It describes in detail how he would love to use his face to sand concrete.

• A photo of Tseng and Rufus pushing Dark Star around in a baby stroller like they're parents.

• A family tree connecting the president, Lazard, Rufus, and Evan Townshend, with a sticky note that reads "introduce president Shinra to condoms"

• A poster on the back of Sephiroth's office door that's a giant picture of Angeal shirtless. When asked why he had it Sephiroth replied "I look at it whenever I need to find inner strength to continue with my day"

• A box of auburn hair dye found in Genesis' bathroom.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #ffvii crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #crisis core #kunsel ff7

269 notes · View notes

caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

Text

Fate and Mercy and Dead Girls

Summary: Sometimes, when things go very wrong, the Chosen One gets a wish. That’s where Danielle comes in. (Tagged with Blood, violence, child death)

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Danielle is cursed.

This battlefield is nice. It’s early afternoon and the breeze that comes from the forest to the east is sweet. The fighting has only just begun and the scent of blood is still hovering at the edge of her senses. It hasn’t erased the taste of the dead girl’s last meal – bread sweetened with honey – yet. She’s used to storm clouds the size of mountains roiling overhead, the electric sting of lightning against her skin, the crash of blades against armor and arrows against shields. The sun is warm and honey-sweet against her cheek and there’s no fighting going on right now. There’s only the low murmur of voices from all around and some muffled sobbing.

If she weren’t waking up in the body of a dead girl, she’d call it picnic weather.

Time to pay attention.

“—Chosen One is dead,” a man says. His voice matches the weather more than the situation. Calm. Even. Gentle. A wave lapping at the shore before the tsunami. She can feel his aura undulating through the ground, dark and demanding. Demon King? Mad Emperor? Dark Lord? One of those types. He projects his words over the renewed sobbing. “Do you see your folly now, honorable knights? The wasted months of defiance? You were never going to defeat my army even with years and seven fabled soldiers at your mercy rather than the one. Here, the day of your final rebellion, your Hero lies dead after only one volley.”

Hero. Danielle is cursed, she shouldn’t be feeling pity for anyone but herself. But there it is, the familiar bile in the back of her throat, the prickling of her eyes, the tightening in her chest. This dead girl was their Hero. They made her their Chosen One. From the feel of it, they didn’t school in her magic or train her in swordsmanship. Her muscles are burning from death, yes, but also from overexertion.

What do you want? Danielle asks. All of the right systems are under her control now. The ground is cold against her back, the girl’s tiny curls a tickle against her face. The air is sweet underneath the scent of a dying blow and she can hear the conversations around her clearly. The Dark Lord is still gloating, giving the knights their time to mourn and his own forces time to ready the next attack. Sweetheart, what do you want?

The girl’s soul shudders. I-I’m not dead?

The arrow pierced your heart. You’re dead.

A dizzying swirl of emotions cloud the girl’s next words. Grief-sorrow-panic-relief-fury-horror. Danielle has to reinforce her barrier between her soul and the girl’s to avoid being swept away by it all. All of the dead girls Danielle is called to are strong, and this one is no different. Danielle can’t hear her clearly over the roar of her emotions, but this one is talking very quickly.

…live…wanted to…please…save…

Danielle peeks out from under her eyelashes. It’s bright for a battlefield, but there’s a familiar red staining the ground as far as she can see. The armored feet of both sides’ soldiers are about thirty feet away, a hazy barrier of magic holding them apart.

“Let down this barrier!” Knight David screams. The girl’s knowledge flows into Danielle’s mind like a spring. He’s the head of the kingdom’s number one knight squad, a former S-rank adventurer, and a mentor to the Hero. He bangs the hilt his sword against the Dark Lord’s barrier. It crackles under the assault and doesn’t break. Knight David swears. “You’ll die for what you did! She was just a little girl!”

Another memory: Knight David didn’t think of her as a little girl. He gave her a woman’s sword that took her a month to learn how to lift, much less wield. He told her he had faith in her. He told her she could do it. When she asked how, he pushed a curl behind her ear and told her victory was fated.

The Dark Lord laughs, the sound like the tide retreating into the sea. “Is the kingdom so hard-pressed for soldiers they bring children to the battlefield?”

“She was Chosen,” Knight David says. There are genuine tears in his voice. “Nobody wanted that for her. Nobody.”

“She was nobody,” the Dark Lord says. The magic barrier trembles and he smirks. “Just as you’re about to be.”

Knight David’s magic sets his sword ablaze. “You’ll pay for this.”

The demons chitter behind the Dark Lord, straining against his commands. They want blood. They want to attack. They saw the Hero fall and they’re emboldened by her death. They’ll tear the humans apart.

In contrast, Knight David’s forces aren’t so sure. Knight David’s teeth gnash and he swears at the Dark Lord, but his men look from her body to each other. It was so quick. So fast. Did they demons hold greater power than they were told to kill a Chosen One so quickly?

“Prepare yourselves,” the Dark Lord says. The barrier fades.

“To the death,” Knight David swears.

Danielle presses again. They’re running out of time. What do you want?

Save them.

The words roar through Danielle’s temporary body. Save them. Her magic ignites like coal in a furnace and she gasps, steam escaping from her lips as a dead girl’s heart restarts.

“W-what?” someone whispers.

Danielle opens her eyes.

It’s not a very big war. There are maybe thirty combatants on the side of the Kingdom. She assumed from the girl’s memories that they’d all be knights, but there are adventurers mixed in among them as well as the occasional wizard. They’re all kitted out in the colors of the Kingdom though. Armor painted with the Royal family’s crest, bandanas with the fallen star motif embroidered on, red tassels on their weapons. Maybe they don’t have the Kingdom’s army behind them, but they have the King’s favor.

The Dark Lord is the only one who’s managed to keep his mouth shut after her sudden resurrection. His side is comprised of dark wizards in tattered robes and nearly a hundred demons. Danielle can see wolves the size of horses, goblins with wooden clubs, and vampires hiding in the tree line. It looks impressive, but the girl’s memories tell Danielle a different story.

This is the last stand for both sides.

“The Hero lives,” Knight David says through bloodless lips. He’s younger than Danielle thought, his beard only just touched with silver. His eyes shine wetly and he raises his sword over his head. “THE HERO LIVES!”

Knights, adventurers, and wizards lean back and scream their jubilation to the sky. Some of them weep openly, staggering as close to her as the Dark Lord’s barrier allows with their hands spread wide as if to embrace her.

The Dark Lord is silent as the kingdom’s forces rejoice. He looks like a human though he’s gone to great lengths to hide that fact. His long, black hair is twisted around his horns, emphasizing them. His clothes are as tattered as his forces’ and there’s dried blood staining the hem of his cape. His nails are long and painted an unending black that makes them look like talons.

If it weren’t for the depth and darkness of his magic, he wouldn’t register to Danielle as a Dark Lord at all.

“Hero,” the Dark Lord murmurs. His red eyes gleam a beat before his pupils swell, turning them black. He doesn’t raise his voice above the noise, but magic makes it so Danielle can hear him easily. “Killing you quickly was the last mercy I had for you.”

“Mercy,” Danielle says. The word echoes from her involuntarily. She pulls the arrow from the dead girl’s chest. The wet and meaty sound of it finally silences Knight David and his allies. She coughs and tastes blood.

“The fates have seen the justness of our cause and protected the Hero,” Knight David says into the silence.

“Fate,” Danielle echoes and coughs blood again.

Knight David doesn’t hear her. His chest swells. A talented orator, he knows just what to say to erase the horror of her death and reinvigorate his squad. “Dark Lord -no! – Demon, you’ve lost.” He points his sword directly at the Dark Lord. “You just don’t know it yet.” The knights cheer.

Oh, Danielle thinks, he knows it.

The Dark Lord stares down the length of Knight David’s blade impassively. His lip curls into a sneer that must look truly demonic to the knights of the kingdom. But from her vantage point, Danielle can see the way his clenched fists tremble. The barrier wavers imperceptibly and then holds. The Dark Lord can’t sustain it for much longer, not if he wants to have enough magic to fight.

As soon as it falls, the kingdom will strike. And, with the Hero on their side, they’ll have the conviction (and the magic) to take on a thousand demons. The Dark Lord only has a hundred.

Danielle staggers to her feet. This body is on the weaker side of the ones she has inhabited, but it’s not the worst she’s had to work with. Her legs hold her weight and the heart beats strongly once she uses her magic to patch it.

Knight David grins at her, the fever of battle bright in his eyes. “Hero!” He holds out his hand. “How glad I am to see you alive! Cast your strengthening spell.”

A memory: They taught her to strengthen her allies and nothing else. Training sessions ran late into the night as they pushed her to expand her range, power them up more, amplify magic higher and higher. This girl knows exhaustion more intimately than the affection of another.

Knight David slashes the barrier. He doesn’t wait to see if she’ll obey. Of course she will. This dead girl has never defied him before. She owes him and his kingdom too much. Who else would elevate an orphan to the heights of a Hero? He strikes again and this time his blow leaves a crack in the Dark Lord’s magic that splinters out like a spiderweb. He grins meanly. “Come, soldiers! Reclaim our land! Defend our home! Defeat evil!”

The knights smash their weapons against their shields and bare their teeth. “For our homes! For our families! For good!”

“Kill,” the Dark Lord hisses as his barrier fails piece by piece. He leans towards Knight David like a snake about to strike. A sword as black as night materializes in his hand. “Kill them all.”

“Hey,” Danielle says, “don’t you think you’re moving on a little fast?”

Nobody hears her. Nobody asks her if she’s alright. Nobody cares.

It’s Danielle’s curse to care.

The Dark Lord’s barrier crumbles. The air fractures and fragments tumble from the top and towards the combatants on either side like sparks. It’s ten feet in the air, eight feet, seven feet--

Her magic billows from her like smoke, scorching the grass as it balloons forward. Blood burns and vaporizes under the heat. The wolves are the first to notice it. They whine and back away from her wave of power, cowering behind their lord. Danielle hisses through her teeth and her power surges a little faster, touching the Dark Lord’s magic before the demons can alert their master. She’s powerful enough to do this even with him fighting her, but that would be…messy. She wrests control of the barrier from the Dark Lord. She builds it back up to twenty feet tall and adds new walls. The King’s forces used to be the only ones trapped. Now the Dark Lord turns and blinks at the misty cage that’s formed around him and his army.

The sudden silence hurts her ears as hundreds of eyes follow the scorch marks from the barrier to her.

Knight David’s sword wavers. “Hero…?”

“Your Hero isn’t here anymore,” Danielle says. Experience tells her to rip this bandage off quickly. She gestures to the dead girl’s clouded eyes. “Did you really think she survived an arrow to her heart?”

She can see from their faces that they did. Knight David opens his mouth and then closes it. He swallows hard. He says, “You’re not—” His face hardens. “Who are you?”

The Dark Lord watches her with black eyes, but he’s not still. His power tests her control of his barrier. He doesn’t find a crack.

“You called it fate,” Danielle says. She limps towards them. There’s an arrow in the girl’s thigh she didn’t notice before. She pulls it out without breaking stride and throws it to the side. The furnace that’s consumed the dead girl’s heart churns with rage. “You lot always believe in fate. Makes everything you do look prettier, doesn’t it? More palatable.”

“It is fate. The Oracles of Trilbia spoke of a girl with untold power who would be our savior. We needed—”

“LOOK AT HER!” Danielle roars. She slams a hand against her chest and then holds her palm high overhead. Red shines wetly on her palm. “She was a child! Fifteen summers and you stand there and call her a savior?”

“I ask again,” Knight David says. His eyes flash. “Who are you?” He draws his sword point slowly, purposefully, away from the Dark Lord. He points it directly at her. “What have you done to the Hero?”

Danielle won’t answer stupid questions. “You’re cruel. What you did to her – nothing can justify it. Especially not something as fickle as fate.”

“The Oracles—”

“Should die,” Danielle interrupts. She bares her teeth. “Or at least be honest. If they wanted a child sacrifice, they should have killed her on an altar with their own hands.”

Knight David hits her barrier. It throws him back and he shakes with rage. “Who. Are. You?”

“And you,” Danielle says, turning her attention to the Dark Lord. She holds her bloodied palm out to him. “You speak of mercy. You think giving her a quick death mercy?”

To his credit, he doesn’t deny it or flinch away. He nods shallowly, eyes never leaving hers.

“There was mercy, I’ll give you that,” Danielle says. She staggers towards him and stops just short of the barrier. They’re barely two feet apart when she says, “It was her mercy that she died quickly. Not yours.”

The Dark Lord’s nostrils flare. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Danielle promises. Her heart aches. This isn’t the time for that. She stokes the fires of her magic until steam escapes from her lips again. Only then does she twist towards Knight David again. “You killed this girl. You threw her into battle untrained. They may have shot her, but it was you who brought her here. This is your fault.”

“You’re some malevolent spirit,” Knight David says. He sweeps one arm out as if to banish her. Behind him, his forces tremble. “A vile devil come to sow seeds of doubt. Our conviction is firm. Oh, monstrous devil! Release our friend, release the Hero and your end may be swift yet.”

Devil? Danielle loses hold of her rage for a moment. Yes, yes she supposes she is. There are forces at play here that she might call devilish. But being called a devil by him?

Ridiculous.

“Maybe you should pray,” Danielle suggests. She nods slowly, warming to the suggestion. “Yes, that’s what you should do. You should pray the big, bad devil away.” She approaches his side of the barrier and the grass withers under her feet. “Pray, Knight David.”

“Hold fast,” Knight David says to his knights. He raises his sword to her and braces himself. “Do not be swayed by—”

“No, don’t pray,” Danielle says. She laughs without humor, chest shuddering with the effort. “Prophecize. Summon a hero to defeat me. Go on. Do it.”

“You will pay for the horrors you’ve committed today. Wearing the skin of the Chosen One damns you to the furthest—”

“Oh, fine, I’ll do it for you. There will be a knight,” Danielle says. She lurches forward and presses her hands against her barrier. Knight David stumbles back when it moves with her, allowing her closer and closer. She laughs again. “A Knight with red splashed across his breast and his shining sword melded to his hand.”

Knight David chokes on a scream as her words become truth. His sword melts under a sudden wave of heat, the silver-plating dripping through his fingers. He falls to his knees and grabs his wrist, trying to shake his hand free of the molten metal. It cools as rapidly as it melted, and he stares in horror as the silver binds his fingers to the hilt forevermore.

Danielle comes closer and the kingdom’s forces flex away from her like a school of fish in the face of a predator. “And this knight,” she says, “will be a Hero to his people. He will rise through his pain and destroy the devil that wore the skin of the little girl he sent to slaughter.” She spreads her arms wide above him, the sun beating down on her crown, and waits. After a beat she says, “Go on. Make the prophecy come true. Stab me. I’m waiting.”

Knight David keens through clenched teeth. “Y-you monster. You w-won’t—” He breathes in deeply and glares up at her. His feeble attempts to raise his arm don’t move his sword more than an inch. “You won’t break me.”

“I don’t have to,” Danielle says. Her arms fall to her sides, and she looms over the fallen knight. The air isn’t sweet now. The smell of burning flesh is more familiar than blood. “She didn’t ask me to break you.”

“Didn’t ask?”

Danielle turns. Unlike the knights, the Dark Lord isn’t backing away from her. He’s as close as he can get, pressed right up against the barrier. He’s rearranged his forces while she wasn’t looking so that the hardier demons are shielding the smaller.

“Didn’t ask,” Danielle agrees. She taps her temple. “Right before she died, I asked her what she wanted. See, nobody here gave a fuck what she wanted before she died. Fate is fake, but belief isn’t. They believed hard enough that the universe heard their pathetic little prayers for a savior. And, at the end, it took pity, but not on them. No one cared so it sent me. I asked what she wanted. She answered. Now we’re here.”

Knight David shudders at her feet.

“Are you a spirit of vengeance then?” the Dark Lord asks very casually. His shoulders are tense, undermining his nonchalance. He speaks a touch too loudly and very carefully doesn’t look back at his army. “Is that it?”

“I’m what she asked for,” Danielle says. She eyes Knight David’s comrades. There’s a wizard somewhere in there valiantly trying to heal Knight David’s wounds from afar. It’s slow going so she ignores it. “Though, between you and me, I think some vengeance is owed here, don’t you?”

The Dark Lord’s jaw flexes. “It is.” He raises his chin. “And you shall have it. I only ask that you let my people go. They are blameless in all this and only had the bad fortune to follow a misguided lord—”

Howls and screams of protest drown out his words. The demons lunge against his orders, mouths frothing and eyes wide in fear. They don’t want their lord to die, they deny his words, they can’t bear to lose him.

The Dark Lord’s power snaps over them and they quiet all at once, voices stolen by his power.

“Let it only be me. Please,” the Dark Lord finishes quietly.

Danielle watches him with interest. “You would die for them?”

“I return the loyalty I’ve been given.” He bows his head. “I will beg if you’d like.”

“What makes you believe I want your death?”

“I know my part in the Hero’s fate,” the Dark Lord says. His lips thin and he stares down at Knight David with more hatred than she thought possible. “Humans brought her here to slaughter, but I gave the order. I called it mercy to kill a child quickly so she need not suffer. We both know I lied. I killed her to keep her from strengthening the kingdom. No matter how I did it, it wasn’t mercy. It was evil and it was…not necessary. It wasn’t necessary but it was easier than the alternatives and so I killed her. I resigned myself to carrying that sin before I ever stepped foot onto the battlefield.”

Oh. Danielle has to blink very quickly as heat rises behind her eyes. The Dark Lord isn’t lying. He isn’t hiding from the truth of his actions nor is he justifying his hand in the Hero’s death. There is sorrow in his voice and his hands are loose at his sides even though his eyes are watchful, waiting for her to strike. He’d let me strike him down. He will stand there and do nothing while I slit his throat.

“It was wrong,” Danielle says. Her throat aches. “It was wrong to kill her.”

The Dark Lord’s head sinks lower. “Yes. It was.”

“She was a child.”

“She was.”

“She didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.”

“She deserved better.”

“Yes.”

Danielle’s chin trembles. This— after all the dead girls, this is a first. “You did it to save your domain.”

“I did.”

“It was evil.”

“Yes. The most evil thing I’ve done.”

“She didn’t ask me to kill you.”

“Ye—what?” The Dark Lord blinks, finally looking back up at her. His eyes are red again, pupils dilated. “She didn’t?”

“No.” Danielle lets the barrier slip out of her control. She can see the Dark Lord more clearly without the wall of smoke and his eyes are more than just red. They’re red-rimmed. Danielle reaches up with her bloodied palm and cups the Dark Lord’s cheek. He shudders at the chill of her touch but doesn’t pull away. “You had no mercy today, but she did. She knew her power would mean the end of your people. She knew she would not be able to resist the order to cast her spell when they gave it. So when the first volley came, she didn’t run. She didn’t raise her shield.”

“Mercy,” the Dark Lord breathes in revelation. His face crumples. “Oh.”

“She died quickly,” Danielle says. The girl’s memories are so hot that Danielle feels burned. All the dead girls are strong. This one is not an exception. “She knew an evil thing would be done today. She chose. She chose.”

The Dark Lord’s voice is thick with tears. “She shouldn’t have had to. She—No!”

Danielle doesn’t know what’s happened at first. The Dark Lord is staring at her in mute horror. His cheek is stained red but her hand is no longer on his cheek. Then she processes that she’s been hit quite hard in the back. She looks down.

A bloody sword is sticking out of her chest. It retracts with a sickly sound and Danielle finds herself on her knees, staring down at the river of blood gushing from her breast. She let down her barrier to speak to the Dark Lord, face to face. She didn’t think she’d be leaving her back open to the other side. Or, rather, she didn’t think Knight David would recover enough to kill her again.

“The devil speaks lies,” Knight David says. His words are thin with pain. He can no longer raise his blade to the sky. His arm is trembling from the effort of stabbing her but still he faces his forces and spurs them to action. “And lies have no place in our kingdom! Our friend, our Hero died for us! So we could win! So we could prosper! So we could—”

He killed her again.

Danielle surges to her feet. The dead girl’s heart is torn to pieces in her chest, but Danielle’s magic surges through her veins like blood. She rises up behind Knight David and shrieks, “Stop killing her!” She drives her hand through Knight David’s chest and rips out his heart.

It happens too fast for anyone to react. The Dark Lord holds his breath and the world goes still. Danielle lets the heart fall and the thud as it hits the grass is loud in the quiet.

Knight David sways once, twice, and then drops to the bloodied ground.

“You didn’t have to die,” Danielle says. She’s looking at the other knights and adventurers and idiots who believed in fate. She’s talking to Knight David. “Even after everything you put her through, she didn’t want you dead. She was good. She was great. And you killed her for it.”

“Mercy,” someone stutters. Then, another. “Mercy, please.”

“No,” Danielle says. Petulant. Like a child. “You didn’t stop him. Not a single one of you tried. She didn’t tell me to save you.”

They combust before they can run. A long time ago, her power wasn’t as controlled. Her fire didn’t get hot enough fast enough. They screamed back then. Screamed and wailed and cursed.

Her fire doesn’t give them a chance to curse her now.

When it is done and she’s satisfied that nothing but ashes remain, she turns to the Dark Lord. He doesn’t flinch from her though there’s fear in his eyes. Even now, he expects her to kill him. Even now he accepts it.

“Bury her,” Danielle says. The fire crackles behind her. “Clean her body and dress her in new clothes. Bury her somewhere where war hasn’t touched and say something kind over her grave.”

The Dark Lord swallows twice before he can speak. He doesn’t ask if this means she’s going to leave him alive. He understands what she means. He says, “I-I will.”

“She saved you,” Danielle says. She wants him to understand that. “She could have wished for anything. Revenge. Peace. A second chance. She didn’t. She wished to save you.”

“She will be honored,” the Dark Lord says. He breathes in deeply and gently reaches out to cup her cheek, an imitation of her earlier touch. His palm is warm against her cold skin. If he is repulsed by the feel of death, he doesn’t show it. “I will see to it.”

Danielle closes her eyes. Though she doesn’t lean into his touch, she doesn’t pull away. It is the singularly most affectionate moment she’s experienced in decades, but it’s not for her. “Her name is Samira.”

The Dark Lord releases his breath. “Samira. Thank you for telling me her name.”

Danielle lets her curse sweep her to the next dead girl.

----------------

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to see stories like this or some more serialized stories, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)! Currently I’m working on the Cinderella retelling I have posted on here :)

See y’all next week!

#my writing #long post #The Chosen One #original short story #danielle is cursed #child death #violence

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demigod-of-the-agni · 7 months

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Former SOLDIER, actually

The Cloud Strife version of this drawing I did like. a day ago?

#all i did was just change the hair and eyebrows and smoothen out the jaw..... i was lazy as fuck llolllll #me distantly remembering that cloud had moles and shit but forgetting where they were: cowabunga #his little freaky eyes..... they glow in the dark. i just know it #my eyes on the other hand are about to melt out of their sockets #i went back and fixed up the belt buckles and shadows bc those things were bugging me a lot in the other pic #anyway. mr unreliable narrator i love you <3 #only just realising... he's kinda leaning to one side. like a slut. ough. sorry man #“i wouldn't know. i've never been a slut. sorry man”#cloud strife #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii #artoftheagni #people who follow me are gonna be like “why is he posting about this little gremlin” and im terribly sorry but you see. you see The Gremlin #The Gremlin right? yeah. The Gremlin

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bubbles-laughs-imagines · 8 months

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FLuff Prompt Drabble #1:

"Did you just laugh?"

"No, I didnt."

˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜

Cloud Strife x Reader

˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜

When the sound met your ears your hands stiffed and you stared at him. Your sparkly eyes were in disbelief and a grin stretched across her features.

"Did you just laugh?"

At the mention of it, he turned away and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, I didnt.", his voice was gruff and somewhat upset, a contrast to the light and clear chuckle from just moments before. You wanted to hear it again. You walked up to him, his back was still turned towards you, and placed your hands against his back. He stiffened.

"You didnt? I was sure I had heard it."

"Must've been your imagination."

"Oh really?", your fingers gently pressed into the muscles of his back and then began to gently, slowly stride towards his side. He immediately knew what your plan was, but you were not going to tickle him tonight. He swiftly pulled you into his grasp while you laughed.

You didnt think you were going to loose this battle against the former SOLDIER, were you?

#ff7 #ff7 remake #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #cloud strife #cloud strife x reader #bubbles fluff prompt drabble

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kyasarinkishinuma · 1 year

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Rumours

Summary: The new merc in town's been dropping by Reader's café lately, and she can't help but wonder if the food is all he comes back for.

Pairing: Cloud Strife x Reader

Themes: Fluff, café setting

AO3 link

“Today’s special, please.”

There he was again. That stoic merc everyone in town had been talking about lately. Rumour says he was a rather unsociable man, but…

He came to your café once, and had been coming back since. Once a week, Thursdays, 2pm flat. Every single time.

And for a guy who had such an intimidating reputation… Well. He surprised you with his politeness every time he came in.

“Coming right up. Take a seat.” Bowing respectfully, you retreated within the confines of the kitchen to cook up Cloud Strife’s meal. Today? Spaghetti with garlic bread. Simple, but comforting. Your homemade food was what your regulars coming back weekly. Or at least that’s how it had been before.

“Thank you for waiting.” Within a few minutes you came back to your sole customer of the day. He had taken a seat by one of the three round tables sitting outside the abandoned wagon you had sought refuge in lately. Not as charming as those higher-class cafés and restaurants, that’s for sure. Business… had been rough lately. Yet the mercenary gratefully accepted the meal, mumbling a polite ‘thank you’ before he picked up his utensils, seeming to hesitate in your presence. You smiled warmly.

“Dig in.”

That’s all it took. The switch was immediate, from polite and poised to absolutely famished. It was funny. Endearing, even. Every time the blonde had come into your café, he ate like it was his first meal in days.

“More, please.”

And with his manners? Almost boyish, the way he’d stare at you expectantly with his hand outstretched as he gave his emptied plate back for another serving.

“I got you covered.”

Back into the kitchen you went, and back you came with another healthy heapful of spaghetti for the man. Cloud never had much to say, so you usually did most of the talking when he’d drop by. He didn’t seem to mind it. Never really gave any elaborate answers to your small talk, but you didn’t mind it either. Sometimes people just need a break and some good food.

“When’s the last time you ate?” You asked by the time Cloud was on his third plate, and finally starting to slow down a bit. It was almost fascinating, to watch him wolf it all down like it was nothing. And deep down, you didn’t really judge. He didn’t seem the type to have a loving family and warm food to come home to.

The man paused. “This morning,” he answered after a moment, before going back to eating. You raised both brows at that, a hint of amusement gracing your smile.

“And you’re this hungry?”

Strife shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“Is it a SOLDIER thing?”

Cloud stopped eating then, and you found yourself regretting those words. Had they been a bit too bold? Of course most knew about the merc’s former association to Shinra. Whether the rumours were founded in truth or not didn’t matter when the glowing eyes gave it away. You had been about to apologize and to excuse yourself when the man turned his gaze to you, freezing you in place. Those mako eyes… Not annoyed. Calm. Thoughtful. They swept over your surroundings then, the dirt and grime of the Midgar slums.

“Your café hasn’t always been like this, has it?” The man spoke out of the blue, taking you by surprise. He seemed to take your stunned silence as an invitation to continue. “You’re a lot better at this than the other locals. You worked someplace big?”

You could only stare at the sudden bombardment of… Compliments? Were these compliments, coming from a man who fought monsters straight from your nightmares for a living? Finding him staring back expectantly… You could only assume he was being genuine about this. Or perhaps he simply wasn’t realizing the nature of what he had just said.

You nodded then, finally getting your voice back. “Yeah. I used to own a café in Sector 1 before the Mako Reactor blew. My home was destroyed, so I had to move.”

It was Cloud’s turn to be silent, blinking a bit as he processed the information. His emptied plate seemed to have long been forgotten now, the fork sitting idly next to it.

“Sorry about your home,” he spoke after a moment, turning his gaze back to the plate in front of him. You simply showed a smile, genuine and grateful.

“That means a lot.” A pause. “So… Are you still hungry?”

“What’s that damn merc up to anyway?! We told him the meeting was at 3 tops!”

Seventh Heaven was in chaos as always, with the members of AVALANCHE running around in disarray as Marlene chased after them, giggling excitedly. Tifa? Unfazed through it all, showing her impatient friend a smile from behind her counter as she prepared him a drink to calm his nerves. But… Barret was right. Where was Cloud?

“If he’s not here now, I don’t think he’s coming.” Tifa hesitated to speak the words, out of fear that Barret would just explode. Truth be told, though, they needed not be spoken at all. It was a blatant fact. Cloud… was a difficult guy to grasp. And he didn’t seem to care too much about this AVALANCHE stuff.

“Damn spikyheaded ass! I’ll show him!!” Barret’s outburst was almost comedic as he stomped around on his seat, waving his hands around. But even he seemed to come to terms with the situation as he calmed down, heaving a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms and slumped onto his seat. No point in getting so worked up over it. “Y’don’t suppose he’s at that café again?”

“Thanks for the meal.” Cloud always left so soon. He never really stayed for the small talk like most of your regulars had before the bombing of Mako Reactor 1. You never asked him to stay, though, simply showing him a smile as you got his cheque ready for him. But today… You did want to ask him one thing, before he left.

“Cloud.” He hummed, head snapping up at attention to meet your gaze as you spoke his name. “Why… do you come here? Why come here when there’s all those other big, nice cafés in the sector?”

The man furrowed his brows then, his gaze falling to the side as he shrugged. “I like your food.”

You frowned a bit then, watching him attentively. That couldn’t be all of it. You… felt it. There was something more. Was he hiding something?

“I’ve heard rumours…” You felt your heart race in your chest as you gathered the courage to address the question that had been burning in your mind since the first time he had returned for ‘today’s special’. “That… You don’t come here just for the food.”

“Why would he go there when he can have free food here?! It’s part of his damn pay! That guy don’t know how to show some damn gratitude!”

Tifa couldn’t hold back a chuckle as she watched Barret get riled up all over again, swinging his arms around. Even though Barret had a point, and it stung her heart that her childhood friend avoided spending any more time than necessary with AVALANCHE… Tifa was starting to think she may understand Cloud’s motives a bit better.

“I think… It just helps him to have someone who doesn’t expect anything from him.”

No favours, no battles. Just a warm meal and a ‘thanks’.

“...Maybe I don’t.”

Cloud’s answer came in the end. He stood then, your shocked eyes burning into his face as he slung his sword over his back and dropped a generous portion of Gil onto the table.

“Keep the change. I’ll see you next week?”

You found yourself unable to answer, cheeks burning in the slightest as you watched him stalk off back the way he came in that calm, unfazed way of his.

But when he had gotten up to leave…

You could’ve sworn you saw him smile.

#cloud strife x reader #cloud strife x you #cloud strife x y/n #cloud strife reader insert #ff7 x reader #ffvii x reader #final fantasy 7 x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy reader insert #final fantasy vii reader insert #final fantasy 7 reader insert #cloud strife #cloud x reader #cloud x you

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quartercirclejab · 6 months

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one of my favorite minor character details of the original FFVII is that Wedge is one of the only members of Avalanche to see through Cloud's SOLDIER tough guy act to the person underneath, and to subsequently clock the ego wound that Cloud's worked so hard to bury: he's painfully lonely, and doesn't know how to remedy that. it's not explored much in the OG- just barely touched upon, really, to a degree that might be considered a minor form of foreshadowing more than anything. but it's there, and it's a moment that really sticks with me

i like that Remake dug into this a little bit by making Wedge one of the only members of the team who actually does seem to know how to reach Cloud. there's a certain level of empathy, and a certain keenness of ability to judge character, that comes from growing up low on the social ladder. essentially, when you've been outside the bubble, you learn to spot your own. Wedge knew Cloud for a fellow lonely heart from the first moment they spoke

some lonely hearts are able to parlay their perceptiveness into the kind of charm, warmth, and general good humor that wins friends. others turn further inward, letting that perceptiveness fuel bitter feelings and jealousy that manifests as further attempts at self-isolation. Wedge has clearly been successful at the former- and clearly recognizes that Cloud has been employing the latter, and suffering for it. he knows that Cloud would treasure his friends, if he could only make any, so Wedge is bridging the gap Cloud doesn't know how to cross

or maybe i'm giving the writing of both games more credit than they deserve

i don't think i am, though

#Final Fantasy VII #Cloud Strife #Wedge #FFVII #FFVII Remake #Final Fantasy VII Remake #FFVIIR #jab plays remake

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br-disaster · 7 months

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CQL's crybaby Nie Mingjue appreciation post

I always see people talking about CQL's Nie Mingjue crying constantly, and they're right to do so, but I haven't seen those scenes compiled so I thought it would be a good idea to do it, since it's one of my favorite things about this version of NMJ.

*I'll consider the times he was tearing up too because I think they're important, but i'm only considering "full crying scenes" the ones where there are actual tears falling down his face.

*It's all in chronological order.

Episode 41 - defending Meng Yao

Why is NMJ crying? Crying is his response to everything, okay? NMJ is very emotionally invested in everything he does. He's very mad these men for saying terrible things about Meng Yao while benefiting from his labour. He's so emotionally invested in everything he does.

Is it a full crying scene? No, he tears up the entire time he's scolding the cultivators but those tears don't leave his eyes.

Episode 10 - being threatened by Wen Chao

Why is NMJ crying? Wen Chao is being very disrespectful, as he often is. And it's understandable, NMJ is hurt, his home was invaded, some of his soldiers are dead and it's overall a terrible time for everybody. To be honest, though, I think he's tearing up out of pure rage because Wen Chao just mentioned what Wen Xu did to the Cloud Recesses.

Is it a full crying scene? No. I almost didn't include this one because it's very subtle but his eyes look too shiny to be ignored.

Episode 10 - expelling Meng Yao from the Unclean Realm

Why is NMJ crying? It's a very emotional and conflicting moment on top of a terrible day, on top of a very stressful period of his life. He was betrayed by his friend who saved his life right afterwards; his home was invaded and they're at war! He has every right to cry as much as he did.

Is it a full crying scene? Hell yes, and it's glorious. They even end the episode with his miserable little crying face.

Episode 41 - Everything, really

Why is NMJ crying? Everything sucks, he's defeated and hurt in front of the man who killed his father. He didn't get his personal revenge and he didn't free the world from Wen Ruohan's tyranny either. Instead, he watched helplessly as his men were murdered and now he has to watch his former deputy mock his father's death and threaten to have Wen Ruohan damage Baxia like he did with his father's blade.

Is it a full crying scene? No, only because he's being very brave about it. I have no idea how those tears didn't fall.

Episode 41 - confrontation at Jinlintai

Why is NMJ crying? Very difficult topics being discussed here. People who are way better with words than I am have already written amazing meta on how having his worldview challenged like this affects NMJ emotionally, so I won't go there. But between the song of turmoil making him more emotionally unstable and the disdain with which JGY talks about the men he killed, evoking this very traumatic moment I just mentioned on the previous crying scene; I think it's very understandable.

Is it a full crying scene? Yes! Most of the time he's holding back tears, but you can see the one dramatic tear running down his nose (on the outside of it) on the second gif!

In conclusion: he has so much to cry about, it's surprising he didn't cry more, it must have taken so much strength (or he was just crying offscreen, which is plausible, because sadly this isn't The Nie Mingjue show and we don't see him all the time)

Anyway, I am not here to claim he's not a crybaby because he absolutely is, but on the actual show we only have 2 full crying scenes. They were so impactful it feels like much more crying happened. Fatal Journey is it's own thing so I made a separate post for those tearing up, crying and emotional breakdown lovely scenes <3

#nie mingjue #this isn't meta this is me discovering the joy of making decent gifs #cql #long post #kinda #despite often being at the crime scene i won't tag jgy or nieyao because i don't go there and i'm not a fan but yall do whatever you want #i just wanted to look at his pretty crying face and have more than just screenshots of it #like look at him!! how can you say mean things to him or in his general vicinity knowing it will make him cry?#monsters all of them #the zoom on the second to last gif makes it so funny though #anyway i hope my gifs aren't horrible to tumblr standards

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bulkyphrase · 1 month

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De-Aged Steve Rogers - a fic rec list

Some of my favorite stories featuring Steve (and sometimes others) turned into a child or younger adult.

Chase All The Clouds From The Sky by written by IndigoNight, with podfic read by reena_jenkins (@jeminamoonnight, @reena-jenkins) (Gen, General Audiences, 15,421 words)

Summary: Magic is the worst. The Avengers are prepared to deal with a wide variety of crises, but an abruptly six-year-old Steve Rogers is not one of them. Especially not when their resident Rogers-expert is reluctant to cross the Winter Soldier-sized gap separating him from his miniaturized best friend.

5 Times an Avenger Realized They Don't Know Steve + 1 Time One Did by WendyDarling95 (@cap-is-bi) (Samsteve, Teen And Up Audiences, 22,876 words)

Summary: A witch sends Steve back mentally and physically to who he was in 1941, and now the Avengers are starting to realize that while they've known Captain America for years now, they may never have met Steve Rogers. Takes place in 2016 5 chapters of an Avenger realizing Steve is more than he seems + 1 where someone knows him very well

More below the cut!

Baby Steve Adventures by catty_the_spy (@cattythespy) (Gen, General Audiences, 2,955 words)

Summary: Captain America gets hit by a spell during a battle. The rest of the Avengers look after him. Also available as a podfic read by blackglass

The Adventures of Not-So-Baby Steve by catty_the_spy (@cattythespy) (Gen, General Audiences, 2,070 words)

Summary: Steve's adjusting to not being a baby. Everyone else is adjusting too.

Small, Not Stupid by @rsadelle (Gen, General Audiences, 346 words)

Summary: Bucky's not going to let the kid fall - even if it weren't a tiny version of his former best friend, he wouldn't do that - but he's not real thrilled about having a small version of his former best friend - who he hasn't seen in seventy years - clinging to him.

The Kids Weren’t Alright by lettered (@letteredlettered) (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 56,199 words)

Summary: Tony accidentally turns himself into a twelve-year-old using alien tech. Steve is stuck as bodyguard, Bruce is stuck trying to fix him, and Pepper is stuck trying to ward off a twelve-year old’s attempts at flirtation. And then things go from bad to worse.

For I Am Crystal Chrome by IamShadow21, kath_ballantyne (@iamshadow21) (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 8,116 words)

Summary: “Don't touch that,” he forces out, his throat as rough as gravel. “Don't.” “Okay,” the person says, and doesn't try to pull out of Tony's grasp. “Okay, I won't.” Tony sucks in a sharp breath and opens his eyes. “You're American. The terrorists got you, too?” The man he's holding on to is young, very young. He's slender and frail looking with a pale, wan face, and Tony would know him anywhere. “Terrorists?” Steve Rogers asks, with confusion. “Oh shit, I really am dead, and there's an afterlife, and it sucks,” Tony moans.

Mixed-Ages Classroom by harcourt (@haforcere) (Gen, Not Rated, 5,114 words)

Summary: For this prompt, where the Avengers are de-aged, but to different ages; Clint & Tony to young children (below 10), Bruce to a toddler (whose tantrums involve hulking out to bb!hulk), Natasha & Steve back to teenagers (with scrawny!Steve). In which Hulk is a baby, Natasha and Steve know they aren't real teenagers, Clint and Tony behave badly, and Maria Hill is not a parent but Coulson might be. Also available as a podfic read by blackglass

The Tactical Applications of Caramel Apples and Ring-Tailed Lemurs by @caffienekitty (Gen, General Audiences, 2,342 words)

Summary: Loki de-ages Captain America. This is not the best idea he's ever had, but he can work with it.

Meet Tomorrow If You Choose by Dira Sudis (@dsudis) (Samsteve, Explicit, 9,440 words)

Summary: "Not quite like the other me, huh," Steve said, because there was no point pretending. "Nah, actually I was thinking I can see it," Sam said. "The way you stand--you project, you know? Like in a way you really always were the big guy, just your body took a while to catch up."

De-Aged Steve Rogers by @sabrecmc (Stony, Not Rated, 8,458 words)

Summary: Steve gets de-aged and clings to Tony

Second Childhood by @navaan (Stony, General Audiences, 2,006 words)

Summary: Steve and Tony get de-aged and it brings some problems, but maybe it gives them a chance to start over.

Smells Like Teen Spirit by @jenthesweetie (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 7,363 words)

Summary: Because that’s what the magic explosion had done: it had turned all of his friends into hormonal, pimpled, unbelievably obnoxious teenagers. When he called Fury to ask for advice, Fury laughed, hung up on him, called him back just to laugh some more, and then said, “If nobody’s dying, Stark, I really don’t care” and hung up again. Tony wondered vaguely who he had pissed off, besides all the usual suspects. This felt more as though he’d pissed somebody off in, like, a cosmic way.

Clint Barton And The Adventures In Terror Twin Rearing by @attackofthezee (General Audiences, 3,074 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: “Maybe it’s aliens.” Steve hisses at Barnes. “Aliens don’t look like people Steve.” Barnes says with all the surety of an eleven year old. And ho boy, does Clint kind of want to introduce this version of these two to Thor. In which Steve and Bucky are somehow turned into their ten and eleven year old selves and Clint Barton is somehow nominated to take care of them. It goes about as well as can be expected. Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

They Could Never Be the Same by ABrighterDarkness (@alwaysabrighterdarkness) (Thundershield, Teen And Up Audiences, 1,234 words)

Summary: The situation at hand being a magically-miniaturized Steve Rogers who had hardly spoken a word but followed either Thor or Natasha around like a tiny shadow ever since they’d been released from Medical. SHIELD medical were, of course, every bit as shocked to have the Avengers show up en masse to deliver an apparently four-year-old Captain America to get checked over.

#steve rogers #marvel fic rec

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paradlselost · 3 months

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i am so glad im finding another person who writes for far cry :)) if possible, can we see a jacob seed x gn!deputy who replaces pratt as his prisoner? it ends with jacob being their one and only, (even if its dubcon)

WIND — UP TOY

jacob seed x gn!deputy

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ ty for being my first submission ! jacob and his region lowkey scare the shit out of me lmao 🙏 kinda a little fucked up but I mean it’s jacob seed . also sorry this took so long ); smut below the cut

no use of y/n , reader is referred to as ‘ deputy ’ . gender specific nicknames are replaced by ‘ pup ’ . not beta - read

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ blasphemy , deputy is treated like a dog , implied forced cannibalism , implied death of a minor character , brainwashing , jacobs his own warning isn’t he ? smut : dub - con , degrading , oral ( m receiving ) , soft - ish sex , penetration , dacryphillia , one - sided orgasm .

It always crept up on him when he least expected it; when things began to have a sense of normalcy. His days a haze and his nights clouded with gunfire and explosions, dreams marred with blood and the guts of former comrades and men who died far too young. For what?

What is the American dream when the world is going to end anyways? What are the soldiers overseas fighting for when the rivers will soon flow with blood and the ground tarred with ash?

His hand runs over his face; rubbing tired eyes. Demons of his past prey on him while he sleeps, turning him weak. Two to three hours is good enough for him, leaves him rested enough for his eyes to focus on the maps in front of him.

Being the leader of the army of Eden’s Gate wasn’t an easy job, though he held it with pride - a cardinal sin - but Joseph would forgive him as long as the prophecies his little brother had bouncing around his head came true. Jacob didn’t know if he believed in anything, really, it was hard to imagine God was with the soldiers that clutched cross pendants behind HESCO barriers.

But where he might’ve drifted from the true meaning of the cause further and further, where he might’ve argued the existence of a higher power with Joseph; one thing grounded him to his purpose and place in the cult. The Deputy.

Joseph’s ramblings were insane to the layman and gospel to the believer - but it seemed right now they were damn prophetic. Everything he said the Deputy would do; they did, and left bodies in their wake. Sometimes, he would watch whatever the cameras picked up of them on his screens, how they traversed the Whitetails with an almost practiced knowledge.

Sometimes, he felt like the eighteen year old new enlistee again when he watched them. The blood, the gunfire. Jacob Seed was a tough man, righteous and brave, but he would look down at them in their cage and feel the fire on his skin from the ranch he burned all those years ago.

He hated the feeling, wanting to drive his pocket knife into his chest and carve out every semblance of memory he had. But then his music box would rewind, and he would hear the sweet sound of the Platters crooning through the wood and metal and maybe, just maybe, things would be okay for him.

So he watched the way the Deputy writhe behind those thick steel bars against the cold soil, not afforded the luxuries even the most depraved prisoners received. Weak and idiotic for attempting to save their friend; but a mind that could be molded with the right tune.

Staci Pratt was a good pet; Pavlovian in nature and willing to do anything for the oldest Seed brother, so maybe that’s why Jacob began to grow bored of the man. Maybe that’s why he entertained the cracks beginning to show in the conditioning, how Pratt’s eyes softened at the sight of their co-worker being taunted by the Herald and yet knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

An escape plan, of course he knew about it, he had eyes and ears everywhere and could always tell when one of his dogs stepped out of line. A perfectly timed truck, the siren going off to alert that a prisoner had escaped, catching Pratt as he allowed the Deputy to leave without him. It was almost sweet, but moreover vomit-inducing, like a lamb.

Sheep are creatures controlled by their own nature, that’s why dogs have to herd them back into formation - like a general in charge of new recruits. Intolerables are discharged, lambs are taken to the slaughterhouse. Nature, the circle of life, the bad meat is thrown out for the poor and needy to pick through.

“Eat. You wouldn’t want to fall sick, would you?”

A tin was placed in front of the Deputy, they had been through this before. Starved for however many days Jacob deemed necessary - usually ten - before they are given nothing but raw meat to eat. Never did they think they would yearn for the peanuts and beer served at the Spread Eagle, but there was no position to argue about what they were being given here.

Some fell over the side as greedy hands shoveled clump after clump into their mouth, covering it in a pitiful yet successful attempt to keep it down. Never did they ask what kind of meat it was, choosing to instead assume it was from one of the many cow farms in the valley.

“You’re hungry, aren’t ya, pup? You’re lucky, that’s a nice cut of meat.” A grin played on his face as he leaned against the metal bars, fingers grazing over his music box. There wouldn’t be any culling today, no, he had a much better idea in mind.

“Where’s Pratt?”

“Not even a thank you for my generosity, aren’t you fierce?”

“Where is he?”

“Peaches’s little act of rebellion earned him a punishment, I mean; that’s only fair. In a war like this you can’t go sympathizing with the devil, no matter how well you knew them before.”

It’s not an answer, but there’s an unspoken understanding that that is the closest thing the Deputy will get to knowing. A huff falling from their lips, ever the ungrateful dog; but their bowl is licked clean and what more can Jacob ask for?

A soft tsk fell from his lips, cold and condescending because how could he be anything but? Did the thing below him deserve care and kindness? Maybe at some point when they were strong, when their mind was still their own, but now they were nothing but a lamb being fattened for the slaughter.

His fingers grasped their chin, forcing eye contact and no doubt leaving marks that would form bruises. How much had they been through? Chest slashed with the markings from Jacobs little brother and mind already foggy from the bliss that grew in the Henbane; but there was a certain pride he took in being the one to break them.

How much time had passed? Had anyone come looking for them? Jacob had often taunted them, used the fact that they were immobile against the conditioning he had given them to contact anyone. The rebellion would fall without their snake, maybe it already had, how would the Deputy know?

It wasn’t their place to think anymore, to simply let the oldest Herald put a leash around their neck and sit beside like a good dog. Their mind wasn’t their own, now it belonged to him and they had no room to complain.

“Look at’chu, open your mouth.” But he didn’t wait for them to comply, instead he bullied his fingers against their tongue, exploring over their gums and teeth. They could bite him, certainly, but they didn’t - wouldn’t.

Who was Jacob Seed but their owner? He had saved them from themselves, from the blood and the gore and the fire that threatened to burn the world to nothing but ashes. Joseph had greeted them in their new form, John had shown up to pout, but their eyes only ever stayed on the eldest.

“Such a good pup, ‘ did a wonderful job training you, huh?” He asked as if they could answer, as if they weren’t preoccupied by the fingers that traced their mouth like he was mapping them out.

A hum passed from his lips as he removed his fingers, instead moving to undo the buckle on his belt. Even in this state, the Deputy wasn’t stupid and could very clearly tell what was coming next. So, to hopefully avoid any wrath from him, moved to help undo his pants.

Leaning back in his chair and observing as they removed his pants, fingers trailing over the growing bulge in his boxers. Jacob was a stoic man, never did the Deputy know if they were really doing good, but he didn’t scold them so there was no stopping.

Hands smoothed out the black fabric a bit nervously, playing with the hem for a moment before a soft grunt from the Herald alerted them. Knowingly, their fingers hooked underneath the waistband and pulled it away from his freckled skin, letting it pool at his ankles along with his pants.

Wrapping around the base of his still hardening cock, their eyes fluttered up to meet his gray ones. A silent beg, a plea that they were doing alright and there would be no punishment later. All they got in return was a small nod; though there was no love or care behind it. More like a drill sergeant instructing a particularly moldable soldier.

Gentle, unsure licks placed against his tip, hand working against the base; fingers brushing against veins that worked overtime to pump blood to his dick. Jacob Seed was not one for taking his sweet time, his fingers tangled in their hair as he pushed their head down on his aching cock.

A soft gag fell from their lips, hands moving from him to settle on his toned thighs. A heavy breath leaving their nose as they tried their hardest to relax, nuzzling against his untamed ginger hair. He relished in the warmth of their throat, the tightness eliciting a groan as he pushed his hips up.

Their gagging was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, the soft whimpers and tears that emitted from the Deputy as they tried their hardest to just breathe through their nose. He loved the power he held over them, how those pretty tears fell for him.

“Cmon pup, look up at me.”

Fighting between lifting their head to meet his gaze and keeping their mouth wrapped around his cock, the Deputy managed to tilt their head up enough to see him. His smirk widened, cock throbbing against their throat as he watched the tears continue to fall from them.

Another few thrusts to the back of their throat before he groaned, pulling their head off his dick with a small ‘pop’. A trail of saliva still connected their lips, pre-cum mixed in with it. He couldn’t help the laugh that emitted from him at the sight of their swollen lips and heavy breathing.

“Poor thing. Don’t cry, I take care of you, don’t I?”

The Deputy couldn’t do anything but nod, and maybe it was a bit true. Jacob did care for them in his own sick and twisted way. In the back of their mind they wondered if this was how he treated Pratt behind close doors; more like a prized trophy than a lover.

His hands grabbed at their hips, pulling them onto his lap. The small barrier of whatever clothes they had been wearing on their lower half before was quickly removed, giving him access to everything he wanted.

Burying their face into the crook of his neck and wrapping arms around the back of him, the Herald lifted their hips once more to guide himself inside their needy hole before pushing them down onto him. Stretching, pain emanating from the sudden intrusion, he could feel the tears that fell from them and landed against his skin.

He cooed, a grin still wide on his face. His hands still settled on their hips, guiding them up and down on his cock. Gentle movements at first that quickly devolved to an almost feral extent. His pre-cum marred the inside of their hole, creating wet and sticky sounds everytime he fucked in and out of them.

It felt like a dam was about to break by the time Jacob decided he was finished. Loud sobs wracked their body as they cuddled closer to him, so close yet so far. His hips continued to move for a moment; stuttering and shifting a bit before he released inside of them, filling them with his cum.

The Deputy finally leaned back after a moment, tears still flowing from their now red eyes, sniffling - but they still attempted to move their hips over him. To get any kind of release as the Herald caught his breath. Needily grinding against his lap, hands clutching his shirt in a pitiful attempt that only made him laugh more.

“Oh, look at’chu. Pup needs to get off too, huh? Don’t worry, I told you I’ll take care of you.”

#far cry 5 #jacob seed #jacob seed x deputy #smut #gn reader #jacob seed x reader

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ninibeingdelulu · 4 months

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Sweetest kiss ✧

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Plot: After a perilous mission where you almost died and Cloud saved you, you thank him with a kiss.

A/N: OMGG Cloud fluff is pure perfection. Hope you enjoy xx! Daily reminder: English isn’t my first language.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The day had been long and arduous, the battles against Shinra's forces leaving the AVALANCHE team battered and weary. But for you, the weight of her near-death experience still hung heavy in your mind, a sobering reminder of the perilous nature of your mission.

As the group gathered to regroup and tend to their wounds, you found your gaze drawn to Cloud, the former SOLDIER whose stoic demeanor and haunted eyes had captivated you from the moment you'd met.

Whispers from the others, particularly the perceptive Aerith, had not escaped your notice - tales of Cloud's furtive glances, the softening of his features when he thought no one was watching.

Now, as your eyes met across the dimly lit hideout, you felt a familiar flutter in your chest, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that seemed to bind the two of you together.

Summoning your courage, you approached Cloud, your steps measured and deliberate.

He regarded you with his usual impassive expression, but you could sense the subtle shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tensing of his muscles that betrayed his own internal turmoil.

"Cloud," you began, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

"Thank you... for saving me today. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there."

The blond-haired man nodded, his gaze unwavering. "It's what I do," he replied, his tone clipped and devoid of emotion.

But you could see the flicker of something else in his eyes, a glimmer of a feeling that he seemed desperate to conceal.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand gently coming to rest on his arm.

"I mean it," you murmured, your fingers tracing the contours of his sleeve.

"You've always been there for us... for me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Cloud's jaw tightened, his features etched with a mixture of discomfort and something akin to frustration.

He opened his mouth, as if to offer a rebuttal, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

Before he could respond, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in a featherlight kiss.

The gesture was tender, yet charged with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down Cloud's spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, the world around you two fading away as they stood there, frozen in a moment of intimate connection.

Cloud's eyes widened ever so slightly, his usually stoic expression betraying a flicker of vulnerability.

As you pulled back, you offered him a small, knowing smile, your hand giving his arm a gentle squeeze before turning around and rejoined the others, leaving Cloud to grapple with the swirling emotions that threatened to consume him.

As you rejoined the others, Cloud found himself rooted to the spot, his mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy of your action.

The warmth of your lips lingered on his cheek seemed to ignite a spark within him, a sudden flicker of emotions that he had long thought extinguished.

Cloud's brow furrowed, his usually impassive features betraying a rare glimpse of confusion and unease.

This was uncharted territory for him, a realm of feelings and vulnerabilities that he had carefully walled off, convinced that they would only serve to weaken him, to make him vulnerable in a world that demanded unwavering strength and resolve.

Yet, in the wake of the woman's affectionate kiss, Cloud found himself grappling with a swirling maelstrom of emotions - a mix of trepidation, longing, and something akin to a fragile hope that he dared not acknowledge.

Every time you smiled at him, every moment your eyes met, he felt a strange stirring deep within his chest, a sensation that both unsettled and intrigued him.

Cloud had spent years cultivating his stoic, unyielding persona, burying the remnants of his shattered past beneath layers of indifference and detachment.

But now, in the face of your quiet persistence and genuine care, those carefully constructed defenses were beginning to crumble, leaving him exposed and uncertain.

What did this mean? What was the nature of the bond that seemed to draw you two together, even in the midst of your perilous mission?

Cloud found himself grappling with these questions, his usually sharp mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to unravel the very foundations of his being.

#cloud strife x you #cloud x you #cloud strife angst #cloud strife fluff #cloud strife x reader #cloud x reader #cloud headcanons #cloud strife #cloud #cloud strife ff7 #ff7 #final fantasy 7 rebirth #viral #fluff #ff7 remake #final fantasy series #final fantasy sephiroth

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veinsfullofstars · 7 months

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✨ May I interest you in some Dedede and Meta Knight as childhood friends? ✨

(ID: Kirby series fanart, Childhood Friends AU, of King Dedede and Meta Knight as kids interacting in various cute and wholesome scenarios, such as coloring, cloud-watching, sparring with sticks, overindulging on sweets, protecting each other from bullies, and more. Design-wise, young Dedede is short and chubby with a smaller beak and three feathers sticking up from the top of his head. He wears a pair of red overalls with gold buttons on the straps and a pocket on the front with a white two-finger peace sign. Young Meta Knight is maskless and similar in appearance to Kirby, save for his yellow eyes, dark blue complexion, and a pair of tiny wings on his back. Additional headcanons and worldbuilding for this AU under the cut. END ID.)

UPDATE 03/11/24: Added a scar to Meta's head.

(AU info updated as of 09/06/24.)

Started on 10/09/23, finished on 10/11/23. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 10/11/23.

—

-This AU primarily takes place within the Kirby gameverse (with a few superficial elements borrowed from external media), the timeline starting many, many decades before the events of Kirby's Dream Land, eventually catching up to and following the main games’ canon (with nods to side games and some unique events added here and there for character flavor). I am trying to stay canon-compliant, but I’m also making things up as I go and changing them as needed, so no promises I won’t just go completely off the rails the more I workshop things, haha.

-I'm leaving ages nebulous in this AU (both because the series itself doesn't really give characters canonical ages and to keep the timeline a bit looser narratively), but - for clarity's sake - we'll say Dedede and Meta are both the equivalent of 7-to-11 years old here, though they first met a little earlier...

-Meta Knight is just called Meta for now - he won’t earn his title until after he starts his overstars military training with the Galaxy Soldier Army (GSA) in his late teens.

-That hammer belongs to Dedede’s mama - a former pro-wrestler - and will someday be passed down to him (once he’s strong enough to actually pick it up).

-The Star Warriors/GSA inclusion in this AU (though crucial to Meta's storyline) is more for flavor than any major role. In this version, they are an intergalactic military group fighting various malignant forces across the universe, their reputation generally positive thanks to a genuine effort on their part to balance acts of war and defense with acts of philanthropy, relief aid, and compassion, well-known enough to reach even distant Popstar. Most known Star Warriors - Sir Dragato, Kit Cosmos, etc. - are either long since passed on or retired somewhere outside of the story (with a few exceptions we may learn about later...). Upon learning of the GSA in his youth, Meta becomes enamored with their deeds and longs to be a knight himself (not yet aware of the hardships involved in becoming one).

-The kids like to spar and roughouse in their free time, but they occasionally get proper training from Dedede’s papa - a retired knight himself with connections to the GSA, who’d settled in Dream Land with his wife just before they had their only son. Meta looks up to him with the same admiration he has for the Star Warriors. Dedede, however, doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with his well-meaning but rather strict father.

-In his early years, Meta is quite shy around people he doesn’t know well. In overwhelming situations, he tends to either shut down and go non-verbal or quietly slip away to recoup. That said, he is much more expressive around those he trusts, listening eagerly and chatting far more than he would otherwise. He also has a bit of an anger streak hidden just under all that resolve, though it takes a lot of prodding to bring it out...

-As a kid, Dedede is impulsive to a fault and likes to make wild plans that tend to put him and his buddies in precarious situations (when he can be bothered to actually follow through with them, that is). Meta is often the first to point out the flaws in said plans (if Para Dee doesn’t do it first) but inevitably ends up tagging along anyway, his wariness easily overturned by his curiosity.

-Meta is sometimes bullied by the bigger kids in the village due to his strange appearance and timid nature. Dedede is quick to step in and defend him, usually getting into scraps in the process. It will be a little while before either of them gain the respect of their peers…

#veins art #veins fanart #kirby series #kirby #king dedede #meta knight #star warriors #AU #childhood friends au #friendship #technically pre-relationship #but I'm gonna keep the tags platonic for now since they're still kids here #no weird gooey feelings yet #right now they're just a pair of good buds who really believe in each other #veinsfullofstars

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silverflqmes · 5 months

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໒⦂ 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.

synopsis. in which cloud tries one last time to get through to sephiroth by a promise he’d once made, but it’s easier said than done.

genre. angst

tw. mentions of death and self harm / suicide ( nobody does anything dw, it’s more so brought into conversation ), self degradation ( not the uh SOLDIER kind, just y’know- insecurities.. )

sephiroth x cloud strife.

the blond staggered backwards from the strength of his greatest foe, gritting his teeth in annoyance. for having the thinnest blade in the world, he sure made his broadsword look like a feeble joke.

the buster might as well have been a children’s toy with the way sephiroth met his every strike, thrice as strong as cloud’s. but that was just how things were — they had matched each other to near perfection, even if the latter had much to learn still.

although that connotation only seemed to amuse the taller, knowing that at last, he was presented with an opponent that gave him a challenge. “you’re keeping up with me this time, cloud. afraid of messing up and losing everything again to me?” he inquired lowly, almost mockingly, yet curiously. “careful now, unless you want attachment to be your downfall once more.”

the spiky haired male wanted to fire back a retort, feeling his anger creep on him slowly, gradually, but he swallowed it down.

sephiroth, cloud reminded himself, was not in his right mind. he was not the man he once idolized and felt.. something.. for. overcome by jenova and his weak mind after all events leading up to nibelheim, the former hero was met with hollowed out shell of who he once was.. which his so called mother decided to help herself to claiming.

while the mercenary had a lot to be mad for, much to loathe his enemy for and every right to end his life yet again.. a promise echoed in his head, one that he had made long ago on the outskirts of midgar to an old friend — his reason for being alive to even face sephiroth again.

to be his living legacy.. and, to save his past buddy — the one winged angel before he had fallen from grace.

cloud knew it wouldn’t be easy, it never was with sephiroth.. still, he had a vow to uphold, and despite failing to do so in their previous skirmishes.. he was determined this time to pave his way through — to the sephiroth he once knew.

“attachment won’t be my downfall, sephiroth.” he shook his head, straightening himself out to the best of his abilities. “you’re just too high up on that pedestal of yours now to realize it.”

the silver haired male curled his lips, chuckling. “is that so?” he quipped back softly, circling the blond. “enlighten me on how this battle of ours will lead to a different outcome, then, cloud.”

it was now the mercenary’s turn to smirk as he angled the point of his blade into the ground, sinking it into place before stepping up to his opponent. “cuz i won’t be fighting you this time.” he answered flatly, folding his arms.

piqued, the older quirked a gray brow before humming lightly. “a foolish approach. or could it be that my despair has gotten to you at last.” he remarked, lowering masamune to his side as he took long, but slow strides toward cloud. “whatever it might be, it will get you killed.”

the mako-azure eyed male was hardly fazed, having expected such a response, though it wouldn’t stop him. it might have before, but not this time. “if that’s how it is, i would have been killed years ago, and you know it.” he retaliated smartly, folding his arms over his chest. “you pretty much had every chance at killing me, whether in a fight or those times you decided it would be fun to fuck around and haunt me. so why now?” cloud pressed, stepping forward again, challengingly. “why will it get me killed now, and not back then?”

sephiroth was silent for a moment, the proximity now eliminated between him and his adversary.

normally, cloud would never indulge him in conversation for long — would not make an attempt at negotiating that didn’t last less than two minutes.

this was.. different. strange. unlike the blond he’d lock blades with many times before.

what had changed?

“perhaps.” he answered at length, if only to decrease the duration of his lack of response. “i saw no reason to kill you then. i still do not see a purpose in doing so now.” shinra’s former hero spoke, looking ahead. “however, your lack of guard, attachments.. and overconfidence, will destroy you.” he continued, flickering his gaze back down to the shorter. “whether or not that is by my hand, or some other occurrence.”

cloud furrowed his brows. this wasn’t the full story, it was almost as if sephiroth had been.. “bullshit. you’re hiding something.” he fired back immediately, but leveled. “minus what happened in nibelheim, you’ve never finished me off or left any life threatening injuries. you appear randomly to either give me some weird ass psychological torture to encourage me or warn me.” he ranted, meeting the other’s aloof stare. “i’m in the way of your ultimate goal, yet you let me live. what’s with that shit?” the self proclaimed ex-first class SOLDIER finished, searching his opponent for something — anything that could shed clarity on his confusion.

but sephiroth was, and always would be, an enigma.

not that it mattered to cloud. he was getting answers, and he wasn’t going to let the feline eyed male leave him in the dark once more; he had enough of that already.

“answer me.” the merc pressed, impatience growing when the other hadn’t responded.

sephiroth gave a small smirk and another low laugh of his. “demanding, aren’t we?” he jested lightly, shrugging his shoulders before shaking his head. “i expected no less, cloud.” he turned to face the moonless sky. “do you remember what i said to you before, after you’d blown up the first mako reactor?”

the blond’s memories were a fog — a thick mist cast over most events in his life, but that, that he remembered. all too clear, in fact. it might as well have been a real encounter.

“you went on about the planet’s suffering and how you would hate to be on it if i wasn’t here with you.” the spiky haired male paraphrased, eyeing him skeptically. “what’s that got to do with any of this?”

mako slitted eyes slid down to meet sapphire-teal, the smile on his lips growing. “everything, cloud.” he answered in that suave, hushed tone of his, facing the boy before him. “without you, i would not be. and without me,” sephiroth paused, leaning in closer. “you, cloud, would not be.”

the blond let out a mirthless laugh, glaring at the other. “so what, i gotta kill myself now to stop you? take us both down to put an end to your shit?” he pressed, ignoring the pitter patter to his fragile heart.

silver flowed in the wind, glimmering beneath the starry ebony. “is that what you believe to be the solution, cloud?”

enraptured in those intense eyes, the male in question found difficulty in averting his stare, let alone mustering a reply.

leave it to sephiroth to tear his thoughts to shambles, weaving in his own confusing ones to fuck with his.

“you’re basically saying you can’t live without me, so yeah.” he answered curtly, shifting his weight to his opposite half. “unless you finally wanna stop being cryptic and give a clear answer.”

the long haired male let out a hum, blinking slowly, as a bored cat would. “now what fun would there be in that, cloud? i rather enjoy your guessing.” he responded as a matter of factly, crossing his arms over the broad expanse of his chest.

cloud let a moment pass, mainly because he knew he would lose his shit if he spoke up right away. and that.. would not get through to his past idol. “so then if i just struck my heart and bled out, you wouldn’t give a single-?”

“i would not allow it.” sephiroth intercepted a little above the latter’s tone, feeling the crisp air caress his pale cheeks.

“but i.. will not end.” cloud once heard him say, at the edge of creation. “nor will i let you end.”

was this.. what he meant?

the blond gritted his teeth. “like i would listen to a thing you say.” he bit back, picking up his sword. “maybe i should, then, since you don’t want me to.”

with furrowed brows, the taller trudged forward, manifesting his odachi. “you will do no such.”

a normal person would have backed out by now, and once upon a time, if he was still the pathetic rank he was, cloud might have done so, too. “why not? petty that my death would end your reign before it even comes?” he mocked, matching the intensity of his nemesis’s gaze.

however, sephiroth’s had been short lived. “cloud, i mean it. you would be wise not to inflict harm upon yourself.”

“don’t pretend you care.” the merc countered, gripping his hilt tighter. “you just need me for the stupid bond.” he argued before shaking his head, heaving a breath. “why did i even bother trying to save you? i knew i would break yet another promise to zack, and for some odd reason, i still tried for him.” he lowered his great sword. “more importantly, or actually, stupidly, i tried for you.”

the former SOLDIER found himself at a loss for a change. the last he’d been rendered speechless was that day in nibelheim — the encounter with genesis that led him down this dark path hojo had paved personally for him- for jenova.

“you are as naive as zack was, to believe that i needed saving and that it needs to be done by you, cloud.” he scoffed, tearing his gaze away from him. “why should i require saving? i have never felt more myself.”

cloud pursed his lips together, growing considerably more annoyed. “if yourself is her, then that isn’t you. that’s not who you were.” he disagreed, fighting every urge in his body that just screamed to give up on this pacifistic method of his and resume to the usual fighting.

it was what the blond was good at, anyway, what he’d been made to do.. and yet, here he was, negotiating like a fool.

sephiroth appeared unbothered, minus the knit to his brows. “that is who i am, and who i was destined to become. the person you speak of was weak, trying so pathetically hard to fit into humanity despite himself. and what was the result? betrayal, and by his close ones no less. the one you see before you now, has embraced himself for who he is, and it has made him strong.”

the buster felt heavy in his hands for once, perhaps its way of telling him not to raise the blade that had been passed down to him. a poor attempt on behalf the first and second holder — whom cloud had made his promise to.

how troublesome.

“zack didn’t betray you.” cloud willed himself to say, lifting his burning gaze back up to his enemy’s. “you left him in the dark for trying to help you. fine if you wanna be pissed at me for stabbing you, but he actually tried to be there for you.. countless times, and you,” he paused for breath, knowing the difficulties of digging into his memories, but it was necessary. “you shut him out.” he finished quietly, lowering his eyes to the broadsword in his gloved hands. “i know i’m not him, i’ll never be half the man he was. but i’m.. i’m what’s left of him, the proof that he lived — and if he told me that you were worth saving..” the blond sucked in a breath, peering back up through his unruly bangs. “then, you are.”

the former famed hero was reticent for a moment, and the male across from him began to wonder if he had perhaps spoken too much. however, he reminded himself that his words had to be brought across.

whether or not that had upset sephiroth.

“if zack truly wanted to save me, he would have continued trying despite my words.” he broke the silence, narrowing his eyes slightly. “had he cared as you claim he had, would he not have continued pressing? zack did so for everything else- had done so for angeal, even when he told him to stop.. and yet, he gave up on me the moment i told him to.” sephiroth acknowledged bitterly, recalling the event as though it had been yesterday.

flipping through towers of books in the library beneath shinra manor, page after page of what was hidden from him — each more agonizing than the last. not a single soul to save him from his inevitable descent into madness.

cloud, not knowing what to say, fell quiet, weighing the words of his past role model. his reason for even joining shinra in the first place.

the blond would be lying if he said he hadn’t understood sephiroth and his reasoning, as he dealt with his own share of being left out in the dark.. but still, “and if he continued to come, then what? would you have listened? would zack have gotten through that thick ass skull of yours?”

his lips tightened. “perhaps he would have, because i would have known that i was worth pushing for.” he answered softly, clenching his fist. “but i.. was not. and he left his dying wish to someone bathed in guilt, who only seeks to do it to fulfill a promise and have his supposed sins forgiven.” sephiroth finished, more frigid than the frost cloud once walked through in modeoheim.

it pierced like daggers through his chest — the spot he’d once plunged masamune into back in nibelheim.

was the spiky haired male really just doing it to be forgiven..? to feel like he had done at least one thing right in the pathetic life he led? the one that continued to be saved time and time again, when really, it should have just been left to shrivel and return to the lifestream. if he was even worthy of it.

or was it, that cloud had truly wanted to save sephiroth? even in spite of his anguish — the resentment he harbored since that fateful incident.

overcome by his muddled feelings, the blond acted on impulse and dropped his weapon to pull down the other by the straps across his chest.

his heart was heavy, hands clammy because of how close his nemesis had stood — the stakes higher than ever before.. but cloud didn’t care. he couldn’t bother to care as he pressed his lips against the rosewood ones of his former inspiration — his reason.

a shock that didn’t quite reach his eyes struck through sephiroth, but it wasn’t long before he returned the kiss. strongly, passionately. never chaste — because that wasn’t them.

cloud could never forgive himself for being put out of commission as he was during the visit back then to the mako reactor. his promise to protect his childhood friend and to measure up to the firsts became his downfall — and that become fodder for his self hatred.

because maybe, just maybe, he could have at least made that effort to put aside his pain and visit sephiroth himself — or at any rate, push zack some more to visit.. but he could not. the former infantryman failed that time, failed many times after..

but not today.

cloud refused to let another opportunity go to waste.

deprived of his breath, because the mercenary only expected his adversary to steal it away entirely, wholly for himself, he at last broke away, panting.

his gloved fingers still encircled those crisscrossed suspenders, cheeks burning with color as his eyes opened to a half lidded state.

sephiroth appeared more composed than he had, but there was the slightest hint of fervor on him as well, the breathlessness resulting from the heated contact they exchanged.

somehow, his hands found their way to the shorter’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to his body as he held him there without any intentions of letting him go.

part of him wanted to call cloud foolish, for subjecting himself to such an impulsive act, such a poor attempt at getting his feelings across.. but the silver haired general would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it- if he hadn’t wanted it. that sensation of those flushed appendages pressed so wantonly up against his own. it was unlike anything he’d felt before.

and from cloud, no less.

“i’m not doing this shit for validation. maybe i do wanna feel like i at least succeeded at one thing in my life — but this..” he relinquished his grasp a little, lifting his sharp mako tinted eyes. “me saving you.. this is something i didn’t get to do back then — instead i..” cloud swallowed the lump forming in his throat, willing his voice to remain steady. “i killed you. i promised that i would do what zack couldn’t do, and i instead, i just — continued to fight you because i was angry.. conflicted.. betrayed, too.” as it wasn’t only sephiroth that had his share of treachery. “and i just let that consume me.. that, and you kept insisiting for me to hold into that hatred, too.. saying to fill my heart with rage — rather than just,” a stuttered exhale. “letting me help you.”

they were nothing to each other back then, when they needed the other most. were in essence strangers, despite the mercenary knowing and idolizing him.

now, they were everything to one another, in every way possible. sephiroth could not be without cloud, and likewise cloud could be without sephiroth.

the long haired swordsman brought a leather clad hand to his lightly tanned cheek, lowering his hooded cat-like eyes. “you cannot help me, cloud. if you could not do so then.. what makes you believe that you could now?”

lifting a hand to hold the one that cradled his cheek so gently, cloud squeezed his, sapphire burning with determination. “because that was then, and this is now.” the merc repeated the words that were once spoken to him — a petty interception of his accusation on whether or not he had killed the self proclaimed son of jenova.

the taller allowed his lips to curl, a soft hum leaving them. “quoting me now? that was a different context, as you know.” he spoke up smoothly, circling his thumb on the other’s cheek. “still, ‘saving me’, as you phrased it.. will undoubtedly cost you. are you prepared to make that sacrifice?”

cloud allowed his fingers to slip between the cracks of sephiroth’s, scoffing lightly. “is this supposed to be different from any other time?” he questioned before rolling his eyes. “i think i’ll manage just fine, so you can stop trying to make me doubt my choices.” his childhood hero was a lot of things, but this side of him was entirely different from what the media displayed and the version of himself that had emerged from shinra mansion that day and onward.

this sephiroth.. was vulnerable, human, despite what he claimed. he was entitled to his share of insecurities and doubts outside of that unyielding face of confidence he wore.

he hid well, had discarded him completely for this arrogant, vengeance seeking sephiroth. but there were cracks, and cloud was willing to slip into them to find the man he once knew.

although they would be sharp edged, it was no different from any strike inflicted upon him in the past. so what was a few more?

the silver haired SOLDIER looked ready to protest, to rebuttal his words once more, however the arguments fell silent on his tongue, a laugh surfacing in their place. “it seems i underestimated you, cloud. perhaps you will save me after all,” he spoke up softly, leaning into his ear. “i cannot promise it will be easy, though.”

leaning his chin on his large pauldron, the blond let out a noise of amusement watching as silver spilled and curtained all around him. “like anything is ever easy between us.” cloud shook his head before closing his eyes. “it’s a good thing i’m used to it, sephiroth.”

a large hand slid to the small of his back, a chuckle sounding. “it’s a good thing you are, cloud.”

notes. my bad y’all i drafted this on the plane last week and i felt the need to finish it before i continued the rest of my requests ( my inbox is in the twenties guys.. ) anyways, to sefikura enjoyers and passerbys, hope you guys liked it, pls refrain from ship hate or i will slam that block button on your asses ok bye<3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

#— ; 🏹 ) final fantasy vii fics.#sefikura #sefikura writing #sephiroth #cloud strife #sephiroth x cloud #ffvii #sephiroth x cloud strife #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephicloud #sephikura #sephiroth ff7 #sephiroth ffvii #cloud ffvii #cloud ff7 #final fantasy cloud #final fantasy sephiroth

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achelouise · 6 months

Text

Together, forevermore

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail

Pairing: (Yan?)Blade x fem!reader

Warnings: Pretty dark, (at least its the most dark thing I've written so far DONT JUDGe me), blade is not nice here, non-con but no sex

Summary: Someone visits you on your deathbed.

A/N: ...... i may be on a slight toxic writing streak......... I WILL BRING SOMETHING ELSE FLUFF ENJOYERS I PROMISE

imma be honest i dont know if this is considered as yandere but i will tag it as such just in case

Your bones are weary. Wrinkles are prominent on your face, and your hair has completely faded to white.

You savor it all. The way time robs you of your youth, the way you bend to its will, morph yourself into a fragile being that couldn’t continue her adventure on the Express. The way you laugh when you spill a cup, when eons ago you would charge towards the enemy with your spear in hand.

You were satisfied with yourself. You have lived, breathed, and entertained yourself before the curtain fell. You have made friends, enemies, lovers, and experienced the joy and suffering of life. The galaxy is your sky, and the worlds you travel to is your home.

Well- perhaps just one lover. It felt like many, though. You could never forget him, but he is just a hazy memory in your old brain.

To think, a former Cloud Knight soldier would live and breathe without mara- truly, a wonderful end to a blazing life like yours.Granted, you weren’t from the Xianzhou- but to be on the battlefield is to sign up a guaranteed death by Abudance.

Even as the Crew parts, their memories and cherished ambitions lay dormant in your heart- beating weakly, slowly, and closer to eternal rest.

You loved this life, and you hated to see it go. Perhaps this is the wisdom Jingliu was desperate for- to understand mortality, and to understand an end to a life well spent.

You feel your fear of death grasping your chest as you heave, drinking in every breath. Unparalleled joy also envelops you; ah, the precious catalyst life holds for this body. Even as you have withered away, this body still yearns for a little bit of life, still squeezes every last drop, a complete opposite of the mara-stricken soldiers tethering between sanity and mania.

Beautiful. How beautiful this life could be.

You could only wish for the others to feel the same. You hope March understands the beauty of fragile mortality, and Dan Heng’s rest during his rebirth.

Even then, human will never dies. You and the trailblazer have entrusted yours to the Cosmodyssey, greeting the future generation of trailblazers from the distant past. Only this way, would you be immortalized, encapsulated in a beautiful dream.

A soft creak of the door alerts you. You smile, even as you struggle to inhale enough air to speak. “... Can’t you leave an old lady… to her death bed?”

Your voice is grating and unpleasant, but you cherish it all the same.

The visitor doesn’t speak. They walk in slowly, carrying a glass of water. At least, it looks like it- oh, you can’t blame yourself for not recognizing anything with such poor eyesight.

Probably one of the nurses that are hell bent on keeping you alive. You don’t really like them, you never have. Ever since you resigned yourself to an elderly shelter on your home planet, where you could meet even more friends before your end, the nurses have been instructed to keep you alive for as long as possible. Probably because if you do, you can attend more interviews, review more biographies about you and the Legends of Akivilli.

You can’t muster up the strength to retort any more, though. The nurse doesn’t really speak, either. They have a comically large mask on, one that shields their whole face, with only eyes piercing back. You don’t recognize them. Eugh, poor eyesight.

The monitor begins to beat feverishly. You are quite parched, though. No harm in quenching your thirst one last time before you kick the bucket.

As you reach for the glass, memories flash before your eyes. Your mother cradling you, your father holding you tight, your celebration with your friends as you pass your finals, your first arrival on the Xianzhou, your first kiss, your promise for a future with him, your losses, your despair, your fears-

And-

The Express. Your true home, the fondation which you rediscovered yourself and rebuilt yourself on. A place where you will never part, not even in death.

The warmth you felt for it, and the warmth it returned to you will never be forgotten.

You heave as you gulp down the drink. “Thank… you.”

You close your eyes.

Farewell, everyone.

You feel so light. You can properly feel your hands again. The backache is gone, stripped away, and you marvel at the skin that seems to reweave itself- granting you your youth, your past, prime shape. So the afterlife is merciful, after all.

You open your eyes. The birds near the windowsill are still chirping. Nothing has changed.

Wait.

What?

You feel your body reconstructing itself, your bones rearranging and your senses returning. Your eyes grow sharp and your face feels soft. The scars on your arms grow rapidly smaller, and smaller, until they are gone before you can blink. Uneasiness crawls in your chest.

And all the while, strange, delicate branches curl around your limbs, a soft green glow imitating the blessing of-

No. No no no no no no no no no.

No.

NO.

You find your strength to speak properly again. Your voice is lighter, easier to speak with, a voice or a bygone past, and it only nausates you as you grip your blanket. “What did you do?”

You turn to look at the nurse properly, as they finally start to make a sound- a soft, unsettling chuckle, one hand removing their mask.

The cruel smirk dances on Blade’s lips as he gestures to the glass cup in your hand.

Only now do you see the Emenator of Abundances’ blood swimming in the clear water you were so desperate for, only moments ago. You feel light-headed. You feel sick to the core.

You drop the cup, and it shatters on the floor- your skin feels cold, and your brain is spinning. You’re hyper-aware of how the liquid seeping out still flashes with the curse of Abundance, how the birds are screeching, and how Blade is cackling.

You heave, your breaths growing shorter by the moment. You watch as Blade reaches for your face- and if you flinch, he pretends to not notice.

No. You were close. You were so close.

“Why?” you cry, the first tears finally dripping down your cheeks. Blade’s bandaged hands wipe them away, and his dry lips press on them- as if savoring them.

“Did you honestly think you could escape me?” Blade reprimands softly, his empty eyes shining with disgusting, sickening adoration. “You promised you would stay, for as long as you could, for me.”

“You disgusting, wretched beast.” You lament, curling in further of yourself. The effects of the mara have started to settle; your muscles pound hard with fresh life breathed into your body, your bones gritting far worse than when you were of old age, and your mind starting to delude your sight. “I had forgotten you. I had lived, unlike you.”

“Promises are not to be broken.” Blade responds coldly, gripping your chin with sheer strength. You cry out as your skull cracks, only for it to mend itself, in perfect shape, the phantom pain lingering on your jaw. “I watched you blaze a trail for yourself. To me, your life was only moments worth of mine.”

“I married. I had children. They will remember me wedded to someone else.” you seethe.

Blade only chuckles mirthlessly at that. “Your attempts at deceiving me are truly pitiful. I know I was your first and last lover. I watched you fall apart in my absence. I watched your success. I watched how you withered away, and I envied you so, so much. Why couldn’t I feel that happy? Why couldn’t I feel that free?”

His hand ghosts over your neck, a silent warning if you dared to cry for help. Not that you would- you knew exactly what bringing his wrath would entail. Breaking your neck over, and over, and over again, to feel the pleasure of death like his master brought for him.

“I watched you pave a way for yourself. I hated you. I loved you. I don’t know how I feel anymore. Kafka has numbed everything away. But I chose to hold onto these feelings. Only you could give rise to new emotions after my rebirth. And you will be my partner. Together, we will be betrayers of death.”

You shake your head, and you wish so badly that all of this was a figment of your imagination. But it is real. You’ve seen enough soldiers fall prey to mara. You might have only succumbed to a dilated version, but it still tears away at your soul.

“Your playtime is over. Death will never reach you. Not even Nihility can bring you the peace you need. So stay with me.” He leans over, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. Your head pounds. Shapes and colors blend into a mess. Only Blade sits before you.

“Not that you have a choice.” He nips the bud of your ear, his voice soft and stifling. The stench of blood and rain clings onto his skin, and you succumb to the despair that fills your heart. “You will join the Stellaron Hunters. Kafka will help you, as she did with me.”

He leans back, and he smiles, deranged and devoid of sanity, living in his own world of pure delusion.

Sometimes, when you were dating, you wondered what he was before he was Blade. Would he still date you?

And even now, as he seals his promise with a kiss, you think. Would he condone any of this? How would he feel, knowing he has turned into a monster?

You close your eyes. You envision your friends and comrades, who all bear no burdens of eroding immortality, an apology on your tongue.

I’m sorry. I failed you all.

“Together, forevermore.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr blade #hsr blade x reader #hsr blade x you #yan!blade #yandere #hsr x reader #hsr x female reader #blade x female reader

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